Dewdrop 🔭🪐🛰️🚀

25yrs old 🇭🇳 🇺🇸|| Blog dedicated to occasionally posting my puppy Nala and liking/commenting/reblogging content 🙂

[the-quasar-hero]

It’s extremely fucked up that some ppl try to make you feel stupid and immature for hoping for a better world. You say you want world peace and mfs think you need a pacifier; dawg, I just don’t want ppl dying from violence. This idea that ppl simply must die as casualties of war is misanthropic to say the least.

[ponyosmom35]

Do You Want To Hurt Yourself?

Dr. Micheal ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x fem nurse reader

Part forty seven  (but can be read as a standalone)

Synopsis: Reader finds out that Robby is actively suicidal, and has lied to her about their trip.

Warnings: MDNI, suicidal tendencies, depression, angst with comfort, massive panic attack, arguing, selfish reader, selfish robby, soft dom robby, alcohol consumption, pre-established relationship, nurse reader, reader is described to be shorter than robby.

Masterlist

a/n: I was gonna do a full season two thing and post all the chapters but I decided that its not necessary at this point. But this is a huge huge thing for reader and robby, so enjoy and thank you for sticking with me!

By hour six, the entire place moved differently. Conversations were shorter, footsteps slower, and everyone seemed to operate on muscle memory more than actual thought. She stood at the workstation finishing a quick note on a paper chart, her handwriting tighter than usual from fatigue. She capped the pen and slid the chart into the stack beside her just as Whitaker approached the counter. He slowed as he got close, leaning one forearm against the edge like he had intended to walk past but had changed his mind at the last second.

She glanced up at him.

"Hey," she said. "Did Robby ask you about watching our place?"

Dennis nodded immediately. "Yup. I got you guys."

"Perfect." She let out a small breath, relieved. "Just stick to the guest room and the guest bathroom. They're fully stocked. Towels, shampoo, all that stuff is already in there."

"Easy."

"And I have a Chewy box coming for Fish every two weeks," she continued, already mentally checking through the list she had clearly rehearsed. "Food, litter, treats. It'll just show up at the door."

Dennis gave a small nod.

"She has an automatic feeder, so you'll just have to refill it when it runs out. It's pretty obvious when it's empty. And make sure the water fountain is going. She refuses to drink from a normal bowl now."

"Fancy."

"She's dramatic," she said simply. "And the fountain will start making this awful grinding sound if it gets low."

Dennis chuckled quietly. "Got it. Maintain the luxury lifestyle."

She slid another chart into the rack and turned slightly toward him again.

"Oh, and I know Robby said you can't have anyone over," she added, her tone practical rather than strict. "But I trust you. If you want to have a date over or something, that's fine."

Dennis blinked at her, a little surprised.

"Just don't bring any children into the house," she added quickly. "And don't take anyone into our room, okay. Stick to the guest room."

He nodded. "Deal."

She studied him for a second then tilted her head slightly. "You look like you have something to say."

Dennis shifted his weight a little. "It was probably nothing."

"It's bothering you," she said immediately. "What's up?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to say it at all. The conversation he had earlier with Robby had left a small knot sitting in his stomach that had refused to go away for the rest of the shift.

"Well," he said slowly, "Robby was like..." He paused, searching for the exact way to repeat it. "He said, 'Hey, if I don't come back, then you and Sunshine can split a sick bachelor pad.'"

For a second she didn't move. Then the change was immediate. Her expression dropped just slightly, the casual ease disappearing from her face as the words settled in. The lightness she had a moment earlier was gone. Her shoulders stiffened a fraction, and something behind her eyes went very still.

"What?" she said.

The word was quiet but sharp with disbelief. Dennis lifted both hands slightly. "Hey, I'm sure he was kidding."

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the counter in front of her, fingers resting flat against the cool surface. For a moment she just stared there, processing. When she looked back up, her face had smoothed into something controlled and professional again, but the warmth from earlier had not returned. The air around her felt different now. He could see it in the set of her shoulders, in the careful stillness of her posture.

"I'm sure he was joking," Dennis added quickly, internally panicking. "You know him. Dark humor."

She nodded once. A small, deliberate motion. "Thank you for telling me," she said.

Her voice was steady, but her entire vibe had shifted. The easy, casual energy from a few minutes ago had been replaced with something quieter and heavier, like a thought had taken root that she was not ready to say out loud. Dennis studied her for a moment, unsure if he had just made things worse.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Of course."

Across the department someone called her name. She turned toward the sound immediately, already stepping away from the counter, sliding right back into motion.

-

An hour later she spotted him near the far end of the nurses' station, leaning over a chart and speaking to Javadi. He looked exactly like everyone else did nine hours into a shift that refused to slow down. Hair a little disheveled, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, jaw tight with focus. She walked straight up to him.

"Hey," she said.

He glanced up. "Hey."

Her voice stayed even, but there was something about the way she was standing that made him stop what he was doing. "I need to talk to you."

He wiped his hands on the side of his pants automatically. "Okay. What's up?"

Then he saw her face properly. The tension there made his brow crease immediately.

"What's going on?" he asked.

She didn't answer right away. He tilted his head slightly, studying her.

"Work," he said, "or personal?"

"Personal."

"Baby I love you but we don't have time for personal right now." He says softly. 

"I need to talk to you outside. Now."

The tone made him pause. He looked up fully this time, scanning her face. Something in her expression made his brows pull together.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Okay. Okay."

He shoved the chart back towards Javadi who looked angry. "Hold that thought," he said, already stepping away.

She didn't wait. She was already walking toward the ambulance bay doors, and he followed a few steps behind her. The doors slid open and the hot air hit them both at once, cooler and quieter than the chaos inside. The ambulance bay lights cast harsh white circles across the concrete, and somewhere down the lot an engine idled with a low rumble. She stopped near the edge of the bay and turned to face him. Robby slowed a few feet away.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Her arms folded across her chest, not defensive so much as trying to hold herself steady. "Whitaker talked to me."

"Okay."

"He said you told him that if you didn't come back, he and I could split a bachelor pad."

There was a short beat of silence. Then Robby exhaled and dragged a hand down his face. "Oh my god," he said.

She watched him carefully.

"Sweetheart," he said, already shaking his head, "I really do not have time for this conversation right now."

"Me neither." Her voice cut through the air sharper than he expected. "I surly don't have a spare second to talk about this. But I can't stop thinking about it."

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a small, frustrated laugh. "It was a joke."

"Its not funny."

He looked at her like she had just said something ridiculous. "Everyone here make jokes like that constantly."

"That's not the same thing."

"It literally is the same thing."

She didn't move. Robby shifted his weight, trying to brush it off.

"Come on," he said. "You know how this job is. Dark humor, coping, all that."

"No."

He frowned. "No?"

"No," she said again. "You don't get to do that."

He let out a disbelieving breath. "Do what?"

"Brush it off like that."

He stared at her for a moment, irritation starting to creep into his expression.

"Hey," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "We don't have fucking time for this."

"Fuck no we don't," she shot back immediately.

The words echoed a little in the open bay.

"But I can't focus until we talk about it," she continued, voice tightening. "So here we are."

Robby paced two steps away, then back again, hands settling on his hips. "What can I say to make you believe it was a joke?" he asked.

"With your past," she said slowly, "you don't get to say things like that."

The words hit harder than anything she'd said so far. Robby's jaw tightened. "You're reading way too much into it."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No," she said again, voice shaking slightly now despite how steady she was trying to keep it. "I'm not."

He exhaled sharply. "It was a stupid joke," he said.

"That's the problem."

"Jesus."

"With your past," she repeated quietly, "you don't get to say things like that like they're nothing, most people can say those things and nobody is concerned, but you have struggled! This trip is for your mental health!"

He looked away toward the dark lot beyond the bay, clearly frustrated. "You're acting like I was serious."

"I know you were joking."

"Then what's the issue?"

Her voice cracked slightly when she answered. "The issue is that I feel fucking sick thinking about it, because you're gonna be alone for six weeks and that scares the shit out of me already and now hearing you making sick jokes about not coming home-"

Robby looked back at her immediately. Her eyes were glossy now, the kind of watery shine that meant she was fighting hard to keep it together. For a second he didn't know what to say.

"Hey," he said softer, stepping closer. "I'm not planning on dying,"

"That's not what it sounded like."

He reached out instinctively and rested his hand on her shoulder. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean into it either. Her gaze had dropped somewhere toward the concrete between them.

"I just needed you to understand why that's not funny to me, I'm scared Robby." she said.

Robby opened his mouth to respond. Inside the department, someone suddenly shouted.

"TRAUMA INBOUND!"

Another voice followed immediately after.

"Two minutes!"

Both of them turned automatically toward the doors. Robby's hand dropped from her shoulder as the familiar pull of the job snapped into place.

"Fuck," he muttered.

The doors slid open and the noise from inside poured back into the bay. She wiped quickly under her eye with the back of her hand, already forcing herself back into motion. Robby stepped beside her as they headed toward the entrance.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Can we talk about this later?"

She didn't look at him but offered a small nod. And when they pushed through the doors and disappeared back into the chaos of the department.

-

The ED had somehow grown louder in the last half hour, the kind of noise that didn't come from any single thing but from everything happening at once. She had just finished helping move a patient off a stretcher when she stepped back toward the desk, quickly tying her hair tighter at the base of her neck. Her chest still felt tight from the argument outside. The trauma had pulled them apart so abruptly she hadn't even had time to steady herself afterward. She had thrown herself straight into work instead. She was flipping through a chart when she heard her name.

"Hey."

Gloria was walking toward her from the hall that led to the offices, one hand holding a clipboard, reading glasses perched halfway down her nose. Gloria had the look she got when she was juggling three things at once but had decided something needed to be said anyway. Gloria reached the desk and rested her forearms on it.

"Why are you only going for six weeks?" she asked.

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

Gloria looked mildly confused. "You're only scheduled out for six weeks."

She frowned slightly, trying to process what she meant. "You only approved six weeks, I wanted longer."

"No," Gloria said. "I approved the same time as Robby."

That made her pause completely. "What?"

Gloria tapped the clipboard lightly against the desk. "I gave you the same block he requested," she said. "Any changes after that would've gone through him."

For a second she just stared at Gloria. Something about the way she said it made Gloria look at her a little more closely. "I didn't know that," she added.

Gloria studied her face for a moment, clearly picking up on the faint tension still sitting there. "Well," Gloria said gently, straightening up again. "I hope you have a good trip."

She glanced briefly over the department floor, where the shift was still moving at full speed.

"Sorry this is your send off," Gloria added.

She followed Gloria's gaze for a second, watching two nurses rush past with a cart before looking back at her. A small smile appeared on her face. It wasn't big, but it was genuine.

"Thank you, Gloria."

Gloria gave her a quick nod before already turning back toward the hallway, disappearing into the noise and motion of the department again. She stood there for another moment, the chart still open in her hands, Gloria's words quietly settling somewhere in the back of her mind. Her hands began to go numb and her heart raced, she backed away and hurried off into the once space she knew would be empty. 

The on-call room was dim compared to the rest of the department. A small lamp in the corner cast a weak pool of yellow light across the couch and narrow desk, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Through the door she could still hear the muffled chaos of the floor. Phones rang somewhere down the hall, someone called for labs, and the distant squeak of stretcher wheels rolled across tile. It was quieter here, but the hospital never really stopped moving.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, pressing her palms flat against the cool metal. Her hands were shaking, at first only slightly, the kind of tremor that could almost be written off as exhaustion or leftover adrenaline. She told herself that was all it was. The shift had been brutal, the department overflowing, and her nerves had been stretched thin all night. She pushed away from the door and walked toward the small sink along the wall, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water over her wrists like she had done countless times after rough shifts. It didn't help.

The tightness in her chest had already started building, subtle at first but unmistakable once she noticed it. It wasn't pain exactly, just a heavy pressure sitting squarely in the center of her sternum, like something was pressing down from the inside. She tried to inhale slowly through her nose, the way she had taught anxious patients to do a hundred times before. The breath stopped halfway down, catching somewhere deep in her chest before slipping back out. She tried again, forcing another breath, but this one was shorter. Her heart had started racing, the beat loud and fast enough that she could feel it in her throat.

She gripped the edge of the counter and tried to steady herself, focusing on the sound of the running water, on anything that might anchor her. The next breath came quicker than the last. Then another. Within seconds the rhythm had fallen apart completely, her lungs pulling in shallow bursts of air that seemed to go nowhere. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closer than they had been a moment ago.

"Oh no," she whispered under her breath.

Her stomach flipped violently, the nausea arriving so fast it stole what little breath she had managed to pull in. She turned just in time to make it into the tiny bathroom attached to the room. The overhead light flicked on harsh and bright as she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. Her body folded forward and the first heave hit hard, the sound echoing sharply off the tile walls. She braced her hands on either side of the bowl as her stomach emptied, coughing and gagging through it as wave after wave forced its way out.

When it finally slowed she stayed there for a second, forehead resting against her arm, trying to catch her breath. But her breathing refused to settle. Each inhale was still short and frantic, the air barely making it past her throat before rushing back out again. Her chest felt even tighter now, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs that it almost hurt.

She flushed the toilet and pushed herself upright, rinsing her mouth quickly at the sink. The mirror caught her reflection as she lifted her head, and the sight of her own face made her stomach twist again. Her skin had gone pale and her eyes looked wide and unfocused, like she had just run a mile. Her breathing hitched sharply and the panic surged harder.

"No," she muttered to herself.

She hurried back into the on-call room, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as the air in her lungs came in rapid bursts. The quiet in the room did nothing to calm it. If anything it made the sound of her breathing louder. Each inhale was quick and shallow, her chest rising and falling too fast to control. She dragged both hands through her hair and started pacing across the room, trying to burn off the restless energy flooding her body.

"Breathe," she said under her breath, though the word came out broken.

She tried again to inhale slowly, but the moment she focused on it the rhythm shattered completely. Her lungs pulled in another short gasp and then another. Her fingers had started tingling now, pins and needles spreading across her palms and creeping toward her wrists. Her heart slammed harder with every step she took.

She shook her arms out violently, like she could physically shake the panic out of her muscles. It didn't work. The energy buzzing under her skin only intensified, adrenaline racing through her system with nowhere to go. She paced the length of the room again, turning sharply at the wall and pacing back the other way, her breathing loud and uneven.

"You're fine," she whispered, though the words sounded hollow even to her. "You're fine."

But the thought that had started this spiral refused to leave her head. The words echoed again whether she wanted them to or not.

If I don't come back.

Her stomach twisted and her chest tightened even more. She bent forward with her hands on her knees, trying to force the air deeper into her lungs, but every breath stopped halfway and bounced back out again. Her fingers curled slightly as the tingling intensified, and the edges of her vision started to blur. She straightened again and began pacing faster, the movement frantic now as she tried to outrun the feeling building in her chest. Her whole body trembled, her shoulders shaking with each breath as adrenaline flooded her muscles. Tears had started slipping down her face without her realizing it, the panic surging through her in waves that refused to break.

Her stomach lurched again and she stumbled back toward the bathroom, gagging over the sink this time. Nothing came up, but the nausea left her shaking as she gripped the porcelain edge with white knuckles. Her breathing filled the small space, fast and ragged, echoing off the tile as she struggled to slow it down. She leaned forward until her forehead touched the cool mirror, squeezing her eyes shut as her chest heaved with another series of shallow breaths.

"Just breathe," she whispered to herself again, but her lungs still refused to listen.

Robby stepped out of the room he had just finished in and scanned the nurses' station, expecting to see her somewhere in the chaos. She had disappeared right after the trauma came in, and he had not seen her since. He checked the chart racks, the workstation, the hallway that led toward imaging. Nothing.

He stopped one of the nurses passing by. "Hey, have you seen her?"

The nurse shook her head without slowing. "Not in a while."

He frowned slightly and moved toward the next cluster of staff.

"Anyone seen her?"

A couple of people glanced up, shook their heads, and went back to what they were doing. The noise of the department pressed in around him, the constant motion making it harder to track anyone down. Normally she moved through the floor like she belonged to the chaos, always somewhere in the middle of it. The fact that he could not spot her anywhere immediately set a quiet unease in his stomach. He turned toward the hallway again and nearly walked into Javadi coming around the corner.

"Hey," Robby said quickly. "Have you seen her?"

Javadi thought for a second. "Yeah. I think she went toward the on-call room."

Robby's brow creased. "Recently?"

"Couple minutes ago," Javadi said. "Looked like she needed a second."

Robby nodded once. "Thank you."

He turned immediately and headed down the hallway toward the staff rooms. The noise of the department faded a little with every step he took, replaced by the quieter hum of lights and distant voices behind closed doors. When he reached the on-call room door he paused for half a second, then pushed it open. The room was dim. At first he thought it was empty. Then he heard the breathing. He stepped inside and his eyes adjusted quickly enough to see the bathroom light on. The door was open and she was standing at the sink, leaning forward with both hands gripping the edge of it, her forehead pressed against the mirror.

"Hey," he said so softly.

She didn't respond.

He stepped closer, stopping just behind her. "Sweet girl."

Her head lifted slightly and she turned just enough that he could see her face reflected in the mirror. Her eyes were red and watery, her chest rising and falling too fast, her entire body trembling like she had been running. His expression changed immediately.

"Hey," he said again, softer now.

"Leave me alone," she said suddenly.

The words came out rough, dragged up through the panic gripping her chest.

He shook his head immediately. "I'm not leaving you like this."

"You are though!" she cried, her voice cracking as the words tore out of her. "That's the whole point!"

He froze.

"You're leaving me," she continued, the words tumbling out faster now as the panic twisted into something sharper. "This whole thing is a plan to leave me!"

"Hey," he said quickly. "No. No, it's not."

"I heard what you told Whitaker!"

"I told you that was a joke," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

She laughed again, a broken, disbelieving sound. "Don't you fucking lie to me." The accusation landed hard in the tiny room. "Gloria told me, she said you're the one who only approved six weeks. She was going to give me the full trip. Why?"

The question hung between them. Robby's mouth opened. Nothing came out. His eyes dropped to the floor. For a second he couldn't bring himself to look at her. The silence answered the question before he ever spoke. Her breathing hitched violently.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

Her hand came up to her chest like she was trying to hold it together, fingers pressing hard against her sternum as the panic surged all over again. "Oh my god."

Her knees buckled before he could react. She slid down the side of the wall and hit the tile floor hard, the sound echoing in the small bathroom. The sob that tore out of her was loud and raw, completely unrestrained. Her whole body folded in on itself as she began openly sobbing, shoulders shaking violently with every breath. Robby dropped down toward her immediately.

"Hey," he said, reaching for her. "Hey."

The moment his hand touched her arm she jerked away from him.

"Don't!" she shouted.

He froze.

"Just leave me alone!" she cried.

"Baby-"

"No!" Her voice cracked as another sob ripped through her chest. "You've been planning this the whole time! You want to leave me, so go already!"

"Stop," he said, shaking his head. "That's not what's happening."

"Then why did you only approve six weeks?"

The question came out like a knife. Robby had no answer. He ran both hands through his hair, breathing hard now himself.

"Then get out!" she screamed.

Her sobbing had become loud now, echoing off the tile walls as her entire body shook on the floor. He stared at her, completely helpless. Tears had started burning in his own eyes now, his chest tightening as he watched her fall apart in front of him.

"Baby," he said hoarsely.

He moved toward her again instinctively.

"Don't fucking touch me!" she shouted.

The words stopped him cold. She dragged in another ragged breath, clutching her chest again as the panic surged through her.

"You want to leave me," she cried. "So just go!"

His hands dropped helplessly to his sides. He dragged them over his face, wiping at his eyes as he tried to steady himself.

"Please," he said quietly. "Just let me help you."

"Get out!" she sobbed again.

Her voice was raw now, her shoulders shaking so hard it looked painful. Robby stood there for a second longer, completely torn, before running his hands over his face again and looking back down at her. She wouldn't even look at him. Her head was bent forward, her body curled in on itself as the sobs tore through her chest.

"I love you." he whispered helplessly.

But she just shook her head, crying harder.

"Just leave me alone." She sobs, the pleading in her voice unlike anything he'd heard from her before, never directed at him.

"Okay okay I'm going."

Robby stood in the doorway for another second after she told him to leave. The sobbing coming from the bathroom filled the small on-call room, raw and uncontrolled, and every instinct in him fought against the idea of walking away from her like this. His hands were still shaking slightly, and he dragged them down his face again, trying to steady himself. When he looked back toward the bathroom she was still curled on the tile floor, shoulders shaking violently as she cried, one hand clutching the center of her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.

The only answer was another broken sob that echoed off the tile walls. Robby swallowed hard. For a moment he looked like he might ignore her and step back inside anyway, but the way she had recoiled from him was still fresh in his mind. He knew if he pushed right now he would only make it worse. He forced himself to step back. His hand hovered near the door frame before he turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

The hallway outside felt brighter and louder than it should have. The sounds of the department rushed back in immediately. Someone wheeled a stretcher past him, a monitor chiming in short bursts somewhere down the hall. For a second he just stood there, trying to collect himself. He rubbed both hands over his face again and started walking. He had barely made it halfway down the hall when he nearly collided with Samira coming around the corner.

"Hey," she said automatically.

Then she really looked at him.

Her eyebrows pulled together immediately. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Robby looked like he had been punched in the stomach. His eyes were red, his jaw tight, and the exhaustion from the shift sat heavily in his shoulders.

"Samira," he said quietly.

Something in his voice made her straighten a little. "Yeah?"

He gestured back down the hallway toward the on-call room. "Go to the on-call room," he said. "Please help her."

Samira blinked. "What?"

"Please go," he said again, the words coming out more urgently this time.

Her eyes widened. "What happened?"

He shook his head slightly, already stepping away. "Just go."

"Robby-"

But he was already walking down the hall, his hand dragging over the back of his neck as he disappeared around the corner. Samira stood there for half a second longer, confusion flashing across her face before concern took over. Then she turned and hurried down the hallway. The on-call room door was closed when she reached it. She pushed it open quickly. The room was dim except for the bathroom light.

"Oh my god."

She rushed toward the bathroom doorway and froze for a split second when she saw her sitting on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly as she cried openly. Her face was buried in her hands, her entire body shaking with every breath.

"Hey," Samira said immediately, her voice soft but urgent.

She dropped to the floor in front of her without hesitation.

"Hey, hey," she said again, reaching forward carefully.

Her friend barely seemed aware she had entered the room. Her breathing was still too fast, each inhale catching halfway through before breaking apart into another sob. Samira gently pulled one of her hands away from her face.

"Look at me," she said softly.

Her eyes were red and swollen, tears still streaming down her cheeks. The moment she saw Samira she tried to speak, but the words got tangled in another broken sob.

"Hey," Samira murmured again.

She slid closer and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pulling her carefully against her chest.

"It's okay," she whispered.

At first the contact made her tense, her breathing still ragged and uneven, but after a moment she leaned into her, clutching weakly at the front of Samira's scrubs. Samira rocked her gently.

"Breathe with me," she said quietly. "Just slow it down."

Her friend tried, but another sob tore through her chest before she could manage it.

"That's okay," Samira said immediately. "That's okay. We're just going to slow it down together."

She placed one hand gently on her upper back, rubbing slow circles.

"In through your nose," Samira murmured.

Her breathing stuttered.

"That's okay," Samira repeated. "Try again."

Another shaky inhale.

"Good," Samira said softly.

She kept her voice steady, calm, the same tone she had used a hundred times with anxious patients, but there was something warmer underneath it now. Her friend clung to her tighter. The sobbing slowly started to lose its edge, the breaths coming slightly longer now, though her chest still hitched every few seconds. Samira pulled back just enough to look at her face.

"Hey," she said gently.

Her friend wiped at her eyes with shaking hands.

"What happened?" Samira asked quietly.

The question hung there. Her friend opened her mouth like she might answer. Nothing came out. Her face crumpled again and she shook her head hard, another wave of tears spilling over.

"I can't," she whispered.

Samira's expression softened immediately. "That's okay," she said. She pulled her back into a hug without hesitation. "You don't have to tell me right now."

Her friend buried her face against Samira's shoulder, still shaking as the last of the sobs worked their way through her chest. Samira held her tighter.

"I've got you," she murmured.

She kept rubbing slow circles along her back, steady and patient, letting her cry as long as she needed.

"You're okay," Samira whispered quietly. "I'm right here."

-

Four hours later Robby stood at the nurses' station flipping through a chart he wasn't actually reading, his eyes lifting every few seconds to scan the floor. He hadn't seen her since earlier, not properly, not in a way that counted. Every time he thought he caught a glimpse of her, she was already moving away, already gone before he could reach her.

"Where is she?" he asked finally, his voice low.

Dana glanced up from her chart, already knowing who he meant. "She's doing rounds."

He nodded once and set the chart down, leaning back against the counter with his arms loosely crossed. He stayed there, jaw tight, forcing himself to wait. He didn't like waiting, especially not like this, but he knew better than to chase her down in the middle of the floor. So he stood there, watching, tracking movement until he finally saw her coming down the hallway, moving room to room, focused, composed, like nothing had happened. That almost made it worse. He pushed off the counter immediately and met her just as she stepped out of a patient's room, her attention on the chart in her hands.

"Hey," he said.

She looked up, her expression neutral in a way that felt practiced.

"Come here," he added, quieter.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then followed him without arguing as he guided her into an empty room. The door clicked shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the department, leaving them in a silence that felt heavier than it should have. Robby stood there for a moment, running a hand over his mouth, trying to figure out how to start. Then he exhaled and said it plainly.

"I'm sorry."

She didn't move, but her eyes flicked up to him.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you earlier," he continued. "I shouldn't have brushed you off. I knew what you were asking for, and I still shut it down. That's on me."

He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, shaking his head slightly. "I was being a dick."

She crossed her arms, not defensive, just holding herself together.

"I don't really even know what to say at this point," she admitted quietly.

He nodded once. "Then don't filter it. I don't need you to make it easier. Just say it."

She looked down, her fingers tightening slightly against her arms as she took a breath that didn't fully settle.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His head lifted immediately. "No."

"I am," she said, pushing through it. "I made it about me. I took something you're dealing with and turned it into my own panic, and that's not fair. I know how you handle things, and I should've just stayed professional. I should've kept it together."

"Hey," he cut in, sharper now.

She kept going anyway, the words coming faster as the emotion built.

"I should've just handled it better, I should've-"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said firmly. That stopped her. Her eyes lifted to his, glassy now. "I can't sit here and say I would've handled that better,"

She shook her head, tears starting to slip over despite her effort to hold them back. "I should've tried, it was so selfish."

"No," he said, quieter now, stepping a little closer. "Don't do that to yourself. If anything, it was hard to see you like that. Not because you did anything wrong. Because I didn't realize how much it was affecting you."

"Of course it's affecting me," she said, her voice breaking. "I love you."

The words hit him like something physical. He looked away for a second, jaw tightening, trying to hold himself steady.

"I've loved you from the day we met," she continued, her voice gaining strength even as tears fell freely now. "Through every panic attack, every bad shift, every argument. You are my person."

He ran his hand over his face again, slower this time.

"I never thought I'd get something like this," she said. "I thought love was supposed to hurt. I thought that was just how it worked. And then you showed me that it can be good and safe and... real."

Her voice cracked, and she wiped at her cheeks, frustrated with herself.

"There is nobody else for me," she said. "So when you say things like that, I don't hear a joke. I hear something I'm already scared of."

He turned slightly away, his hand going to the back of his neck, his chest rising and falling a little heavier now.

"You're all I have," she admitted, softer, more vulnerable than before. "And I know that's a lot. I know it's not fair to put that on you. But you are my family."

He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed.

"I'm trying to build a life with you," she continued. "I want everything. The house, the porch, the kids, all of it. Things I never even let myself think about before. I want that with you."

His eyes burned, and he blinked hard, trying to keep it together.

"Robby," she said gently. "Look at me."

He hesitated, then lifted his gaze.

Everything was there. The guilt, the fear, the weight of everything she had just said.

"There is no version of my life without you in it," she said. "But right now, you're not okay."

He swallowed.

"And I can't fix that," she added. "You have to want to. You have to actually deal with it."

His jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly.

"You can't keep going like this," she said. "It's hurting you. And it's bleeding into everything else. Work, us, everything."

He nodded again, quieter this time.

"We all just want you to be okay," she finished. "Not just getting through the day. Actually okay."

The room fell silent again, the weight of it settling between them. Then a voice cut through from the hallway.

"Robby, we need you."

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose, dragging himself back into control. Of course. He wiped under his eyes quickly, straightening slightly, already shifting back into the role he had to play. She watched him, then offered him a small, steady smile despite everything.

"Go," she said softly.

He hesitated for just a second, like he wanted to say more, like he wasn't ready to leave it here. But he nodded once and turned, opening the door and stepping back into the noise of the department, leaving her standing in the quiet room with everything still hanging in the air.

-

The NICU felt disconnected from the rest of the hospital. The noise of the emergency department never seemed to make it up here. Everything was softer. The lights. The voices. Even the alarms sounded gentler somehow. After the day they'd had, it felt almost wrong that a place could be this quiet. She found him standing near the back of the unit beside one of the bassinets. For a moment she didn't say anything. She just watched.

Robby was holding a baby girl against his chest. Swaddled tightly in a pink blanket with a knit cap pulled down over her head. One of her hands had escaped the blanket and was curled loosely against his scrub top, her fingers no bigger than the tip of his thumb. He was swaying slightly without realizing it, the same unconscious motion she had seen a hundred times when he held scared children in the emergency department. The little girl was completely asleep.

Eventually he noticed her standing there. His gaze lifted and landed on her. For a second neither of them spoke. Then he looked back down at the baby.

"She finally stopped crying," he said quietly.

"Poor girl, she's had a rough day." she added

Robby adjusted the blanket around the baby's shoulder even though it didn't need adjusting. Then he checked the monitor lead. Then he looked at the monitor itself. Then back at the baby. Anything except her. She recognized avoidance when she saw it. After a minute she finally walked closer.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"You okay?"

The question hung there. Robby stared down at the baby for so long she started to wonder if he was going to answer at all. The little girl's chest rose and fell steadily against his arm. He watched it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"No," he said finally.

The honesty surprised her. It seemed to surprise him too. He looked down and laughed quietly to himself.

"No," he repeated. "Not really."

She waited. He knew she was waiting. That seemed to make it harder. Carefully he bent down and lowered the baby back into the bassinet. He tucked the blanket around her, adjusted her tiny hat, checked her monitor one more time, then rested both hands on the edge of the bassinet. Still not looking at her.

"You know what's fucked up?" His voice sounded rough. She stayed quiet. "I don't even remember the last time I had a day where I wasn't thinking about work."

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and stared down into the bassinet. "Everybody keeps telling me to take time off. Dana says it. Abbot says it. Jake won't shut up about it. Take a vacation. Go somewhere. Sleep for a week. But as soon as our trip was brought up it became a big issue for everyone. Its three months. And then what?What do I do after that?"

She stepped closer. "You rest."

"Okay." He nodded. "Then what?"

"You spend time with people you love."

"Okay." Another nod. "Then what?"

"You tell me."

That finally got his attention. His eyes lifted. For the first time since she'd walked into the room, he was actually looking at her. She could see how exhausted he was. How worn down. The problem was that he didn't believe it.

"I don't know how to leave this place."

The admission came out quietly. So quietly she almost missed it. Robby looked away immediately afterward, like he regretted saying it. His jaw tightened. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. Then he said it again.

"I don't know how to stop." This time he sounded angry.Not at her. At himself. "That's the truth. The hospital's all I got."

The words hit her harder than anything else he'd said. Because he believed them. She could hear it in his voice. He wasn't being dramatic. He wasn't fishing for reassurance. He genuinely believed the hospital was the only thing keeping him together.

"The patients need me." His fingers tightened around the edge of the bassinet. "The staff needs me, and if I'm not there..." His voice trailed off. He stared down at the sleeping baby. "I don't know."

The honesty of it made her chest ache. Because suddenly this wasn't about work. It wasn't about burnout. It wasn't even about the hospital. It was about identity. About a man who had spent so many years taking care of everyone else that he no longer knew who he was without someone needing something from him. He didn't wanna be on this world anymore. It was so obvious, he was saying it without fully saying it. She stepped beside him and rested her forearms against the edge of the bassinet.

"Robby."

"I know."

"No, listen."

"I know what you're gonna say."

"Shut up for a second and listen to me. You don't have to be useful every second of every day."

There it was. The exact sentence he knew was coming. A small laugh escaped him.

"Apparently I do."

She frowned. He stared down at the baby.

"I'm serious. I walk into that hospital and people need things from me. They need answers, they need decisions, they need help. And lately... lately I don't even have enough of myself left to give them."

Robby had always been exhausted. He'd always carried too much. But there had always been a fight underneath it, some stubborn refusal to quit, some part of him that believed if he just worked harder, slept less, pushed a little further, he'd eventually get ahead of whatever was chasing him. Tonight she didn't see that. Tonight he looked tired of fighting. If she were to be honest with herself she'd say he'd worn that for a while.

"Then let somebody help you," she said softly.

Robby laughed under his breath and shook his head. Not because he thought she was wrong, but because she made it sound so simple. "You make it sound easy."

"Its not easy."

He rubbed a hand across his mouth and stared down at the sleeping baby.

"But it has to actually work." She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already shaking his head. "That's what nobody gets. So I take time off. Great. Then what? I sit at home for two weeks staring at the walls? I go on vacation and spend the entire time wondering what's happening in the ED? Wondering if Dana's drowning? Wondering if one of the residents missed something? Wondering if somebody died?" His shoulders rose and fell in a tired shrug. "I don't know how to be anything else."

The admission seemed to embarrass him. He looked away immediately afterward, jaw tightening hard enough that she could see the muscle jump beneath his cheek. If he could have reached into the air and grabbed the words back, she thought he probably would have.

"You are something else," she said quietly. His eyes lifted. "You're my partner. You're my best friend. You're the person who makes coffee every morning no matter how tired you are. You're the man who cries at animal rescue videos and pretends he doesn't. You're the guy who spent an hour researching cat illness because Fish sneezed twice."

The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself, but the smile disappeared almost immediately. Robby looked back down at the baby and adjusted the blanket again. It was the fourth time he'd done it since she'd walked into the room. The blanket was perfectly fine.

"I keep hurting people." The words came out so quietly she almost missed them. Robby swallowed and stared down into the bassinet. "I keep becoming somebody I don't want to be." She felt her chest tighten as he continued looking at the sleeping baby instead of her. "I snapped at Dana. I snapped at Abbot. I snapped at residents for asking questions they're supposed to ask. I knew I was doing it, too." A humorless laugh escaped him and he shook his head. "That's the worst part. I could hear myself. I could hear myself saying that shit and I knew it was wrong. But I was so angry."

