i hope to serve the level of cunt my weeb sister did in 2009 with her oversized jeans, baggy kingdom hearts shirt with her sicking silk pressed side sweeper bangsâŚ
all day ive thought about malpractice!jack abbot. oh to be his patient who comes in looking for ur next fix and instead of doing the ânormalâ malpractice move of lying bout ur âpain being unbearableâ or âthe meds just not workingâ. he forces u to ur knees in the supply closet and makes u blow him.
worst part is he an asshole the whole time. the second u take his hard, throbbing cock into ur mouth. jack bringing both of his hands to ur cheeks, grasping them firmly before fucking ur throat.
âgod baby, if this is what ur willing to do for some percs. i wonder whatâs uâd for a bit of methadone? probably let finally between those pretty thighs of urs, yeah? finally let this old man finish in that tight pussy?â
sammy bryant who gets sooo excited when his badge bunny calls him daddy for the first time. it happens one hot summer night after he leaves tammi.
sure, he feels a little stupid. his wife's shacking up with another man in his house while sammy's spending his nights with a girl who's practically his groupie, but none of that seems to matter when he's on top of you, buried balls deep.
sammy's not used to hearing dirty talk during sex with tammi, but with you? the filth pours from your lips effortlessly, and he's addicted. the moment the new title leaves your mouth, he stills, his mind already fried with pleasure trying to process it.
"youâ whatâ what'd you just say to me?" he asks through needy pants, sweat droplets falling from his face and onto yours. "did you just call me daddy?"
his chubby cheeks stretch into a boyish grin. he can't stop himself from smiling as he starts to thrust a little faster, his damp, sticky tummy and thighs smacking into you. he's gonna blow so fast. "oh, baby, say it again."
sammy bryant is soft around the middle because he has a caribbean wife who makes him hardy and filling meals. you makes him thing like pernil, asopao, arroz con gandules, tostones and more. sammy puts one around 10 pounds when you first start dating and omg just imagine the holidays. him shooting back coquito [itâs spiced coconut rum punch we have around the colder months] LORD- him getting all bright red in the cheeks because of how strong the coqutio is
sammyâs caribbean wife whoâs love language being cooking, the way to sammyâs heart is though his plush tummy. you donât even really consider him âchubbyâ either, you consider it âmeatâ. sammy has meat on his bones because you feed him well and make sure he never goes without a warm meal at the end of the day.
sammyâs caribbean wife who comes by the station three times a week with a plate, sammy and his colleagues can smell you before they even see you. the smell of freshly fried tostones and bacalao wafting though the building, followed by the soft powdery perfume sammy bought you for your anniversary. his colleagues never stop hounding him about coming over for dinner either, sammy makes excuses that âyou never donât cook enough for more than twoâ knowing damn well you cook like youâre about to feed the whole neighborhood.
sammyâs caribbean wife who secretly over feeds sammy when he tries to lose weight, maybe his sergeant is getting on sammy to lose weight because heâs âstarting to fall behind in the fieldâ. struggling to keep up with his slimmer patrol partner who can out run him and skipping out on training. you start adding an extra scoop of rice or an extra pastillo because âitâs good to have the extra food for muscle massâ when really you donât want the soft stomach and plush thights you love snuggling close to every night go away <3
[A/N i havenât seen southland since i was 7, my mami LOVED that show down and played it 24/7 so idk how good i wrote those lol. also a lot of the inspo for this fic is rooted in puerto rican culture bc im puerto rican :3]
as a former female graveyard shift worker. trust me when i say the night crew probs have more interesting cases, patients, dynamics and more. the freaks REALLY come out at night and i just FEEL it in my soul that their stories are 10x wilder than day shift⌠also women arenât boring, wyle [and most of that writers room] just can not write a female character properly if they tried
smurf cody the criminal? love her. what a scary, crafty bitch. i certainly wouldn't wanna fuck with her and i respect the hell out of her cunning and manipulative mind.
janine cody the mother? rot in hell. if i ever got my hands on her she'd end up six feet under. i'd get her with hammers. it's what she deserves. fuck that bitch for everything she did to her kids (pope especially)
⥠synopsis: not doing entirely well with your new living arrangements, you decide to take a local art class one afternoon to get out of the house you so despise being in. unable to let you out of his sight, pope accompanies. with the class being full, pope ends up making himself your designated seat & seizes an intimate opportunity once he has you in his lap.
Since your mom passed, you've felt wholly adrift. A spectator to your own life, if you will. The only person you feel like you have left is Jay, but with him spending so much time with Nicky, you're left in solitude quite often.
