kaz

19 | she/her moved from @alpinesverse i’ll pay for it.

[groovyangelkisses]

being married to jack means sleeping on your tummy with one thigh hitched over his waist when he sleeps on his back. his broad hand & chubby wrist holding onto your warm skin, fingers curled around your thigh. you’re basically sleeping on top of him as he wiggles a little closer, lifting your leg up further so he can press his morning hard-on against the soft swell of your cunt.

one hand spreading your cheeks so he can wedge himself into you, while his foot plants flat on the mattress. a low, sleepy, raspy groan “fuuck.” oozing out of him as he settles himself inside.

when you stir, pushing your leg further into his tummy to keep him close, he’s instantly going for the kiss. hips bucking up in circles as he lazily laps at your tongue, “good morning, baby. kiss?”

slooooooooowwww makeout and fucking at 8am on his off-day </3

[groovyangelkisses]

pope & his inability to let anyone else near you… like ever.

you’re making a sandwich for you & him at the kitchen island, colorful bikini & sun-warmed skin that smells like coconuts. your back to the fridge, you can see craig trying to scooch by you in your peripheral.

now craig’s a big guy, so it’s going to take a bit of manuevering to get by you (not that he’s complaining). so when he reaches out a tattooed, thick arm to press against the small of your back in a silent “excuse me,” pope’s already on it.

somehow he manages to puff up his chest & look even bigger than his younger brother. “go the other way, bro.” quite literally standing in front of the passage between your back and the fridge.

when craig rolls his eyes, “whatever, man” and goes the other route of the kitchen island, pope cuddles closer to you. head hanging on your shoulder so you can lovingly run your hand along the back of his neck while he pouts, “takin’ too long. come sit with me.”

[meoowify]

𝜗𝜚 sammy cant help himself

warnings: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, somnophilia, established relationship, a bit of clit fingering, noncon, unprotected piv, sammy takes advantage of reader ;3

a/n: this is a lil follow up on the shipment, hope you enjoy !

“just the tip baby, please?” sammy begs

“fine” you mumbled as you turned to face away from him.

sammy slips your lace trimmed panties off from behind, exposing your bare ass and the sweet, glistening lips of your pussy. with his hand in the crease of your knee, he holds your top leg up, allowing enough space for him to enter from.

you’re already soaking wet from his touch. you let out a soft moan as he slowly stretches your entrance with his thick tip. he keeps his pace very slow, shallowly thrusting as promised. “feels s’fucking good baby” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if he’s never felt your pussy before.

a little bit later, sammy notices that you dozed off. instead of him stopping, this sight only makes him more aroused. he loves seeing his pretty girl in such a vulnerable state.

sammy acts like he’s just soo innocent, like he’s so much better than his twin brother pope. in reality, they're both equally sick in the head.

sammy really cant help himself. seconds after he realizes you’re asleep, he’s balls deep inside your cunt, forcefully pumping his thick cock in your tight little hole. your body reacts on instinct, pussy throbbing and dripping around him as he destroys you. even in your sleep your pussy knows who owns it.

he reaches around to rub your clit as he continues mindlessly thrusting in you. you whimper softly, pushing your hips back into him in your sleep. “such a good girl f’me” he says with a smirk on his face, pounding you even faster than before. “taking me so well even when you’re fast asleep.”

as he finally closes in on his peak, he digs so deep inside of you, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly, causing you to wake up moaning and gripping at the sheets trying to get away. simultaneously, you’re grinding back against him. your body doesn't know what it wants.

sammy can’t take it anymore. “m’so sorry baby, you just feel so good. please let me fini–” he ends his sentence with a loud, drawn out groan as he releases his load inside of you. vandalizing your walls with his hot, stringy ropes of cum. the feeling of being filled with cum draws you to your climax.

you continue riding out your orgasm as sammy guides your hips. he’s sensitive but he still wants to make sure his baby girl gets the best out of her orgasm.

[lovaeir]

Husband! Sammy Bryant dealing with his horny drunk wife <3

MDNI 18+

warnings: intox, oral (f receiving), afab, a lot of whining lol, not read over srry <3

You’re whining into his neck, his big rough hands settled on your hips as you shove your face deeper into his freckled skin. He’s still in uniform, having picked you up from the bar after you called him tipsy and giggling and he came and took you home.

“Js’ call in” you whisper into his neck, slipping your skirt down your legs, your sticky panties following. “You know I can’t angel” he grunts lowly, hands squeezing at your bare flesh and his eyes fluttering shut as you kiss his neck.

“Sammy” you whine, falling back onto the bed and crawling up to the pillows as he watches you. You let your legs fall apart slowly, sticky wet pussy glimmering in the dim lighting of your shared home.