For a moment neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was honest. Robby's shoulders slumped as he stared at the floor.

"I don't even know what I'm angry at anymore. Everything. Myself. The hospital. The system. The fact that people keep dying. The fact that no matter how hard we work it never feels like enough." His gaze drifted back toward the baby. "And then I come home and you're trying so hard."

Her chest ached immediately because she knew where this was heading.

Robby shook his head. "You shouldn't have to do that."

She frowned. "Do what?"

"Take care of me."

The second he said it, she felt fear settle into her stomach. Not panic. Not yet. Just a quiet dread, because she knew where he was going before he did. "Robby."

"No." He cut her off gently and looked away. "You spend every day trying to make my life easier. You make sure I eat. You make sure I sleep. You make sure I take my vitamins." A small smile appeared and disappeared. "You spend all this energy trying to make me happy, and I'm standing here wondering what exactly you're getting out of this. You're young."

The thing he always reached for when he felt guilty.

"You should be traveling. You should be having fun. You should be with somebody who doesn't come home carrying twelve hours of trauma every day."

"Stop."

"You should be with somebody who isn't constantly-"

"Stop."

The word came out sharper this time, and when he finally looked at her he froze. She wasn't angry. She looked terrified. Immediately his entire expression changed. Her voice cracked hard enough that it startled both of them. For a second neither moved. Robby looked confused, then concerned, then guilty as realization dawned across his face. Suddenly he understood what she was hearing. What she thought he was saying. And maybe the worst part was that some small part of him actually believed it.

"Do you know what the worst part is?" she asked.

Robby stayed completely still.

"Why are you changing the subject, making it seem like what you're doing is the right thing, finishing this trip alone and hurting yourself- why because you think that its better for you to kill yourself for what? For my sake? Fuck that! Do you think you're the only person whose scared?"

His brow furrowed. "What? I'm not scared."

"Yes." The tears finally came, hot and relentless, and she scrubbed at them with the heel of her hand, furious with herself for crying when she was so angry. "Yes, you are. You keep telling me what I deserve. What I should be doing. How I should spend my twenties."

Her voice cracked so hard she almost couldn't get the next words out.

"You don't get to decide that."

She shook her head, staring at him like she couldn't believe he was saying any of this.

"You don't get to tell me I'd be happier somewhere else because you're not listening to me. You're listening to whatever voice in your head keeps telling you you're a burden, and you're treating that like it's the truth." She jabbed a hand toward her chest. "I am standing right here telling you what I want, and you're acting like you know me better than I know myself."

Another tear slipped free. She didn't bother wiping it away.

"I don't want somewhere else. I don't want some imaginary future with some imaginary person who's easier to love. I want you. I chose you. Every single day, I choose you."

Her breathing hitched.

"And you're hurting right now. I know you are. I know you're exhausted and scared and drowning in whatever this is. But don't stand there and try to dress this up like you're doing me some kind of favor."

The words came out sharper now, trembling with grief.

"You lied to me, Robby. You looked me in the eye and lied to me so you could die. And what am I supposed to do with that? Seriously, tell me. What am I supposed to do afterward? Wake up every morning wondering what I missed? What I should've said? Whether the last thing I said to you was the wrong thing? Am I supposed to carry that for the rest of my life and call it love because you decided it'd be better for me? You keep talking about my future like you're not in it. Like you've already left. But I'm still here. I'm still fighting for you. And the cruelest part is that you're asking me to understand why you want to die but you won't straight up say it, you're using every other excuse in the book, all while completely refusing to understand what losing you would do to me."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I am terrified, Robby. Every second of every day lately, I am terrified." She pressed a hand against her chest. "Because I love you. Because I can see how much pain you're in. Because I'm watching the person I love convince himself that everyone would be better off without him, and no matter how many times I tell him that's not true, he won't believe me. So don't tell me what I deserve. Don't tell me where I'd be happier. Don't tell me you're doing this for me. If you want to know what I want, it's you. Alive. Angry, depressed, struggling, messy, imperfect. I want all of it. I want the version of you that's sitting right here. Not some memory. Not some apology. Not some letter explaining why you left."

Her voice finally broke completely. "I want you to stay, get some help."

Robby rubbed both hands over his face and stared down at the floor. He looked exhausted. Not physically. She'd seen physically exhausted before. This looked like somebody who had been carrying the same weight for so long he no longer remembered what it felt like to set it down.

"I just..." He stopped and laughed softly, frustrated with himself. "I don't know how to keep being this person. This man I've become is no good for anyone."

His voice was barely above a whisper. For a moment she didn't answer. She watched him instead. Watched the way he couldn't keep still, the way his hand kept finding the back of his neck, the way he kept looking anywhere but directly at her. The baby. The floor. The monitor. The wall. Anywhere except her. Because looking at her meant seeing what this was doing.

"You keep saying that," she said quietly.

His brow furrowed. "Saying what?"

"'This person.'" She shook her head. "Like you're talking about somebody else. Would Dana be better off?"

Robby's jaw tightened. No answer. "Would Jake?" Nothing. She could see tears gathering in his eyes.

"Would Jack?" Still nothing. The silence felt louder than any response she'd gotten all night. Then her voice broke completely. "Would I?"

That got him. His head snapped up immediately, like she'd physically hit him. "You keep talking like you're some burden everybody's carrying around. Like everybody would be happier if you could just disappear forever."

His face crumpled. "I didn't say that."

"No." Her voice shook. "You didn't."

She took a breath. "But you're thinking it."

The truth landed between them, heavy and ugly and honest. Robby looked away immediately, and that hurt even worse because she knew him. If she'd been wrong, he would've argued. If she'd been wrong, he would've corrected her. Instead he stared at the floor, and she felt her heart break.

"I don't know anymore." The confession seemed to tear itself out of him. "I don't know what's me and what's exhaustion." He laughed once, humorless and broken, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's depression and what's reality. I don't know if I'm burnt out or if this is just who I am now."

She stared at him while tears continued slipping down her face. Because suddenly this wasn't about work. This wasn't about the hospital. This wasn't even about their relationship. This was about the fact that the man she loved was standing in front of her unable to see any value in himself beyond what he could do for other people. And that terrified her.

"Do you know what I think?" Robby didn't answer. She wasn't even sure he'd heard her. She stepped closer anyway. "I think you're tired." A tear slid down her cheek. "I think you're hurting. And I think you've spent so many years carrying everybody else that you've convinced yourself the only reason you're worth loving is because you're useful."

His eyes closed hard, like the words physically hurt.

"And I think you're wrong." The room went quiet. The baby stirred softly in her bassinet, but neither of them moved.

"You know what's crazy?" Her voice softened. "If I walked in here right now and said everything you're saying, you'd fight me on it. And if one of your residents said they weren't worth helping unless they could save somebody's life first, you'd tell them they were out of their damn mind. So why are you different?" She gently touched the edge of the bassinet and looked down at the sleeping baby. The little girl had somehow slept through the entire conversation, one tiny fist curled beside her face.

"Look at her." Robby's eyes followed hers. For a moment neither of them spoke. The baby yawned, tiny and perfect and completely unaware of the world she'd been born into. "She hasn't done anything yet," she said softly. "She hasn't saved anybody. She hasn't fixed anything. She hasn't earned anybody's love."

The words hung there, and she watched the exact moment they landed. Because suddenly he wasn't looking at a patient. He wasn't looking at a diagnosis. He wasn't looking at a future trauma. He was looking at a baby. A tiny little girl whose entire value existed simply because she existed. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"If something happened right now," she whispered, "every person in this unit would fight like hell for her. You would."

Robby swallowed hard.

"You wouldn't ask what she's done to deserve it. You wouldn't ask what she contributes. You wouldn't ask whether she's useful."

The tears spilled down his face because he knew exactly where she was going, and he knew she was right.

"She matters because she's here." Her voice broke. "That's it." The baby stretched one tiny hand out from the blanket. "That's enough."

Robby stared at her for a long time. Then slowly, painfully, he lowered his head. And for the first time all night, she thought he might finally understand that she wasn't fighting for the doctor. Or the chief. Or the man everybody depended on. She was fighting for him.

"And if that's still too hard, then do it for us. Do it for the life we're trying to build. Do it for the future you keep pretending doesn't exist. Do it because I want you here for all of it."

For a long moment Robby didn't say anything. He simply stood there staring at the baby, tears slipping quietly down his face. When he finally looked back at her, he looked absolutely wrecked, but for the first time all night there was something else there too.

The little girl stretched one hand free from the blanket again, her tiny fingers opening and closing in the air as though she were reaching for something she couldn't yet name. Robby stared at her. The tears hadn't stopped. They moved silently down his face now, gathering along his jaw before disappearing into the collar of his scrub top, and he seemed completely unaware of them. She didn't reach for him this time. She had spent the entire day reaching for him. She had spent months reaching for him. Instead she stood beside him and watched as something shifted behind his eyes. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't sudden. It looked more like recognition than revelation, as though he had finally stumbled across something that had been sitting in front of him all along.

"She doesn't even know what's happening," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving the baby.

She looked down at the little girl curled beneath the blanket. "No."

Robby swallowed hard. "She doesn't know she's alone."

The words settled heavily in the space between them. She felt them immediately because she knew he wasn't really talking about the baby. Not entirely. The little girl's hand opened again and, after a moment's hesitation, Robby offered her his finger. Her tiny fist wrapped around it without effort. The reaction on his face was so small most people would have missed it. His mouth tightened. His eyes closed briefly. A fresh tear escaped before he opened them again. It looked like the expression of someone who had spent years carrying a wound he had convinced himself no longer hurt only to discover it was still there.

"She'll never remember this," he whispered.

"Maybe."

He shook his head. "No. She won't. She's too little."

The baby shifted closer to the warmth of his hand in her sleep. For a long moment he simply watched her. The NICU hummed softly around them, machines tracing quiet rhythms through the darkness while the rest of the hospital felt impossibly far away. Eventually he let out a small laugh. It wasn't amusement. It sounded exhausted. Worn thin. The kind of laugh that slipped out when someone no longer had the energy to pretend they were fine.

"I got abandoned too, when I was eight." Her chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.

Robby stared at the baby for another moment before carefully sliding one arm beneath her tiny body and lifting her from the bassinet. The little girl barely stirred as he settled her against his chest. She fit there so naturally it was difficult to look away. One hand supported the back of her head while the other adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. His movements were instinctive. Gentle. The same hands that had spent years holding together a trauma department now cradled a sleeping infant like she was the most fragile thing in the world.

"But I got through all of that, and so will you."

His voice cracked on the last word. The baby remained asleep against him, her cheek pressed against his chest, completely unaware that she had somehow become the center of the most important conversation he'd had in months. She watched him carefully. Watched the way he looked at the little girl as though he could somehow see two people at once. The abandoned infant in his arms and the abandoned child he had once been himself.

"You got so many wonderful things to see and so many people to love ahead of you." Another tear slipped down his face. This time he didn't bother blinking it away. His thumb moved slowly across the baby's back beneath the blanket. "I got a good feeling you're going to be just fine." The words came out rough and uneven. Not because he believed them completely, but because he wanted to. "Everything's going to be just fine."

For the first time all night she heard something in his voice that hadn't been there before. It wasn't certainty. It wasn't peace. It wasn't even confidence. It was hope. Small and fragile and terrified, but hope all the same. The little girl made a sleepy sound and nestled closer against him. Robby's eyes closed briefly before he pressed his cheek against the top of her knit cap.

"You're not alone." The tears finally burned in her own eyes again because she understood exactly what she was witnessing. He wasn't talking to the baby anymore. He was talking to the frightened eight-year-old boy who had been left behind. He was talking to the exhausted doctor who didn't know who he was outside the hospital. He was talking to the man who had spent months quietly wondering if everyone he loved would be better off without him. "You're OK."

The words came out almost soundlessly. For several seconds neither of them moved. The baby slept peacefully against his chest while the quiet of the NICU wrapped around them. When Robby finally lifted his head and looked at her, something inside her chest cracked open. His eyes were red. So were hers. Neither of them spoke because there was nothing left to say. They had already had every argument. They had already said all the terrible things born from fear and exhaustion and love. They had spent the entire day circling the same wound from different directions. Now all that remained was the truth of it.

Robby's gaze lingered on her face. He took in the tears she hadn't managed to wipe away, the exhaustion etched beneath her eyes, the strain of a day that had nearly broken both of them. For a moment he simply looked at her, and she realized with a sudden ache that he wasn't looking at her like someone he needed to protect from himself anymore. He wasn't looking at her like a burden he was trying to spare. He was looking at her like the woman he loved. Without saying a word, he shifted the baby slightly higher against his chest and reached for her. She stepped into him immediately.

The movement felt instinctive. Necessary. His free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close until she was tucked securely against his side. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant between them, and felt him tighten his hold as though he couldn't bear to let either of them go. For the first time all day he stopped trying to carry everything alone. One arm held the tiny girl sleeping peacefully against his chest. The other held the woman who had spent the entire day refusing to leave him behind. Standing there in the soft glow of the NICU, surrounded by quiet monitors and sleeping babies, she felt him lean into her just slightly, and that tiny movement carried more meaning than any promise ever could. Because for the first time all day, Robby wasn't imagining how everyone would survive without him. He was holding on to every reason he had to stay.

Tag list:  @isitlonely-blog @abzidabzy @mynameisbaby9 @azrael1537 @gaypoetsblog @grahamsgirlxx @captainchrisstan @foolishseven @blahbluhblah06 @eugene-emt-roe @matisse556 @karlawithacapitalk @rexit-mo @reidsscarf @thriving-n-jiving @kyl-mac @imonmykneessir @bunny-bun @jazzerbelle14 @drrobbyenthusiast @nikfigueiredo @anykent-grayson @paulamontra @iridescentanachronism @diasnohibng @generation-zero @b1u3c10ud @sarahhxx03 @tedmustache @glitterspark @boscogirlsworld @misshoneypaper @kishie8 @onlyheretowastetime @alliegc28

[agnireed]

A GOOD MAN

PAIRING ➩ sammy bryant x reader

WC ➩ 12k

SUMMARY ➩ moving in with your older sister tammi, you develop an odd fixation on her husband

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ for my sammy lovers! also note that sammy does say no or things like “we can’t” multiple times but he’s a willing participant (just a guilty one) NOT PROOFREAD

Your sister was the absolute last resort when you suddenly needed somewhere to stay.

The college housing situation you last minute arranged had fallen through, your parents sold your childhood home randomly in the fall to travel after retirement, and most of your friends were already triple bunking up with eachother by the time you started to get desperate.

You and Tammi couldn’t be more different and after a childhood full of arguing, hair pulling, and tense silences whenever you were in a room together, you pretty much resorted to only speaking on holidays.

Tammi thought you were boring and afraid of change, she’d go on and on about you wasting your youth and having no ‘shine.’ You thought, to put it frankly, she was an imbecile. You couldn’t stand her immaturity and lack of structure that left you often feeling like the older sister despite before over ten years her junior.

It didn’t help her case that she had an absolute bore of a husband.

Sammy was nice enough in the handful of conversations you’d had with him during visits back home, Tammi somewhere off demanding things of your parents or complaining about the niche aspects of holiday decorations.

He’d make awkward small talk with you while holding a beer that was growing warmer and warmer the longer he nursed it, asking you how school was going and scratching the back of his neck when you gave a dry response.

The most interesting thing about him was the one time you’d walked in on him smoking weed in the garage, his eyes widening as he hurriedly waved the smoke away from his face and told you it wasn’t what it looked like.

You’d told him you weren’t stupid and asked him for a hit, hand already extended with the same bored look on your face as always.

You both never talked about it and you wished you could have said you were surprised when a few years later he was suddenly in the police force but it seemed like a very obvious thing to do for a man as boring as Sammy Bryant.

Now that you were staying with the not so happy couple, he actually provided a good amount of entertainment even though it was a bit hard to watch.

They’d fight over just about everything, from dinner sides to him coming home a few hours late and being too exhausted to help out around the house. He’d get the same embarrassed look on his face everytime he saw you watching them curiously, either because he was the one stuck married to her or because he felt guilty your stay was a far shot from peaceful.

You weren’t sure when your small fascination with him started.

Sammy was of course easy on the eyes, especially when he would come home after a long day with his hair curlier than usual from exertion and his hands tugging at his tie and shirt buttons. You hadn’t ever missed the fact he was attractive but it seemed a lot more apparent now that you were seeing him more than annual visits.

And he was gentle, one of the sweeter men you had met in your lifetime. He was endlessly patient with Tammi even when she was acting in a way that would drive any normal person insane, devoted to his job and the troubled youth he encountered, and even warm to Richter who had his own share of canine problems.

You found him fascinating when he’d come home in the middle of dinner and greet her with a stiff kiss, starting to talk about his day with enthusiasm and then trailing off unfinished when he noticed she wasn’t paying attention.

Sometimes he’d catch your eye and you’d give him a sorry glance but most nights he silently finished his meal while staring at his plate.

Currently you’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen for a few minutes, watching the muscles in his tense back as he scrubbed the dishes and occasionally muttered under his breath.

Him and Tammi had fought again, one of the screaming matches that seemed a bit heavier than the usual bickering.

“I’ve got it.” He jolted a little at the sound of your voice barely audible over the running water, stopping his movements and glancing over at you. “Seriously, you must be exhausted. I’ll finish up.”

He hesitated like he wanted to protest but the fatigue was obvious on his face, only having had walked through the door less than half an hour ago. Dinner had ended abruptly with Tammi in a fit of tears as she screamed about her broken camera and he screamed back about her getting a real job instead of spending all of his money.

You weren’t sure if he had even eaten anything before he was shoving his chair back and aggressively clearing the plates.

“You sure?” He sighed it out and ran a hand over his face, looking a lot less angry now as he slowly gained that familiar embarrassed look.

You gave him a reassuring nod and gestured for him to leave the kitchen, your eyes staying locked together in a silent exchange for a few seconds before he was pursing his lips and doing exactly that.

It became a bit of a routine after that, the two of you cleaning up together after dinner. Most of the time it was quiet between you but occasionally you talked about his day or rambled about your part time job downtown and the variety of ridiculous customers.

Tammi didn’t seem to notice the small bond forming between you considering she most likely wasn’t even aware you had a dishwasher in the house. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen her clean a single thing despite her messy tendencies.

However she did apparently notice your choice of wardrobe now that the summer weather had kicked into high gear.

“It’s a pair of shorts Tammi.” Your voice was detached and unbothered as you fiddled with Richters collar, attaching the leash to the metal ring and ignoring your sister as she scoffed.

“Barely. My husband lives here too you know.” She spat back in that shrill voice of hers and now you fixed your gaze on her with a sharp glare.

“He’s not even home and it’s almost 100 degrees outside, what the hell do you expect me to wear?” Your voice was louder now as you moved towards the door, a typical sister argument if it wasn’t for the slight truth behind her annoyance.

Despite your denial, you did find yourself dressing a bit more provocative when you knew Sammy would be around.

Maybe it was a bit cruel of you but you liked how awkward he got when you walked past him in a tight tank top without a bra underneath, or bent down to unplug the vacuum in a tiny pair of sleep shorts. His gaze was always on the ceiling when you checked his reaction, neck a little flushed as he cleared his throat and made some excuse to leave the room.

You saw the way he kissed your sister good night, both of them stiff and without any type of chemistry or heat. They barely touched and looked almost disgusted when they had to be in close proximity, no noises from their bedroom at night that would indicate either of them having a good time.

Sammy looked more heated when you were simply doing laundry together.

You didn’t blame him even though you could tell he blamed himself, an almost pained look on his face whenever you gave him a flirty smile or giggled a little too girlishly. He wasn’t the type of man to let his eyes wander in a marriage, even one as unhappy as his was.

It didn’t help that you were his wife’s younger sister, much younger.

You were storming out of the house as Tammi continued to try and lecture you about your clothing, lightly tugged along by an excited Richter. He pulled a little harder than normal when he spotted the car in the driveway, Sammy getting out right as you were passing by.

“Hey.” He greeted gently, approaching just enough to bend down and pet Richter on the head. His eyes slowly drifted up to your face, not before trailing over your bare legs and thighs. “You guys heading out?”

“Your wife is driving us both insane.” You said flatly and he laughed a little, shaking his head in disagreement. Sammy was never one to talk down on your sister, even after a huge blowout argument he still would try and convince you she just was having a hard time lately. “How was your day?”

He kissed his teeth at the question, eyes drifting off as he squinted against the bright sun. “Could’ve been better.”

You nodded sympathetically and gestured back towards the house with a thumb over your shoulder.

“Good luck in there then.” You said softly, half joking but genuinely feeling a little guilty knowing your sister was already in a terrible mood.

He clenched his jaw a little like he was just as aware as you were that a fight would unfold in no time, nodding his head in parting as he disappeared inside.

You took your time walking Richter around the neighborhood in circles, hoping that Tammi would be in bed avoiding household chores by the time you got back there. Both because you couldn’t take anymore bitching from her and because you were selfishly hoping to catch Sammy alone.

Fate was clearly not on your side because you walked back in to a rare sight, the two of them curled up on the couch beside each other as they watched a movie.

You could remember being in high school and seeing them like this, sitting together by a Christmas tree or kissing happily on Thanksgiving. There’d been no sign of it since you moved in and you felt a little surprised at the pure bitterness you felt in your stomach, a little rough as you tossed Richters leash on top of the shoe rack and shooed him away.

Tammi complained when you purposefully passed by them, blocking the TV momentarily with an emotionless look on your face.

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so bad.

Sure you thought Sammy was attractive and you liked getting under his skin, the complimentary nature of his stuttering when you blinked up at him or took a deep breath if you brushed by him closely. It was flattering and an ego boost for him to so obviously struggle around you but that shouldn’t leave you feel so sick at the sight of him resting his head on your sister’s shoulder.

His wife’s shoulder.

Your movements were a little rougher than necessary as you cleaned up the kitchen and you didn’t hear his footsteps over the clanking of the plates.

You stiffened when he was suddenly next to you, unbuttoning the wrist of his sleeves so he could roll them up to his elbows and help you wash up. He was silent for the first few minutes and then he cleared his throat, your eyes going to the side of his face.

“She feels bad that you fought.” He muttered and you glanced back at the living room, unable to see your sister sitting on the couch now and assuming she had retreated back to their room.

“Bet she does.” Your voice was cold and sarcastic which made him sigh in that disappointed paternal way that apparently made you shiver. “Did she tell you what it was about?”

You’d stopped with the dishes now to fully face him and he was putting a noticeable amount of effort into avoiding looking at you, letting you know she had in fact told him before he even hummed in confirmation. You scoffed bitterly and nodded slowly in disbelief at how obvious it was that she had said something to him about your clothing.

“Really Sammy? You’re not even going to look at me now?” Your voice dropped into a low whisper that made you feel like you had done something wrong.

Your intentions may had been a little misguided but you’d never actually crossed any type of line. His gaze and your subtle flirting could easily pass as just being friendly and a little awkward, you’d never done something as simple as felt his skin against yours before even in an accidental graze.

You’d never once actually flirted with him or said something that could have a hidden innuendo. The tension was simple enough it could have been entirely in your head even though you started to doubt that when he finally looked at you, clearly a little conflicted.

“Maybe you could just throw a shirt on sometimes.” He said it so softly that you almost felt bad, a little awkward stammer stunting a few words from leaving his mouth.

“It’s not my fault if you look at my tits Sammy.” Your words were harsher than you meant them to be and definitely a little counterproductive towards your possible end goal of actually catching his attention but you could practically hear your sister’s voice in his suggestion.

You were nearly certain she had whined and complained to him about you and how uncomfortable it was making her, begging him to talk to you and put up some boundaries.

He fully flushed at the statement and his eyebrows furrowed, taking an instinctive step back and resting a hand on the counter as he stared at you.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He practically whispered and now it was your turn to sigh.

“Do you even care about how unfair this is?” You took a step closer to him under the guise of keeping the conversation private and he stared down at you with a level of knowing that almost made you embarrassed by how obvious you apparently were. “Isn’t this my house too?”

He said your name so softly that you felt a little dizzy, a little hot all over from him scolding you for some reason.

“You know how she gets.” He whispers like it’s a secret the two of you share and now you’re frowning, hating most of all when he tries to defend her to you like you don’t know her better than anyone for the worst reasons.

“Yeah she’s ridiculous, borderline crazy.” You say back and it’s a little less quiet which makes him send a panicked look towards the hallway that leads to their room. “She treats both of us like shit Sammy.”

“She’s go-“ He starts and stops the second you send him a sharp look, not needing to hear the same spiel about her and the hard times she’s apparently going through for the dozenth time this week.

He huffs out a defeated breath but thankfully doesn’t try to continue and make excuses for her that you both don’t actually believe. It’s followed by a moment of tense silence before you turn and head down to the guest room, feeling so bothered by your first slight argument that your chest burns.

Sammy doesn’t bring it up again even though Tammi clearly gets more and more annoyed by you, not just the fact that your clothes have since gotten shorter and tighter since the fight but now she’s started to nitpick just about everything she could think of.

Going for long walks with Richter just didn’t cut it for you anymore which is exactly how you found yourself sitting at the counter of some random dive bar you’d pass on your way back from work.

It wasn’t that late yet so there was only a dozen or so people sat with drinks, either having been there for most the day already or just getting off a shift and seeking solace the same way you were.

You felt almost like life was playing a cruel trick on you when the door opened behind you and a loud group came in, already a bit annoyed at the volume before you glanced over and saw the familiar uniforms now standing next to you.

There was a group of about six officers, most of them rowdy and shoving at eachother with overlapping jabs you couldn’t make out under the layers.

And in the middle of them was Sammy.

He was currently being nudged at by one of the guys who was clearly mocking him about something, a boyish grin on his face as he waved the man away playfully. He looked different like this, so much lighter than he seemed at dinner or after an argument with Tammi.

You weren’t sure if it was the feeling of your gaze on him or just natural instinct to scan his surroundings but his eyes were landing on you and the smile on his face was gone, replaced with a sort of deer in headlights look that almost made you laugh.

It took about four seconds for the others to notice where his attention had gone to and it clearly peaked their interest, seeing an opportunity to make the situation completely humiliating for him.

“Sammy.” You couldn’t stop yourself from saying his name in a light greeting, tipping the top of your beer bottle at him and slightly angling your body in his direction.

“Why aren’t you at home?” His response didn’t help his case at all with the other officers, curious smirks on their faces as one grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him lightly.

The question was a bit nonsensical considering it wasn’t that late at night yet but the area you were in definitely wasn’t the safest and you’d never really been the type to go out, typically heading back home as soon as you were done with work or class.

“You didn’t tell us your wife was a total smoke show Bryant.” The guy behind him was loud and obnoxious but you smiled at the comment, fully turned in their direction now with your back leaned against the bar top.

He was either new or didn’t know Sammy very well considering he’d definitely brought Tammi around before but you figured her appearances probably dwindled in recent years once their marriage got rocky.

“She’s Tammi’s sister.” He mumbled but it was barely registered by the others who were going between snickering at his awkwardness and trailing their eyes up and down your frame.

“Ah younger model.” One of the others snickered and Sammy tensed completely now, jaw tensing when you audibly laughed.

“New and improved.” You were clearly laying it on thick, twirling your hair with your finger and arching your back in a way that practically shoved your tiny tank top covered chest in their direction. Your tone was flirtatious and far more seductive than necessary, maybe not noticeable to the rowdy officers but definitely to Sammy who had never heard you like that.

He was moving faster than you could process it, gripping your forearm and lightly tugging you off the stool as you made a sound of protest.

“Let’s go.” He gruffed and you had no choice but to follow after him, the whistles and hoots of his coworkers getting more and more distant behind you.

You yanked your arm away from him as soon as you were outside, feeling a burning sensation where he had been touching you.

“What the hell is your problem?” You hissed and he spun around to face you, expression just as irritated as it was when he fought with your sister which left a weird feeling in your gut.

“Why are you saying shit like that?” He spat back and your eyebrows furrowed, not buying that he was really that upset about your slight dig towards Tammi.

You were quiet as you contemplated the real reason he might be this agitated by the brief interaction, taking a few steps forward that made him clench his jaw and gulp as that familiar nervousness started to replace his anger.

“Don’t be like that Sammy.” You said it softly, that tone of voice you used when you were trying to fluster him. It was already effective enough in the kitchen doing dishes but even more deadly now, standing outside a bar in that outfit. “Are you mad they can look and you can’t?”

He didn’t reply, his eyes locked on your face intensely like he was physically restraining himself from letting his gaze wander, and you knew you had gotten it right.

“I won’t tell her.” You say quietly now and shift even closer, a bit distracted by the rare sight of him in full uniform and the way the shirt stretches around his biceps.

“Come on.” He says and it sounds exhausted, taking a few steps away. “Get in the car.”

You sigh but follow him without any resistance, disappointment that your first actually incriminating line hadn’t gotten much reaction from him. His lack of reaction was a win within itself though considering how pained he looked from trying to keep himself in check.

He drove in silence back to the house, parking in front of it when you arrived instead of in the driveway. You could see all the lights turned off except for their bedroom, blinds completely drawn where Tammi was undoubtedly obsessively editing her photos or searching for new camera equipment she’d force him to buy.

“I have to go back to the station for some paperwork.” He mumbled in explanation for the distant parking and you stared at him for a second.

He was keeping his gaze focused on the wheel in front of him, only glancing over when he felt your eyes on him. It was almost instinctually, the way it dipped down to your chest before flickering back up to your face with pure guilt.

You wanted to laugh but you almost felt pity for him and his inability to keep anything hidden.

“Sammy.” Your voice was half pleading and half tempting, your body shifting until you were facing him fully. “Go ahead and look.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours for a few breaths, clearly conflicted with himself. You felt a wave of heat at how obvious he was with his desire, regardless if it had anything to do with you or just the fact you were a young and attractive body in front of him when he was so obviously starved of intimacy.

Then he was finally caving and staring down at your chest, covered by the tank top mostly but still a noticeable amount of cleavage and smooth bare skin for him to gawk at.

You didn’t want to lose his attention now that you finally had it and you weren’t really thinking straight when you reached up to your shoulders to pull the straps down, ignoring the way he said your name in warning and tugging the tank top so it bunched up at your ribs.

He inhaled sharply at the sight of you in your bra, eyes darting all around your torso for a second like he couldn’t decide if he should still look or find something else to focus on.

His hands were twitching in his lap, curling into a fist and balling up the fabric of his pants.

“More?” You asked softly and now you were toying with the final straps on your shoulders, eyes curious as you obsessed over watching him and his reactions. He was almost embarrassing to observe, so clearly overwhelmed and torn by the sight of you.

You smiled when his head was nodding eagerly after a moment of contemplation, maybe too desperate to think straight or just having realized you’d already crossed a line.

Sammy wasn’t going to touch you, you knew that for a fact, atleast not yet. But he clearly had given up on pretending he didn’t want to look at you.

Your hands were steady unlike his still fidgeting anxiously, undoing your bra with an easy motion before you were taking it off completely and letting it rest on the middle console. His eyes went to it briefly, almost touching his forearm, before they were immediately locked back on your now bare chest.

You stared at him as his breath hitched.

He almost looked like he was going to cry when you were letting your palms glide over your ribs, teasing your skin until he seemed like he was going to lose his mind before you were cupping your breast and pushing them together.

“Do you like that?” You whispered softly and the sound of your voice, flirty and coaxing seemed to almost break him.

He groaned audibly and ran a shaky hand over his face, slapping it against the top of the steering wheel after as he adjusted his posture before looking back at you closely.

“Yeah.” He croaked it out with noticeable effort and you hoped the satisfaction you felt wasn’t as obvious on your face, practically beaming at the admission. “Keep going.”

You hummed in response and did exactly as he said, rubbing and groping your own chest as you stared at him closely. He seemed almost transfixed by the sight of it, your soft flesh being pushed and pulled by your hands and your hard nipples peeking through your fingers.

“Wish you’d touch me Sammy.” Your voice was definitely breathier now as you felt a familiar stirring in your gut from your own stimulation, a low groan leaving him when your words registered. “You don’t have to say anything. Just watch me touch myself.”

He stayed silent like you expected, clearly having decided that speaking to you would only make this situation worse than it was, but he kept his gaze locked on you and the way you were playing with your nipples and skin.

This went on for a few tension filled minutes before his radio was crackling to life with some combination of words you couldn’t register. You frowned as he noticeably stiffened and finally looked away from you, taking a deep calming breath.

“Please go inside.” He whispered, back to pointedly staring at the steering wheel and avoiding the sight of you. “Please.”

It was nearly begging and you had a feeling if you pushed just a bit further he would fold, halfway considering it before you were nodding and grabbing your bra off of the middle console.

Sammy was pulling off with a squeal as soon as you were at the front door, having waited and watched until you were off the sidewalk.

—

He practically acted like you didn’t exist after the encounter, no longer helping you with dishes or lingering around after dinner to have small talk with you about his day.

You’d expected it but it still stung the same.

He hadn’t taken advantage of you, if anything it was the opposite, but you still felt almost sick with shame and rejection. It drove you nearly insane to see him with Tammi now that you knew what it felt like to be under his wanting gaze, an obsession of sorts brewing dangerously under your surface as you went about your days like nothing had happened.

You waited to try your luck again until one of the rare days Sammy was home and your sister wasn’t. She had mentioned to you this morning that she had a dinner with a ‘model’ before talking your ear off about the photoshoot subject but you’d stopped listening as soon as she said she’d be gone for a few hours.

Sammy was somewhere in the living room when you had gone into the shower, making it one of your shortest of all time. You stayed in there just long enough to let the room get steamed up, your wet hair sticking to your shoulders and your bare skinned adorned with nothing but a small towel and water droplets.

You waited for a second after shutting off the shower head, listening closely to see if you could hear him in the living room. You smiled when you heard him clearing his throat and muttering something to Richter.

“Sammy?” You called out in an exaggerated helpless tone. You repeated it louder a few times until the sound of his quick footsteps coming down the hallway and you grin with excitement.

“You okay?” He asked softly, first half of the question muffled behind the door and the second clearer as you swung it open.

His gaze immediately raked over your towel covered frame, the bottom of it barely covering the swell of tour ass. He had a knowing look on his face when his eyes finally met yours again, worsening when you gave him a sweet smile.

“My clothes were too close to the shower and got wet.” You frowned at him in an exaggerated manner and he sighed loudly, glancing behind you to see the piles of clothes that looked suspiciously dry. “It’s too cold to walk all the way to my room like this, could you grab me something to wear?”

He said your name slowly in warning, fingers tapping against the wooden doorframe like he was considering calling you out on how obvious you were currently being. But Sammy was too sweet to do such a thing and you knew it, using his kindness as a clear weakness.