It didn't take any amount of effort for your maternal grandmother to take a shine to your brother before long. You, on the other hand, seem to be a different story.
She'd seemed nice initiallyâif not a bit dangerousâbut there'd been something about the glint in her eye when she looked at you that always set you on-edge and made you scurry back to your room so you'd be out of the way. And your uncles... Boys in grown men's testosterone-fueled bodies who still clearly crave mommy's validation and love was the most apropos descriptor which you could find for them.
Pope in particular unsettles you. And of course he's the one intent on hovering. Every time you turn around he's at the houseâbumping into you in the hallway, watching you swim slow laps around the pool when you bother going outside instead of sulking in bed all day, following you into the kitchen and requesting a plate of whatever you seem to be fixing for yourself, but for him...
You're not sure that he's all there, but are far too afraid to ask any of the others if he has some sort of...condition.
So, you do what you can to keep a healthy distance and break eye contact almost as soon as it's made whenever he's hanging around.
The first day you met had been a real doozy, though, which served to set the precedent for your ongoing familial relationship.
You'd been tidying your new roomânot that there was much to tend to (made the process of moving into your new home that much easier, if nothing else)âand when you turned away from your dresser, it was with a ragged breath being caught in your throat when you came practically chest-to-chest with your oldest uncle, Pope.
You don't know why they call him that, and you sometimes wonder if they do eitherâif it's just something that's been ongoing for so long that they've forgotten its original purpose or reasoning.
A confounded look had melded his features into that of furrowed brows and almost puckered lips as he reached out to touch you, until you stumbled back in fear.
"Julâ" He shook his head, then took another unsteady step forward. "You look like her. Sort of..." Pope took a step forward. "In a certain light."
You'd kept walking backward until you finally bumped into the room's far wall, you'd been so eager to get away from him.
"Who are you?" He'd demanded while swaggering closer.
You stuttered the requested answer of your name before glancing away.
"You're her daughter," he'd statedânot askedâwhich was met with a nod of agreement.
Your interactions since then have followed a similar formula: his intimidating presence following you from room to room while you try and ignore it.
You do that with all of them, though, because you find yourself unable to think of them as family.
While you and Jay went without everything children require for healthy upbringings, there they lived 10 minutes away in the lap of luxury. Sports cars, jet skis, a fully stocked fridge and clean sheets... It's like living at a 5 star resort.
You're sure your stay will be over sooner rather than later, though, from the way Smurf leers at you.
You'd let slip to Jay that you were attending a local class today when Pope was apparently eavesdropping. You're supposed to be drawing something which you're then later due to paint. A task you plan on treating it like art therapy.
You need out of that house, or you fear you may slit your wrists in the bathroom if you don't put some distance between you and your newfound narcissistic family.
Until Pope met you at the door and declared that he would be taking youâyour Uber had already been dismissed by him outside.
You didn't bother insisting that you would just bike, or walk, knowing that he wasn't giving you an option. You were to get in the truck, or he'd make you.
"Oh," a stocky elderly woman with messy brown and silver hair, with glasses too big for her face, says in surprise when she sees the bulky man who stands behind you in the doorway of her spacious classroom. "Are you both here for the art class?"
"I-I am," you'd stammered. "He's just," you'd said while pointing back to him with a thumb over your shoulder. "My driver today."
"I'm her uncle," he'd stated with conviction.
You had hoped he would remain in the truck, or just wander around nearby tourist traps until you were done in an hour, but the moment you popped the passenger door open, he was out the driver's side as well.
You keep telling yourself that one day you'll find your voice and finally ask him to give you some room to breathe, but... Today didn't seem like a good day to do that.
Maybe tomorrow, then.
"Well," she saysânow clearly nervous. "Unfortunately, our class is all booked up. We have a seat for your niece, of course, butâ"
He brushed past you while grabbing your forearm and tugging you along. "I'll be the damn seat," he'd mumbled aggressively.
She didn't try to fight him on itâsomething you found yourself unable to blame her for, even if you'd secretly been wishing that she'd kick him out.
Your hips pulled back against Pope's waist, you remain stark still, terrified that if you move too much, you'll awaken something you'd rather not feel beneath you. Especially when you're surrounded by so many other peopleânumerous of which had casted fleeting, curious looks in your two's direction while others scoffed and shook their heads.
Maybe they think you're trailer trash who enjoys making a display of yourself like some attention-seeking trollop.
Whereas the truth is that you're just an uncomfortable as them and are truly sorry he's here today.
