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⋆˚꩜.ᐟ -> hi! i'm emmy! i'm a 24 y/o mortician based out of the mid west!
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I think this schedule could be very nice / Call up the boys and crack a Miller Light / Watch the fight / Us girls are fun but stressful / Am I right? / And you got a right hand anyway
Overview: You knew it was a risk, dating a cop and all, but Sammy is different. Or, he was, at least. He was probably the best boyfriend you've ever had, the only one you ever saw yourself getting serious with. But then, he had to go and make buddy-buddy with the assholes in his department. Now your sweet boyfriend is gone and you're left picking up the pieces.
a/n: I actually got pissed at myself rereading this because she let him off way too easily at the end. So it's been revamped and, in my opinion, I think she gives him a proper amount of hell (Also, note the lyrics of this song, it’s going to be following those slightly misogynistic points for the first section of the plot)
more at: Belle’s 3k Extravaganza
wc: 12.7k
By no means are you the type of woman to throw on an apron and go all June Cleaver for a man. However, Sammy seems to be the exception to your rule. The first time you surprised him with dinner, there had been such earnest gratefulness in his eyes that you couldn’t help yourself. Every time you think of how stressed he gets at work, how much hell he receives on patrol, you just get the urge to take care of him.
It’s bad enough you’re spreading it for a cop, now you can add traitor to feminism on the list. Who can blame a girl, though, when he’s got biceps like those? Every time you see him, you just want to sink your teeth in him. Mark your territory for any doe-eyed woman that tries to flirt her way out of a ticket.
Most of your time is spent at his place so you can cook for him like you are tonight. Usually, while you wait for the food to finish, you find yourself cleaning up a little. The way he practically drops to his knees every time you take care of him has your sixth sense going off.
You know it’s coming soon, him asking you to move in with him. Your female spidey-senses are primed to go off the second you find a man ready to commit. It is such a rare trait nowadays.
It would be smart to say yes to him; you practically live with him already. But something is holding you back. No matter how much you care about him (maybe even love him), there is this gnawing thought that’s been plaguing you. Everything's been going good.
Perfect, even.
You’re crazy about each other, your fights are always resolved quickly, and he does anything he can to make you happy. But things are too easy, too conflict-free. Something bad is coming, you just know it.
The lock clicks on the door, and you find yourself smiling, already untying your apron. Turning the heat down on the stove, you turn in time to see Sammy walking in. His face lights up as he sees you.
He drops into your embrace the second you open your arms. You laugh a little, shifting your hips so his holster isn’t digging into you. He mutters into your neck how much he missed you, and you feel the rest of your carefully enforced independence shrink away.
It’s inevitable. You’ve gone full housewife.
“How was work?” You ask, dragging your hand through his hair as he pulls back. He shrugs you off, and you sigh, realizing this is going to be a man-no-talk-about-feelings night. He huffs and tosses his jacket on the kitchen island.
Your gaze narrows, and you click your tongue once. Sammy’s eyes widen before he picks it up, moving it to the entryway closet. Where it belongs.
“Good boy,” you murmur, smirking when you see the color that grows on his cheeks.
He comes up behind you, arm winding around your waist. You glance down at his thick forearm and physically hold back the urge to dig your teeth into him. “God, sweetheart, this looks amazing,” he lets out a breathy exhale as he watches you finish up dinner. You grin, making him a plate as he lets go and takes a seat at the island.
“Beer?” You ask, already getting it for him. I’m a traitor to my people, you think as you hand your man a cold one to go with the steak dinner you’d cooked. You’re making yourself your own plate when you catch him frowning at the stove.
“What’s wrong?” He finally looks over at you and raises his brows. “I thought you liked this,” you tell him, nodding toward the food.
He lets out a scoff and gives you an incredulous look. “‘Course I do, are you kidding? I love anything you cook.”
You fight back your smile at such simple praise. “Alright, why do you look like someone pissed in your beer, then?”
His face screws up and you can’t help but laugh. Almost sheepish, he rubs the back of his neck, no longer meeting your eyes. “Got a couple guys from the station coming over.”
Shrugging, you finally take a bite of your dinner. Compliments to the chef, you think smugly. “What’s the big deal? Ben comes over all the time.”
Sammy moves his food around his plate and you glare down at the action. “They might be a little hungry.”
You let out an astonished scoff and he shrinks back with that boyish grin on his face that makes it nearly impossible for you to be mad. “Jeez, what am I, Sammy? Your girlfriend or maid? You know I don’t cook for any man.”
He glances down at his plate and then back at you with a pointed look. Rolling your eyes, you wave him off. “This is a rare exception because we have such amazing chemistry in bed. I swear, if you were an inch smaller down there, you’d be nuking stouffers.”
Sammy lets out a small huff of laughter that makes the constant tight feeling in your chest ease ever so slightly. “Glad to know what I’m worth. I’ll just order a pizza.”
“Shut up,” you tell him, already digging around in the fridge for some food to make his friends. You cut open a pack of kielbasa and toss it in a pan, your dinner going forgotten on the counter. Pointing a spatula at Sammy you warn him, “Don’t get used to this.”
He laughs at the sharp look on your face, his smile dropping when you pinch your lips, openly glaring at him. “Of course, sweetheart.”
You turn back to the stove with a weak sigh. “I’m only doing this because you’ve got that pathetic kicked puppy look on your face.” Quietly, he makes his way up to you, arms once again tugging you into his firm chest.
“I promise,” he mutters into your neck, pressing a soft kiss there that has your stomach flooding with warmth. “I’ll make this up to you with my amazing bed chem,” he mocks. You laugh but it trails off as you melt further into him, an ache between your legs getting stronger the longer he kisses you.
“You play dirty,” you mutter, and he smiles against your skin, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
The guys he invites over seem nice enough. They’re loud, brash, and a little abrasive in the way your dad’s old friends used to be. Nothing you can’t handle or don’t expect from a group of off-duty cops.
Though, your skin does crawl when you set the food out in the living room and you realize just the type of men you’re currently serving. Never ever again, you swear to yourself. There’s a knock at the door and you go to open it.
A little piece of you relaxes when you look through the peephole and find Ben waiting on the other side. He smiles as you tug open the door. “Hey,” you greet, already pulling him into a hug. He presses a brief kiss to your temple and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you back into the apartment. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you,” you tell him.
“Yeah?” He lets out a low whistle as he takes in the disaster area that is Sammy’s kitchen. “When’d you have time for all this?” He chuckles, plucking some of your leftover steak and popping it in his mouth.
“When I skipped dinner,” you grumble, ignoring the concerned look he shoots you. “It’s just a one time thing,” you tell him. “Sammy’s seemed a little off lately, I figured he needed an easy night.”
“Yeah,” Ben walks up to you, hand once again finding your shoulder. “I’ve noticed that, too. Was getting a little worried.”
Any further conversation is interrupted as someone shouts, “Beer!” from the living room. You shoot Ben an astonished look that he only laughs at.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Sammy trails off, eyes narrowing at Ben’s completely platonic touch on your arm. He walks over and swats his grip away, tugging you back into his chest.
You let out a short chuckle at the amused look on Ben’s face. “I’ve been designated the beer wench,” you tell Sammy. He scowls, brows furrowing as he scoffs.
“I’ll take care of it.” He reaches over for the dinner you’d abandoned and places it firmly in your hands. “Finish eating, sweetheart.” He doesn’t leave any room for argument, redirecting you to a seat as he points at Ben. “You’re with me, come on.” Ben shoots you one last grin before he helps Sammy carry the beer into the living room.
The living room gets louder the longer they stay. For the most part, you manage to ignore it, flipping through your book as you pick at your dinner.
“We need more dip!” Your brows furrow and you look up with a scoff. There’s no way they think you’re actually going to bring them any. Right?
Shaking your head, you settle back into your seat and resume reading. “Dip!”
“Fuck me,” you mutter, shoulders tense as you work to ignore the assholes in Sammy’s living room.
It’s not much longer until Sammy’s walking into the kitchen. His brows raise when he spots you at the table. You give him a tense smile that’s met with a confused frown. “I thought you were in my room.”
You shake your head, “Nope. Been in here the whole time.”
Sammy glances between you and the living room with a cute little furrow between his brows. “Can you hear us in there?”
“Oh yeah,” you scoff. “Loud and clear.” Your point is almost instantly proven by a loud round of jeering laughter that makes your skin shrink back.
“Oh, well,” he hums, digging through the fridge to grab the dip. “How come you didn’t bring this?” He asks, holding up the container.
Your eyes narrow sharply. “Maybe because it’s not the fifties and they’re grown men who can walk their asses into the kitchen themselves. Besides, you’re the only one I’m sleeping with, you’re the only one who gets to ask for it.”
A grin breaks out on his face as he walks over to you. You lean forward, chin tilting as his hand slides around your shoulder to cup the back of your neck. “I’ll get them under control,” he promises, pressing a lingering kiss against your lips.
You just nod, head tilting as you admire his ass as he makes his way back into the living room. With a heavy sigh, you force yourself out of your chair and start cleaning up the disastrous array of dishes.
Your hands are pruny and dried out by the time you’re done. So, with the most reluctant gait, you force yourself out into the living room to fetch your favorite lotion. A football game is playing on the TV at an obscene volume, but they seem to be ignoring it in favor of whatever card game they’ve got going on.
Ben shoots you a small smile as he catches you creeping around the perimeter of the living room. Just as you’re about to sneak out, he calls your name, cutting through the buzz of chatter. “Gonna join us?”
His smug grin is met with a stare that promises death. “Oh, sure,” you grit out, wishing you could choke him out. Sammy waves you over and you perch on the edge of the couch’s armrest. “You winning?” You ask, glancing over his cards and finding yourself completely lost on whatever game it is they’re playing.
One of his buddies lets out a loud laugh and Sammy’s cheeks go red. You’ll take that as a no. The guy reaches over, slapping Sammy’s shoulder. “Hey, who knows, maybe your little lady can be a good luck charm.”
“Don’t love that,” you whisper to Sammy as he takes you by the waist and pulls you onto his lap.
“What,” he teases, “you don’t like being my little lady?”
You slap at his shoulder and he just laughs. You make yourself comfortable, head resting in the curve of his neck as you watch a few more rounds of this odd game play out. It doesn’t seem that anyone’s particularly good at it. Every turn ends with someone muttering something obscene under their breath.
When your brain has reached its threshold for drunken cheers, you turn your lips toward Sammy’s ear. “I’m going to bed,” you tell him. Already struggling to keep your eyes open.
He peers over at you, eyes a little wide. “You’re staying the night?”
You pull back, slightly offended by his tone. “Don’t I always?”
Something shifts on his face, this fleeting emotion that he doesn’t let you get a decent read on. “Yeah, yeah,” his tone is too light, so casual you don’t believe it. “I just don’t want us being loud and keeping you up.”
You just shake your head and press a firm kiss to his cheek. “You know I sleep through anything.” Balancing slightly on his shoulder, you push yourself up to your feet.
“Calling it quits?” Ben asks, looking just as bored as you are. You just offer him a tired smile and move to head to Sammy’s bedroom.
“Hey, sweetheart, you mind clearing some of this away so we can use the table?” Turning, you’re shocked to find one of Sammy’s buddy’s addressing you. Although, you’re not sure how you can be certain considering he doesn’t even look at you when he’s speaking, eyes too focused on his cards.
“Excuse me?” You mutter, so taken aback you forget to tell him off.
“You’re a doll,” he dismisses, swiping one of the other men’s cards. Stunned by the audacity and such blatant dismissal, you actually find yourself doing what he asks. It feels wrong as you bend down and scoop up the plates. You practically made them a feast, the least these assholes could do is help you clean up.
With a low huff and a pointed glare at Sammy, you take the dishes into the kitchen. You don’t even want to clean them. You’ve already spent half an hour doing that tonight. But the idea of all this food being dried on the ceramic tomorrow disturbs you just enough to grab the sponge.
Ben walks in from the living room, a couple of plates and glasses in his hands. He drops them by the sink and you send him a grateful smile. “Thought you were going to bed,” he muses, digging around in the fridge for another beer.
A little bit of shame curls in your stomach as you clean up after the men in Sammy’s apartment. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I just don’t want to worry about this in the morning.”
He lets out a snort which snags a laugh from you. “Why would you worry? This ain’t even your place.”
Your hands still, soap and soggy crumbs dripping beneath your fingers as you hesitate to meet his eyes. “Well,” you force a cheeky smile and shrug. “Not yet, at least.” God, how pathetic are you?
He holds his hands up, surrendering even though you can see there’s more he wants to say. You watch him as he heads back into the living room and drop the dishes in the sink. You’re done for the night, you’ve done far more than you even wanted to. Sucking in a sharp breath you dry your hands and try to head back to bed.
A quick, “Beer!” has you pausing at the threshold of the kitchen. It pains you, but you’re already in here and you don’t feel like looking petty in front of Sammy’s friends. Grumbling under your breath about men and getting off their fat asses, you pluck a beer from the fridge and plop it in the first outstretched palm you see.
