the concept of being detective sammy bryant's badge bunny sigh.
waiting around the station doors until he finally leaves for the day, and then you're allll over him. arms draped around his broad shoulders, nuzzling into his neck, giggling, "hi, detective bryant... y'look stressed, want me to help you relax?"
sammy tries to pretend he's ashamed to have someone who's very much not his wife kissing at his jaw in broad daylight, but there's no use, the grin is already plastered to his face.
his big hands spread over the globes of your ass and squeeze, "baby, get in the car, okay? someone's gonna see us."
stroking sammy's cock in the back of his car, his shirt fully unbuttoned so you can see his flushed tummy rise and fall with his laboured breaths!! seeing his hands curl into the leather of the seat when you finally get your lips around him, how his head lolls back against the window when your tongue flicks at his leaking tip. "shit, you're so fuckin' good at thisâ whaâ oh my god, you're gonna get me there quick, huh, baby?"
making him come and it gets all over his badge cause it's still clipped to his belt :( he's like "aw, baby, you gotta stop doing that... alright, clean it up." and you do, lapping at the gold metal with your eager little tongue!!
sammy bryant as your perv coworker who acts as your personal bodyguard on when the precinct goes out to the bar...
it's a hot summer night in LA. you're wearing your tightest, prettiest dress. you get a little too tipsy, some dude gets a little too handsy, and sammy's shoving him off of you with the practiced ease of a gang detective, along with a muttered "watch it, motherfucker."
to you, sammy looks like an angel under the dimmed lights. his chubby cheeks are flushed a light pink and his curls are all messy. without giving it much thought, you wrap your arms around his thick neck, backing him into a dark corner. "sammy, c'mere..."
he indulges you, of course, his hands finding a respectful place over the midsection of your back. "one too many vodka crans, huh?" he teases you as his mouth curves into that signature sideways smirk.
"mmmhm..." you giggle back at him. you shouldn't find it so hot that he's memorised your drink of choice. "mm... sammy?"
"yeah?" he whispers.
"i think you're sooo pretty..."
sammy laughs under his breath in response, ducking his head. he's flatteredâ he knows he's not exactly the definition of pretty, but he'll take any kind of compliment from a girl who looks like you. "you do?" he replies, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"mhm," you hum sweetly, nodding. "and i know it might be naughty to say this, 'cause you're all married and stuff, butâ" you lean in clumsily, voice dropping to a hushed whisper against his ear, "i've always wanted to suck your cock..."
"... what?" you catch sammy completely off guard. he's always respected you as a member of the team, but when you're not in the field you look so sweet and polite. he had no idea you had such a dirty little mouth.
you continue, emboldened by the alcohol. "yeah. or... or like ride it or something... or.... sorry, don't know what'm sayin', you're just really hot..."
sammy exhales a little, shaking his head. he's so turned on right now that his wife is the last thing on his mind. "no, no, it's alright, you're drunk." his nose is full of your perfume, dark cherry and amber and cinnamon, and it makes his head spin.
then, your back arches slightly under his touch and his common sense goes out of the window. "y'know what? just dance with me a little."
he rocks you slowly to the beat of the song, his breathing harsh against your cheek. his hands dip down to your ass, pressing you into his crotch so you can feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans.
your breath hitches when you feel it. "sammy, 's wrong..."
"what's wrong, sweetheart? we're just dancin'," he murmurs, even as he grinds forward into you, one of his big hands drifting up your thigh under your dress until it hits the lace of your panties. "just dancin', that's all."
you wedge his thick thigh between yours, rubbing up on his stiff cock as you lose yourself to the thrum between your legs. "mmh.. fuck, sammy..." you sigh out against his neck.
"yeah, that's right, sweetheart," he groans as he scans the room behind youâ everyone's way too busy downing beers and trading stories at the bar to notice the way you two are grinding on each other in the back, how his hand is shamelessly palming your ass. then, sammy gets a bright idea: "y'wanna come to the bathroom with me, baby? i'll help you pee."
"but i don't need to pee, sammy," you whine, pressing yourself impossibly closer to his body. "just wanna dance with you all night..."
he chuckles at your drunken stubbornness, then pats your ass before extracting his hand from under your dress. "wanna know a secret?" he asks softly, already leading you by the waist towards the bathroom door. you nod carelessly as you follow him.
"you're not gonna pee," he whispers. "i'm gonna give you what you wanted, yeah? gonna get my cock in you."
Currently hyper fixated on Jack and pregnant!reader đ„č Because like letâs say youâre waddling around your kitchen in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep with the uncomfortable size of your tummy at this point. Weâre talking third trimester, any day now timeline. In walks Jack post shift, exhausted and grateful to be home. He sets his bag down and slides his shoes off at the door. He knows youâve been struggling with sleeping through the night, but still moves through the house quietly in case you are.
