part 1: it seems unfair to you that you never got to smoke weed with Sammy
part 2: a peek into your post-engagement life with Sammy.
beating hearts (x)
for certain reasons, you have always avoided dating cops. but one time, you make an exception, and this exception so happens to be your brother's partner. (ben’s little sister!reader)
floating (x)
you move to california to start a life of your own, and your apartment building is close to a police station which happens to be full of incubi cops. and one of them already has his eyes on you as we speak. (demon!au)
headlights (x)
your asshole of a father assigns a bodyguard to protect you...well, that’s not quite the reason, but he does assign a bodyguard to you! (bodyguard!au)
genesis
part 1: you finally have some fun at church when a new guy joins bible study.
part 2: andrew finally takes you home with him.
part 3: the apocalypse. and also, andrew discoveres something new about himself.
close to you (x)
you start an affair with your husband’s friend.
bonfire heart (x)
basically, you have a fat crush on Adrian, and he's not the only one who is an idiot. (also, crush is and understatement).
warnings: fluff, smut - spanking (ass & pussy), some slapping, light bondage, use of toys (butt plug), fingering, unprotected sex, a lil’ bit of cum eating, a lil’ bit of spitting, and of course soft dom!sammy
summary: a peek into your post-engagement life with Sammy.
w/c: 6.8k
a/n: back on my sammy bryant bullshit yay. this can be read as a one-shot, but it’s set in the same universe as this. all of my fellow sammy bryant enthusiasts, i hope you enjoy!
You didn’t mind spending some of your time with Sammy’s colleagues, as long as any sexist or misogynistic comments stayed out of their mouths or, at least, out of earshot. You could tolerate Sammy hanging out with them–it’s not like you even had a choice since they were his only buddies and you were his life partner. However, you let him know early on in the relationship that if he ever uttered a single word similar to what they often did, in front of you or not, you wouldn’t hesitate to end things, as cute as he was.
Luckily, Sammy got enough socializing at work. Sometimes he went out to get a few beers with the guys and gals from his division, and occasionally, he attended a retirement party which you always accompanied him to if he asked, because he was more important to you than any copper who had something distasteful to say. Yes, sometimes you had to bite your tongue at these events, but you were too in love with him to not make that sacrifice.
“No matter what happens in there, you know I love you, right?” Sammy squeezed your hand, making you roll your eyes as you gave him a tug back.
“You’re being dramatic.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’m being dramatic? You were the one doing breathing exercises and muttering insults about Dewey like some fucking mantra.”
Well, yes, you meditated before you left, chanting ‘Dewey’s just a fucking clown’ under your breath, because that’s the only strategy you believed would keep you sane throughout this party.
“Would you rather I punch him in the face as soon as he makes a ‘joke’ about you keeping my taco sauced?”
Sammy wheezed, but when he saw your arched eyebrow, he collected himself and cupped your face. The grin stayed as he pecked your lips.
“I’d bet my money on you.” Sammy kissed you once more before bringing your hand up and kissing the shiny rock on your forefinger. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Of course. I love you.”
His dimples deepened at the words before he repeated them to you, and then he led you inside the bar. Ever the gentleman, he entered first, in case there was a physical dispute near the door, his arm outstretched behind him to keep your fingers laced.
On the way to your table, the two of you greeted a few of his colleagues, he introduced you to some new faces and then you found Ben already waiting for you to join him, with Officer Cooper looming over him as they chattered. You slid into the seat while Sammy went to order some Coke for both of you, leaving you alone with Ben after Cooper congratulated you on the engagement and made his way back to his table.
“Still haven’t changed your mind?” Ben asked, taking a sip of his bear.
“About what?”
“Marrying Sammy, what else?”
“Why, you have someone better for me?”
In that moment, you felt a tug on your ear, Sammy slipping into the seat beside you and nudging his hip against yours as he placed his arm on the back of the seat behind you.
“You tryna’ give my girl ideas, Sherman? Why don’t you go play matchmaker somewhere else, huh?” Sammy snarked, and you squeezed his knee underneath the tabletop.
Ben chuckled, taking another sip from his bottle as you fell into a casual chat until the speeches started. All in all, the night wasn’t so bad, since it turned out to be the better crowd of cops. Most of them didn’t even know you or couldn’t care less about you. Sure, there was some pseudo-mingling, either Sammy ran off to say hi to the very few detectives, or you ended up at the bar, speaking to Jessica before returning to your seat to chat with Ben. Or it was Ben who left the table, giving you and Sammy a moment alone.
“Anyone made it on your hitlist, yet?” he asked and lifted your joined hands slightly, swaying his arm over your head and letting it settle around your shoulders. It brought your faces closer together, your noses tickling each other as you smiled at him.
“Isn’t that like a trigger word for you guys? I don’t want anybody to tackle me or something.”
“You’re mistaking us for a K-9 unit, sweetheart.”
“Oh, right. The better bunch.”
“Don’t start.”
“They are dog lovers, Sammy,” you said matter-of-factly.
“I’m a dog lover,” he retorted. You stayed quiet, giving him that look, sweet smile and batting eyelashes, silently waiting for the neurons in his brain to click. A soft smile formed on Sammy’s lips and his head started bobbing up and down. “You want a dog? That it?”
You gave him a double-peck on his lips, before murmuring against him, “Maybe.”
Sammy hummed.
“Yeah. Figures,” he murmured back, almost defeatedly as he smirked at you. You were making him fuzzy all over again and he was pretty sure his ears were getting red and yeah, you were getting a dog.
“Jesus Christ, man, could you be anymore whipped?” Ben’s voice interrupted the sweet moment, and you snickered while Sammy’s eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. The guys fell into a verbal contest of who was jealous of who before the three of you got separated again.