“Please Sammy.” Your pout was even more pronounced and you leaned in close enough for him to inhale sharply, leaning back immediately until he was nodding and heading down the hallway. “Thank you.”

He ignored your call after him and you waited patiently for him to return, leaning against the doorway in the tiny towel and trying to ignore the slight shiver that ran over you for the sake of your plan.

He came back with a stern look like he had mentally prepared himself to be unaffected by you and pushed a handful of clothes in your direction. You took it and laughed after a quick glance over.

“No underwear?” Your head cocked and his face fell, genuinely having forgotten in his determination to do anything but think about your drawer full of lacy panties. “That’s okay.”

There was no hesitance to the way you dropped the towel, letting it pool in a ball at your feet. His shoulders deflated and he instinctively stared at your chest before drifting down the smooth plane of your stomach and finally between your thighs.

He couldn’t see much considering you were both standing close enough together that he’d have to very intentionally strain his neck downwards to really look but you were fully naked in front of him and that fact was enough to make his head spin.

It was only a few seconds of bare skin before you were pulling the shirt he had grabbed over your head but it was long enough for the image to burn in his mind.

“More comfortable this way anyways.” You said softly as you smiled up at him and brushed past, letting your chest rub against his arm as you went to your room.

—

It turned out that driving Sammy Bryant to insanity was a highly entertaining hobby to have developed. He was so easy to fluster even after seeing all of you that day in the bathroom, still getting all red in the face whenever you got too close or touched his hand while passing salt at dinner.

Tammi had been relatively calm lately, the fights she picked daily consisting more of brief bickering than actual screaming matches. You figured it had something to do with that so called model she had dinner with the other night but that was also keeping her out of the house more often so you weren’t going to mention it.

You liked being alone with Sammy and for more reasons than your own selfish teasing. It gave you a genuine warmth to cook dinner for him, cleaning up side by side and sometimes watching movies when he could stomach being around you for long periods of time.

He would never sit next to you of course, maintaining a respectful distance and excusing himself awkwardly to bed the second you said something flirty or a romcom got too steamy.

Sammy Bryant was sadly a good guy.

So you really were left with no choice but to cross the line for him, knowing he’d never do it himself.

You’d been watching a movie silently like you were so often these days when you grew too impatient to continue trying to toe that stupid fucking line with him. You stood up and went to block his view of the TV, his gaze questioning and then panicked when you climbed into his lap.

“What are you doing?” He halfway gasped out and you kneaded your hands into his shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb Sammy.” You sigh softly as you settle onto him, knees on both sides of his thighs as you straddle his lap. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“We can’t do this.” He rushes out but he makes no move to remove you, maybe too scared to touch you at all.

You frown and lean forward so your chests are pressing together before placing a light kiss on his jaw. He practically melts right away, unsurprisingly easy despite how much he was pretending to not want you the same way you wanted him.

Your mouth is hot and wet on his skin and only gets more feverish when he’s finally letting his big hands rest on you, one on the small of your back and the other tangling in your hair like he’s preparing to stop you if you go too far.

“Does that feel good Sammy?” You whisper against his neck and he makes a sound from deep in his chest. You suck on his jaw lightly and his hands clench on you, eyes closing at the sensation. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out in agreement, a desperate pant as he nods. “Please.”

Your mouth is on his as soon as the word leaves him and it’s messy right from the start, moving together roughly as he slightly sits up off the couch to press into you. It’s depraved and dirty, the tension boiling over into a crash of teeth knocking and tongues colliding desperately. Sammy kisses you like he’d been thinking of it for far longer than you might have realized and you return it tenfold, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He hums and grabs your jaw to keep you steady as you lick into each other’s mouths, tilting your head just enough to allow him to get deeper as he eagerly tastes you. You hadn’t expected him to be this dirty considering how stale every interaction with Tammi seemed.

You’re desperate to get your shirt off and he waste no time, caught up in the heat of what’s happening and both of you dazed from how fast things escalated. His hand is roughly cupping one of your breast and he’s bringing his hot mouth down to it, wrapped around your hard nipple as you whine loudly and grab his hair.

“Oh fuck Sammy.” You gasp, back arching to push yourself further into him as he feverishly licks and sucks your heated skin. “There we go baby, I knew you wanted me like this.”

“Stop talking.” He grunts as he comes up for air just long enough to pull you into another bruising kiss, tongues immediately tangling again.

You’re rocking in his lap now and he’s groaning so much he can barely keep up with your mouth, more so just you licking into him while he completely loses control of himself now that he’s finally allowed himself to have you.

“Oh my god.” He grunts out, clearly pained from the desire filling him, his eyes lock down on his lap where you’re currently rolling your hips against the obvious tent in his pants. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Letting yourself have what you want for once.” You’re whispering in his ear as you rock against him, panting slightly into his neck as you cling to his shoulders. He groans and lets his hands grip your hips roughly to help you move.

“Oh god.” He nearly whimpers as you speed up, getting sloppy and desperate as his own hips leave the couch to try and thrust up against you. You gasp at the feeling and nod to encourage him to continue.

“Fuck Sammy.” You whine and he grips you harder at the sound. “Wish you could fuck me like this, I’d ride you right now.”

“N-no.” He groans and you’re suddenly very aware of the cold metal band around his finger digging into your skin. “We can’t.”

“But I’m so tight.” You tease, going back to kissing him between panted temptations while what you actually mean is heard silently by both of you, tighter than Tammi, better than Tammi. “I’d make you feel so good.”

He curses under his breath as he bucks up to meet your pace again and you nearly collapse against his chest as you fall silent and let yourself atleast enjoy the feeling of humping against him like this.

You’re both losing it, whining and groaning as you make out sloppily and his hands rub up and down your bare back, occasionally snaking to the front to desperately grab at your chest and any part of your body he can touch.

“Oh my god.” He grunts out and you know exactly what the pained sound means, encouraging him with kisses to the neck and a nod of your head.

“There we go Sammy, come on baby please.” You gasp as you keep moving on top of him, the heat filling you almost making you dizzy as you exert yourself to please him. “Want you to cum for me.”

He’s gripping you so hard it’s painful as he rushes forward to kiss you again and shut you up, both of you moaning and panting into each others mouths as he finishes in his pants, still thrusting up against you until your whines get high pitched and you’re following right after him.

There’s a moment of softness after it’s over where you relax against his chest and continue to kiss each other, less heated now but still deep and passionate as you taste him eagerly.

It’s almost sweet, his hands much gentler now as he rubs your back and yours hold his face softly.

You kiss for a long time and your heart senses the end before it actually happens, just a split second of hesitance from him making your chest tighten up. He pulls away and his face is full of guilt, nearing so close to disgusted that you almost want to cry even though you know it’s not directed towards you.

He’s fully hating himself for what happened because Sammy is a good man. So good that it’s hard to blame him when he’s gently pushing you off of his lap and onto the couch before he’s standing up and retreating back to his room.

—

He’s flat out avoiding you now and not even bothering to hide it.

His hours at work nearly double and suddenly he’s always too tired to eat dinner with you and your sister or not feeling good, a headache or a back ache or anything that warrants him getting to hide out in their room as much as possible.

Tammi rants to you one of the nights he doesn’t come home until far past normal, telling you how she thinks he’s depressed and that he needs a creative outlet or a hobby.

You want to tell her that she’s an idiot and that if he was depressed he’d need real help and not a fucking paintbrush, but you settle for humming in vague acknowledgement.

You’re only half paying attention when she mentions the fact they’re trying for a baby, head snapping up to stare at where she’s currently sitting at the table and scrolling on her laptop.

“What?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it too and she narrows her eyes at you. “A baby? I mean… are you sure that’s a good idea Tammi?”

You tell yourself you’d have the same reaction regardless of what happened between you and Sammy, the knowledge of your sister being a terrible candidate for a mother existing long before you even took a second look at him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked just as tensely, another sister disagreement already building at the mere suggestion you disagree with her.

“You just said Sammy might be depressed.” You reason even though it doesn’t even feel right to say.

Sammy would be an amazing father regardless of how he was feeling emotionally, you could just tell by how patient and gentle he was with just about everything and everyone around him. Including you before you’d pushed him too far, holding out for much longer than anyone else might have with your advances.

And even now he still wasn’t cruel to you although the distance was worse in your opinion.

“It was his idea.” She shrugs as she says it like it doesn’t send a pang directly to your heart.

It takes all of your effort to not show how affected you are on your face.

Sammy can’t avoid you when he comes home, you made sure of it. Tammi had fallen asleep hours ago and Richter was resting in his kennel, dishes done and house spotless without a single excuse for him to ignore you standing in the kitchen.

He’d have to really be an asshole and purposefully walk right pass you when you’re so clearly waiting for him and it’s just not in his nature so he slows down with a sigh, lingering there as he waits for you to or do whatever thing you’ve decided on torturing him with today.

“You’re having a baby?” Your voice is quiet and sounds more hurt than you expected it to, a little too accusatory. It was meant to be a question but the delivery barely landed and his eyebrows furrowed immediately.

“What?” He surprisingly takes a few steps closer in confusion, setting down his jacket on the chair. “What are you talking about? Did Tammi say that?”

You sigh and shake your head, realizing how what you said could be misunderstood as a very poor announcement of something he wasn’t supposed to know.

“No I just meant.. she said you were trying.” You try and explain but it comes out awkward and a little lost.

He takes a long pause as he just looks at you and you hate that it’s the first time he’s really paying attention to you in days and it’s with so much pity. The pity is ten times worse than any anger or distaste he might be able to muster.

“We talked about it yeah. Months ago, before you even moved in.” His voice is soft and reassuring even though you both know that it makes no sense in this scenario. He doesn’t owe you anything, not an explanation and certainly not loyalty.

You nod but your lips are pursed tightly and you feel a weird scratching feeling in your throat, suddenly very aware of the fact you want to cry.

You have no idea when your twisted attraction for Sammy turned into something else entirely. It had been a fun game for you to occupy yourself with while you were stuck in a suburban hell but somewhere along the ride you had gotten lost in the domestic nights you shared.

“Hey.” And then there was that, the sweetness of his voice as he moved closer to you.

It was rare he ever initiated contact, barely staying in a room with you lately, but his caring nature clearly made him drop some of his walls because he was cupping your cheek gently.

“Don’t do that please. I don’t want you to be upset.” He’s still whispering but it feels incredibly invasion, like he’d seen right through you far easier than you preferred.

You weren’t sure what drove you to it but you almost couldn’t help yourself, leaning forward on your tiptoes and pressing your lips against his.

He kissed you back immediately almost out of instinct after last time before he was sighing and pushing you back lightly, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“We can’t.” He said sternly but his hand was still on your face, thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. “You know we can’t.”

It would have hurt more if it wasn’t for the expression he had as he stared down at you, gentle and so clearly wanting. You nodded in reluctant understanding but he was surprising you again when he made a low noise and dipped his head to kiss you again, clearly pushing past the mental block he was facing.

You eagerly kissed him back, similar to the last one you had shared full of sweetness and undeniable passion.

Your mouths moved together perfectly, chemistry obvious between you as your tongues tangled in sync and you halfway deflated in relief at the ever growing familiar taste of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles against your mouth and you try to quiet him with more kisses, a few being allowed before he’s continuing to speak. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you Sammy.” You attempt to reassure even though you know it most likely falls on deaf ears. “It’s okay to want something.”

“Not this.” He immediately disagrees but still pecks your mouth a few more times, the final time being a long press. “I can’t want this.”

You’re both silent for a second as you frown softly, your hands on his biceps as you rub softly.

“But you do?” It’s more vulnerable than you mean for it to be but now you’re plagued with the thoughts of him and Tammi having a baby, sealing their lives together forever and shifting his priorities and attention far away from you and whatever this was.

You needed to hear him say, not just assume from the desperate longing look in his eyes whenever he glanced at you.

“Yeah.” He whispered the confirmation down at you with little to no hesitance and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding so deeply. “I want you.”

Sammy only had a few more seconds to spare before Tammi’s voice was coming down the hallway, questioning and beckoning him to bed while your stomach clenched painfully. He glanced down at your lips again like he was considering kissing you goodnight before he seemingly decided against it, giving you a pitying look before he was leaving.

—

He stopped ignoring you after that but you had decided that was almost worse.

You craved him all the time and it was a little less embarrassing now that he was hiding his own wants less. His hands were constantly finding you when Tammi wasn’t paying attention, grazing the small of your back or tucking your hair behind your ears with an overwhelming gentleness.

And then there was the kissing.

It happened less often than you would have liked but still almost every time he could, initiating most of the time. You’d be doing the laundry and suddenly pressed against the machine with his mouth on yours or getting a quick stolen peck when he passed by you in the living room before going to work.

You could almost pretend that he was your husband instead of your sisters.

You had the same domestic fantasy when you were walking into the police station, Richter in front of you slightly pulling you along as you tried to reel him in to the best of your ability. He was excited for the same reasons you were, spotting Sammy at his desk and nearly yanking your arm off.

“Hey you guys.” Sammy’s voice was soft when he spotted you both, rolling his chair slightly away from the desk so he could greet Richter with some playful pets. His eyes went to you next and you were glad to see him smiling, halfway worried he was going to be upset you showed up unannounced. “You okay?”

“Ask him.” You smiled back and gestured down towards the excited dog, pulling out the small baggie you’d been stashing when Sammy raised his eyebrows in question. “He found this on our walk, almost tripped me in the process of getting it out of a bush.”

You’re holding the plastic with your fingertips to avoid touching it too much and Sammy laughs in slight disbelief at the baggie filled with white powder, nodding his head slowly with a low whistle.

“I figured I should bring it to you instead of throwing it away at the park.” You continued to explain and he was standing now, pulling a plastic glove out of one of his drawers and taking it from you.

“You figured right, thank you sweetheart.” He said lightly and you both tensed up at the pet name, definitely accidental judging by the embarrassed look on his face.

You blinked at him for an awkward second before clearing your throat and glancing around the station.

“You have a second?”

His eyes darkened just enough for it to be noticeable before he was nodding and gesturing for you to follow him. You left Richter behind with some of the officers who had been fawning over him since he walked in.

Sammy was on you practically as soon as you turned a corner into a quiet hallway, mouth pressed against yours as you giggled softly into the kiss.

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?” You asked him softly, your hands flat on his chest and rubbing softly while his went to the small of your back. He ignored you for a second in favor of kissing you again before he was huffing out a breath and nodding, taking your hand in his and leading you further down.

It was a small room with a few printers that looked old or broken, some leaning shelves full of stacks of paper and a noticeable lack of windows.

You kissed him desperately now that you were free to, hand holding his jaw as he guided you back against the door with his own grip on your waist. His mouth was hot and desperate on yours in a way that made your stomach clench with anticipation after waiting for him to want you like this for so long.

“Been thinking about you all day.” He confessed against your lips and you beamed up at him, letting the hand that was on his face move up to his hair.

“Yeah?” You whispered softly as pecked his jaw which drew a low hum out of him. “What about?”

You were kissing again like that was an answer within itself, his tongue slipping into your mouth and sending waves of warmth through your body. You matched it eagerly, tangling them together and using your free hand to try and tug his tie off.

He made another sound, this one of disapproval and grabbed your wrist lightly to stop you as he sighed and pulled away from your mouth. You frowned but were slightly satiated when he rested his head on your shoulder like he was physically exhausted from denying you.

It was quiet for a minute or two and you wondered if he was coming to a similar realization to that one you’d recently accepted.

This was more than lust and stupidly now.

Your hands were gently rubbing him, in his curls and across his back while his grip flexed on your hips. You could hear the sounds of other officers and detectives outside the door, a whole life he lived and belonged in while you were guided to the storage closet.

“You called me sweetheart.” You said softly just to break the silence, not even realizing the pet name he had accidentally used earlier had stuck in your head until you spoke.

His head lifted off your shoulder so his eyes could be locked on yours, they were so ridiculously fond and gentle it made you a little dizzy, a big change from the nervous and guarded look he had a few weeks ago.

“Yeah it just came out.” He spoke quietly, leaning forward as he did so you felt his breath on your lips before he was kissing you again. “Is that okay? Is it something you like?”

“Yes.” You breathed back immediately, deepening the frustratingly slow kisses for a few seconds before pulling back again. “I like it a lot.”

Sammy wasn’t shy with the pet names after that, using them almost constantly now that he knew you liked them. He used them so habitually that you felt a little anxious anytime Tammi was in the room and he was speaking to you, wondering when the time would come that he slipped up out of instinct.

Things were good between you for weeks even though there was the selfish part of you that was always wanting more and more. He still had that same guilt in his eyes, especially when you got a little more heated than just kissing in passing.

But he wasn’t denying himself of you any more and you were completely greedy.

You felt no shame about what you were doing, it didn’t keep you up at night thinking about how you were betraying your sister. That’s where you and him were different, where he was a good man still despite the growing affair.

The need for more was never satisfied just by kissing him, even if it was the type of kissing that left you with shaky legs and damp underwear. He’d let you say filthy things to him, running his hands all over your body and being a little too nervous to talk dirty back to you. You liked the redness of his neck when you whispered sweet sins to him

He even pushed aside his shame to let you blow him in the front of his patrol car, stopping by on a lunch break when you texted him that you had a terrible shift.

He’d looked so concerned when you pulled up that you almost felt bad for the hunger that hit you seeing him in uniform. He had barely gotten down the street before you were leaning over the middle console and gently kissing at his neck, trying his best to ignore you before he was turning into an empty parking lot.

It was the same as always with your mouths hot on each other, tongues tangling and him tugging you out of your seat until you were sitting on his lap and whining against his lips.

You could feel him getting hard under you and you were so desperate you could barely breathe, mouth watering as you begged him to at least let you see it, even let you just jerk him off before he went back to work.

“No baby no.” He had protested against your mouth even though he was visibly shuddering at the suggestions and groaning everytime you shifted your hips ontop of him. It didn’t take long before he was gently moving you back over and letting you take his belt off.

Things got much harder for you after that, getting to see his length and taste him on your tongue and down your throat without having him completely. It was driving you genuinely insane enough to the point you would have jumped his bones right in front of Tammi.

He was currently making it much worse by walking in the kitchen with the tired look on his face you liked so much and his big hands tugging off his tie.

“Is she asleep?” His voice is low and you nod, lip pulled between your teeth as you rest your back on the kitchen sink drawers and watch him approach you slowly. Your hands are behind you and curling around the edge of the counter with anticipation. “Hey baby.”

It’s soft, far softer than the things you’re currently imagining and you lean closer to him when he presses against you and cups your face to give you a greeting kiss.

Like you’re his wife.

“How was your day?” You hum back, more than happy to play the part.

“Long.” He says back and you can feel the words vibrating your mouth, answering him and his stressed out tone with a deeper kiss.

He doesn’t hesitate before reciprocating it, hand leaving your face in favor of spanning across your lower back and tugging you closer. Your head tilts naturally to allow the kiss to escalate even more and you almost feel guilty for the depraved things you’re thinking about.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He mumbles against your lips and you pout a little at the gentle question, not knowing how exactly he could tell your mind was occupied.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You say back and he gives you a slightly firm look, clearly not buying your answer. You sigh and peck his lips before taking a second to consider how you want to word it. “You’re being mean to me.”

He fondly laughs a little in surprise at your statement, rubbing your back softly as you blink up at him. Your hands go to his loose tie to help remove it fully, working on the top few buttons next.

“I’m not being mean.” He denies with amusement, eyeing you as you maneuver with his clothes. You don’t stop at the top three buttons and his eyebrows raises. “I give you what you want.”

“Not everything.” You disagree easily and he knows what you’re talking about, he must know by now what you really need so desperately from him.

“It’s hard baby.” He whispers and kisses you again like it’ll soothe you enough for you to drop it. You don’t at all, the opposite in fact when you let your palm leave his shirt and go down to the minimal space between your bodies to tug at his belt buckle.

You’re not trying to undo it but simply pulling him forward and indicating what you really are wanting.

“You know we shouldn’t.” He sighs in a whisper but he looks conflicted and still a little fond of you and your antics, no matter how whiny.

“Can I at least blow you again?” You pout up at him like it’s such a simple request and his breath catches in his throat. “I did so good, didn’t I?”

“Of course you did sweetheart.” He agrees easily, bending down to kiss you again and softly tucking your hair behind your ears. He’s so sweet that it makes you a little angry, wishing so bad he’d just take what you knew he wanted from you. “You’re always so good for me.”

You’ve gotten halfway down his shirt now with the buttons before you stop, leaning forward to press your lips against his chest briefly before you’re blinking up at him again. A warmth fills you at the praise even though you’re well aware of how good you make him feel.

“Say it.” You whisper and he knows exactly what you mean, the same phrase you’d requested from him numerous times by now with no shame. His head tilts as he sighs, wanting to tell you no but knowing by the look on your face it’s a terrible idea.

“You’re better than her.” He says back, barely audible but still sincere. He’s looks a little pained to say it but it makes you breathe out in relief and nod your head in quick agreement. “You make me feel so good babygirl.”

Your mouths are pressed back together and it’s filthy immediately now, tongues tangling and his hands moving off your back and down to knead your ass under the small skirt you’re wearing.

It’s heating up quickly again, getting dizzier and dizzier the longer it goes on.

He’s groaning loudly at one point and pulling away from the kiss to roughly turn you around. You gasp at the movement and the way he crowds up behind you, his chest pressed against your back as you halfway bend over the counter.

You whimper loudly when you feel how hard he is against your ass and bend over even more so you can rub yourself back on him. He groans and immediately goes to roughly grab your hip with one hand, the other one smoothing over your cheek before he’s pressing a finger into your mouth. You suck happily on it as he experimentally ruts his hips forward.

“Gotta be quiet princess.” He urges as he slips another finger in and you moan obediently around them, arching your back as he rubs himself against you and fills your mouth.

Your tongue is eagerly licking all over his fingers as you suck desperately and he is clearly affected considering the way he’s humping you a bit desperately. His soft noises are driving you crazy and so is the mental image of how the two of you look, his big frame leaning over you and trapping you against the counter just to dry hump you like a teenager.

“God you feel so good.” He grunts and you audibly whine, eyes closing in bliss as you try your best to push backwards and meet his grinding. “You’re so pretty sweetheart.”

“I need you.” You’d grabbed his wrist to take his saliva covered fingers out, kissing against them as you speak through near sobs. “Please Sammy I can’t do this anymore.”

“Let me taste you first.” He says in the lowest voice you’d ever heard him speak in. You shake your head in protest immediately but he ignores you, free hand coming down to slightly lift your skirt and rub across the wet slit of fabric between your legs. “Fuck baby you’re soaked.”

“N-no more waiting.” You nearly sob as you continue to shake your head to really sell your point. “I need it so bad.”

It’s silent for a few seconds like he’s trying one last time to search for the self restraint to hold back but it’s clear what you want and you know he needs it just as bad as you do. You’d let him get between your legs with that tongue of his another time, any time he wanted, but right now you were desperate to be filled by him.

Sammy has you pressed against the kitchen counter tighter, your stomach digging into the top of it now as he bends you back over fully and roughly tugs the skirt up so it’s sitting in a messy pile around your hips.

He doesn’t bother taking it off, pulling your panties down your legs and grunting when he sees you all exposed for the first time.

“Do you want me to stretch you out?” He asks it lowly and the sound of his voice is nearly enough for you as is, a high pitched whine leaving you as you lay your face down on the counter and close your eyes. “Want me to take my time with you?”

“No no.” You pant out immediately and arch backwards again, knowing how depraved the sight of you must look. You feel his thumb rubbing through your soaking wet slit experimentally, a low sound from his chest coming from behind you.

The metal clasps of his belt being undone comes next and now you really feel like you’re about to cry, straining your neck to try and look over your shoulder to get another look at the thick length you’d be obsessing over since he was pushing it down your throat not too long ago.

He stopped you with a slightly rough hand to the back of your head, pushing your face back down against the cold counter just as he shifted even closer and rubbed up against you.

You could feel him now, bare and aching against your core as he teased it up and down softly. You knew you must have been soaking him from how wet you were, no doubt his intention to make the stretch easier for you.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks from behind you and now the low rasp is gone again, sounding more like his typical nervous cadence that you’re so fond of. “We can’t go back from this.”

“Don’t want to go back.” You say immediately and you’re shocked by how much you don’t recognize your own voice layered in this much desperation. “Want you to fuck me.”

He chuckles a little at the unashamed answer you give and bends down to press a gentle kiss to the side of your temple, your heart racing at the gesture even though you’re a bit distracted by less domestic fantasies. His weight leaning against your back almost makes you want him that much more and you impatiently rock your hips backwards against him.

He stills you with rough hands on your bare hips before he’s sucking in a shaky breath, the life changing feeling of the throbbing blunt head of his length pressing against you making you whine out desperately in anticipation.

“This what you wanted huh?” He groans as he pushes into you slowly and you whine happily, face flat on the counter as your eyes close from the pain of the stretch. “Wanted to be fucked like a whore baby?”

“Yes yes.” You cry in agreement as you clench around him, barely past the tip and already feeling like he’s filling you. “I’m a whore Sammy, wanted you so bad.”

His hand lands roughly on the exposed skin of your ass and you yelp, instinctively trying to move back away from the pain and instead taking a few more inches of him all at once. Your pained gasp is followed by a moan and he curses behind you.

“Slow babygirl slow.” He grunts, that softer side of him you like so much still showing despite his need having caused him to get rougher initially. “Don’t wanna hurt you princess.”

“Could never hurt me.” You gasp as you try and move further back against him, he grips your hips roughly to stop you and you whine in protest. “Please Sammy please, want you to fuck me.”

“I’m gonna fuck you baby.” He soothes the best he can but you’re too desperate to focus on what he’s saying. “You’re just so tight.”

You try your best to be patient but it’s nearly impossible, whining and squirming nonstop as he rubs your clit with his thumb and kisses against the back of your neck to try his best to get you to relax so he doesn’t stretch you uncomfortably. You’re glad he didn’t work you open first with his fingers, the pain so good you let the tears in your eyes fall endlessly.

Finally he’s bottoming out inside of you and groaning lowly, his forehead resting on your back for a second as he tries to collect himself enough to properly fuck you.

“Sammy please baby.” You gasp in a sob and you feel him tense up at the wrecked sound of your voice. “Fuck me hard.”

That seems to be the trigger that he needs to go from a soft conflicted husband to somebody fucking a tight young thing, a low grunt leaving him as he stands back up fully and grabs your sides.

Sammy is almost animalistic as he thrusts into you, kitchen full of his grunts and your high pitched whines as he fills you over and over again. The stretch is the perfect blend of pain and pleasure and you can barely catch your breath from his relentless place.

Your stomach is digging against the counter roughly and you’re barely able to catch your breath or think as he roughly fucks into you, filled up so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

“Oh my god oh my god.” You’re sobbing as he fucks you and his big hand comes forward to cover your mouth roughly, slightly lifting you off the counter to make sure you’re kept quiet.

“Gotta shut the fuck up if you want to be fucked baby.” He says it softly in your ear but it’s completely filthy and a big change from how gentle he normally is when he speaks to you. You’re most definitely crossed eyed by now from pleasure as you dumbly nod and listen to your muffled moan under his palm. “Fuck you feel so good. Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

It’s completely filthy and all you could have imagined for when he finally lost control, ramming into you over and over as he continues to speak the dirty confessions in your ear. Your stomach clenches dangerously early as he tells you how good and pretty you are, how he wants to fuck you everyday, how hard you get him just from a kiss.

“S-Sammy oh my god.” You sob out as he lifts you further off the counter, one of his rough hands smoothing over the front of your stomach and pushing down at the soft skin there like he’s trying to feel himself deep inside of you.

“I know princess I know.” He practically coos, kissing your neck sweetly while he continues to fuck you like an animal. “Does it feel too good baby? You like getting stretched like this by me?”

You can’t even bring yourself to respond, the filth coming from him and the feeling of him inside of you completely taking away your ability to think or communicate. You’re just whining and sobbing softly as he gropes you all over and brings you the type of pleasure you didn’t even know was real.

He falls silent too and you can tell by the stutter of his hips every few thrust that he’s getting close too, grunts getting lower and more desperate as he kisses against your skin.

“Want you to cum inside.” You beg him once you finally manage to get your voice back, high pitched and breathy. “Please Sammy please I want your baby.”

He curses audibly at that, a little too loud for the otherwise quiet kitchen and then you’re slammed back against the counter and fully bent over again as he speeds back up.

You’re finishing as soon as you’re back in the position and he’s able to get as deep as you imagine possible, a loud cry leaving you that is only halfway silenced as he remembers to clap a hand over your mouth too late. You can’t be bothered to care about that right now considering he’s filling you up only a few seconds after, groaning lowly while his hips stutter through his climaxed.

You’re both silent for a few seconds after, panting and catching your breath as you lay against the counter with shaky legs and he practically drapes himself over your back again.

A beat passes before he’s standing with a tired sigh and rubbing your back softly as he pulls out. You squirm uncomfortable at both the emptiness and the ache from the pace he’d been going, his hand still massaging you lightly as he shushes you gently and leans over to the sink to wet a washcloth.

It’s cold as he cleans between your legs quietly and presses light kisses to your body the entire time.

“Are you okay?” He asks you gently as he adjusts your skirt and helps you stand up, turning you around and making a surprised noise when you’re throwing your arms around his neck for a tight hug.

His hands rest on the small of your back as you hug, rocking back and forth with you for a minute or two. You pull back and help him with his belt, his eyes locked on your satisfied but tired face fondly as you close it for him so sweetly with your little shaky hands.

You finally kiss him once you’re done and it’s sweet again now, like you’re two people genuinely in love and not in laws who just railed each other a few rooms over from your sister and his wife.

“I’m perfect.”

[k1arabug]

sammy bryant do u wanna feel the back of my throat

bf!sammy pulls you over :p

a/n: ik he’s a detective in seasons 1-3, but i want him chubby and pulling me over and i want to jork it

you texted sammy on your drive home from work, the usual flirty little message that always gets him going, “missed you today officer, been thinking about that uniform all shift”. and sure enough, not even ten minutes later you spot the familiar flash of lights behind you on the quiet backroad.

he pulls up close, that big squad car rolling to a stop, and you can already see him stepping out with that slow, deliberate stride, belt creaking a little under the weight of his gear. sammy bryant still looks every bit the divorced dad who finally stopped pretending to be something he wasnt after tammi left. his shirt is tucked in but the fabric strains over his soft middle, that sweet tummy hanging just a little over his pants like it always does, making you bite your lip the second he leans down to your window.

"evenin ma’am," he drawls, voice low and warm, that southern sweetness dripping through even when he’s playing the part. "you were goin a bit fast back there. license and registration?"

you give him your best wide-eyed look, already unbuckling and shifting in your seat. "officer bryant please… i can’t afford another ticket. i’ll do anything, just don’t write me up."

his eyebrows lift, but there’s that little smirk tugging at his mouth, the one that says he’s already half-hard just from the game. he glances up and down the empty road, then back at you. "anything huh? step out the vehicle for me sweetheart."

you do, heart racing as he guides you toward the back of his squad car with a big warm hand on your lower back. the door opens and he hesitates for just a second, rubbing the back of his neck.

"baby… we really doin this right here? in the car? i’m still on shift technically, feel kinda exposed," he mutters, cheeks a little flushed as he tugs at his shirt self-consciously.

you turn into him, pressing your body close, sliding your hands up that soft belly and under the uniform shirt. "please sammy… i want you so bad. nobody’s out here, it’s just us. i’ll be quick and quiet, i promise.”

he groans softly, sweet and unsure, but you can feel him caving already. "you’re trouble… alright, get in the back. but you gotta be good for me okay?”

the two of you climb into the backseat, doors shutting with a heavy click. he sits first, legs spread as much as the cramped space allows, and you’re already climbing into his lap, pushing his shirt up so you can see that soft hanging tummy you love so much. his cock is thick and flushed, already out after you tugged his zipper down, heavy against his thigh.

"easy baby, easy," he murmurs, hands settling on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles as you sink down onto him. "that’s it… just like that. feel how full you are? breathe through it for me."

you whimper as he stretches you open, his belly warm and plush against your front while you start to ride him slow and deep. sammy’s head falls back against the seat, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you in so he can kiss your throat.

"look at you… takin me so pretty in my own squad car. you’re squeezin me so tight sweetheart, fuck… keep goin just like that. nice and steady." his voice is all honey and gravel, sweet as ever even while his free hand grips your ass, helping guide your movements. "you feel incredible. always do. my good girl… my favorite little secret."

you rock harder, the car rocking just slightly with every roll of your hips, and he lets out a low chuckle mixed with a groan. "shhh, baby. you said you’d be quiet… but damn you’re ridin me so good i almost don’t care if someone hears."

his tummy presses warm and soft between you with every downward thrust, and he keeps talking you through it the whole time, sweet praises, little instructions, checking in like he always does.

"you close? yeah? c’mon then… let go for me. i got you. always got you."

you come hard around him, clenching tight, and sammy follows right after with a deep, shaky groan, arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his soft middle while he fills you up.

afterwards he just strokes your back, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, voice all warm and satisfied. "you’re gonna be the death of me one day.”

[j4ck4bbot]

18+ MDNI! cw: cheating

sammy bryant who gets sooo excited when his badge bunny calls him daddy for the first time. it happens one hot summer night after he leaves tammi.

sure, he feels a little stupid. his wife's shacking up with another man in his house while sammy's spending his nights with a girl who's practically his groupie, but none of that seems to matter when he's on top of you, buried balls deep.

sammy's not used to hearing dirty talk during sex with tammi, but with you? the filth pours from your lips effortlessly, and he's addicted. the moment the new title leaves your mouth, he stills, his mind already fried with pleasure trying to process it.

"you— what— what'd you just say to me?" he asks through needy pants, sweat droplets falling from his face and onto yours. "did you just call me daddy?"

his chubby cheeks stretch into a boyish grin. he can't stop himself from smiling as he starts to thrust a little faster, his damp, sticky tummy and thighs smacking into you. he's gonna blow so fast. "oh, baby, say it again."