He can hear you puttering around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing as you change your mind twenty different times about what youâre craving. He leans against the wall, a crinkly eyed smile on his face watching you. Amused by you. Amazed by you. His sleepy girl whoâs creating a tiny life inside of her. Youâre in one of his old band T-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and fluffy socks. Your hairâs up and disheveled with puffy, sleepy eyes to tie together the âhot mess expressâ look youâre sporting. And Jack loves it.
Nothing screams âsexyâ to Jack like the woman he loves carrying his child. You could be wearing a fucking garbage bag and Jack Abbot still wants up in those guts, baby. You let out a little yawn while steeping your tea under the light above the stove, gasping in surprise as he comes up behind you and wraps his strong arms under your belly. He lifts it, earning an actual moan of relief from you. You could cry, it feels that fucking good. The last few weeks have been hell for your lower back, and youâve been fussing about it (reasonably so) to Jack more often. Your heart just melts at the thought of him picking up a tip or two from the OBGYN nurses at the hospital.
âYou get any sleep, mommy?â he mumbles into your shoulder.
âA little. I think weâre having a rockstar, babe. She loves partying into the early hours of the morning, this one. Sheâs been kicking me since three a.m.â Jack canât help but chuckle at the havoc your unborn daughter is already wreaking on you.
âDoes this help?â he asks. You nod your head appreciatively.
âJack, it feels so good. Thank you,â you sigh blissfully. You relax into his arms, letting your head lull back lazily against his warm chest. âHowâd you know this would help?â
âDana actually gave me this one. I jusâ felt awful watchinâ you be so uncomfortable. Broke my heart, baby.â He kisses the side of your head tenderly.
âYou know whatâs breaking my heart right now?â Jackâs head perks up, caught off guard and slightly confused by your question.
âWhatâs that?â he asks, tentative.
âThat weâre all out of chocolate chips, and now I canât make chocolate chip pancakes,â you whine. Jack canât help but laugh. You laugh too, you know it sounds ridiculous. But it also sounds so good.
âI see a Door Dash order from Dennyâs in my future,â Jack says. You let him gently drop your belly before turning to face him.
âHmmâŠI was thinking Waffle House,â you smile. The lack of sleep and backaches are totally worth mornings like this. And - despite the crying - even more so after the birth of your daughter.
âdonât cry sweetheart, too pretty for all thatâ he thumbs away the salt on your face. he smushes your cheeks. youâre emotional. irrational. littlest things have been setting you off, sammy hasnât complained not once.
your eyebrows furrow, into a scowl, on your bunched up face. âyouâre being annoying.â it comes out slurred as sammyâs got your face in his hands. his pupils are dilated, as his gaze pierces you with love.
you shouldnât have said that - now he looks like a kid on christmas. âoh yeah?â he releases your face, to pepper you with kisses. âmy gorgeous girl, crying for what?â he pulls away and pinches your chin. he holds your face tight. his thumb stroking the ends of your face. âi gotta arrest someone?â he squints. you give him the smallest satisfaction of a smile. another mistake. âah so thatâs a yes, who is it?â
âno one samuel.â you huff. your attitude bears no weight on the officer.
he scoffs, âyou told me youâd only use that when iâm in the doghouse.â
âbetter start barking then.â
âwoof,â he placates. he licks a stripe on your cheek. âwoof woofâ he placates once more.
you roll your eyes but you canât help yourself from laughing, âyouâre the worst.â
he smiles into your face. âthatâs my pretty girl,â he presses a kiss to your temple. âthereâs the pretty smile i know and love.â
your bodies seem to be glued together.
youâre so close, so close that you can barely breathe, but you donât care, not when popeâs thick cock is penetrating your sensitive walls, kissing your cervix with every thrust, pushing white, sticky cum deeper into you, right into your womb. you pull him even closer, wrapping your legs and arms around his massive body, running your fingernails over his freckled skin and hard muscles.
you moan into his mouth, alternately with broken pleas for more, which only fuels his raw hunger, causing his hips to thrust into you rougher , harder and deeper, triggering a reaction in your body so violent that you can feel every pulse, in every single nerve.
but that isnât enough for you. you want more , you need more. so you clench your pretty pussy, begging him to come inside you again, begging him to claim you.
and pope's body reacts immediately, like a dog hearing a command. his fat cock thrusts deep inside you, so deep that your fucked-up mind feels like he's in your throat, while his hands grip the soft skin of your hips tightly, leaving red marks from his large, calloused hands. preventing you from pulling away, preventing you from escaping, as he fills you with thick cum.
your pussy greedily milks his cock, trying to take every last drop, but thereâs so much of it , so much that you can feel it slowly dripping out of you, staining your inner thighs, your bum and the sheets beneath you. but you donât mind, no â your eyes are blurry from pleasure and quiet sighs of bliss escape your lips.
"feels so good, andy" you whisper into his mouth, massaging his neck, running your fingers through his damp auburn hair.
