hello freaks! i’m sunny, ur friendly neighborhood 21 year old plus-sized southeast asian (pic above is not me lol shoutout to chericurls on pinterest)!! i go by she/they pronouns:) thanks 4 all the love on my first few posts, it rly means a lot :D
i write primarily for:
jack abbot, pope cody, benny cross
and potentially for:
feyd-rautha harkonnen, sammy bryant, michael robinavitch, mel king, samira mohan, and art donaldson!
requests are open! send me asks if u wanna chat about any of the above my dearies!!!
this song is soooo diner waitress!reader meeting benny for the first time <3
you've just got done scrubbing down a table, finally clearing the towering mess of leftover food and slop on haphazardly placed plates. using your hip, you jut into the swinging door, swiftly moving into the kitchen and placing the dishes down on the nearest table, conversing quickly with your coworker about the annoying teenagers at table 6. it's all very sudden, benny's appearance, and there's not even any time for "when you know, you know," he's just there and everything is different, forever.
the swinging door comes flying open, and in comes the owner of the diner, holding benny by the collar of his vest and yelling about "another fuckin' vandal dining and dashing!" benny, ever the show-off nods his head to the staff, mouthing "hello" teasingly to those watching, until he gets to you. he straightens up a bit, pushing his broad shoulders back and settling into a grin. immediately sucked into the allure that is benny cross, you maintain eye contact with the biker. after your boss takes his brief breather, he lightly shoves benny forward, and you can see the bikers face contort with repressed anger— "any minute now and he'll swing," you think to yourself.
your boss yells as benny straightens himself out, "you better get to dish washin' kid, your fuckin' check is worth $30 alone on milkshakes" "uhh no i don't do that sir" "what do you mean 'you don't do that?'" "well... i don't look mighty good in a hair net, don't you agree sweets?" and that's when you realize he's speaking to you.
stunned, and awe-struck by the devastating beauty, temper and magnetism of the unknown biker, you stare at him, and he lightly tilts his head, waiting for you to speak. once again, your boss shoves benny towards the sinks, grumbling to you about keepin an eye on him, as benny declares "don't i at least get a phone call?" all faux innocence. exasperated, your boss throws his hands up and leaves, leaving you & benny tucked away in the corner of the kitchen as the staff bustles around you.
facing the sinks, benny places his hands on his hips, and turning to you he asks "jesus christ... they make you do this shit nightly?" finally finding your voice, you stutter out softly, "y-yeah, sometimes twice a night if.. if we're short staffed-" "you got a boyfriend?" shocked at his sudden line of questioning, you stare straight down, looking at your clean white sneakers as you blush "hm? what?" "you got a boyfriend?" he replies; almost instinctually, as he shifts his body towards yours, his leather boots sticking to the linoleum floor beneath you.
"no. no, no boyfriend.. uh.." "benny.. 'm benny" and with his silent insistence, you tell him your own name. he rolls it off his tongue, pulling it between his teeth and resting it on his soft, bubblegum lips with a content sigh. "well... i ain't gonna stay here too long, you got a backdoor in this joint?" "yeah! yeah! over here is.. the back door." shaking your head at your embarassed rambling, you walk ahead of him, not sensing the wide smile etched on benny's face as he watches you whirl through the kitchen, your pretty ponytail flowing behind you as he leans forward and lightly tugs to see you blush more.
"there's a phone here too benny, if- if you want your phone call!" you smile out, all kindhearted and loving towards the consuming man you've just met. moving towards the phone, and brushing your arm in the process he coos "thank you doll, don't go far now, kay?" and you don't— even now, at the beginning of it all, you'll listen to him, feeling protected and safe in his deep voice and commands. twisting to face the stoves, you try not to listen to benny's conversation with the strange "johnny" character with a sweet, slow voice on the other line.
in your thinking of benny and his long legs & the sound of his keys jingling with his lighter in his pocket as he walks, you manage to hear one little bit of their conversation, "johnny, this little birdie, 'm gonna marry her. courthouse, fuckin' church, i don't care, whatever she wants i'll do." and for a moment you're saddened, turning to benny and staring at him with wide eyes, his legs crossed at the ankle as he speaks. his eyes meet yours, baby blue and soulful, warm & hardened, posessive and free, all at once. of course he'd have a girl, he's a walking dream; you'd seen how the other waitresses eyed him up.
in the midst of your minor devastation, feeling the crushing weight of the loss of a love you'll never know, he smiles at you, pearly teeth shining as he twirls his pinky ring, and asks you (still on the phone with johnny, may i add), "what'dya think sweetheart, you more of a courthouse or church kinda girl?"