[j4ck4bbot]

I’m loving all of your badge bunny content holy shit. Need to know how bad he bunny relationship would evolve after sammy actually leaves his wife

MWAH MWAH MWAH THANK YOU INKY im loving everyone else's takes too!!!! like this is true community fr.... i put out a horny thought into the universe (tumblr) and get rewarded in fics

18+ MDNI!

okay i was thinking abt how badge bunny and sammy's relationship is mostly abt her providing him with pleasure right? but when he leaves tammi and it starts to get really serious between them, sammy wants to turn the tables. badge bunny gets a little freaked out, she's not used to being taken care of like that :( sammy's just confused, he's used to seeing his baby all bold and forward...

badge bunny getting eaten out by sammy for the first time... he gets one lick in before he sits up, breathing heavily, his lidded eyes fixed on her cunt.

she starts getting worried, shifting and trying to close her thighs like "... u dont like it. i taste bad. im sorry—" and sammy's like "babe what the fuck are you sayin'? stop it." whole time he's literally just astral projecting trying not to blow his load. so silly

[sugartalkingwrites]

18+ MDNI

thinking heavily about sammy bryant x curvy f!reader.

self projection is happening here pay no mind

sammy loved your figure. he loved to bury his face between your thighs, have them wrapped around his head, pushing him near suffocation. he got so hard seeing you in fitted clothes around the house. every dip, curve, dimple of skin he could see, he wanted to kiss and worship. he praised your body endlessly, even when you couldn't see what he saw. you constantly would avoid wearing overly tight dresses that showed your stomach, but when you took sammy shopping with you, it was all over. the first time you drop by the station because you and sammy were supposed to go on a date after work. looking beautiful as ever in a cherry-red dress, shorter than you were normally comfortable with. sammy had begged, pleaded on his knees so sweetly when you tried it on the store the week before to just let him buy it for you. rambling on about how you'd be an evil woman to deny him the sight of his girl's thick thighs and ass in a little number like that.

you couldn't deny him further when he had given you those puppy dog eyes and was trying to coax you with kisses up the expanse of your chest and neck, grabby hands squeezing all over, leaving you so flustered you agreed. when date night came around, you felt like indulging him. the stretchy material slid over you, snug and fit like a glove around your chest. the deep v accentuating your breasts with a dainty little necklace to accentuate the décolletage. the dress was so short that if you bent forward just the tiniest bit, your ass was all anyone was gonna see. pushing down the fears or judgements anyone would give you about wearing such a dress. truthfully, if you had been a smaller figure, no one would bat an eye, but that wasn't the double standard you were going to live by.

every officer who walked by while you were waiting for sammy eyed you up and down like a dog seeing a juicy treat. a part of you felt like just going home and changing, but the other part was growing even more excited to see sammy's reaction. you were in the middle of talking to cooper, back turned to the entrance, when the wolf whistle came in. the sight that came from the officer in front of you indicated it was not from the company you were hoping for. dewey's grating voice sounded throughout the station as you turned.

"cooper, man, i thought you played for the other team? surely this hot piece of ass ain't yours." dewey was sizing you up, eyes dragging from your legs to where your arms are crossed on your chest pushing your boobs up further to the snarling look on your face.

cooper was going to respond but sammy was already hot on dewey's heels walking in with sherman who's shaking his head lauging. sammy smacks dewey on the back of the head.

"i'll have you know that 'hot piece of ass' is my girl, dumbfuck dewey," sammy's grabbing your waist plannting a kiss and muttering a 'hi baby, you look so fucking good'. he was already stiffening just at the sight of you in this dress. "now, find your manners and apologize."

dewey holding the back of his head mumbling a half ass apology as he walks off. sammy is turning back to you.

"i was gonna pick you up after work, baby, you didn't have to come down here," he stands back taking every inch of you in, you can't help the small girlish giggle escape when he's got heart eyes looking you up and down. "fuck, let me go shower and change out of uniform real quick and then we can go. fuck, sweetheart, i'm already getting hard just looking at you like this."

your face and chest burn with heat as the blood rushes through your body, making you feel like you're standing on the sun as he looks at you so lovesick.

"sammy, i think were gonna have to reschedule this date. come on, i want you to take me over the hood of your patrol car, now." your pulling him out of the station by his hand as he helplessly falls after you.

you never make it to the date, but quickly learn what sammy is like when he's got his sweet girl with her wrists cuffed behind her, dress bunced up over your hips and taking his cock in the back seat of his car.

[rabbotheart]

Insecure Sammy who gets teased a lot by the guys for getting no play. Then one day you call him and he gets all blushy and happy, practically cooing at you over the phone. Then all the guys are mocking him, saying he’s probably talking to his mom, that if that even is his woman, she’s probably blind or a troll or both.

You get pissed on his behalf and doll yourself up the next day, making sure to wear something extra slutty when you take him his lunch, sitting on his lap for a bit in the bullpen, fiddling with his hair as you ask him about his day so far, making sure your hips sway as you walk out so they can see exactly what kind of girl Sammy pulled

[homesickly]

Lunch Date ?

Sammy Bryant x fem!reader

˚⟡˖ ࣪WC: 1k

˚⟡˖ ࣪Warnings: fluff

You and Sammy had been dating for three months now. The relationship was still relatively new and not yet serious, but you knew he was someone you saw a future with. You knew that he had a previous failed marriage. Tammi, his ex wife and baby momma had cheated on him. It was something he divulged to you on your first date, saying that his life is a little messy, and his job was even messier. He figured you would run, but his toothy smile and awkward demeanor won you over, and you've liked (loved but he didn't know it yet) him since. 

Today was your day off, so you wanted to bring him lunch while he was stuck at the office doing paper work the majority of the day. You gave him a call on your bedazzled pink flip phone to ask if he preferred to have rice or quinoa as a side. He didn’t respond. This was odd because he always answered the phone on the first ring, sometimes he would sound out of breath or anxious when he answered “Yes, baby?” into his blackberry. 

You figured it was because of his previous relationship, having to deal with someone who constantly complained and made everything his problem as well as the people around her. You tried to give Tammi the benefit of the doubt and tried not to harbor any negative feelings toward because whatever happened between them wasn’t your business. But sometimes, you couldn’t help the sharp spike of anger when you see bits of her left behind in Sammy’s behavior towards you. You loved Sammy and couldn't imagine treating him like a roommate and wallet then as a boyfriend and hopefully husband one day. 

That being said, when he didn’t answer his phone, you assumed he was in a meeting, so you chose quinoa for his side and continued backing his food. When you finished your task you called him again and to no avail, got his voice mail. You figured he was interviewing someone or still in a meeting. You called the station to see if he was in, and the sweet recipes said that he was scheduled for his lunch break in an hour. You decided to stop by a local bakery in inglewood to bring the department cookies. You figured Sammy would be stressed and feeding the department would likely get them off his back. 

A part of you was excited at the idea of giving Sammy a cookie. He always insisted he was trying to lose weight or he didn’t need it. But you knew he had a sweet tooth, and you adored the way his tummy was starting to fill out his button down shirts. You chuckled at the idea of fattening him up for winter, something he insisted you were doing when you always had baked goods, and home cooked meals waiting for him whenever he came to your place after work and you were off.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

You practically skipped into the station, in your juicy track pants and little tank top, holding your and Sammy’s lunches in one hand, and a big box of cookies in another. You knew you drew looks from other people. It has been happening your entire life. So it was nothing when the entire precinct turned to stare at you when you set the cookies in the break room and bounded toward Sammy at his desk. You were a little hyper, but to be fair you did just finish an iced coffee and Sammy woke up too late to tire you out this morning. 

“Sammy! Hi!” you walked up to him and gave him a glittery and glossy kiss on his cheek. 

Sammy tensed. You pulled away immediately and composed yourself. 

“I brought you lunch and the department cookies. Hope that’s okay.” You said sheepishly, now embarrassed at your enthusiasm. 

“No! Thank you so much, baby I just thought you were angry so it took me by surprise, that’s all.” he said when he noticed your shoulders droop and your sparkly lip gloss turned into a frown. 

“Why would I come in angry?” 

“Because I didn’t answer your calls.” 

“Well yeah, but I can’t expect you to answer all the time. I mean you're at work for christsake!” You giggled with a playful roll of your eyes.   

The truth was, when Sammy got out of his meetings and saw that he had missed your calls, he felt sick to his stomach. If he ever did that with Tammi, she would banish him to the couch for the rest of the week, even if it was unintentional. His relationship with you was so new, he thought that he had scared you away or you would be angry with him. He nervously expected you to bring him lunch and his coworkers cookies. 

You seemed to realize his train of thought immediately and your eyes softened. 

“Hey, I would never get mad at you for things you can’t control, okay?” 

“I guess I’m still learning that, after everything..” He trailed off, but that was okay, because you knew. 

With a smile, you guided him to sit in his chair while you leaned on his desk, unpaking the feast you brought for him. 

“Baby, you gotta stop bringing me so much food or I’ll never lose weight.” He said, shaking his head. 

“Honestly, I’d prefer you with a little bit more.” You said with a wink. You knew his BMI was proportional and it would likely not benefit him to lose weight, and you loved his soft and comforting tummy. It gives you cuteness aggression just thinking about it. You scrunched up your nose at the thought. 

After you both finished your meals, you shared a cookie (The last one as the department were vultures). 

“Ugh, baby these cookies are fantastic” Sammy said with an exaggerated moan. 

“Better than sex?” you asked cheekily. 

“Not with you.” Sammy immediately responded with a flushed expression. You burst into laughter. 

With a kiss, you departed from the station. But not before Sammy pulled you back into his arms by your wrist and leaned into your ear to whisper,

“You’re gonna get it so good tonight, babygirl.”

[nightpitt]

thinking about chubby! sammy bryant making out and fucking you after you two had been fighting all day.

MDNI - 18+

CONTENTS: sammy bryant x f! reader, daddy kink, hot make out sesh

you loved seeing him all pent up and angry. he would walk past you coming home, not even paying attention to you in your new expensive lingerie that he bought, the whole reason for this fight.

you weren’t allowed to swipe his credit card unless he approved.

“just gonna ignore me now?” you spat, your heels clicking behind as you followed him.

“i’m mad,” he said as he loosened his tie while opening the fridge, tugging the cap off his beer.

he made his way to the couch, flicking on the tv to some sports game that was playing. you sat next to him, your stockings hugging your thighs, your panties feeling all tight on your mound.

you draped your arm across the back of the couch, toying with his short curls. he sat stoic, not reacting to any of his touches, however, his cock was tight against his slacks.

“baby, c’mon,” you begged. “it looks so good on me, right?”

you stood up in front of him, blocking the tv. “i mean look at how it hugs my ass? it’s so cute and pretty! all for you!”

“that i bought, without you asking.” he said as he leaned to view the screen behind you.

you cuddled into his lap, your thighs brushing his as you straddled his hips. you laced your arms across the back of his head, you took your hand and palmed at his jaw, bringing his gaze to meet yours.

“c’mon, daddy,” you whined. “admit i look pretty in this.”

he started unbuttoning his shirt with his one hand as the other pulled your hips further into him. “f- baby, okay,” he whimpered as he kissed you. “can’t take this anymore.”

your hot mouth kissed him back, chewing at his bottom lip. you grounded your center to his chubby bulge. his plush tummy kissing your pubic bone.

“am i pretty, daddy?” you moaned as he placed kisses along your pulse point.

“yes, baby,” he whispered. “m’sorry for being so mean, daddy didn’t mean it.”

“s’okay,” you hushed as you drug your nails down his bare plump chest. “i love you, daddy.”

“daddy loves you too,” sammy rasped. “now let me make it up to you, make you feel good.”

[nowimconvinced]

18+ or dni

Sammy's Heaven and Hell

Officer Sammy Bryant

Contains: wanting sister-in-law, m masturbation semi-public m masturbation, fingering, f and m orgasm, p in v, build up in tension, jealousy, tammi mention so cheating but she's kinda mean, pregnancy mention, police mention, creampie

Author's Note: thank you for the great request @hatosypascalbaby!! I hope you like it <33

🩷

Sammy was officially in hell.

You were sat on the sofa, chatting and laughing with Tammi, excitedly telling her a story about college. You used your hands as you spoke, your smile infectious, despite telling her how you were just kicked out of college.

He could never see anyone struggle, and it was just a few weeks. Of course he'd offered for you to crash there. You were family... and another pair of hands to wrestle Richter in line.

Sammy had such a huge heart. You were crashing on the couch, your bags spread around you. You were wearing vans sneakers, a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top due to the LA heat. Sunglasses perched on your head, perfume wafting over as you laughed.

Sammy watched you both intently. He hadn't seen you since their wedding, you were a bridesmaid and, despite only being 5 years younger than Tammi, had looked considerably younger then. Pre-college. Excited to be an adult. But now...

But if he was such a good guy, he thought guiltily, then why did he feel his cock twitching when you moved beneath your crop top? He tried not to notice how you clearly weren't wearing a bra, how your nipples were starting to stand to attention as they brushed against the material.

His gaze flicked to Tammi, who clearly hadn't noticed. Sammy bit his lip and looked at the ceiling. What the fuck, he thought. That's your sister in law.

Just a few more weeks...

-- 🩷 --

Sammy had gotten up to use the toilet. Already, your things were spread along the shelf, and the steam in the bathroom smelled like your shampoo. Sammy tried not to take a deep breath or think about you in the shower. He tiptoed through into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

There you were. You had the lightest sheet they had covering you due to the heat. Your damp hair surrounded your head like a halo. Richter lay loyally at your side along the floor, whose eyes tracked his movements but didn't lift his head up. Sammy had tried to stay quiet but now he was frozen to the spot.

You made a soft noise in your sleep, something between a little moan and a contented sigh. Sammy wondered what you were dreaming about, as a big smile spread across your face, then realised he was staring. He turned and ran the tap as quietly as he could.

'Tammi?'' Your little voice, thick with sleep, called out.

'Um, no, sweetheart,' Sammy turned slowly, 'just me. Sorry to wake you.' A slow, guilty heat rushed to his face, even though he knew you were completely unaware of his gawking.

'Oh, sorry,' you smile, yawning and stretching your arms together above your head. Jesus christ.

'Did you, er- d'ya need something?' Sammy asked, clearing his throat.

'Oh no, I'm perfect,' you smiled. Yes you are, Sammy thought.

'Good. You, um... know where I am if you ne-need me.'

You nodded and lay back down on your side. 'Night, Sammy.' The sheet was half falling off your side, the oversized tee barely covering your thigh. If he was to move just slightly to the right, he would be able to see up it.

Before he could follow through with that thought, he quickly left the room. Climbing into bed next to Tammi, she pulled Sammy's arm around her waist and up to touch her chest.

'Unfhhh, you're half-hard for me already,' she whispered. 'I've been taking my prenatal vitamins.' Tammi tugged on his arm to pull Sammy up and on top of her. He bit his lip as she started touching him, trying desperately not to think of you two rooms away.

-- 🩷 --

You were making pancakes for everyone, a first day thank you for letting you stay. Sammy could hear yours and Tammi's voices, laughing in the kitchen as he wrestled with his tie. He hadn't heard Tammi so giddy in months. Richter flopped down in the bedroom, grumbling, pulling a flash of red between his paws. Sammy dived down to take whatever it was off him before he could chew it to bits. Richter whined as it left his grasp. Sammy looked at his fist and realised what it was. Your silky underwear, some sort of lacey see-through French knicker. He looked down in confusion at the panties which were not his wife's. It was crumpled, and Sammy realised Richter had stolen it from the bathroom after you'd showered last night. Your used panties. Jesus Christ.

As he stared at the scrap of fabric in his hand, he heard footsteps outside the bedroom. Panicking, he stuffed it into his suit pants pocket and began walking out of the room. Sammy almost collided with you. 'Morning!' Your smile was wide and genuine. 'I made pancakes!'

'Thank you,' Sammy replied, throat suddenly thick like molasses. You didn't seem to notice, your eyes dropping to his throat. 'Oh, let me!' Before he could protest, you were reaching up on your tiptoes and easing the tie from his grasp. Sammy felt your fingers brush against his, and he pulled them away as fast as possible. Your face was close to his, and he could smell your perfume and the shampoo in your hair. Sammy tried not to look at you as you worked his tie. Every time you touched his neck, it felt electric; burning hot lightning brushing against his skin. You were concentrating and seemed completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Sammy curled his toes within his suit shoes as he desperately fought to keep his face neutral. Sammy's neck was sensitive, so sensitive, and it was like you knew. He felt his cock twitch against his leg, all flustered. Sammy tried to think of boring things, gruesome crime scenes. 'There,' you smiled, 'come on.' Your red underwear burned a hole in his pocket, just a thin strip of fabric separating your panties from his boxers.

-- 🩷 --

'Quickie before work?' Nate asked, grinning smugly.

'No thanks, I'm not that hard done by,' Sammy replied, as he jumped into the passenger seat.

'One - I'm way out of your league,' Nate raised his eyebrows, 'and two, I meant these.' Nate held up the red slip of fabric between his fingers, which had slipped out of Sammy's pocket into the footwell as he jumped in. 'Jesus Christ,' Sammy's face flushed bright red.

'Still trying then?' Nate asked, pulling down the street. 'What?' Sammy replied. 'With Tammi?' Nate shook his head, amused. 'Yeah, I mean, yeah... still trying.' As Nate drove further down the street, Sammy wound down his window and threw the panties out into the street. 'Well, that was normal.' Nate snorted.

-- 🩷 --

As Sammy unlocked the door and walked into the living room, he came in to see you sat on the sofa, straddling a man. Your back was too him, those tiny shorts riding up so he had a full view of your ass. Large hands were splayed round your waist as you kissed your visitor, who was pulling you slowly against his pelvis. He heard you moan.

Sammy coughed loudly and you jumped a mile into the air. 'Sammy, you're home,' you blustered, smoothing down your hair. 'This is my boyfriend, Josh.'

Josh looked like the sporty frat type, younger than Sammy with defined muscles and messy blonde hair. It was hard not to notice his bulge beneath gray sweatpants. Josh grinned at Sammy smugly, tipping his head back in acknowledgement. ''Sup.'

'Yeah, 'sup,' Sammy shook his head for half a second before moving into the kitchen. You followed him. 'Sammy, I'm so sorry, that was really disrespectful.'

Sammy carried on walking, trying not to picture what he'd just seen. ''sfine,' Sammy mumbled, a light sheen of sweat glistening over his face. 'No, it's not!' You insisted, pushing in front of him and placing your hand on his forearm.

The proximity of your body as you looked up earnestly into his eyes was almost worse than seeing you dry humping on his couch. 'Seriously, s'fine.' Sammy's rough voice was low and he avoided eye contact. He looked into your eyes for a second before removing his arm gently from your reach. ''m having a shower, s'ya in a bit.'

Sammy desperately tried to ignore your guilty eyes following him as he left the room.

-- 🩷 --

The hot water pounded over Sammy's shoulders as he closed his eyes. Tammi wasn't home yet and he was very aware he was naked, a room over from where you were probably kissing your boyfriend again. Sammy let himself picture you were kissing him for a second. His cock pulsed against his thigh. Sammy's intake of breath was ragged, the sound covered by the water. Sammy knew he should put the shower on cold, think about something else, think about his wife. But yet.... in his mind, he was sat flush on the couch, your body pressed up against him. He could smell your shampoo from the shelf. Sammy bit back a moan and closed his eyes. In his mind, you were wearing those little shorts, and he was just in his boxers. You were straddling his hips, and his hands were on your soft waist. Sammy whimpered, his cock throbbing as it grew harder. He knew he should stop this train of thought but he was too far gone, and Sammy's meaty hand was guided to his cock. As he slowly began pumping it, he imagined using your hips to guide your body, your hot core already wet with anticipation. It would leave a smear along his boxers, because you wanted him, needed to use him. Sammy's eyes closed as he tipped his head back, pumping a little faster. He replayed the small moan you'd made as you rode Josh. The head of his chubby cock would find the seam over your clit. It would be sensitive and you'd moan as he pressed against it, using the tip to grind against the little bud of nerves, against the spot you really needed. There, Sammy, you'd moan in his ear. Oh fuck... right there.

Sammy groaned, imagining how much you'd want it, how much you'd beg him for it. Sammy, please. How you'd tell him to shut the fuck up so he didn't wake Tammi, swallowing his whines with your mouth.

'Oh God,' Sammy found himself whispering. 'Yeaaahh.' He began fucking up into his fist, wet with pre-cum and the shower, one hand pressed against the wall to steady him. He was getting close. Sammy tried to shut out any feelings of guilt. He wasn't acting on it, doing anything with you, he was just thinking... Sammy imagined your tongue against his neck, sucking and licking. He groaned again, his stomach beginning to tingle, his muscles stiffening. You'd use your teeth, scraping behind his ear as you rubbed yourself on his cock. You wouldn't be gentle. No, you'd use him to take what you needed, to lift yourself higher and higher and higher. Sammy couldn't even imagine how it would feel for you to grind down hard on him, growing more and more desperate, crying out that you were gonna cum.

'Ahhh.. ahh.... mmmmf,' Sammy tried to keep quiet but it was too late. His stomach tightened and he began to see stars. 'Hi Sammy, I'm home!' Tammi poked her head around in the door. Sammy jumped in surprise, dropping his cock, the orgasm keeping him suspended on the edge receded. 'Uhh, hi,' he panted. 'Won't be a sec.' Fuck.

-- 🩷 --

Sammy was convinced you were trying to kill him. You were padding around in a little onesie. The buttons were open dangerously low, and the shorts were barely shorts, high-rise on your perfect thighs. Sammy was trying to focus on his paperwork, but his gaze kept dropping to your mouth, parted in concentration.

'All done!' You announced, pushing a plate in front of him. Homemade pasta and meatballs, covered in a spicy tomato sauce. You were bending over the counter, oblivious to the view of your tits you were flashing him down your onesie. Sammy quickly lifted his gaze to your eyes, hoping you wouldn't notice. He looked between each of your eyes, feeling a flush creep across his face. Had you held the eye contact a second too long? He looked uncomfortable and was squirming in his seat.

''smells amazing!' Tammi announced, sitting next to Sammy and squeezing his thigh in greeting. Sammy smiled at her and shifted sideways slightly so she couldn't feel the bulge straining against his jeans.

'Oh God, it tastes amazing,' you squealed, licking then sucking sauce from your index finger. Sammy made a squeak and tried to cover it with a cough as his eyes followed your wet tongue. 'It does,' he agreed, fighting to keep his rough voice low and even. 'Are you sure?' Your face fell, looking in concern at him. 'You don't seem to like it?' 'No, no, I like it,' Sammy rushed, aware he was flushing even more. A slight sheen of sweat reached his forehead. 'It tastes amazing.' He agreed in a whisper.

-- 🩷 --

You were driving him crazy but he was in heaven. The three of you were watching a movie, Tammi and you curled up on the sofa, underneath a blanket, and Sammy on the recliner. His eyes were on you more than the movie. Sammy couldn't tell if you were doing it on purpose, or if you were even aware, but you were sucking your thumb.

Each movement of your mouth on your thumb, deep inside your mouth, made your wet lips tighten around it, moving slowly up and down. Your eyes stayed forwards, intently watching the screen, but you had to be doing it on purpose.

Sammy gratefully reached for the cushion behind him, and tried to cover his hips with it, as surreptiously as possible. His cock pulsed, and his wedding ring bit into his finger.

You laughed at the film, your beautiful face lighting up, a slip of tongue revealed through your parted wet lips. This was better than watching porn. His cock throbbed insistently against his thigh, straining against his jeans. It twitched against the cushion, and Sammy breathed out in relief. No way. There was no way he was dry humping a pillow in the sitting room watching his sister-in-law, in front of his wife. And yet...

Sammy's grip on the cushion was a vice, fighting to keep it completely steady as he slowly rolled his hips against it. His cock pulsed as it brushed the rough fabric, desperate for relief. Sammy held his breath, eyes fixed on you. He felt like a creep, but he couldn't help it. There was no way he could survive a few weeks without doing something about it. Sammy was a really good guy but... maybe he wasn't that good. Tammi hardly paid him attention anymore, he was surprised she had initiated sex the previous night. She was usually mean and spaced out on weed. Sammy had guiltily pictured you making that little moan again as he fucked into Tammi, and he had finished so early Tammi didn't have chance to cum.

The friction started to build as Sammy guided his cock against the cushion. Rolling his tongue over his lower lip and biting down hard on it, he looked to the ceiling and tried to keep quiet. But his gaze soon found you again, so beautiful, your mouth working on your thumb. Sammy imagined it was his cock your lips were tight around, sucking in a light vacuum, whilst your tongue made circles around his head. Sammy was close. You laughed again at the movie and resettled on the sofa. Why did you never wear bras? He could see your nipples through your onesie, pert and waiting for him. Sammy wondered if you were wearing another pair of French knickers under there. If you had a lacy, see-through black pair, or if you had a baby-pink thong on. Fuck, he was right on the edge.

He was gonna cum in his boxers like a teenager. Spill into them with his warm load and sit in the pool, before walking out with them plastered to his cock.

He gripped the pillow even tighter. Would those panties be pushed to the side? Were they damp against your skin right this minute? Were you getting wet sitting there, smearing them with your arousal? Were you even wearing any?

'Sammy!' Tammi interrupted his train of thought, with the tone of someone who had said his name more than once. 'Hmmmf?' Sammy asked, immediately stopping his movements against the cushion, guilt filling him. 'Ice cream? Freezer? Can you get it?' 'Mmm'kay... just need to give me a minute.'

-- 🩷 --

It was Saturday. Tammi was out taking photographs in the park. It was burning hot and you were in a deck chair in the garden. Sammy walked out to join you, bringing a beer for both of you. He stuttered when he saw you, wearing what was probably sold as a bikini but in reality was a torture device. Sammy couldn't believe his luck.

Your bikini bottoms were obscene, the sides reaching way up over your hips with a tiny V heading towards your core. The top was all spaghetti straps, with little triangles of black fabric which barely covered your tits. They strained against it, giving a view of side boob and under boob, all pert and pressed together. Was this heaven or hell?

'Thanks,' you smiled, gratefully taking the beer. 'Are you not boiling?' You nodded at Sammy's tee. 'Um...' Sammy squirmed a little, sitting down on his chair. You could tell he was flustered by something, his meaty hand dragging down his face. 'No, I'm good.' His low, rough voice managed. 'Oh, come on!' You playfully tugged at his sleeve. 'It's only me!'

Sammy swallowed thickly. Only you was the whole problem. He decided to be honest. 'I've er- I've put on a little weight. 'rather not.' You lifted your sunglasses up onto your head. Fuck, you were so beautiful. 'Don't be silly,' you chided gently, looking at him with wide eyes. 'Besides... dad bods are in. Come on,' you tugged at his sleeve again.

Sammy realised he wasn't going to win this one and slowly removed his shirt. Your eyes took on his arm pits, full of thick auburn curls, and smelling faintly of body wash and deodorant. The freckles dusted across his chest matched his face. Sammy sat, embarrassed, his squishy tummy overhanging his swim shorts. You tried not to stare, or at his thick, meaty arms, or the pale, chubby hand gripping his beer tight.

Sammy squirmed under your gaze, flustered, heat blazing across his face. A slight sheen of sweat dampened his curls. 'S'stop looking,' Sammy mumbled, and you flipped your sunglasses back down over your face. 'Why? You're hot,' you shrugged and went back to your book. Sammy shifted in his seat and tried to think about his taxes.

--🩷--

You were both a few beers in and slightly buzzed. Sammy felt more confident in stealing quick glances at you. You sat up and moaned, stretching your arms out, pushing your tits forwards. The view of your breasts made it impossible to ignore and Sammy's mouth dropped open a little. He wondered how else he could pull that moan from your mouth... preferably made into his mouth.

'Please put some cream on me, Sammy?' 'What?' Sammy stared at you, guilty. Had his face given away his thoughts so easily. 'Sun cream?' You shook the bottle at him, a smirk on your face. 'Oh, right... yeah.' Sammy cleared his throat and sat sideways on his chair as you turned your back to him. 'My neck and back always burn.' 'Uh huh.'

Sammy took the bottle from you and squirted some lotion onto his hands, warming it between his fingers. He took a deep breath and bit his lip, starting along your spine and your lower back. As his hands rubbed up and down your sides, he tried to break the silence with the first thing he could think of... your body, your rolling hips, your moan...

'How're things with Josh?' Sammy tried to keep his voice even. Your skin was so smooth and soft under his thick fingers. They slipped under the string around your ribs. 'Oh, that's over,' you replied breezily, holding your hair up and out of the way of your shoulders. Sammy leant forwards, breathing in your smell, then feeling very guilty. 'That's too bad,' he murmured, trying not to feel pleased. Smug prick. 'Nah, he was a cheating loser,' you replied.

Sammy couldn't believe that anyone would cheat on you. On you. 'He must be insane,' Sammy muttered before he could stop himself, moving up to your shoulders. You snorted, 'yeah, well... he wasn't that great anyway. I had to keep faking it in the end.' Sammy nearly choked. 'Sorry,' you grinned, looking back at him. 'TMI.'

Sammy couldn't help but imagine you prone on the bed, that fucking prick above you. You look bored and sad, receiving no pleasure as Josh just used your body. It made Sammy seethe.

'No, sweetheart, you deserve better than having to do that.' Sammy's chubby thumbs pressed lightly against your neck, rubbing into the tight muscles. You moaned softly and leant back into his hands. The sound went straight to Sammy's cock, twitching in his shorts. It was just biology, he told himself. It didn't mean anything. It's just... his body doesn't know that. It's like it's a separate entity, ignoring his instructions and responding to your voice. He couldn't help it. 'Mmmm, feels so good,' you hum as you leant back harder into his thumbs. Sammy was fucked.

Sammy rubbed up your neck and back down. Nearly finished, nearly finished, nearly finished... 'Thanks!' You turn around with a bounce, smiling at him gratefully. 'Your turn!'

'W-what?' Sammy stuttered, putting on his own sunglasses to hide some of his panic. 'You don't have any on,' you explained slowly, gesturing to his chest and tummy. 'Oh er... 'sfine, I'll do it in a minute.' 'Don't be silly,' you laughed, taking the bottle from his hands, and pulling your seat closer. 'I can reach it all myself,' Sammy squeaked, gesturing to his front. 'Oh, shut uuuup,' you teased, rolling your eyes.

Sammy breathed a sigh of relief that his shorts were dark and baggy, hoping you wouldn't notice how ridiculously hard he was. His hand clenched tight around his beer bottle.

You warmed the lotion in your hands as Sammy had done, and then started along his chest. Sammy didn't dare breathe. You leant forwards and Sammy could see all of you escaping your bikini top now. Your round tits were pressed together, nipples hard and scraping across the glossy material. Sammy swallowed and had to look away.

Your hands pressed gently into his chest as you rubbed the lotion in, running your fingers through his chest hair, and Sammy had to press his mouth shut so he didn't whimper. He had dreamed of you touching him like this and, now that you were, he didn't know where to look or what to do with his hands.

You reached his tummy and Sammy bent away. 'Please don't,' he whispered. You pushed your sunglasses up off your face again and looked at him, even though he was still wearing his. 'I told you,' you repeated, softly and gently. 'Dad bods are in.' The wine was giving you a pleasant buzz and made you feel brave. 'Besides,' you said, rubbing your fingers into his squishy tummy, 'it's kinda really hot.' finally admitting to yourself that you wanted it pressed against your back, with his big, solid body wrapped around you.

Sammy dared not breathe. He must have misheard you. 'Mmmm, don't think so..' Sammy shook his head, desperate for the conversation to be over. Your hands reach beneath his belly button, then were rubbing the underside of his tummy. Sammy was frozen on the spot. The air between you shifted somehow, grew thicker. It sat heavy and charged. Your fingertips were inches, inches, away from the waistband of his shorts. You could slip them under without even moving your wrist. 'Sammy-,' you whispered, but were interrupted by a door banging shut.

You and Sammy immediately sprang away from each other, and Sammy found himself panting. His want and his frustration were warring for first place. 'You would not believe this awful... oh jesus christ, put some clothes on. Your sister doesn't wanna see that... and Sammy sure as hell doesn't.' Sammy could have burst into tears. His jaw clenched and his cheeks twitched. You glanced at him, an apology and a guilty look in one, and then stood. As you turned, Sammy got a view of your plush ass, right at eye level. 'Whatever, Tams,' you groaned, rolling your eyes. You poke her in the ribs as you walk past and she just sighs impatiently. 'Besides,' your voice floats away, 'anyone would be lucky to have this.'

--🩷--

Sammy's cock was weeping as he took a shower, the water pounding over his shoulders. It found his hand again, his meaty fingers struggling to wrap around the chubby length. He thrust his hips and fucked roughly into his fist, desperate and impatient. The tension in the air, the way you had looked at him, your fingers inches from tugging at his waistband, touching the top of his auburn pubic hair, scratching your nails down, down, down... Sammy bit his lip and tried to quieten his grunts as he pulled on his cock, imagining you taking him out of his shorts... Sammy stifled a wounded groan, he was gonna cum, he was gonna cum... 'Ah, ahhhh, aaaahhhh, mmmf,' Sammy turned his head into his bicep, biting down so hard to muffled his grunting he could taste blood. Fuck, here it comes. He was right on the edge, his balls tightened up, his stomach coiling, his toes clenching... A knock at the door. 'Sammy! Hurry up! We have takeout.' Sammy cried out in frustration. '.... you okay?' Tammi asked. For fuck's sake. 'Yeah! Fine!' Sammy hung his head and pressed it against the cold shower tiles. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been as frustrated as this.

--🩷--

Sammy barely spoke during the movie. He didn't know what to do with himself. You were back in tiny sleep shorts and a crop cami, relaxing into the sofa and laughing along. He couldn't help but take you all in. You were glowing from an afternoon outside in the sun. You were starting to get sleepy, your face all soft and relaxed, your thumb grazing your mouth. Every so often your eyes would flick to his and then quickly away, leaving Sammy insanely flustered. He had never been so desperate to fuck someone in his life.

The way you walked around in skimpy clothes, the amazing homecooked meals you made as if you had to earn your place (you didn't), the big smiles you gave him every time he came home. But then there were your nipples, always in his vision. Your peachy butt he wanted to bite down on until it bruised. Your gorgeous legs he wanted wrapped around his ears. Sammy was desperate for you with a carnal intensity, like a dog in heat.

It was heaven watching you float around his home, and hell that he hasn't had you yet. It was too much. He was going to have to do something about it.

Sammy was aching for you, so much so that it hurt. He was constantly half-hard just watching you, and his balls were so heavy; full and uncomfortable. His cock was sore for you. He hadn't even been able to jerk himself off to you, spraying the shower tiles with his cum like he wanted to, because Tammi always interrupted and ruined it. There was no relief for him. He had to fuck you. He had to.

Tammi went to bed early with a headache. For about half an hour, you didn't speak, sat in comfortable silence as mindless nonsense played on the TV. Sammy moved onto the couch and joined you under the blanket, after pushing Richter gently off. You were his favourite person, and Sammy could see why.

You turned to look at him and found him already looking over your face. You took a sharp breath, and Sammy's eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second, and then back into your eyes.