Tonight you could actually admit that you were having a good time. You got to know some good people, successfully escaped some distasteful conversations and easily found Sammy if you felt overwhelmed. You were enjoying yourself until you entered a conversation about your engagement and the wedding.
Naturally, you were more than happy to talk about it, even though many people looked like you knocked their socks off when you explained that neither you nor Sammy wanted anything grandiose. Their reactions didn’t faze you, though, because you had prepared yourself for worse long before Sammy proposed to you. But the words of this particular person sent you into a spiral, and honestly, you forgot who the person was shortly after you parted ways, and you cursed yourself for it.
You didn’t realize it at first, instead it built up inside you until it hit really you. It was stupid, really. You were stupid for letting a stranger get to you like that, all the more so considering they didn’t even have ill intent. You knew you needed to consult with Sammy, you knew you should have done that in the first place, but against your better judgement, you called Ben instead.
Now, Ben wasn’t the best relationship guru, despite him thinking exactly that. But he gave you advice which, at the time, didn’t sound so bad, but it demanded a plan. Luckily, you were good at scheming, especially against Sammy.
It wasn’t unusual for you to walk around the house with as little clothes as possible, especially during a heatwave. The same went for Sammy, but despite his considerable muscle and fat mass, it appeared that his body temperature regulation had improved thanks to the fact that he was consistently bearing extra weight of the uniform, so he was a little bit more resilient, you would say. You used to worry about him, always driving him crazy when you kept making sure that he was wearing sunscreen and drinking enough water. He always tried to sound tough, insisting that water was the least of his problems in his line of work.
So, how are you supposed to catch the bad guys if you’re having heatstroke?
After their cooler had been stolen, you went as far as buying him an insulated water bottle that you always put into the freezer before his shift, so his water would stay cold in the searing car for as long as possible. You also made sure that his partner was ready to step in not only when gangsters started shooting at them, but also in case Sammy showed any signs of passing out.
“What exactly makes you think that I shouldn’t be the one looking out for Ben?”
“Well, he isn’t my boyfriend, is he?” You pecked his cheek. “And you aren’t exactly getting any younger, either.”
He couldn’t do anything more than scowl as he headed out to work, but he would show you later that night that he was more than capable of surviving the physical demands of his job and fucking you on top of that.
So, with Sammy and the amount of clothes he wore at home, it was 50/50, but your body couldn’t get used to it. It was always just too fucking hot, and as if that wasn’t enough, the AC had been acting up, so you walked around the house, wearing different combinations of clothes – a simple shirt with panties, shorts with a bralette, sometimes even just your sports bra and your boyshorts. That was all normal.
It was normal that Sammy was in his shorts and a T-shirt when you entered the living room. What was not normal though, was you wearing Sammy’s Los Angeles Police Academy shirt.
Sammy’s fingers fiddled with the game controller, putting the animated police officer on TV in motion. At the sound of your footsteps, he gave a quick glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the game, only to make a double-check when he saw the shirt you were wearing. His brows creased.
“Wow. Never thought I’d live to see the day you’d finally become a police fan. You wanna pose for the recruitment flyers?” he said, bringing his attention back on the simulator.
“A police fan? What if I decided to join the force? My obsession has grown to the point where I need to keep my eye on you at all times.” You rounded the couch, carefully sinking into the pillows and leaning your back against the armrest as you threw a blanket over yourself, squirming underneath it. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh-oh.” His crooked teeth caught his lower lip in concentration as he coordinated his fingers to move the character in a challenging maneuver.
“I think I’m gonna keep my last name.”
Sammy’s head whipped toward you, fingers on the controller coming to a stop, but as soon as he locked eyes with you, he tsked, shaking his head. His fingers continued to press the buttons. “You’re full of bull. Give me a break.”
You crossed your arms over the shirt’s logo. “You don’t believe me?”
“Nah,” he said absentmindedly, his body jerking as he got into pursuit of an animated perp. You kindly asked him to explain why he didn’t think you were telling the truth.
“Because I’m observant. I’m a good listener and communicator and have great analytical skills.” He ticked each point off on his fingers. “Maybe it’s the former detective in me, but personally, I think I’m just a great husband material.”
“You forgot humble.”
“Humility didn’t really do much when I heard you gushing to Marianna on the phone about being future Mrs. Bryant.”
Your jaw dropped at his words, in embarrassment mostly, as you felt your cheeks heat up.
“So you’re eavesdropping now?”
He snorted. “Yeah, eavesdropping in my own house. You aren’t exactly quiet when you talk on the–”
“Says the guy who’s turning heads in every restaurant we eat at.”
Sammy’s tongue poked at his cheek, eyes wide as the controller clattered onto the coffee table. He braced his hand against his thigh, twisting his body toward you and tilting his head
“Are you trying to pick up a fight?”
“No. You know you’re too loud.”
“Yeah,” he huffed out, voice shaking with insincere laughter. “Because you do a pretty good job bringing it up every time.”
Now he was making you sound like the bad guy. Of course you kept pointing it out! But it wasn’t every time; you did it in places where it was considered uncivil, he knew that. Sammy was loud and he talked through his food, chewing away at a steak while he screamed about a rookie police officer that dared to pull him over. He was really lucky that that your first date wasn’t at a restaurant, because this particular thing would definitely be a turn off. And it wasn’t like you were mean about it either. All you always did was give his forearm a squeeze with a gentle shh. One of you had to stay decent.
Most of the time, he apologized. Other times, when he was a little edgy, he rolled his eyes because he refused to believe that he was being that loud.