The man chuckles while Ben shoots you a surprised look. “Nice, Sammy. You’ve got her well-trained. Must’ve learned from the first marraige.” Your jaw actually drops as you stare at the balding man addressing your boyfriend.
Another one pipes up, his laughter making your skin crawl. “Everyone knows the first is just a starter. It’s not until, at least, the third that you actually land a decent broad.”
You suck your teeth, staring pointedly at Sammy while you wait for him to pipe up. When he doesn’t, a low chuckle leaves you. “Hear that, baby? You got one more after me.”
Sammy finally meets your eye, just barely. His head ducks down as he shrugs. “They don’t mean it like that.” You let out an astounded gasp, looking around for anyone to support you on just how insanely backwards this whole conversation is. But the only one who will meet your eye is Ben and his stupid face just says “I told you so.”
“Right, okay.” You finally make your way into Sammy’s bedroom, just to grab your bag and turn your happy ass right around. “I’m going home, Sammy,” you call over your shoulder.
“Wait- What?”
You hear Ben let out a little laugh while you grab your coat from the hook. “Hope you’re ready to get reacquainted with your right hand, man.” His tone is malicious.
It’s strange, going to your own place after work. Not immediately starting on dinner. It’s a slight wake-up call that you’re committing too much of your time to a man who hasn’t even asked you to move in yet.
Still, that doesn’t make you miss the smile he always greets you with any less. Tossing your coat on the back of your couch, you head into your kitchen. Your cabinets are hardly stalked, the majority of your meals taking place at Sammy’s apartment. Meaning your dinner tonight is going to be expired ramen and some saltines.
You’ve had worse.
Your phone rings just as you toss the ramen in the microwave. Glaring down at the screen you watch Sammy’s picture light up. Crossing your arms, you lean back on the counter and wait for it to stop. He immediately calls back and you decide to let him stew a bit. You allow three ignored calls before you finally pick up on the fourth.
“Hey, sweetheart, where are you?” He’s doing a horrible job at masking the stress in his voice and it almost makes you smile.
“I’m at my place. Where else would I be?” You turn to the microwave, watching as the water bubbles and froths over the lid of your ramen cup. Grimacing, you redirect your attention to Sammy. More importantly, the leftovers you know he has and you really want to dig into.
“With me,” he supplies, laughter light and uneasy.
You hum a little and shake your head. “I don’t know. Is this because you miss me? Or is it just because I’m so well trained?” You make zero effort to hide the venom in your tone. He should know he screwed up. He should have also already figured out that he was going to be put on a week-long sex probation after last night.
Sammy lets out a low groan and you can picture the way he probably slides his hand across his jaw, eyes clenching shut. “I’m really sorry about that, honey. I swear, I told them off the second you left. I just got drunk and…”
“And… acted like the sort of jackasses I’ve already spent a lifetime dumping?” You supply for him.
He lets out another low laugh and you hate how you find yourself smiling at the sound. “Exactly. So, would you come over? Let me make it up to you?”
You let out a sharp breath, eyeing your boiling dinner with disdain. “You’re lucky I don’t have anything to eat over here.”
You let yourself in with the key Sammy gave you. Not an invitation to move in, just an easier way for you to get in before him and have dinner ready. Maybe his friends were right, he does have you trained.
Shaking away the disturbing thought, you narrow your eyes as Sammy walks out of the kitchen. He gives you that familiar smile of his you love and it takes every iota of self control not to return it.
He frowns when you don’t reciprocate. “Really, sweetheart?”
“What?” You take your coat off, kicking the door closed behind you.
Sammy shoots you a flat look, palm finding a spot on your lower back as he guides you into the kitchen. “Is this how we’re playing it tonight? You want to be passive-aggressive?”
You scoff, some of your anger easing as you realize he’s made dinner, tonight. “I actually just prefer aggressive-aggressive, you should be happy I’m being passive.” Sammy just laughs and presses a firm kiss to your temple.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” You hum, watching as he grabs two plates and drops them on the dining table. You follow him, moving to take a seat when his hands snake out and take a hold of your waist.
“What’re you-” There’s no stopping the laugh that bubbles out of you as he tugs you onto his lap. And that knowing smile he sends you means he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Yeah, I’m the impossible one,” you scowl, but it’s defeated by the smile tugging at your lips.
He reaches up, brushing some hair over your shoulder as he shifts you in his lap. He’s got a better view of your face now, his expression softening into something sincere. “I really am sorry about last night, hun. There’s no excuse.”
You bite your lip, arm lifting to wind over his shoulders. Inside, you’re still fuming, raging at him for not even attempting to defend you, just letting those guys speak to you like you were some maid. But you’ve spent years being the “cool” girlfriend, always letting shit slide so that guys don’t get tired of you after a month.
So, instead of doubling down, you lean down and kiss him. “It’s fine, Sammy,” you tell him.
Unfortunately, the cool girl syndrome has and always will be a chronic blight on your life.
“We, uh, have a schedule, now,” he tells you. His eyes drop from your face, fiddling with a stray thread on your sweater, instead.
You swat his hand away before he ruins the hem. “What do you mean?”
“Every Thursday night,” he tells you, head resting against your shoulder as you pick at the food he made. “There shouldn't be any more surprise drop-ins for you.”
You let out a huff that he tenses at. As much as you want to object, you’ve been on the receiving end of one of his rants when he was first divorcing Tammi. She had never wanted to go to his office functions. Never wanted to meet any of his cop buddies. She was always so neurotic and steadfast in being as separated from his work as she could be.
You didn’t want to do that. You weren’t looking to be the girl that shit on her man hanging out with his friends just because you don’t like them (cool girl strikes again). You don’t want his friends to be right, you don’t want to just be the stepping stone while he looks for the third wife.
“Alright,” you acquiesce and he perks up. That stupid, crooked grin almost makes it worth it. “But that bar-wench shit isn’t ever happening again,” you warn him, tone icy as you pull him back by his hair, forcing him to meet your eyes.
Sammy nods eagerly, “I know, baby. We’re just gonna order pizzas from now on, you won’t have to do a damn thing.” Your gaze narrows into something sharp and he offers a timid smile. “And for the rest of tonight, I’m at your beck and call, promise.”
Slowly, you loosen your grip on his hair, running your fingers through the curls. And the way he preens when you call him a “Good boy” almost makes you think his friends won’t be a problem.
There’s a game on the TV, soccer or football, you don’t know. Sammy’s got it turned down low so you can focus on your book. He’d dropped onto the couch an hour ago and hasn’t found the energy to move since.
Peering over the edge of your book you watch as he pulls your legs into his lap, eyes never leaving the TV. A little smile curls on your lips as his hands idly stroke over your skin. He doesn’t even look like he’s aware he’s awake and he still needs his hands on you.
You hide behind your book as your smile grows. Asshole, making you all flustered over something so small.
Really, though, it’s not your fault that all your exes were pieces of crap. That now your standards are so low you think a man respecting your “no” is a sign of saintliness.
Just as you settle back into your book, Sammy’s door slams open, loud footsteps sounding through the entryway. Your heart jumps to your throat, legs jolting as you try and get a look over the couch. Sammy’s hands tighten around your legs, stopping you from bolting. Despite the way you can feel your heartbeat in your abdomen and are about to soil yourself, Sammy looks utterly unbothered.
“Where you at, man?”
“Shit,” you hiss at the unnecessarily loud voice coming from the door. Grabbing your phone you check the date and, sure enough, it's Thursday. Like an idiot you’ve already forgotten that he and his buddies are now on a strict schedule. You’ve been getting good at staying away or making yourself unavailable during his Thursday night games. Not tonight, though.
The bald cop, Tony, you think his name is, makes his way to the living room. He eyes you and Sammy, cackling when he sees your legs in Sammy’s lap. “Shit, man,” he slaps Sammy’s shoulder. “She’s got you whipped.”
It’s almost subtle, the way Sammy brushes you off, reaching up to greet the man with one of those bro hugs. But you know him too well, you’ve gotten too good at recognizing the slight flush on his face is embarrassment. As if showing your girlfriend affection is something to be ashamed of.
No wonder they’re all divorced.
Curling completely into yourself, you watch Sammy jump up, heading into the kitchen to greet the rest of his friends streaming in. At the very least they’ve decided the dining table is a better place to play than the living room. That way you don’t have to sneak past them when you try to head into Sammy’s room.
With something venomous burning inside you, you pick up your book again. You’ll just ignore them, read, and go about your night like they aren’t a newfound plague on your peace. As they all settle, it grows increasingly difficult to try and drown them out.
They’re filling the apartment with expletives and insults straight from the eighties, clearly none of them are any good at whatever they’re playing. You’re not even sure why they get together. You’ve never witnessed one successful game.
Through the tin of rowdy men, you manage to make out a knock on the front door. You can’t imagine it’s anyone from this group, they prefer just busting through like the Kool-Aid man.
Sitting up, you tilt your head, trying to hear if anyone’s moving toward it. Another knock and then Sammy’s shouting, “Babe, can you get that?”
“Babe?” You scoff, nose wrinkling as you push off the couch. Sure, you’ll get the door he’s five feet from. You send him a glare he doesn’t bother acknowledging as you throw open the door.
Ben’s waiting on the other side with an easy grin. He’s balancing an obscene amount of pizza boxes as you pull him inside. “Glad you’re here,” you tell him, taking half of the stack from him.
“Thank you,” he mutters, trailing after you into the kitchen. Without even thinking, you’re grabbing plates, already pulling out slices for the others.
Ben gives you an odd look, leaning against the island, head tilted as he watches you. “You’re turning domestic.” His tone is teasing, but it’s not friendly. It seems like a warning.
Swallowing thickly, you shrug, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.” You pause, finally looking up at him and he offers you a knowing smirk. “Right?” You whisper, suddenly unsure of yourself.
“Sure,” he grins, taking some of the plates for you. “Whatever you say.”
“You’re such an ass,” you hiss, following him into the dining room. His shoulders shake a little as he laughs and you roll your eyes. Sammy gives Ben a brief greeting, smiling up at you when you pass him his plate.
You toss Tony’s plate on the table with barely enough control to not have the glass shatter. Just as you begin to walk off, his arm snaps out, hand wrenching your wrist back. “Ow,” you curse, frowning down at the tight grip.
“How about a beer, sweetheart?” He doesn’t even look at you.
You’re just about to tell him off when Sammy’s voice cuts through the chatter. “How about you keep your hands to yourself, Johnson?” The rest of the guys go quiet, looking up from their cards with nosy intrigue. Sammy’s just staring at Tony, and you swear you’ve never seen him so angry.
You’ve heard him yell before, sometimes into the phone, a lot of the times when he’s ranted to you. But this was a lot colder than what you’ve experienced. Too calm to be safe. Slowly, Tony’s disgusting, clammy hand releases your arm.
Sammy doesn't look away, cards splayed carelessly on the table as he leans forward. “You touch her again and we’re gonna have a problem. Got it?”
God, that’s hot.
Tony cows under Sammy’s glare. He shrugs, picking up his cards and muttering how he didn’t mean anything by it. You just scoff, glaring down at the bald bastard. Then, just as you’re thinking about dragging Sammy into the bedroom for being so commanding, he laughs.
Your lips part in astonishment, Ben’s head snaps to him with a furrowed brow. Sammy reaches over the table and slaps Tony’s shoulder. “Ah, come on, man. I’m fuckin’ with you. No big deal.” The other men let out stilted laughter, trying to get over the sudden tension.
Sammy looks over at you, “Right, babe?”
No, it’s a big fucking deal. If I feel those clammy palms one more time, I’ll cut off his fat fingers and serve them to you all on the next game night.
And stop fucking calling me that!
“Whatever,” you mutter, eyes narrowing at him as you swallow every venomous word down. Your dignity burns as it tries to crawl its way back up your throat. But, you force it down, making yourself turn around before you say something you regret.
But, then, Tony chuckles. “Well, the beer, sweetheart?”
That fraying thread of self-control unwinds just a little more as you turn around to glare down at Tony. “You got legs, don’t you? Go get your own fucking beer.”
One of the other guys pipes up, snickering at you like you’re just a little dog yapping at them. “You on the rag or something? Just bring us another round.”
At this point, you don’t even look to Sammy for help. You already know he’s not going to do jack shit. He’s clearly too much of a pussy to snap back at guys with seniority over him. “Pigs,” you mutter, not caring if they hear as you storm off to the bedroom.
The door to Sammy’s room is closed in a poor attempt to block out the noise that’s starting to give you a migraine. You can still hear them, laughing and making fun of each other like they didn’t just humiliate you. Like they didn’t just drag your sweetheart of a boyfriend to the dark side.