'Sammy,' you breathed. 'I know,' Sammy's voice wavered at the end, deep and rough. He looked between your eyes with a blazing heat. 'I want to,' you whispered, searching his eyes for reciprocation. 'Fuck, I want you,' Sammy's voice was low but he was shaking slightly. 'You know we can't, though,' but you moved closer, so much so you could see the dusting of freckles over his forehead and cheeks. His hazel eyes burned into yours, darkened with want and blown pupils. 'No, we definitely can't,' Sammy agreed, moving closer still, lips inches from yours; closer than your fingers were to the waistband of his shorts. 'So we just go to sleep, then,' you whisper against his lips.

Sammy couldn't take it any more. The anticipation, the want, he had to have you. He had to fuck you. Sammy had to act upon it. 'Nuh-huh,' he disagreed, closing the space and pressing his soft lips against yours.

You made a soft moaning sound, which made Sammy groan into your mouth. As you kissed, he gently held your jaw, before pushing his thick fingers into your hair and curling them round a handful. He didn't pull hard, just enough to let you know that he could. The kiss was soft, gentle, tender. 'This okay?' Sammy whispered against your lips. You just nodded and made a soft sigh against his mouth, as if finally finding relief.

Sammy ran his tongue gently across your bottom lip, which you opened, and the kiss became more intense; full of the frustrations and anticipation of this moment, which you both knew deep down was coming. 'D'ya wanna stop?' Sammy panted, knowing how wrong this was. His wedding ring cut into his finger like barbed wire, but he didn't feel guilty. Not in this moment. Not with how Tammi treated him, and the way you were looking at him right now. 'Fuck no,' you whispered, pulling him closer to you and kissing him again. Sammy made a sound, a low whimper, and you put your arms around his neck, fingers toying with his auburn curls.

Sammy pressed his body closer to you, his solid frame soft against yoir body, large but plush at the same time. Another moan escaper your into his mouth, and he greedily swallowed it. '... 'hope that's not fake,' Sammy murmured, his hands running down your waist, finding your shorts and pulling you closer. You almost laughed. You were half-straddling him, his heat radiating onto you. He smelled so good, he felt so good. 'Somehow I don't think I'll need to fake it,' you whispered back.

Sammy growled in response, pushing you down onto your back on the couch, legs still intertwined. 'We're gonna have to be quiet,' you whispered, the door to the sitting room still open. Tammi could walk in at any time, and you felt a flush of wetness at the thought. Sammy was painfully hard, pressing against his jeans, which were damp from your wetness. He pushed his body weight down onto you and you thought you might cum there and then. 'Real quiet,' Sammy agreed as you unbuckled his belt. 'Don't want anyone to walk in 'ncatch us,' he murmured between kisses. 'Definifely not your wife,' you whispered, pushing his jeans down and pulling him close. Sammy groaned at your words, and then again at your hot cunt, as he slipped his cock against the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. 'And defnitely not my sister,' you agreed.

Sammy let out a loud, pained whine, and you covered his mouth with your palm. 'Gotta be quiet, baby,' you shook your head. 'Can't get caught before you cum inside me.'

Sammy made a pathetic, wounded sound. Pre-cum soaked the front of his boxers, smearing against the material as he slowly moved against you. The thick, mushroom head of his chubby cock rubbed against your clit, making you gasped. Your head went dizzy as the thick head made lazy circles against your bud, before roughlt flicking back and forth against it. You felt your pussy clench around nothing.

'Oh fuck,' Sammy panted. 'Ah.. uhhhh, please take me out. Please.'

When you placed a hand inside his boxers and felt the size of his cock, you inhaled sharply. This was gonna stretch you out. 'Wha..?' Sammy asked, kissing your face, your ear, your neck, your jaw. ''something wrong?' 'Nope,' you smiled, pulling him out of his boxers and shrugging them down past his knees. His cock waved against his stomach. 'Pulll these aside for me, baby,' Sammy begged, tugging your sleep shorts.

When he had access, he ran his fingers through your wetness. 'Fuuuuuck,' he breathed. 'Is this just for me?' 'All for you, Sammy.' You gently sucked along his jaw. 'Your pussy's so pretty, baby,' Sammy moaned as he circled your clit lazily, before flicking it sideways, up and down, circles, up and down, sideways... He was bringing you to the edge and letting you teeter there.

'Please le-let me touch youuu,' Sammy whimpered. You nodded against his lips, pulling him tighter to you. Sammy slid a thick finger inside you, swiftly followed by a second.

You gasped, feeling the enormous stretch as Sammy's fingers scissored inside you. The pressure and tickle felt almost too much to bear. Sammy began sliding his fingers in and out, and the obscene squelching noises filled the silent room. You pressed your head against Sammy's bicep, embarrassed. 'Hey, look at me, baby.' Sammy lowered his head to be back on your level. ''love you makin' a mess for me.'

You moaned in response, glad that it seemed to turn him on more. You felt his cock press insistently against your hip, twitching as Sammy added a third finger. You gasped. 'Sammy, I can't-' 'Oh you can, princess,' Sammy moaned, getting close to cumming from just this. 'Fuck, yeah, you can.'

He shifted slightly so he had more access to your cunt and curled his fingers, gently rubbing against your squishy spot. Your legs shook underneath him. 'There?' Sammy asked, looking up at you. 'Oh fuck,' you panted, 'there.'

Sammy continued massaging you, pulling his fingers in and out, the base of them covered in your cream. You felt yourself leaking out around his fingers, running down your ass and onto the couch. You were too far gone to care.

Sammy nudged your legs further apart with his knee when you tried to tighten them together. Sammy was fucking into the couch, humping against it, hips rolling up and down. His thrusting into the fabric became rougher as his fingers deep inside you began to speed up. His thumb circled your clit, palm pressing on your mound. 'There it is,' Sammy moaned. 'Cum for me.' Your orgasm hit you like a train. Your back arched as you saw stars, heat radiating through all of your muscles. 'Good girl,' Sammy whispered into your mouth, swallowing your moans. 'Theeere you go... you're doing so good.'

Sammy slowed his fingers down but didn't stop touching you until you had fully come down from your high. 'Fuck,' Sammy breathed. 'You're so beautiful.'

'That was amazing.' You fought to catch your breath. Your cum glistened all over his fingers from gushing into his hand. The couch was soaked from when you surprised yourself and squirted. Sammy dragged his finger down his tongue, sucking your wetness with his eyes closed. Then he leaned in and kissed you, so you could taste yourself on his tongue. ''made such a mess f'me,'

'Can I fuck you now?' Sammy's voice was cracked and hoarse. 'Please yes... fuck yes,' you replied, wriggling out of your shorts. ''m not gonna last long,' Sammy warned. 'Good,' you ran your fingernails up and down his neck, making his eyes roll back. 'It's so sexy that you can't stop yourself from cumming over me.'

You pushed his cock along your cunt, through your lips and covering it with your glistening wetness. 'Uhhh... uh. St-stop that,' Sammy stuttered. His face was completely red and screwed up, and he shuddered as you moved him. You loved seeing him, a big police detective, so flustered and falling apart for you like this. 'Why?' you asked innocently. ''cos I'm gonna cum,' Sammy let out a long groan, his eyes rolling back, and biting down on his lower lip. ''n-o, seriously... stop... 'wanna fuck you so good.'

You ran your fingernails up and down his biceps, and along his soft chest. Sammy groaned again, a guttural, pained sound, squirming as you clapped your hand over his mouth. 'Baby, you gotta shut the fuck up if you want fuck me.'

Sammy nodded desperately, obediently, too lost in the need for you to let him. He lined himself up with you and slowly pushed halfway in to you. 'You're so tight,' Sammy moaned, his head thrown back. 'Fuck, you feel so good.' 'Keep going,' you whispered, hands on his hips and pulling him closer, making him move further into you.

Sammy let out a series of broken sounds until he bottomed out; he was coming undone already.

You rolled your hips in slow figure 8s, dragging his cock along every part of your wet, warm walls, stretching you out. As his thick head bumped against your spot, your pussy helplessly clenched around his cock. 'Don't- don't do that,' Sammy begged, trying desperately not to just blow his load inside you straightaway.

'Sammy,' you pleaded, rolling your hips against his pelvis. 'C'mon... fuck me. This is what you want. This is what you needed. Come get it.'

Sammy grunted in your ear like an animal every time he bottomed out. He fucked you with the aggressive energy of a dog in heat, mindlessly mating with its partner. Sammy's sweat dropped onto you, his face all red and screwed up. 'Uhhh... uh... huh... uhhhh,' Sammy grunted every time he buried himself in your warm, soaking cunt. You pulled on his hair and he moaned, which turned into a whine. ''m gonna cum,' Sammy's voice was broken, his eyes glassy. One was half-rolled back into his head and his mouth hung open as he buried himself deep within you.

Sammy nearly came. There was nothing gentle or romantic about the way he fucked you. He pushed you deep into the couch, thrusting down on you. His heavy weight pressed against you, and you could feel his big belly squishing hard into yours.

'Cum for me, Sammy,' you whispered, one hand raking his back down hard with your fingernails, the other one reaching under him and gently holding his balls. 'Mmmmmf,' Sammy was getting louder. 'Oh I'm gonna... hnnnfgh.. I'm go-gonna...'

His hips moved rougher and sloppier, slamming into your cervix with uncoordinated precision. ''gon' fi-fill... oh fuck, 'm cumming.' You felt the load pumping into you immediately, warming you from the inside and sluicing around his cock because there was just so much cum.

Sammy let out high-pitched squeals, like a hurt dog, as he buried his face in your hair. He gave one, then two more thrusts before he stayed bottomed out, deep inside your cunt, as throb after throb of his cum spilled into you. Your insides were thoroughly hosed down, dripping out of you and onto your thighs.

Sammy lay on top of you, heavy weight pressed into you, sweaty and flushed red. You smoothed his auburn curls. 'Feel better now?' You asked. You could feel his cock softening inside you, but Sammy made no attempt fo move. 'Yeah,' Sammy's voice was shaky. 'Just for the record,' you whispered, 'none of that was fake.'

Sammy laughed against your lips, and began to kiss you - a satiated, content kiss; softer than before. 'You can't fake squirting all over me like that,' Sammy smiled smugly. 'Shut up,' you laughed. 'Can I just stay here like this?' Sammy asked, gesturing to him lying on you, cock still soft inside. 'If you're prepared to say you tripped and fell,' you snorted. 'I did,' Sammy grinned. 'I tripped and fell over and over and over and over,' Sammy tickled you, and you tried not to squeal as you squirmed underneath him. Sammy closed his eyes, his cock so sensitive still as you moved and clenched around him. 'Careful,' he warned. 'You're gonna make me hard again.'

[evancelinewrites]

family dinner

chapter three of pope's girl 🖤 | series masterlist | also on AO3

summary: Pope starts sleeping over more often, blurring the lines of your arrangement just as Cath helps you find work at The Flying Pig. But a Cody dinner, Smurf’s attention and a beach house with too many strings attached make it clear that getting closer to Pope means getting closer to everything trying to keep him.

notes: I’m on AO3 now! Thank you so much to everyone for your continued support on this series!!

warnings: SMUT, 18+, canon-divergent timeline, swearing, smoking, mentions of criminal activity, pope is a yearner, no use of y/n, pope gets possessive, jealousy, unhealthy family dynamics

word count: 10.4k

tags: @fox-saturn @sunbonesss @arigoldsblog @defijones @vicky066 @lovergirlellie @salinaiacono6 @loftilyviolentthunder @mxkhxx @sunmoon-01 @morgan-aaa @insidethegardenwall @dendulinka6 @delicatedragonflower @velvetumbranightmare @fanggq @aoi-warrior @mysatnin

this chapter’s song: Cherry - Lana Del Rey

Please do not translate, repost, redistribute, or adapt this story on any platform without my explicit permission. Reblogs are welcome and encouraged!

chapter 3 | family dinner

A few months pass after Pope’s birthday, and somewhere in that time, he starts sleeping over more often than he doesn’t.

It happens quietly with no conversation. No moment where either of you looks at the other and decides this is what you do now. One night he’s leaving before sunrise, and then one night he doesn’t. Then another. Then another after that, until his boots end up by your door and his shirt gets left over the back of your chair and you stop being surprised by the weight of him in your bed.

The money changes the same way.

It doesn’t disappear completely. Rent still exists. So do groceries, bills and the ugly practical parts of staying alive. But it stops appearing after sex, stops sitting on dressers like a receipt for your body.

Now it shows up differently.

A pack of your cigarettes left on the counter after you run out. Coffee placed beside your hand in the morning, still hot, no explanation attached. A paper bag set on your kitchen table after you mention you forgot to eat, Pope standing near the fridge like he didn’t file the detail away and act on it.

Neither of you says anything about it.

It isn’t that you don’t need money anymore. You do. Desperately. But somewhere along the way, you stop knowing how to take it from him without feeling the shape of his hands after.

The money had made things simple in the worst way, but at least simple things were easy to name. This is harder. Pope standing in your kitchen after midnight with bruised knuckles and tension sitting sharp in his shoulders while you eat fries from the bag he brought over. Pope drinking half the glass of water you give him, eyes moving around your apartment like he’s checking the exits even here. Pope leaving his keys on your counter, his socks near your bed, his hand low on your stomach in the dark like he knows where it belongs but still doesn’t know how to ask for it.

Other nights, you still meet him at the hotel and try to pretend some part of the old arrangement is still there. It never works for long. Not when he looks at you too much after. Not when his fingers brush your wrist before you reach for your clothes. Not when there’s no cash on the table anymore and both of you know exactly what its absence means.

On the nights he isn’t beside you, your body notices before your mind is ready to admit anything. You hear a car slow outside and glance toward the window. Your phone lights up and your stomach moves before you read the name. You wake in the dark reaching for warmth that isn’t there, annoyed at yourself for getting used to something you were never supposed to count on.

This is still an agreement, you remind yourself.

Then Pope shows up again, and it sounds less true.

One morning, sunlight slips through the blinds in thin lines across your sheets. Pope is asleep on his side facing you, one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other resting loose across your waist. His hair is messy from sleep, and there’s a thin cut near his eyebrow from when he showed up at your door last night with blood already drying along his temple.

He looks different when he sleeps. For a few hours, at least, he looks like he’s finally stopped fighting whatever follows him into the dark.

He stirs beside you, blinking slowly against the light. His hand tightens at your waist for half a second before his fingers loosen again.

“Morning,” you say.

He watches you for another second before answering, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning.”

Your eyes drift up to the cut near his eyebrow.

“Does it still hurt?”

Pope’s gaze stays on yours.

“No.”

You don’t make a big thing out of it because you know he’ll pull away if you do. Still, your eyes linger longer than you mean them to. You’re getting too used to seeing marks on him, too used to measuring what looks bad and what looks worse, too used to pretending relief doesn’t hit you first when he shows up at your door at all.

“When do you have to leave?”

Pope glances at the clock on your nightstand, then back at you. For a second, he doesn’t answer. His hand slides up your side instead, warm beneath the sheet.

The corner of his mouth lifts.

“Not yet.”

Then he leans over you, mouth finding yours with slow, familiar pressure. You let him kiss you for a moment, breathing him in as his weight settles closer, the warmth of his skin and the faint trace of soap still clinging to him from last night.

Then you press your palm against his chest and guide him back.

Pope pulls away enough to look at you, brows drawing together as you move lower.

“What?”

You smile faintly and keep going, watching the question leave his face the second he understands.

You take your time with him, lips moving from his neck to his collarbone, then lower, tracing the warm skin of his chest while your eyes stay on his face.

“You’re gonna make me late,” he breathes.

“You started this,” you tease.

His mouth parts like he wants to answer, but nothing comes out. Not at first.

But every reaction gives him away. The faint pull of his brows when your mouth lingers near his throat. The uneven breath when you kiss his chest. The way his stomach tightens beneath your hand when you move lower.

You follow those little tells, letting them guide you. Where his breath breaks, where his fingers flex, where his body goes quiet for half a second too long, you press your mouth there next.

By the time your lips reach his stomach, his hand has found your hair. His fingers tighten slightly, then loosen again, like even that much reaction feels too close to giving himself away.

You like him like this. Barely awake. Still warm from sleep. Trying so hard not to look as affected as he is.

Your hand reaches him before your mouth does, feeling the hard length of him through his boxers. Pope’s breath stops as you touch him slowly over the fabric. You keep your mouth just beneath his stomach, pressing small, deliberate kisses there while your fingers hook beneath the waistband.

You drag it down slowly, just enough to make his body pull tight beneath you.

“Fu—”

The word breaks off in his throat.

You look up at him as your hand wraps around him. His jaw is tight, eyes heavy and fixed on yours, restraint gathering across his face like he still thinks he can hide how badly he wants this.

You press a soft kiss to the tip first. Then another.

His hand tightens in your hair.

“Don’t tease.”

The words come out rough and uneven.

“Thought you liked when I took my time.”

His breath leaves him hard.

“Not right now.”

You smile against him, then give him what he wants.

Your mouth closes around him, and his head drops back against the pillow with a low sound he doesn’t manage to stop. His eyes shut for half a second, but when they open again, they find you.

You hold his gaze as his control starts slipping in pieces. His fingers stay tangled in your hair, not forcing, just holding on. His hips lift once before he catches himself.

You pull back only enough to speak, your mouth still close.

“That feel good?”

Pope’s breath breaks on the answer.

“Yeah.”

His fingers flex again.

“Don’t—” He stops, jaw tight. “Don’t stop.”

He barely gets the words out before your mouth is on him again. You find a steadier rhythm, one hand wrapped around him while your lips and tongue learn what makes his breathing turn rough, what makes his stomach tighten, what makes his hand go still in your hair like he’s trying not to lose himself too quickly.

“Stay there,” he breathes.

His body reacts to every movement, each pass leaving him slick and wet, making it easier to take him deeper. When your tongue reaches the tip, you linger there, circling slowly until you taste the bead of moisture already gathered there.

“Fu—”

His eyes find yours again, and whatever control he has left goes thin all at once. His fingers tighten in your hair, still careful enough not to force you, but no longer able to hide how close he is.

“I’m gonna—”

He stops, chest rising sharply.

You don’t look away.

His mouth falls open as another rough sound leaves him.

You hold his gaze when he comes, watching the last of his restraint leave his face. You take what he gives you, swallowing slowly before lifting your head.

Your thumb wipes the corner of your mouth, and the satisfaction on your face is impossible to hide.

Pope stares down at you, wrecked and quiet.

“Look at you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

His fingers tighten once in your hair, not pulling, just holding on like he needs another second before he lets you up.

Afterward, Pope lies back against the pillows for a moment, his hand resting warm against your hip. He looks less guarded like this, stripped of the usual tension he carries around his shoulders. You settle beside him and let your head rest against the pillow, watching his face while he stares toward the ceiling.

“Need to leave soon?”

“Have to be at Smurf’s.”

You study him, the answer settling into the space between you.

“Job?”

He nods once, but his hand goes still on your hip. His jaw works once before he says anything else.

“Baz is runnin’ point.”

His voice stays flat, but the irritation beneath it is hard to miss.

“That bother you?”

Pope lets out a short, humourless laugh.

“Baz likes bein’ in charge.”

You watch his face as he looks toward the window.

“He’s good at it,” Pope says.

The admission surprises you more than the bitterness underneath it.

“He sees things.” A pause. “Talks people into shit. Makes it look easy.”

You stay quiet, because anything you say would probably make it sound smaller than it is. Baz gets the room, the charm and people leaning toward him before they even realize they’ve moved. Pope gets the parts no one talks about after. The parts that come back bruised, bleeding or awake all night.

After a moment, Pope adds, quieter, “Somebody still has to do the hard part.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Maybe there isn’t anything.

Pope doesn’t give the silence time to settle. He sits up, the sheet falling low around his waist as he reaches for his jeans on the floor.

“He’s bringin’ J.”

You look toward him.

“The kid?”

Pope pulls his jeans on and turns away from the bed, like he needs somewhere else to look before he answers.

“He’s not a kid.”

“Barely.”

He doesn’t answer. He buckles his belt, movements sharp and familiar now, every layer putting him back together again. Jeans. Belt. Shirt. Boots. Every piece making him look more like the man who walked into that backyard the first time you saw him and less like the one who just came apart beneath your hands.

“You don’t trust him?”

“No.”

The answer comes too fast.

You watch his shoulders beneath the shirt as he reaches for the buttons. The irritation is obvious in the sharpness of his movements, but there’s something else underneath it too. Something harder to pin down. Something that reminds you of the silence that settled over him at his birthday when J brought up Julia.

“He wasn’t raised in this,” Pope says.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

His mouth tightens.

“Means I don’t know what he’ll do.”

Pope doesn’t turn around, but you can see enough of his profile to know this isn’t only about a job. It isn’t only about J being new, or young, or untested. Julia’s name isn’t in the room, but it might as well be.

“He’s Julia’s son,” you say softly. “He’s your nephew.”

Pope’s eyes cut toward you.

“I know who he is.”

The conversation stops there.

His tone stays even, but the message is clear enough.

You know better than to push.

You look down at the sheet gathered against your chest while he finishes dressing. Pope moves like a man trying to put himself back into the right order before leaving your apartment. Shirt buttoned. Boots tied. Hands empty. Face unreadable. By the time he reaches for his keys, the morning has already started losing him.

For a second, he looks toward the bed again. Toward you.

The look is quick enough that you might miss it if you didn’t know him better now.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You gonna text me, or should I just stare at my phone like an idiot?”

Pope gives you a flat look.

“Don’t stare at your phone.”

“So you’re texting me?”

“Yeah.”

You laugh, and his eyes soften for half a second before he turns toward the door. A minute later, he’s gone, and your room feels quieter than it should.

You sit there for a moment longer, listening to the silence he leaves behind. You tell yourself not to look at your phone because he literally just told you not to, which makes you look at it almost instantly.

Nothing.

You roll your eyes at yourself and reach for your shirt, tugging it over your head as you get out of bed. You make it halfway to the dresser before your phone buzzes against the nightstand.

Your stomach reacts before you do.

Then you see the number.

Unknown.

its cath. got your number from baz’s phone

how fast can you get to the pig? owner wants to meet you

You stare at the message for a second before typing back quickly.

gimme 30 mins

The Flying Pig looks different than you expected.

You’ve heard about it enough. Little mentions from Baz here and there when he got too comfortable and started talking like the two of you were closer than you were. Cath’s shifts. Regulars who tipped well. Fights in the parking lot. The owner who didn’t put up with shit from anyone.

But you’ve never actually stepped inside before today.

You didn’t want to.

Not when Baz came here. Not when Cath worked here. Not when the whole place felt too close to a life you were already trying not to touch more than you had to.

During the day, though, it’s quieter than you imagined. Less crowded. Less sticky. It still smells faintly like beer, fried food and old wood, but without the night crowd packed inside, the place almost looks ordinary.

Cath stands behind the bar when you walk in, wiping down glasses while a woman with short dark hair flips through papers near the register.

Cath looks up first.

“You made it.”

“Barely.”

She nods toward the woman.

“This is Tracy. She owns the place.”

Tracy looks you over quickly. Not unkindly, but directly enough that you stand a little straighter.

“Cath says you served before.”

“Diner. Couple years.”

“You know how to handle drunk idiots?”

You smile faintly.

“Unfortunately.”

Tracy snorts.

“Good. We have plenty.”

The interview doesn’t feel like an interview for long. Tracy asks about your availability, whether you can work late, whether you can handle your own section and whether you know how to keep your mouth shut around regulars who talk too much.

“I’m good at minding my own business.”

Cath glances at you from behind the bar like she doesn’t entirely believe that.

Tracy studies you for another second, then taps the papers against the register.

“You can start Friday.”

You blink.

“That’s it?”

“You want me to make it harder?”

“No.”

“Then Friday.”

Cath hides a smile behind the glass she’s drying, and for the first time since she texted, you let yourself feel it properly.

A job.

A real one.

Not enough to fix everything overnight, but enough to make the floor feel steadier under your feet. Enough to picture rent without immediately doing the math in your head and hating the answer.

Enough that when Pope gives you money now, maybe you won’t have to take it.

Or maybe that’s the part you aren’t ready to think about yet.

You step outside afterward with your phone already in your hand.

got a job

Pope responds faster than you expect.

where

flying pig

There’s a short pause, long enough for you to wonder if he knows exactly why that place feels strange to you.

Then your phone buzzes again.

ill come get you

You stare at the message longer than necessary.

not done yet

i can wait

You look at the message until the screen dims in your hand.

Then you slip the phone into your pocket and go back inside.

Inside, Cath is restocking bottles beneath the bar when you walk back in, sliding them into place with quick, practised movements.

“Thanks,” you say.

She looks up briefly.

“For this.”

Cath shrugs and reaches for another bottle. “You needed work. They needed someone.”

“You didn’t have to help me.”

“No,” she says, setting the bottle into the row. “I didn’t.”

The honesty sits between you. It isn’t exactly warm, but it’s something solid. It doesn’t ask either of you to pretend the past didn’t happen.

You lean against the bar and watch her work for a moment.

“Pope said Baz is running point today.”

Cath’s hands slow around the bottle.

“He tell you anything else?”

“Not really.”

Her eyes move toward the front windows, then back to the label she’s lining up with the others.

“Good.”

You study her.

“Good?”

“Less you know, less you have to lie about.”

The words come out too calm to be casual.

Before you can answer, the front door opens and a man steps inside wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt. Cath looks over, and her face changes just enough for you to notice before she looks busy again.

“Hey,” Cath says.

The man approaches the bar, his gaze flicking briefly to you before settling back on her.

“Hey.”

Cath gestures toward you. “Meet our newest server. She starts Friday.”

He turns to you and offers his hand.

“Patrick Fischer.”

His grip is warm. Normal. Nothing loaded underneath it.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“You too.”

Patrick looks back at Cath, still smiling.

“You working tonight?”

Cath raises an eyebrow.

“Why?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Just asking.”

“Sure you are.”

You glance between them and bite back a smile. Cath sees it anyway, but she doesn’t say anything until Patrick heads toward the bathroom.

Then you lean closer to the bar.

“He’s cute.”

Cath shakes her head immediately, though a small smile tugs at her mouth.

“Don’t start.”

“I said he’s cute. That’s an observation.”

“That’s how you start.”

You grin.

For a second, it almost feels easy.

You’re outside waiting for Pope with a cigarette already between your fingers when Patrick steps out a few minutes later.

“Got a light?”

You hold out your lighter.

When he reaches for it, your eyes catch on the badge clipped near his belt.

“You’re a cop?”

Patrick follows your gaze, then looks back at you.

“Off duty.”

“That’s not a no.”

His mouth lifts faintly.

“No. It’s not.”

You study him for another second before letting him take the lighter.

“Does off duty mean you stop being annoying?”

“Depends who you ask.”

A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Patrick lights his cigarette and hands the lighter back before leaning against the wall a few feet away. You appreciate that more than you expect. Most men only understand space after someone makes them.

“So you’re friends with Cath?” you ask.

“She’s good people.”

You look over at him.

“You like her.”

Patrick lets out a small laugh, eyes dropping toward the pavement.

“That obvious?”

“Little bit.”

He shakes his head, smiling toward the street.

“She’s got enough going on.”

That makes you like him a little more.

Before you can answer, Patrick’s posture changes. Not dramatically, but just enough.

You follow his gaze and see Pope crossing the parking lot toward you.

Even from a distance, his presence changes things. He moves at the same steady pace, unconcerned with anyone else in the parking lot. He walks like the space in front of him has already cleared, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on you first, then Patrick.

Patrick notices.

“You know this guy?”

“Yeah.”

Pope stops close enough that Patrick glances once between you both.

“You good?” Patrick asks.

It’s careful. More checking in than anything else.

Pope hears it anyway, his eyes moving to Patrick.

“I’m fine,” you say before Pope can answer for you. “He’s with me.”

Patrick nods, though he doesn’t look fully convinced.

“Alright.” His gaze stays on you for another second. “See you Friday.”

You wait until Patrick disappears back inside before turning toward Pope.

“That was normal, by the way.”

Pope looks at you.

“What?”

“You don’t have to stare at every man who talks to me like he’s planning something.”

His eyes flick toward the door.

“Who’s he?”

“Patrick. Just met him today.”

For a second, you think about mentioning the badge. Then his attention cuts back to the door Patrick disappeared through, and the cigarette waiting between your fingers feels like enough to deal with.

“He works here?”

“No. He knows Cath.”

Pope’s expression shifts at Cath’s name.

Instead of pushing, you lift the cigarette. Pope takes the lighter from your hand before you can use it.

He lights it for you, gaze fixed on the flame for a second before it lifts to your mouth. There’s something strangely intimate about it, the way he stands close enough to block the breeze, one hand cupped around the lighter, eyes following the first drag you take.

You offer him the cigarette.

He takes it from your fingers and brings it to his mouth.

“You got the job?” he asks after exhaling.

“Yeah. Friday.”

“Good.”

The word is blunt, but the tension sitting behind his face softens for a second.

Then his fingers brush yours.

Just for a second, barely there.

The back of his knuckles graze yours before he pulls away, gone before anyone could make too much of it.

“Dinner tomorrow,” he says.

“At Smurf’s?”

He nods.

“She wants everyone there.”

Of course she does.

Pope watches you for another second, waiting.

You hold his gaze.

“Okay.”

For a second, neither of you says anything. The parking lot is quiet except for a few cars passing out on the street.

“I gotta meet Chrissy at the beach after this.”

His eyes move to you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Unless you were planning on kidnapping me.”

Pope looks at you.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

“Would’ve brought rope.”

Something in his face eases, small and quick, like he got exactly the reaction he wanted.

“That’s disturbing.”

“You asked.”

You shake your head, still smiling.

“I’ll take you.”

“To the beach?”

He nods once.

“On the way.”

You look at him for a second.

“Okay.”

Chrissy’s already sprawled on a towel by the time you reach the beach, sunglasses on, one arm thrown over her face and a magazine open on her stomach. You drop onto the towel beside her, and she lifts one hand without moving the rest of her body.

“You got here fast.”

“Pope dropped me off.”

“Course he did.”

“He was already coming this way.”

Chrissy hums, unconvinced.

“No, he wasn’t.”

You roll your eyes and pull your knees up, working at the sand caught between your toes.

“I got the job.”

That finally gets her to move. The magazine slides down her stomach as she turns her head toward you.

“At The Pig?”

“I start Friday.”

Her eyebrows lift behind her sunglasses.

“That’s kind of huge.”

You shrug, trying not to let anything show.

“They needed someone.”

“Yeah, and Cath just happened to think of you?”

“She’s being nice.”

Chrissy makes a small sound, not quite agreement.

You look out toward the water, letting the waves fill the space for a few seconds. The ocean rolls in bright and restless beneath the late afternoon sun, and you let the heat settle over your legs while the salt air dries the sweat at the back of your neck.

Chrissy shifts beside you.

“Was Pope at the apartment this morning?”

You glance over.

“Why?”

“Because the spice rack is alphabetized.”

You press your lips together.

Chrissy pushes her sunglasses higher on her nose.

“I opened the cupboard half-asleep and thought I was being threatened.”

A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

“Maybe he likes order.”

“Yeah, no shit. He put cumin behind coriander because C-O comes before C-U.”

You drag a hand over your mouth, still smiling.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Didn’t say he was.”

“You were going to.”

“I didn’t need to. The oregano said it for me.”

You laugh again, softer this time, and Chrissy’s expression shifts in that way hers does when she’s deciding whether to make fun of you or worry first.

“He spent the night again?”

“Yeah.”

“And then he picked you up from your new job and drove you here.”

“You’re making it sound like something.”

“It is something.”

You dig your heel into the sand, watching the grains slide over your foot.

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Chrissy doesn’t answer right away. For once, she doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She only sets the magazine aside and leans back on her hands, looking toward the water like it might give her a better way to say whatever is coming next.

“I know what you look like when something’s just sex,” she says eventually.

You glance at her.

“This isn’t that.”

The waves rush up over the sand, then pull back again.

“It’s supposed to be,” you say.

She hears the difference. You know she does because she doesn’t tease you for it.

After a moment, she bumps her foot against yours.

“Yeah,” she says. “Feelings are annoying like that.”

It isn’t advice. Not really.

Maybe that’s why it helps.

A few minutes later Chrissy’s phone buzzes.

She checks it, and the smile comes too fast.

“Is it Simon?”

“Maybe.”

Simon was the bachelor’s brother Chrissy met the night of Pope’s birthday, the one who’d spent most of the night ignoring the bachelor and finding excuses to talk to Chrissy instead. Since then, he’d developed a suspicious habit of showing up whenever she worked.

Chrissy looks toward the water, like that might hide the grin pulling at her mouth.

“He asked me to go to the movies tonight. Something with wizards or superheroes. I don’t know.”

“Oh my god, you like him!”

She sighs like you’ve dragged the truth out of her through torture.

“He’s nice.” She pauses, then glances back at you. “Like actually nice. Not the kind of nice until he realizes I’m not going home with him.”

For once, the easy comeback doesn’t come right away, and Chrissy notices immediately.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

You lean back on your hands, smiling a little.

She looks down at her phone again, thumb moving over the edge of the case without typing anything. For all her noise, Chrissy gets quiet when something matters. It only lasts a second before she locks the screen and tosses the phone onto the towel between you.

“You should go,” you say.

Chrissy glances over.

“To the movie?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

The corner of her mouth lifts, but the softness stays there for a second longer than usual before she looks back toward the water.

After a while, you sit up and brush sand off your thighs.

“I have to pee.”

“There’s a surf shop over there,” Chrissy says, gesturing toward the shops behind you. “Or just go in the water.”

You stare at her.

“That’s gross.”

“It’s the ocean.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s nature.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Chrissy squints at you from behind her sunglasses.

“You’re worse than Pope.”

You stand and flick sand at her towel, laughing as you make your way over to the surf shop.

The surf shop is small and half-empty, smelling like sunscreen, board wax and rubber, with a rack of cheap sunglasses spinning beneath the ceiling fan. The guy behind the counter barely looks up from his phone when you ask for the bathroom.

“Back hallway,” he says. “Door on the left.”

You thank him and head toward the back, the floor creaking faintly beneath your sandals as you pass a dusty display of tourist keychains. The whole place is quiet except for the low hum of an old refrigerator somewhere behind the counter.

Then you hear movement from a room near the hallway.

A soft laugh.

You glance over before you think better of it.

Deran’s there.

So is a guy you don’t recognize.

They’re kissing in the half-open doorway of what looks like a staff room, Deran’s hand curled in the front of the guy’s shirt while the other guy smiles against his mouth. It only lasts a second, maybe less, but it’s enough to feel like you’ve walked into something private without meaning to.

For half a breath, your brain doesn’t catch up.