“And every time, I do you a favor. But in all seriousness,” you said, reaching for the magazine with photographs of wedding venues. You both knew that it was just a prop. You had already agreed to a micro-reception at Sammy’s parents’ vacation house out in Santa Barbara. “I don’t want people to call me Mrs. Bryant… Tammi was Mrs. Bryant.”
He hitched one of his legs on the cushion, knee bent as he stretched his arm over the back of the couch, finally settling into focus as he realized this wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Are you serious?” he asked, confusion taking over his face.
You flipped a page. “I just said in all–”
“I heard what you said,” he interrupted, tearing the magazine out of your hands, pages probably creasing as it flew in the air before landing in a messy heap on the table. He released a deep sigh, shaking his head as his eyes studied your face, trying to figure out how to go about this and potentially fix it.
No, Sammy wasn’t responsible for whatever mess you had in your head, and he was not going to take the blame for it. But he would be responsible for not changing your mind back, so he needed to get to the bottom of this.
“Who got into your head like that?”
You frowned, chin folding as you scoffed a little too hard. “No one.”
You hated the idea of him thinking that you couldn’t think for yourself.
“Was it Marianna?”
“No one. I have a question, too,” you were quick to deflect.
Sammy’s brows shot up, lips curling into a somewhat mocking smile. Oh, this was going to be good.
“Would you take my last name?”
He huffed, averting his gaze to the game that he didn’t care to pause as he scratched his chin with his thumb.
“I’m serious. Would you?”
The corner of Sammy’s mouth was quirked up, creating a crease in his cheek. He rolled his eyes when he looked back at you, trying to assess if you were truly being as serious as you claimed.
“No.”
You reached for the magazine again, palm smacking against the glossy paper before you leaned back into the couch.
“You know, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, a little offended.
“Tracks with your age group. Ben said he’d take his girlfriend’s name.”
Pause. Sammy’s face scrunched up, palm hovering in the air as he tried to make sense of what you just said. “You’re talking to Ben about our wedding?”
You shrugged. “Of course. He’s our friend,”
Sammy was carefully watching you now, again searching for any indications that you were just fucking with him because you had tendencies to do that a lot.
“He is my partner.”
“Okay. My friend then.”
Sammy’s nostrils flared as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. He had no idea why, but you were definitely trying to provoke him. He was going to knock Sherman’s teeth out as soon as he saw him for putting ideas into your head, because he was now 99 % sure that he was the one to bring up the Mrs. Bryant bullshit, too.
“Maybe you should marry Sherman then.”
“Thanks for the suggestion. Maybe I’ll consider it.”
Sammy’s hand shot out, grabbing your cheeks and turning your face upward until you’re your nose brushed against his. You heard the sound of the magazine hitting the floor.
“You’re being childish, you know that?”
You know what they say: it takes one to know one. You would never deny that, sometimes, your actions and words could be perceived as immature, but right now? You thought you were being pretty fucking reasonable.
Soon, you were thrown over his thighs and his LAPD shirt was bunched up around your waist, revealing your butt to him. But more importantly, he revealed the shiny jewel-heart nestled between your cheeks, the twisted lace of your panties doing nothing to cover it up.
He scoffed, muttering a fucking Christ as he stuck out his neck to the side to give you a pointed look which you purposely avoided.
“Look at me.”
You clenched your jaw, mind racing as you suddenly became unsure whether you were still the mastermind in your own game, or you just became an underdog in his. You had a feeling it was the latter. Reluctantly, you turned your head.
“How long have you been like this?” he asked, skimming his fingers across the plug and pressing down lightly, just enough to make the toy shift within you. All you could do was whimper, until suddenly, a sharp smack landed against your flesh. “How long?” he repeated firmly.
“Since this morning.”
Sammy gave a slow nod, lips curling downwards as his eyes scanned the length of your body.
“So, this is the reason for that stunt of yours?” he asked, wide eyes boring into yours as you squirmed against him. “Hm? Got a little restless, having you poor ass plugged up all day?”
“No. I still have a problem with your last name.”
He laughed, throwing his head back in disbelief.
“Have a problem with my last name. Okay.”
You felt another blow to your ass, a small ow escaping your lips, when suddenly, your upper body was yanked up by his hand under your neck, fingers squeezing just under your ears as your back arched into an unnatural angle and your elbows locked in to support your weight against the couch.
“You needa help me out here, baby. I really don’t know if you want me to fuck you senseless or fuck some sense into you.”
“I want you to fuck me however you want. And then I want you to take my last name.” You croaked out, but the confidence in your voice didn’t waver, Sammy had to give you that. He didn’t doubt that you felt his cock twitch in his shorts, matching your throbbing pussy that had definitely already ruined your underwear.
He brought his other hand to your head, gently stroking your hair before he bent down to your level. His nose brushed against your temple, and his lips tickled the apple of your cheek as he spoke.
“Do you really think I’m gonna fall for that? You think I got stupid or what?” His hand returned to your ass, and he gave a gentle tug on the plug, making you twitch at the unexpected sensation, gasp escaping your lips. “You hate your last name. So cut the crap already.”
Okay, Sammy was right. Your name actually belonged to the father of your sister since your own dad was an asshole, and your mother had done everything in her power to put a significant distance between you and him. Well, your half-sister’s father turned out to be an asshole, too, and he basically abandoned the family and created a new one. But you didn’t remember him anyway and eventually, you and your sister grew apart. Point being that you never had a string to that name.