You glare down at your phone, an article about that jackass Tony glaring back up at you. You’ve seen multiple bodycam videos, smaller articles, all about this asshole who uses excessive force and has been involved in multiple internal affairs investigations. Sammy might have a shorter temper than most, but he’s not corrupt and he doesn’t just casually hang out with pieces of shit like this. He definitely doesn’t play about someone putting their hands on you. There’s something about this whole situation that seems wrong. You just haven’t figured out what, yet.
The door slowly creaks open and you look up with a scowl. Sammy never checks on you when these guys are over. So, it’s not much of a surprise when you see Ben poking his head inside. “Hey,” he offers a tentative smile.
You sit up, patting the spot on the bed by the footboard. “What’s up?” You ask, anger simmering down slightly as he drops himself beside you.
“So,” he flexes his hands, gaze darting to the door before landing on you again.
You give him a shaky smile. “What’s up, Ben? You’re acting weird.” You tilt your head and shrug. “Weirder than usual.”
He lets out a low laugh, nudging you with his elbow. “Shut up.” For the first time since game nights began, there’s a genuine smile on your face. “What do you think of Sammy’s new buddies?” He nods toward the dining room and you scoff. Whatever face you make clearly says everything you haven’t because he sucks his teeth and nods.
“Yeah, I’m not much of a fan, either.”
“What the hell is going on? I’ve never even heard half their names before and suddenly they’re infesting our apartment.” Ben’s brows perk at the slip up and you shake your head, brushing it off.
He rubs the back of his neck, shifting further up the bed. “I don’t know, there was a change in the shift rotation, we’ve been seeing a lot more of them lately. I can’t believe he’s actually getting along with the assholes.”
“Yeah,” you laugh, but it does nothing to mask the hurt in your voice. “How the hell do you think I feel?” He looks over at you, expression softening at the pain on your face. Carefully, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a brief hug.
He seems hesitant to even touch you, probably out of respect for Sammy. But you’ll take whatever comfort you can get, as small as it may be.
Just as you rest your head on him, the bedroom door creaks open completely. Sammy walks in, brows furrowed and a scowl on his face as he takes in the both of you. “Was wondering where you went,” he mutters, glaring at the arm Ben has around you.
Ben lets out an awkward sigh, slowly letting you go. You almost complain, but you don’t feel like dealing with any more machismo drama tonight.
“What’s going on?” Sammy asks, closing the door behind him as he steps into the room. He stands in front of you both, arms crossed in that way that usually makes you want to bite him. But your attraction to him tonight has been severely and utterly depleted.
“We were just discussing the impeccable manners of our guests,” you joke, trailing off when he doesn’t even crack a smile.
“My guests,” he corrects, tone painfully sharp.
“Right, well,” you stutter, completely unsure of yourself. You’ve had too manny slip ups tonight. You’ve allowed yourself far too many moments of delusion thinking that Sammy might actually take the relationship a step further.
Ben jumps in, a scowl on his face as he gets to his feet. “You’re acting like she doesn’t practically live with you, man. Cleaning the place and-”
“Butt out,” Sammy snaps, taking a step closer to Ben. You can feel it brewing, the tension that always seems to linger between them. They’re one pissing contest away from just beating each other bloody.
“Hey, you know,” you get up and stretch with a dramatic yawn. “I’m pretty tired, think I might go to sleep.” Sammy’s eyes dart toward yours before he takes the hint, scoffing as he storms out of the room.
Ben shoots you one last look before he follows after him. In the wake of their absence, something like shame seems to fill you. Your relationship is deteriorating right before your eyes, slipping through your fingers. It feels like you’re just letting it happen. Should you be doing something more?
Is this just a phase he needs to go through?
He did skip the whole bachelor pad thing after his divorce, pretty much already ready to date you. Maybe some part of him never got to expel that chauvinistic resentment of Tammi and he’s doing it now. Not that it makes it any better.
Turning off the lamp, you lay down over the comforter and force your eyes to close.
Barely a few hours later, you can feel the bed dipping behind you. Sammy’s arms wind around your waist, careful as they pull you into his chest. He’s trying not to wake you, completely unaware that you’ve been up the past few hours debating the future of your relationship.
There's a part of you that thinks you've figured out why he's acting like this, why he would ever possibly hang around these clowns. But it's not good enough to excuse how he's been behaving.
“They gone?” You grumble, holding stubbornly to your pillow so you don’t give in and turn around to hug him.
“Yeah,” he hums, the noise vibrating against your back. He pulls you closer, lips slowly trailing along your neck, hands dipping to the waistband of your shorts. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a scoff. He can’t seriously think he’s going to get lucky tonight?
“Just need to clean up,” he tells you, hands pausing their descent. The silence between you is loud, it takes a moment before you catch his meaning.
“When the hell did I turn into your maid?” He stiffens behind you, arms tightening around you. “Not my guests,” you spit out, “not my fucking problem.”
“Oh, baby,” he rolls you over and you hold tight to the pillow. He frowns down at it as it pushes him back from you. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he promises, attempting to tug the pillow from your hands.
You kick out at his ankle and glare. “What did you mean it like? And what was all that with Tony? You’re just going to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal?”
With a low grunt, he wrenches the pillow from your hands. You scowl as he pulls you into him. “I’m really sorry, honey,” he whispers, brushing some hair off your cheek. “That was just…” You raise your brows, so fascinated with whatever BS excuse he’s got this time.
Sammy just sighs, forehead falling against your own as he gives up entirely. “Pathetic,” you whisper. “You’ve got nothing?” Your finger digs into his side and he lets out a low laugh.
“No, nothing.”
“Well then-”
“‘Cept this,” he cuts you off, lips finding yours as he rolls over, taking you with him and settling you comfortably on his lap. You can’t help the little moan that slips out, hips Pavlov’d into immediately moving against his.
His hands drift down, palms finding your ass as he pulls you tighter against him. “You do not play fair,” you mutter against his lips. He just lets out another laugh, thrusting up into you and shocking another moan from you.
“Never said I did,” he teases, hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt. With a defeated sigh, you relent, sitting up and peeling off your top. His hands trail up your body, rough callouses ticking the sensitive skin as he cups your breasts.
You fist his shirt in your hands, dragging him up to meet your lips. “Off,” you demand, tugging at his t-shirt. Sammy’s quick to oblige, soft muscles of his abdomen flexing as he tears it off. What little patience he has snaps as you finally take off your bra. You can't help the laugh that tears out of you when he grabs your waist and flips you over, pressing you into the pillows.
His lips carve a path down your body, skin igniting under every touch as he hooks his fingers into the band of your shorts. “Let me make it up to you?” He asks, shoulders already parting your thighs.
You consider it, he does look handsome between your legs like that. But there’s a barbed hurt in your chest, and humiliation from earlier tonight that makes your tongue knot.
Mouth souring, you shake your head and pull back. “No,” his face falls and you can’t help the cruel laugh that slips from you. You tug him up by his chin and offer a sharp smile. “No sex until you get your little buddies under control.” His jaw drops before his head is falling to the crook of your neck.
“You don’t play fair,” he grumbles, and you can feel just how unfair you’re being by how tight his boxers are.
“Never said I did,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his temple and rolling over. Sammy follows, arms winding around your waist as he mutters to himself.
He can clean his apartment by himself. He can cook his own meals and talk shop with his friends as much as he wants. But he does not get to disrespect you and think everything’s going to be fine and dandy.
You’ll just have to discuss this with him when you’re both not pent up and disappointed.
Your head is resting on his lap, his hands idly stroking along your spine when he laughs. You peer up, curious as you try and catch a glance at his phone. “What is it?”
“Come here,” he pulls on your arm and you sit up, curling into his side. “Just some stupid shit from the guys.” He offers you his phone and you take it, stomach already burning with anticipation. Please just be Ben being a sweet dumbass and not something horrible.
T > Rookie lost it on me today
J > That one’s got a stick up her ass
T > I swear to God I can’t even get through a goddamn conversation without her calling me a Pig.
Your stomach knots itself completely as you glance over at Sammy. He’s already turned his attention to the TV, completely unaware of your internal meltdown. Then, the kicker, Sammy, replying to J’s message.
Pretty sure it’s just a tampon
It’s immediately followed by one of those morons sending a gif of Miss Piggy losing it.
Not only did your man just make a goddamn period joke, they dragged Miss Piggy into this. How the fuck dare they?
You toss Sammy’s phone onto his lap and he lets out a slight groan as it nails his groin. “What,” he trails off at the look on your face. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. It’s not that big a deal.”
Crossing your arms, you put as much space between the two of you as you physically can. “You really think that’s funny?” Sammy rolls his eyes, turning back to the TV and ignoring you. “Fuck that,” you hiss, reaching over and turning it off.
Sammy’s glare is sharp and for the first time he looks like he has no interest in you. That look on his face is just flat, empty as he waits for you to get your rant over with so he can go back to his game.
“So, you agree with that shit?” You demand, heart pumping a little too fast.
Sammy’s head sinks back into the couch cushions with a heavy sigh. “No, come on, leave it alone. It’s just a joke.” Tears sting your eyes as you're reminded of every failed relationship. Every moment you were dismissed or appeased so they could just go back to whatever they want, not giving a damn about how you feel.
“Seriously, Sammy. When I’m upset and just happen to be on my period, do you just dismiss how I’m feeling? Pretend to give a shit so you don’t have to deal with me? When I’m upset do you just think I’m being ridiculous?”
You’re honestly not trying to start a fight. But you’d grown up around the type of men who knew blaming it on your cycle was the best way to shut you up. The most effective way to invalidate your feelings and make you feel so small. You need to know if the man you care so much about has secretly been that sort of man this whole time.
Sammy scrubs his hand down his face and lets out an incredulous laugh. “This is different,” he defends, staring at you like you’re overreacting.
And maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. At this point, it doesn’t matter, because there is no excuse for just how much he’s changed over a few weeks. “How is it different?”
Sammy just shakes his head. He gives you a flat look and scoffs, turning the TV back on. You purse your lips, biting your tongue so the tears don’t spill. “I don't like your new friends.” He either doesn’t notice how choked up you sound or doesn’t care.
“Good thing you’re not my mom,” he mutters.
“No,” you stand up and he sighs. “Just your live-in maid.” Sammy lets out another tired sigh, head sinking into his hand as you collect your things.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going home, Sammy. “ And as the door slams behind you, he doesn’t try to stop you.
As you head to his apartment, making sure it's not a Thursday, you have to build yourself up. Give yourself a dozen pep talks before you manage to crawl up the stairs.
You’re going to sit down. You’re going to have a conversation. After a copious amount of research on his new friends, you've come to your own conclusion. This has to be some sort of undercover shit he's doing for internal affairs to try and bust these asssholes. But that doesn't change the fact that prolonged exposure to their behaviors has shifted who he is as a person. Changed him into a man you want nothing to do with.
He should have given you a heads up. Told you to stay clear for a few weeks while he works on this. Anything other than throwing you into this deep-end blind.
By the end of the night you’re either going to be single, again, or have the man you care about back.
Tonight, you knock instead of using your key, just needing another minute before you face him. When the door opens, you’re caught off guard by the wide smile on his face. “Oh, thank god.” He reaches out, arms wrapping around your waist as he tugs you into him.
“Uh, hi,” you smile, taken aback by the sudden surge of affection. You barely have a moment to hug him before he’s pulling back.
“Guys are coming over tonight,” he tells you, and your heart drops to your ass as the door closes behind you. “Think you could whip something up for us, baby? I didn’t have time to call the pizza place.”
You’re stunned, absolutely gobsmacked by his audacity as he pulls you into the kitchen. While you’re frozen, jaw permanently dropped, he pulls off your coat and positions you in front of the stove. He even goes so far as to tie on your apron for you.
“I thought you guys meet on Thursdays?” You mutter absentmindedly, blindly pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
“Had a change of plans today,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, and then he’s gone. A minute later you hear his shower start up. You stare down at the stove for a long time before you finally move.
You whip up a feast for him, a last meal if you will. Because you don’t need a conversation anymore. You know exactly how this night is going to end. Might as well give him something decent to eat while you dump him.
The guys start to flood in while he’s still in the shower. They don’t take their shoes off, tracking mud across the linoleum, something Sammy can look forward to cleaning up on his own. They don’t greet you, acknowledge your existence, just grab a beer and carry on.
Feeling numb, you dig through the fridge, finding an expired carton of milk that smells nauseatingly like sulfur. You pour it into your pan, expression flat as the clumps begin to slough out.
The door opens again, you can hear the person taking their shoes off and know who it is before he walks in. “Need any help?”
You don’t turn to face Ben, just toss a handful of vegetables into the pan. “Don’t eat the dip,” you warn him.
“Uh,” he lets out an awkward chuckle. You turn, eyes narrowed as you shake your head. “Well, shit, alright. You got Visine in there or something?”
“Might as well,” you shrug. Slowly, eyes a little wide, he backs out of the kitchen. You just swallow down another wave of fiery rage as you brew up a crime against cooking. But, it will absolutely give them diarrhea for the next week, so you’ll pardon yourself this one time.
