Palestinian children were prevented from going to school by razor wire and israeli soldiers — so they sat down and studied right in front of them (via AndreyX)
Summary; You and Daryl were out on a run, clearing a house when you realized you finally have all the time and privacy you need.
Tw; 18+ mdni, smut, oral (r!receiving), p in v, praising, mirror sex, headlock, biting, kinda rough sex, violence, blood, killing, just porn with some plot.
Era; Prison era
The clearing of the old, two-story house went far smoother than either of you anticipated. The last house on the sweep, and the most intact one you’d found all week.
Between the two of you, clearing a place like this was practically second nature—But, actually, finding the supplies you needed was what mattered.
You handled the perimeter with the easy, synchronized rhythm you and Daryl had perfected over months of supply runs.
Up on the second floor, a lone walker bumped uselessly against a locked bedroom door, its faint, dry groans muffled by the wooden walls. Yet neither of you bothered with it; the door was solid, and the rest of the ground floor was completely clear.
You were both standing at the entryway now, you fixing your shirt while Daryl was setting his heavy duffel on a side table to organize the dry goods and medicine bottles you'd gathered. His hands working methodically, tightening straps and sealing canvas pockets.
You leaned back against the closed front door, quietly watching Daryl shove the last box of pills into his bag. And before you even realized it, your gaze had wandered to his bare arms, lingering on the way his biceps flexed with each movement. Even something as simple as tightening his grip around the strap made the muscles shift and bunch beneath the surface. He slung the bag over his shoulder and straightened, the broad muscles across his back rolling beneath his shirt—
It didn’t take long before a very different idea took root.
"We finished early" You said softly, the words lingering on your tongue as you pushed yourself off the door with a slight shrug, letting the silence sit for a beat afterward.
Daryl offered a low, familiar hum in response, giving a brief nod without looking up from his pack. "Yeah. Still better head back ’fore it gets dark tho” He said, pulling the strap closed and adjusting it over his shoulder. "Nahh… We're good” You countered smoothly, taking a step closer. "I think we have some time”
But Daryl just nodded again, totally unaware, his mind still entirely focused on the work. "Mhm" He grunted, adjusting his crossbow, completely oblivious to your tone or the way your gaze had shifted.
"The house is nice, too…” You continued, stepping even closer.
He spared the place a quick, indifferent glance, clearly not caring about the decor. "’S nice" He mumbled gruffly, totally missing the hint before dropping his gaze back down to fix the hunting knife at his hip.
But you didn't back down—You took another step, right into his personal space, until the heat radiating off his body was impossible to ignore. You leaned in, placing your palm flat against the center of his chest before slowly, deliberately, trailing your fingers down the rough fabric of his shirt, moving lower toward his belt.
"Lucky us, we have it all to ourselves” You murmured, biting your bottom lip slightly.
Daryl finally paused, his blue eyes snapping up to meet yours as a small, confused frown tugged at his brows. But before he could process that, your fingers hooked on his waistband, tugging closer as you tilted your head up.
"And no one's gonna walk in…” You added softly, catching his eyes, while intentionally slowing your breathing, letting your gaze linger on his lips.
Back at the prison, especially after the crowd from Woodbury had moved in, privacy had become an absolute myth. The cells didn't have doors—just thin, fraying sheets slung over wire that did nothing to stop boots echoing down the catwalks or people constantly popping in to ask questions. With the crowded cellblock and the constant chores, it was impossible for the two of you to have a single, quiet, uninterrupted moment entirely to yourselves.
Daryl scanned you up and down, taking in that unmistakable look you had in your eyes and the sudden, heavy tension in the room—The realization hit him like a physical spark and you watched the exact second it finally clicked. His eyes widening just a little as the sharp line of his frown melted away instantly, his gaze locking onto your lips.
Fucking finally.
Without a word, Daryl shrugged his heavy supply bag off his shoulder, letting it thud carelessly to the floor. His large hand swept out, his broad arm wrapping tightly around your waist to yank you flush against his chest, while your own bag clattered on the wood.
He leaned down, his mouth crashing onto yours in a deep, bruising kiss that immediately turned into a heated, passionate, breathless make out—It was desperate and demanding from the first second. He tasted like rain and salt, his tongue tangling with yours with an urgency that made your knees weak.
With a low groan, his arm hooked securely under your thighs and hoisted you off your feet, his strength taking your weight without a second of hesitation. You wrapped your legs around his waist in an instant, clinging to his shoulders as he held you effortlessly with one powerful arm. Your hands buried in his hair as the kiss deepened, your tongues brushing together in a frantic, unhurried rhythm that had been building up for days.
Without breaking the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours, Daryl turned and carried you toward the staircase, holding you tightly against him while still carrying his crossbow in one hand, his fingers remaining curled around the grip. He walked up the steps smoothly, his heavy boots thudding against the wood as he carried you up to the second floor as if you weighed nothing at all.
At the top of the landing, Daryl didn’t miss a beat, kicking the door of the bedroom wide open. The door swung inward with a hard slam, the force knocking back the locked-in walker behind it and sending the snarling corpse stumbling backward a few feet onto the bedroom rug.
But Daryl didn't even drop you. Still holding you tightly against him, he raised the crossbow with his free hand, aiming toward the shadow. He let the bolt fly, the heavy snap of the string echoing in the room as the arrow buried itself deep into the walker's chest.
The corpse staggered but kept creeping forward, its jaws snapping air.
Daryl started to turn his head just slightly, breaking his focus from you so he could get a clear line of sight to finish it—But before he could pull away entirely, your hand reached out, cupping his jaw hard to turn his face back to you, pulling him right back into the kiss.
With your legs still locked around his waist, you reached down, your hand slipping his hunting knife straight out of the sheath on his belt and without even breaking contact with his lips—You whipped your arm back and threw the blade across the room. It flew straight and true, sinking with a heavy, wet thud right into the walker's forehead. The corpse collapsed instantly to the floor, dead before it hit the rug.
Daryl pulled back an inch, a rough, breathy rumble escaping him against your mouth. "Jesus, woman”
He carried you the remaining few steps to the mattress, finally letting his crossbow go and clatter to the floor. He laid you down on the dusty sheets, his heavy body immediately shifting his body over yours and pinning you down.
And the second your back hit the mattress, you didn't waste a single moment. Your hands immediately darted down to his waist, your fingers almost trembling with urgency as you worked fast to unbuckle his heavy leather belt. But before you could get the thing off—Daryl’s hand came down over yours, catching your wrist and stopping your fingers right mid-motion.
"Nah, uh" He grunted out softly as he pulled back just enough for your lips to part, his gaze locking on yours. "Ya said it yarself...” The corner of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly, his thumb brushing lightly along your side. “We got time”
A soft, impatient whine escaped you, a small pout tugging at your lips as your fingers twitched restlessly against the metal of his buckle, still trying to push past his grip. "Daryl..."
He just let out a quiet huff, gently catching your hands and pushing them back up, pinning your wrists loosely above your head. He leaned down, capturing your lips once more in a deep, lingering kiss before his mouth slowly began to travel downward.
His rough jaw dragged along your cheek, his hot breath brushing against your skin as he pressed a slow, heavy trail of kisses down the side of your neck. Every press of his lips was deliberate and unhurried, making your skin tingle as he moved lower over your collarbone, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your flesh.
"Wanna taste ya first" He mumbled lowly against your bare skin, his hands releasing your wrists to slide down your sides.
His mouth glided over the hem of your top, trailing warm, breathless kisses down your stomach, sending a sudden shiver straight through your core.
He dropped on his knees, quickly working your boots off one by one and letting them hit the floorboards with heavy thuds. Slowly, deliberately, his hands moved up to unbutton your shorts, easing the denim down your thighs before tugging them completely off, leaving you in just your top and your lacy panties.
But instead of rushing, Daryl stayed right there between your legs. His dark head dipped down, and he began pressing soft, warm kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right near the hem of your lace. He lingered there, his stubble grazing your skin as he took his sweet time.
"Mm, Daryl—Stop teasing” You breathed out, your hips twitching restlessly against the sheets.
He ignored you completely. With a quiet, dark huff against your skin, he shifted his focus, moving over to press more slow, lingering kisses along your other thigh, avoiding what you actually wanted.
“Please…” A quiet, desperate whine escaped you as you looked down at him with pleading eyes.
Finally, Daryl slid his hands up your hips, taking the waistband of your panties between his thumbs before slowly, unhurriedly, he dragged the soft fabric down your legs and tossed it aside.
But even then, as you lay completely bare to him, he didn't dive right in. He rested his hands firmly on your thighs, pressing another warm, slow kiss just inches away from your core, pulling another sharp gasp from your lungs. "Daryl, I swear—"
But before you could even finish your sentence… he dipped down, burying his face between your legs.
A loud, sharp gasp ripped from your lungs, your lips parting as a helpless, breathy moan echoed through the quiet room. “Fuck—!”
His hands parted your thighs widely, his tongue sliding through your folds, tasting you with a fierce, driving hunger that made you grip onto the worn sheets helplessly. He didn't hold back—his mouth working over you like a starved man, like a man who hadn't eaten in days and was finally getting his favorite meal, taking you in with a fierce, relentless devotion.
He didn't give you a rhythm either.
He edged you on purposely long, filthy licks that had you panting, then sudden hard sucks that had your eyes rolling back. His tongue circled your clit in tight, precise strokes, then dragged lower, pushing inside you just enough for you to feel it before retreating again.
Your back arched up off the bed just slightly before collapsing back down, every muscle in your body locking up as your fingers frantically curled tighter around the rough bedding, knuckles turning white. His tongue circled your clit again, then flattened against it, applying just enough pressure to make your entire body convulse.
“Mmhg—right there” You moaned out, your hips unconsciously bucking up against his face, trying to chase his mouth in a desperate attempt to tip yourself over the edge. Daryl groaned against your core, the vibration sending another shock of sensation through your nerves.
"Quit movin’" He mumbled gruffly against you, his voice thick and deep as his hands clamped down tightly on your thighs. His broad, calloused palms locking you in place with an unyielding grip, holding you still as your body tried to squirm.
You whined again, your hips shaking and twitching involuntarily against the sheets as his tongue pressed harder around the small ball of nerves. You were shaking, thighs trembling under his grip, every breath a broken sound.
“Ya taste s’ good” Daryl mumbled quietly—though it sounded more like a thought spoken aloud than anything else— and his tongue was back on you in a second, persistently lapping at your now very swollen clit.
You could only whimper softly in response, your hands scrambling blindly across the mattress for leverage until your fingers tangled tightly into his dark hair, gripping him close. "Mm, Daryl—" You gasped out, your voice breaking into desperate, breathy whimpers as the sensation overwhelmed you. "God, don't stop”
He didn't.
His hands squeezed your thighs before trailing up to your waist and pulled—No, yanked you more firmly against his face, his rhythm now growing entirely unhinged.
You were just a panting and whining mess, completely helpless under his grip. And as if that wasn’t enough—Daryl brought one hand up, pressing his palm down firmly over your lower stomach. The sudden pressure hit the exact knot of tension building inside you.
Your body reacted before your mind could, the intensity almost too much and your knees instinctively squeezing shut around his head, but Daryl didn't hesitate—without saying a word, he forced your thighs apart again, holding you open, even wider than before.
"Daryl, please—" You whimpered, your fingers gripping his hair even harder—so hard you were sure it had to hurt, yet Daryl? He didn't even react. Didn’t pull back an inch. "'M close—Fuck! So, so close"
The moans you were letting out were downright sinful. The pleasure almost blinding. You threw your head back in sheer pleasure, gasping frantically for air—only to be met with your reflection staring right back at you through a mirror standing right in the corner of the room.
How had neither of you noticed this earlier?
From that angle, the reflection was flawless, capturing the entire bed in vivid detail. Through the blur of your own heavy breathing, you locked eyes with your own image, your mouth parted wide, your chest heaving, rising up and down rapidly as you took in the sight of Daryl’s dark hair buried firmly between your thighs, holding you pinned through the rush.
Your breathing grew faster and faster. The combination of the visual and the way Daryl’s mouth sealed over your clit and sucked hard, drove you straight over the edge.
Your back arched high off the sheets as the built up tension finally snapped. Your eyes shut for just a moment, a breathless moan escaping you as you came undone with a cry of his name, your thighs trembling as he rode out your orgasm.
The slick, wet noises continued as he worked you through your high, his tongue savoring every last drop of your release and your body slowly sank back into the mattress, your eyes fluttering open to the same reflection staring back at you.
Slowly, Daryl lifted his head. His breath hot and heavy against your inner thigh as he wiped a thumb across his lip, his blue eyes tracking yours up to where you were staring. He paused for just a second, staring at the reflection of your wet, parted skin and your legs wrapped over his broad shoulders before his gaze caught yours in the glass
"Well, look at that" He mumbled against your inner thigh, a rough, possessive smirk pulling at his lips
You looked down at him, chest heaving as you caught your breath. Daryl gradually leaned in, pressing a small kiss right on your mound before trailing upward, his lips brushing over your stomach, then between your breasts, and along your shoulder to your neck, drawing a soft sigh from you.
When he was finally close enough—He paused. His lips lingering just above yours, his warm breath brushing against your skin.
Without thinking, you instinctively leaned up, desperate to close the small gap between you, but just before your lips could make contact—With a swift, smooth movement, he flipped you over onto your stomach.
A small gasp escaped you as your face planted briefly into the mattress. But before you could even gather your thoughts, his hands clamped around your waist, yanking you roughly back toward the edge of the bed, another sound slipping out.
Without a word, you watched him through the mirror as he shifted his weight, the metallic snap of his belt buckle echoed in the room before he frantically shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs at the same time, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock already hard and pulsing, pre-cum leaking from his tip as it slapped against his stomach.
Then, suddenly, without so much as a warning, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you upright until you were kneeling on the bed, your back pressing flush against his broad chest. A small whimper escaped you as you hit the solid warmth behind you, your eyes never leaving the glass, watching as he leaned closer. His mouth pressed a slow, heavy trail of lingering kisses all along your shoulder and up the sensitive line of your neck.
“Couldn’t even wait t’ get back to the prison, could ya?” He rumbled quietly, his stubble scraping against your skin, sending shivers right through your whole body.
A soft, desperate whine slipped from your lips, your breath coming in shuddering hitches and before your mind could even catch up—your hips instinctively pushed backward against him with an impatient, almost pathetic need.
Daryl let out a low grunt against your shoulder, his teeth grazing lightly against your neck as his hands tightened on your waist to keep you grounded. "Always s’ damn needy..." He rasped out.
"Daryl, please..." You whimpered, biting your lower lip slightly as you locked eyes with him through the mirror, your gaze filled with raw need. Yet, he stayed right there against you, taking his time to press another slow kiss to your shoulder, keeping the tension coiled agonizingly tight.
"Please..." You breathed out again, completely unable to hold back any longer.