Sammy lets out a deep sigh, hand moving down to adjust his stiffening cock in his pants. “Baby.” he says sternly, “this isn’t fair.” He watches as you lower your left hand down, toying with your clit and your pretty wedding ring catching on the light.

“Just want my husband cock, s’ that so bad” you pout, big doe eyes blinking up at him. “You know I gotta get bac..” he trails off, his eyes glazing over as he stumbles towards you a bit. “You don’t want me anymore Sammy? That it?” You whine, finger pumping inside you.

His big hand is moving over his budge in his pants. “You know that ain’t it.” He growls, the walkie on his side beeping a loud crunchy ‘BRYANT’ as he curses. “I really do gotta go angel” he says lowering himself onto his on knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed by your sides.

He spits a couple times on your pussy as you gasp, watching it run down and coat your folds before he leans in and attaches his mouth to you, slurping it back up. He growls loudly into your cunt as you tug on his hair, his walkie still barking his name before he pulls away. “There, that should hold you over till m’ back hm?”

He leans over you, kissing you roughly before pulling back and then kissing you once more sweetly. “I love you, I’ll be back as soon as I get off” he knows you’ll be sleeping by the time he gets home, but that small taste of your cunt is enough to keep him going for a lifetime.

You whine as he pulls away, sleep already prominent in your voice and he chuckles, adjusting his pants one more time before leaving the house and locking the door.

[not-neverland06]

𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨…

💿 Never Getting Laid 💿

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴: 𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘉𝘳𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘵 & 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

We were so happy / Why not mix it up?

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?

𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘢𝘪𝘥

𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳                  ♥︎

⇄              ◁◁  I I  ▷▷          ↻

⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵

💿 A mind that could flip like a switch 💿

end. — I do not own the characters or the show Southland, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2026. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lovaeir]

ex, baby daddy, sammy bryant who wants you back and makes it known loll <3

MDNI 18+

He was already leaning against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses resting low on his nose, gum in his mouth when you pulled in the parking lot, your baby in the back.

“Ready to go see daddy?” You ask, smiling at her from the rear view mirror. She happily giggles and nods as you park the car. Getting out you round it and go to get her bags out of the back for the weekend but Sammy’s beat you there, grabbing the bright pink and green polka dotted bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Hi baby” he smiles, pushing his sun glasses into his curls and kissing your cheek, resting a hand on your side. Unfazed you let out a flat, “Sammy” as you move to the back doors, starting to unbuckle your daughter. She gasps when she sees him, letting out a sweet “daddy!” To which he chuckles, “there’s my girl” he smiles at her and you try to ignore the way it pulls on your heart strings.

You pull her out and before you can settle her on your hip she’s reaching for him, little arms stretching and wiggling for Sammy. He smiles widely at her, raising his eyebrows and taking her, setting her on his hip. You let out a soft sigh, setting your own hands on your waist and looking at them. “She had a bath this morning but if you do anything that gets her sweaty or dirty I want you to give her another,“ you say trying to think of things you need to tell him. “Bedtime at-“

“Seven, yeah I know.” He nods, adjusting her on his hip. “I know honey, I’ve been her dad as long as you’ve been her mom” he smirks. You sigh softly and nod, brushing some hair out of her face.

“She’s been trying to get me to give her soda, tell her no.”

“I miss you,” he starts,

“-because if you give it to her she’ll be up all night-“

“I love you”

“-and then her whole sleep schedule will be ruined so you can’t do that alright? I don’t care how cute her little puppy dog eyes are-“

“Let me come home.” he’s pleading now, eyebrows furrowed up.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, “Sammy” you breathe, looking at him in the eyes, your daughter playing with his curls. “I mean it” he whispers, bouncing her on his hip now making you look at her. He notices and moves, turning his truck on and blasting the ac, buckling her into the car seat after throwing the bags in.

He’s standing in front of you now empty handed and begging, slowly walking towards you. Your back hits your own suv before you even realize how close he is. “Sammy, c’mon” you whisper, letting out a breath and looking at your feet. His big fingers tipping the bottom of your chin up so you’ll look at him before he leans into your neck slowly, seeing if you’ll push him away. When you don’t, he continues.

He places a feather light kiss to the vein in your neck before whispering “I think about you all day,” he places another kiss below your ear, “every day,” your eyes flutter shut, biting your bottom lip, “think about how much I miss comin’ home to ya.” he whispers into your ear, moving to the other side of your neck and kissing it now.