Your anger and hurt just builds and festers with every call for beer. Every shouting bought of laughter that makes your shoulders jump and your head throb. By the time Sammy makes it out of the shower, your mind has been entirely made up. Humiliation has gone cold and turned your blood to ice as you stand in his kitchen.
No part of you melts or swoons when he comes up to you with wet curls and presses a kiss to your cheek. His hands hover over your waist, brows furrowing when you don’t turn to reciprocate. You quietly plate his food, giving him an extra serving of dip, and pass it off to him.
“Hey,” he puts the plate on the counter, voice low and soft. “What’s wrong?” He tries to get you to look at him but you stay stubbornly rooted in place, idly pushing the food around in the pan.
“Were you ever going to ask me to move in with you?”
He goes stiff, backing up with a frown that somehow breaches your walls and makes your chest ache. Never been good with rejection, you remind yourself, poorly attempting to build those walls back up. “It’s a little soon, don’t you think?”
You can’t look at him. The second you do, you know you’re just going to cry. You finally thought you were good enough for someone. That someone actually liked you, flaws and all. But, like every other relationship you’ve had, you were just deluding yourself.
Sucking your teeth, you just nod. “Are we okay?” He asks, taking the food and backing up.
“Fine,” you tell him, turning to bring the rest of the snacks to the dining room. Sammy takes his seat, still looking worried as you set everything up. Ben reaches for the dip and you swat his hand, his eyes widen slightly as he remembers your warning and he backs off.
The last plate you set down is with barely any care. You’re angry and hurt, about to leave the one relationship you really thought would last. So, a little sauce splatters on the guys shirts. Not enough to do permanent damage, but enough to have them bitching.
“Damn it!”
“What’re you blind?”
Smiling, you straighten up and let out a sharp laugh. “Alright, I’m done.”
Sammy frowns, hand tightening around his fork. “With the food?” Oh, and that poor pathetic ounce of hope in his voice makes something in you burn.
The TV is blasting behind you and it’s just another noise adding to the pain in your head. You pick up the remote, shutting it off for a moment of peace. Immediately, the grown men in front of you boo, one even tosses a napkin at you, hand reaching for the remote.
And you just… snap.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ, I am so sick of this, of all of you.” They go quiet as you slam the remote on the table, plates trembling. “You are grown men, you want a beer, then you go get it your goddamn selves. And before any one of you fuckers says some shit about me being on my period… I want it to be very clear that I have never been dryer in my life than I am looking at you pathetic excuses for men.”
Sammy stands as you undo your apron, tearing it off and tossing it at him. But you’re not done, it’s just pouring out- everything you didn’t say. Everything you held back for a man who never really wanted you.
“God, you wonder why the female rookies don’t like you people! It’s because everytime she performs better than you, everytime she calls you on your shit, you undermine her and blame it on the ‘rag.’ You’re just pathetic little men who can’t handle a woman who is secure in her job because it reminds you of just how small you are.”
Your face is hot, chest heaving as you stand there, staring at them all. You’re sure they’ve seen this meltdown before. During their divorce proceedings, watching as their marriage fell apart or their daughters stopped talking to them. But, for once, they are blessedly silent and you feel like you can actually breathe again.
There’s laughter and you look up to find Ben leaning back with a grin. He surveys the other’s faces and lets out a low whistle. You’re almost tempted to laugh with him.
Then, Sammy reaches for you, hand hesitant as it lands on your shoulder. “Sweetheart-”
“No,” you snap, voice quieter now. He flinches as you slap his hand away, hazel eyes wide and shining with hurt. “I am done with you, Sammy. Alright?”
“What?” His eyes dart to the others and he takes a desperate step closer to you. But you just shove him back. “Hun, let’s talk about this.”
“No, no I’m done doing that. So, uh, enjoy cracking a beer with the boys without the drama of your untrained woman. You’ve got a right hand, what the fuck else do you need me for?” You grab your purse and shake your head.
Sammy chases after you but you’re not letting him weasel his way out of this again. You’d made a promise to yourself. You’re leaving single tonight, he’s had far too many chances to get his act together.
Just as you’re running into the parking lot, you hear footsteps racing toward you. You whip around, watery glare turning confused when you see Ben catching up with you. “Hey,” he calls out your name and you let out a tired sigh as you stop.
“Look,” he darts in front of you, slightly out of breath. “As entertaining to watch as that was, what’s happening… It’s not what you think.”
“I know,” you interrupt him.
His mouth droops before snapping shut again. “Huh?”
“It’s got to do with an investigation, right?” Slowly, he nods, infuriatingly surprised by you connecting the dots. “Yeah, I figured that out a while ago, Ben. But he didn’t give me any warning before he turned into this Don Draper wannabe. He didn’t prep me or just keep me out of this. This all being a part of something bigger doesn’t change or excuse how humiliated he made me feel.”
Ben wants to say more, you can see it on his face. His arm lifts before falling limply to his side. With a sigh, he runs his hand over his face and offers you a sorry smile. “Do you need a ride home?” He asks softly.
“No, but I appreciate it.” He nods, and you blink, eyes burning as you stare down at the pavement. Hesitantly, his hand lands on your shoulder, softly squeezing before he backs up.
“Take care of yourself.”
You hum, throat too tight for words and wait for him to go back into the building before you let the tears fall.
When you wake up the next morning, your eyes are crusted from crying too much and your head is throbbing from, again, crying a ridiculous amount. Blindly, you grope around your nightstand until you find your phone.
It shouldn’t be a shock that Sammy’s reached out, but the amount of missed calls on your screen is a number you didn’t think you could ever reach.
He’s also blown your messages up. The majority of them promising to explain his behavior. Asking you to call him. Give him one more chance (he’s had plenty). And then there are ones where you can tell he’s starting to get pissed off that you’re just ignoring him.
Serves him right.
Your thumb twitches against the call back button. Almost wanting to hear how he’s going to explain this away. But you force yourself to put the phone down. You swore to yourself, no more cool girl BS. You’re not going to just let him treat you how he did and get away with it.
So, as difficult as it is, you mute his notifications. You don’t have it in your heart to block him, not yet. But you can at least spare yourself the misery of watching his picture light up your screen every ten minutes.
Occasionally, though, throughout the week you have a moment of weakness. You’ll check to see just how much more he’s reached out and then listen to a few voicemails. They all relatively sound the same:
“Please, sweetheart call me back” and then you’ll hear Ben in the background “Man, this is pathetic” Sammy will tell him to shut it and, again, plead for you to just give him a minute of your time.
When you start to feel really lonely, when your bed is just too cold and too big, you almost do it. You’re so close to just calling him so you can hear something other than the quiet of your apartment. This space that has become foreign to you because Sammy’s place was becoming home. And then, you’re reminded of how he treated you, what he took from you both by not just giving you a heads up on the investigation. And you put your phone down, hurt and angry all over again.
By weeks end, your friends call you out to go to a club with them. They don’t know you broke up with Sammy, they think you’re still the perfect couple. Which leads to a night filled with painful, barbed reminders of how alone you are now, while your friends bemoan how perfect and sweet your relationship is.
You should have told them the truth before you went out with them. But they’ve witnessed so many messy breakups from you. They’d probably just blame you. If you can’t keep a decent guy like Sammy than it has to be you whose the problem.
So, after a long night of playing the designated driver (because you’re the only one happy and dating someone, in theory) and being reminded of how amazing your relationship used to be… You’re already in a foul mood when a passing cop decides it’ll be funny to get a handful of your ass.
Not just a slap or a quick squeeze, either. This man puts both palms, cups your cheeks, and nearly lifts you in the air he squeezes so tight. And you, completely ignoring his badge, treat him how you would any other creep.
You deck him.
Suddenly your face is pressing against the hood of a patrol car. Your friends are shouting “We’re recording this, babe!” And you’re being cuffed and thrown into the back of their car.
But, hey, at least your friends recorded it.
“Whoa!” Ben is the first one to see you as you’re pulled into the station. You’d consider yourself lucky if seeing him didn’t mean Sammy was around somewhere.
“What the hell are you doing?” He snaps at your arresting officer while the piece of shit jerks your arm out of socket.
“She assaulted an officer,” his partner pipes up. Your gaze goes to the deep black bruise ringing his eye and you grin.
“All right,” you huff. “Like he didn’t assault me first.”
Ben’s eyes dart between the both of you, his jaw clenching when he sees the marks on your arm from your rough detainment. “What happened?” He asks you, holding up a hand when the cop tries to talk.
“I was out with some friends and this asshole thought he could just stick his hand up my dress.”
“Didn’t take much,” that bitch smirks. “Look at the length of that thing-”
“Hey!” Ben snaps and it catches the attention of some of the others milling around. “That’s enough. Now let her go.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Ben pushes the guy away, taking his key and working off one of your cuffs. “This is Sammy’s girl, you’re lucky I’m the one that found you, not him.”
The guys eyes widen and he backs off with a huffy sigh. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” your stomach rolls with disgust. “But if it were any other woman, you’d still somehow make yourself the victim? I see I only hold value when there’s a man attached to my name.”
“Alright,” Ben puts his hand on your back, turning you before you provoke another fist fight. “I’m sorry about that.”
He sits you down at his desk and watches you carefully. “I should file a lawsuit,” it’s an empty threat but you seriously considered it on the ride over.
Ben snorts, eyeing you up and down carefully. “How’ve you been doing?”
“Fine,” you shrug. “About as well as anyone is after a breakup.”
Ben leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, a seriously concerned look on his fac. “He’s falling apart.”
“Ben…”
“Seriously, and not just because you poisoned him with spoiled dip,” that brings a small smile to your face. Ben returns it for a moment before his face settles into something more serious. “I don’t know how much more I can take. He’s snapping at any little thing. He won’t stop bitching at me. I’m losing my mind.”
“Look,” you rub your wrist and look away. “Am I being booked or not? I want to go home.”
Ben sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re not getting booked.”
“Thank you,” and before you can even get up, he’s grabbing the loose handcuff and snapping it to his desk. Your eyes widen, stomach sinking as you tug futilely at it. “Ben,” you hiss. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” he shrugs off his jacket, laying it over your lap so your dress doesn’t ride all the way up. “But I can’t take this anymore.”
Your jaw drops as he walks off and you know exactly where he’s going. “Traitor!” You shout at his back, he gives you a sarcastic thumbs up that almost make you wish you had a gun.
You’re sitting there for about ten minutes before Sammy’s rushing up. Most of the guys in here know you, but the few that don’t keep asking how much a night will cost. You’re starting to think it might be time to retire this dress.
“Hey,” your name rushes from him in one panicked breath. “What’s happening? Why are you cuffed?”
You suck your teeth and give him a sharp smile. “Your partner decided to play Cupid.” Sammy’s brows furrow, his hands already working on taking the cuffs off.
“Yeah, but why are you here?” He asks, thumbs brushing over the split skin of your knuckles. You jerk your hand back before his soft touch weakens your resolve. Sammy frowns and you can’t make yourself meet the hurt look in his eyes.
“Some asshole grabbed a handful outside The Strip tonight.”
“What the hell were you doing over there?” His tone is far too sharp for a man you’ve already broken up with. Eyes narrowed, your face snaps to his.
“Tone,” you snap. Sammy’s jaw clenches but he backs off a little. “I was out with some friends. Still, being near that place doesn’t just give guys an excuse to grope me.”
Sammy takes a hold of your arm, pulling you away from Ben’s desk and leading you toward an empty room. “I’m not saying it does. I just thought I’ve told you a lot about staying away from there. You know how many half-naked girls we’ve had to pull from their alley?”
“Jesus,” you huff, pulling your arm away as he closes the door. “I got it. I was trying to go home, anyway.”
“Why-” Sammy stops himself, taking a deep breath as color grows on his cheeks. You wait for another lecture but he seems to love proving you wrong. “Why haven’t you called me back?”
Your jaw slacks, an unintelligible garble of words stuttering its way free. “Seriously?” You land on, voice pitched with anger. Sammy’s eyes widen, glancing through the windows of the room to make sure no one’s paying attention. Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to keep your voice mellow.
You really don’t need to be arrested tonight. Again.
“Sammy, that’s why you dragged me in here? Not because a cop copped a feel?” His expression falls flat at your poor excuse for a joke. Fuck me, then, God forbid you try and ease the tension.
“Obviously I’m upset about that, sweetheart. But it’s not your fault and it’s not you I’m going to be telling off for it. I’ll deal with him later.” You’re sure that means Sammy’s going to beat the guy half to death and Ben will have to clean up the mess.
“Right now, I want to know why you’re just pretending I don’t exist. Like we haven’t been dating for six months.”
Your feet are aching from the obnoxiously tall heels you took out tonight. Not bothering to look at him, you take a seat at one of the desks and peel them off, letting out a low sigh of relief. Sammy just watches with his arms crossed, clearly at the end of his thread.