wanna spend a weekend at the lake w benny cross,,,):&;&4&( collecting flowers in the weeds while he lays out on his stomach by the lakeshore, taking a rare moment to soak up the sun…. padding over to him w little daisies gathered up in your palms and sitting by him, talking about anything and everything while you scatter the lil flowers all over his back…. IDKK i love him
“… and i told carrie, i said, no,” you say, as water laps gently against the pebbled beach, leaving the bulb of a daisy on the dip of his lower back. “said she was bein’ silly, going out with one of those guys.”
benny lets out a low sound of acknowledgement, blond eyelashes glittery under the sunlight as he keeps his eyes closed, cheek molding against his forearm.
“you comfy, baby?” you ask him, continuing to place little flowers, stray petals you’d found along the strong line of his back. he nods, lashes lifting lazily to look back at you, plump lips curving in a little smile. his hand shifts to squeeze affectionately at your side.
“mm,” he nods, eyes falling shut again. “keep talkin’.”
grinning, “m’kay. anyway, marie keeps trying to set her up with this guy friend’o hers, but he’s a brunet, and carrie hates brunets. and i tell her, what’s so bad about brunets? but she always hits back by sayin’ i’m dating you, and you’re a blond. your hair’s a really pretty blond, baby. don’t think she could find another guy around with hair like yours.”
he chuckles softly. “no, me neither.”
humming contentedly at his response, you continue, still laying flowers along his sun-warmed skin, “but, anyway, i didn’t tell her that. kept it to myself.” you giggle, over nothing in particular. “your back’s lookin’ real pretty.”
“mm, yeah?” he asks, words slightly garbled with the way his mouth is slumped against his arm. “feel like a flower arrangement.”
you laugh softly. “don’t move,” you mutter, leaning over his back to reach into your bag, grabbing the polacolor camera he’d gifted you a few months ago, taking a picture of his back under the sunlight.
he only hums in response, keeping his eyes closed. “it look pretty, baby?”
“mhm,” you grin, waving the film as it develops. “real pretty.”
“alright,” he nods. “tell me when you’re finished up, wanna get’cha in the water.”
being married to jack means sleeping on your tummy with one thigh hitched over his waist when he sleeps on his back. his broad hand & chubby wrist holding onto your warm skin, fingers curled around your thigh. you’re basically sleeping on top of him as he wiggles a little closer, lifting your leg up further so he can press his morning hard-on against the soft swell of your cunt.
one hand spreading your cheeks so he can wedge himself into you, while his foot plants flat on the mattress. a low, sleepy, raspy groan “fuuck.” oozing out of him as he settles himself inside.
when you stir, pushing your leg further into his tummy to keep him close, he’s instantly going for the kiss. hips bucking up in circles as he lazily laps at your tongue, “good morning, baby. kiss?”
slooooooooowwww makeout and fucking at 8am on his off-day </3
thought abt john carter in that slutty ass northwestern shirt w the sleeves cut off and imagined…. robby…. robby in that shirt on a hot day but he’s hotter #hot -> also reader’s like mid 20s yes this is self indulgent i need to fuck that old ass man! +18 MDNI!
"what is that?" you ask, brows furrowed as robby walks out of the bathroom in a shirt you've never seen him in before. it's loose, looks a little worn, frayed at the edges of the arm holes where there definitely used to be sleeves.
robby just stands there in front of the door, looking down at his shirt before back up at you. "it's a shirt, sweetheart."
you make a face. "i know that," you scoff, watching him approach his side of the bed, eyeing his exposed arms, long and just slightly toned under soft skin. "i just mean, like, i've never seen it before."
he shrugs, a little grunt leaving him as he climbs into his side of the bed, reaching for his phone to read. his elbow pops slightly as he positions himself against the headboard. usually, you'd have a little quip to say about that, but you're preoccupied.
"it's from college," he quips, sighing a little as he fixes his face to unlock his phone. "found it at the bottom of my dresser drawer."
"huh," you mutter. you inch closer, and your hand reaches out to flick at the arm holes where the fabric has frayed. "did you cut the sleeves off?"
"at some point, yeah," robby responds, slipping his readers on. oh. oh, so he's out to get you. okay. "why?"
you shrug. "i dunno." he gets a good second or two to read barely past the headline of a medical article jack'd sent him, before you ask, "is it comfy?"
“mhm,” he nods, not looking away from his phone. you shift a little closer.
“is it, like… like, how old is it? when’d you get it?”
he looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "thirty years ago?" he sees your eyes go glassy.