You have half-a-mind to lie and say that you feel unwell and need to go home, but the class and supplies are already paid for, and it wasn't exactly cheap. Well, not your definition of cheap, anyway. Probably chump change to your relatives.
Deciding to grit your teeth and just get through it, you stare straight ahead while disassociating the rest of yourself so you don't have to feel the muscled planes of Pope's thighs beneath your own.
Class is maybe halfway through before you're forced back to realityâthe one where you're not losing yourself in charcoal and watercolors, that isâwhen Pope's hands circle your waist and he pops open the top button on your jean shorts.
You jerk your head back in his direction and stare at him with wide, panicked eyes. "What're you doing?" you hiss.
"Relax," he rasps. "Turn around," he orders while jerking his chin toward the front of the room.
You have a choice to make, but either direction you go means you lose.
You just wanted to paint a nice picture today of some mountaintopsâsomewhere imaginary that you could escape to in your more depressive moments.
Why do they always have to ruin everything?
Turning back around, you swallow thickly while blinking back welling tears that sting your eyes.
Slowly, so no one hears it, Pope pulls down your zipper, then slides his right hand from your navel to well past the waistline of your panties.
You plant a bent elbow on the tabletop you sit behind and try to remain focused on the instructions that're being told to you.
When his index and middle fingers swipe your clit, that concentration is short-lived when your hips buck back against him involuntarily.
He does that for awhile: circles your bundle of nerves while you pretend that what's happening to you really isn't. That task becomes quite difficult, however, when your body begins to respond. Like when heat blooms between your thighs and things begin to pulse down there.
Pope swipes a finger along your folds and groans quietly when he feels how slick you've become.
And then he eases two fingers inside of you.
You bite your lip to keep quiet, but fear you may fall onto the floor from how dizzy you now feel. Only as a measure to try and steady yourself, you gently grip the wrist of his right hand and sink your fingers into the warm, tough skin that's smattered with freckles and reddish-brown hair.
You don't know it, but when you willingly touch him, something clicks in his brain that he didn't even know was thereâhe knows you mean for the gesture to be like a silent request for further affection.
Your paintbrush long forgotten, you wiggle your hips and tighten your fluttering walls around his fingers.
Maybe... Maybe it's not as bad as you thought it'd be. Or you're just that starved for touch that you'll go so low as to accept your uncle's fingers inside of you.
When Pope lies his opposite hand atop your left thigh with the palm face-up, you study it from beneath hooded lids for only a moment before sliding your fingers between his own and clasping them around his hand.
When he does the sameâholds fast to you as he teases your body ever-closer toward its releaseâhe leans forward and brings his lips right to the shell of your ear.
"You make me feel so loved," he whispers before leaning back againâhis erection now firmly pressed against your covered opening that another part of him is otherwise fully submerged in.
You spend the remainder of the lesson trying to keep yourself silent as he fingers you steadily toward your orgasm.
You had wondered if the occurrence at your art class would finally serve to get Pope's obsession with you out of his system once and for all. Instead, as you came around his fingers with your head bowed and your hips pushed back against his stomach, it only cemented what had been continually developing since day one: that he considered you his property.
Now, fiercely protective, any time Craig or Baz so much as enter into your general vicinity, he's there to repel any possible advances made by them like a feral guard dog.
Bazâwho couldn't be less interested if he triedâonce tries to confront him and make clear that what is going on between the two of you could send him back to prison for good if anyone found out.
Pope had shrugged it off with a sarcastic comment that "Oh, and the heists and robberies won't?"
"She is your fucking niece, Pope," Baz had said with quiet vehemence. "And if Smurf finds out about itâ"
"What?" he'd bellowed with a puffed-out chest while knocking his head against Baz'sâforcing his gaze to drop to the floor in intimidation. "You're right: she's fucking mine. You wanna try telling somebody what to do? Then you go and let Craig know that if I see him near her again, I'm putting his head through a goddamn wall."
Planted on his knees before you in the privacy of your bedroom, Pope has his index fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties, ready to tug them down your legs so he can get to work.
The only way you can think of to still your trembling hand is by cupping the back of his head with it.
And when you do, he gazes up at you with reverence. "I'd do anything for you," he sighs while pulling the garment down until it falls past your ankles and onto the floor.
Pope presses a kiss to your pubic bone before leaning back again so he can look up at you. "I'd never hurt you. If anybody did," he says while easing a finger inside of you, "I'd kill 'em."
Your eyes flutter closed when he swipes his tongue through your slick folds.
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