“Look, babe, I don’t know what you’re not getting about me being done with you, but we’re through. No sex. No calls. No texts. This is what happens when people break up, Sammy.”
Sammy lets out a stressed sigh, lips pulling down as he drags his hand through his hair. “You don’t understand. I had to act like an ass, baby, I’m-”
“Working on an investigation?” You finish, giving him an unimpressed glare. “Yeah, Sammy. I’m not a moron, I figured out why you were acting like a chauvinistic pig all of a sudden. The problem here isn’t that, it’s the lack of communication that led to me being completely humiliated.”
His arms drop to his sides and he just stares, mind spinning as he struggles to figure out a way out of this. Spoiler, there isn’t one.
“I don’t- What do you want me to do, hm? What can I do to make this better?”
You’re ready to dismiss him when you catch an officer’s eye through the window of the room. They’re all out there, his buddies, the asshole that arrested you. Watching and trying to pretend like this isn’t the most interesting thing that’s happened tonight.
Slowly, you drag your gaze back to Sammy, a cruel smile pulling on your lips. “Beg.”
He stills, eyeing you warily. “What?” His tone is incredulous, slightly taken off gaurd.
You shrug, “You really want me back?”
“You know I do.”
“Aright, beg.” You tilt your head, wondering if he’s actually capable of swallowing down his pride.
Slowly, Sammy takes another step closer. “Please, sweet-”
“Hm, no,” you click your tongue, shaking your head in disappointment. “Do this properly, Sammy. On your knees.” His jaw clenches and it's audible how he swallows. Sammy turns toward the blinds and you sigh. “Blinds open. Unless you’re just full of it?”
“You know I’m not,” he grits out, cheeks flushing as a few officers fail to hide their peeping. You almost think he’s going to give up. Before you can scold him for taking too long, he’s dropping to his knees in front of you.
Your eyes widen imperceptibly and it’s an effort not to give away your shock. Sammy’s hands skate over the smooth skin of your legs, squeezing around your calves. “I fucked up, honey, I know that. I will do anything I can to make up for it, just, please, give me another chance.”
It’s a power rush, having such a domineering man on his knees in front of you. That boost to your ego is almost enough to make you cave. But you know Sammy, he can certainly do better than this. He just hates the idea of any of his men seeing it.
Pursing your lips, you lightly kick your leg out. “Put my heels on for me.” He huffs, clearly upset by the lack of response, but he listens anyway. Getting to your feet, Sammy follows, expression expectant.
You pat his shoulder in that condescending way men always do to you. “That was cute, hun. But I’m not changing my mind. You want to fix this, you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.”
Sammy doesn’t object, just scratches at his jaw and lets out a disbelieving sigh. You give him a sharp smile before you make your way to the door. “You're unbelievable,” he calls after you. You shrug, not bothering to look back as you make your way out of the station.
A week after your “arrest,” you’re flipping through channels when a familiar face catches your eye. Tony, the crapbag that Sammy had around, has been arrested. As well as a bunch of other game-night regulars. Extortion, violation of civil rights, spoliation, and a list as long as your arm that just keeps on going. Truly, they are the epitome of scumbags.
You can understand why Sammy was so bent on getting them put away. Even if it came at the risk of your relationship. As much as that makes him a good cop and an honorable man, it doesn’t make him a better boyfriend.
Still, you find your hand inching toward your phone, finger hovering over his contact. You bite your lip, debating the risks when someone knocks on your door. Frowning, you toss your phone on the couch and get up to take a look through the peephole.
It’s like he’s got a sensor for when you’re feeling weak.
Sammy stands on the other side, hands shoved in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. You step back with a huff and glance down at yourself. Taking an extra minute to hike up your shorts and adjust your boobs, you throw the door open.
“Can I help you, officer?”
He scoffs, lips pulled in an endeared grin. “Still mad, I take it?”
You pause, taking inventory of emotions. The sting of humiliation has eased slightly since you practically put him on a leash at the station. And you do genuinely understand the motivations behind his behavior, you just wished he hadn’t executed it all so stupidly.
“No, I’m not angry, Sammy. I just wish you a happy life of erectile dysfunction and involuntary abstinence.” Pulling back, you go to close the door when he slips his boot inside. Glaring up at him, you frown. “Got a warrant?”
“Enough,” he scolds, pushing the door open. You stumble back with an affronted noise. “You’re not breaking up with me.”
If it were any of your other exes, you’d probably be terrified right now. But he’s not being malicious or threatening to stalk you or take out your family if you don’t unblock him. Instead, there’s almost a slight thrill coming to life in you.
“What?” You scoff.
“I’m not agreeing to this,” he says simply, eyeing your skimpy pajamas with an appreciative gleam in his eye.
You scoff and cross your arms,“That’s not how this works, Sammy.”
He shrugs, “Tough.” When he takes another step closer, you’re almost tempted to run, to drag this out a little longer. But his arms are already winding around your waist and he’s heaving you over his shoulder before you even get a chance to blink.
“Uh, Sammy,” you grasp at his shirt as he marches through your apartment. “What the hell are you doing, you neanderthal?”
“I’m going to make it up to you,” you lift your head and peer around him to see he’s walking you straight into your room. Oh, that’s how he’s going to play this. “Then,” you let out a shocked laugh as he drops you on your bed.
His grin widens at the sound as he grabs your ankles, pulling you even closer to him. “I’m going to ask you to move in with me.”
Your heart races as your expression falls. Your gaze darts to his eyes, trying to figure out if he means this or if this is just a last ditch effort to get you back. “What?” You shake your head, but he doesn’t let you pull away. “Sammy, do you really mean this?”
“‘Course I do, sweetheart,” he brushes a strand of hair off your cheek and leans down to kiss you. Your arms wind around his shoulders off muscle memory.
But you force yourself to pull back, noses brushing as you take a good long look at him. “I’m not playing housewife anymore,” you threaten.
He lets out a little laugh and nods. “I’m gonna take care of you, honey. Don’t you worry.”
And god help you, you actually believe him, but it still doesn’t feel right. “No,” you whisper. Sammy draws back, brows knit in hurt as he shakes his head. “No,” you scramble back from him, arms wrapping around your stomach as you shake your head.
“This isn’t how it’s going to work anymore. You don’t get to fix our problems with sex. Or just decide the course of our relationship. You fucked up, you made me feel like shit. For the first time, I felt safe with someone, and you just took that from me.”
Sammy’s face falls and he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. His head falls into his hands as he lets out a broken sigh. “I’m so sorry,” you believe him. There’s shame, disgust with himself in his voice, but that doesn’t fix this.
“I’ll move in with you, Sammy,” you promise, and his head lifts. “But not anytime soon. I think… I don’t think I’ve been honest about who I am. I’m so used to putting on a show, to trying to keep someone’s attention, I haven’t been myself. I want you to be with the real me. To actually see me, not this glamorized version of myself perfectly made for your gaze.”
“Honey,” he reaches over, taking your hands in his. “Of course I see you. You’re not as good actor as you think,” you let out a watery laugh while he rubs his thumbs across the back of your hands. “But I’m a patient man.”
You shoot him a look and he offers you that boyish smile you love. “I can be patrient,” he swears.
Nodding, you lean forward, brushing your lips against his. “Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay?” he questions, not quite believing you. You smile and let your head drop to the crook of his neck.
“But if you ever treat me like that again… Not even Ben will be able to find your body.”
Sammy lets out a little chuckle, it cuts off as you pinch his side. “Trust me, I believe you.” You lace your fingers with his and let out a small sigh. A fresh start might be the best thing for both of you. The both of you could do with learning to be independent outside of your relationship. And he really needs to know what you look like not being the cool girl before he makes such a big promise as being with you for real.
You’re not planning on making it easy on him. But you have an odd suspicion he might be into that. And anyways, how were you ever expected to say no to a man with arms like these?
such such suchhhh an amazing read omg i was feeling every emotion as i was reading this godddd it’s so well done!!! reader’s genuinely so delicious like love her mind immensely! and sammy getting on his knees send me a 4k video of this pronto i wanna giggle at him
bitches be like "i love writing fanfiction" and then constantly second guess themselves because what if they're not good enough what if it's cringe what if no one likes it what if people laugh when they see it what if i mischaracterized someone what if i didn't tag it properly what if what if
CONTENTS: andrew "pope" cody x f! reader, s1 pope cody, fluff, smut, protected p in v, fingering, idk he fucks you on top of a washing machine, somewhat proofread.
Summary: Freshly released from prison, Pope feels he can't step foot onto the Cody compound, especially after a job gone bad, leading him to enter your laundromat just to do a simple chore.
Word Count: 4.5k+
a/n: this is inspired by an idea from my good friend, juni aka @baileysinjune ! i hope you all enjoy!
dividers by: @/pixopix and @/divinyae
You were the only one who remained in Oceanside once your siblings moved away. You had always felt at home here, the waves crashing on the shore, the scalding summers followed by mild winters. You liked spending your days off lounging on the beach, getting your tan on, or sipping an espresso at a nearby café. However, most days you’d spend hanging out with your grandmother at the laundromat.
The laundromat had been in your family for over fifty years, your grandparents opening up the business shortly after they got married. Once your grandpa passed and your grandmother grew older, it became harder for her to run the only place she knew. At her age, you watched her struggle, dropping the broom or stumbling along the linoleum. It was something you couldn't make peace with, this place existing without your grandmother.
You decided to help out a couple of days a week when you were off from your office job, mopping the floors, helping her retrieve coins from the countless machines. It felt like you were becoming her caretaker in addition to being an office worker. You hated this; you didn't want any of this. Why couldn't she just be immortal, go back to the grandma you once knew? You’d even go to her home every Sunday for dinner, the only time you’d have a home-cooked meal, the only thing you allowed her to do herself. You sat there in front of her, eating a fresh slice of pie while she sipped her steaming mug of coffee.
“Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her hand settled on your wrist, and you paused mid-chew to look up at her saddened expression. “I can’t run the laundromat anymore.”
“What?” You were spiraling, coming face-to -face with the suppressed feelings. “But why?”
That was the place you spent growing up. You and your siblings were raised by your grandparents. You remember playing tag in the storefront with your siblings, running up and down the aisles as clothes swirled in the machines. Your grandma would even take you all to the nearby ice cream parlor after she finished up for the day.
“I just can’t do it anymore, I’m getting tired. You know it hasn’t been the same since your grandfather died,” she took another swig of her coffee. “I’m going to put it up for sale.”
You knew this was coming; you just couldn't bear it. The concept became forefront in your mind; it broke your heart, knowing she wouldn't be here forever. The thought of her dying in that place, her tirelessly working for over fifty years, you didn't want that. Most of all, you didn't want her to give up the place where you spent your childhood.
The fork clatters down on the plate, your head in your hands, while you try to hold back tears. Finally, a light bulb went off in your mind.
“What if I just take over?”
“Oh, honey, you can’t do that. That would be too much for you with your other job and all.”
“I’ll quit my job,” you said confidently, excitement bubbling in your stomach. “I hate it there anyway. You know I can run it, I’ve been helping you all these years.”
“Y’know what,” your grandma began, a smirk adorning her lips. “It’s a deal.”
Unlike your grandma, who thrived in the early mornings, you loved the night. The business was open 24/7, and the place basically ran itself. Yet, you always people-watched, the stragglers that wandered into the mat with their full hampers after getting off a late shift.
You were mopping the floor the minute a gentleman walked in, short auburn hair peaking from the hood of his sweatshirt, carrying a duffel bag in tow. A dark stain snaking around his sleeve, maybe blood? He looked skittish, a concerned look on his face.
Pope brought in his clothes, knowing he just couldn’t be seen at Smurf’s right now, especially after a bad job. After all, she was paying for his hotel room, where he rarely earned a good night's sleep, which explained why he was here in your laundromat at two o’clock in the morning.
You peeped at the little basket in his free hand, carrying a multitude of different stain removers along with other laundry products. You stared at him while he loaded his clothes in the machine, even watching when he tugged off his sweatshirt. His sharp abdomen briefly peaking below the hem.
It was enough to distract you to where you shook your head, returning to pushing the mop across the dirty floors. Pope sat straight on the bench across from the spinning window, mindlessly fiddling with his phone.
It wasn’t like he didn't notice you: he studied how diligently you swiped the fibers across the floor, ensuring every stain was scrubbed clean. It subtly turned him on, slightly standing to readjust his jeans before he sat back down.
He was the only one in here. While you loved the late hours, they also brought in some strange characters, including the man sitting before you. You dunk the mop head in the water before sweeping the tool in front of him.
“Hey, how are you?” you kindly greeted.
“Fine.”
A one-word response.
You were still learning how to interact with customers, not really being used to the interaction when you used to be a paper pusher. The response sort of took you aback. Your grandma always had a loyal clientele. Did you sound insincere?
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Alright,” Pope rasped, watching as you passed him, his eyes glancing at your ass.