“Think about how much I miss making love to ya’” he whispers lowly against your ear, you can feel his hot breath on your skin, “Sammy” you breathe on instinct. He pulls back and looks you in the eyes, cupping your face. “I’m gonna do anything it takes to come back home,” he whispers, forehead falling against yours. “to be with you and our girl again everyday, because I love you, both of you.” He says lightly before leaning in, his lips brushing yours softly.

You lightly put your hands on his chest and push him away, because if you don’t now you never will. “Seven, no later.” You say before rounding your car and getting in and starting it.

[bvrnesher]

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― marvel !

summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣

— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.

Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.

— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.

Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.

— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.

Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.

— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”

Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.

— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”

Rating: 0/10. Wicked.

— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.

Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.

— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.

Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.

[coolguy06]

explicit, mdni

cw younger reader, power imbalance

dbf!jack abbot who’s always looked after you. your mom died when you were young, and he filled in the gaps that your father couldn’t.

dbf!jack who grows more and more worried at your behavior after you come home from college. staying out late, drinking far too much, bringing home men who he doesn’t trust and who don’t deserve to fuck you.

dbf!jack who pulls you aside to scold you after your father’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t give a shit what you do. he only wants to express concern, but you’re rolling your eyes and trying to push him away immediately. you’re not having any of it.

dbf!jack who grips your wrists with one hand to keep you from leaving. that’s all. but he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches, or the way your eyes drift to the corded muscles of his arms.

“listen here. i’ve seen too many pretty girls like you end up in my ER to let you act like this.”

you really, really hope he doesn’t notice how flushed you’ve gotten. he’s just so close, you see, and you can smell his aftershave from here. you put on your best defiant look.

“god, quit acting like you’re my dad!”

thirty minutes later, he’s fucking you so deep you can barely breathe. his thumb is pressing circles into your clit, sped on by the mess of arousal spilling out of you. the half-hearted and clearly faked moans he’s heard from you with the boys you usually fuck are nothing compared to the drawn-out whines and gasps you’re letting out now. your eyes are rolled back, completely lost in the pleasure he’s wringing out of you.

“yeah? who’s your daddy, huh?” he grunts, giving your hip a squeeze to prompt a reply.

“fffuck, daddydaddydaddy ‘m so close,” you moan. he clicks his tongue.

“i dunno, do naughty girls who disobey their daddies deserve to come?”

your eyes flash open, panic apparent in them. you shake your head quickly. “i’m sorry! i’ll stop, i swear ill stop, just please let me come daddy please.”

you’re nearly sobbing now. it feels like a herculean task to resist the orgasm that’s barreling towards you. jack coos at you with a smile.

“there’s a good girl. you can come, baby, come on.”

oh and u can bet ur ass he’s wracked with guilt over it afterwards. the worst case of post nut clarity this doctor has ever seen. hes cradling his head in his hands at the foot of your bed, whispering what the fuck did i just do while you’re lounging above him and scrolling through streaming services on your tv.

“what do you wanna watch? oh my god, get over yourself, it’s not a big deal. i’ve fucked plenty of guys older than you.”

you are going to be the death of him.

miiiight write a full fic of this if people want it

[urambrosia]

threatened

summary: your husband will do anything to keep you happy, even if it means losing.

warnings: established relationship, age gap (40s!titus|25+!reader), empty twinkie (fluff only), incredibly spoiled!reader, minor pervy!titus, ass smacking

w/c: >1.9k

author notes: minor blurb again, had to write for zaddy titus bc I had no other inspo and Titus has been on my mind for days. i need that crazy man so bad. my tags weren’t working mid draft and I crashed out like five times, i hate this app. I changed my layout again, im so indecisive. and I’m lowkey debating on deleting all my other posts so I can start fresh…

The afternoon sun blared down on you in a harsh wave of warmth as you stood against the freshly trimmed green grass, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The tip of your tongue pressed out in between your lips, expensive shades pushed up onto your head. Your feet were spread shoulder-width apart, one hand wrapped around the rose gold grip of your golf club.

You carefully winded your arm back just six inches, lightly tapping the golf ball with about as much force as a heavy exhale. You watched as it rolled slowly, following the slight curve of the grass before sliding into the hole with a soft clatter.

“Yes!” You clenched your free hand into a loose fist, pumping your hand in the air as you quickly turned to your husband who was watching with a pleased smile.

“Good job, sweetheart,” He praised with a slow nod and a short clap as he tucked the club grip first under his arm. You shrug lightly as if this type of talent came naturally, stepping aside as your husband subtly jerked his chin towards Pernilla in a silent command to have her grab the ball from the hole. “So, that puts you at what… 35?”