Slowly, his hand left your waist to grab at his slick cock before moving it to your entrance. His tip slid against you up and down teasing before steadily pushing into you. Your walls tightened helplessly around him, small, pitiful whimpers escaping you at the slightest stretch. Though it didn't seem like he cared. He continued to slowly push himself all the way into you, your mouth dropping open as you gasped again, attempting to hold in the loud moans you desperately wanted to let out.
“Fuck…” You breathed, the word barely more than a whisper as you adjusted to the feeling of him stretching you, your breath faltering for a moment.
He nearly withdrew completely, leaving only the very tip before one sharp thrust drove him back into you. Your body jolted from the force, the air punched clean from your lungs as his hands clamped tighter around your hips, holding you firmly against him. “Fuck—!” You cried out, your hands trying to find something to hold onto.
But before you even had the chance to recover, he set a punishing pace, each thrust following the last without warning. His grip never loosened, keeping you steady against him as each movement forced your body to follow the relentless rhythm he’d set. In the mirror, you could see every movement-the slick sheen of sweat on his neck, the dark focus in his eyes as he looked up into the glass, watching the way your body reacted to every hit.
"Look at ya" Daryl rasped out, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent shivers straight down your spine. His hand reached around your front to grip your waist, anchoring you tight against his thighs as he set a faster pace. "Can't even take yar eyes off, can ya?"
“Daryl…” You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut, your head falling back against his shoulder as the intense image completely overwhelmed you.
“Nah, uh, uh—” His hand quickly reached up, his fingers cupping your jaw firmly to tilt your head back up toward the glass. "Keep 'em open” He ordered roughly, his grip tightening just slightly as he thrusted deeper. "Wanna see ya watchin'” He rumbled low, his voice thick against your ear.
You obeyed immediately with another whine, staring straight into the mirror at the reflection of him holding you. "Look at yar pretty face” Daryl mumbled against your skin, his grip on your jaw easing back down to your waist.
But as his thrusts turned even harder, reached even deeper—He kept knocking your body forward with each sharp rock of his hips. And no matter how much he tightened his arm around your waist, no matter how hard he tried to keep you steady, keep you pinned against him—Your body was, still, jostling too much. Seeing that you, too, struggled to stay upright, small, clearly frustrated whines escaping every time your body got jerked away—He shifted his grip.
His free hand left from your hip, his arm coming around your neck in one smooth movement and settling into a firm, but loose enough headlock, pressing you tighter, steadier against his chest, locking you in place.
You couldn’t stop the loud moan that left you. The sudden feel of his thick bicep squeezing your face, his arm solid around your neck—not tight enough to hurt or restrict your breathing, but hard enough to keep you trapped—made you instinctively lean into him, your walls spasming violently, humiliatingly around him, swallowing him in like a damn vice.
A low, heavy grunt escaped his throat right against your neck, feeling the sudden tension in your body. "That do it for ya?" He rasped out against your skin, his voice thick and rough.
You just nodded helplessly against his arm with another breathless, broken whine as your hands came up to grasp his forearm. Not trying to push him away, no— Clung to him, your nails digging into his skin for dear life as his hips snapped forward again, burying himself to the hilt.
Daryl let out a quiet chuckle against your cheek, his lips dragging closer to your ear before softly biting at your earlobe. "Little freak..." He whispered roughly, feeling you tighten around him again. "Ya like tha’?" He let out a another breathy laugh, holding you in place as he dragged himself all the way back, stopping just before his tip slipped out.
"Daryl, please—!" Your words barely had time to linger before he slammed back into you with one hard thrust, his groan breaking into a whimper as the motion sent a wave of electricity through both your bodies. "Fu—uh—ck! " You whimpered, the intensity too much to bear.
His eyes never left you as his large hand traveled slowly from your waist, catching the hem of your shirt and pushing it upward. His palm settled over your breast, giving the soft weight a single, deliberate squeeze—just to tease—before his touch wandered downward again. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, lingering for only a moment before continuing lower, his hand finally settling between your thighs and cupping your, soaked, heat.
“Mmhg, Dar—” Your breath hitched as his fingers slid between your drenched folds, moving with practiced certainty and instantly finding your sensitive clit.
His fingers worked in firm, deliberate circles, the rhythm of his hand matching the relentless pace of his hips almost perfectly, not giving you a single moment to catch your breath. A broken cry ripped from your throat, raw and desperate enough to sound almost obscene.
“’S too much—God don’t stop” You barely even knew what you were saying anymore. The combination overwhelming, leaving you struggling to put together any kind of coherent thought, your back arching once before colliding with his chest again. “C’mon. Let go f’me” He mumbled lowly, his own breathing becoming erratic.
Your lips fell open, unable to quite close again as your breathing grew increasingly uneven. Every shaky inhale seemed to dissolve into another breathless moan, another soft, broken whimper slipping freely from your throat before you could catch it— Yet your body still moved instinctively with his, meeting every movement instead of retreating. You took everything he gave you, only to find yourself wanting more, your hands gripping onto him as though you couldn’t get close enough.
He thrusted into you again, his tip hitting against your g-spot, forcing the air out of your lungs. The stretch burned in the best way—thick, relentless, filling you completely as his hips slammed flush against your ass. He stayed buried for a second, breathing hard through his nose before pulling almost all the way out, only to drove back in harder once again.
“Fuck—'M close” Another loud moan slipped from you, your eyes struggling to stay open as you fought through the haze, forcing yourself to keep your gaze on your reflection—just like he’d ordered you to. “Yeah?” He teased, his mouth going back to trailing wet kisses across your shoulder. “Mmm”
But before you could catch your breath—He repeated the action. The wet sound of it filling the room, filthy and loud, echoing off the walls. It was impossible to ignore, mixing with your ragged breathing and the low sounds coming from him.
A loud cry tore from you, so loud you were almost certain it could’ve been heard from two blocks away. “Ya have t' keep it down, sunshine” He mumbled, though he, too, struggled to hold back his own sounds. “Gon’ attract a whole damn herd”
And so, to muffle your resounding, echoing cries, you leaned forward, sinking your teeth straight into his thick bicep. “Christ—!” Daryl let out a low, guttural groan at the bite, his pace quickening as he drove deeper, his breath hot against your ear as his cock pulsed uncontrollably.
“Bitin’ like a damn walker, ain’t ya?”
The teasing words only made you arch into him harder, sink your teeth deeper, so deep you swore you could almost taste blood. Yet your eyes remained locked, watching yourselves in the mirror as the friction built to a fever pitch, your pussy clenching desperately around him and causing him to release an involuntarily, loud moan.
His hips stilled just a moment, enough to let you register the pause, then slammed into you with punishing depth and precision. “I know yar close, angel. Just let go f’me” Every drive, every roll of his hips dragged along every swollen nerve inside you, the muscles of his arm tensing under your teeth as he pushed into you over and over again.
“That’s righ'” He felt it, your walls weakly tightening around him and still, he didn't ease, pushing deeper, chasing every last spasm of sensation while drawing out his own edge. “That’s it”
Slowly, your teeth released his flesh, and through the glass, you instantly caught sight of the unmistakable mark you had left behind—a deep, imprint of your teeth framed by red, broken blood vessels beneath his skin. A thin trail of your drool running freely down his arm, but Daryl didn’t seem to give a single damn about it, keeping his grip entirely firm around you as his hips snapped against yours once again.
“Daryl—!” Your mouth fell open. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat, his name barely recognizable between your ragged breaths, your walls tightening and releasing around him, spilling your release down his cock.
Your head fell back against his shoulder, your chest heaving rapidly as you struggled to catch your breath, every inhale coming shaky and uneven. Your thighs trembled beneath you, your legs shaking so badly that you could barely keep yourself upright, clinging to him helplessly just to steady yourself.
Your mind completely turned off, utterly blank and lost in the haze, barely registering anything around you except the sound of Daryl’s ragged breathing against your ear. “Fuck—” His pants grew louder, his control slipping, unable to hold his sounds back as your walls squeezed him tighter.
Then, suddenly, while still completely dazed and lost in the aftermath, his arm unwrapped from around your neck. And before you could even process what’s happening, his heavy palm pressed hard into your upper back, shoving you straight down against the mattress. You gasped as your chest hit the worn sheets, left bent over the edge of the bed as he kept control, maintaining the same overwhelming pace.
“So good f’me” His voice was broken now, his chest colliding against your skin with every harsh movement, dragging you back onto him to meet his thrusts. You didn't answer, just kept whining, moaning with every deep shove of his cock inside you.
You cried out as he buried himself all the way in again. Your stomach caved, your back arching helplessly. Every nerve was on fire. Your pussy dripping, twitching around him, every stroke pushing more of your release down your thighs, and still—He dragged his cock out slow, just to slam back in harder, your whole body jolting.
“C’mon, baby…” You whispered softly between whines, urging him, and his hands dug painfully tight into your hips as his composure completely broke. His pace turned desperate and sloppy, the smooth control he usually kept shattering as he chased his own high.
He leaned over your back, his forehead falling heavily onto your shoulder, eyes dropping to watch you take his whole length. He was the loud one now—raw, breathy groans and ragged whimpers escaping his throat right into your neck as he buried his face in your skin.
“Inside—Please, Daryl, I need it” You mewled, titling your head slightly, gasping shakily as you pressed your cheek against the mattress. “Mm, I need it, please” You pleaded with another soft whine, purposely tightening around him just to push him over the edge.
And that did it.
With one final, heavy thrust, Daryl buried himself deep, a low, strained whimper breaking from his chest as he held you pinned tightly under him, his broad chest rising and falling heavily against your back as the intense quiet of the empty house settled over you both once more.
For a long, breathless minute, the only sound in the abandoned room was the slow rhythm of your shared panting, his warm breath puffing in slow, damp bursts over the sensitive skin of your shoulder. The full, comforting weight of his body pressed flush against your back before, slowly, Daryl let out a low, breathy exhale, shifting his weight to roll onto his back, crashing heavily onto the mattress beside you.
"Fuck” You rasped out, your voice low and muffled against the sheets as you tried to catch your breath. "I needed that” Daryl grunted in response, staring up at the cracked, faded ceiling plaster as his chest rose and fell in heavy lulls. "Yeah… Figured” He let out a low, rough huff.
You rolled your eyes playfully at him, shaking your head as a quiet scoff escaped you. “I think we should stay here for a little longer” You said quietly, letting out another heavy breath before settling more comfortably against the bed.
“Yeah, right” Daryl let out a quiet half-scoff, turning his head just enough to glance over at you. “Way you were moanin’, coulda sworn ya were tryin’ to call every damn walker in the area over” His brow hitched, his rough voice still husky with exertion. “Probably got a line of ’em waitin’ outside by now”
You scoffed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to look at him. “As if I was the only one being loud” You fired back, rolling your eyes playfully once again before shifting your weight. "Plus—From what I recall, it wasn’t exactly my fault" You added, looking down into his dark eyes with a knowing look.
Daryl didn't chuckle; he just scoffed again, a low, dry sound in his chest. “Oh, yeah?” He lifted his arm slightly, turning his arm so the light hit the deep bite mark on his bicep, the imprint of your teeth still clearly visible against his skin. "Tha’ ain't yar fault either, I suppose?" He gestured toward it with a mocking little tilt of his head.
You leaned in a little closer, tilting your head with a dry, teasing smirk. "Mm, pretend like you didn't like it” You mumbled, your eyes, purposely, lingering on his lips for a second longer than necessary before slowly returning to his.
Daryl huffed, turning his face away for a second with a quiet twitch of his jaw. "Didn't say that” He muttered back, his voice dropping into a low, gruff grumble, like he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of hearing him admit it.
Yet you simply ignored him, rolling your eyes once again before leaning in to meet his lips. And for all his grumbling, Daryl kissed you back without hesitation.
Your lips moved gently against each other, falling into a natural, unhurried, open-mouthed rhythm. His hand came up, his broad, calloused palm gently cupping the side of your face, his fingers threading into your hair as his thumb dragged over your cheekbone. He pulled you in closer, deepening the kiss into a slow, heavy slide of lips and tongue that tasted like sweat and raw relief, taking his time as you sighed against his mouth.
When, suddenly, the heavy sound of the front door downstairs creaking open filled the empty house—
Both of you froze instantly.
The warmth in the room vanished in a fraction of a second. The kiss broke as you pulled back, your breathing instantly halting as your eyes locked onto Daryl's. He stayed completely still, his hand dropping from your face as his eyes narrowed toward the bedroom threshold.
Downstairs, heavy boots scuffed against the worn entryway floorboards.
"Ya sure you heard somethin' in here?” A coarse, skeptical voice muttered, the sound echoing up the stairwell. “Yeah, man, I told you!” A second voice joined in, followed by a sleazy, low chuckle that made your skin crawl. "Bitch was moaning like a fucking animal in heat—Heard 'em clear from the treeline”
The voices echoed through the house—And you and Daryl didn’t waste a second, moving in dead, silent instinct, sliding off the bed without letting the mattress spring—You quickly grabbed your panties off the floor, stepping into them and pulling them up before pulling your shirt back down over your ribs. Beside you, Daryl reached for his boxers, yanking his jeans up his legs right after but leaving the fly completely unbuttoned and undone in his hurry.
"Shit... look at this!" A third voice chimed in from the doorway downstairs, the distinct sound of heavy canvas straps rustling hitting your ears. "These packs are fucking loaded!"
Daryl stepped around the bed, his movements fluid and frantic as he snagged his crossbow off the floorboards, pulling a bolt back to lock it into the groove with a quiet click. You reached right for his waist, slipping his heavy hunting knife straight out from the sheath attached to his still unzipped jeans.
"Let’s go upstairs!” The second guy snickered downstairs and you heard the creak of leather boots shifting toward the base of the staircase. "Those idiots are probably passed out by now”
"What, just like that?" The first guy asked, his footsteps scuffling near the bottom step.
"Yeah. Put a blade through the guy's throat real quiet" The second voice replied smoothly, his tone sickeningly casual as the heavy thud of his boots hit the first wooden step. "Then we take turns on the bitch. Hear how good that pussy sounded from the street?—Least she can do is share”
Daryl’s body paused for the briefest moment at the words. His jaw tightened, shoulders tensing as his pulse kicked hard beneath his skin. His brows drew together, his fingers curling slowly into his palm as a hot rush of anger shot through him. His mind already running through exactly what he was going to do to that fucking prick.
"Hell yeah!" The third guy chuckled from down near the door, staying behind. "Go on up. I'll guard the gear”
With the knife in hand, you stepped lightly over the floorboards, taking position right beside the doorframe in the dark shadow of the wall. Daryl stepped up right behind you near the threshold, his knuckles white around the frame of his crossbow, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out like wires.
The boots came up the stairs slowly—step by step, creak by creak—accompanied by quiet, arrogant chuckles.
The second the lead guy cleared the top landing, his shadow breaking over the doorway, Daryl exploded out of the bedroom.
"Fuck, he's awake—!" The guy gasped, but he didn't even have time to raise a weapon before Daryl slammed straight into his chest, tackling him hard against the hallway wall.
The second intruder—holding your hunting knife that he’d stolen straight out of your supply bag downstairs—rushed you immediately. "Fucking dumb bitch!" He hissed, his face twisted as he brandished the stolen blade. “Hey!” You narrowed your eyes, backing up a fraction as you raised your chin with a sharp smirk. "That's my knife!”