You actually never really hated it until Sammy came into your life and asked you to take his name. As stupid as it was, you had become so excited about the idea of finally having a last name that meant something to you. To have a last name of someone you actually knew and cared about. You loved Sammy unconditionally and you loved his last name, so when someone completely random, who you didn’t even have a memory of, managed to ruin this whole idea for you in just a couple of seconds, it saddened you a little. It annoyed you.
“Poor baby. Always worried about me, when it’s your brain getting sun-fried until you can’t think straight. Allowing someone to think for you–Sherman, of all people. What did we say about that?”
Fuck, there we go. You knew he was going to bring it up.
“It wasn’t Ben.”
“Then who was it?” he asked sternly through clenched teeth, hot breath bouncing off your skin.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Someone at the party.” He exhaled sharply before letting go of your jaw, your arms folding underneath your chest after they gave out, your face planting into the cushion. “I swear I don’t know,” you whispered, turning your head to the side to look at him.
Sammy nodded. He seemed to believe you, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was satisfied with your answer. He massaged your glutes, causing goosebumps to litter your skin, before tugging your underwear to the side. His fingers slid between your thighs and sank into the wetness of your pussy. Instinctively, you parted your legs as far as the limited space allowed you to, and tilted your hips, chasing the contact as he teased your opening.
“You’re really lucky I’ve been hard since the moment I saw you in my clothes.” A smirk broke on your face. You knew it would work on him. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t fuck you until you swore to take my name.”
He wouldn’t do that, because he was very well aware that you would just settle for your stash of vibrators, and he hated it when you fucked yourself without his presence. He also knew that you had several hiding spots that he still hadn’t figured out.
“We need to get your train back on track, too. You will become Mrs. Bryant.”
“Ugh.”
That it only earned you a punishing slap to your cunt.
“What do I have to do? Fuck you at the station? Show everybody who Mrs. Bryant is? I’m sure they won’t forget after they see your pussy full of my cum.”
Your pussy pulsed at his words before his palm smacked you once again, your whole body jerking at the impact.
“For having no shame in liking that idea. Fucking slut.”
He slid his digits against you, your tight pussy lips enfolding his middle finger as it bumped against your clit, sending sparks throughout your body. Two of his fingers then slipped into your drenched hole, and he curled them upwards, prodding at the plug from the other side. Simultaneously, he gently tugged at it with his free hand, creating a blissful feeling that had moans pouring out of your mouth.
You rocked back into him, fucking yourself on his fingers, only for him to remove them and slap your cunt again. You cried out, your asshole clenching around the plug. With one hand gripping the underside of your ass and spreading you, Sammy twisted your arm until your hand reached his mouth.
His lips wrapped around your fingers, sucking and covering them in saliva, tongue twirling around them. He slid his mouth lower until your fingertips were resting against the root of his tongue, swallowing them as his teeth finally scraped against your ring, drenching the diamond too.
After releasing your fingers, he guided your hand to your pussy.
“Finger yourself, Mrs. Bryant.”
You didn’t react to the title anymore, instead hitching your hips up and filling your cunt with your digits. Well, filling was an exaggeration. From this particular angle, it was harder than you’d thought, and you struggled to reach your spot, only the first knuckles finding home inside of you.
In the meantime, Sammy removed your panties, briefly lifting your hand to make way before he forced it back. He couldn’t tear his eyes from you, desperate and double-stuffed, your underwear in his hand fucking soaked through. Sherman was going to turn fucking green once he heard about this.
It wasn’t really all that shocking when Sammy brought your panties toward his face, giving them a sharp, though savoring sniff. However, his predictability didn’t change the fact that the act still made your cheeks flush.
Sammy loved your scent. Every time he trailed kisses along your legs, he caught the whiff of your bar soap first–for some reason, it lingered longer on your skin than classic body wash. Then it starts to mix with the scent of your pussy, and he swore that no weed had ever got him as high as your essence.
He never wanted to wash his hands after he fingerfucked you, nor his mouth after he ate you out. Several times, he had made you ride his pillow so he could fall asleep to the smell of your arousal, bringing him the sweetest dreams a man could ever dream. He was just too damn addicted.
“Maybe I should bring these to work. Pass them around and tell everyone to remember how delicious Mrs. Bryant smells.”
He discarded them, grabbing your occupied hand and bringing your fingers back into his mouth, closing his eyes and humming at the tanginess of your juices as he licked them off.
“You gonna let them taste me, too?” you asked, flashing him your most innocent look.
He paused, his eyes peeling open as he let your arm drop. He leaned over you, giving you too saccharine a smile when he forced his thumb between your cheek and the couch while his fingers squished the opposite cheek. His twinkling eyes skimmed over every inch of your face in a parallel pattern. Then his hand disappeared before striking your face, causing you to hiss, but also more wetness to gush out of you and soak his shorts.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
He played with your ass for a bit, kneading and scratching, delivering light slaps just to see it jiggle under his touch, only occasionally giving your cunt similar treatment. It was rare for him to be like this; the plug combined with the LAPD shirt must have really affected his brain and impulse control.
“How did it feel?”
You blinked. “What?”
“When you filled your ass with that plug. How did it feel?”
“It hurt a little.”
“Yeah, I’d think so. You whine even when I slip a finger in that tight, little hole.” His thumb pressed against the center of the heart, and you pressed back. “You know I don’t like surprises, right?”
“I thought this might be an exception.” You bit your lip, hesitant, before you continued. “I have another one for you.” Sammy’s eyes darkened even more, piercing through yours. “The app to it is in your phone.”
Sammy held your body firmly to his lap as he stretched his torso over you. Frantically pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table, he found his phone beneath another magazine, one with wedding dresses which you definitely hadn’t put there.
It didn’t take him long to find the app, thumb already hovering over the various settings and modes.