"yeah?" he asks, looking shyly into your eyes â a stark contrast to how animalistically he was behaving just a moment ago.
"yeah" you reply, moving your hand down your sweaty body, straight between your legs, using your fingertips to gather the excess of his cum that has flowed out of you "and you taste so good too, andy, so good" you say, licking your fingers, stained with the white fluid, with a cat-like grace.
then you feel it.
the pulse and the delicious sensation of popeâs raw cock getting hard and heavy inside you. ready to fill you up again.
I had a lot of fun researching lower leg prosthesis for these drawings. During my research I disovered that prosthetics are incredibly expensive and wondered if Dr Abbots health insurance could cover a more athletic prosthetic for sporty days.
Thanks to @shawnhatosysbulge for the sporty Shawn Hatosy reference photos. Thanks again, my friend keep up the good work <3
... so that dunkin reader and dr shen right... the ones who accidentally share drinks.... what if they got really into spit kink without even realizing it...
you run into each other on a night off in some fun little bar your friends dragged you to. its busy, but its not a club; the music is low enough that you can easily listen to him talk.
"What are we drinking?" he jokes, gesturing to your cocktail.
"Chambord spritz." You hold the drink up for him, straws caught between two fingers
"I don't even know what that is." but Shen is already leaning down, taking the straw between his lips. When he drinks, they brush against your knuckles. "Strawberry?"
"Black raspberry," you say.
"Really? Let me try again." He takes another drink and this time his lips are pressed against your fingers purposefully.
"Don't drink it all!" The liquid is drained to the ice.
"Relax," Shen says. "You can have half of mine."
His drink doesn't have a straw, so he has to hold it up and tip it into your mouth. You get a good mouthful before he pulls it back. lipstick sticks to the glass.
"This is why people think we're fucking," you murmur.
"Yeah," his eyes flicker down to your lips as he runs his tongue over the lipstick stain. "It is."
Oh, you're way too many drinks in now. Dr. Shen -God, you're blanking on his first name right now and it's killing you- has his hand on your lower back, pulling you in much too close for coworkers. Every now and again, he runs his knuckles up to your open back as a casual touch and tease, always trailing back down to the same spot on your hips.
"The drink?" It's more crowded now; he has to lean in to hear you. His breath smells like Chambord. The two of you stopped ordering separate drinks three glasses ago, now just sipping from the same damn cup. "It's good."
"No," you shake your head. "You like that people think we're fucking."
"Oh. Well, yeah." He's not bothered in the slightest. He takes around sip of the drink, then turns the straw your way and you obediently drink. You're both trashed: his body is flushed red, from ears the chest, and his eyes are glazed over and wet. "Duh."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?" His forehead bonks against yours and you're 100% sure it was by mistake. "People think I'm fucking a hot nurse. What's not to like?"
Your mouth moves much faster than your brain. "You could just fuck me?'
His forehead hits yours again and, for some odd reason, it makes your pussy unreasonably wet.
"What? I can't hear you."
It's a chance to take it back, but you can't seem to shut up, not when your body is so needy-
"We could--" you stammer this time. "We could actually fuck."
Again, he leans closer, a grin creeping over his face. "What?"
"You should fuck-"
His mouth finds yours midsentence, catching you open mouthed and vocal. It's spitty and wet and fueled more with desperation than skill, but in a way that has you wet in the knees. You mean weak in your panties. Or--
Your brain is giving up on you. All you can do is kiss him back, hand clutching at his jaw, the other tugging at his shirt. You suck on his tongue like you're a teenager alone of the first time, not a grown woman in a bar-
And then there's voices around you.
There's multiple iterations of "She's too drunk!" and "She can't go home with you!"
Your dear, lovely friends, are pulling you away with nervous laughter. It takes you a second to realize what they're doing.
"No, it's okay, he's my Doctor!" you try to explain, but they're having none of it.
"It's okay-" he slurs. "I'm too drunk-"
The night gets blurry from there.
The next day, at work, you're incredibly hungover.
Judging from his face, Dr. Shen is too. The both of you spend the shift absolutely running (your only break was when you threw up in the women's bathroom because you smelled alcohol on a patient's breath). You try and avoid having him in the room with you, but there's a few overlaps where neither of you can meet each other's eyes.
Shen doesn't even acknowledge you until you're both walking out.
"It's weird now, isn't it?" he says out right.
"Yeah." You scuff your sneaker against the concrete ramp. "Can you imagine if we actually fucked?"
"Oh," he pops his lips. "I did."
You turn separate ways: him to his car, you towards the bus stop.
"What was that?"
"I did imagine fucking you."
"I can't hear you."
His eyes go wide when he realizes you're teasing him. Shen glances around, checking for coworkers or eavesdroppers, then turns back to you, tongue running over his canine.
"I've imagined fucking you into the mattress," he says with his full chest. "Every shift. For months."
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