"Oh, you want it, bitch?" The guy spat, lunging forward with a nasty grin. "Then take it!"
He tried to slice wild straight at your throat, but you dodged clean back, the blade missing you by an inch. However, the space was too tight. His heavy free fist swung around and caught you hard straight in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of you instantly, pain flaring hot as you staggered back against the wall with a gasp. But the adrenaline surged through your blood before the pain could sink in. You bit through it, driving Daryl’s knife forward with a hard, brutal swing, slicing a deep, jagged line clean across the man's forearm.
The guy screamed out a filthy curse, dropping your blade from his hands as blood sprayed onto the floorboards, and he lunged at you again with absolute murder in his eyes.
Right as you dodged his arms, your gaze flicked back to Daryl—who had his problem pinned against the wall. He was raining heavy, brutal fists into the man's face. And in just a second, the idea clicked— Mid-fight, as your guy reached for you again, you darted sideways, your hand snatching Daryl’s heavy leather belt right out of his belt loops.
Daryl caught the sudden tug at his waist and threw you a quick, bewildered glance, but he didn't have time to pay attention as his own guy started swinging back.
Meanwhile, you went straight back to fighting your dude, the heavy leather strap taut in your hands. Taking advantage of the opening while he reeled, you whipped the belt over his head and locked it tight around his neck. Turning on your heel, you pulled with everything you had, walking backward and dragging him with you step by step. He thrashed wildly, hands clawing at his throat for air, until your back slammed hard against the wall, pinning him in a ruthless chokehold.
The guy swung again, but this time his fist caught Daryl across the cheek. His head snapped to the side, but he barely reacted before swinging back, his fist connecting hard with the man’s jaw. The guy stumbled, only to lunge at him again, throwing another punch, but Daryl caught his arm, shoving him back, and droving another quick hit into his face before the two of them stumbled into the wall. "I'm gonna gut you, bastard!” The intruder snarled frantically, spitting blood on the floorboards. “Then I'm gonna fuck your bitch really nice—!"
Daryl’s eyes went pure, lethal red. Adrenaline surging through his veins so fast he didn't wait to load another bolt—he drove the sharp wooden tip of his crossbow bolt straight through the guy's jaw, pinning his head to the wall and ending him instantly.
"Daryl!" You gritted out through your teeth, straining to hold the choke firm against the guy's desperate kicks.
Daryl spun around in an instant at the sound of your voice, his breathing wild as he saw you struggling to keep the guy still. His body reacted on pure instinct, and without a single hesitation, he instantly raised his crossbow, took aim in a split second, and fired point blank—The bolt sank straight into the guy’s forehead.
The man went dead weight instantly, collapsing onto the floorboards in a limp heap as you let go of the belt.
You stumbled just slightly as you pushed yourself off the wall, bending down to snatch your knife from the bloody floor. “My knife” You muttered, throwing the now dead asshole a kick straight to his ribs before moving along with Daryl out of the room and at top of the stairwell landing.
When, the third guy—whose stupid ass had just started scrambling up the steps to check on the noise—froze at the top step, his eyes widening in absolute horror. "Wait—fuck, don't—!"
But before he could pull a gun or turn to run, you lunged forward and buried the knife deep into his chest. And in the exact same breath, Daryl charged up from behind you, kicking the man brutally straight in the gut and sending him tumbling backward down the entire flight of stairs.
His body crashed off every step until his skull hit the hardwood floor at the bottom with a loud, sickening crunch. Blood spilled out over the entryway floorboards as he lay still.
A heavy, ringing silence fell back over the house.
You both just stood at the top landing—you still wearing just your shirt and panties while Daryls undone jeans ride low enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers— trying to catch your breath while simply watching the dead body right down the stairs.
Your hands rest flat on your knees as you bent forward, panting heavily. Between the brutal adrenaline rush of the fight and the intense, exhausting session against the mattress just minutes prior, your legs felt completely weak, trembling so badly under your weight that it felt like a total miracle you were even standing at all. You were overwhelmingly thankful for the adrenaline keeping you upright.
Without taking his eyes off the stairwell, Daryl reached out and tapped you slightly, gently with the back of his hand against your thigh. "Ya alrigh'?" Breathing deeply, you gave just a small nod. "Yeah”
You straightened up slowly, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Are you?" You asked, your gaze still fixed down at the corpse before as Daryl grunted, giving back another single nod. "Yeah…”
After what felt like a very long second— "You think this is our sign to stop fucking on runs?" You asked breathlessly, a tiny, adrenaline-laced smirk tugging at your lips through the sweat as you slowly turned your head to look at Daryl beside you.
Daryl’s chest heaved as he stared at the body below, his hands still shaking slightly from the rush. "Yeah…” He gave a single, quiet nod before slowly, raising his head to look at back you, his dark eyes locking onto yours instantly.
You both just looked at each other in the quiet hallway, breathing hard, everything passing between your eyes— And in a split second, Daryl closed the distance between you.
His mouth crashed hard against yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. Without a second thought, you dropped the knife to the floorboards, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as his broad hands clamped around your waist, pushing you backward straight into the bedroom once again.
“Guess we’ll stick to that next time" You murmured against his lips with a breathless, dry smirk as he backed you up to the bed. He grunted out softly against your mouth, titling his head just slightly as a low raspy hum vibrated in his chest, his dark eyes flashing with pure heat. "Yeah…"
.✦ ݁˖ ———
The engine of the heavy motorcycle sputtered to a stop, the low, deep rumble fading into the hot afternoon air as Daryl kicked down the kickstand in the main prison yard. Dust swirled around your boots as the two of you get off, the heavy metal gates grinding shut behind you. Rick and Carol were already walking down the gravel path toward the yard to meet you, both of them eyeing the long delay.
“What took you guys so long?” Rick asked, resting a hand flat on his hip as his eyes darted between the two of you, taking in the dust, the sweat, and the sheer length of time you’d been gone. "You were supposed to be back hours ago”
"About that…" You sighed out, swinging your leg off the back of the bike before popping your back, and rolling your stiff shoulders. "We got into a bit of a trouble”
Carol raised her eyebrows, her sharp eyes taking in the way you were moving before she reached over to take one of the overflowing supply bags from the back rack. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"Three assholes tried t’ jump us in one of the houses down the road" Daryl grunted out, swinging his leg over the seat, his boots hit the gravel with a heavy thud as he pulled his crossbow strap off his shoulder.
Rick’s brow furrowed, his posture instantly tense with concern. "Are you two okay?"
"Yeah" You nodded casually, running a hand through your hair before pulling it forward over your shoulders, letting the strands fall around your neck to hide the fresh, reddish marks as best you could. "We took care of them” You explained, giving Rick a small nod before turning toward Maggie and wasting little time before falling into step beside her.
The two of you padded down the corridor, heading toward the upper cells—not quite rushing, but really having no intention of lingering around the others long enough for anyone to notice the marks on your neck and realize the assholes you’d been fighting weren’t the only reason you and Daryl had been late.
Meanwhile, Daryl took the heavier crates of canned rations down the main hallway toward the armory with Carol.
As you walked with Maggie, your hand kept periodically coming up to adjust the hem of your shirt, trying to pull the fabric higher around your neck to hide the stubborn hickeys. But near the entrance of the cell block, Carol crossed paths with you two and her keen gaze dropped straight to the dark, fresh red bruises blooming along your collarbone and the side of your neck, peeking out just beneath the hem of your shirt.
She pursed her lips tightly, fighting back a knowing smirk as her eyes twinkled with silent amusement before she turned to follow Daryl toward the supply tables.
In the storage room, Daryl was busy stacking the haul, his worn leather vest leaving his arms exposed as he reached down into his canvas bag and pulled out a few cans of beans to stack nearby. But then—as he lifted another heavy bundle, the light hit his upper arm, exposing the obviously fresh, deep bite mark standing out red on his bicep.
And Carol’s eyes caught it in an instant.
She tilted her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips as she huffed quietly. “Huh… those assholes did that to you too?” She asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly, her hands never stopping as she continued stacking the food onto the shelves.
Daryl froze for a split second, his grip tightening around the metal rim of a can. “Mm” He gave a single, stiff nod, deliberately avoiding her gaze as his hands moved straight back to stacking the beans onto the metal shelves with aggressive speed. "Fucker got a good pair of teeth”
He lied straight through his teeth, keeping his head shoved down, focusing entirely too hard on organizing the food.
Carol nodded in pure amusement, continuing to move around the selves as she shot him another knowing look, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "Oh... was he the one who gave [name] those hickeys too?"
Daryl stopped completely mid-reach, turning into a literal statue. The tin can in his hand hovered an inch off the shelf as he slowly turned his head, his dark eyes narrowing into a stone-cold glare that could melt iron.
Yet Carol didn't back down for a second.
“Hey, hey I'm not judging! I don't blame you—Good for you two!” She said with a small shake of her head, holding her hands up in mocking defense. "Lord knows it’s damn near impossible to find a quiet place to get fucked properly ‘round here” She mumbled, nudging Daryl teasingly with her elbow. “—Not with all these people breathing down your neck” She added with a small playful grimace, a low laugh bubbling up in her throat.
Daryl's jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched beneath his beard. "Stop”
"No, no, I'm serious! I get it!" Carol chuckled, her tone entirely too bold and shameless as she turned on her heel to head back toward the common area. "Just do me a favor—next time tell her to ease up a bit. She bites any harder, she's gonna give you rabies”
Daryl just glared hard, his ears burning bright red under his greasy hair as grunted out. "Shut up”
Carol just smiled proudly as she leaned against the frame for one last moment. "Was it worth the trouble, at least?" She spoke again, tilting her head just slightly, watching him carefully.
Daryl immediately shot her a sharp, stern warning look, warning her to drop it—But, of course, Carol didn't budge. She just held his gaze, giving him a patient, knowing look in return, standing her ground and silently waiting for an actual answer.
Daryl held her eyes for a long beat before he finally cracked, shifting his stance. He looked back at the food, staring down at the metal shelves lined with tin cans in front of him and for a moment, the room was dead quiet. Then, slowly, hesitantly and so quietly it barely carried across the concrete room—
Ghost desperately needs to fuck his client. (You) pt. 3
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, smut, bad description of bong usage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, jealousy, not edited, my current brain worm
prev. part | plug! Simon masterlist
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Simon thinks the worst part of you leaving his house is when he has to watch you bend over his bathroom sink and reapply your strawberry lip gloss.
For several reasons, of course. One of them being that he hates having to watch you leave like he wasn’t just inside you mere minutes ago. The other being that he hates the idea of other men staring at your lips the way he does, with a half chub cock in their jeans because they’re imagining them glistening around their tip instead.
The hardest though? The fact that he’s ready to fuck you again against his bathroom sink every time without fail.
You never seem to notice. You just turn around with a glimmering little smile on your glossed lips, pressing a kiss to his cheek that leaves an iridescent shape of your lips that he doesn’t wipe off or a lingering taste of strawberry on his lips that he tastes for hours.
It’s even worse because he doesn’t know the next time he’ll get a taste.
You send him a picture after a week without contact. A picture of you. The first you’ve sent. The rims of your eyes are red, blunt hanging loosely from your mouth, a lazy smile on your lips.
‘Rolled all by myself!! :)’
He saves it immediately.
‘Never gave you a blunt.’
‘Bought it to practice. Did I do good?’
Simon’s not sure why it matters when he always rolls for you anyway.
‘You bought from someone else?’
‘Not the point.’
‘It’s exactly the point.’
You don’t respond for a while and it makes his temples twitch.
‘Throw that shit away.’
‘HUH’
‘Probably tastes like shit anyway.’
He jerks himself off to the picture later that night.
You come over sometime that next week. You’ve got the skimpiest shirt on he’s ever seen in his life and it takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the bowl he was packing before you walked in.
“Hi, Si.” Si. He’s not sure when he became that.
“Hi, pretty.”
That brings a small smile to your lips.
“Will you teach me?” You ask, pointing to the bong on the table. “Never smoked from a bong before.”
He ushers you over with two fingers, patting the empty spot next to him on his couch. You plop down next to him, legs criss-crossed as you face his side.
“It’s easy enough,” He starts, “Just gotta light the bowl while inhaling, makes the water bubble until the pipe fills with smoke.”
He puts the bong to his lips, lighting the outer edges of the bowl while inhaling lightly before removing the bowl and breathing in sharply to swallow all the smoke. He turns to you when he’s done, blowing the smoke towards you. Your scrunched nose makes him chuckle.
“Then, just take out the bowl and breathe in all your smoke.”
You take it from him with a shrug, “Really? It always looked so much harder than that.”
He watches you start, a huff of a laugh escaping him when you struggle to flick the lighter that earns him a glare, but the caught lip in your teeth tells him everything he needs to know. You inhale for a much longer time than he did, and he watches you with raised brows before removing the bowl himself when your eyes widen. You slam your hand over the rim, puffs of smoke leaving your lungs so abrasively all you can do is cough, tears welling in your lashes.
“Jesus, bird. You’re not supposed to do that much.”
“You didn’t—“ Your sentence is broken up by coughs, “—didn’t tell me that!”
“Didn’t think I had to tell you not to take a giant bong rip!”
He hands you his water from the table.
“Shit fucking hurts.” You say in between gulps.
He laughs loudly that time, big hand coming out to rub your back.
“Wanna try again? I’ll tell you when to stop.”
You chew on your bottom lip, opening your mouth before closing it hesitantly.
“It’ll be smoother, I promise.”
You nod slowly after a few seconds.
“Slowly this time, yeah?” He murmurs, holding the glass to your lips.
You nod again, inhaling for just a few seconds before he removes the bowl. It’s a much smaller hit, but you still cough when you come up for air.
“I don’t think I like it.” You frown, handing it back to him.
He chuckles, “That’s okay, bird. We don’t have to do it again.”
You give him one of your shy smiles, the ones that make him want to dig his teeth into your neck.
He keeps his hands and mouth to himself.
You’re mad at him a few days later and he has no fucking idea why. All he knows is you’re glaring at him from across the room, arms crossed over your chest, and brows furrowed. He can’t help but think you’re cute, all brooding in the corner of the party you invited him to.
‘Come here.’
He watches you read the text, eyes rolling so dramatically it makes him snicker.
‘Why don’t you just keep hanging out with your little girlfriend over there?’
‘I don’t even know who you’re talking about, baby.’
You squint at the screen.
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Pretty instead?’
He watches you fluster.
‘Shut up.’
‘You coming? Or do I need to handle it myself?’
‘Handle what?’
‘You.’
You avoid him the rest of the night. He takes you home anyway and you begrudgingly drag your feet across the sidewalk to his car, huffing under your breath how you had someone else to take you home.
You didn’t, never did.
The drive to your place is silent and there's this ugly knot forming in the middle of his chest that makes him dig his tongue to the inside of his cheek. You look at him in shock when he barges into your house after you tried to close the door on his face.
He’s too damn old for this.