"thirty years ago," you repeat airily. your bottom lip slotting between your teeth. god, he's just so old. every time you're reminded of it it makes heat pool in your belly.
"mhm," he nods, returning his focus to his phone, trying not to laugh at the way you look, dazed and flushed. he gives it a few more seconds before he looks up from his phone again. "you need anything?" he asks, as he pushes his hair back. you love the look of his lanky arms. the fit of the shirt makes you dizzy, the way he looks so warm. you could sink your teeth into his bicep, nothing's stopping you.
"huh?” you ask, eyes faraway.
he chuckles. "you're getting all glassy-eyed. you like my shirt that much?" you whine, and your thighs press together. he laughs, louder now, with a shake of his head. “silly girl.”
you huff dramatically, falling back onto your pillow, forearm over your eyes. "shut up."
he continues, "here i am, trying to catch up on reading, minding my own business-"
you groan.
"—and you're getting all worked up over me in a shirt."
"you suck," you bemoan, which only makes him laugh more.
“i know, i do, don’t i?” he asks, a tad condescending, as he tugs your arm away from your face. “what is it, huh? need me to help you out?” a sound leaves you, desperate and needy. your thighs press together yet again when your eyes lock. he sucks at his teeth. “yeah, y’do. need daddy?”
just letting u kno i am taking requests!!!! come into my inbox to chat or talk abt something related to any of the characters i write about hehe let’s hang out
⋮⟢ drabble: jack abbot and his controversially young gf who’s overly possessive (and he loves every second of it!)
⋮⟢ feeling tired couldn’t write a full fic so here’s a self-indulgent thought!
jack dating a girl who hasn’t quite kicked her petty and possessive tendencies™. it’s definitely a learning curve for both of you, and the fact that he is objectively the most charming man you’ve ever met implies that he definitely comes across as that to everyone else doesn’t help your case. what does help, though, is how keen he is on showing you he’s spoken for, has been for a while, and is not planning on looking anywhere else.
he’s both endeared and confused by it. he’s confused when it pops up at random times. he was also confused about how when it first showed up in your relationship – when you started giving him the silent treatment after a barista left a little heart on his coffee – and he felt so giddy proving to you that he’s only got eyes for you. he’d lit up like a christmas tree on the inside at the idea that you’d gotten mad over him. there was probably something wrong with him.
he knew someone else may have considered this somewhat of a red flag. but jack, instead, found that kissing you all over underneath a tree outside the coffee shop – your cheek, your neck, the corner of your cute scowl, hands holding your waist until the sulk gave out – undid you inside of ninety seconds. it also undid him considerably faster.
he’d thrown out the cup without mentioning it, tucking you both into the dappled shade. the bark of the tree caught roughly against his palms where his arms braced your head, and he was too busy watching the tightness drain out of your pretty face to notice the sting of it. he felt the exact second your fists uncurled from where they’d been pressed against his chest, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, forgetting what they were mad about.
this would not be a problem, he’d decided. he’d take about four hundred more of what people considered a ‘red flag’ if it meant you were entirely his to soothe.
he’d be scanning the groceries at self-checkout, and you’d turn to see one of the workers looking at him. your spine went stiff, a frown marring your face. and then you’d start tugging on his sleeve from beside him, telling him to hurry, hurry up, hurry up, let’s go.
“who wants to have their way with me now?” he’d mumble, bumping his hip into yours, still not looking away from the register.
“no one,” you’d say. you didn’t want to boost his ego anymore. “just fucking hurry up now.”
“who is it?”
“me. i do. let’s go home so i can have my way with you.”
he clicked his tongue. “liar. you’re just gonna yell at me.” still, he turned his neck slightly to where yours was, murmuring a small “ah” to himself.
you groaned, but he did speed up. with bags in hand, he turned to walk out with you, placing himself behind you, free palm on your shoulder, thumb finding the curve where your neck met it. you’d come face-to-face with the poor woman you’d theorized was already in love with jack.
“hey, my girlfriend here really wants some lottery tickets. can you let my girlfriend know where she can find them?”
he couldn’t help it! he loves the little way the corners of your mouth curves up whenever he makes it clear that he’s taken.
the woman would blink, an obvious wedding band catching under the lights (jack would snort softly from behind you), as she pointed toward the front counter, entirely married, entirely not the threat you’d decided she was.
“good,” you murmured later, grabbing the lottery ticket as it printed.
his free palm would settle on your waist and he’d murmur, “did i make you happy back there?”