He wasn’t used to this sort of space, especially because his mom did his laundry for him, not to mention the clothes provided while he was in prison. He scrolled through his phone, skimming articles about recent fossil discoveries and animals that were at risk of extinction, his fixation.
The low rhythm of the music played in the background while you collected change from the drawers of the laundry machines, the clatter of the coins ringing in the metal bucket. It was quiet, yet somewhat comfortable. You’d be doing your usual tasks while the man sat there silent.
This went on like this for a while, every other week with him either coming in with a stereotypical hamper or a sneaky duffel bag full of stained clothes, shoving them in the washer. One day, he came up to you, mentioning that the quarter machine was out, needing to resupply his basket.
“You’re out of quarters,” his head slightly tilting while he spoke.
“Shit, sorry,” you said as you made your way to the locked storage closet where you kept the neatly rolled coins, fumbling with the little cardboard tubes. “Day got away from me.”
“S’okay,” he said, his fingers slightly brushing yours when he took the change. “Thanks.”
“Y-yeah,” you stuttered. “No problem.”
Y
You started taking notes of his schedule. On days he came in, he noticed how you were wearing tighter jeans than usual, maybe even a crop top or a lighter shirt that would show off your bralette.
You were working on one of the dryers one night when Pope sauntered in. A deep sigh leaves your chest while you screwed around on the bare bones of the machine. As usual, he tossed his clothes in before making his way over.
“What’s wrong with it?” Pope asked.
“Dunno,” a heavy breath escaping your chest. “I’m trying to figure it out, and our service guy is on vacation with his kid till Monday.”
“I could fix it, y’know?” Pope mentioned, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Kinda have a knack for these things.”
“Really?” your big eyes looking up at him. “You’d be doing a huge favor for me.”
“Yeah, no problem,” his gruff voice filled the empty space between you two. “I’m Andrew, by the way, sorry I’ve never introduced myself.”
“It’s alright,” you smirked, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”
You stepped away while he squatted down beside the toolbox, you filling the vending machines with products while he worked. It was almost domestic, the way he was servicing the machine while he was alone with you. He packed up the tools before swiping the debris from his hands.
“It’s fixed.”
His rough voice made you look over the row of machines. You bounced over, turning on the machine, nodding with approval at his handiwork. You pulled him into a hug suddenly, his hands freezing, hovering at your sides.
“Andrew! You’re amazing.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He started to linger well after the buzz from the dryer rang throughout the mat. Pope always troubleshooting multiple projects around the place, changing light bulbs, clearing the jam in the vending machine, and even taking care of the leaky faucet in the bathroom.
He would stare at you while you worked, constantly shaking your ass to the music that came from the speakers. He'd slightly smirk, slowly getting used to the homely feeling, a deep want forming in the bottom of his belly.
He imagined how it would be, how he could get away from Smurf's jobs forever and live this quiet life with you. He pictured himself coming in at ten o'clock at night, two coffees in hand, setting them down on top of the counter while his hand snaked around your hip and pressed a kiss to your temple. It would always end with him taking you out to breakfast while the sun peeked from beyond the horizon.
He shook his head from the daydreams, snapping the panel back onto the frame of the fluorescent light.
"Thanks, Andy," you smiled up at him while he stood strong on the ladder. "I really appreciate it."
"Yeah," his mouth twitched, hiding a smile. "No problem."
He tucked the ladder away in the closet, shutting the door and staring at the wall for a moment, contemplating the next words that tumbled out of his mouth.
"H-Hey," his hoarse voice making your ears prick up. "Do you wanna get coffee? Like after you're done here."
"Oh, um," you stood there briefly as you checked the clock on the wall, chuckling lightly in disbelief. "Yeah, I would like that."
He folded his clothes neatly while you finished cleaning up for the day. Once you locked up the janitor closet, you turned to Pope, the laundry basket resting against his hip.
"Ready?" Pope asked, a smug smile on his face.
"I'm ready," you said, beaming up at him while you walked beside him.
He loaded the backseat of his truck with the basket before opening the passenger door for you, his eyes briefly glancing at the swell of your ass while you stepped into the cab. Once Pope ensured you were comfortable, he hopped into the driver's side, turning over the engine before shifting the gear into reverse, his strong arm stretching along the back of your headrest. You could feel your pulse pick up speed, his heat and cologne overwhelming your senses. It was enough to make your cheeks flush and clench your thighs together.
He drives you to a coffee shop that's along the beach. It was beautiful, hearing the seagulls sing their song while the billows danced along the shore. He put his truck in park, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before treading to your side of the vehicle.
Pope offered his hand to you as you stepped out of the truck, and you kindly placed your hand in his. Once you were on solid ground, he released your hand, unsure of the contact. You peeped up at him, his face and ears turning crimson. You interlaced your fingers with his once again, and he glanced at the connection, then you, trying to interpret the intention behind the movement. You slightly tilted your head, chuckling at how he was looking at you in utter shock.
"You can hold my hand," you grinned. "I don't bite, you should know that."
"I-I know," he garbled out, rattled by the unexpected affection. "Just surprised is all."
"Don't be," you reassured.
Hand in hand, you both walked towards the coffee shop, only breaking apart for him to open the door for you. His palm hovered over the small of your back while you waltzed in, the warmth from your body radiating across his calloused fingers.
"What can I get you both?" the barista asked.
"I'll just take a latte, thanks."
Pope glanced at you, then back to the barista. His mind totally blanked at the fact that he was here, with you, on a date he presumed was a date. His eyes dropped to how your fingers were intertwined with his own.
"Uh," he paused. "I'll do the same."
You were in the middle of pulling your wallet out of your purse when he swiped his card. Your brows pulling together, giving him a look.
"It's on me."
Pope waited at the counter for the drinks while you found a table by the window, cars passing by on their early morning commutes. His eyes were set on you, watching as your eyes flicked as the cars drove by while you twiddled your thumbs. He picked up the two piping hot cups, not even reacting to the burn that was spreading into the skin of his palms. He set the cup in front of you before settling into his seat, silent for a minute until you spoke up.
"This is nice," you said casually. Pope just stared at you; this feeling was totally normal to you, yet a completely new experience for him. His multi-colored eyes bored into you, his head somewhat tipping to the side.
"Yeah," his response came out rough. "I just thought, y'know."
His mouth twitched to the side, briefly looking out the window before his eyes returned to yours.
"You deserve this, something nice."
You felt your cheeks flush, taking a moment to take a sip from your coffee, trying to hide how flustered you were. Your embarrassed expression made Pope smirk, his tense figure physically relaxing, knowing he could get a reaction like that out of you.
You chatted, giving him the history of your family and the storefront. He was an active listener, always leaning into your words, his steady eye contact almost making you feel overwhelmed.
When you asked about his family, Pope shifted in his seat, fidgeting as he contemplated the question. Your words sank into the background, constant conversations filling the café among the silence between the two of you.
"You don't wanna know," he answered.
Your brows knitted together, losing yourself in thought. You found yourself thinking about the multiple nights he came in with his duffel bag, blood dotting his sleeves. You came to a conclusion then, deciding not to proceed any further. You reached across the table and held his hand.
"I don't want you to share anything you're not comfortable telling me, yeah?" you said as your thumb stroked along his fingers. "Can I know some of your hobbies at least?"
"I like skateboarding," he began, his hand squeezing yours out of instinct, looking down at his cold coffee. "I also like watching animal documentaries, I dunno. I find them interesting."
"Hey," your voice making Pope look up at you. "I like animals, I love going to the zoo. Maybe that can be our next date?"
You studied Pope as he processed the idea, his mind racing at the proposition. This was a date, an actual date. He was used to rejection, never earning someone's trust or love. It hurt, yet he was all too familiar with the feeling. Your admiration was something totally foreign to him.
His hands squeezed into a fist, so anxious about fucking this up. He wanted to keep you distant, away from his mom, his brothers, even his nephew. He knew it would be difficult to protect you, yet he wanted to do everything he could to shield you from the trauma, the unchanging bullshit. He stood up, uncomfortable at the swelling feeling in his tummy.
"I'll take you back," he gritted out, jingling his car keys.
"Did I say something wrong?" you asked, the concerned expression making Pope's heart tighten at your words. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"It's fine."
You hurt him, you must've. It made you sick to your stomach, the unsettling feelings bubbling deep within you. You didn't want to cause harm; you never did. Pope reassured you with a gentle press of his palm to your thigh, a short look shared between you two. He analyzed your wound expression, your face tight in thought. It made his own heart ache.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Pope comforted. "Okay?"
"You sure?" you questioned, your large eyes holding onto his. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"
"You didn't do anything."
Your gaze bounced between him and his hand on your thigh, his fingers barely digging into the flesh. It was pure consolation; you never did anything wrong. It was him, scared to be bare and vulnerable before you.
He pulled up to the storefront, his hand once again helping you step out of the cab of his truck, and he was even so bold as to place a kiss on your knuckles. The store was empty when you both marched up to the double doors, you drawing his hands onto your hips, his palms a little sweaty. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, your face cast in a pink hue at the early dawn.
"I had a good time, maybe we can do this again," your pupils dilated, your lips curving into a smile.
"Sure," Pope nodded. "Yeah."
He was terrified, afraid that Smurf would somehow swindle you into selling the laundromat to her just so she could clean her dirty cash. Pope knew that as long as he was alive, he would never let that happen; he was like a damn guard dog.
When he didn't need to do laundry, he wouldn't even step foot into the building, afraid to freak you out with his obsession for you. His truck would be parked across the street, windows down, his attentive gaze being placed on the storefront. His gun dug into his lower back, uncomfortable, yet a constant reminder that he was there to defend you the minute something went wrong.
It continued like this for a while, when Pope came in, he always brought you coffee from the same café where you shared your first date. It didn't matter if he was running late from a job, or sitting there with you till the shop opened, he usually had two coffees in tow. Even though you knew nothing about his family, you became well acquainted with Pope and his consistent routine.
You'd be sitting on the washing machine, the place completely empty as he loaded his clothes into the dryer. Once he started the machine, he'd pat your thigh, shifting over to allow him to put in another load into the washer. He'd stand between your legs, his palms settling along the muscle of your thighs. His rough hands mashed into your flesh as you laid your hands on his cheeks, yanking him into a deep kiss.
This was typical, him making out with you on top of the bobbing machines. No words being exchanged, just hot swirls of salvia running back and forth along your tongues. It was adorable how he didn't talk much, just intimate sounds balancing with the concealed noises of traffic.
It felt comfortable to Pope; he was never good with words. If he could talk less, the better. You assumed enough about his life, his background; no more questions needed. You didn't care either, if he was a felon or worse, you'd take him as he was.
Which you did, making him all the more vulnerable in front of you. He didn't like being interrogated; he just wanted to focus on the girl before him. You were his everything; he would do anything to preserve you from his tainted lifestyle.
So when you held his hand as you trailed through the zoo, or even took him to the aquarium. His eyes were all big while he took in the large creatures before him, while your heart squeezed at the beautiful sight, the wrinkles around his eyes unwinding. The dates were quiet, no talk of any stresses that were plaguing your lives, just concentrated on each other.
He felt at home here, in the laundromat, while fixing things around the building for you. It was steady, something he always longed for. You smiled into his mouth, his lips dancing across yours, his hands digging into the plush of your hips.
You hadn't been fully intimate with Pope yet; he was always hesitant, especially when diving into something new and fresh. Something that could easily fail and be ruined. His fat cock drove into the vibrating machine, making him all the more pent up for you, his hands gripping onto you. The unbalanced load shook at the back of your thighs, your hands lingering along his strong shoulders.
It got hot, you hopping off the lid of the washer, his lips loitering along the expanse of your neck. His breath raked over your prickled neck, him awaiting your next move. Your hands slid below the hem of his shirt when your lips met his again, scratching your nails along his solid middle. The abrupt pauses made Pope falter, trying to follow your lips for another kiss.
"Just a minute," you panted, twisting the lock on the door and flicking off the lights.
"I thought this was a twenty-four-hour business," Pope griped.
"When you're here, it's not."
Your mouth reverted to his own, your hands unbuttoning the lavender fabric that decorated his torso, shrugging the garment off his shoulders, and throwing it to the floor. He did the same, undressing you of your top before fumbling with the clasps at your bra, him so caught up in how your mouth moved that he couldn't remove the undergarment. You giggled as you brought your hands to meet his, undoing the clasps to where your breasts were set free.
The moment your chest was bare, he palmed the soft flesh, groaning as he squeezed your tits. A sigh released from your lips, moaning at his touch as he placed you back onto the unsteady machine. He laced kisses along the stretch of your sternum, him starting to feel confident at how you bent at every touch. Your back arched into his rough palm, showing off your chest even more. You scratched at the nape of his neck, a suppressed groan quivering through the center of your breasts.
He was completely intoxicated at the sight of you, how your perfume consumed his nostrils while your touch teased him even more. His length struggled against the coarseness of his jeans, the inches of his hard-on lying against your inner thigh. You drag his bare chest closer to you, enough for his rigid member to scrape your center. The wetness pooled into your underwear, the slickness between your folds almost becoming unbearable.