You let out a small, sarcastic laugh, tapping the club head of the club into the damp grass as you approached your husband. “Close, but it’s actually 15.” Titus raises an eyebrow at you, tilting his head slightly.

“15? Is that accurate?” He watches you as the both of you subconsciously make your way towards one another, stopping just at the foot of the golf cart.

“Read the scorecard, baby. One-five, soak it in.”

He leans closer beside you as you pull out the scorecard with a dramatic flourish glancing down at the italicized flourish of your name with a whopping 35 next to it. Your eyes shift down to the neat, bold claim of Titus’ name beside your high score where his score is a gaining with a lower 32 (which was incredibly high even for him, but you knew he’d purposefully been fucking up the entire game). He hums lowly, looking over at you as you’re already looking up at him with a small look he’d gotten familiar with.

He doesn’t say anything at first, studying the little pout on your lips and the pointed look you gave him before quickly caving with a content smile. “Pernilla must’ve miscounted.” Your pout immediately goes away, like a flip is switched, an eager grin slips onto your mouth.

“So, we agree. But don’t worry, I’ll go easy during the last hole.” He laughs at that, letting out a quiet huff through his nose.

His arm finds its way around your waist, tugging you closer to him with a firm grip on your hip. “Thank you, baby. I really appreciate it.” With a steady movement, he guides you towards the golf cart, keeping one hand braced on your back as the other hovered in the air to ease you into your seat.

You accept his extended hand, stepping up onto the golfcart as Titus tilts his head down just a few inches to peer under your small black pleated skirt. But he’s barely caught a glimpse of the colored cotton of your panties before you’re already sitting down. You hand him your golf club without a second thought, as he quickly moves to put your clubs into the cart bag. He moved to slide into the driver’s seat, giving Pernilla four seconds to make her way into her own golf cart before pulling the cart back in drive.

The two of you make your way towards the final hole, golf cart gliding over long hills of bright green as the wind forced the thick dark leaves of the trees to sway loudly. You slid the sunglasses from the top of your head, allowing them to sit comfortably on the bridge of your nose as Titus’ hand made its way towards your thigh.

A comfortable silence stretched between the two of you, tires rolling quietly against the lawn as the cart moved towards the long stretch of empty space. Titus’ thumb rubbed up and down against the smooth expanse of your thigh, occasionally looking over at you to ensure you’re comfortable. You curiously glance over at Pernilla, who’s trailing behind the two of you, turning to look back at your husband. You rest your hand on top of his, rubbing his knuckles with your index finger as he actively fights back a smile.

The cart is shifted into a park as the two of you finally stop at the hole, Titus is the first to glide out of the vehicle. Immediately moving to help you down, though you probably could’ve easily hopped down, the two of you refused to allow yourself to do any simple task like that. Titus quickly grabs your club, extending it your way without you even having to look his way. You turn to him with a bright smile, leaning up to press a lipgloss sticky kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t go easy on me now, I can take it.” You lift up your shades, tucking them into the v-cut of your top as you press a hand to your eyebrows. Blocking the sun from your vision, you squint towards the hole, tapping the clubhead against your shoe.

Titus laughs, stepping beside you as Pernilla places a golf ball on the tee, adjusting it quietly. “I think we both know I don’t do easy,” You side eye him, giving him a blank look as if he wasn’t intentionally losing just to see you win. “Hey, don’t give me that look. It’s windy.”

You snicker slightly, nudging him forward as he makes his way towards the tee in the ground. You stand back just a few steps, watching as he positions himself beside the ball. Your eyes follow the movement of his arm as he reels it back, and for a second you’re actually convinced he’s gonna hit the ball force for. Y’know, taking the last round seriously. His hand ‘slips’, the clubhead barely nudging the ball two feet away from where you both stood.

You gasp loudly, pointing a perfectly manicured finger his way. “Hey! I said don’t hold back.”

His brows lift slightly in faux offense, motioning one hand to the club. “I’m not. My hand slipped.”

“Fine, I’ll try not to wipe the floor with you.”

You brush a stray strand of hair from your face, waiting as Pernilla placed your ball on the tee before positioning yourself in a familiar stance as your husband. Your eyebrows furrow, eyes glued onto the ball in concentration as you drew your arm back up into a 90° angle. With as much strength as you can gather, you swing your arm forward, your clubhead clacks against the ball in a loud thwack.