“yup.”
and jack would smile because he truly did feel like he’d won the lottery. he’d watch you over your shoulder as you fussed out a coin, brow furrowed as you did the scratch-off.
“i won two dollars,” you’d say after revealing the last symbol. you’d twist in his arms, ticket held up with a smile like you’d just told him you were pregnant with triplets instead of two dollars richer.
“lucky girl,” he’d say, matching your smile. his mouth would brush your hairline.
“uh-huh,” you’d say, letting him stay there, nose tucked against your hair.
“c’mon then, let’s go.” he’d put his hand on the small of your back after a minute, turning you around, to lead you out. clearly still hanging onto your short burst of jealousy. “before someone else decides to steal me.”
“don’t.”
“i’m vulnerable,” he’d tease.
or you’d go to pick him up in the morning, watching him handover the shift to robby, and then he’d go and say goodbye to one of his patients who thanked him profusely.
when he’d come back out, you’d roll your eyes and turn your back to him, already walking to the exit. “aren’t you just a ladies man?”
robby’d look at jack slightly confused and maybe even a bit put off, but jack would just wet his lips as he watched you leave, looking completely and utterly delighted.
“your girlfriend’s got a jealous streak, i think.”
“she does, doesn’t she?” jack would still be watching the doors you’d gone through, tugging the lanyard off his neck. “i love her. i gotta go.”
robby would rub his chin as he watches the man he’s known for too long look utterly delighted to get chewed out and wonder what the hell was going on in your home.
meanwhile you’d be at the car with your arms crossed, watching jack walk toward you with a little smile on his face that should’ve been wiped off with the long shift.
“i’m sorry,” he’d say immediately, slightly out of breath because he’d sped up to find you. “she thought i was her son,” he said about the patient, an eighty-year-old woman who truly did think he was her son. “but i’m sorry.”
“you’re too old to be her son.”
“too old to be a lotta things.” he’d back you gently into the passenger door, hands finding your hips. “not for this, though.”
and you’d keep going anyway, muttering how he was too nice, that he should only smile at you, that it wasn’t fair, that he was doing it on purpose.
“tell me to shut up,” you’d say out of nowhere, in the middle of your rant, furrowing your brows as he let you go on and on.
“no.” he’d rear his head back like he was confused by the demand. “i’ve wanted to hear your voice for the last twelve hours.”
you’d stare up at him with your mouth slightly open and nothing at all to say. his thumb would come up to press gently on your chin, keeping the expression there.
“there she is,” he’d murmur, pleased. “quiet at last.”
in the car, on the way home, he’d respond to bits of your rant.
“all my patient satisfaction scores are gonna go down.”
“so those are more important than me?”
his hand would land on your thigh as he kept his eyes on the road. “nope. i like the girl more than the scores.”
a lot of the time with you, he’d feel like a puppy getting a trick right. which is why he’d started doing it on purpose; introducing you before he introduces himself, texting you the logistics of his life unprompted, taking your hand in the condiments aisle for no reason, calling you after physical therapy simply because his physical therapist – sam – had touched his arms during the lesson and – like he’d been pavlov’d, some conditioned little bell going off in his head that only you were allowed to touch him – jack felt an immediate pressing need to hear your voice.
he knew that he was only feeding into it, selfishly craving more of your teeth in his shoulder and your fingers wrapped around his forearms in public even if your positioning hardly ever allowed for it.
it was getting out of hand. on a night off, when he’d come in with swat during the day and stayed until the end of day shift, robby and dana asked him to come to the bar and get a drink.
“yeah – let me just ask her if she can come, too.” he immediately said, already pulling out the phone to ask you.
except you were on shift till nine p.m., and you’d said so – go!!! have fun!!! tell dana i said hi!!! – when he texted you. jack made a small noise in his mouth.
“i can’t,” he’d said.
“she’s not letting you go?” robby asked curiously.
no, you’d in fact told him the opposite of that. but he didn’t want to say that, quite liking the idea of you having that hold on him. so, he’d say, “somethin’ like that,” hoisting his bag over his shoulders. “i’m gonna sit in her bar till she gets off. you’re welcome to grab a drink there.”