You took his wrist into your grasp, sneaking his fingers below the band of your jeans. He was reluctant at first, his digits resting on the slight curve of your abdomen. You pulled his hand further into your pants, his fingers finally finding the drenched spot among the fabric of your underwear. His fingers encircled your clothed clit, his movements somewhat reluctant.
"It's okay," you whispered, your breath spreading across his cheeks. "S'okay."
"Okay," Pope agreed. "This feels good?"
"Yeah," you whimpered.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Okay."
He continued, his fingers toying with your bud, examining every subtle change in your expression. He tugged down the zipper of your jeans, his one hand undoing the button, allowing for more motion from his fingers.
"Andrew," you mewled. "I need you inside of me."
"How do you mean?" he asked, unsure of how to approach you like this.
"I need you in any way, please," you mumbled. "Touch me in any way you can."
His digits hauled the fabric to the side, sliding between your slick folds before one finger shoved into the tight barriers. Your moans bouncing off the abandoned walls, your hips grinding into his hand. The moves of his fingers were incessant, curling into your sweet spot.
"Andrew," you groaned.
"Yeah?"
"I need more," you breathed. "Need another finger."
"You mean it?"
"Just do it already," you hushed.
His middle finger rammed into your soaked walls at your demand, your sopping center meeting his hand. The machine trembled below you, working the movements even deeper into your center. It felt good, so good that you whined against Pope's lips. The sound was so pretty that he couldn't take it anymore, his hands frantically unbuttoning the button of his jeans.
His cock sprang free, his hand palming along the inches while he held you steady on the quivering machine. He combed his member, the milky liquid seeping from the head. He kept watching you, your brows tensing as your pupils grew large. You held onto his tense shoulder, meeting his eyes. Your jaw hung slack, him watching how your hand circled below the hem of your jeans. You had found yourself in this position countless times before, masturbating in front of him to where you both got off. However, you wanted him tonight.
"Andy?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?" his voice wavering at the pet name.
"I need you inside of me," you whispered along the hollow of his throat.
"Fuck," he hissed, his hand still fisting the hardened inches. "You sure?"
"More," you moaned. "More than sure."
Your hips lifted as he pulled off your jeans and underwear, leaving you naked in front of him. He fiddled with his wallet that was kept in the pocket of his jeans, releasing the condom from the pocket. He encased his length in the latex, pressing the head inside of you. Your tightness made him grunt, pulsing the tip in and out of you. Your barriers relinquished, drawing him further into you.
Tears spewed along his eyelids, him never feeling this way before about someone. The rumbling feeling inside of him was unbearable, his hips sluggishly rutting into you. It felt good, his length twitching along your insides while the laundry machine wavered.
His member continued to beat into you, your knees clenching together as his hips grind into you. He took his calloused palm and opened your legs, watching how his length drove into you, your velvety folds fluttering against his movements.
He was muted, memorizing every bend of your spine, every graze of your clit along his cock. Sickening as it was, he loved seeing your seeping silk around his member. The delicate thrums of the machine hummed in your ears all while he thrust into you, his fingertips pressed against your clit. The pulsing metal against your ass drew you closer to your orgasm, making the stirring movements of his hand harder to control.
"What are you doing?" you questioned. "Keep going."
"M'sorry."
His hips persisted into you, steadily stirring into your insides. Your walls gripped onto his inches, the veins of his cock pulsating while you wagged on top of the machine. You tightened around him, damn near bringing him to the edge.
"Andrew, let go for me, please."
When you fell apart, he couldn't help but meet you on your level. His body physically shook at the sensation of your cunt seizing around him. It brought him to his climax, thick ropes adorning the lining of the latex. Pope continued to pump his hips into you, his balls tensing at your grasping walls.
His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting as he stilled inside of you. His softening cock remained inside of you, terrified to go back to what it was like without you around him.
I really loved this! I ate it up so quickly and this was seriously so sweet! I just know they're going to have the happiest life filled with lots of love.
Their dynamic was really nice! I enjoyed seeing how it grew as they became more comfortable and familiar with each other and then developed into having a more domestic vibe.
I really wanted to shout out that I think you characterised Andrew so well! You really captured his awkwardness, mannerisms and his speaking mannerisms with his dialogue. It all felt very true to his character!
Also, I loved that sentence about his current fixation being on animals near extinction - YOU GET HIM!!! I love when his animal special interests pop up in fics, it's cool to see that part of his personality being included. And I think it's cool that you found a way to do it outside of just him watching documentaries.
aftercare after you’ve slept together for the first time <3
! mdni !
jack is looking at you like he’s trying to memorize every little thing. your messy hair, your sleepy smile, the way you’re already hiding your face because you know he’s staring.
his hand finds yours beneath the blanket first.
then it’s brushing loose strands of hair away from your forehead, fingertips featherlight as he tucks them carefully behind your ear.
“been trying to see those pretty eyes,” he murmurs.
you let out a sleepy huff, still too warm to move very much. “you’re so annoying.”
“mm.” his thumb strokes over your cheek, “yet you keep me around.”
“obviously,” you smile.
he laughs under his breath, shaking his head before leaning in to press an absentminded kiss against your temple.
“you did so good, honey,” he whispers, “i know you get in your head sometimes.” his eyes meet yours, “but you never have to with me.”
your cheeks burn immediately. you don’t know what to say in return. you think pressing a kiss to his cheek and then hiding in his neck is enough.
his fingertips trace up and down your neck.
“sweetheart,” he smiles and tries to scoot away, so you come out of your hiding again. he tries again, “baby, look at me.”
his thumb strokes slowly along your shoulder before his fingers disappear into your hair, gently scratching at your scalp.
you only hum against his neck.
another kiss lands in your hair.
he slips two fingers beneath your chin, not forcing you, just waiting. “can i see you?”
after a second, you finally peek up at him.
your cheeks are warm enough that you know he notices immediately.
his thumbs brush over your skin.
“cute.”
before you can complain, he leans down and presses the softest kiss to your lips.
when he pulls back, he’s smiling to himself.
you let out the most dramatic sigh, “you’re impossible.”
“yeah?”
“mhm.”
you lean forward anyway, stealing another kiss.
he kisses you back without hesitation, smiling against your lips before resting his forehead against yours.
for a long moment, he just looks at you.
there’s so much warmth in his eyes that it makes your chest ache.
“what?” you whisper.
he shakes his head.
“just thinkin’.”
“about?”
“about how special this is.”
your expression softens.
“jack…”
“i mean it.” his thumbs sweep gently across your cheeks. “i spend so much of my life watching people lose the people they love. watching families fall apart in waiting rooms. watching days change in a heartbeat.”
he pauses, “then i come home and i get you.”
your eyes sting.
“you’re the best part of my day. you are home.”
you pout.
he brushes another strand of hair behind your ear, “you have no idea how beautiful you are.”
you immediately shake your head.
another kiss brushes your forehead, “you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met.”
your eyes drift shut for a second.
“inside and out.”
he really does a great job to leave you speechless. you lean forward and kiss him.
when you pull away, your forehead finds his again.
“thank you,” you whisper.
he frowns just a little.
“for what?”
“for being the perfect boyfriend.”
his eyebrows shoot up.
your fingers find his hand, intertwining with it, “and… thank you for making me feel safe.”
your voice grows even quieter.
“all the time.”
he just stares at you.
like the words hit somewhere deep. his eyes glisten for the briefest second before he smiles and lets out the smallest laugh.
“my girl,” he whispers and kisses your cheek.
he shakes his head.
he brings your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles before leaning in to kiss you again.
“i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel that way.”
his nose nudges yours.
“that’s a promise.”
you smile. “i love you, jack.”
he grins.
he leans in and kisses you again, smiling against your lips halfway through.
“i love you, honey.”
you share another kiss before you let your head fall against the pillows again.
you push one leg out from beneath the blankets with the biggest sigh imaginable, chasing even the slightest bit of cool air. it doesn’t help much. your skin is still warm, your breathing still uneven enough that your chest rises and falls a little faster than normal. you flop dramatically onto your back, throwing an arm over your eyes.
jack watches the whole performance with the tiniest smile tugging at his mouth. his hair is glueing to his forehead, a little crease settled beside one eye from where he’d been lying on the pillow.
“you alright there, honey?” he asks, amusement slipping into his voice as his fingertips drift lazily along your forearm.
you groan, “too hot.”
“yeah, tell me about it.” the blanket is so far down jack’s body you can see his packs glistening.
you kick the blanket away from your leg another inch.
he chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “baby,” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your forehead, “you gotta use the bathroom anyway.”
your eyes stay firmly closed.
“mmm… no.”
“that’s not really how this works.”
“i’m comfortable.”
he lets out another laugh, the kind that rumbles low in his chest, before leaning over the side of the bed. “you’re killin’ me.”
his hand disappears over the mattress until his fingers find his discarded t-shirt on the floor. he picks it up, gives it a little shake, then turns back toward you.
“arms up.”
one eye cracks open.
you let out the most dramatic sigh he has ever heard, but you still lift your arms above your head.
“atta girl.”
he smiles to himself as he carefully slips the shirt over your head, taking his time so it doesn’t catch in your hair. his hands guide your arms through the sleeves before he gently tugs the fabric down over your shoulders, smoothing it absentmindedly where it’s twisted.
it absolutely swallows you.
the neckline slips off one shoulder just slightly.
“well,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, “that’s a pretty nice view.”
you immediately duck your face toward the pillow.
“don’t.”
“you really need to get used to me giving you compliments.”
you peek up at him.
his thumb brushes gently beneath your cheekbone before he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your cheek. another follows near your jaw, then one at your forehead as he smiles against your skin.
“because you,” he stops to kiss your jawline, “look,” another kiss, “hot.”
you shake your head.
“now,” he says with a fond smile, giving your nose the tiniest nudge, “go humor your very persistent doctor.”
you groan so dramatically that it makes him laugh all over again. “fine. if i even manage to get to the bathroom.”
he winks at you before his face breaks out into a proud grin.
he offers you his hand.
“c’mon, i got you. let’s go clean you up and then how does pizza in bed sound like?”
summary: everyone always saw him as the weird cody brother, the guy who stared a few seconds too long at people nearby. but what happens when he meets a woman that is just as much of a looker as himself, maybe even more so? does he like the taste of his own medicine, or will he do everything in his power to avoid the one woman that actually makes him feel something other than lonely?
contents: wee bit of tension, pope is reluctantly intrigued by you, mentions of sm*rf (*gulp*)
word count: 976
note: this was originally posted on ao3, but i edited it to be in second person pov (x reader) instead of using my oc! i hope you like it! <3
chapter 1 | chapter 2 (coming soon)
andrew cody, better known as pope, is an incredibly misunderstood man. his childhood was nothing short of chaotic, filled with pain that would last him for the rest of his life. after learning of the death of his twin sister, julia, he is struggling to find the purpose in his life again. it felt as though everything, and everyone, he loved were slowly slipping through his fingers. he hated this feeling, being out of control and watching his world go to shit, all while feeling helpless. yet, he still continued to take care of the things he needed to, desperately clinging onto what was left of his sense of routine.
pope stands in smurf's kitchen, washing the dishes after breakfast. the sound of the buzzer from the front gate of smurf's house sounds out. in the camera, he could see you sitting in your car, head resting in your hand as you look straight into the camera awaiting a response. smurf nudges pope out of the way and picks up the phone. "who is it?" she spoke calmly, eyes fixed on the screen showing the camera feed. you clear your throat before speaking up, "hey, smurf. i'm not really sure if you remember me but um- i'm one of deran's old friends from grade school? he sent me this address and told me to meet him here." pope lifts his gaze to the camera feed again at the sound of his younger brother's name. he looks over at smurf, watching as she buzzed you in.