“Did you already try it?”
“Only to make sure it worked. Before I put it in.”
“And are you sure you can handle it?”
You shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”
But of course you could handle it. You could handle anything Sammy gave you, and you knew he would never make you uncomfortable. This man had every right to brag, because he was a good listener, and that applied to your sex life, too. Especially to your sex life.
You were nearly shaking with excitement until he finally tapped the screen, and the toy came to life. Despite the lower setting, you jumped in an unavailing attempt to run away from the plug that was safely secured inside of your ass.
Sammy was just testing the waters first, but once he saw you relax, he upped the ante, the vibrations getting more intense. Small moans started to leave your mouth and Sammy decided he was satisfied for the time being.
His fingers started exploring your pussy again, dragging his fingers along your folds, flicking your bundle, filling you up with them. All of it. You squirmed against him, angling your hips to rub your clit against his thigh and competing for that release that your pussy desperately wanted. It didn’t take long for your mouth to form pitiful pleas.
“Sammy, please.”
“What are you begging for?”
“I wanna cum,” you whined, giving a vigorous (and laughable) buck of your hips. Your version of a stomp.
“Not until we have an agreement.”
“Fine! I’ll take your name.”
He chuckled, taking his phone and turning on a pulsing mode. Your gasp was followed by a frustrated whine, your asshole stretched and overstimulated from his continuous teasing.
“As I said, you’ll take my name either way. But you need to learn to use your head and lose that attitude. You get that? Is that clear?” His voice raised gradually, reaching condescending wavelengths and switching to the tone he used with perps, and you hated that.
“Yes,” you grumbled.
So, it would go on like this until he got his point across. When your patience betrayed you, you daringly tried to reach behind you, fingers curling around the heart-shaped base of the plug to fuck yourself with it, but his reflexes were quick, and your wrists were suddenly crossed at your lower back. Wheels were spinning in Sammy’s head, eyes rapidly scanning the room before he decided to pull the drawstring from his shorts and tie your wrists together, the skin wriggling under the rough material.
He got back to teasing then, playing with you and the setting of the plug, enjoying every single reaction he pulled from you. At one point, his head hovered over you, spit leaving his pursed lips as he let it dribble down to the crack of your ass. It traveled down to your stuffed hole where he smeared it with his fingers.
Sammy was truly in awe. You were gorgeous like this, submitting yourself to his mercy. It made him so fucking proud, like you wearing his name would. But some asshole had to go and ruin everything.
His middle and index bracketed the toy, clamping around the base and moving it in circular motions. The hidden part of the vibe bumped against your inner walls, making your eyes roll back into your head.
“Fuuuck, Sammy,” you groaned through gritted teeth.
“Yeah? You like that?”
“Yeah.”
To your surprise, Sammy didn’t stop, he brought his fingers up and spat on them, returning them to your pussy, shoving them in and out of you in swift motions. He focused on driving his fingers upwards rather than forward, aiming for stimulating more of your ass than your cunt. And it paid off, because soon, you were teetering on the edge, pussy spasming as you neared your orgasm. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you let yourself by swallowed into the euphoric freefall.
But then all of a sudden, you were pulled back, the buzzing stopped as did his fingers. Your eyes snapped open as you shifted your weight, the lace around your wrist chafing your skin.
“Fuck. Sorry, honey, it’s just so fucking hot,” he said, and then you watched with wide eyes as he pulled his shirt off, throwing it onto the armchair to join your panties.
“Are you out of your mind?”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching nonchalantly. Alright, you needed to keep your head cool right now; he was just trying to annoy you. He had already put his fingers in you; there was no way he was going to stall for long. Sammy was full of surprises like you though, because there was a gentle pull on your hips, and then he was sitting you onto your knees to provide himself with a room to get up. He didn’t forget to pocket his phone.
You blinked, once, twice, as he disappeared into the kitchen only to get back with a bottle of water he was already chugging down. If your orgasm just hadn’t been ruined, you would appreciate his sturdy figure, the way his cock was poking through his shorts and the wet patch you left behind.
“You are unbelievable.”
“What? You’re always the one telling me to stay hydrated.” You scoffed and Sammy walked up to you, studying your pouty face. He pinched your chin between his thumb and index. “Open up.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Open. Up.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly, jutting his chin out.
“You’re always the one telling me that no one’s allowed to make decisions for me.” Two could play this game. “No.”
Sammy puffed out his chest as he inhaled, then released a deep sigh.
“No one outside this household. I thought I made myself clear last time we were in a situation like this.”
“You made yourself out to be a hypocrite, in other words.”
He silently stared at you, trying to intimidate you and it was working. With each passing moment, you got more and more nervous about what he might or might not do.
“Last chance. Open up.”
You hesitated just a little before unhinging your jaw and tilting your head back. Sammy grabbed your jaw to hold you still, and then you felt a globule of spit land onto your tongue.
“Swallow,” he ordered, and you did. “Gotta keep you hydrated, too.” You gave him a scowl, almost rolling your eyes at him. You were getting fed up. “I’m just kidding, sweetheart. Come on, open your mouth again.”
You prepared yourself to get humiliated again as he tilted the bottle, carefully quenching your throat with the cold liquid. You didn’t realize how dry it was and that the water did actually do you good. You focused on gulping it all down as more and more water filled your mouth, when suddenly, the plug inside you came into motion again and you were choking on the water that made its way into the wrong pipe. You coughed it out, body jerking and causing Sammy to miss your mouth. He finally pulled the bottle away from your face.
“Jesus Christ, Sam, are you trying to kill me?” you nearly screamed.
Sammy’s face lit up with genuine amusement, eyebrows shooting up and lips forming a small o.