His hand cups the back of your neck, tugging you towards him, so you stumble into him, forearms falling onto his chest. You peer up at him, wide-eyed, but you don’t say anything.
“You done?” He asks plainly.
You gulp, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Your eyes trail to the side, suddenly becoming interested in the color of your wall.
He drags you to your room then, and you follow along, like you hadn’t ignored him all night. He bends you over your bed slowly. He half expects you to kick out in refusal, but you let him, quietly falling and turning your cheek to peer at him over your shoulder.
One hand keeps you firm in place at the low of your spine, the other trails down the back of your legs, hooking a finger in the back of your heels, and tossing them to the side.
“Those were expensive.”
He flicks his eyes to yours, “Buy you a new pair.”
He bunches your dress to your hips, panties joining your shoes soon after that, and you open your mouth to protest despite the way you lifted your hips to help him.
“Didn’t agree to this.”
His fingers halt in their path. “You want me to stop?”
“That’s not what I said.” You mumble quietly, turning your head away from him.
He hums then, “That’s what I thought.”
He stamps a kiss to your shoulder, the bottom of your spine, right on the globe of your ass. His teeth dig into your cheek next because he simply can’t resist taking a bite and you giggle into the sheets.
The corners of his lips twitch because he knows you hadn’t intended to let that slip.
He cups your ass then, spreading you open so that he gets a pretty view of your pussy. His thumb drags from your entrance to your clit and you roll to your tippy toes in shock, fingers tightening in your flowery sheets.
He watches your pussy flutter around nothing when he rubs slow circles around your clit, watches you bury your face into your bed because you don’t want him to see the way your face scrunches up.
He keeps at it, thumb stroking your clit over and over again until it’s swollen, until there's an obscene amount of slick gushing from your pussy and down your clit, until he can see the way your shoulders tense to stifle the quiet noises you press into the blankets.
He slips two fingers in without warning and your head snaps back, a whine slipping past the tight confines of your lips. He finds the spot that makes your lashes flutter and your hips rock back far too quickly for your liking because he shouldn’t already know where it’s at when he’s only fucked you twice.
He strokes you with his thick fingers once, twice, before leaning over you, larger frame pinning you against the bed, and you squirm, whimpering because he’s so fucking heavy above you that it makes you a little lightheaded.
His lips press to your ear, “Been a real brat all night you know that?”
He thrusts his fingers with every word, pussy stretching with each stroke.
“Over somethin’ I can’t even control too.”
You lift your head to look at him and it’s the first time he’s seen you grit your teeth. You part your lips to argue, but he hooks his fingers just right and a strained noise leaves your throat.
“What’s that?” He smirks against your neck.
You don’t even try to say anything after, fucking your hips back onto his fingers until there's a trail of your arousal dripping down his knuckles, and your teeth caught in your sheets as you finish.
Your head falls back against the mattress, legs wobbly under you as he slips his fingers from your cunt. You don’t even have time to mourn the feeling, not when Simon’s cock takes their place so quickly. He doesn’t even have to wait for you to accustom yourself to the shape of him when he sinks to the hilt in one go.
You cry out, rolling to your tippy toes again, thighs already shaking against his hips. His hand wraps around your throat, the other around your hips and arches your back so your head rests against his shoulder and your feet dangle above his.
He fucks into you swiftly, your ass making a loud noise each time his hips meet the fat. Your hands scramble to the one around your hips in a panic because the position has the curve of his cock slamming brutally against your cervix, and all you can to do is clamber for any control.
“For no fucking reason too.” He grunts it against your temple.
“Simon, I— wait, please.”
You find yourself on your back in an instant, your head next to the plushies you have on your bed. Simon’s already between your parted thighs, cock sliding in so easily you have to squeeze your eyes tight.
He turns soft so quickly it practically gives you whiplash, one arm resting beside your head, his lips hovering above your cheek.
“Don’t gotta act like tha’.” He whispers it so softly you feel it in your chest. “You’re all I want, baby.”
His thrusts become sweet, pressing real deep with each draw of his hips, and your toes curl by his thighs.
“Okay?”
When you don’t respond, his thumb finds your cheek, tapping lightly because he wants to hear it.
“Okay?”
You blink at him a little deliriously, “Yeah, okay.”
sammy was chronically late to everything which pissed you off to no end. custody exchanges, picking your son up from school, and all of his extra curricular things you had him involved in. he was either 10 minutes late or an hour. he was always quick to say 'i have an important job sugar yknow'. your son didn't seem to mind, he was too young still to understand that being late to everything wasn't okay. he was just excited to see his daddy. and sammy would always make it up to him by bringing him a gift or letting him play with the sirens on his cruiser.
today was a prime example of his lateness. you were sat with the other moms watching your son play in his tball game. they were all gossiping about the others, talking about their shitty husbands, and cheering on their kids who could barely hit the ball. you didn't feed into their gossip, just watched your son play in the dirt when he was supposed to be playing first base. "is sammy coming?" one of them hummed to you, a small smile on her lips that had you internally gagging. "fuck if i know," you mumbled, chewing on the piece of gum in your mouth. he had a schedule of your son's games. he'd show up if he wanted, just wouldn't be on time.
the game felt like it was dragging on. little kids playing baseball was only tolerable for so long. "sammy's here," one of the mom's mumbled to you, nodding her head towards the parking lot where the police cruiser was pulling in. all you could do was shrug, keeping your eyes on the field. you could hear the jingle of his keys before he spoke, his annoying presence being sense right beside you. "hi sweetheart," he mumbled into your ear, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. all the other mom's snickered, your cheeks turning red. you refused to acknowledge him, it only pissing him off even more. it was only seconds before your son noticed him, coming running off the field to hug on sammy's legs. "hi buddy," sammy hugged to the little boy, picking him up to spin him around. you sighed, moving to stand now with your arms across your chest.
"you're supposed to be on the field, baby. can see daddy after your game," you hummed to your son, sammy only shooting you a glare as he sat your son down so he could run back to the fence. he turned to you now, his teeth clenched together so tight it made his jaw twitch. "why do you do that? just wants to see his daddy," he mumbled to you, your eyes immediately rolling as you scoffed. "he's here to play baseball. if you were here on time you could've seen him before the game," you snapped right back at him, his hand moving to rest on your hip gently. "you know i have to work," he spoke with a fake pout, speaking a little louder so the other parents could hear that 'he was trying he's just soo busy.'
you immediately stepped away, his hand immediately reaching to hook a finger into one of the belt loops of your jeans to yank you forward and back to him. "don't fucking embarrass me in front of these people. let's play nice, yeah?" he mumbled in your ear, a lump forming in your throat. you simply stayed silent, arms crossed tightly over your chest. god he was so annoying. the rest of the game went on miserably slow. sammy playing super dad, talking with the other dads, and flirting with the moms who spoke to him in an attempt to make you jealous. not working.
"your son is cute," one of the dad's who you knew to be single coming up to you as sammy wandered off to talk to some of the other dads. you couldn't help but smile as you looked out at your son before back to the man, a small blush on your cheeks. "oh, thank you. yours is too," you spoke back, the smile never leaving your face as the two of you chatted. what you didn't see behind you was sammy staring daggers into the back of your head, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he watched this man attempt to make the moves on you. pathetic.
"hi, i don't think we've met. i'm officer bryant," sammy's voice cut into your conversation, his hand coming to rest on your lower back. the man was friendly, quick to introduce himself to your ex husband. you knew what game sammy was playing out. who could be the best man. "oh, are you guys together?" he questioned, an eyebrow raising slightly at sammy's hand resting on your back. "yes," sammy spoke immediately, patting your back gently which only caused you to roll your eyes. "he's my ex husband." "we are working it out." "no we aren't." the two of you continued to go back and forth, the man obviously confused and somewhat intimidated.
"it was really nice meeting you. i'll see you around, yeah?" the other father spoke to you before he was walking away. you were quick to swat sammy's hand from your back, turning to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. "you're so fucking annoying, seriously," you spat at him, going to walk away but he was quick to grab your wrist and yank you back to him. "stop trying to get a quick fuck in when i'm not looking," he mumbled in your ear, his grip on your wrist only tightening. you couldn't help the smirk that grew on your lips, snatching your wrist back to him. "i don't do it when you're not looking. i do it when you're busy actually watching our son and you aren't around," you smirked back at him, finally turning to walk away.
pissed was an understatement when it came to his mood.
He’s always got those pair of sunglasses on that he bought the first day you got here. Thick black band hugging his chubby fingers as he fishes his wallet out at the fancy seafood restaurant you decided on for tonight.
Face framing curls sticking to the sides of his pretty face from the hot sun. Crooked teeth peeking through his lips as he smiles at you from across the table.
And ohh my god the sex is fucking crazy. He’s soo loud in that hotel room, your poor neighbors. You guys are going at it like bunnies! Either you’re riding him while he pounds up into you, holding you by the hips and slamming you down on him, or he’s got you beneath him, his head thrown back as he thrusts up into you.
You guys get random strangers to take photos of you, both sunburnt and smiling at the camera as you wave for people back home.
You’ll be laying down next to each other in the tanning chairs on the beach, his hand snaking over and running across your stomach, then up and cupping your breast over your bikini top making you laugh loudly and swat him away, in return he grabs your arm, pulling you on top him while he giggles, rubbing your warm back.
In the water you’re hanging onto his back as he floats, kissing his shoulder softly as you guys watch the sun reflect off the water. He’s whispering softly for just you two to hear, “I love you so much.” Grabbing your thighs, settling them against his sides.
Or you guys will be lazily laying in the hotel bed, after a day on the beach and a shower together you’re worn out so you order room service and watch your favorite movies under the fluffy white duvet.
I see Sammy being terrified of planes 😭. On the flight back home his heads glued to the headrest, eyes squeezed shut and hand clenching yours borderline painfully. He’s breathing through his nose shakily as you giggle, videoing him with your free hand. He’s whispering softly peeks one eye open and huffs a laugh, swatting your phone away.
thinking about.. fucking s3!daryl doggy style in the woods and his bicep is around your neck with his hand covering your mouth to keep your mewls to a minimum 😁😁😁
and when you manage to choke out a "dar!- s-slow down- too much!" he just shoves his thick fingers in your mouth to press down on your tongue and keep you from speaking. he slows his pace though - he's not trying to torture you, at least not really - but the way he ruts his dick so deep you can feel it in your stomach might just be worse. saliva pools before your bottom lip and drips into the dirt, practically soaking his fingers clean. you whine, trying to grip on the rocks and roots in front of you to no avail. he slipped his fingers off your tongue and moved to pull on the side of your cheek instead, forcing a whine.
"told'ya we had't'be quick, girl," he grunts, breathing heavy over the nape of your neck, "quit y'fuckin' whining and take it."
he waits a second, leaning over your shoulder to scan your weeping face - and god, he couldn't look long - as you try to form a response. he notes the subtle nod you give him and the whimper, and he leans in to kiss your temple, but not wasting any time to quicken the pace of his hips. "atta girl," he growls into your ear while your lip starts to bleed from how hard you're biting it to keep quiet 🙁🙁
...on his sexy single neighbor that just moved in next-door to him and Tammi again and how just your presence has tormented this poor man day and night ever since.
it's not like he sees you that often. he started work pretty early and you did a pretty good job at mostly keeping to yourself, but the glimpses he did catch were enough to make him feel all flustered and ashamed of himself and his helplessly wandering eye.
because he can just tell you're trouble. you, in your sparkly flip flops and stupid cropped tube tops that let your tummy pudge peek over the hem of your too short denim miniskirt, plump ass bouncing and thigh fat jiggling as you walked your mean little dog (who hated Sammy with a passion); without a care in the world that he could see your chubby lovehandles begging to be squeezed or your perky nipples poking through your shirt. because of course you'd go braless, and of course Sammy looked despite him trying his best to ignore you and be a good husband.
Sammy Bryant was a weak little man who's eyes betrayed him any time you were around, really. zeroing in on any bit of exposed flesh you have busting out your tiny little outfits.
you're just a slut looking for attention, Tammi's words not his, and god does he give it to you.
when you show up at his door all pouty and looking worried sick, still in your nightie, claiming that your sink was leaking like crazy and you needed his help cause "it's wet alll over, Sammy please".
when your car shit the bed (a miracle your little fiat even held on that long) and you'd asked all syrupy sweet if Sammy could "take care of me, please Officer?".
even when your IKEA furniture came in and you needed "someone big and strong" like him to assemble it for you because you'd just gotten your nails done and couldn't afford breaking one.
and he'd willingly play along, frowning all unsure and going "eh…I dunno, sweetheart…" only to show up as soon as his wife was out of the house.
it was perfectly neighborly of him to help you, an upstanding member of his community. or at least that's what he reasoned with while he mowed your lawn on a hot-ass Sunday afternoon while Tammi was out of town.
all while trying his best to ignore how good you looked all splayed in your lawn-chair and little bikini, lips pursed around the straw of your fruity drink as your heated gaze raked over Sammy's buff, chubby body. the unforgiving July sun had made his white tee stick to his sweaty torso like saran, and you'd lapped up every detail like you'd owned him. his meaty, defined pecs, the outline of his belly pressing against the drenched fabric, the strain of his sleeves fighting against his flexing biceps…
Sammy couldn't possibly know you wanted him, but your looks were hungry, eyes voraciously gorging on every detail as he stopped mowing to stretch his back. his hand came up to wipe the beads of sweat dotting his brow and rolling down the side of his pink, plump cheeks. a small resigned sigh escaping him as he hesitantly tugged at the hem of his shirt.
"It's soooo hot…" you whine in your comfy seat in the shade, lower lip caught between your teeth in view of his thick triceps and back muscles flexing. good god was Sammy Bryant wide. built like an ox, broad shouldered and burly under a healthy layer of chub, and you wanted nothing more than to take a bite out of him. or three. "why don't you take your shirt off, honey?"
the suggestion seems to have hit a nerve, Sammy straightening up like a meerkat, his head whipping to your direction nervously. "wh-what?" he squeaks before clearing his throat. "i mean- i-…no, no i'm fine. no one wants to see the fat guy shirtless."
he doesn't understand why you look so confused at his self depreciating comment, brows pinched and nose ever so slightly scrunched as you slide off your seat and walk over to him. "That's mean, Sammy," you say, grasping the hem of his white tee to slowly peel the sticky, offending garment off his soft pudgy belly and broad chest. "I wanna see you shirtless." you admit to your married neighbor without a lick of shame. "'sides, it's hot out."
and what the fuck is he supposed to say to that except babble out a confused "thank you?" and ignore the pink flush moving from his cheeks down to his neck at record speed?
you giggle in response, clearly unfazed, or perhaps delighted, and reach up to squeeze his biceps. They're firm under your manicured fingers, a bulging vein jumping when you stroke it with your thumb. "You've got sooo many freckles!" you coo, the tips of your nails trailing down his chest like the world's horniest game of connect the dots. "Lemme get my sunscreen and I can do your back, yeah?"
any other man would probably have enough sense to push you off and hightail it to his home that he shares with his wife, but Sammy finds himself sat at the edge of your sun lounger with you kneeling behind him, almost trembling as you slather sunscreen on his freckled shoulders and back.