"stay here, baby. i'll deal with our little guest." smurf spoke to pope as she moved past him and out the sliding back door. unable to ignore his curiosity, pope finds himself slipping silently out of the door behind her. he watches your exchange with smurf from afar. he can't hear anything you're saying, but he also takes his time assessing you from head to toe, just like he did with everyone else. most would say it's him scanning for a threat, and he couldn't argue with that. however, something about you in particular made his skin tingle a bit, as if he suddenly felt on edge. the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his body suddenly covered in goosebumps as he stares at you, the new mystery woman in his front yard.
you had already noticed his presence as you spoke with smurf. a small smirk rested on your lips as you finally lift yourgaze to meet pope's. "you must be andrew." you pipe up, loud enough for him to hear. your voice was oddly calm despite the volume at which you spoke. pope couldn't describe how your eyes on him and the sound of your voice affected him, but it was unusual for him to have such a strong reaction to someone he'd just met. he takes a step closer to the two of you, but still maintains a comfortable distance. "we met before?" his gruff voice only makes your smirk grow wider. "i'm afraid we haven't... just recognized you from porcess of elimination." you admit, a faint chuckle escaping your lips. you note his stiff posture and scrutinizing gaze, realizing that his reputation preceded him in every way imaginable. when pope hears the sound coming from you, he can feel his nerves start to fray. he silently retreats back inside the house to finish washing the dishes, in search of a distraction from whatever the hell you were doing to him.
after a few minutes, smurf returns inside the house, now with you in tow. much to pope's dismay, you linger in the kitchen and watch as he wipes down the counters. smurf notices the silent tension between the two of you, despite the lack of interaction. she decides to break the silence. "our little friend here is going to be coming around for a little while, baby. we need her help with an upcoming job." pope freezes as her words register. you'd be back again, and for longer periods of time? he was already brainstorming ways to make himself scarce while you made your inevitable visits to the house. smurf excuses herself to start working on chores, leaving you and pope alone in awkward silence.
you let out a soft sigh before deciding to speak up. "i'm in charge of scouting, so you won't have to work with me directly. i'll report what i find to smurf and help you guys into the site without getting caught." pope bristles at the sound of your voice, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. he lifts his gaze, only to find that you were already watching him. those same goosebumps returned once again, along with the discomfort. he stands there, rooted in place. after a few more seconds of staring, pope kindly spares you a few words. "pretty sure i know how scouting works." he grumbles, throwing the last Clorox wipe in the trash.
unable to help yourself, you laugh at his prickly response. "i'm sure you know how many things work, andrew. i've heard all about the jobs you pull with your brothers." your eyes travel over his figure before meeting his gaze once more. "i look forward to working with you guys." you beam, excusing yourself and heading back out to your car. the engine of your car hums to life and you're out of the driveway in a matter of seconds. pope had subconsciously followed you out, watching your car peel out of the driveway. he felt his body finally begin to relax now that you were no longer near. this was going to be one of the most difficult jobs of his life, yet it had nothing to do with the job itself. instead, it had everything to do with you, the one that made him feel something new and unusual.
alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: hehehe new content for my babies, i'm so proud of this whole fic so i hope you all like it <3 (p.s. this was my very first fanfic i ever wrote, so it needed a lot of editing LMAOOO)
thoughts of going to sleep in the cutest nighties, which always makes for morning sex with jack <3
content warnings .ᐟ SMUT. mdni! dom!jack abbot, free use, use of pet names
masterlist ☕︎⋆.˚ | request guidelines
the way you’ll be making a pot of coffee after slipping out of bed, not wanting to wake jack after he’d finally gotten a day off, but he’ll be behind you with his hands in your hips, pressing his lips to your neck five minutes later.
“morning, baby,” he’d rasp, his hard cock pressing against your bottom through his thin pajama pants. like every other morning, you already saw where this was going.
“jack,” you whined with a giggle, pressing the button on the coffee machine to start its brewing. “it’s too early.”
“never too early, honey,” jack said. you didn’t have to turn to know he was already freeing his dick from his boxers, ready to repeat what was now your morning ritual. he pulled your nightgown up slowly to reveal the sweetest sight—no underwear.
“can’t expect me to behave when you dress like this, baby,” jack grunted. without another word, he’d slip inside your needy pussy and fill you to the brim, caging you in with his hands on either side of the counter. “now you have to take it.”
and as he’d start to rut deep inside you, ready to fuck you dizzy like always, it’d occur to you that the coffee might have to wait. . .
Currently hyper fixated on Jack and pregnant!reader 🥹 Because like let’s say you’re waddling around your kitchen in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep with the uncomfortable size of your tummy at this point. We’re 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 you’ve 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 you’re craving. He leans against the wall, a crinkly eyed smile on his face watching you. Amused by you. Amazed by you. His sleepy girl who’s creating a tiny life inside of her. You’re in one of his old band T-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and fluffy socks. Your hair’s up and disheveled with puffy, sleepy eyes to tie together the ‘hot mess express’ look you’re sporting. And Jack loves it.
Nothing screams ‘sexy’ 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 you’ve 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.
“You get any sleep, mommy?” he mumbles into your shoulder.
“A little. I think we’re having a rockstar, babe. She loves partying into the early hours of the morning, this one. She’s been kicking me since three a.m.” Jack can’t help but chuckle at the havoc your unborn daughter is already wreaking on you.
“Does this help?” he asks. You nod your head appreciatively.
“Jack, it feels so good. Thank you,” you sigh blissfully. You relax into his arms, letting your head lull back lazily against his warm chest. “How’d you know this would help?”
“Dana actually gave me this one. I jus’ felt awful watchin’ you be so uncomfortable. Broke my heart, baby.” He kisses the side of your head tenderly.
“You know what’s breaking my heart right now?” Jack’s head perks up, caught off guard and slightly confused by your question.
“What’s that?” he asks, tentative.
“That we’re all out of chocolate chips, and now I can’t make chocolate chip pancakes,” you whine. Jack can’t help but laugh. You laugh too, you know it sounds ridiculous. But it also sounds so good.
“I see a Door Dash order from Denny’s in my future,” Jack says. You let him gently drop your belly before turning to face him.
“Hmm…I was thinking Waffle House,” 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.
thinking about how sammy bryant is a cheesy lover again!
MDNI - 18+
on early weekend mornings, he’d make you breakfast. eggs, bacon, sausage, the works, all for you. a marvin gaye song playing from the alexa in the kitchen.
the smell of the food and rhythm of the song vibrating against the wall made you rise from sleep.
you padded into the kitchen in your nightie, your hair a mess, wiping the sleep from your eyes. sammy, met you in the middle, his arm snaking around your waist and placing a big smooch at the crown of your head.
he plated up breakfast, sitting right next to you at the kitchen table, feeding each other strawberries. he tucked a stray stand of hair behind your ear.
“gosh, baby, you’re so damn pretty,” he gushed, admiring his pretty little lady next to him.
“even like this?” you said, gesturing to your sleepy self.
“all the time, doll. you’re beautiful all the time.”
he cleaned up too, washing the dishes and leaving them in the drying rack for later, the slow love song still droning on in the background.
“i’m gonna go get cleaned up,” you mentioned, making your way to the bathroom before you were stopped by sammy’s arms finding your waist.
“hey, just a minute, baby,” he beckoned you in. “i wanna dance with you.”
you just chuckled, intertwining your hand with his, his other hand placed firmly on your hip.
okay but like real talk for a second, Pope can be so quiet in everyday life and even when he was sexually active in canon....can you imagine anything sexual with him and he is stoic and insanely quiet and you are like "am *I* doing something wrong is he not enjoying himself? and feeling super self concious like, a single moan grunt or grip to your hair to say he is having fun too?
and he works on it because you stop, mid activity to be like, are you good? because its giving me a complex here, like...I need feedback, good bad or otherwise.
and he does! he works on being more vocal and saying what he likes and when you do that tongue thing on his tip he howls unabashedly.
I'd love you to write something about this.
love your stuff! 🩵
ugh, love it!! i know i haven’t posted recently :( but omg is getting my schedule sorted out and getting back into my normal routine for class a struggle!! anywayyy hope you enjoy! and as always i love you lots and lots like polka dots!!
pope is the most quiet man you know. he barley speaks, even when he’s balls deep inside you.
he just has you on your stomach, hands on either side of you braced on the mattress, and they barley ever move. when he does speak it’s only because he asking if you’re okay and that he’s not hurting you.
it drives you crazy. it’s been like this ever since you two started dating, you didn’t want to say anything because of how you thought he might get embarrassed or something, so you just let it happen for a little while.
but you finally snap after you’ve had an extra difficult week. rude behavior from co-workers, keep waking up late for work, and the grocery store you usually shop at stopped selling your favorite snack. just a really difficult week so far.
so you wanted some time with Andrew. wanted to have a nice intimate few hours with him. had dinner together, and now your in missionary. he’s over top of you, hands where they always are, and it’s only been about a few seconds. barley enough time for either of you to work up a sweat or start panting.
you have to stop him mid thrust. shaking your head, and putting your palms on his shoulders to let him know to just get off. he’s all concerned with furrowed brows and resting his hands on his thighs as he sits back on the mattress and you sit up.
“im sorry, andrew. i… well i just…”
you stop there letting out a desperate sigh and throw your head down, and ran a hand over your face trying to verbalize these thoughts that have been consuming you whole
he sets an awkward hesitant hand on your arm, trying to be comforting in the little ways he knows how. you finally lift your head, looking up at him again with a sorry expression.
“am… am i not satisfying you? or something?”
he’s shaking his head and humming a little
“no, of course not.”
you let out a sigh. you have to. with his answer that’s supposed to be reassuring but just sounds so vague like it always does.
“well, you don’t ever say anything. not before, during, or after. you barley show any indications that you do enjoy having sex. like… i just don’t know.”
that confession makes him frown and awkwardly inch closer to wrap two very awkward arms around your shoulders, and rest his forehead against yours but very quickly abort.
“sorry. i didn’t mean to give you that impression.”
you smile a little and place your arms around hum but they’re much more certain about that they should be there than his on
“oh, Andy…” seeing how his lips are tilting in the slightest way down
“i know you didn’t mean to. s’okay, i promise.” you plant a few kisses on his cheek and lips before you both just decide to crawl under the covers and go to bed.
and ever since then he’s been at the top of his game. he’s even gone as far as to suggest different positions!!
“you’re so sweet.” he claims buried between your thighs which are currently burning from his stubble, but you’re never gonna tell him about it. he’ll stop then, and you don’t want him to.
he’ll grip your hair more often because you mentioned how it was nice for him to pull it sometimes.
whispers sweet things into your ear or just flat out states them. “you’re so pretty.”, “you’re the best girl ever.”, “you’re so beautiful when you blush.”, or just straight up “i love you so much.” it’s not much going by basic standards. but it’s definitely a lot considering who it’s coming from.
“i love this color on you.” when you’re wearing an bright red bra & panties set. you have at least four sets now.
you hope he’ll get bolder with time, but who knows?
sammy who's breathing picks up when you keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him. eyes squeezing shut and hands coming to cup your ears as he sighs oh "jesus-oh jesus god, baby" because he's in such awe that you want him.
"just enjoy it sammy, let me love on you a bit, hm?" kissing at his thighs through his dress pants and he's trembling. pawing at the back of your head and nodding frantically. "sammy, just focus, okay?" "fuck, fuck okay. don't-stop talking or i'm gonna cum."
he just loves you soooo much, he can't help but be a lil mean to prolong this <3
what are your thoughts about cassie encouraging you to use the strap..and her coaching you through it
YOU KEEP FEEDING ME AND IT ISN’T FAIR!!
MDNI - 18+
the band nestled on your hips, new and uncomfortable. your hand pawing at cassie’s thighs, shy to make the next move. cassie was beckoning, her legs spread wide for you, her sparkling center completely exposed.
you awkwardly shoved the silicon inside of her, cassie moaning as her weeping center was finally filled. you stayed there for a moment, waiting for her to grow accustomed to this new feeling. your brows tensed together, slow thrusts unsteadily sliding into her. she placed her palm on the expanse of your hip, halting your movements.
“hey,” she began, her voice warbling from the intense need. “focus on me, okay?”
“i’m trying, i’ve never done this before.”
“that’s okay,” she reassured, squeezing the plush of your hip. “follow my directions, yeah? i’ll guide you through it.”
you sheepishly nodded, you relinquishing the toy from within, awaiting her commands.
“focus on you hips, tilt them towards me,” cassie instructed, your hand steady along her muscular thigh as you pressed yourself into her. “good, good, now start slow. let your hips meet mine.”
you tilted your pelvis into her own, hoping the feeling was natural. you slightly wavered as you thrusted into her, cassie once again digging her nails into your skin.
“steady, steady, there you go,” she moaned. “fuck, baby, like hearing me talk you through it?”
you blushed above her, the heat combing through your entire body. gentle draws raking along her inner walls. you leaned in, her all consuming whimpers and gasps making you have a rise in confidence.
your hips steadily pulsed into her then, her fingers relentlessly scratching along your backside. careless sounds seeping from her chest knowing harrison was just on the other side of the wall. your palm met her mouth, hushing her sounds as you pounded into her.
“we don’t need your boy waking up to you being under me, got it?”
you saw the subtle change in her gaze, her eyes becoming darker under your touch. her hand constricted around your wrist, tugging your palm away for a brief moment.
just imagining perv!cassie watching you try on the lingerie sets she bought you just to flaunt your body, wondering how she scored such a pretty young girl 🤤😵💫#needthat
URGH YES && she's so confident about it too at first, making lewd comments about your body and what she wants to do you, like "you know where that would look better, baby? on my floor." And all that but the SECOND you actually give into her advances she becomes a whiny puddle of a woman, the sigh of such a pretty little thing on her lap making her brain short circuit && she can't even string a sentence together!! and by the time you've given her a show of getting undressed she's ready to cum in her pants the poor girl