The ball flies out a good 70 something yards, stumbling over the grass as it rolls to a slow stop somewhere beside a neatly trimmed bush. Titus lets out a low whistle, meeting your excited smile with an approving grin. “Beautiful swing.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

Titus steps four steps towards his ball, as you move horizontally to watch him. Your eyes follow his arm as it moves back before rushing down in a crisp clip against the ball. It flies out, a small chunk of dirt flying off somewhere in the distance as his ball moves towards yours. It falls short by a few feet, perfectly angled towards yours. You clap excitedly, rushing up to Titus’ side. Your hand wraps around his arm as you jump up slightly. “That was perfect!”

He turns his head towards you, a boyish looking grin on his lips at the praise. He doesn’t respond, mimicking your nonchalant shrug from earlier. Instead of taking the time to walk towards the ball, the both of you turn towards the cart again. The thirty second walk time is cut off to a quick six second drive because Titus refuses to allow you to walk and potentially get your pretty little shoes fucked up.

It only takes another heavy swing for the ball to go into the hole, and honestly you were lucky. If it weren’t for that tree in the distance, you would’ve overshot by a foot. But thankfully the thick trunk knocked the ball backwards into the hole in a satisfying plink. Titus follows in suit with two more swings.

By the time you check the score points, your 35 has turned into a 15, which somehow turned into a 10. But considering the happy smile on your face, no one is saying shit about the obvious cheating. Titus sets your club into its corresponding pink bag, before ignoring his own club so he could help you into the cart. Pernilla is probably putting his equipment away as the two of you scramble into the vehicle, but Titus doesn’t check so neither do you.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck, lips pressing repeatedly against his cheek in eager, little peppers. One hand grips the wheel to keep from driving the two of you into a bush as the other is buried comfortably under your skirt. His large hand is heavy against your ass, palm squeezing and gripping your cheek as he revels in your kisses.

“You did great, hon. And that last swing?” He whistles again at the memory, earning a happy hum from you. You lean back slightly, giving a half hearted attempt to wipe away the gloss shining on his cheek. “Leave it, I don’t mind.”

Your hand finds its way back to his shoulder, squealing in surprise as he gives your ass a firm smack. “Stop that, Pernilla might see.” You whisper slightly, but you don’t make an attempt to move his hand away. He looks down at you with a slow grin, intentionally giving your ass another squeeze and a heavy smack.

“I think a little ass smacking is beyond her worries.” You smile despite yourself, running your other hand up and down the curve of his neck. He leans into you, tilting his head down to meet the loud mwah of your lips as you press another kiss to his cheek. His fingers dip under the sides of your panties, pressing against the flesh of your ass for better feel.

“I think I deserve a reward.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you again as he parks the car at the entrance of the Danforth Manor. “Whaddya want?”

You purse your lips as he helps you off, looking up into the sky while trying to recollect the newer things he bought you. A new pair of Jimmy Choo pumps, a new Dior handbag, a gold Chanel necklace. “Hmm,” you trail off as he rests a hand on your hip to keep you in reach as the two of you climb up the steps. “Oh! We should get matching bracelets. Wouldn’t that be so cute?”

“Don’t we already have matching bracelets?”

“Oh, phooey,” as the two of you step inside the Manor, you’re enveloped in a rush of cool air. “Fine, rings then.”

He hesitates, momentarily glancing down at the flashy wedding ring on your finger but being smart he doesn’t correct you again. “That sounds good.”

You turn to him with a soft smile, planting a kiss to his lips. “And I want another handbag. Maybe that Gucci one we saw last month.”

He shifts forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. “The ostrich one?”

“Mhmm… oh, oh! And I saw this cute pair of earrings too.”

“From Gucci?”

“No, Chanel. But I was looking online, and Prada has this gorg—” Titus’ hand moves towards yours, intertwining your fingers with his before kissing your forehead gently to politely shut you up.

“Maybe we should just go shopping this weekend.”

“Great idea.”

[dividers by @uzmacchiato]

[groovyangelkisses]

vacationing at the beach with husband!sammy <3

spending the whole day on the beach, walking to collect shells & watching him literally throw his body into waves from the shoreline. whenever he comes back to sit with you he always stands over you and hooks a finger in your bikini top to catch a glimpse of you. blushing red and smiling with his teeth when you gasp and playfully push his hand away 👙☀️

when you get back to your hotel, you shower together, “conserves water babydoll, hop in” he teases. hugging under the warm water, kissing at the skin of his shoulder as his big arms hold you to him.

when it, naturally, gets a little handsy, sammy is acting suuuper coy, “excuse me young lady, i’m trying to shower here!” stepping in front of the stream to soap up his chest, your chest to his back.

running your hands across his chest and tummy, eventually taking a soapy palm to his cock. his knees buckling and his hands grasping to touch you behind his back, he lifts an arm up to tuck your pretty head against the side of his chest. teeth biting at his bottom lip, “fuuuu-fuuuck”

basically holding each other up afterwards. tongue kisses against the wall, totally exhausted & a lil sunburnt </3

[groovyangelkisses]

coming down the stairs in a string bikini with a lil charm dangling in between your tits. jack is sooooo dad about it, standing from the couch with one arm extended as he walks towards you

“uh uh, no way”

“jaaaack it’s cute!” you whine, cocking your hip and placing your hand on the swell as you stand your ground.