“so we can all watch your girlfriend make drinks?”
dana would simply chuckle, shaking her head, already knowing that jack would somehow manage to convince half the staff clocking out to come watch you work.
he’d never felt as doted on and claimed as you made him feel. you’d swapped out the ancient bar of soap in his shower for something that smelled like you. there were bobby pins in every crevice of his car now. you’d somehow become his emergency contact, too, leaving robby a little stunned.
you’d spend all night leaving small marks on his body (the crescent of your nails at his shoulder, your teeth marks just below his collarbone that would be evident with one wrong movement under his scrubs) and he loved finding each of it randomly while getting ready.
this is also why he’s so confused when dana brings up your jealousy and how a little bit of couples counseling could help. nothing feels wrong about the relationship at all!
he’d go through all the questions he assumed a therapist would ask.
was he unhappy? not at all. he was actually stupidly happy. he’d started humming in the car and coming home early.
was he worried? about what – that you’d give him the silent treatment for twenty minutes and then hold onto his bicep for hours just to make up for it? that you’d get a bit vicious about someone and then fall asleep on his chest like an overheated animal?
that you sat tucked him in the corner in restaurant booths so you could see the whole room and he could only see you? jack hardly thought there was anything worth looking at besides you anyway.
“even the healthiest couples do it,” dana would say.
“what would it do?” jack would ask curiously, indulging her.
“well.” dana would settle in, elbows on the desk, warmly concerned. “it’ll help with her being less possessive, for starters.”
jack would just look at her, head tilted, genuinely lost. then he’d rub his thumb along his jaw, feeling eerily unsettled by the words. “it’d make her stop?”
“ideally, yeah. that’s the idea.”
oh, he hated that thought. he knew your possessiveness didn’t come out of you being insecure. he knew that it was easy to assume some poor anxious girl white-knuckling her way through the relationship, checking his phone, counting the women, but that wasn’t it.
it came out of you picking him up and putting him in your pocket. you’d simply decided that jack abbot was yours, and so what if you got a little feral when the world got too near him?
“nah,” he’d say, shaking his head as he pressed his lips together. “we’re alright.”
“you may be fine with it. but, she’d have healthier relationships in case – ”
jack’s eyes would widen, and dana would look a little caught off-guard, realizing what she’d said.
“no.” he’d make a small sound, shaking his head again. “we don’t need that, then.”
“jack –”
“she’s not goin’ anywhere.” he’d knock the desk twice. “neither am i.”
“you know what,” dana would say, blowing out a breath. “i believe that.”
later that afternoon, he’d settle on the couch beside you, mind still reeling from the idea of there being an after him for you. his arms would go around your shoulders, pulling you in impossibly close. one hand would fit around the back of your neck, thumb under your jaw, tipping your face up until you had nowhere to look but at him.
“never gonna leave me, right?” he’d ask.
your brows would pull in together, the corners of your lips curving downwards.
“why?” you’d drawl. “planning on doing something bad?”
“nope,” he’d say. “just askin’”
your jaw would tighten as you tried to gauge his expression. “then stop. nobody’s leaving anybody.” you fixed him with a pointed look. “you’re not going anywhere.”
“damn right i’m not,” he’d say. his hands would slide up your neck and into your hair, fingers spreading wide. “say it again.”
you’d laugh shortly. “you’re not going anywhere.”
“mm.” his thumb would drag along the column of your neck as he felt you go pliant under his hold. “again.”
“jack – ”
“humor me, angel,” he’d say, the words coming out in a barely-hidden plea.
“you’re not going anywhere,” you’d say, humoring him, half breathless and the other exasperated. he’d kiss you on the last word, catching it in his mouth before it finished.
the other hand would come down at your lower back and haul you across to settle on his lap.
both your knees would land on either side of him, and his hands would immediately settle on your hips.
“you’re being so strange today,” you’d say, chin tilting up as his mouth dragged down your neck.
“yeah.” he’d smile against your skin. “gonna hold it against me?”
you’d laugh, surprised at the dramatics. and he would smile so hard and spend the entire day proving to you he would never. which mostly meant he let you do whatever you wanted for eleven straight hours.
you’d put a face mask on him. he’d sit there on the couch, a decorated combat medic, and let you take four photos he’d only found out you’d posted when javadi and santos looked at him funnily during handover. he’d let you try different colors of polish on his nails, and then paint yours with the one you liked best.
he’d watch you scroll on your laptop through different clothes, pointing out things he liked, which you’d taught him to do while being visibly delighted the one time he’d said “this one’s nice.” now he did it constantly, never quite holding himself back from voicing his opinions (it was often, he thought everything would look great on you).
jack is exactly where he wants to be! and people would just have to grow used to your claws and your terrible manners spawning out of nowhere, because the man they came out for had no intention of asking you to put them away.
huffing n puffing at jack over something so inconsequential like him not texting you good morning when he got home (despite the fact that he tells it to you in person) just to see his puppy dog eyes and frustrate the hell out of him (hes into it too dw)