“Woah, you just gave me chills.”
He drank the rest of the water and threw the empty bottle on the table before maneuvering your body. He wasn’t really gentle about it, and the harsh movements only made the plug move deeper. You collapsed against the back cushion, your hands contorting under your weight and feet almost touching the ground before he kneeled in front of you and spread your legs, pressing your calves against the back of your thighs.
Sammy watched your pussy flutter, the plug twitching with the contraction. God, he wanted to take a picture of you, of your disheveled hair, of your pouty lips, of your tits covered by his brand all while being stuffed full.
He laid down gentle kisses over the skin of your thigh, giving a nip or two as he neared your center only to switch to your other leg and repeating the action. Anticipation clawed at you, your chest moved up and down, belly flexed at his touch. He never reached your pussy, though.
“Have we learned something today?” he asked as he lifted his head, maintaining eye contact.
“Yes?”
His palm clapped against your cunt. At this point, pleasure was hard on pain’s heels, your leg that he freed attempted to shield your pussy from his view and touch, but he was quick to rearrange it into its original position.
“Was that a question mark?”
“No, I’m sorry. We have.”
He narrowed his eyes, almost daring you to say something he wouldn’t be a fan of. “And what’s that?”
“I’m in control of my own thoughts and decision-making.”
“And?”
“And you’re the only person allowed to take over. Nobody else.”
“Good girl.”
His head dipped down, and when you thought that he was finally going to run his tongue through your slit, he settled to kiss the skin of your mound. Your trapped hands itched to grasp his hair and shove his face into your pussy, but all you could do was shudder as he held you down.
“I’d really love to eat your pussy, baby, but I need to fuck you more.”
And he did. Getting to his feet and making a quick work of the knot at your wrists first. Your palm instantly cradled the back of his head, bringing him down to you. He had to catch himself on the backrest at the unexpected pull, lips colliding in a powerful crash. The kiss was rough and messy–the result of it being the first one that night. Neither one of you would admit it, but going so long without your lips touching made you both desperate.
Sammy would never ever get bored of kissing you, of tangling his tongue with yours, sucking on your lips, creating an obscene melody as they smacked against each other and teeth clashed together.
When your hand tickled his stomach and your fingertip curled behind the waistband of his shorts, he took it as a sign to break the kiss, a quiet whimper escaping you as you mourned the loss. Sammy stepped out of his shorts and boxers, bending his knees and aligning his cock with your entrance, teasing it with his tip before slipping it inside. It was a tight fit with the plug still inside of you; he could feel it, you could feel it.
“Deeper. Please.”
Fuck. His hands curled into fists as he held himself back from just slamming into you. Very slowly, he sank deeper, the grip of your pussy on his cock getting tighter. He brought his fingers to your clit, trying to get you to relax so he could move without hurting you. You both had to be patient, but once you got used to him and he buried himself in you completely, you shattered to absolute pieces.
The combination of his fingers flat against your clit, the drag of his cock against your walls and his balls nudging the plug further into you as he rocked against you both kept you conscious and threatened to knock you out. You couldn’t remember when you felt such an ecstasy.
You used your remaining strength to hold your legs open to him, but there were instances when you got too dizzy from the drive of his cock into your pussy. In these moments, you lost the hold on your legs and Sammy had to adjust you to keep them from folding. The stretch was simply miraculous for both of you, and the moans, the growls, the squelching – everything was proof of that.
Sammy made you cum around him twice, mostly because one orgasm followed another from how overstimulated you were, your cunt clamping down on him, almost locking him inside of you. He wished he could give you more, but he wasn’t strong enough with you being so surrendered to him.
So, when you came down, he slid out of you and dragged himself along your folds, bumping against your sensitive clit and guiding your hand to his shaft. You didn’t curl your fingers around him, just pressed him firmly against you, helping him finish.
Soon, his movements faltered, and he repeated breathy yeah’s until he squirted his cum across your peeking stomach, but mostly drenched his shirt with it, white streaks complementing the navy blue.
“Fuck,” he sighed, his droopy eyes fixating on your dopey smile, and again, pride filled his chest when he realized he was behind that. He sniffled, mouth twitching as he scooped some of his cum from your stomach and brought it to your lips. After you thoroughly cleaned them up, he leaned down and gave you a long, toe-curling kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
When you disconnected, a serious look appeared on his face. “Even if you don’t take my name officially, I will refer to you as Mrs. Bryant. At home, at work, at the gym, at the fucking supermarket. Everybody’s gonna know that my name is yours. Nobody fucking else’s.”
You huffed, shaking your head as you cupped his cheek, stroking your thumb under his eye. “You don’t have to do that. I want to be Mrs. Bryant.”
You could see that the smile he gave you was one of relief, and your heart broke a little that you let it bother you so much that you almost hurt Sammy’s feelings.
“Good.”
“You wanna pull the plug out?” You gave him a cheeky smile and Sammy glanced down at your absolutely messy pussy, juices leaking down to the gleaming heart.
“No. I’m gonna eat you out until I’m hard again. Then I’ll take the plug out and fuck your ass.”
take control, please own me; only love can save me
pairing: sammy bryant x f!reader
warnings: smut (unprotected sex, oral - f!receiving, fingering, some spanking, pussy slapping, light bondage - handcuffs); use of drugs (weed), and fluffff. also, reader has hair long enough to braid it.
summary: it seems unfair to you that you never got to smoke weed with sammy
w/c: approx 6.6k
a/n: so here’s the thing. on some occasions, i get inspired and write something. but i can’t, for the love of god, manage a blog. this is the occasion. and while i love pope and jack, i couldn’t stop the fall that this guy here is responsible for. i hope you enjoy him just as much as i do!🥹🧡
“I gotta say, I never would have guessed that a guy like you would make me cum so easily.”