Then your foot catches the corner of a cardboard box stacked too close to the wall. The whole pile shifts, and something inside crashes loud enough to make your heart jump.

Deran jerks back immediately. Whatever was on his face a second ago is gone before he even turns toward you.

The other guy steps away fast, startled, one hand lifting toward the back of his neck while his eyes flick between you and Deran like he’s already trying to figure out how bad this is.

Deran doesn’t look at him.

He looks at you.

The colour drains from his face.

You lift both hands slightly.

“Sorry.”

It comes out quiet and useless.

Deran doesn’t say anything and you don’t wait for him to.

You turn back toward the front of the shop and leave, the bell above the door ringing too loudly behind you.

By the time you and Pope get to Smurf’s the following night, dinner’s already on the table.

Craig’s in his chair with a beer in one hand, talking too loudly about something Deran did while Deran sits across from him, expression flat and arms crossed over his chest. J’s near the end of the table, quiet as usual, picking at the fabric on the placemat while his eyes move around the room. Baz leans back beside him, making some comment under his breath that makes Craig laugh and Deran roll his eyes.

Cath and Lena aren’t there.

You notice it, but you don’t ask. The house feels different without Lena’s colouring book spread across the counter or Cath moving through the kitchen with that careful quiet you still haven’t figured out how to name.

Pope pulls out the chair beside him for you, then sits close enough that his knee brushes yours under the table. His shoulder’s warm beside you, the faint smell of soap still clinging to his shirt. You reach for your water, trying to settle into the room like you belong there, or at least like you aren’t waiting for Smurf to notice every breath you take.

Pope leans closer, voice low enough that only you hear it.

“You look good.”

Your mouth curves before you can stop it.

“You already said that in the car.”

His eyes move over your face, serious in that way of his that always makes simple things feel heavier than they should.

“Still true.”

You look down at your plate, pretending to care about whatever Smurf put in front of you. It’s easier than looking at him when he says things like that, easier than letting the room see how quickly he can get under your skin without even touching you.

Then his hand finds your thigh beneath the table.

Your fingers tighten around your glass for half a second before you force them to relax. Pope’s palm is warm against your skin, steady at first, resting just above your knee like it belongs there. You take a careful sip of water, mostly to give your mouth something to do besides react, and Pope notices. His thumb moves once, slow enough to be deliberate, and his hand slides higher.

You keep your eyes on the table.

Pope keeps his hand where it is.

Across from you, Craig reaches for the bowl of salad and knocks his beer with his elbow. It spills across the table before anyone can catch it, beer running toward the breadbasket while Deran mutters, “Fuckin’ hell, Craig.”

Pope’s hand stills against your thigh, his attention snapping to the mess.

Craig grabs a napkin and it only spreads wider.

“What?” he says. “It’s fine.”

“It’s on the table,” Pope says flatly.

“Yeah, that’s usually where dinner happens.”

“You spilled beer on the bread.”

Craig looks down at the basket, then back at Pope like he can’t believe this is a part anyone cares about.

“Jesus Christ, you’re even more annoying now that you brought your girl to dinner.”

Deran grabs the breadbasket before the beer reaches it and sets it near you instead. “Can you two not do this shit at dinner?”

Craig points at Pope with the wet napkin. “He started it!”

“You spilled a beer.”

You reach under the table and brush your fingers lightly against Pope’s wrist.

His hand stays on your thigh.

Smurf watches from the head of the table, her smile faint enough to pass for nothing.

“J,” she says, setting her glass down. “Where’s Nikki tonight, baby?”

J looks up, caught off guard by the attention.

“She’s, uh…” His eyes drop to his plate. “She’s not coming.”

Smurf’s brows lift slightly.

“No?”

J shakes his head once.

“We broke up.”

Craig pauses mid-drink. “Already?”

Deran gives him a look. “Don’t be a dick.”

Baz lets out a quiet laugh and looks toward J.

“Women, man.”

J doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at his plate.

Smurf gives him a soft, sympathetic smile.

“Oh, baby,” she says. “Young love. Never meant to last too long.”

The words are for J, but her eyes drift briefly toward you before returning to him.

Pope’s fingers press once against your thigh.

“You’ll be alright,” Smurf says, reaching for her glass again. “Girls come and go.”

Baz lifts his brows, mouth curving before he takes a drink.

“Some more than others.”

Pope looks at him.

“Watch it.”

Baz lowers his glass slowly, grin still there.

“Relax. Wasn’t talking about her.”

“Bullshit.”

The table tightens around the word. Craig looks between Pope and Baz, suddenly interested, while Deran mutters something under his breath and reaches for his beer.

Baz holds Pope’s stare for another second before lifting one hand.

“Andrew,” Smurf says calmly, not needing to raise her voice.

Pope doesn’t look at her right away. His hand is still on your thigh, warm and unmoving, but the fight leaves him before he says another word.

Smurf’s smile returns, easy and sweet.

“Heard you got a job at The Pig,” she says, and just like that, her attention is on you.

“Yeah. I start Friday.”

“Good for you, sweetie.” Smurf reaches for the serving spoon, calm as anything. “Cath knew you needed the money?”

“She knew they needed someone,” you say.

Smurf hums softly, placing food onto her plate.

“Lucky timing.”

The table keeps moving around the exchange. But everyone hears it.

Pope hears it too.

Baz takes a drink, then glances toward you. “The Pig’s not bad. Tips are decent if you don’t mind drunk assholes.”

Craig snorts. “So, basically us.”

Baz smiles at that, but his eyes stay sharp for a second longer than the joke needs.

You pick up your fork, though your appetite has gone thin.

“Guess I’ll find out Friday.”

Pope’s hand stays on your thigh beneath the table. Lower this time. Safer, almost careful.

But that’s not where you need him.

Dinner keeps going around you. Forks against plates. Craig talking too loud. Baz speaking like nothing happened. Deran pushing food around his plate while J stays quiet near the end of the table.

Then Smurf reaches beside her plate and lifts a small ring of keys.

“Andrew.”

Pope looks up but doesn’t take them right away.

“I had the beach house cleaned up.”

“What for?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time away from the hotel, baby.” Her voice is sweet “Thought you might like somewhere more comfortable.”

Craig leans forward. “Which beach house?”

“The one on Cassidy.”

Deran looks over. “The place with the shitty water pressure?”

Smurf ignores him, eyes staying on Pope.

Pope looks at the keys, then at her.

“Close by?”

“Of course,” Smurf says. “Family should stay close.”

Close.

She makes it sound harmless.

Pope takes the keys eventually, the metal disappearing into his hand.

Smurf’s eyes drift toward you.

“Especially when he’s got company so often.”

Pope’s fingers close around the keys.

“Thanks,” he says.

Smurf’s smile warms.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

A gift, technically.

A furnished beach house near the water. A place with walls, a bed and enough privacy to pretend it might belong to him. Maybe even to both of you, if you were stupid enough to believe anything from Smurf came without a string tied around it.

The hotel had been temporary. Anonymous. Easy to leave.

This is different.

This has an address.

This has Smurf’s fingerprints all over it.

You offer to wash the dishes later because you need something to do with your hands.

The house has settled into smaller pockets of noise. Craig and Baz are outside, their voices carrying through the patio door every few seconds. Smurf is in the living room with Pope close by, drink in her hand, pretending not to watch everyone while somehow missing nothing.

J appears beside you with a plate in his hand.

“Thanks,” you say, taking it from him.

He nods once, already turning like he expects that to be the end of it.

“You okay?”

J pauses.

Not long, but long enough.

“Yeah.”

The answer comes too quickly, just like it did at dinner.

You rinse the plate beneath the faucet and glance toward him.

“Sorry about Nikki.”

J shrugs, eyes shifting briefly toward the backyard when Baz’s laugh cuts through the glass.

“Wasn’t serious.”

“Right.”

He looks back at you then, catching the disbelief before his eyes drop again.

His mouth tightens. The feeling is there and gone before you can name it.

“People don’t usually get less complicated around here,” you say.

J’s mouth almost pulls into a smile.

“Noticed that.”

Then he leaves before you can say anything else.

A few seconds later, Deran appears beside you so quietly you almost drop the plate.

“Jesus.”

“Sorry.”

You glance at him.

He looks uncomfortable, which on Deran somehow makes him look younger and more annoyed at the same time.

You turn off the faucet.

“His name’s Adrian,” he says.

You lean back against the counter.

“Okay.”

Deran watches your face like he’s waiting for it to change.

“You gonna say anything?”

“No.”

His jaw moves slightly, like he wants to believe that and hates that he has to ask.

“It’s not my place,” you say.

Deran looks down at the counter, fingers tapping once against the edge.

“Yeah, well. People around here don’t really give a shit about what’s their place.”

You follow his gaze without looking toward the living room.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Deran doesn’t answer right away.

Then he nods once, small and sharp, swallowing whatever tried to surface before it could make the room worse.

You pick up another plate and hand it to him.

Deran looks at it.

“What am I, helping now?”

“You walked over here.”

“Yeah, to threaten you.”

“Then threaten me while drying.”

He stares at you for a second before taking the dish towel from your hand.

“Just because you know doesn’t mean I’m your gay best friend now.”

You grin.

“Too bad. I was gonna invite you to brunch.”

Deran shakes his head, but the tension breaks. He dries the plate quickly and sets it down beside the sink, standing close enough that the silence between you feels easier than the one before.

After a while, he glances toward the living room where Pope sits with Smurf.

“He’s been different.”

You follow his gaze.

“Pope?”

Deran nods.

“Since he got out.” A pause. “Maybe because of you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, and Deran seems to notice because he looks back at the plate in his hand like he regrets saying anything sincere.

“Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I won’t.”

“He’ll get weird.”

“He’s already weird.”

Deran snorts.

“Yeah. Fair.”

You find the bathroom near the hall off the kitchen, tucked past a wall of framed family photos and a narrow table covered in mail, loose keys and an ashtray already crowded with cigarette butts. By the time you finish washing your hands, the house has shifted again, voices moving from room to room.

You open the door and start back toward the kitchen.

Then you hear Smurf.

“…people talk in bars, Andrew.”

You stop before you mean to.

Her voice carries from the living room, soft enough that you almost miss the words beneath Craig laughing outside and the low thud of music coming from somewhere near the patio. You can’t see them from where you stand in the hallway, only the edge of the doorway and the warm spill of lamplight across the floor.

Pope says something too low for you to catch.

Smurf answers with a little hum, gentle and knowing.

“Catherine always knew how to look helpless.”

There’s a pause. You hear the faint click of Smurf’s lighter, then her inhale.

“That place has eyes,” she says. “Always has.”

Pope doesn’t answer this time. Or if he does, his voice stays buried beneath the house.

You stand there a second too long, trying to decide whether you heard enough or too much. The words themselves aren’t clear enough to hold onto, but the shape of them is. Smurf’s voice. Pope’s silence.

Then someone speaks behind you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Baz leaning against the wall, one shoulder pressed to the faded wallpaper, a beer dangling from his fingers. He looks amused, but not surprised.

“I was looking for the bathroom.”

His mouth curves.

“Sure you were.”

You look past him toward the living room, but the voices have dropped lower now. Whatever Smurf’s saying to Pope has folded itself back into the house.

Baz pushes off the wall, enough for the hallway to feel smaller. His gaze moves over your face, and it makes something inside you go cold before he even opens his mouth.

“You think he’s different with you?”

You hold his stare.

“He is.”

Baz almost laughs, but nothing about his face is amused.

“Yeah. Bet he is.”

“Don’t.”

His eyes flick briefly toward the living room, then back to you.

“That what you told yourself with me too?”

Your stomach turns. He says it like there was ever anything between you worth comparing, like old access is the same thing as intimacy.

“You and I were never that.”

“No,” he says. “But at least we knew what it was.”

Something crosses his face before he turns it into a smirk.

“Yeah,” you say. “‘Til I found out about Lena.”

Baz’s smile thins.

“Don’t make yourself sound noble.”

“I’m not.” Your voice stays low. “I’m reminding you why it stopped.”

His jaw tightens. For a second, the hallway feels too narrow for both of you.

“At least we didn’t pretend,” he says.

You laugh once, quiet and humourless.

“Don’ stand here acting like you’re warning me because now you wanna care.”

His eyes narrow.

“You think I give a shit?”

“No,” you say. “That’s the point.”

Baz looks toward the living room again, jaw working once before his attention comes back to you.

“You really don’t fucking get it,” he says, voice lower now. “You think because he wants you, that means he picks you.”

Your throat tightens, but you don’t look away.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.”

He tips the beer toward the living room.

“Smurf found out Julia was pregnant. Made sure everybody knew where they were supposed to stand.”

His mouth twists before he continues.

“Pope loved Julia. We all did.” He looks down at the bottle in his hand, thumb dragging once through the condensation. “Didn’t matter.”

You think of Pope looking at the cupcake, the way grief had pulled his voice low. You think of Smurf saying my Andrew like a hand closing around his throat. You think of the way Pope went quiet at the table when she said your name like she was only being polite.

Baz looks at you then, and the charm slips enough for you to see the anger under it.

“He can want you all he wants,” he says. His voice goes flatter. “He can show up at your place, sleep in your bed, look at you however the hell he looks at you.”

He pauses, eyes cutting once toward the living room.

“But when she calls, he goes.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze.

“Maybe.”

Baz blinks, thrown by the answer.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe he does.” You glance toward the living room, then back at him. “But you don’t get to use Julia just to prove a point.”

His face goes still.

The reaction is small, but it's there.

“You didn’t save her either,” you say.

For a second, Baz has nothing ready. Then his mouth hardens.

“Neither did Pope.”

Smurf’s laugh floats out from the living room, soft and pleased, followed by Pope’s voice still too low to make out. The sound pulls Baz’s attention for half a second, and when he looks back at you, the old lazy smile is back, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll learn.”

“Maybe,” you say. “But not from you.”

His smile dulls.

“For now.”

Then he turns and walks toward the patio, leaving you in the hallway with Smurf’s voice still slipping through the house.

You wait until Baz is gone before moving again.

By the time you step back into the kitchen, Pope is standing near the counter with Smurf beside him, his face unreadable.

His eyes find yours.

For half a second, you think he might say something.

He doesn’t.

Neither do you.

A few days after Smurf’s dinner, Pope drives you to the beach house.

It sits a few blocks from the Cody place, close enough to still feel like part of Smurf’s reach, but far enough away that you can almost pretend otherwise. It's a small beach house with wide windows and a deck facing the ocean. It’s the kind of place that should feel like a gift if you didn’t already know better.

It’s beautiful.

You hate that it’s beautiful.

Pope unlocks the door and lets you step inside first. The house smells like clean wood, salt air and something faintly lemon from whatever Smurf had someone use on the floors. The inside is already fully furnished. Couch. Bed. Towels folded in the bathroom. Dishes in the cabinets. Fresh sheets. Soap by the sink. Food in the fridge, lined up like somebody expected him to open it and be grateful.

Smurf thought of everything.

Pope stands near the living room window, staring out at the dark water beyond the deck while you wander slowly through the space. Every room is clean. Too clean. Too ready. It feels less like a house and more like an answer to a question Pope never got to ask.

“You like it?” he asks.

You look around the living room again, at the couch angled toward the window, at the lamp beside it, at the key still held loosely in his hand.

“It’s nice.”

Pope glances toward you.

“But?”

You walk into the kitchen and open one of the cabinets. Plates stacked perfectly. Glasses lined up. Nothing out of place. Nothing touched by him yet.

“Doesn’t feel like yours.”

Pope looks back toward the water for a second before setting the key down on the table. He watches you from across the room, the light from outside catching along his face.

“What would make it mine?”

The way he asks it sends warmth low through your stomach despite everything sitting heavy in your chest. He doesn’t say it like he’s asking about the house, but like he’s asking you to tell him where to put his hands.

You walk back toward him slowly.

“I don’t know.”

Pope’s gaze drops to your mouth, then lifts again. He sits on the couch and reaches for you without saying anything, hand finding your thigh once you’re close enough. His touch is warm and steady. Familiar now in a way that still manages to undo you.

“We could christen it,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“No.”

“That was almost a joke.”

His mouth shifts, barely there.

“Don’t ruin it.”

You laugh softly, and the sound pulls his hand higher on your thigh. His fingers press once before he tugs you closer. You settle over him, knees on either side of his hips, and for a moment the house feels smaller. His hands move to your waist, holding you there like your weight over him is the first thing in the room that makes sense.

You brush your fingers over the side of his neck, feeling the pulse there.

“You’re staring,” you say.

“I know.”

“That usually bother you?”

His hands tighten at your waist.

“Not when it’s you.”

The words settle low in your chest. You lean down and kiss him before he can look away from them. He responds immediately, mouth opening beneath yours, hands sliding around to your back and pulling you closer until there’s hardly any space left between you. The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. It never really does with him. Not when his body knows yours now. Not when every quiet thing he refuses to say finds another way out.

You tug his shirt up, and he lifts his arms just long enough for you to pull it over his head. Your hands settle against his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the strength beneath your palms, the heat of him, the faint scars and bruises you’re always trying not to look at too long.

His breathing changes when your nails drag lightly down his stomach.

“Bed,” he says, hands sliding under your thighs.

“Now.”

He lifts you off him before you can answer, one arm locked around your waist. You barely make it down the hallway before his patience breaks. He turns and presses you back against the wall, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make your breath leave you all at once.

Your head tips back against the wall as he kisses down your throat, slow at first, then less so when your fingers move into his hair. His hands go to the button of your shorts, working it open with a focus that makes your stomach twist. The denim slides down your legs with your panties, pooling somewhere near your ankles while you pull your shirt over your head and let it fall.

His hand rests against your stomach, thumb moving once beneath your ribs, like he needs to feel you breathe before he lowers himself in front of you.

One hand slides along the back of your thigh, lifting your leg over his shoulder. The wall is cool against your back, the contrast sharp enough to make you shiver when his mouth presses to the inside of your knee, then higher. He takes his time, even though his breathing has already gone uneven.

His mouth brushes higher, and your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Pope.”

His eyes lift to yours from between your thighs.

“Yeah?”

The sight of him there nearly breaks you.

“You’re taking too long.”

His mouth twitches.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

His hand tightens against your thigh, holding you open for him.

“Ask nicely.”

The words should sound smug. They don’t. Not from him. From Pope, they sound like restraint stretched thin, like he needs the last thread of control before he gives you what you both want.

You swallow.

“Please.”

His gaze darkens.

“There’s my girl.”

Then his mouth finds you.

Your head falls back against the wall, a broken sound leaving you before you can stop it. He groans low against you, one hand firm on your thigh while the other presses lightly against your stomach, keeping you there with him. Every time your hips move, his fingers flex. Every time his name slips out of your mouth, his breathing turns rougher.

“Fu—” you whimper, fingers dragging through his hair. “Pope.”

He answers with his mouth, with his hands, with the low sound that vibrates through you when you pull a little harder. Your leg trembles against his shoulder, and he notices, palm smoothing once along your thigh before he looks up again.

“Good?”

You nod too quickly.

His eyes narrow.

“Words.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “So… so good.”

The praise does something to him too, even when it’s yours. Maybe especially then.

He stands suddenly, mouth wet, eyes dark and heavy. Before you can catch your breath, his hands are under your thighs again, lifting you against him. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and he carries you the rest of the way to the bedroom, kissing you hard enough that you taste yourself on his mouth.

The bed is made too neatly.

You notice it right before he lays you down on top of the fresh sheets.

Then you stop caring.

He settles over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides down your body, slow and sure, like he’s trying to leave proof of himself in a room that still feels too much like someone else’s plan. You reach for his belt, but he catches your wrist and presses your hand into the mattress beside your head.

“Wait.”

You look up at him, chest rising beneath him.

“For what?”

His eyes move over your face, your mouth, your body spread beneath him on a bed he didn’t choose but clearly wants to ruin with you.

“Just wanna look.”

That stops you.

His gaze drops lower, and his hand follows, sliding along your hip, over your thigh, then back up again. Slow enough to make you ache. Careful enough to make it worse.

“You like looking at me?” you ask.

His eyes lift to yours.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Too much.”

You reach up and touch his face, thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw. He goes still beneath it, just for a second, the same way he always does when tenderness finds him before he can brace for it. Then he turns his head and kisses the inside of your wrist.

“Come here,” you whisper.

This time he listens.

His pants come off quickly, dropped somewhere beside the bed with his boxers. He looks good like this. Too good. Bare and focused, hair messy from your hands, mouth still wet from you. You hate how badly you want him. You love how little it stops you.

He climbs back over you, nudging your legs apart with his knee. His forehead lowers to yours as he lines himself up, and the first slow push inside you steals the air from both of you.

Your eyes close as his hand catches your jaw, gentle but firm.

“Look at me.”

You open your eyes and see him right there, mouth parted, restraint written all over his face. He pushes in inch by inch, watching you take him, watching every shift in your expression like it matters more than his own breathing.

“That’s it,” he says, voice rough. “Good girl.”

Your body tightens around him.

He feels it immediately. His eyes shut for half a second.

“Fu—”

The word breaks out of him, low and uneven. Then he starts moving, slow at first, his hands careful at your waist as if he’s still trying to remember nobody is going to take the moment away if he doesn’t rush. Every thrust pulls a sound from you, and he listens to each one, adjusting when your fingers press into his shoulder, slowing when your breath catches too sharply, giving you more when you whisper his name.

The room stops looking untouched after that.

The sheets twist beneath you. The headboard taps once against the wall. His mouth drags along your jaw, then down your throat, and the house fills with the quiet praise he gives you like he can’t keep it inside.

“Fuck,” he starts, mouth dragging against your skin. “Feels… so good.”

Your hands move over his back, nails dragging against his skin. He kisses you hard, then pulls back just enough to look at you.

“I got you.”

Your chest aches at the words, because he means them so much it almost hurts to hear.

After a while, he shifts, moving onto his back and taking you with him without pulling out. You end up straddling him, hands braced against his chest, both of you breathing hard as the new angle makes you shudder.

His hands settle at your waist and, for a second, he only looks at you.

“What?” you ask, voice unsteady.

His thumbs move against your skin.

“Like you like this.”

His grip firms at your waist, thumbs pressing into your skin, but he still doesn’t move you.

“Watching you take what you want.”

Heat rushes through you so fast it almost makes you dizzy.

You start moving over him, slow at first, letting your body find the rhythm while he lies beneath you, watching with that dark, unwavering focus. His hands guide but don’t force, fingers pressing into your waist when he needs more, loosening when you give it to him. Every time you sink down on him, his jaw tightens. Every time you lift, his breathing breaks a little more.

You move faster, chasing the feeling building low inside you, and he sits up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your back to keep you close. His mouth finds your collarbone, then the space between your shoulder and neck where he knows you feel it most.

The angle changes again. Deeper now. Closer.

“Fu—” The sound breaks off as your arms slide around his shoulders.

His mouth presses beneath your ear.

“Yeah?”

You pull him closer, forehead dropping against his.

“Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t gonna.”

His hips start meeting yours, thrusting up into you with the control he has left, which isn’t much. Not anymore. His hands move over your back, your waist, your hips, like he can’t decide where he needs to touch you most. You feel him losing the thread piece by piece, his breathing turning ragged, his mouth dragging over your shoulder between broken sounds.

“You close?”

“Yeah.”

His hand slides between you, fingers finding you again with the same focused pressure from earlier. Your whole body goes tight around him.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you.”

You come hard, nails digging into his shoulders as release moves through you. He follows seconds later, pulling you down against him with a rough sound buried at your neck. His arms lock around you, holding you through it, holding you after, both of you shaking while the house settles around the sound of your breathing.

For a while, neither of you moves.

His face stays pressed against your neck, breath hot against your skin while his hands slow over your back.

After a long moment, you lift your head.

“Think it’s yours now?”

His eyes open slowly.

He looks around the room, at the twisted sheets, your shirt on the hallway floor, his jeans by the door, the house no longer arranged exactly how Smurf left it.

Then he looks back at you.

“Getting there.”

Your mouth pulls into a smile as his hands settle at your hips again.

“Stay tonight.”

You brush the damp hair away from his forehead, watching his eyes follow your face like he’s waiting for the answer even though he already knows it.

“Okay.”

His arms tighten around you, just once.

The house stays quiet around you.

For the first time since you walked in, it doesn’t feel untouched.

Later, you lie in Pope’s bed with his arm heavy around your waist, his breathing slow against the back of your neck.

Everything should feel peaceful.

For the first time since you met him, he has somewhere that isn’t a hotel room. Somewhere with sheets that don’t smell like bleach and strangers, with dishes in the cabinets and towels folded in the bathroom. Somewhere that could become softer if the world ever gave him the chance.

But the room is too clean in the dark. Too unfamiliar. The furniture sits where someone else decided it should go. The walls hold no marks from him yet, no proof that he chose any of this except the fact that he’s sleeping in it now, one hand spread over your stomach like even unconscious he still needs to know you’re there.

His house, you think.

Then, almost immediately, the thought corrects itself.

Smurf’s house.

You think about her voice in the hallway, soft and sure as it reached for him.

People talk in bars, Andrew.

Catherine always knew how to look helpless.

That place has eyes.

You think about Baz catching you there, about the way he used Julia’s name like a warning and still somehow made it sound like grief. You think about Cath behind the bar, the way her hands slowed around the bottle when you mentioned Pope and Baz.

With Smurf, it’s always enough.

You think about Pope at dinner, his hand warm on your thigh while his voice stayed caught somewhere inside him every time Smurf said his name.

Behind you, Pope shifts in his sleep, his grip tightening slightly around your waist. The movement pulls you back into the room, into the bed, into the warmth of him.

You place your hand over his.

For a long time, you lie there with your fingers resting over his knuckles. Pope sleeps behind you, finally still. For once, the quiet seems to hold him.

And you stare into the dark, wide awake.

[evancelinewrites]

birthday boy

chapter two of pope's girl 🖤 | series masterlist | also on AO3

summary: Pope’s birthday was never part of the arrangement. But his invitation pulls you further into his life and into the world Smurf controls. For a relationship built on sex and temporary rules, Pope keeps acting like he doesn’t want the night to end whenever you leave and the wrong people are starting to notice.

notes: Thank you to everyone for your sweet comments and support with the first chapter! I have a good idea of where I want this story to go and I hope you all enjoy the journey. I'm still waiting for my AO3 invite but when I get it, I'll cross-post there. Please let me know if you want to be added to my tag list or if I missed you! 🖤

warnings: canon-divergent timeline, swearing, smoking, mild violence, mentions of criminal activity, pope is a yearner, obessive!pope, no use of y/n, mildly uncomfortable Baz encounters, unhealthy family dynamics, mentions of sex work, SMUT (protected piv, oral sex, making out, dirty talk, "good girl", light hair pulling), 18+

word count: 7.6k 🫣

tags: @fox-saturn @sunbonesss @arigoldsblog @defijones @vicky066 @lovergirlellie @salinaiacono6 @loftilyviolentthunder @mxkhxx @sunmoon-01 @morgan-aaa @insidethegardenwall @dendulinka6 @delicatedragonflower @velvetumbranightmare @aoi-warrior

this chapter's song: Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

Please do not translate, repost, redistribute, or adapt this story on any platform without my explicit permission. Reblogs are welcome and encouraged!

chapter two | birthday boy

Two weeks. That’s how much time has passed since Pope was released from Folsom and somehow, your life starts revolving around him more than the arrangement you both agreed to.

You see him everywhere now and fuck him everywhere too. In the back seat of his car beneath the glow of streetlights. In his immaculately spotless hotel suite where messy sheets tangle around both of you in the lingering heat of sweat and sex. Pope spent years starving for intimacy and touch, and now he’s finally found something, or someone, capable of quieting the noise in his head for a little while. And somehow, every single time with him only gets better.

He learns your body quickly. Not easily, exactly. Pope doesn’t do anything with ease. He does it with focus. His hands remember what makes your breath catch, what makes your hips lift, what makes your fingers tighten in his hair before you even realize you’re doing it. He learns the sounds he can pull from you with his hands, his mouth or the gentle scrape of his teeth against the space between your neck and shoulder. He learns how your body reacts whenever his voice drops low enough to vibrate against your skin, especially when he praises you. When he calls you his good girl.

And you? You like how badly he wants you.

Sure, the money is nice. You find yourself worrying less about rent and what you’ll eat during the week, but the real addiction is the hunger behind everything he does. Pope kisses like he wants to consume you, his hands gripping harder every time you kiss him back with the same need, as if some part of him still expects the moment to disappear. Even when he gets rougher, there’s care underneath it. A hand at the back of your head. A pause when your breath catches wrong. His eyes checking yours before his mouth finds you again.

Even after all the nights spent together, Pope never once asks you to stay over.

You know he wants to. Part of you quietly hopes he will. You see it every time you get dressed while he sits silently watching you leave, his eyes following you toward the door like there are words trapped somewhere inside him he doesn’t know how to say out loud. He never reaches for you. He never asks. He only watches, jaw tight, one hand resting against his knee like staying still is something he has to force himself to do.

Pope still barely sleeps, and you can tell just by looking at him. Some nights after sex, while your breathing slowly settles, he stands near the hotel window staring down at the parking lot below with restless energy trapped inside him. His body relaxes around you, but his mind never fully does. You can make him quiet for a little while. You can feel the moment his body gives in beneath your hands.

But you still can’t make him rest.

The following night, you lie on your side while his fingers lazily trace circles along your bare thigh beneath the sheets. The room smells faintly of sweat, clean linen and salty ocean air drifting through the cracked hotel window.

You light a cigarette before climbing back on top of Pope, offering him a drag from the one still balanced between your fingers. Pope doesn’t take it from you. He only leans up, eyes staying on yours as his mouth closes around the filter.

You hold it there for him, watching his cheeks hollow slightly as he inhales.

Then your eyes drift down, catching on the healing cut near his ribs, half-hidden beneath the sheet. Your fingertips brush lightly against it.

“That from the other night?”

Pope glances down briefly.

“S’nothing.”

But the bruising around it has already turned dark purple and yellow. You lean down without really thinking about it, pressing a soft kiss against the skin beside the cut.

Pope goes still beneath you.

Only for a second.

Then his hand settles against your waist, slower this time, fingers spreading carefully over your skin like tenderness still catches him off guard when it isn’t followed by anything sharp.

Before you can say anything else, his phone starts vibrating loudly on the nightstand beside the bed. Pope doesn’t even look at it. His hand slides to the back of your neck instead, pulling you into a kiss.

The buzzing stops after a few seconds. Then starts all over again.

You laugh softly against his shoulder.

“Someone’s desperate.”

Pope groans under his breath before grabbing the phone.

“What.”

Craig’s voice explodes through the speaker loudly enough for you to hear.

“Happy birthday, asshole!”

You immediately push yourself up off Pope’s body.

“Birthday?” you mouth silently toward him.

Pope winces and pulls the phone away from his ear while Craig keeps rambling loudly about plans tomorrow and how Pope better not disappear all day with “his girl.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at the nickname while Pope drags a tired hand down his face like Craig is already exhausting him.

“Yeah,” Pope mutters eventually. “I’ll come.”

Pause.

“No, I’m not jumpin’ outta a plane, dipshit.”

You laugh harder at that as Pope shoots you an irritated look. His hand is still on your waist, though, which ruins some of the effect.

He hangs up eventually and tosses the phone back onto the table before laying back down.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday.”

Pope shrugs.

“Didn’t matter.”

You roll onto your side to face him properly.

“Not a fan of birthdays?”

He doesn’t respond.

The silence stretches for a moment before you speak again. You shift onto your back, taking another drag from the cigarette between your fingers.

“My favourite birthday was probably three years ago.”

Pope glances toward you quietly.

“Chrissy snuck us into Disneyland after my ex broke up with me.”

His eyebrows lift slightly in curious amusement.

“Snuck?”

“She was screwing a guy working security,” you say, smiling softly at the memory. “We spent the entire night going on rides and watching fireworks.”

Pope stays quiet for a second before speaking unexpectedly.

“Julia skipped school with me once.”

Your attention shifts back toward him immediately.

Pope never brings up Julia.

“She took me to the beach,” he says, voice lower now. “We split this vanilla cupcake with strawberry filling from some bakery near the pier.”

There it is again. That grief sitting just beneath the surface inside him. You suddenly wonder what Julia would’ve been like. Wonder what kind of person could still make Pope sound this gentle years later.

Pope looks back toward you then, reaching over to take the cigarette from between your fingers before bringing it to his mouth. Smoke leaves slowly through his nose before he speaks again.

“Smurf wants me at the house tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you say, eyes shifting toward the ceiling.

Then Pope says, “Come tomorrow.”

You blink.

“To your birthday?”

His eyes stay on yours.

“Yeah.”

Something in your chest tightens at the invitation. You study him for a moment, waiting for the casual correction, the shrug, the thing that will make it sound smaller than it is.

It never comes.

“You asking me or telling me?” you ask softly.

Pope’s mouth almost moves.

“Asking.”

The answer is quiet enough to feel more intimate than it should.

You take another drag from the cigarette, mostly to give yourself something to do with your hands.

“Okay,” you say softly. “What time?”

The next morning, you dig through your closet until you find a yellow sundress shoved near the back. Soft fabric. Thin straps. Fitted enough around your waist to make Pope look at you a little too long, if you’re lucky.

Chrissy watches from your bed, sitting cross-legged while you change.

“Where the fuck are you going so early in the morning?”

“It’s Pope’s birthday,” you say, adjusting the dress in the mirror.

That gets Chrissy’s attention immediately. Her expression shifts while you tie your hair into a braid, the teasing look on her face giving way to something more careful.

“Pope Cody’s birthday?”

You meet her eyes in the mirror.

“I know the stories too, Chrissy.”

“Okay, but stories don’t usually come from nowhere.”

You soften slightly because Chrissy is genuinely worried, even if she’s trying not to show it.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Promise.”

Chrissy studies you for another second before sighing dramatically and falling back against your pillows.

“You better be. I’m too lazy to make new friends.”

You laugh quietly before grabbing your purse from the doorknob.

“Love you. Don’t wait up,” you say with a wink.

“First of all, gross,” she mutters immediately. “Second, there’s a bachelor party at the club, so I’ll be at work all night. Third, I love you too.”

The Codys love a party, even if it’s just family.

Craig cannonballs into the pool fully clothed while Deran yells at him from the patio. J sits nearby next to Nikki, looking deeply overwhelmed by the entire family. He clings to Baz constantly now, following him around with this desperate need for guidance that seems to irritate Pope more every time he notices it.

The second Pope looks up and sees you standing near the patio doors in the yellow dress, his entire expression changes. His gaze drags over you slowly, lingering just long enough to make heat rush up your neck before settling back on your face. The longer he looks, the less he seems interested in birthday plans and the more he seems interested in getting you alone.