"Ooh..see, you're already turnin' pink, honey" you chirp, voice all sweet and bubbly. god, you sounded like you didn't have a care in the world, let alone worried that Tammi might catch you two. your hands take the opportunity to grope Sammy for all he's worth, naughty fingers grasping at his back muscles and sides with the excuse of "getting every inch!", even going as far as to pinch his love handles and laugh in his face when poor Sammy squeaks. "Goodness, you're jumpy officer!"
"Tammi…my wife…" Sammy starts, his protests melting into a soft whimper as you cup and knead his pecs, sunscreen forgotten.
"What about her?" you hum in return, peeking over his shoulder to look at his flushed face and puppydog eyes.
"Well.." Sammy starts, voice unsure "She won't be happy if you keep touchin' me like this, sweeth-heart," he stammers when you move down to rub down his pudgy belly, digits digging into the fat possessively. "Um…just worried, I guess. Don't want her to come fight you or-or something-"
you stop him in his tracks with a bold kiss to his shoulder, lipgloss staining the skin a glistening strawberry pink. it's completely out of order, a step far removed from your thus far mostly innocent flirting, and it makes Sammy's pulse thrum when he should be pushing you off.
"Oh I can handle Ms. Tammi, honey," you throw back, unperturbed by the possibility of Tammi rightfully getting in your face or even getting physical. "So you can tell her she's welcome to come over and try somethin'"
"Or," your purring voice is music to Sammy's ears as you lean in closer, breasts pressed to his bare back. "You can tell her to forget the dog and keep a tighter leash on her husband. Naughty thing keeps getting in my yard, officer." you look at his trembling lips, parted in anticipation of your own blanketing them, then back to those wide hazel eyes staring into yours before pulling back completely with another innocent giggle. "Now, how about some lemonade? i'm melting!"
SUMMARY ➩ You and Sammy have been best friends since middle school and you’re both struggling to find room for your friendship within his marriage
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ honestly guys im in a major slump but afraid everyone will forget about me if i don’t write so hopefully this isn’t auto pilot garbage lol
You were never shocked by the knock on your door, no matter how late or how randomly placed in the middle of a boring week.
The sun would be set, dishes washed and put away in their respective places, and your feet still lingering near the doorway as you waited for the inevitable sound of knuckles against wood.
It had been a few days since the last time you heard it so you knew it was becoming overdue, skin slightly prickling as you waited and waited in your front hallway far too patiently. You felt a bit foolish for standing there for so long, in a slight trance whenever you thought about who was coming.
Thirty minutes of you hovering passed before you were sighing and retreating to your room.
Your feet froze in place when the noise echoed from behind you, making your chest tighten and a surge of adrenaline hit you so hard you felt a bit dizzy when you hurriedly spun back around and made your way to the entry again.
Sammy looked melancholy when you pulled the door open, hand raised in a fist like he was about to knock again. His shoulders deflated when he saw you and you figured it must be in relief considering the way he was surging forward and pulling you in.
You sighed when he tucked his forehead down against your shoulder, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. You rubbed up and down his back softly, your other forearm securely pressed to his side reassuringly as you both swayed from the force of the embrace.
It took awhile for him to let you go, you had to coax him back just enough for you to be able to walk.
He followed you fully into the living room with a distant look on his face, sitting down on the cushion and getting a panicked expression when you made a move to walk away.
“Relax.” You say as softly as you can, pressing your hands against his shoulders to keep him sitting. “Just going to get some water for you.”
He didn’t look too pleased by it but he let out a breath and settled back against the cushions long enough for you to go to the fridge and fill him up a glass.
It was pointless considering he ignored it once you came back, barely getting his fingers around it before he was setting it down on the coffee table in favor of wrapping his hands around your middle and bringing you down to sit in his lap sideways.
You sighed but leaned against his chest and let him tuck against your neck again, breathing you in deeply and holding you so tight you felt a little dizzy.
“Bad day?” You kept your voice quiet but it was enough for him to hear you and pick up his head, eyes full of hurt that was reflecting off the dim lighting in the room.
“Couldn’t have been worse.” He answered honestly and you gave him an empathetic look, running your hand over his jaw and feeling the way he rest against it and shuts his eyes. “I needed to see you.”
“Did you even go home?” Your eyebrows furrow and he looks at you again, the guilt on his face making the answer obvious. “Sammy we talked about that. She goes crazy if you don’t at least stop by.”
You never would shy away from talking about Tammi because there was no point. She was the main thing you thought about when you were with him, his wedding ring currently pressing against your waist and the knowledge of his wife hanging over your head like a weight.
You admittedly had very little empathy for the woman.
You’d gone to high school with both of them but you’d known Sammy a few years before. You were always drawn to him, even before you could even really understand what that meant.
You just wanted to be around him, a young and sweet boy with an adult like patience that you didn’t get to see at home. He was always extra kind to you when you came to school tired or bruised, sharing his lunches and then pressing soft kisses to the side of your mouth once you got a bit older.
He’d been stricken with Tammi the moment he had seen her as you entered high school, fixated on her loud voice and extreme personality.
There was no other option than to watch him fall in love with her and then watch him lose that lightness he always carried trying to keep her happy.
What started as soft complaints on the phone after a shift turned into meeting up on his breaks to have lunch and absorb all his worries silently. Then he started to come over late into the night, something Tammi had forbid a few years ago.
She had tried to pretend to be civil with you when you were teenagers although grimacing at your kindness whenever you greeted her or made an attempt to bond. It was clear she didn’t like that Sammy had a girl best friend and she drew the line firmly once you were all adults.
There was no longer a need to try and seem friendly because Sammy was wrapped around her finger both metaphorically and legally in the form of the metal band she rarely wore.
He had called you a few years back to tell you that he couldn’t be around you anymore unless it was a group setting, absolutely no alcohol could ever be involved and he was definitely not allowed at your house.
It had sent you in a bit of a spiral, wondering if Tammi was just being as insane as she always was or if she had somehow seen deep down into the hidden part of you that had loved Sammy since you were practically children. And if Tammi knew, did that mean he did too?
“I dealt with her all day on the phone.” He was complaining softly and bringing your attention back to the present, still sneaking around and crossing boundaries just enough to make your head spin.
You never talked about it but his big hands would run over your waist, pulling you far too close to be friendly and taking deep breaths of your hair and skin like he was addicted to it.
Sometimes you caught him looking at your lips when you spoke, eyes a little distracted and then embarrassed when you’d clear your throat to try and get his attention.
You tried not to think about how Tammi would react to you being in his lap right now, holding his jaw and leaning down to kiss his cheek softly in comfort as he complained about her for the hundredth time.
“What’s she upset about now?” You know you’re playing into it, feeding the flame that never seems to burn hot enough to actually make him recoil.
He’ll talk about it endlessly and you can tell he really wants to leave her but he always goes back home at the end of the night with his tail between his legs.
“I mentioned your birthday.” He sighed and then gave you a look when he saw the automatic frown. You’d had plans with him for your birthday, beyond excited when he invited you out to dinner but you figured you should have known it was too good to be true. “She didn’t want to come but then she found out she wasn’t even invited and she lost her mind.”
“I don’t want to go at all if she has to be there.” You say immediately and you feel a little guilty for being so selfish with his time but you decide you deserve it considering the way she acts around you.
Admittedly you also just want him all to yourself and you know he won’t give you the same amount of attention if she’s around because it’ll without a doubt piss her off.
“I know sweetheart.” He breathes out and you hate the tone of his voice, the premature disappointment like he knows there’s no solution to the problem already.
And the petnames always break you, another old habit he had abandoned years ago that seems to be making an appearance more and more often lately.
“It’s fine.” You run a hand through his hair and he blinks tiredly up at you. You don’t want to add to his ever growing stress even if your throat feels tight at the let down. “I’ll see if Alex can come instead.”
You felt Sammy tense underneath you and his hands tighten around your middle. You stopped rubbing his hair in favor of sighing and resting harder against his chest, knowing exactly what was on his mind.
Sammy had always been the same way, patient and gentle to a fault. The only thing that really seemed to set him off was sharing you with other people.
He could tolerate your girl friends, he’d easily encourage you to go out and have fun and listen to your recaps the next morning while he drove to work. Guys, however, were a completely different battle.
You remember one of your first ever fights, only starting after you told him and your other friends that you finally had your first boyfriend. It had taken you until your junior year of high school to be over Sammy enough to move on, accepting by then that him and Tammi were more solid than you realized initially.
He’d been quiet the rest of the day and then pulled you to the side before you could walk home, lightly pressing you back against a tree and slightly interrogating you about the boy you were seeing.
It felt like a fresh memory, the butterflies in your stomach when you saw how serious he was and how wanted you felt as he told you that you deserved better. Sammy was jealous, there was no point in denying it and you knew you weren’t being delusional just because you had feelings for him.
He spent the next fifteen years getting the same expression whenever you talked about a guy or brought one to group cookouts, his glare fixated on a hand around your waist or the way you’d softly kiss the guy in thanks when he brought you a drink.
You knew Sammy found the same comfort in you that you got from him but that was the first real time you considered that Sammy might feel something more for you too.
Alex had started at your office a few years ago and just like always, Sammy had gotten that serious expression as soon as you started mentioning him casually. One of your mutuals friends had joked over drinks a month or two ago that you should make a move and Sammy immediately excused himself to stomp his way up to the bar.
Now his big hands were softly kneading into your side like you were a stress ball, staring past you to instead burn holes into your coffee table.
“Don’t do that.” You attempt to scold him but it comes out overly fond, a soft teasing whisper that makes him slightly scoff in amusement.
“I’ll figure it out.” He says a bit sternly and you give him a long disbelieving look. “I mean it. Don’t go out with him.”
“That’s not fair Sammy.” You try to be more serious so he can really understand but you can almost see the way your words fall on deaf ears.
He’s turning his head so he can press soft kisses on your skin, one laid against your cheek and then moving further until his lips are against the side of your mouth. It’s torture for you but you’re a willing participant, letting your eyes close and your body relax so he has no reason to stop.
And he doesn’t, peppering you in affection like he’s trying to erase the memory of Alex himself.
You feel his hands rubbing from your sides to your back, sliding under the hem of your tank top to rest on your shoulder blades like it’s a completely normal way for two friends to be touching.
You’d never deny Sammy anything but especially when it involved him fawning over you like this. You almost wanted to push it further, talk more about Alex and really exaggerate the nature of your relationship just to see how much it took for Sammy to decide he needed to lay a real claim on you.
He wasn’t yours so by default you couldn’t be his, that ring pressing against your hot skin an endless reminder of your situation.
“I know and I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and quiet like he truly meant it and part of you thought that he might.
You didn’t think his selfishness came with any malicious intent but it was still there, still pulling him towards your door after a fight with his wife and making him touch you in that confusing intimate way.
You didn’t go out to dinner with Alex for your birthday, you couldn’t stomach the thought even if Sammy hadn’t been so upset by it.
Instead you ended up sitting across from Tammi, trying to ignore her glare as you did your best to make small talk. You’d invited a few other friends so it felt less like third wheeling but you still had to make a point to not look at Sammy for too long.
She had a perfect view of your face from this angle and you knew exactly what she would see. The way your eyes softened when they met his and the obvious longing in your gaze when it was directed at her husband.
Sammy was staring holes in the side of your face anyways, maybe thinking he was being more subtle about it than he actually was. His ankle was crossing yours under the table every few minutes and you had to routinely send him a small glare to get him to stop.
You took the opportunity for a smoke break as dinner transitioned to drinks, placing your order and making your way outside before anybody could object. You figured you were leaving them to awkward small talk, your other friends barely knowing Sammy and unable to tolerate his wife, but you needed to breathe.
It wasn’t really possible considering the door was pushing open almost as soon as it shut behind you.
You sighed softly when you saw Sammy coming out into the small dark alley but you didn’t object when his hands were sliding over your sides, back and forth for a few seconds before resting on your lower back and pulling you closer.
“You’re not having a good time.” He said softly, not a question but a statement.
“How could I?” Your eyebrows furrow in frustration as your palms wrap around his biceps. “Your wife is glaring at me everytime I speak at my own birthday dinner and you’re trying to play footsie under the table.”
He frowns and you feel bad for how harsh you’re being, especially when he’s brushing your hair behind your ear and softly kissing your jaw a few times. He knows exactly how to unravel you, lower those walls and keep you melting against him.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is slightly muffled against your skin so he picks his head up and his nose brushes yours. “I just wanted to see you and she wouldn’t let me go without her.”
“It’s fine, she’s actually not being that terrible.” You sigh and it’s the truth. Tammi hadn’t said much of anything which was almost scarier than her making snappy or inappropriate comments. You felt like she was observing you closely, noting your every micro expression. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that though.”
You didn’t need to clarify because you both knew what you were talking about, the same look he was giving now as his head tilted slowly in amusement.
More than longing, something deeper and heavier. You would have thought you imagined it a few years ago but you knew better now and you were more than aware of the fact Sammy wanted you in some capacity.
“Can’t help it. You look so beautiful tonight.” His voice had dropped and he leaned back down to kiss your skin again, this time a lot closer to your mouth than before.
You sighed and leaned further against him, trying to ignore the heated sensation in your stomach when he lightly guided you backwards so you were against the wall. His hands stayed on your lower back for the most part but he occasionally moved them to rub against your waist and hips, leaving you a little dizzy as he kissed down your neck.
“Sammy.” Your voice was breathy and he hummed against your skin in question. “This is so unfair.”
Normally that was enough to pull him out of it, sober him to the fact that you were getting hurt by his actions. He either didn’t register your complaint or maybe didn’t care, thinking he could make it up to you if he kept going.
You couldn’t deny him this, not when his big hand was rubbing up your back and his mouth was moving softly across your neck towards yours.
You were holding onto him tightly and trying to keep the breathy noises to a minimum, getting harder when he was shuffling even closer and fully pressing you against the brick behind you.
It was brief when his mouth finally pressed against yours, only a fleeting second before he was moving past it to kiss the other side of your face.
He tensed suddenly like he had only just now realized what he was doing so you prepared for the coldness that would hit you when he backed away. Instead, there was suddenly a lot more warmth as he pecked your lips again softly.
He pulled back for a few seconds, chest slightly heaving as he looked down at you in question. You thought he was an idiot for that because you’d never dream of objecting to this, even if it was so risky and stupid to be doing something so damning right outside the building his wife was inside.
“Unfair.” He mumbled, repeating your words as he kissed you lightly again. “Unfair is you wearing this outfit when I can’t touch you.”
His hands tightened against the fabric like he was emphasizing and this time you were less surprised when he kissed you. It lasted a little longer than a brief peck, just enough time for you to move your mouth against his before he was pulling back again.
“You can touch me.” You insisted softly, wondering if you told him what he wanted to hear he’d maybe keep kissing you. “You can always touch me.”
It worked, enough for him to really press against you and let you kiss him back. You’d gone nearly two decades without kissing eachother despite the tension floating over your heads and it was obvious in how filthy it got so quickly.