“yeah too fuckin’ cute, i can’t pop a chubby on the beach, baby. please, for my sake, change.” he tries, but you know he wants you to wear it. he just loves the teasing faux argument, riles him up, even.

sauntering out the door with a smile and jack rubs his thumb on the bone at the center of your chest. “so fuckin’ sexy, love you” he relents, a soft whisper and rough kiss to your lips before he pulls back to grab the beach umbrella and your tote.

[pinkandblueblurbs]

18+ mdni thinking about jack abott and his sweet girl who gets distracted during sex n can have trouble finishing…

he can see when you’re into it— meeting his eye, smiling, responding to his words with sweet whimpers n hushed whispers as he fucks you… but then he can see when your head goes elsewhere. your eyes glaze over a bit and drift to the ceiling, you stop grinding down to meet his thrusts.

His hand comes up to cup your face in an attempt to draw you back, and you turn your face to kiss his palm, but he knows it’s just an absentminded reflex.

“Hey.” Jack urges, voice a low rasp. “Hey, doll. Look at me.” He smiles gently when you finally meet his eye with a small one of your own. “Where’d you go, pretty girl? Gotta stay with me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, all breathy as Jack’s hips snap forward n his cock kisses your cervix. “Just thinking.”

Jack shakes his head, light and easy and hardly a reprimand. “You’ve got all the time in the world to think, sweetheart. I need you to focus right now, can you do that for me?”

You nod.

“Feel this?” He rolls his hips again, slow and deep. “Feel how full you are?”

You nod again, and this time your brows furrow n your face scrunches in pleasure as you fully find your way back to the present.

“Yeah. Attagirl. Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” You breathe out. You let your back arch, rutting down against Jack to chase that build-up you need. He nods encouragingly.

“There you go. You’re doing such a good job.” Jack’s hand moves low between your bodies. He finds your clit, rolls it between the pads of his index and middle fingers.

He smirks when you moan and tremble. He knows you’re getting there, but also knows that you could just as easily lose it again. So he keeps talking.

“Such a good girl for me. Look how fuckin’ perfect you are.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your neck, then he connects his lips to yours and lets his tongue sweep inside, swallowing your next moan. He’s panting softly when he pulls away.

His fingers speed up just a bit when he can tell that you need more. He nods, urging you along when your hands come up to grip his shoulders and you look at him with desperate eyes. He keeps the encouragement flowing freely. “Good girl. Come on, you can do it. I feel you getting close, babydoll. You’re doing so well. I wanna feel you to cum on my cock.”

Your brows knit in concentration and you writhe on the bed, trying to move the right way and find the right angles to finally send yourself over the edge.

When it works you tighten up everywhere— your fingers dig into the freckled flesh of Jack’s shoulders, your body goes rigid, your mouth slackens in a long, airy moan. Jack groans lowly at the feeling of your walls clenching up around him, pulling his cock in deep.

“Goood girl.” Jack grits out. His hips stutter as he diligently fucks you through your orgasm. “You’re so good, honey. Fuck.” His forehead falls against yours, sweaty gray curls pressing against your hairline and lust-blown eyes mere inches from your own. “That never gets fucking old.”

[acecroft]

SHAWN HATOSY as Andrew 'Pope' Cody in Animal Kingdom 1.02

[misspossexxive]

jack can't keep up with your high sex drive...and neither can robby...

you were squeezed between them. their large hands held your body in a firm grip, leaving red marks in their wake, but it didn’t bother you – not when their lips tasted your sweaty skin, taking turns kissing your swollen ones, pushing their tongues inside your mouth, letting you taste your own juices.

your fingers were tangled in both men’s hair, tugging at the ends and pulling them closer to you, even when there was no space left between you – you were practically molded together. but you kept trying anyway, especially when their big cocks filled your sweet pussy so well that with every thrust, your mind, drunk on orgasms, made you feel as though they were so deep inside you – so very deep – that you could feel them both in your throat.

"feels good, baby?" jack asked, sliding one hand onto your jaw and turning your face towards him, wanting to see that pretty expression on your face when you’re getting fucked, the one you always have during sex.