Deran catches Pope watching you from across the patio and mutters something under his breath to Craig, making him laugh. Pope doesn’t even look over. His attention stays on you.

Baz notices you too. His gaze drags slowly over the yellow dress with the kind of familiarity he has no right to anymore. Slow enough to make sure you feel it. Slow enough to make sure Pope sees.

Pope’s jaw tightens immediately. Baz leans back casually in his chair before looking toward you again.

“You never wore dresses like that around me.”

“Maybe you didn’t deserve them.”

Baz’s grin widens, but his eyes flick past you toward Pope.

“What?” he says, lifting his hands. “I’m just saying. I had her first.”

“Baz,” Cath warns sharply from behind him.

You jump slightly, not realizing she heard the entire exchange. Cath stands near the patio door with Lena, her expression tight in a way that makes the moment feel uglier than it did a second ago.

For half a breath, something almost embarrassed flashes across Baz’s face. The smug grin comes back harder, like he’d rather be cruel than caught.

Pope starts walking toward him slowly.

“You got somethin’ else to say?”

Baz stands from his chair and smirks wider, but his shoulders have gone a little tight.

“Just statin’ facts.”

Pope shoves him hard into the pool. Water splashes everywhere as Baz goes under and for one quick second, the patio goes quiet. Then Baz surfaces a moment later, sputtering while Craig bursts out laughing.

Pope stands at the edge of the pool looking down at him, expression flat except for a faint trace of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth.

“Y’know,” Baz laughs while splashing water back toward him, “you can be a real dick, Pope.”

“You started it, asshole,” Pope says and something almost playful flashes across his face. Quick, rare and gone almost immediately.

“Boys,” Smurf snaps sharply from the patio, though amusement lingers underneath her voice. “Stop play fighting.”

Then she motions toward the house.

“Girls, come help me in the kitchen.”

You follow Smurf, Cath, Lena and Nikki inside while the boys stay outside laughing loudly near the pool. As you pass Pope, his eyes find yours again, moving once over the yellow dress before lifting back to your face.

Inside, the kitchen moves around you while Nikki arranges food near the island and Cath cuts strawberries beside the sink. Lena sits colouring quietly at the counter until she looks up and notices your braid.

“I like your hair.”

The sweetness in her voice catches you off guard.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

Lena immediately looks toward Cath.

“Mommy, can you do mine like that?”

Cath pauses briefly before glancing toward you.

“You know what, babe? My hands are really sticky right now. Why don’t you ask her?”

The offer surprises you, but Lena is already climbing onto the stool beside you, excitedly handing over a brush before you can overthink it. You smile softly and start braiding her hair carefully while she continues colouring, her little feet swinging beneath the counter.

Smurf watches quietly from across the kitchen, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with my Andrew lately.”

The way she says my Andrew feels deliberate.

“He likes having me around.”

Smurf smiles faintly.

“Oh, I know he does.” Her eyes drift briefly toward the backyard. “My boys have always liked pretty things.”

Nikki glances awkwardly between you and Cath. The last sentence hangs long enough to sting and Cath’s jaw tightens slightly beside the sink. You keep your hands steady in Lena’s hair.

“Funny,” you say calmly. “Pope’s the only one around here who hasn’t treated me like one.”

Smurf’s smile doesn’t move.

“Maybe not.” Her voice stays honey-sweet. “Andrew’s always been different from his brothers.”

You tie off the first braid carefully.

“He feels things stronger than most people,” Smurf continues. “Doesn’t always know what to do with it.”

Her gaze drifts toward the backyard again, where Pope stands near the pool with Craig and Deran, still not laughing as much as everyone else.

“Family means everything to him. Always has.” She takes a slow drag from her cigarette. “People come and go in this life, sweetie. Women especially.”

She shrugs lightly, like she hasn’t just slid the knife in.

“But Andrew always comes home.”

Something about the last line stays with you longer than you want it to. Nikki raises her glass slowly to her mouth, eyes darting toward you like she’s afraid to miss what comes next. Even Cath looks uncomfortable now. The implication lands exactly how Smurf intends it to.

No matter how much time Pope spends with you, no matter how badly he wants you, he still knows where to go when his mother calls.

You finish the last twist in Lena’s braid before answering.

“Must get tiring,” you say.

Smurf tilts her head.

“What’s that?”

“Always having to come home.”

The room goes still for half a second. Cath looks down like she’s trying not to react. Nikki nearly chokes on her drink.

Smurf smiles then. Not because she likes you. Because even Smurf can admit when someone has teeth.

She steps closer, lifting a hand toward your braid and letting her fingers brush over it like she’s admiring something delicate. Then she moves a loose strand of hair away from your face, examining you closely enough to make your skin prickle.

“You’re a young, beautiful girl,” Smurf says softly. “You’ve got a whole world of options that don’t involve my boys.”

Before you can answer, Lena twists around on the stool to look at her hair.

“Is it done?”

You force your attention back to her and smile.

“Almost.”

Cath clears her throat, setting the knife down beside the strawberries.

“You still looking for work?”

The question cuts through the tension cleanly enough that Nikki looks visibly relieved.

“I’ve been trying,” you admit, tying off Lena’s second braid.

“You ever worked in a bar before?”

“I was a server at a diner for a few years.”

“The Flying Pig’s hiring,” Cath says. “One of the servers left a few weeks ago and they’re trying to find someone to cover.”

The offer catches you completely off guard.

“You serious?”

Cath shrugs lightly, but her eyes stay on yours.

“You’d make good tips.”

You doubt you and Cath will ever become best friends, but you still smile softly at her, quietly acknowledging that maybe, in some strange way, you both understand each other more than either of you wants to admit.

“I’ll think about it.”

Lena reaches up carefully to touch one of the braids.

“Do I look pretty?”

You glance down at her and soften.

“Very.”

Across the kitchen, Smurf watches the whole thing, cigarette smoke curling lazily around her face.

A few moments later, once Nikki settles with Lena in the living room to watch cartoons and Smurf disappears outside to drag the boys back in, the kitchen finally quiets. Cath folds dish towels carefully beside you while tension still lingers between you both, quiet and awkward now that there’s no one else around to hide behind.

“Cath, I…”

The backyard door suddenly slams open before you can finish, and the boys flood back inside loudly while Craig drips pool water across the tile floor. Baz follows behind him mostly dry now, though his shirt still clings slightly at the collar and his hair is messier than it was before.

Pope immediately looks disgusted.

“Jesus Christ, Craig.”

“What?”

“You’re all wet.”

“It’s called a pool, dumbass.”

“There’s fucking footprints everywhere.”

Craig ignores him completely and opens the fridge, grabbing the cake with soaking wet hands. You’ve never seen Pope look genuinely horrified. Deran bursts out laughing from behind him while Baz steps forward and drops both hands onto Pope’s shoulders mockingly.

“He’s gonna want to disinfect the whole kitchen after this.”

Pope shrugs him off without looking at him.

“Don’t touch me.”

Baz only grins, but there’s still a sharpness to it from earlier.

Smurf lights a candle on a large chocolate cake while everybody crowds loosely around the kitchen island. The brothers sing terribly, mostly yelling over each other while Pope stands there looking uncomfortable through the entire thing. Craig sings the loudest, of course, one hand still dripping onto the tile while Deran laughs too hard to stay on key. Baz leans against the counter with that easy grin back in place, like the pool never happened.

You catch yourself smiling and for half a second, it almost feels normal.

Then Smurf motions for Pope to blow out the candle.

J looks at the cake. His expression barely changes, but his voice cuts through the room anyway.

“It’s my mom’s birthday too.”

The silence is immediate.

Craig stops smiling first. Deran’s eyes flick toward Smurf. Baz looks away, jaw tightening like something old just moved under his skin. Pope goes completely still beside the island, his attention fixed on the candle like he’s stopped seeing the room at all.

Even Smurf’s expression shifts. Only for a second. Then the softness comes back, smooth and practised.

“That’s right, baby,” she says gently. “It is.”

She looks at the cake, then at J.

“Happy birthday, Julia.”

Nobody moves.

The candle flame flickers between all of you, small and ridiculous on top of all that chocolate frosting.

You look toward Pope.

He’s already gone somewhere else.

Not physically. He’s still standing there, still close enough for your shoulder to brush his if you moved half a step. But everything in him has pulled inward. His jaw is tight. His eyes are distant. His hands hang at his sides, too still now, like he doesn’t trust them to do anything else.

And all at once, the sadness sitting underneath him all day finally makes sense.

Julia.

Not just his birthday.

Theirs.

Eventually, everybody drifts back outside again. Cath gathers leftovers quietly while Lena tugs sleepily at her hand, her fresh braid coming loose near the ends.

Before leaving, Cath stops beside you, speaking low enough that only you can hear.

“You should be careful.”

You look toward her immediately.

Cath glances briefly toward the backyard where Pope stands near the pool arguing with Craig and Deran, shoulders stiff while Craig gestures too widely with both hands.

“With him?”

Cath’s mouth tightens slightly.

“With all of them.”

Her eyes move toward Smurf next, sitting outside with a cigarette between her fingers, watching her boys like she owns every breath they take.

“Smurf doesn’t like losing track of what belongs to her.”

The warning lands quietly.

“She’ll always find a way to pull them back,” Cath adds, softer now. “I know from experience.”

The sadness underneath her voice hits harder than the warning itself.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you say quietly.

Cath nods once, like she’s already decided not to make this more sentimental than it needs to be.

You glance toward Baz, who’s laughing too loudly near the pool like nothing in the kitchen ever happened. Then you look back at Cath.

“And for what it’s worth,” you add, voice lower, “I’m sorry.”

Cath studies you for another second. For a moment, you think she might pretend not to understand.

She doesn’t.

Her expression softens slightly, but only slightly.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

Then Lena tugs her hand again.

Cath looks down, brushing a loose piece of hair away from Lena’s face before looking back at you.

“Think about my offer. Let me know.”

Then she leaves quietly with Lena.

You’re alone in the kitchen washing dishes while the remaining houseguests stay outside near the pool. A few seconds later, Pope comes up behind you, quiet enough that you barely hear him until his mouth is near your ear.

“That dress is drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he says low, his hands sliding slowly around your waist.

A smile pulls at your mouth.

“Consider it part of your birthday gift,” you say, leaning your head back until your mouth brushes near his ear. “Although part of it might already be unwrapped.”

He goes completely still behind you.

“You’re lyin’.”

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes lifting to meet his.

“Why don’t you feel for yourself?”

That’s apparently all the permission Pope needs. His breathing changes instantly as his hand slides beneath your dress and finds nothing but bare skin waiting for him.

“Fuck,” he groans against your ear, his hand gripping you firmly. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You bite your lip as your hips shift against his hand.

“Pretty sure I’m starting to.”

His hands move around to the front of you, pushing your legs apart while your fingers tighten around the edge of the sink. One hand settles at your hip to keep you steady while the other disappears beneath your dress again.

The second his fingers find you already slick for him, his breath turns ragged.

“Jesus,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Your head tips back against his shoulder as his touch starts slow and deliberate, focused in that way he gets when he’s learning something he wants to remember. The dishes sit forgotten in the sink, soap sliding down your wrists while your body leans back into his like it already knows where it belongs.

He pulls his fingers away suddenly.

You barely have time to miss the touch before he brings them to his mouth. His eyes stay locked on yours as he licks them clean, and the sight nearly makes your knees give out.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough. “You taste good.”

The words nearly undo you, mostly because he says them like he wasn’t trying to praise you at all. Like the truth just slipped out before he could stop it.

You turn quickly to face him, kissing him hard while your damp, soapy hands slide into his hair. Pope makes a quiet sound into your mouth, one hand catching your waist before he backs you against the kitchen island.

He lifts you onto the counter with both hands, a little rougher than necessary, like patience has finally started failing him.

Your breath catches as you lean back on your palms, the counter cool beneath your skin while Pope steps between your legs. His eyes drag slowly over you, over the yellow dress bunched high on your thighs, and the look on his face makes heat rush through you all over again.

Then he lowers himself in front of you.

“Pope—” you breathe, but there’s no warning in it.

His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as his mouth presses against the inside of your knee, then higher, disappearing beneath the soft yellow fabric.

A shaky breath leaves you immediately. Your hips move before he even touches you where you need him, already desperate for his mouth, desperate to feel him taste you again after the way he looked at you moments earlier.

Just then, the backyard door slides open.

“Yo!” Baz yells loudly from outside. “Birthday boy! You comin’ or what?”

Pope’s head lifts from beneath your dress, and he shuts his eyes briefly like he’s genuinely considering murder.

“One minute,” he snaps.

Baz laughs from the patio.

“Hurry the fuck up. Guy’s gonna charge me a late fee if we don’t meet him now.”

Pope stays where he is for another second, breathing hard, his hands still gripping your thighs beneath the dress. For a moment, you think he might ignore Baz completely.

Then his jaw tightens.

He stands slowly.

You grin breathlessly as you hop down from the counter, smoothing your dress back into place.

“Take a rain check?”

His hands find your hips again, fingers digging in for half a second before he forces himself to loosen his grip.

“Hotel. Later.”

You look up at him, still smiling.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be tonight.”

His expression shifts slightly, the frustration giving way to something softer before he leans in and kisses you once, hard and brief.

“Good,” he says against your mouth.

Apparently, the Cody brothers’ brilliant birthday plans involve skydiving, despite Pope repeatedly calling it “stupid as shit.”

You’re curled on your couch later that evening when your phone buzzes with updates from him.

deran and craig got into it

craig pushed deran out of the plane

You stare at the screen.

is deran ok?

yeah

why did craig push deran out of the plane?

because deran and i did the job without him and baz

You blink once.

normal family stuff then

yeah

pope

what

that was sarcasm

i know

A minute passes before curiosity wins.

why didn’t you guys do the job with baz and craig?

baz had to take craig to a doctor in mexico

You sit up a little.

why did craig need a doctor in mexico?

bullet wound

“What the fuck?” you say aloud to your empty apartment.

i should stop asking questions

probably for the best

He doesn’t answer for a while after that.

A few hours later, your phone buzzes again.

at a strip club now

Your eyebrows lift.

poor pope surrounded by beautiful naked women

His response comes almost immediately.

don’t start

You grin to yourself, curling deeper into the couch cushions.

better not forget about me if girls are giving you a lap dance

There’s a longer pause this time.

what makes you think im getting a lap dance

You snort softly.

because baz probably paid for one already

No response comes after that.

You stare at the screen for another second before biting your lip. Then, impulsively, you push yourself off the couch and walk toward your bedroom.

The yellow dress is still on.

You let the straps fall low enough to bare your shoulders, the fabric riding higher along your thighs as you stand with your back toward the mirror. You glance over one shoulder, phone lifted just enough to hide most of your face, though the sly curve of your mouth still shows.

preview for later ;)

Read immediately.

Then nothing.

Your stomach twists.

Maybe his phone died. Maybe Baz dragged him somewhere louder. Maybe Pope looked at the picture in the middle of the club and went completely still, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the screen while some girl tried to get his attention and failed.

That last thought should make you feel smug.

Instead, the silence starts getting under your skin.

Maybe he actually accepted the lap dance.

You hate how much that bothers you.

Almost twenty minutes pass before there’s a knock at your apartment door. You frown slightly before walking over and pulling it open.

Pope stands in the hallway, breathing a little heavier than normal, his dark eyes locking onto you immediately. His gaze drops slowly down your body, taking in the yellow dress. His gaze lingers long enough to make heat rush up your neck before lifting back to your face.

“Chrissy home?”

His eyes flick past you into the apartment, quick and careful, checking corners like he can’t help himself.

You shake your head slowly.

“Working. Won’t be home all night.”

“Good.”

You step aside to let him in and Pope shuts the door behind him immediately.

When he turns back to you, the restraint is almost worse than if he touched you right away. He just stands there for a second, looking at you with the kind of focus that makes it obvious he hasn’t stopped thinking about the picture since the moment he opened it.

“What are you doing here?” you ask softly. “I thought I was supposed to meet you at the hotel later.”

Pope steps closer.

“Couldn’t wait.”

Your stomach tightens.

“No?”

His eyes stay on yours.

“No.”

You take a breath, but he’s already close enough for his hand to find your hip. His other hand slips beneath the edge of your dress, slow enough that you feel every inch of anticipation before his fingers touch skin.

“You can’t send me a picture like that,” he says, voice low, “and expect me to sit there with them like I’m not thinkin’ about this.”

His hand moves higher.

You feel the exact moment he realizes.

Pope goes still and his eyes darken.

“Still no underwear?”

“No.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. Not a full smile. Barely even close.

It still makes heat pull low in your stomach.

“That why you sent it?”

You swallow, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much the look on his face affects you.

“Maybe.”

His thumb drags once over your thigh.

“Wanted me to leave?”

Your breath catches.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

His hand tightens at your hip.

“Good girl.”

The praise slips through you immediately, fast and embarrassing and impossible to hide. Pope sees it too. His gaze drops to your mouth before he leans closer, his lips brushing the corner of yours without kissing you yet.

“It worked.”

Then he kisses you hard enough to make you stumble backward.

Pope catches you immediately, one arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand slides beneath your thigh. He lifts you easily, your legs locking around him as he carries you farther into the apartment without breaking the kiss. There’s nothing graceful about it. Not really. He moves like patience has already failed him and he’s holding himself together by force.

He sets you down on the table carefully, almost too carefully for how hard he’s breathing.

That gets to you more than it should.

The restraint. The hunger. The way he can look at you like that and still make sure the edge of the table doesn’t catch the back of your thigh.

Pope steps between your knees, his hands sliding along your legs, slow and firm, pushing the yellow dress higher until the fabric bunches around your hips.

For a second, he only looks at you.

“What?” you breathe.

His eyes lift to yours, dark and focused.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Your stomach tightens.

“About what?”

His gaze drops between your thighs before coming back to your face.

“The way you taste.”

The words leave him rough, almost like he didn’t mean to say them out loud. Like the truth slips out before he can stop it.

He steps closer, his hands settling at your knees.

“Can I?”

Your breath catches at the question. Even like this, even with his body pressed close and his mouth swollen from kissing you, he still gives you the choice.

You nod.

His eyes narrow slightly.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Taste me again, Pope.”

He lowers himself between your thighs, one arm hooking beneath your leg to pull you closer to the edge. Your hands brace behind you, fingers curling against the tabletop as his mouth presses to the inside of your knee, then higher.

He takes his time for someone who said he couldn’t wait.

That’s the part that nearly undoes you.

The way his mouth moves over your skin with deliberate patience. The way his fingers press into your thigh, not rushing, not careless, holding you open for him like he wants to feel every second of you giving in. The way he watches your face until the dress hides him from view.

Then his mouth finds you.

Your back arches immediately, a broken sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Fuck, Pope.”

His grip tightens.

The sound of your voice does something to him. You feel it in the way his restraint falters, the way his mouth grows hungrier, the way one hand slides up your thigh and keeps you right there when your hips try to move against him.

He doesn’t let you disappear into it alone.

Every time you gasp, he answers. Every time your fingers tighten in his hair, his breath drags rough against your skin. Every time your body trembles, his hand strokes once along your thigh, grounding you before he takes you apart again.

Your head falls back.

“Oh god,” you whisper. “Pope.”

He makes a low sound against you, like hearing his name like that is almost too much.

You feel yourself getting close too quickly, too sharply, the pleasure gathering low and tight until your legs begin to shake around him.

“I’m gonna come,” you breathe.

Pope lifts his head from beneath your dress.

His mouth is wet, his breathing uneven, his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“Not yet.”

Your chest rises sharply.

“Pope.”

His hand slides up your stomach, pressing lightly there, not holding you down, just keeping you with him.

“Wait for me,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “Can you do that?”

You nod immediately, too far gone to argue.

A slow curve touches the corner of his mouth, almost wrecked by how quickly you listen to him.

“Good girl.”

The praise moves through you so fast your thighs press tighter around him. His expression changes again, hunger bleeding into something almost tender.

He stands and leans over you, mouth finding yours. You taste yourself on him and the kiss turns deeper, messier, his hand sliding beneath your dress to push it higher.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

His eyes move over you slowly, taking in the flushed skin, the dress gathered at your waist, the way your chest rises with every shaky breath. Pope looks at you like he’s trying to memorize what wanting can look like when nobody is taking it from him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly.

The words come out almost uneven and that makes them hit harder.

You reach for him, fingers finding his belt.

“Come here.”

He listens.

His belt comes undone quickly, then his jeans. His boxers get pushed down just enough for you to see how badly the whole day has gotten to him. You lift yourself slightly onto your elbows, watching as he rolls the condom on, his eyes flicking back to yours like he wants to catch every reaction.

Then he steps between your thighs again.

His hands slide beneath your knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the table. The movement drags a soft gasp from you and Pope’s jaw tightens at the sound.

He lines himself up slowly as your fingers grip his shoulders.

“Pope.”

“I know.”

His forehead drops against yours.

The first thrust inside you steals the air from both of you. He pushes in carefully, inch by inch and the sound that leaves him is rough and broken against your mouth. Your eyes close, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the weight of him so close after wanting him all day too.

“Look at me.”

You force your eyes open.

His face is right there, tense with restraint, mouth parted, eyes locked on yours like he needs you to stay with him for this.

“There you go,” he breathes. “That’s my girl.”

Your body tightens around him.

Pope feels it immediately. His eyes shut for half a second.

“Fu—”

He starts moving slowly at first, one hand firm at your waist while the other braces against the table beside you. Every thrust pulls a breathless sound from you and Pope takes each one like it matters. Like he’s listening for what your body wants before his own can take over.

But his patience doesn’t last long.

Not after the picture. Not after the kitchen. Not after being interrupted once and forced to sit through the rest of the day with the thought of you waiting for him in that dress.

His rhythm turns rougher, more desperate, though his hands stay careful, keeping you close without making you feel trapped.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against you.

He goes willingly, face burying against your neck, mouth dragging over your skin between uneven breaths.

“I couldn’t think,” he says against your throat.

You make a soft sound, fingers tightening in his hair.

“About me?”

His mouth presses below your ear.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Only you.”

Your chest aches at how simple it sounds.

His hand slides beneath your thigh, lifting your leg higher against his hip and the new angle makes your whole body go tight.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Pope’s breath catches.

“You close?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes.”

“Not yet.”

“Pope—”

“Wait.”

His forehead drops against yours, breath breaking.

“Just… wait.”

A helpless sound breaks from you and something in his expression shifts like he almost can’t stand asking it of you.

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing you once. “I got you.”

His pace grows rougher, more uneven, every movement pulling you closer to the edge while his own control slips piece by piece. His mouth drags along your jaw, his breathing turning ragged near your ear.

“Wait for me,” he says again, rougher this time, almost pleading. “Come with me.”

That’s what does it.

Not just his body or the pressure building so sharply you can barely breathe around it.

It’s the way he says it. Like he doesn’t want to fall apart unless you’re there with him.

Release moves through you hard and sudden, your body tightening around him as Pope follows you over the edge with a rough sound buried against your mouth. His arms lock around you, holding you through it, holding you after, his face pressed into the curve of your neck while both of you shake through the last of it.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

Pope stays there, breathing hard against your skin, his hand moving slowly over your back like he’s trying to keep both of you in one piece.

Then, after a long moment, his mouth brushes your shoulder.

“You okay?”

You nod, still catching your breath.

“Yeah.”

His hand moves once over your back again.

You smile faintly, turning your face toward his.

“You left the strip club pretty fast.”

Pope lifts his head just enough to look at you. His mouth twitches faintly.

“Didn’t wanna be there.”

Your smile softens.

“No?”

His eyes move over your face, warmer now, still a little dark from everything that just happened between you.

“Wanted to be here.”

The words are simple. Almost plain.

Somehow, that makes them worse.

Later, while fixing your dress again in the kitchen, your eyes drift toward the table behind you and you nearly laugh to yourself. If Chrissy ever finds out what happened on her kitchen table, she may actually kill you.

Pope sits silently in one of the chairs nearby, still catching his breath while he watches you move around the apartment. His hair is messy, his shirt half-buttoned, his eyes quieter now that the hunger has burned down into something softer.

“Stay there,” you say.

His brow furrows slightly, but he listens.

A minute later, you return holding a tiny vanilla cupcake with one crooked candle shoved into the top. You light it carefully before setting it down in front of him.

“I couldn’t find the bakery you mentioned,” you say, leaning against the table. “So I stopped at one earlier before I came home. I made sure to ask for strawberry filling.”

The shift is small, but immediate. Pope’s eyes drop to the cupcake and stay there, fixed on the wax beginning to slip down the side of the candle.

“You told me about it after I told you my favourite birthday,” you say softly. “I figured that meant it was worth remembering.”

Pope doesn’t answer.

For a second, you worry you’ve done too much. Maybe taken something private and put it in front of him before he was ready. Maybe made the room too soft for a man who still looks startled every time tenderness comes without a catch.

A small smile pulls at your mouth anyway.

“Make a wish.”

Pope looks up at you then.

Not long.

Just enough.

Then he leans forward and blows out the candle.

Smoke curls between you, thin and quiet. He doesn’t touch the cupcake right away and you don’t ask why. You only stand there with your hip pressed against the table, watching him watch it.

Eventually, his voice comes out low.

“Should’ve called her more.”

The grief underneath the words catches you off guard. It isn’t dramatic and it doesn’t need to be. It sits there between you, heavier than anything else he could’ve said.

You step closer until you’re standing beside him.

“Julia?”

Pope nods once, eyes still on the cupcake.

“She knew you loved her,” you say.

His jaw tightens.

For a second, you think he might argue. Pope looks like the kind of man who trusts guilt more than comfort, like pain makes more sense to him than forgiveness ever could.

But he doesn’t say anything.

When he finally looks up at you, the dim kitchen light makes him look younger somehow. Tired, not just from the day but from years of carrying things no one ever taught him how to put down.

You reach out slowly, giving him time to move away.

He doesn’t.

Your fingers brush once through his hair, careful and soft.

Pope’s eyes lower but he stays still beneath your hand. Maybe that's the part that gets to you most. Not the fact that he lets you touch him, but the way he looks like he has to make himself believe he’s allowed to want it.

After another long moment, he speaks again.

“Can I stay tonight?”

Your eyebrows lift slightly before you can stop yourself.

Pope looks away immediately, something hardening in his expression like he already regrets letting the words out.

“You don’t have to,” he mutters.

The words come fast. Defensive. Almost flat.

Like he’s trying to take the question back before you can make it hurt.

Your expression softens.

“I want you to.”

A little while later, you change into a lace cami while Pope strips down to his boxers near the bed. You try not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. Broad shoulders, thick arms, messy hair from your fingers earlier and sleep-heavy eyes still fixed on you like he can’t stop looking even now.

You climb beneath the blankets slowly and Pope hesitates for half a second before stretching one arm out toward you in a silent invitation.

You pause at the gesture, understanding it for what it is. Pope has never liked being touched unless he decides where the contact begins, so when he reaches for you like this, careful and quiet, something in your chest softens before you can stop it.

You move closer and settle beside him while his arm wraps slowly around your waist. Your hand rests lightly against his chest and beneath your palm, you feel him exhale deeply. Not all at once. Not enough to make the tension disappear completely. Just enough that you feel his body recognize yours beside him.

“Happy birthday, Pope,” you whisper, lifting your head toward his ear before pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.

His arm tightens around you.

Your eyes drift toward the healing cut near his ribs again and your fingertips brush lightly over the bruised skin surrounding it. A quiet anxiety creeps low in your stomach before you can stop it. There are parts of Pope’s life you don’t know how to touch yet. Parts that show up purple and yellow beneath his skin. Parts that make him stand by windows after sex and stare at parking lots like sleep is something he has to earn first.

This is just an agreement, you remind yourself as sleep slowly starts pulling you under.

But sometime later, in the middle of the night, while the apartment stays quiet around you both, Pope’s breathing finally evens beneath your cheek.

No pacing. No hotel window. No restless shadow standing half-dressed in the dark.

Just Pope, asleep with his arm still locked around your waist like he found you there and decided not to let go.

And maybe that was the wish he never said out loud.

[unhoelyplaces]

sammy bryant who comes home after a long day, bones tired and boots heavy against the hardwood as he searches you out.

he finds you in the kitchen, elbow deep in soapy bottle parts and tiny utensils, wearing thick pink rubber gloves he knew you wore to protect your pretty little manicured hands because god forbid anything came between you and a french tip.

there was something about the picture painted before him that had his veins burning hotter, heart beating against his ribs hard enough to ricochet into his ears. the visions of blood spilling onto cracked pavement, the cries of childless mothers and motherless children whose faces burned in his brain every time he closed his eyes dulled to a whisper as his gaze fell upon you.

his house, his woman, proof of his child you’d grown from scratch inside you etched into every surface—safe and sound wrapped in walls he’d raise hellfire to protect. the sweet smile lighting up your face as you turn from the sink to greet him as he saunters towards you, twirls a stray strand of hair framing the face he’d kill for, die for.

a greeting dies on your tongue when he slides a firm hand over your jaw, puckering your lips with fingertips splayed wide across your cheeks as he brings your face to his.

a god given solace.

[nanabrainrot]

too eager (sammy bryant/f!reader

did you take something? you had to have.

there was no way you were this eager to fuck him of all people: your giddy demeanor and permanent smile had rubbed off on others, him the most after the divorce. almost as soon as he slipped off that ring, you slipped your hands into his shirt, soothingly rubbing circles into the soft tissues under his burning skin.

he - he probably shouldn’t be doing this…

“sh - shh, baby, y’re gonna wake up the whole town…” driving you home was supposed to be a favor, but you turned to give his a peck on the cheek, then your hand found his chest, then your lips found his, a shy peck, and then you were bouncing on his lap in the driver’s seat —

“sorry…! sorry…!” that cracking voice, desperate and out of breath, hips slipping up then down as you tried to take all of him, as much as gravity and your eager hole could take (he’d give everything you wanted, as much as you want, at any time). “just - just feel - ooh, ugh - so good…! I been - been wanting this since I met you… holy shit, you’re so good, you smell so good — you - you feel so good, Sammy —“ you babble, sinking down to let him bottom out to the hilt.

you feel it knock into that spot and go still, mouth open wide and eyes rolling back, the muscles of your pussy choking his dick between spasms. “baby, w-wait —“

the warmth inside, the way it twitches… it was euphoric, like the first hit of a narcotic. how were you supposed to go on like this, with only one load in you? the emptiness before him stuffing you then filling you up was adjacent to a hollow cavern. a missing piece.

your eyes regain sight as you glance down to where you’re joined, then back up to his flushed, wide-eyed face. a rosy tint blossoms under his freckles.

“do you think can you stay the night —“

“yes, baby, as many nights you need.”

[bluetimeombre]

Take care of you

synopsis jack really wants to take care of you, you're really not used to that feeling, but when an accident has you in harms way and rattles jack more than you, you have little choice but to accept how he feels about you. (I want to take care of you- it's rotten work- not to me, not if its you) type.

warnings, fluff and angst but with a happy ending. guns. insecure reader. reader is described with hair long enough to braid. insecure reader. angst with happy ending . younger reader though not a massive plot point. miscommunication/misunderstanding

authorsnote uncle pee-paw i'm growing very fond of you. sometimes i get so in my head about how things preform on tumblr and i completely forget that fanfic is so self indulgent so as long as i'm happy with it but i'm so happy with the love these pitt fics are getting they really do mean a lot

Pitt masterlist. Jack Abbot fic!

“ You need a ride? ”

When you'd called Jack to tell him you were going to be late into your night shift because the buses you relied so heavily on to get you to and from work weren't running due to some strikes or something, you really were only calling to let him know you'd be late. Not to subtly ask for him to give you a ride.

“No- no. I just didn't want you to think I was not turning up, I'll be there.”

“ What's your address again? ”

“It doesn't matter, I'm walking- running- running in,” you said breathless down your phone, busy stuffing your bag with whatever you'd need, none of which was food for the shift. You'd recently ran out of the energy bars Jack had recommended.

Everyday you said you'd prepare something nice, some risotto or something and take it in. Every morning you collapsed from exhaustion and ran out of time to make anything that resembled a 'meal'.

“ I've got it here, I'll be around in ten, ” Jack said.

Your bag slid down your shoulder as you paused. “Got it? Got what?”

“ Your address. ”

“How do you have my address?”

He chuckled down the line. “ Remember I ubered food to yours, two weeks ago? You've probably still got leftovers in your fridge. ”

Ah. You remembered. One of those times you let slip your terrible routine and he sort to fix it, sending you over prepped meals that- he was right- were still littered around your fridge.

“Right, yes. You should delete that.”

“ Comes in handy, sometimes. In emergencies, ” he said. “ I'll pick you up in ten, bye. ”

There was no time to argue as the call ended promptly after that.

Jack Abbot was a caring man. Something you were learning the hard way. You knew he'd given Ellis his spare room when she was evicted from her apartment, he'd even let her re-decorate, got her fresh blankets and sheets. You knew that Shen's favourites snacks were always stocked up in the lounge. You always knew that he was first to spot Lena getting tired and was always there with a coffee.

It was just like you knew he knew all those little things about you too.

He knew when your bus got in across from PCMT, always there to escort you over the road and back again at the end of the shift. No matter how long or gruelling it had been he would wait with you, rain or sun. He knew you had a bad sleeping habit so he told you herbal remedies in teas and even brought some for you. Annoyingly they worked and every time you had one you were forced to think of Jack.

You knew that if he said he was picking you up- he was.

There was nothing wrong with his affection.

You just didn't know what to do with it.

The night shift was still new to you. You'd only joined since their nights had gotten wilder, even too wild for the 'weirdest and wildest' to handle so you'd made the swap six months ago to help out. You were used to Robby's ways of doing things: of his careful watch over his residents with happy thumbs up or disapproving shakes of his head.

Jack trusted in his residents to take care of patients, but didn't when it came to themselves.

You rushed around, finding your pens and stethoscope and phone that you'd just put down for a second. Soon enough Jack had texted saying he was coming up (he somehow already had the code to your apartment complex).

His knuckles rattled softly and you rushed to grab the last of your things, including a book marked with 'Abbot, J' that you had yet to get round to reading.

“Hi,” you greeted.

You'd expected he'd come up just to be a gentleman, figuring the two of you would just head back down.

Jack squeezed by your attempt at baring him from your place and walked into your small and cramped apartment. “Hey.”

You tried not to be surprised, shutting the door behind him. “I've got everything, we- we can go.”

“I jussss wanna check-” the kitchen was just to the right and he opened your fridge door, grinning. “I was right. Still got the leftovers.”

There were many containers stacked, some full, others emptying. All marked in his handwriting from his meal prep he shared with you.