You were both eager and desperate, gripping anywhere you could reach and refusing to come up for air as you kissed him deeper and deeper.
You made no objections to his tongue smoothing into your mouth, tangling it with your own and savoring the sound he made at the taste of you. You’d never crossed this line despite the little things you did potentially being worse, the intimacy of the way you moved around each other almost comparable to the heat you felt now.
Sammy was insatiable now that you’ve broken the illusion that you were able to be just friends, tugging you closer and closer and licking into your mouth like he was starving.
It took a long few minutes for either of you to pull back and even then, he was still surging forward to kiss you softly like he was afraid to let it end. You understood the fear, stomach twisting at the thought of him gaining some clarity and regretting what you did.
Sammy was a good man despite how it may seem in his desperation and he wasn’t the type to cheat on his wife, no matter how cruel and detached she was.
“We fucked up.” You breathed it out in anticipation, assuming if you got to it before he could then the upcoming rejection would land better on your already damaged heart.
“What?” His eyebrows furrowing surprised you, fully expecting him to agree with you and let you chalk it up as a stupid mistake you could forget. Instead he was shifting closer again so you weren’t able to look away from him even if you wanted to. “No we didn’t. It was my fuck up all those years ago when I married Tammi.”
You had to get some space from him then or you wouldn’t be able to breathe, softly pushing at his chest and being beyond thankful that he easily moved backwards and let you shift away from the brick wall.
“That is so shitty of you to say.” You wanted it to come out more frustrated so he would really let it process but you just sounded tired.
He looked like he wanted to object, maybe apologizing judging by the way his face softened with guilt. Luckily the door was opening then, one of your closest friends stepping out into the alley and giving you a scolding look when she saw the way his fingertips were grazing your waist and the swollenness of your lips.
“You should come in.” She said it softly but you knew she’d be scolding you once you left the restaurant, subject to your Sammy fueled rants for years now. “I’ve got your drink ordered.”
You gave her a thankful smile that didn’t reach your eyes and she turned her stare towards Sammy, hardening as she scanned over his guilty stance, a hand rubbing over his mouth.
“And your wife is looking for you.”
You both tensed up at the obvious call out and you followed quickly behind her when she went back inside so you didn’t have to deal with his reaction to that targeted comment.
It was instinct to avoid Sammy after that even though it tore your heart out of your chest. You figured you might as well get it over with because he clearly had no plans to leave Tammi any time soon and you weren’t going to magically get over him after you spent the majority of your life following him around like a helpless fawn.
His calls went unanswered on your own phone and some others, your friends reaching out to let you know he’d been getting ahold of them too so he could ask where you’ve been.
You ignored the knocks on your door, putting a pillow over your ears and trying to keep your crying quiet enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you.
There was the obvious defect in your plan, the fact that Sammy knew you better than anybody possibly could.
He stayed away for a few days and you thought it had worked, he’d finally given up and manage to read your silent message that you couldn’t do this with him anymore.
Instead he was sitting on your porch when you got home from work two weeks later.
You were coming home late, you’d stopped at your nearest library and then the liquor store to give you two distractions to get through the night with, so you figured he must have been sitting for a while.
You let out a sigh at the end of your walkway and he was shooting up off the cement, eyes full of that annoyingly sweet hope and hesitation as he stepped aside to let you pass him by.
He was standing behind you as you unlocked the door and you spent the time it took to get your key in the doorknob trying to build up the courage to tell him to go fuck himself, but all you could manage was to lightly hold the door open for him behind you.
You could hear it shutting and locking as you set your bag down in the kitchen, the obvious sound of the glass bottle clicking against the counter making him raise an eyebrow.
“You’re avoiding me.” He spoke softly as you kicked off your shoes, lingering near your doorway and watching your every move as you followed your usual routine after getting home and made yourself comfortable like he wasn’t even there.
“Wow amazing conclusion. Congratulations detective Bryant, you figured it out.” You felt slightly bad for how cold your voice was, so out of character for you that you knew it must be throwing him off.
He proved that when he was moving closer and lightly touching your hips to get you to stop wandering around, your breath hitching as you looked up at him and the pure desperation on his face.
“Please don’t do that, let’s talk about this. I get enough of the passive aggressive shit from-“ He cut himself off with a deep sigh, lips pursing so he didn’t say it even though you typically didn’t avoid the topic.
“From your wife.” You finished it for him, eyes cold as you glared at him. “You can say it Sammy.”
“I just don’t understand. It’s never been an issue before.”
You pushed him away from you at that but he was persistent, following you as you walked closer to the couch and grabbing you again. You felt his fingers digging slightly into your hips as he tugged you backwards against him, your back hitting the softness of his stomach as he crowded your space.
His chin hooked over your shoulder, large fingers splayed across your belly button to keep you in place against him.
You naturally settled backwards, sucking in a deep breath as his familiar scent instinctively calmed your nerves. You were suddenly very aware of how hard the two weeks without him were, the longest you’d gone in a long time being apart from each other.
“You’re an idiot if you think it wasn’t an issue for me.” You’re whispering now, afraid if you speak too long he’s going to be able to pick up on the undeniably heartbreak in your voice.
“Let me fix this.” You can feel him moving his mouth closer and you mentally brace for the impact, still feeling unprepared for how good it feels to have him softly kissing up your neck as he starts to rub your stomach and waistband. “I hate when you’re mad at me. It’s eating me up.”
You let him continue for a few seconds before you’re spinning around, seeing the disappointment and light panic on his face before he realizes you just want to face him, his entire body relaxes as he holds your lower back.
Your hands go to his cheeks, pressing on the soft skin and feeling the light stubble he’d built up in your absence.
“There really isn’t a way you can fix it Sammy.” You say honestly and his face falls, lips parting like he wants to object. “Other than the obvious.”
There’s no need for him to say it, you can tell by the look in his eyes when you add that on that he can’t give you the answer that you want. It feels so far out of the realm of possibility that you don’t even feel disappointment, much less resistance when he’s ignoring your suggestion completely in favor of leaning in to kiss you.
It’s different than the kiss you shared at your birthday dinner, lacking the heat and desperation as you soaked up the small amount of time you had before you got caught.
Now it’s slow and deep, much more like the first kiss you’d always imagined with him.
His hands are so gentle as he rubs up your sides, keeping you tight against him as your mouths move together like you’ve done this a thousand times. You can’t help but mentally compare this kiss to the way you’ve seen him be with Tammi, feeling a bit smug at how obvious the difference is.
There’s no awkwardness between you, no stiff and routine hard press of lips like you’re checking it off a to do list.
He’s clearly wanting, craving almost as he pulls you impossibly closer and tilts his head to make sure the kiss doesn’t stop or lose its rhythm.
You’ve missed him so much and you’re such a fool in love that you don’t even think about stopping him and asking him for real answers.
Instead you’re softly licking into his mouth like the needy teenage version of you that used to fantasy about this, soaking up the soft hum he lets out at the feeling before he’s matching the action. You’re playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as your tongues tangle together and you go with him easily as he backs you up towards the couch.
It takes landing in his lap for you to sober back up, pulling back from the kiss just enough to catch your breath.
His eyebrows pull together when he sees the hesitation on your face so you hide in his neck so he can’t keep looking at you, wanting to spare his feelings even though you can quite literally feel your heart suffocating in your chest.
He’s warm underneath you and smells so overly familiar that you could cry, staying with your chin resting on his shoulder and closing your eyes for a brief moment so you can pretend you’re in a different timeline with him.
Maybe you’re still fifteen and laying in his bed together, holding hands on rides home from the beach when your moms aren’t looking. Or you’re twenty four and it’s the first time him and Tammi break up, his sullen frame taking up space on your couch until you quietly pad out there and insist he come to bed with you instead.
You think about being in your fifties, a reality where he never met Tammi and instead spent the rest of his life with you. It felt like the world you were supposed to be living in, just you and him like it always used to be until the love eventually built up into something real, something that came with growing grey hairs together and building a family.
He seems to know what you’re thinking, possibly going down the same list of all the missed chances. His hand runs through your hair on repeat like he’s trying to soothe you and you don’t understand why until you realize that you’re crying.
You try to go back to avoiding Sammy after that but it’s impossible.
You can’t bring yourself to stay away from him and each late night conversation ends up the same now that you’ve crossed that line, your mouth pressed against his and his hands all over you.
He’s nearly insatiable even though you can tell that he still feels terribly guilty over the entire thing. It’s like he’s just as powerless as you are, unable to keep your distance for each other despite how awful you’re both being.
Currently he’s with you in your kitchen, two months after your birthday and two months of sneaking away to get to have him for a brief moment. He’s completely lost in the taste of you, mouths moving together slowly with his hands under your shirt and tracing patterns on your spine.
His fingers feel calloused but you remember when they were smooth and youthful, remember loving him before the lines on his face appeared or the light ash colored strands of hair you occasionally saw when he was under the sun.
You were growing old with Sammy despite it not being in the way you wanted.
You’re kissing him back because of course you are, holding tight to his biceps and letting yourself get swept up in the way he feels pressed against you. It’s deep and almost filthy if it wasn’t for how romantic it all seems, the lights in the kitchen dim and some slow jazzy song playing from your radio in the living room.
“You have to know by now.” He’s whispering as he kisses down your neck and you sigh at the feeling, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side to give him full access. “Tell me you know how I feel about you.”
“Sammy.” You’re meant to sound like you’re warning him, not wanting to hear him talk about feelings in these circumstances, but it comes across breathy and wanting.
Clearly he thinks so too because he lets out a low groan, letting his hands leave your shirt until he’s got them pressed against your back pockets. He tugs you closer and you gasp softly at the sudden feeling of him touching you like that, immediately soothed by the way he’s still kissing your skin carefully.
He’s not leaving any marks even though you’re not the one who needs to worry about that.
“You’ve got to go.” You say back and he lets out a frustrated breath even though he clearly knows you’re right judging by the way he stops kissing your neck in favor of resting his forehead against your shoulder.
You’ve been half distracted by his phone vibrating on the counter behind you for the last thirty minutes, no question in your mind about who is relentlessly trying to reach him.
“Did you not go home today after work?” You ask him softly, touching his jaw until he’s picking his head back up to look at you. “You know you have to stop doing that.”
“I can’t take it.” He says back and your shoulders deflate with light frustration. “It’s endless arguing with her.”
“You know I get what she’s like but I’d be pretty pissed too if my husband wasn’t coming home on top of your already long hours.” You’re trying your best to talk some sense into him but it’s easy to he distracted when he’s back to touching you.
He’s rubbing up and down your back, dipping under your shirt again and smiling softly when you shudder at the feeling of his skin on yours. You smack at his forearm when you catch sight of the near smirk and he does his best to school it although the efforts don’t do much.
“It would be different if it was you.” He says quietly and you tense up before he can elaborate, already knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “If you were my wife.”
“But I’m not your wife.” You snap as soon as the word leaves his mouth and he lets out a frustrated breath.
He’s kissing you again like he thinks that will make you forget the truth of your situation and it nearly does, kissing him back eagerly because you’re never sure when it’s going to be the last time you get to.
You’re interrupted by the phone buzzing again and you pull back to lean against his chest, hiding your face in his neck and trying to ignore how good it feels when he rubs your sides in comfort.
“Go home Sammy.” You whisper and you look up in time to see his face fall, eyebrows furrowing in hurt when you lightly push against his chest to get him to back away from you.
You use the small space between your bodies to leave the kitchen, his footsteps following you into the living room. You let him pull you back, hands on your hips and then your stomach when your backs against his chest.
He kisses the back of your neck and then the side of your head, soft and parting before he’s letting out a deep breath and backing away from you.
You lean against the front window as you watch his headlights pull out of your driveway, blinking a few times before he turns to fully leave your street and head back to his house, back to reality.
The thought plagues you when you get into bed by yourself, daydreaming of the version of your life where he wouldn’t have to leave each night. You let yourself think about having your own ring on your finger, his things on the empty bed side table and his hands on you as you fall asleep.
You know it’s not healthy and, quite frankly, you know it makes you a terrible person.
Your friends tell just as much when you finally break down and tell them everything, crying about the night he kissed you and confessing that you’d spent almost every night with him pressed against you and making promises he can’t keep.
“He’s an asshole.” Cathy is stern with her tone, stirring her coffee in pointless circles and fixing her glare on you and your upset face. “I can’t believe you’re putting up with him still.”
“I think it’s sweet.” Victoria is quicker to be sympathetic although pouting in your direction. “He clearly loves you and just doesn’t know what to do about it.”
The topic of love makes your stomach turn a little and you try not to think about it after you leave your brunch, ignoring his calls for a few hours even though you’re well aware it will end with him knocking on your door.
There’s no surprise when it happens but you try to hold your ground with him, turning your head to the side when he tries to greet you with a kiss. His lips press against your cheek instead and then downturn into a frown.
“Are you mad at me?” He asks softly as you walk to your bedroom, sitting down on the foot of the bed and blinking at him when he stops in your doorway.
“No Sammy.” You breathe out even though you’re not sure that’s true, not really able to put a label on how you feel about him right now. The love that sits heavy on your chest muddies everything else around it. “I’m just tired.”
He’s coming closer and then going down to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs as he stares up at you almost pleadingly. It’s such a vulnerable position that it makes you a little sick and you grab at his arm to try and tug him back to his feet.
He takes your hand and holds it instead so you can’t pull at him, kissing your knuckles briefly.
“I want to fix this.” He whispers and you feel teary almost immediately. “I can’t lose you because I’m being selfish. I’ll do whatever you want me to do but I can’t leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave.” You say back, voice small and defeated. You wish the statement wasn’t as true as it feels, the thought of not having him at all being so much worse than the twisted relationship you’re stuck in. “But I want that all the time, I want you to just be here. I want to have a home with you Sammy.”
“I love you.” He says it quietly and he’s said it before, in passing or casually when he hangs up the phone, but it lands a lot different now.
Realistically, you’re not at all surprised by the confession. You know Sammy, regardless if you can have him the way you want or not, you know him better than anybody and you knew he wouldn’t be doing something like this if it wasn’t because of something genuine like the same love you have for him.
The kind of love that makes you awful and selfish, devoted in a twisted way and blind to the consequences if it means you can have a few more hours together.
He’s standing up finally but only to gently push you backwards until you’re laying on the bed, climbing over you so he can kiss you softly as you melt against the comforter.
“I love you so much. It should have been you.” He’s murmuring the confessions between kisses that are getting deeper and deeper with each minute that passes. “I’m so sorry that it wasn’t you.”
“I love you Sammy.” You say back and it shocks you how easily it rolls off the tongue, the weight of it feeling a little lighter in your chest now that it’s out there.
He’s kissing you more feverishly after you say it, tongue pressing against yours as you make a soft pleased sound.
He’s holding himself up above you but you wish he wouldn’t, wish he would just press the full extent of his weight down on you until all you could feel was the softness of his stomach and his chest rising and falling. You want to feel his heartbeat racing like yours is and what it’s like to be completely his for a moment.