“A guy like me?” Sammy’s face scrunched up in offense, looking at you from his position on his back.
You turned your face to him, your chest expanding with deep breaths, matching his own. His skin glowed with all the sweat that was the result of your morning sexcapades, the short her around his ear also damp.
“Well, you know. A cop. They are usually all talk, no game. But then again, you are too sweet for a cop, too.”
He let out a deep breath as his heart finally slowed, his face turning to the ceiling for a split second and his eyelids fluttering before his eyes locked with yours again.
“You wanna tell me how many cops you’ve dated?” he asked, rising an eyebrow as he propped himself on his forearm, his body moving closer towards yours. It was almost like he was a magnet, and you were cobalt, the was your body was being pulled automatically toward him. Just an inch. Enough to feel his body heat and the air coming from his nose bouncing off your skin when he exhaled.
“Please. You’re lucky I’m even dating you. I would never date a cop voluntarily.”
Sammy’s arm wrapped around your waist. His sweaty forearm stuck itself to your sweaty stomach as his fingers squeezed at your side, making you jump just slightly. Ticklish. He pulled you closer to him, his robust figure creating a fort around you. Your hand automatically went to his thick forearm, just resting there, your thumb stroking over the bump of his vein. His eyebrows furrowed as his eyes flickered between yours.
“So, let’s clear some things up. You’re saying that not only am I holding you hostage, but you’re also ashamed of me? And to top it all off, you were what– hoping for the best when you first slept with me?”
You turned on your side, your lower body now pressed flush against him, your legs tangling together. It put your neck into an uncomfortable position, having to crane it to maintain eye contact. Sammy’s hand had now slipped to your ass, mindlessly tapping his fingers against the flesh.
“Did you not catch the part where I said you were sweet?”
Sammy sucked in a breath, his fingers squeezing your butt as he leaned deeper into your space.
“You mean the part where you were trying to sweet-talk a cop?” he asked against your lips, grabbing you more tightly and rolling you back onto your back as he kissed you, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips. You wrapped your arms around his back as his thigh slipped between your legs, pressing against your still wet cunt. A grunt got caught in Sammy’s throat as your fingers tangled in his dark curls, tugging slightly. Then he rolled on his back, flipping both of you over.
“I was a stoner before I dropped out of college, sweetheart. You get into lotta freaky shit when you’re stoned,” he said in some-what cocky tone when you pulled away, circling back to your earlier statement.
You were now straddling his hips with your hands resting on his chest. The light touch of the pads of his fingers to your knees sent tingles up your body as he unconsciously tickled the skin there, waiting for some kind of response. One of your roasts. Anything.
But you just locked your eyes with him, pursing your lips as you held back a smile. His eyebrows furrowed at first, but then your lips twitched, and it clicked. He rolled his eyes, before he grabbed your hip and forced you off him and back into the softness of your shared bed.
“Absolutely not.”
“Sammy,” you whined as he got up from the bed, grabbing some clean boxers from the dresser before heading into the adjoined bathroom.
“No!” he said incredulously. “I haven’t smoked in years! And while you evidently weren’t planning on dating a cop, I should remind that you are dating one.”
“And a good one at that! Caring. Smart.” He walked out of the bathroom, now clad in his boxers and with a washing cloth in his hand. “Loyal. Dreamy. With a heart of gold–“
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, throwing the cloth onto your stomach. “Now you’re really trying to sweet-talk me.”
You rolled your eyes, taking the cloth and cleaning yourself up, while Sammy headed to the dresser again, opening the top drawer to pick a shirt.
“So, you said it just to make me jealous or…?”
Sammy threw a glance over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look before focusing back on the search for a decent shirt. Before he could find one, you shuffled toward him and wrapped your arms around his sturdy front, now clad in his shirt that he’d thrown on the floor earlier that morning, the hem pooling around your thighs. You peppered a few kisses over the freckles on his back before standing up on your tiptoes and kissing the specks just behind his ear where his hair curled.
“Have you ever smoked?” he then asked.
“Never.”
“You could get sick, you know. It can make you drowsy or– or anxious. It’s not always good.”
“I would have a competent police officer to look after me, wouldn’t I?”
Sammy closed the drawer and turned around with a shirt clutched in his hand. He looked defeated. You locked your hands behind his neck, hanging onto him as he watched you, the corner of his mouth quirked up. And yeah, you were his weakness. Sammy simply couldn’t resist the way you were looking at him, in his shirt no less. So lovingly. Like he was your whole world. He liked to pretend that he was.
Suddenly, you stretched yourself up on your tip-toes again, pressing your forehead against his, your noses brushing against each other.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you said gently. “It was just an idea. Just thought it could be fun. But I don’t want you to feel obligated now. I get it. And I love your sober, righteous self the most, of course.”
You pulled away with a smile, teasing but genuine, and he couldn’t help but huff out a smile too, shaking his head at your antics.
“I love you too,” Sammy said, and your smile only widened before you kissed him. And what the hell, he had some time for another round.
Two weeks later, you came home to the smell of delicious Pad Thai. Sammy had learned how to cook the meal just for you, and you almost felt like you didn’t deserve him.
Passing the living room, your brows furrowed at the bowl of chips set on the coffee table, right next to the Pringles tube. There were also some unopened packs of gummies lying close to the edge of the table.
Sammy had probably found a new movie he wanted to watch, and this was his way of bribing you to watch it with him.
“I fucking love you, you know that?” you said as you entered the kitchen, skipping the hi's and how are you's.