"yes…oh god…yes, it feels so good, daddy, so so good" you whimpered, arching your back as robby pressed against that one hypersensitive spot inside your pussy, causing your vision to go white for a moment.

"yeah? tell robby, baby. tell him how good his cock makes you feel" he breathed hoarsely into your ear, kissing your earlobe as he moved lower down your neck, sucking and kissing the skin there.

"you fuck me so good, robby. please don’t stop" you moaned breathlessly, looking at him with those cloudy eyes that were practically screaming, "fuck me harder" , even when their cum was practically gushing out of your pussy, because of how many times they both had already filled you, flooding your womb full.

robby just growled when he saw this, thrusting his huge, long cock into you almost spitefully, forcing cries to escape from your throat, while jack fucked you slowly and deeply. both men could feel your gummy walls tightening more with every thrust they made inside you, causing them both to press their hands harder against your body, holding you down and cumming, making you cum too and milking every last drop out of them.

and when jack and robby wanted to pull out of you, their cocks both limp, all their cum now deep inside you, you whimpered in disapproval.

you looked at them, barely conscious, but still so desperate for more.

[jackcody]

thinking about dbf!jack abbot catching you smoking weed at your dad’s house – he was dropping by with a toolkit he borrowed – and saw you sitting on the couch with an oversized shirt on, joint in hand. he knew it was medicinal, your father himself confided in jack about how rough college was for you and how you started having severe anxiety. so it makes sense how he would stay and check up on you!

jack abbot who convinces you to let him take a hit – he was the sleazy stoner type in med school, rolling joints in the skate park in between exams. when you both get deeper into the smoke sesh he starts getting handsy, plucking the joint directly from your lips instead of letting you pass it directly to him, rubbing your knees in that small, circular motion that sends a tingle straight straight to your cunt but you’re so high you can’t tell it’s from the weed or being so horny for your dad’s best friend :(.

jack abbot who gets the munchies and ends up eating your pussy on your childhood bed. your legs wrapped around his head as he moans into your clit about how “you taste so fucking good, kiddo” and how he’s going to now look into medicinal marijuana because “how am i going to fuck you if my leg hurts?”

[romantic-insomniac]

☼︎ 1.5 k celebration fic for... sammy bryant ☼︎ based on these asks ☼︎

summary ☼︎ after getting cheated on and treated as if he was terrible in bed, your boyfriend sammy has no idea just how good he always makes you feel. how do you remedy that? by having him tell you how good he is while you ride him of course!

cw ☼︎ afab!reader, talks of insecurities/infidelity, established relationship, reassurance af! dry humping for like a second, kissing :3, reverse cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie heals all

wc ☼︎ 1.2 k

the first time you and sammy had sex, you thought him asking you "that feel good?" or "is this okay?" repeatedly was just him learning your body. but at three months into the relationship and he's still acting surprised you even want to be intimate with him, you know it's more than that.

it was the same cycle of little things here and there that had you realize sammy was unaware of how good to you he was. it ranged from sending him a dirty text or picture while he was gone only to be met with a response like "you know you sent that to me right?", to trying to get him undressed and in your pants the second he got home just for him to scrunch his face up and say "you don't have to do that for me."

some nights, you even thought you were the problem. because every time you tried to tell him you felt needy for him, he always double and triple checked if you actually wanted to. your confusion came to a head after dinner on his couch one night.

you'd wanted him inside you since the second he got home, but as always, he looked at you like you had four heads when you tried to make a move. so you waited until after dinner and halfway through the movie he let you pick out. you lean over to start kissing his neck and you hear his breath hitch when you sling a leg over his waist to straddle him. "missed you today sammy.." you hum as you reach his lips while trailing your fingers down his soft belly to his pants zipper.

"are you sure you want to?" is what he murmurs when you tug at the metal tab. you huff, pulling back to look at him. "do you.. not want me or something sammy?" his hazel eyes look cartoonish the way they bulge outwards. "w-what? of course i do."

you play with the buttons on his shirt as you whisper, "then why are you always acting surprised when i want to be with you?" his pudgy cheeks redden instantly, a hand carding through his curls as he looks anywhere but you. "cause it is surprising for me. i guess." when your face scrunches in confusion he rubs the back of his neck as he continues. "my ex she uh, she cheated on me. and i- i think its because of y'know.. her not being satisfied with my… abilities."

the frown takes over your face instantly, heart sinking at the fact that his insecurities come from a woman who wasn't even faithful to him. you think for a second, the last few months becoming clearer in your mind. "sammy… you know that i think you're really good at sex right?"