Sammy’s kisses are feverish and he finally does press against you, pulling your leg to the side so he can slot between them and lower himself down right where you need him.
You’re softly breathing, a bit shy when he starts to take off your clothes and then fully flushed when he’s kissing your chest and whispering how beautiful you are. You’d spent a lot of years imagining what being touched by Sammy would feel like but you hadn’t even came close to the euphoria, the undeniable thought that you were finally complete after being so empty.
He made love to you the first time, it was slow and gentle and nearly bringing you to tears when he told you how beautiful you were and how much he’d wanted this.
You felt good with him, like something had settled in your chest after rattling around for a long time. Everytime he said that he loved you seemed like it was the first, sending a warm rush through your blood that made you shiver.
It was more desperate in the weeks after, kisses turning rough and almost angry when he’d come over smelling like Tammi’s perfume or leave early because she wouldn’t stop calling him.
You felt like it became an outlet between you but you didn’t necessarily mind, a large part of you having fantasized about this version of him too. You liked when he got rougher with you, hands moving you around to his liking and fucking you harder whenever you purposefully brought up his wife to try and get under his skin.
Sammy and you didn’t fight with each other, you would get into tense conversations because you were both hurt, but you’d never fight. This was the closest thing you had to it, bruises on your hips and his back so scratched up he had to avoid taking off his shirt the next week when he went to the beach with Tammi.
He was good to you, always double checking after if it was something you enjoyed. He made you swear over and over again that you actually liked it and weren’t just doing it because he did, only stopping when you got embarrassed and had to bluntly admit that you were really into it.
You were into him, obsessively and all things about him. Tammi had gotten on him to eat more healthy and it nearly made you sick, the thought of him changing in any way outside of his own wants making you dizzy.
And you didn’t feel insecure about how much he loved you back because despite the obvious issue, you knew that he truly did.
His hands were never off you, rubbing your thigh while you watched a movie or kneading your stomach while he kissed the back of your neck at the kitchen counter. He liked to run you warm baths, sitting in the room with you while you soaked just so he could hear about your day at work.
You sometimes wondered how much of this he was doing for Tammi. A part of you accepted that it was probably just as much as he did for you because that was just the type of man he was, but you selfishly let yourself enjoy being spoiled by his affection.
You didn’t go a day without flowers even if he wasn’t able to come and see you, he sent coffee to your work before you even got there, and he’d travel across town on his lunch break just to come and eat with you.
There wasn’t a night that you didn’t cry in bed and wish things were different. You’d stopped talking to your friends about because you were getting paranoid about the possible judgement in their eyes, unable to explain what it felt like to love somebody so much that you’d disregard your character for them.
But you did love Sammy that much.
So much so, that when he was coming over on Christmas Eve with an arm-full of gifts for you, you didn’t hesitate to pull him inside and kiss him until he lost the chill in his cheeks.
He disregarded the boxes in the entryway, lifting you up and bringing you to your bedroom before you could even greet him properly.
“Stay the night.” You breathed against his mouth and he tensed up a little ontop of you, brushing your hair out of your face so he could get a perfect view of your eyes and expression. “Wake up with me on Christmas morning. I’ll make us breakfast and we can open our presents by the tree together.”
You both knew what you were describing, a clear cookie cutter image of a husband and wife in your heads as you spoke.
He was hesitating, looking like he was unable to deny you despite how difficult the circumstances were. You weren’t just asking him to stay with you for the holiday, you were giving him a clear choice between the two of you.
Tammi wouldn’t be able to forgive him not coming home on the night before Christmas and you’d never forgive him for leaving. You were sure of that now, even though you felt so happy just to look at his conflicted face that you weren’t sure where you’d put all that love if he did leave.
You were happy to even be an option to choose from and that understanding almost made you crawl out from under him just to get some space.
Maybe he saw the pain in your eyes at the idea or maybe he came to the conclusion all in his own, but either way, he was leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips before letting one linger on your temple.
“Okay baby.” He whispered it but it felt like the loudest thing he’d ever said to you. “I’ll stay with you.”
── .✦ SAMMY BRYANT comes home to find his usually obedient little wife losing a fight with a cabinet
★ˎˊ˗ CONTENT 18+ MDNI sammy bryant x younger!housewife!reader, established relationship/marriage, housewife kink, husband-knows-best dynamics, domesticity kink, consensual power imblanace, soft dom!sammy, pet names, mrs. bryant, manhandling, implied punishment, rough sex references, reader is eager to please
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The cabinet is even prettier in person.
Sammy, who ignored every one of your “just window-shopping” protests, had shelled out an eye-watering sum for it, and now the carved-oak beauty waits dead center of the living room, lead-lined drawers practically begged to be tucked into the spot you picked out for it.
You, however, are not supposed to touch it. Sammy had made that perfectly clear last night, your face mashed into the pillows while he drove the point — and his cock — so deep you’d have signed away state secrets.
“Leave it there until I get home.” “Yes, Sammy.” “You understand?” “Yes, sir.” “That’s my girl.”
You are, generally speaking, a very obedient wife.
Happiest when orbiting Sammy’s daily needs. Coffee made the way he likes it. Shirts folded and stacked in his drawer. Lunch packed with a little note tucked beneath the napkin, be safe, handsome! written in bubbly ink with three hearts and a lipstick print beside it.
And every day when he came home, you abandoned whatever you had been doing and hurried toward him. He expected nothing less. One second you were leaping into his arms; the next, his hands were around your waist and your feet were dangling several inches above the floor as he carried you toward the kitchen.
“What’d my girl do all day?”
And it's never suspicion. Sammy couldn't sound suspicious if he tried with his face buried against your neck and one palm already migrating beneath your dress to cup your ass.
He just wanted the daily briefing — what you grabbed at the store, who had called, what you streamed while folding laundry, whether you finally watered the basil — best delivered while you perched on the counter and he kneaded your backside, answering each fact with a thoughtful little mhmm.
Obedience, unfortunately, becomes a far shakier virtue when the forbidden object is parked dead-center in the living room, looking off center.
You manage a disciplined twenty, maybe twenty-two, minutes before drifting back to it. Pacing a circle, you judge the distance to the wall and scoff. Barely three feet. Not worth bothering Sammy. Plus, you weren’t going to lift it, merely scoot it across the rug. Scooting seems perfectly reasonable.
Sammy said leave it because you might hurt yourself. You’re not going to hurt yourself. Which means, technically, his concern is already handled.
The key turns in the front door lock at the exact moment you wedge your shoulder beneath one corner of the cabinet.
You don’t hear it. You’re far too busy making a series of tiny, pathetic noises through clenched teeth, one foot braced behind you while the other slips uselessly against the rug.
“What are you doing?”
You freeze mid-shove, cheeks hot.
“Nothing,” you answer quickly.
“Looks pretty fuckin’ strenuous for nothing.” His boots stop inches from your bare foot. You peek up from beneath the cabinet, hair sticking to your forehead, dress bunched at your waist. Sammy sets his keys aside with exaggerated calm, then crouches, forearms on his knees, meeting your eyes at floor level. “Gonna try that answer again?”
You ease onto your knees, fingers fussing with the bunched cotton until it skims halfway down your thighs. Sammy’s eyes track the motion, lingering where the dress refuses to fall any lower.
The lift of his brow tells you he’s remembering exactly what color those panties were, and how little they covered when you were half-under the cabinet.
“Sammy, listen, I was being so safe.” You plant both palms on the hardwood, as if proving stability. “I slid it on the rug so the floor wouldn’t scratch, kept my knees bent, no twisting, no overexertion.” You point at the hulking thing. “It’s practically in the same spot, honest. I just wanted it to look… finished.”
Sammy nudges your forehead with his. “What did I say last night?”
“That you’d handle it.” You chase his mouth with a soft peck. “I know, but you work so hard and I didn’t want you to have to —”
“Baby.”
Your lips skim his cheek again. “I just figured if I moved it now you could relax later and maybe we could order take-out and —”
“Mrs. Bryant.” His voice dips, a velvet warning. Two fingers tilt your face up so you have to meet the steady, disciplined gleam in his eyes. “One more word and you’ll be explaining it bent over that cabinet instead of under it. Clear?”
You swallow, gaze dropping to his mouth, and manage the softest little “Mm-hmm,” the sound barely a syllable, insurance against making the mistake of actual speech.
He accepts the tiny assent with a nod, then folds his fingers around your wrist and pulls you upright. The instant your balance steadies, he gives your backside a sharp, proprietary smack that makes you yelp and bite your smile.
“Atta girl. Now scoot over to the couch and sit pretty while I do the heavy lifting, yeah?”
It takes him only ten minutes to shove the cabinet into place. The oak kisses the wall while he wipes his palms off his uniform and crooks a finger.
“Come ‘ere.”
You pad over, contrite and already trembling. He folds you against his chest, broad hand sifting through your hair in a slow, soothing rake.
“Scared me,” he murmurs against your crown. “Didn’t like picturing my girl pinned under two hundred pounds of wood.”
“‘M sorry,” you whisper, suddenly feeling very guilty as your fingers fists the back of his shirt.
“I know.” His tone softens, but the command that follows is pure authority. Knuckles brush the hem of your sundress, nudging it higher. “Why don’t you show me just how much.”
MARIA NOTE popping my sammy cherry everybody be nice im nervous
i love ur baby daddy pope can you please please please do a baby daddy sammy bryant who constantly flirts with reader at drop offs and begs her to get back with him
i think baby daddy!sammy is toxic and sleeeeeeazy
you would pull up to the station, your usual and neutral meeting spot to drop your son off to sammy whenever it was his weekend. the reason you divorced in the first place was a mix of things. your schedules never aligning, constant bickering, never being able to agree. you were the one to file for divorce, sammy begging and pleading you not lot leave but after months, he finally relented and signed the papers. he never stopped trying to get back with you though.
it was 10 minutes since you had pulled up, a sigh leaving your lips at his usual lateness. you had plans with your friends that evening, planning to go out to the bars and drink till you couldn't stand. the dress you wore was one you had bought after your divorce, deciding to do something for yourself for once instead of trying to please sammy all the time. you had started working out more, dressing a little more revealing, and going out more when you didn't have your son. your top priority was always him though, making sure he was happy whenever he was at your house. "you excited to stay with daddy this weekend?" you spoke, turning back in your seat to your son who was 4 now. all he did was nod, the toys in his hands keeping him distracted.
you were snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of a door closing, sammy making his way outside with a smirk on his face at the sight of you. he had changed quite a bit too since your divorce. he was fitter than ever, having lost a lot of his weight, cockier than ever, and loved to push your buttons ten times more. you only glanced at him before you were climbing out of the car, going to the backseat to unbuckle your son. what you didn't see was his smirk drop and eyebrows furrow together at your outfit. "daddy!" your son called as he ran to sammy, hugging onto his legs tightly. sammy was quick to lift your son up, pressing a kiss to his head. "hi buddy, you have a good time with mommy?" he hummed to the boy, smiling to his son before his attention was turned to you, watching you bend over in the backseat to grab his bag of clothes.
you leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your son's cheek, shoving the bag into sammy's free arm. his cologne was strong, the same one he wore when you were married. the same one you were so addicted to. "say bye to mommy and head inside, i have to talk to her," sammy spoke, your son reaching to hug you tight before he was wriggling out of his father's arms and running to the door of the police station. you were already turning around to get back into the driver's seat, sammy's hand slamming against the door to keep you from opening it. "got plans or something?" he mumbled, an irritated sigh as leaving your lips as you turned to face him.
his eyes looked you up and down slowly, his teeth clenching at the sight of your cleavage popping out. "yes. now let me go, sammy," you mumbled, trying to push his arm from the door but he was quick to grab your wrist. "where you going? especially wearing this?" he mumbled, his fingertip moving to run against the top of the dress where it rested on your tits. you couldn't help but swallow hard, goosebumps popping up all over your body that had him smirking. "out with my friends. now if you'll excuse me i am going to be late because someone can never seem to be on time," you murmured, trying to free your wrist from his tight grip.
that only made him hold tighter, pulling you close so your bodies were pressed together. "don't be like that, baby," he hummed, hands moving to rest on your hips as he looked down at you. "could skip your plans and come over for dinner? lil family night," he suggested as he leaned down to your ear, pressing a small kiss to it. you hated the effect he still managed to have on you after all this time. curse him and his smooth talking and his sexy face. "not happening, it's amanda's birthday," you mumbled, hands moving to his police vest to try to push him back but he didn't budge, his hands only squeezing at your hips. "just come over after then. he'll be asleep. just wanna see what you have on under this," he continued to press soft kisses to your ear, knowing it was your weak spot.
you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, the sight of it making the evil smile on his face grow. "you're a pig," you mumbled, shoving him back before climbing into the driver's seat. he was quick to move between the door, not allowing you to shut it. he leaned across you to buckle your seat belt for you, pressing a small kiss to your cleavage. "you have my number, sweetheart. call me when you're all done tonight," he spoke, shooting a quick wink at you before he was shutting the door behind him.
and of fucking course you called him in your drunken state that night. who else was going to take care of you when you were this far gone?
andrew cody who sneaks into the bathroom after staying over at your place to brush his teeth with his finger as usual and spots an unfamiliar green toothbrush in the little cup where your purple toothbrush has always sat. his throat immediately gets tight. he didn’t realize you were seeing other people. he certainly isn’t. and in a moment of hurt more than anger he grabs the green toothbrush and walks back out to your bedroom.
“what is this?” andrew says, holding up the toothbrush, as you rub your eyes and roll towards him with a groan.
“mm… good morning,” you hum, trying to wake up, “toothbrush,”
“whose toothbrush?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, trying not to sound desperate.
“yours,” you say, voice still scratchy with sleep.
“this isn’t mine,” andrew says.
“well, i guess technically not yet, yeah,” you sigh, sitting up and shifting closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, “you gotta use it first,”
andrew just sort of stares blankly at you and you finally wake up enough to catch on to what’s happening in that head of his.
“i got it for you,” you say, threading your fingers through his curls which have fluffed up with sleep, “for when you stay here,”
“you got this for me?” andrew blinks at you.
“well, i know it’s not the most romantic gift,” you smile, placing a kiss on his shoulder, exposed by his muscle tee, “but i thought it might be nice,” you mumble against his skin.
andrew drops the toothbrush on the bed next to him and takes your face in his hands, kissing you sweetly. you giggle against his lips, pulling yourself closer to him.
“thank you,” he says your name tenderly, forehead resting against yours.
“you’re so sweet,” you say, placing another quick kiss on his lips, “it’s just a toothbrush,”
“no- it’s-” andrew sighs trying to collect his thoughts, “it’s just nice that you thought of me,”
“well, i think about you a lot,” you smile.
“yeah?” he says, a blush spreading across his cheeks.
“mhm,” you nod before leaning forward, peppering kisses to his neck softly, “i like you,” you murmur between kisses.
andrew sighs, his eyes fluttering closed, god he likes you so much. in a little burst he grabs you by your hips, lifting you around his waist as you grab the back of his neck with a giggle. he stands, swiping his toothbrush from the bed, carrying you to the bathroom.