“Yeah, I haven't got round to sorting it,” you said. “Sorry, I didn't get around to eating everything. It's really good though.”

Jack smiled, reaching into your fridge like it was his own. “Hey, I made you a lot, didn't expect you to eat everything. Just wanted to make sure you had a choice. Did you like the Linguini? I tried a new recipe.”

Jack moved around your kitchen like he'd been living in your space forever. He was confident as he re-arranged your food, throwing what had gone out of date away and washing his hands in your sink, taking a towel hanging up by a cupboard like he knew it was there and drying.

“Er, yeah, it was nice, we can go, you know,” you said.

“You started reading it?” Jack asked, gesturing down to the book in your hands. “What do you think of it?”

“Oh, er, no. I haven't had the chance to start it. I was gonna give it back to you,” you said.

Jack shrugged. “It's yours, keep it.”

It was not yours. It was his. It was one of his favourites if the several dog-eared pages and annotations were anything to go by. It was a title he'd recommended to you and handed you a month ago but you'd only managed to flick through and get a vague understanding of the characters names only.

“But I mean- I don't know when I'll get round to reading it,” you said, loitering outside your kitchen.

“It's okay, I've read it a thousand times, keep it till you do.”

Wasn't he worried you may never get round to reading it and he might not ever get it back?, if your forgetful memory was anything to go by.

Jack finally abandoned your kitchen, passing by you. “Shall we?”

“Thanks for the lift. You really didn't have to,” you said as you left your apartment building, the sky already darkening and where others came in from their long days of work, yours was only just beginning.

“It's on my way,” he shrugged.

“It's out of your way,” you pointed out, knowing Jack was a complete different way to PCMT then you.

You saw his eyes roll as he opened the passenger door for you, nodding for you to get in.

“Just take the lift.”

“Thank you.”

“Word is you and Abbot arrived together,” said Dana.

You groaned.

There was a lot to like about the night shifts. It felt more of a team work than day did sometimes, you loved working with everyone just as much as you did day and you liked how still it got in the night sometimes. But you missed Dana who watched out for you like a mama bear. Still, she made time to always check in with you before she headed out.

Her jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders, her hair pinned back neater and keys in hand but she still greeted you like it was the start of the day.

“He gave me a lift, the buses are on strike.”

She smirked. “Nice of him.”

“I've told him not to do it again.”

“Oh yeah, how'd he take that?”

He'd shook his head and laughed, constantly brushing off every thanks you made and offer of any aid you could give. He seemed wholly un-bothered by the inconvenience you'd caused.

“Jack's a good guy,” said Dana.

“That he is.”

“You deserve someone like him.”

You weren't sure where Dana got that idea. You also didn't know why you couldn't believe her. Why every time Jack turned up when things were going bad, or why every time he showed he cared you felt scared.

And you'd never really had the time to un-pack that.

You looked up to Dana, folding your arms over on the counter. “And what about what he wants?”

“Well for that you'll have to ask him,” she said with the all knowing look in her eyes. Her hand was gentle on your shoulder as she squeezed. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

You thought you'd have a chance to view the patient charts that were swapped over to night shift but Jack was next, standing in Dana's space.

“What did mamma bear have to say?” he asked.

“Oh you know, the usual,” you said. “Trying to give me life advice that I won't follow.”

He huffed a chuckle. “I could've told her that, saved her the time.”

“I listen to your advice-”

He levelled his gaze onto yours.

“- I try to.”

His brows rose up. “You brought anything in for food tonight?”

You were about to answer, ready to prove him wrong, finally.

Jack interrupted you. “Anything other than that caramel coffee you like?”

He could read you like a book. You don't know how he found the time to know so much about you, to observe such things you wouldn't even notice unless he pointed them out.

Your silence was an answer.

“I brought extra, we'll have it later.”

He said it so confidently, leaving little space for any arguing on your end.

“Will we?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the counter. “I'm thinking a midnight picnic, trauma two? Might even get lucky with a GSW as company.”

You laughed and when you looked at Jack he was smiling. It was a soft kind, the sort that smoothed his face and made him seem younger and lighter. The kind that you took home with you and re-played as you fell asleep slowly.

You would never admit how long Jack spends in your mind. Somehow it felt like he already knew.

“You, um, you didn't braid your hair today,” said Jack, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter. His gaze only faltered on yours for a second.

This was something you knew you did, carefully creating a routine for washing your hair that meant you didn't have to do it every day after work. Enough baby powder or dry shampoo meant you could get away with two washes at best.

“No, I guess I didn't.”

“It's gonna annoy you, being in your face all day.”

“I'm sure I'll manage.”

Jack didn't listen. He picked up your wrist- the one you kept a hair tie around- and slid it onto his own before going behind you.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Helping you.”

“You don't have to, I'll shove it up.”

Jack grumbled. “Let me work.”

His fingers grazed your neck as he brushed back your hair, the callouses on his hands rough against you, eliciting some sort of warmth in your body. Thankfully he was behind you and couldn't see the blush absolutely coming to your cheeks.

Jack took care of those around him, but he'd never touched anyone else's hair, never stood in the middle of the nurses station where all could see to braid someone's hair.

You felt him work, the weight of his gaze on the back of your head and his fingers moving through your hair like a cool summer evening breeze.

Across the way, Lena peered over her glasses at you with a smile.

“Lena's staring,” you said, unable to focus on any work till Jack's fingers were out of your hair.

Jack hummed. You knew that concentration from the amount of times you've seen him focused. “Lena always stares.”

You noticed Crus and Matteo passing by, both watching and pointing. You were sure Crus made some obscene make-out gesture and only hoped Jack didn't see. You were sure, if anyone else had asked he'd have done the same.

Though you hadn't technically asked.

“I'm sure you have far more important things to do than braid my hair, Abbot.” The lights in the Pitt seemed brighter, burning down on you like spotlights.

“Nothing more important right now.”

Your neck stretched as Jack pulled at your hair lightly to get it all in place. Curiosity ate at you, wondering where he'd done this before but the idea of knowing- like you had any right to- shut you up before you could speak.

Eventually he finished and his hands fell on your shoulders.

“There. Ready to be a hero?” he asked, spinning you around to him.

Your feet scuffed along the floor. “What? Am I the Robin to your batman?”

His lips quirked up and he moved his head side to side like weighing up his options. “More like the Lois to my Super-man.”

You sadly weren't versed enough in comic to know if that was a good or bad thing.

Jack was attending to a young girl when you walked in. Honestly it was starting to get comical how you turned up around him or he you. Some would call it magnets and as you met Jacks gaze as you stepped in you knew the ‘people’ meant Jack.

He looked at you, taking a quick note of the fact you still had your braid in even hours into the night. Jack smiled.

“Miss mermaid this is who I was telling you about,” said Jack.

The young girl- maybe five, maybe six- looked up at you as Jack slowly pulled at the thread bringing the skin of her knee together.

The chart had told you she'd taken a nasty fall on the playground and her teacher had brought her in, still trying to get in contact with the parents while Jack kept her company, cleaning her scraped knees and the gash just below.

“Hello,” the little girl waved. There wasn't even any tear marks on her cheeks but there was a small mark of blood at her little lip and her hair was falling out around her face.

“Hello miss mermaid,” you greeted, realising quickly the name came from her little mermaid top she wore.

“We were just talking about you,” said Jack, glancing quickly at you.

You blushed, wondering what Jack had to say about you to a small child. “Oh?”

“You and Crus played mermaids that time at the beach, remember?”

The girl giggled and Jack smiled over her shoulder at you.

“It wasn't- it wasn't mermades,” you excused.

That day was one of sweltering heat and lingering gazes. The night shift had took a trip to the beach on one of the hottest days of the year, enjoying the day for the day-shifters that couldn't. You'd gotten a lift with Matteo who'd brough Victoria Javadi along as she had the day off anyhow.

There was sand in places you didn't know sand could get, beach balls that somehow were pierced before you could even blow them up and gazes shared with Jack.

Maybe it was the bikini you wore that was so different from the scrubs. Maybe it was the fact Jack was un-characteristically insecure about his prosthetic leg being exposed to all and you'd told him nobody cared, that everybody cared more that he couldn't enjoy himself. Something had changed that day, settling in you like a pebble at the bottom of a lake thrown from a great height.

Since then, you and Jack had never looked at each other the same way.

But you and Crus hadn't been playing mermaids.... exactly. You swam around a lot and sort to collect more sea shells than the other. You just didn't call it mermaids.

“Will I be able to play mermaids again?” asked the little girl brushing hair out of her face with clumsy hands.

“Absolutely,” said Jack with great enthusiasm.

“And run faster than all the boys in my class?”

Jack chuckled, so did you. “Of course, but you'll have to rest up first.”

“Give the boys a chance to catch up, huh?” you suggested, plucking a leaf out of her hair.

“I like running fast,” she said.

Jack worked on the stitching, back to concentrating.

You sat down on the other side of the bed, gently reaching over to pluck bits of leaf and dirt from her hair. “So do I but sometimes we got to take things slow to not get hurt.”

You hadn't realised the meanings of the words until Jack halted his movements, glancing at you.

So you supposed there was a double meaning.

Jack's gaze was heavy.

“Tell you what, miss mermaid, Doctor Abbot here is better at braiding hair than he is stitches,” you said after a clear of your throat.

“Rude,” Jack mumbled.

It took a little convincing but you managed to swap places with Jack, gloving up and taking the tread he'd started at. He took your space on the bed and gently worked the child's hair into something neat while you carried on her stitches, close enough to being finished.

The both of you worked in silence as you each concentrated on your separate endeavours. All the while the young girl sat in between you hummed to herself, some Disney song.

“That's my favourite,” said Jack half way through when he must have realised what song she was humming.

You were still trying to understand it when part way through they changed to 'Under the sea'. You had to all but hold her leg from swinging as she sang loudly, causing you to laugh.

“Why not singing?” asked the girl.

“Yeah, why not singing?” Jack asked

You shook your head. “I don't know the song.”

Jack made a 'pfft' sound like he didn't believe you and 'little miss mermaid' did the same, blowing a raspberry.

Eventually you finished up the stitching, coincidently the same time Jack finished with his braiding.

A nurse- Bridget- walked in with the young girls teacher, eying the two of you between her. “You braiding Matteo's hair next?” she teased with a glint of wicked amusement in her eyes.

Jack moved up from the bed just as you also stood, discarding of the tools you'd used. “Only if he asks nicely.”

“Her parents have been informed they're on their way,” said the girls teacher.

“Perfect,” said Jack, holding either end of his stethoscope slung around his neck. “We are going to leave you in the very capable hands of Bridget who knows many more Disney songs than we do. Don't go without giving me another song.”

The girl laughed, her new braid slung over her shoulder. “I won't.”

Jack smiled and held the door open for you as you left with a small wave and him trailing behind you.

Lena was at the nurses station, answering calls and dishing out work while others walked around the two of you, busy with their own nights that existed by itself in the Pitt.

You hadn't realised you and Jack were heading for the break room till his arm stretched out and he pushed the door open over you.

“Are you really telling me you didn't know the song she was singing?” he asked.

“Of course I knew the song. I wasn't going to sing and embarrass myself,” you said, pulling out the mug you always used and Jack's favourite, finding the coffee pot newly brewed.

“Like I'm any Phil Collins,” scoffed Jack as he pulled out two containers from the fridge.

You frowned, sitting at the table. “Who?”

Jack looked at you, swinging the door shut. His brows rose high, crinkling his forehead. “Phil Collins? Turn it out again.... In the air tonight... The music on Tarzan?”

“Is he the dad of Lily Collins?”

Jack slid into the seat across from you. “Who?” He passed you over a full container of some sort of quinoa. It wasn't just left overs, it was a carefully calculated portion to match his.

You stared down at it like you were trying to decide if it was poisoned while Jack had already had a spoonful of his own.

It felt strange, to be sitting in a secluded room of the chaos and eating with him. Though at work, it felt oddly domestic. It felt- annoyingly- like the right thing to do. You wanted to eat from his container and wash it, hand it back to him. You wanted to know where he kept all his Tupperware, the kind that fell from cupboards at every open of the door.

“You cooking for me now?”

Jack shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “It's quinoa. Hardly cooking.”

You took a careful spoon.

Like he'd been discreetly watching as soon as you swallowed he spoke.

“You like it?”

“It tastes... kind of...”

“Healthy?”

You looked at him, feigned aghast.

Jack smirked, jaw working as he ate his food. “Come on, if it weren't for me you'd still be living on pizza's and take aways. At least this way you save a couple bucks and eat good. For a doctor you should know how important that is.”

“What are you so worried about what I eat for?” you mumbled, more wondering to yourself.

“I like to take care of you.”

He admitted it softly, a slight shrug to his shoulders like it was nothing. Like looking after you, a simple colleague- maybe a friend if you were lucky enough- was a simple feat. As if you didn't struggle to take care of yourself. Jack worked the same shifts, even more as an attending and cooked for himself, did yoga in mornings and even went out as a SWAT team member.

“Why?” You pushed the grains around in the tub.

“Why what?” he asked.

Daring to glance at him, you found Jack looking at you, arms rested on the table, his freckled biceps pulling at his scrub top.

You shook your head, taking another spoon of the food.

Any other time some emergency would be called to save you. Nothing as such when you really needed it. Of course you were glad nobody was being rushed in hurt... but still.

“Why do I like looking after you?” Jack repeated. “Because it's you.”

At that, you smiled. Not through happiness, more sympathy. “Because I can't look after myself?”

You knew you slept a lot, didn't take as good care of yourself as you could have. There were healthy and easy meal ideas sat in a folder in your phone, gathering dust. There was always laundry in a pile, dirty and clean, to go to their respective homes. There were friends waiting to make arrangements you never got around to making. You weren't easy but you didn't think you were so bad someone else had to come in and save you.

Jack paused, his face falling. “That's not what I meant.”

“Sure it is, you can admit it,” you shrugged, the food he's kindly shared turned to ash in your mouth. “I know I might seem like a mess to you, to someone so put together and... older, but I really do have my life managed. You don't have to add me to your to do list.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said that. That's not what I meant at all.”

You laughed. It felt better than feeling so embarrassed. “It's okay-”

“- no, no, that's not what's supposed to be going on, I... ”

Jack cared for people, you knew that. It was just apart of himself.

So you were almost distraught inside when you realised he didn't like you anymore than Shen or Ellis. He just looked out for you cause it was something he had to do.

“I'm not actually very hungry right now,” you said, pushing the lid back on and leaving it for him.

Jack was just as quick as you were to his feet. “No, no, wait- wait, hey-”

His pushed the door closed as you only just opened it an inch.

You looked at him. Your stomach was tight, uncomfortably so.

“Let me- let me try again, okay? I didn't think this through.”

“There's nothing to think through, just wait-”

Shen appeared at the door, trying to get in but Jack was surprisingly strong in keeping the door barred. “I need my coffee.”

“Give us a minute, Shen,” said Jack with all his attending commanding voice.

“But-”

“- a minute!”

You caught sight of Shen looking to you for help before walking away, head down and probably with his bottom lip jutted out like a kicked puppy. “Shen won't get far without his coffee.”

“Shen can wait till we're done now listen,” he said and leant against the door, watching you close. “I like taking care of you, I do, I really do. Not because I think you're not capable of looking after yourself, you are, I know you are it's... I just...”

You waited.

There was nothing.

Jack looked at you with all wide eyes and tension held in his arms. It's like he wanted to say something but ... couldn't.

One more minute and Shen would tear the place apart for coffee.

“You're a nice guy, Jack, you just don't have to be that nice.”

Jack let his arm fall from the door and you evacuated.

The sun had started to rise and you were so close to getting out the door, so close to running from the day's problems. Day shift had turned up, somewhat bright eyed and bushy tailed to take the days stresses though you weren't sure they could take Jack's insistence to talk to you away.

You were inches away from leaving when Jack called for you.

There wasn't the desperation to talk to you, it was the sort he used in traumas, only.

“I need you, GSW to the chest!”

The both of you ran in, gowns pulling on and gloves next as you pushed through the doors.

It was all the usual to you: too many doctors in one room, so much talking and orders it fell on your ears like music you knew all the words to.

“Woman in her twenties, multiple GSW's,” Robby called out. “Pulse ox eighty!”

The doors shut behind and the team of you all took your roles like a practised routine.

“Three... two... one- move!”

All together you lifted her over.

There was blood blooming on her shirt, a tear in her jeans. There was a black eye and what looked like a broken nose if the cut over the bridge and the slant of it was anything to go by.

You'd seen enough of these to know when they were accidents and when they weren't.

Her back hit the bed and the sharp beep of life being lost echoed.

“We've lost her pulse!” shouted Robby.

Without being told you climbed up, hands coming together and hammering down on her chest. For a split second you felt the ghost of Jack's hands, helping you up before they were gone like a summers breeze.

Looming over her you could see the injuries better. And worse.

“GSW, right-sided, she needs a central line,” you announced.

Jack moved around you and the patient, already preparing himself for the central line before you'd called for one.

“BP's dropping out! Pulse Ox is eighty-five!” Robby called.

“She's got tension pneumo,” said Jack without shouting and everyone heard. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognised that authority he demanded with the simple sound of his voice.

“Crash cart,” said Robby. “Charge to one hundred.”

You waited till you heard the buzz of the cart and felt the heat of the panels before moving.

“Clear!”

The sound of her pulse was quiet and the rhythm was odd but it was there, slight bumps in a green line.

You climbed down, landing next to Jack as he readied with a fourteen needle.

“BP's seventy Ox,” said Jesse.

“Day shifters trying to cramp our style,” said Jack as he slid in.

Robby tutted. “Trying to make sure you don't get all the fun.”

Jack straightened next to you. “Ok, I'm setting up the chest tube, you're gonna set me up with a thirty-two French. Get a mig of atropine and a need a unit of O-neg.”

Two units were hooked up.

“We need to get the chest tube in and stop the bleeding.”

It was all a flurry of hands and tools as the chest tube was in, as the chest was packed with gauze at the right flank where the bullet had tore through her chest. It was a close one, but the sort you could save with nimble hands and careful concentration.

“Okay,” Jack uttered as the both of you loomed over her. “I know we're fighting and I don't like that-”

“We're not fighting and now's not the time,” you said.

Robby was on the other side of the bed, giving the two of you a look. “I agree.”

Jack waved him off, focusing on you. “I'll strike you a deal, we save this woman's life. You get breakfast with me.”

You glanced up, wondering if anyone had heard, though you were sure by now Jack's attempts at asking you on a date was one of the worst kept secrets.

Robby was watching from the other side, arms over his chest and his brows raised.

“You strike a hard bargain there, Abbot,” you mumbled.

“May as well say yes, either way you're saving lives.”

“Why cause you'll die if I say no?”

Jack looked at you. As usual there was nothing giving away if he was joking or not. “Yeah.”

It would have been a pretty poor time to joke.

Five minutes later she was stable.

Blood bags hung slowly draining, rags and gauze of blood littered the ground and torn off gowns were thrown haphazardly around. The patients pulse was steady and beating with the promise of years of life ahead. There'd be challenges, you don't get shot and not have to face even more hardship.

But there was life.

And that was the most rewarding part of the job.

“Good job,” said Robby, peeling of his gloves. “I'm gonna get some air.”

“Then go home, right?” asked Jack as everyone slowly moved away.

Robby only made a rude gesture as the doors closed and left you and Abbott to peel away the blood stained gowns and gloves.

Jack turned to you, un-fazed at the life he'd saved. “You want to go from here or do you want me to drop you off at yours and let you change first?”

You stared at him.

It was almost unfair, his charisma in spite of it all. You didn't stand a chance. When Jack said he was going to save a life, he was going to do just that. It was an added bonus to take you on a date.

Your head was shaking but your lips were curling up.

Jack backed out of the room, leaving you with a thumbs up.

You didn't know why you lingered with the body. You were a resident who had one patient on the go, you should've picked up another. You should've left the trauma room for the surgical consultation.

Yet you wanted to start a chart, wanted to find a name for the girl.

As you walked over, checking her BP which sat safe at one hundred over sixty, her eyes fluttered open, dry lips parting and murmurs exiting.

“Hey,” you dropped your voice gently. “You're safe now, you're at the hospital. Can you hear me?”

You held her head steady as her eyes fluttered but didn't open wide enough to meet yours.

“Can you tell me your name?”

You listened close but got nothing from the grunts.

The doors to the trauma room pushed open.

A small girl stood there, early twenties or even late into her teens. She wore a hoody, blood soaking up the sleeves. She didn't introduce herself, instead, she stared.

“Is she alive?” she asked.

Beyond the broken nose you could see the resemblance in the unconscious on the bed and the one that stood ahead of you.

“Do you know her?” you asked.

“She's my sister.”

“Well your sister was shot in the chest, she's lost a lot of blood but she should make it-”

You heard the gunshots before you saw the gun.

Jack had stripped off the gown stained with blood and pulled off his gloves next, trashing them in a bin.

“That was some way to ask a girl out,” chuckled Robby as he followed his movements in yanking anything with blood on him off.

Jack shrugged. So far nothing that he'd planned the day had gone to plan, asides from saving lives yet that was his plan every day. When you'd called he was already at the hospital but you'd said about the buses and he put his keys back in at once. He thought finally. He'd been waiting for a sign to try to take you on a date, seeing's as the food and books and recommendations and days out weren't enough.

Now, he'd saved a life and got a date.

“So what's next?” asked Robby. “You perform a resuscitative thoracotomy and ask her to marry you?”

“If you have one let me know and I'll see.”

Robby chuckled, patting him on the back when three gunshots rang out.

Everyone ducked.

People screamed.

Where suddenly dozens of people stood everyone was down in lumps, covering heads and ducking for patients.

Jack hovered, not quite down but ready to move. Gun shots were nothing, enough to lull him to sleep. These shots were like any other but they echoed in his ears and richoeted in his heart.

They came from behind him.

From the room he'd just left.

“Where'd that come from?” he asked. He knew.

Robby's hand pushed at his chest, already moving past him. “Trauma two!”

You.

“No!”

The two of them took off toward the room.

A lady exited. It wasn't you. It wasn't the patient. It was a third un-familiar party.

She turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and rose her gun at the two.

“Gun!” someone screamed.

Robby was still holding onto Jack as the two of them skid to a stop in front of her. Somewhere someone was crashing and Jack couldn't see you or hear you.

There were three shots.

He knew three shots were enough to kill.

Jack raised his hands, showing he was harmless and helpless. “Please,” he begged. “Is she alive?”

The girls eyes were hard and full of hatred. The gun was steady in her hands. She was calm, completely but there was no doubt the gun shots were hers. “Not anymore.”

“Oh god-”

“Woah-Woah-” Robby caught Jack with one strong arm as his knees gave out.

You were dead? Some girl- hardly an adult- shot you? Why? To tear out his own heart?

It was already gone.

“Jack? Jack, brother, listen to me,” Robby was trying to talk to him but nothing was going through to him, like a signal lost.

The girl turned and left quickly, making sure everyone knew she had a gone when they all knew she wasn't afraid to use it. The shots must have rung out through the entire hospital.

Robby helped Jack up and as soon as the doors leaving the Pitt closed they rushed in.

The harsh sound of beeping was bouncing off the trauma walls where blood was splattered and a pool of that same blood dripped down into a puddle under the patient.

“Oh my god.” Jack found you at once, using the walls as a crutch as you stumbled your way through the room. He was at your side at once, arms around your trembling body and holding you- moving with you even as you tried to walk.

There was blood all over you and you'd paled dramatically.

Jack coaxed you into staying still, grabbing your cheeks to get your attention. He ignored the pain in his leg that had come from the run, the giving out and now as he crouched to get a look at you. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me- let me look at you. Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

Robby had already rushed to the patients side, what doctors and nurses that had gained control over themselves joining him in trying to save her life again. “Ah shit, looks like PEA! Amp of antropine, amp of Epi!”

Your eyes darted over to where the chaos ensued, even as Jack tried to get you to look at him.

“You won't ... won't get her back!” your voice was shaky and hoarse from a scream he hadn't heard. “Blew her god damn brains out.”

“Come here, okay, let's-let's-” Jack's arm was around your shoulder and he was moving you out, trying to help pulling off your bloody gloves while keeping an arm on you.

There was blood and something else on your gloves. Blew her brains out. And you'd tried to scoop them back in.

When the bright lights of the hospital met you your body grew still in his arm.

Jack was familiar with trembles, with blood and PTSD. He wasn't used to any of it in you. In everything he'd learnt about you, he hadn't learnt the subtle art of comfort. “Let's get you some air, let's get you cleaned up-”

You pushed out of Jack's arms, pulling and tugging at your scrub top soaked in blood and all but ran into the women's bathroom.

He heard retching as the door closed.

Jack shook his head, ready to follow you when Dana appeared in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Take it easy, take it easy, I'll check in on her.”

He could still hear you throwing up when Dana slipped in.

The sun was high in the sky, casting the roof of PCMT in an orange glow. The sky burnt in its colour but all you saw was red.

One moment the girl had been crashing, the monitor still beeped in your head. Her body had jerked up to the sky before you got a rhythm back and then- just as you did with any patient- you got hopeful. It seemed in the clear to do so, you'd helped patients come back from worse and you always had hope.

Nobody that worked in the ED could live without it.

Then- it had took three bangs for you to drop to the ground but not before being smeared in blood. You didn't even know what was happening as the ringing ran out in your ears. You'd met the ground with a hard thump to your head. When your vision cleared you saw the shoes rush out of the room.

Your guiding as a med student was doing no harm, saving lives and you'd dropped and put your life ahead of your patients.

What kind of doctor did that?

The cowardly type- you.

“You're in my spot,” said a voice coming closer.

Jack.

His voice soothed the nerves in your body that had been on edge since the accident. Everything made you jump, but him.

“It's a nice spot,” you said as loud as you could, knowing your voice still wasn't back. Or loud enough.

“Yeah,” he said, getting closer. “But usually I like to be on the other side of the rail. And on my feet.”

You were sat on the edge of the roof, not on the edge close enough for anyone to worry but apparently that didn't stop Jack.

He huffed, behind you now. “Please, I'm an older guy, my heart can't take it. Can you come over?”

If your feet weren't like weights pulling you down maybe you could have but you were struggling to feel any part of you.

You admitted as much, quietly. “I can't move.”

You'd moved quick when faced with the gun, dropping to save your own skin. Since then moving had been difficult, like you'd used every muscle in your body to push yourself and now you were locked.

Jack moved in a blur as he ducked under the rail and slowly set down next to you. He was silent, only his breathing calming you. “Did you get checked over with Robby?”

You nodded. “The ringing'll go away in a day or two.”

“Yeah.... it always does.”

You looked at him and Jack was looking at you. The grey stubble of his beard never looked greyer and his eyes were dull, small half moon bruises of sleep marked there. His hair was ruffled and he smelled dully of hospital.

This was a man that had saved more lives than you could count and severed in tours ... and he was taking time to check on you.

“I'm sorry,” you didn't know you had cried till Jack's arm was around your shoulder, bringing you in.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his arm tight on you. “What are you sorry for, huh?”

“I didn't save her, I-I should've tried. Should be reasoned with the shooter and I just-I just dropped down and you-” your breathing was ragged, the cries frequenting. “-you've done so much, lost your leg for damn sakes and I just dropped.”

“Hey,” he snapped. It wasn't un-kind. It was stern in ways he had to be in the as a night attending. “You did everthing you could.”

You looked at him. He really meant that though. “I dropped down!”

“You saved your life,” he reminded you. Jack's arm was still tight on your shoulders but his other hand held your cheek, making you focus on him. “You acted on instinct. If you hadn't your patient still would've shot and you-” Jack's breath caught. His eyes were glossed over. You'd missed the redness around his eyes. “- you'd have been shot and I couldn't live with that. I-I couldn't.”

Jack wiped away his tears, wiping yours next. He chuckled dryly at the both of your tears.

“I lost my leg in a tour,” said Jack. “Where guns and shooting is part of the job. It's not in a hospital. You did what you could.”

It still didn't feel right. It still felt like the cowards way of doing things.

“Look at me, look at me-” he nudged your gaze to his. His eyes were wide and implored you to look at him. Really look. “You did what you could and I know a patient died and I know-I know it's hard but...”

He sniffed.

“But what?” you mumbled. How could there be a but in any of this?

He held your cheeks tighter, smudging your cheeks just that little more. Jack let out a shaky exhale. “But I am so happy you're okay. I am so fucking glad.”

His dimples were hardly there as he gave you a sorry smile.

Your head fell into his chest and he brought his arms around you, holding you, shushing you as you cried. Cried for your patient, for the shooter, for the way you dropped. None of which maybe could be forgiven but all of which were valid.

Somewhere in the crying Jack held you tighter and moved the both of you back away from the ledge. You let him, even helped in scuffing your feet and pushing away till the railing hit both your backs.

“You're okay, I got you, I got you.”

I got you. He'd always had you, if he hadn't had you today what would you have done? Nothing crazy but you might have stayed up on the roof all day, be dead on your feet by the night. Jack had always had you and when he did you'd all but told him not to.

“I'm sorry.”

His hand ran over your hair. It had come lose but still remained in the braiding. “You don't have to be sorry, you don't.”

“No about earlier, in the lounge,” you said, holding onto him. “You were being nice, you've always been nice and I... I was horrible-”

“- you weren't horrible, no-”

“- you've been so kind to me and I don't even say thanks-”

“- you have actually, quite a few times- ”

“- I don't know why you put up with me-”

“- well, it helps that I love you-”

If there was one way to shut your rambling up, it was that.

You still had a vice on his scrub top but you looked up to him. For the first time- you think ever- Jack had to look away from you.

“What?” you asked.

Jack's jaw ticked and he clocked his head. “I didn't mean to say that.”

Disappointment chocked you. Of course it would just slip out, heck Jack was comforting you, he'd say anything.

“Oh.”

“I do love you,” he said and you looked at him with something akin to hope as you moved your head away. “That's why I've been looking after you, that's what you do when your- when your in love. My... my wife taught me that. I was just scared you know cause.... I haven't been in love since she died.”

It wasn't often Jack talked about his wife but when he did he talked. He'd talk anyone's ears off about her and once or twice you'd been that person.

“I'm sorry.” This time you weren't sure what you were apologising for, you just were.

Jack looked at you with a mocked frustration.

You cringed. “Sorry, I should- I should stop saying that.”

He hummed and nodded along with you, a tiny smile on his lips, the chapped parts cracking from the salt of his last tears. “I never meant to make you feel incapable, I know you can look after yourself. But I want to.”

You laughed at yourself, wiping at your cheeks and snot. “Why? I'm a mess.”

Jack took your cheek in the palm of his hand. “No, you're not. Not to me.”

Jack kissed you so slow and sweet on the edge of the roof with the sun praising upon the both of you. He didn't push his feelings into you, he let you feel them in the gentle press of his lips and the hold of his hands.

And feel the love you did.

[afandommultiverse]

Treat You Better - S. Bryant

a/n - current hyper fixation going CRAZZYYYYY !! based off of this post also @agnireed thank you for putting me on 🙏

18+ MDNI | cw: cheating

sammy never wanted to admit it to himself, but he loved having shifts with you.

on the rare occasion that Nate called out and your partner was on leave (which was always), you two would be paired up. those days usually went by more easily, were shorter, and left him always feeling good. but that wasn’t just because you guys always caught the perp. no, you had a habit of saying things, things that always had him feeling better about himself, and yeah— definitely feeling good about himself. that’s not something he saw at home with tammi anymore.

“God- Sammy, I could treat you so much better than her baby.”

he’s just got done ranting about something tammi said on the phone, but he couldn’t even remember what she said now. his stomach flipped, loving the way baby just rolled off your tongue. it left him knowing that you were telling the truth.

he did try to avoid having these one-offs in front of the guys. not cause they wouldn’t allow it, but because they would encourage it. for the most part, you thought that too and did try to avoid making comments like that in front of everyone, but it was times like these where it was necessary.

“I can’t even watch football anymore, Nate. Says it ‘disturbs her inner peace.’ What the hell does that even mean?!” The guys sat around and shook their heads, scoffing or laughing at his poor predicament and poor wife. that’s when you leaned over from your desk, pen in hand.

“Y’know, Sammy, I’d love to have you over some Sunday for a game. I’ll even serve your beers just the way you like.” it just rolled off your tongue so easily, yeah, maybe a little desperate. however it was still short enough that as you turned back to your work it still made you seem uninterested, like it was just a joke. but sammy knew that truth hung in those words.

sometimes he’d feel guilty about liking it so much, other times he didn’t, too pissed at tammi to mind her feelings in his head. you made him feel wanted, feel validated, and hell, maybe even a little sexy.

“Well, seems like someone was having fun here,” sammy said, staring at the insane collection of sex toys and bdsm gear in a victim's closet. you walked over, smirk at the ready.

“What? Too intense for you, Sammy?” you looked at the collection yourself, some things familiar and others new. He scoffed, looking at you incredulously.

“Don’t tell me you’re into this kind of stuff?” You just looked at him and smiled seductively.

“Oh, baby, I’d have so much fun with you.” then you just walked off, like it was nothing. like he wasn’t left a little out of breath, a little red in the cheeks, and a lotta hard in his pants. after that, he was left with so much curiosity, too much. anytime he mind was relaxed, he thought of you. sometimes it was sweet things like your laugh or the soft look you’d get in your eyes.

othertimes though, they’d be more salacious. wondering what treating him better looked like from you, how you’d do it, where you’d do it. he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d be like in such an intimate setting. would you always take the lead like tammi, or could he get a say in what he likes and wants for once? and maybe that’s what led him here, after months of falling down the rabbit hole that was thoughts about you, he’d let them win.

“Fuck, Sammy, fuck, please keep going.” you panted in his ear, letting him fuck into you as you rocked your hips on top of him. his senses were heightened, vision cut off by his tie he’d worn to work that morning. he could feel you everywhere, kissing his neck and chest. sucking a little more harshly than you should’ve. he was risking going home to a divorce, but he didn’t care; no, he couldn’t think about a thing right now other than just how good you felt. he was boarding the edge, so close to finishing, and you sensed it.

“Oh, honey, already? That’s okay, do you want to come inside?” you whispered, nipping at his ear. he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. he was trying to have a baby with tammi, she could already be pregnant, what would he do? but his brain wasn’t hearing any of it, because he found himself nodding, begging.

“Please.” It was a helpless whimper, and fuck, it felt good to finally have him right where you wanted him. you let him, and he came hard, harder than he’d like to admit and harder than he had in a while. he was out of breath, panting like a dog that couldn’t stand the heat. his tie collecting the sweat that pebbled on his skin and in his hair. you kept rocking your hips before finally, after what felt like forever, you slowed to a stop.

“I told you I’d treat you so much better.”