"baby, you don't have'ta lie-" "i'm not lying! i swear, sammy. you're the only guy who's ever made me finish." he blinks up at you, hands tightening on your hips as you rock once on top of him. "i- i am?" you nod sweetly, not being able to help grinding down on him as you feel him fully harden beneath you. a small groan slips out of both of you at the movement.

"mhm.. you make me feel so good sammy. only you" his lips part at your admission before he cradles your face in his chubby hands to pull you down to kiss him. by the time your tongue slips into his mouth you're desperate, rocking back and forth and whining on top of him.

a surge of confidence rushes though your boyfriend as he whispers against your lips, "w-want me to make you feel good right now?" you don't try to fight of your soft moan of anticipation, which causes sammy to buck his hips up involuntarily as you nod.

you both quickly stand up and all clothes are discarded in between needy kisses before settling back onto the couch. you stop him before he can roll you into missionary, his go to position, and you pray that you've reassured him enough that he'll let you try something new.

you scoot around until you're hovering upright on his lap as you face away from him. you glance over your shoulder and bite your lip when you see his eyes glued to your ass. "this okay sammy?" his enthusiastic nod has you giggle, which is quickly cut off by a moan as he guides you to sink down onto his cock.

"jesus- fuck- you feel so good like this baby." sammy babbles already as you start to ride him in reverse cowgirl for the first time. you're crying out his name as he stretches you until you feel him in your throat.

even though you're not face to face, the new position lets you lean back against his soft chest and easily turn your head to kiss him. it's a sloppy kiss that has your hips faltering when he starts grinding upwards to meet each of your bounces. "oh god- so big sammy ooohh god-!" you yelp when he reaches around to rub your clit just how you taught him to, which you reward with a "just like that- mhm-! so good sammy."

sammy starts to whine into your mouth when you clench around him. "tell me that you're making me feel good. say it sammy." he hesitates for a second before you bend down and gently cup his balls that sit just below where he's touching your clit. he chokes out a groan before nodding in agreement. "im makin' you feel good baby- makin' you f-feel so good."

you're tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as you whimper, "so good sammy- best anyone's ever made me feel." he speeds up his thrusts, his thick tip hitting the sensitive spot inside you relentlessly. he breaks your kiss to stick two of the chubby fingers from his free hand in your mouth, humming in satisfaction at you when you suck fervently and look back at him with glossy eyes.

he releases them with a *pop* and brings them to pinch one of your nipples and your orgasm approaches you like the inevitable drop off at a cliff. you feel him puff out his chest a bit against your back. and when he grunts, "yea.. yea- i'm the best you've ever had- hnng - f-fucking this tight pussy better than anyone else has, r-right?", you're a goner. you spasm around him, reaching forward to grab at his knees when your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and you free fall with a shaky moan.

and sammy's right behind you, muttering a few "so good baby, fuck- best ive ever felt." and "gonna fill you up jus how you like it- gonna be so full a'me. only me." the next second your insides are flooded with warmth as he whimpers your name. you shiver at his come filling you to the brim, sending lovely aftershock waves through your body.

you sag back against his chest with a sigh, sammy wraps his strong arms around you, kissing your neck softly. you nuzzle your cheek to the top of his head where is curls lay a little sweaty now. you hold his hand in yours as you smile. "told you you were good at that."

[reveuchet]

18+

clark kent struggles to face the fact that some people in the world will dislike him at some point, no matter how hard he tries to get them to like him. he hates the idea of anyone disliking him, but when he's with you, it's inevitable.

the neighbours come knocking on the door after it's the 5th time that week clark was fucking you into the bed with his cock deep into your pussy. there's a loud moan that follows every time clark hits the sweet spot— sending you into ecstasy over and over again.

"ngh— i love you so much," he moans, pulling your head closer to kiss you.

he's shoving his tongue down your throat while grinding his cock deeper into you. loud moans escape past your lips despite clark throat-fucking you with his tongue.

you let out a gasp when he pulls out, leaving only the tip inside. you clench around it, wanting more desperately, pussy unconsciously pulling him inside but he doesn't cave. you let out an eager whine.

"stay silent for me, will you?" he asks nicely, a big cheeky grin plastered on his face.

immediately, you place a hand over your mouth.

he uses his palm underneath your back to pull you into an arch, aiming the tip perfectly at the spot that would send you over the climax. he hesitates, before exerting the final blow and thrusting his full length inside you one last time.

"fuck—!" you subdue with your hand, spurts of cum coating his softening member.

he groans above you, peppering kisses along your neck as he paints your walls white.

"what're we gonna do about them?" you ask, panting.

"i have no idea," clark chuckles.

meanwhile, neighbours are already gathered at your door, begging for some kind of compensation or for you guys to sound-proof your room.