“andrew,” you squeal, “what are you doing!”
“i gotta try out my new toothbrush,” he says, placing you gently on the counter next to the sink. he stands between you legs as the two of you brush your teeth, giggling and exchanging minty kisses. you both rinse, smiling almost shyly at one another before he passes you a little hand towel to wipe your mouth with.
“so…?” you say, resting your hands on the edge of the counter, leaning towards him, “i’d like the review for your new toothbrush,”
andrew just smiles at you, pushing further between your legs, resting his hands on your waist. he places a soft kiss on your lips, your mouths moving together slowly. he pulls you closer with a sharp tug, slipping his tongue past your lips, the sharp sweetness of peppermint dancing in your mouths.
ghost has always been protective of you, but now that you're carrying his child, it's getting out of control.
the grocery store was too crowded, too loud for ghost's liking, with kids running around unsupervised. simon's jaw tightened as a teenager rushed past you, almost making you lose your balance. his arm shot out instinctively, pulling you flush against his side.
"watch it!" he growled, his voice dangerously low, and the kid scurried off without glancing back.
you sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. "si', i'm fine. they're just kids, you can't get mad at them."
"you're six months pregnant," he said, as a matter of fact. his hand found the small of your back, warm and steady, guiding you down the aisle at an extremely slow pace. "and this place is a madhouse. unbelievable."
you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
"simon." you called him sweetly. "it's tuesday. 10 am. there are four other people in this store."
"too many," he mumbled, leading you toward the fruits section with a hand firm on your lower back. he was scanning aisles, cataloging exits, evaluating threats.
an elderly woman reached for a box of apples near you and simon physically shifted to place himself between her and your belly.
the woman was puzzled.
his eyes softened as they dropped to your stomach.
"you're doing it again," you mumbled, fighting a smile.
"doing what, sweetheart?" he planted a kiss on top of your head.
"being overprotective." you exclaimed, intertwining your fingers with his.
simon grunted, moving you toward the checkout. "that's my job."
at the register, a woman cooed at your bump, reaching out without asking. simon caught her wrist mid-air, his eyes glinting with warning.
"for fuck sake. these people are mad." he cursed at the poor woman.
the woman took a step back, embarrassed, and you shot simon a reassuring look.
outside, he insisted on carrying every single bag, all six of them, plus the heavy watermelon you'd asked him to buy. you attempted to carry the small bag of cupcakes but simon gave you a firm no.
your mouth salivated at the sight of the chocolate flavored cupcake that simon handed to you.
his car was immaculate, not a crumb of cookie on his leather seats, no coffee stains. he'd once made soap walk ten miles for dirtying the passenger seat with orange juice.
but you? oh you could do whatever you pleased.
"unbelievable." he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
you took another bite, moaning dramatically. you closed your eyes, savoring it, completely oblivious to the way simon was watching you.
"you've got..." he gestured vaguely at his own face.
"hm?" you blinked, frosting on your nose and your left cheek.
he simply reached over, his thumb catching the smear on your chin. his eyes darkened, thumb hovering near your lips, then slowly, brought it to his own mouth, tasting the buttercream.
"si," you warned, recognizing that look.
"i'm not doing anything, love" he said, voice dropping low. "just cleaning you up."
little did you know, the ever cold menacing lieutenant simon riley got a boner just by looking at his sweet wife lick some frosting off a cupcake.
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, smut, vaginal fingering, riding, creampie, not edited, brain worm I had
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The first time you ever bought from Ghost you were wearing a skirt way too short to be socially acceptable, stumbling to his beat-up car with a drunk smile plastered on your face. He remembers it all a little too clearly, the way you leaned into the passenger window, smelling like tequila and the minty mouthwash you used to try and cover the smell up.
“Hi.” You giggled.
“Hi.” He responded, raising his eyebrow at you.
“Um, my friends over there,” You pointed to a group of girls across the street, “Dared me to come buy some off you.”
He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.
“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”
“Relax, bird. I do.”
“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”
“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.
“What?”
“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”
You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”
Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.
The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.
“Hi.”
He chuckled, “You’re back.”
You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.
“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’
“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”
“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”
“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”
That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”
You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”
When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”
“Do you want free weed or not?”
You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”
You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’
He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.
He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.
“Hi.”
He laughs, “Hi, bird.”
“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”
“Yeah? What you need today?”
“You have any more?”
He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”
You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”
His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”
You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.
“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”
You nod eagerly.
“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”
He holds it out to you, “There you go.”
You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”
You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.
‘How’d I do?’
‘Looks like shit.’
‘That’s mean :(‘
‘Come over, let me help.’
‘On my way!’
You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.
“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”
“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”
Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.
“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”
He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”
It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.
You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.
All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.
He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’
He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.
You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.
“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.
He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.
“Never make pretty girls pay.”
“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”
He shakes his head, “Just you.”
You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”
He smirks, “Is it working?”
You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”
He catches your wrist.
“You giving it to my friends for free too?”
“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”
You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.
“Just you.”
You peer down at him then, “Huh?”
His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”
“Yeah?” You whisper.
“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.
You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.
You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.
Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.
“Wanted you to do that for ages.”
He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”
Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”
He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”
You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”
Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.
Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?
His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”
You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”
There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.
You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.
He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.
“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”
He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”
You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.
Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.
And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.
You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.
“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.
He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.
You don’t listen well.
You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.
His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.
He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.
He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.
“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”
You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.
He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.
When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.
He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.
He doesn’t stop.
You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.
He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.
daryl absolutely busts a nut immediately the first time you accidentally call him daddy whilst he fucks you
daryl with his little nympho gf who just wants to crawl inside his body :( wants to hump him all the damn time, get his hand down her shorts suck him off behind a tree just a fuckin' goon fest!
and he's lowkey all bark no bite, his rough exterior really just an act because when he has you on him with your tits soft and jiggly under your shirt with no bra pressed to the hard panes of his chest, your hands in his hair and your pussy squeezin' so fucking tight around his cock as you bounce like a little bunny up n down n up n down he has a very hard time not telling you he loves you.
he doesn't, not with his words anyway especially since you've really only known each other a couple months, but his hands keep flailing from the fat of your hips to the dirt and sticks on the ground, digging his nails to stave off the orgasm you're milking from him after just over a minute of bouncing.
the killer is your sweet whiny voice, a little on the bratty side because it's you and he's down bad n spoils you even though he pretends not to. you whimper, "please, cum inside me." he's lost in the cute scrunched up look on your face, your wet cheeks your pouty lips. "please, daddy, I want it so bad. want you to fill me up want you t—"
"wha—ough fuck" his startled question is cut off by a groan when he feels himself lose the battle of wills the second that little words escapes your lips. daddy. him? "fuck, girl, can't just—" he groans again, bordering on a whimper as he spills inside you, buckets of cum it feels like filling you up just like you asked with the help of your own orgasm making you squeeze him oh so tight. "can't just fuckin' be sayin' that shit."
but you don't care, your face is blissed out while you keep squeezing around him, the mixture of you leaking out down his balls to the dirt. "that felt nice." your eyes are almost crossed when you lean forward and smear a kiss on his lips, missing and getting half of it on his nose. "real nice."
daryl groans again, and lets his head fall back against the tree. "jesus christ."
Waitress!reader, who's a new hire, working part time in a restaurant to make just enough money to support yourself through uni.
Youve been having the absolute worst day, from losing the assignment that you were supposed to hand in today and getting reamed out by your professor, to having dropped a tray of waters at the start of your shift, a preemptive sign that the rest of your night would be tough.
You're just trying to make it through your shift, when you get a table of crude, middle aged men, who make you feel anything but pleasant.
You do your best to cater to their needs and try be as polite and neutral as possible, despite wanting to give them to another waiter, but as usual, the restaurant is overwhelmed and understaffed.
Line cook!Simon who's been watching the pretty little new hire get progressively stressed as your shift goes on. His heart aches for you a bit. A pretty little thing, doing her best to make ends meet, whilst dealing with idiot customers.
Simon who feels his jaw tighten whem you come back into the kitchen, teary eyed, explaining to another server how one of the men at your table tried to hit on you and grabbed the back of your thigh.
Simon who tells you to sit in the walk-in for a bit, whilst he goes to deal with your table, he was needing some fresh air anyway.
Simon who soon comes into the walk-in pantry with a little plate of chips and hands it to you with his now-bruised hands. He pats your head softly, before gruffly saying 'take a break, yeah luv? Go' someone on yer tables'
...Line Cook!Simon who refuses to address his soft spot for you, telling the whole kitchen to shut up when teasing him about it. They can see the faint pink on the tips of his ears though.
"forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. it has been a week since my last confession."
a grunt sounds from the other side of the cage-like mesh that separates you from your church's priest. your thighs press together, and you chide yourself for the reaction it incites. you're disgusted with yourself at your sin, yet you cannot stop the thud beneath your ribcage that excites at the thrill.
"back so soon?" his words are merely teasing, condescending, unlikely for a priest, but simon tends to get off script. "what is it this time, kid? steal again?"
no. you shook your head despite the wall that separates you. the silence is deafening, save for the creak of the chair you're sat it, wood carved with delicate curves and ornate crosses.
"no, Father. forgive me for my lust and the actions I have committed."
"lust, you say?" he goes silent, save for the rustle of fabric on the other side. it makes you anxious, even more guilt-ridden than before. you swear you can feel his judgement through the wall that separates you. "go on."
a shaky sigh escapes you, your knuckles turning white with your clenched fists in your lap. "yes, Father, lust. I... viewed pornography."
red hot embarrassment coats your skin, much like the blood of those who died for your sin. you were a meek teenage girl, barely eighteen with insatiable urges and an inappropriate crush. you could only confess one of those sins, for the latter is the more shameful one of the two.
a sound of interest cuts the silence. "what was the pornography? a video? a photo?"
"videos, Father."
"multiple?"
"yes." you admit shamefully, biting your lip. you still remembered how your dainty fingers circled your clit, riddled with disgust as you got yourself off on the religious display of porn. a priest and his devotee.
a satisfied hum comes from the other side, and you want to die of mortification. "describe the video."
"wh...what?" you blanched.
he surged onwards without a hint of awkwardness or shame. you couldn't begin to imagine the expression on his rugged face. "describe it. how many people were there?" he queried.
"there...was two people, Father. a man and a woman."
"where were they?"
your face burned further. you almost didn't want to admit it, but silence was a greater sin than admittance and pleading for forgiveness. with a hushed mumble, you spoke into your chest. "a church."
"what was that?" he pushed. "speak up, kid. can't hear ya when yer mumblin'."
"a church." you hated how the words seemed to echo off the walls, lingering within the silence that consumed and gnawed at your conscience. like the whole world needed to hear your sin.
he hummed with interest. "is that so?"
"yes, Father."
silence stretched. it was unbearable, an uncomfortable itch settling beneath your skin that, along with your urges, you could scratch. he finally spoke, "who were they to the church?"
"I...I can't say."
"you are ashamed." it was more statement than question because it was obvious from the way you stuttered, to how your words shook, to how you refused to go onwards. "'ts okay. best thin' y'can do is ask for forgiveness. get it off yer chest."
"yes, Father." you said, but it was a mere whisper. you didn't want to confess, for it would unveil the true nature of your indulgences—not just the fact you'd watched videos of people fucking but that they were of a priest and his devotee.
your fantasies were immoral and shameful, something to be deeply ashamed of, but your body couldn't help but react. it was wrong, you knew it, and indulged it anyways. rewarded your body with your fingers circling your swollen clit and plunged deep in your soaking pussy, replacing them in your mind with the thick, rough fingers of your priest. his hand strong, veined and capable of providing you with everything you craved and ached for.
but you couldn't admit it. couldn't admit your priest was the source of your sin, with his tall stature that towered over your meek in comparison frame. thick muscles that strained at the seams against his cassock and clerical collar—because there wasn't a size available to fit without constraint. you could only imagine how mouth watering his bare skin was—carved like marble to create a masterpiece. the epitome of sin. veins that flexed and rippled under his pale skin with his every word.
he cleared his throat, killing the silence. you had forgotten to continue, leaving you two in a deafening quiet until he reminded you. "talk to me, baby. who were they?"
your pussy fluttered at the pet name, forcing your thighs to clench together. the dampness in your panties was apparent, arousal sticking to the cotton and your skin. it shouldn't affect you this much, considering he called all the young kids at church some sweet endearment—sweetheart, honey, baby. it was innocent, but to your debauched conscience, it was anything but.
"it was..." you begin, the words catching on your tongue. with a shaky sigh, you forced it out. "a priest and someone from the church."
he didn't say anything, letting the creak in the wood speak for them. the harsh rustle of fabric whenever either of you moved an inch. you could never come back here, you decided. overran by your debauched immorality, you'd have to find a new church, forget about the brutish priest with sharp features and alluring eyes.
"hm." was the only sound he made for a while, letting you soak in the filth of your indulgences, brew in the depravity you couldn't help but live and breath in.
after an agonizing handful of minutes that felt like years, he finally spoke. "you wish to seek forgiveness?" the words caused a flutter, static rushing your ears. it drowned out the sound of a zipper and the soft clank of metal.
you breathed out in soft relief, nodding with an unmatched amount of desperation. "yes, Father. please."
a sharp slap of wood hitting wood filled the air, coming from beneath the lip of the confession booth. you peeked your head underneath, heart thudding so hard, you feared your ribs would break and allow your heart escape.
there was a small, circular hole that opened up to the other side. on the other side, a familiar, veiny hand strained around a thick, aching cock dripping with pre. it throbbed an angry red, and it twitched with every squeeze of his hand. you froze in shock, but couldn't help the way your mouth watered.
"get on your knees and pray for forgiveness then, baby."
he knows how to read. he’s had to prove that more than once inside an interrogation room, demonstrating that yes, he does understand his miranda rights.
but he doesn’t read. not the way you do. while you’re sitting in bed, paperback in hand, he’s usually just watching you. if he’s building something, he doesn’t even bother with the instructions, opting to use the pictures or find some video online. even when babysitting your niece, pope finds a way to avoid the bedtime story, usually by washing the dishes or reorganizing the pantry.
his number is called the next time the two of you are watching your niece. she’s recently started reading short chapter books, and holds out a tattered copy of some iteration of junie b jones.
“pope! will you read to me?”
and how the fuck does he say no to that?
pope finds himself sitting ramrod straight on your niece’s bed, hands quivering ever so slightly as he starts to read from the beginning of chapter 4. you’re next to him, leg touching his in a silent show of solidarity, gaze gentle as he slowly reads.
your niece is enamored - because of course she is. pope may not read fast or do fun voices, but he takes the job seriously. he stumbles only once, pronouncing chaos phonetically, before realizing that didn’t sound right. without missing a beat, you chime in - “kay-oss. makes no sense why it’s spelled like that.”
your niece demands pope show her the word, and agrees that it’s “spelled stupid.”
the pink flush and slight smile on pope’s face lasts the remainder of the evening.
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
prguitarman
gummygunk
areudirty
stormborns