Sammy looked over his shoulder, his dimple making an appearance as he smiled at you. He didn’t even stop stirring the noodles as he waited for you to reach his side and kiss him. Sliding your hand under his shirt, you stroked the skin of his back as you pulled away and leaned over the stove.
“It looks delicious.”
“Yeah, I just hope I didn’t add too much soy sauce. My hand kinda slipped.” He then twirled some noodles around the fork and brought it in front of your mouth. “Careful. It’s hot.”
You wrapped your fingers around his hand to keep the fork steady as you blew some air on the food. Then you opened your mouth and closed it around the fork, the flavor spilling all over your tongue, your tastebuds soaking it up. You couldn’t hold in the moan even if you wanted to, because it really tasted delicious.
“It’s perfect,” you said after you swallowed, feeding his ego in exchange. It made him smile, all proud and happy that he gets to treat you like you deserve. You kissed him again and then went to get the plates.
“I’ll just go change. Be right back,” you told him once you set the table and went to change into some comfy clothes. “Oh, and I picked up some Claritin for you. Noticed you were running out,” you said, loud enough for him to hear you as you put it in the med cabinet in the bathroom.
Once you were seated, you talked about work, he spilled some gossip about the Hollywood division and half-joked that he should probably visit an ophtamologist, because his sight was getting worse.
“Oh, you’ll definitely look hot in glasses.”
“Yeah, right. You look hot in glasses,” he remarked, stuffing mouthful of the noodles. “I don’t know about–“ he continued, barely intelligible as he spoke through the food.
“Sammy, please.”
He shut up immediately, nodding his head in understanding as he swallowed. “Sorry.”
You chatted some more before you went to load the dishes into the dishwasher and transferred the rest of the noodles from the skillet into a box. You left it open to let it get cold before you’d put it into the fridge.
“So, what’s with the set up in the living room? You find another ancient movie you don’t wanna watch alone?”
Sammy faced you, taking your hand and walking backwards to the living room.
“That is the reason you’re gonna fucking love me even more.”
Your brows knit together, confused. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he echoed, matter-of-factly. He held your gaze, his mouth growing into a small smirk. Waiting. Your eyes widened.
“No.”
His eyebrows raised.
“Are you joking?”
“Go take a look,” Sammy prompted you with a jerk of his head.
You hurried to the living room, looking around like a child on a Christmas morning.
“Getting warmer,” Sammy quipped when you reached the couch. You took another step between the table and the sofa. “Warmer.” You knelt on the couch with one knee, bracing yourself on the backrest. “Warmer.” Then you took the pillow in the corner of the couch and placed it aside, revealing a small, brown paper bag. “Burning.”
You snacthed it and flipped over, your butt sinking into the cushion after two swift bounces. Sammy came over too, sitting in the opposite corner of the couch and throwing his arm over the back, watching you as you clutched the bag in your lap, making it crinkle in your hold.
“Open it,” Sammy encouraged you and you did.
When you pulled out a roll along with a lighter, your mouth was already wide open in slight surprise.
“Sam, are you sure?”
“Are you?”
You stared at the two small items in your hands, contemplating.
“Hey, if you changed your mind, we don’t have to do this, alright? Say the word, it’s down the toilet.”
“No. I want to,” you quickly said, put both the lighter and the joint on the table, throwing yourself at Sammy and kissing his cheek. “I would love you even more if it were even possible.”
Sammy chuckled, grabbing you and creating some distance between you. “Alright, I have some conditions though.”
You relaxed, sitting on the heels of your feet.
“You need to tell me if you get too dizzy or anything, alright?” You nodded quietly, focused on the police-mode tone. “If and when I see or think you have had enough, I’m getting rid of the weed, okay? Right away.” You nodded again. “And also… I won’t be smoking.”
Your face scrunched up. “What?” You shuffled a little closer. “I thought that was the point of it all.”
Sammy tugged a stray hair behind your ear.
“Sweetheart, I don’t need to be stoned to fuck you good," he said, blunt as ever. He brought his face closer to yours, the smile had already fallen from his lips. “Or are you saying I’m not fucking you good enough? Hm?” His head cocked to the side as he followed your eyes, wide and innocent. “You sayin’ that you barely holding yourself up after I fuck you against the counter is not enough?”
You shook your head. You were speechless. He barely talked to you like that.
“See? I don’t think I’m the one who’s shy to fulfil their potential. You on the other hand… You could use some loosening up. And as much as it pains me that I couldn’t do it myself–”
Oh, God. You couldn’t let him think that you didn’t feel comfortable with him.
“It’s not like that–”
“No. You don’t get to speak on that now,” Sammy said sharply, but then his voice softened again, and he brought his hand to your cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth over your skin. “It’s alright. Good girls like you are always a little shy to let go at first. And I can’t even begin to imagine the pressure you feel, dating a man of the law and all. It must be so hard on you, hm?”
You nodded your head again. Sammy whispered a quiet yeah as he nodded along with you, brushing his thumb over your pouty lips.
“So, what do you say? You okay with all that I said?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Sammy explained you the ropes as well as he could without actually smoking himself.
Woah, hold your horses, would ya? Just… start with small puffs, okay? Don’t rush it. Sammy told you when you put the joint between your lips and brought the lighter to the tip. You almost burned him when his hand shot up to cover your hand that was holding the lighter.
Sammy instructed you not to hold the smoke in for too long, but it wasn’t even physically possible. At one point, you wanted to give up when you still couldn’t get over all the coughing. Sammy even had to take the joint from you, so you didn’t drop it as your reflexes took over you.
After some time had passed, the world was spinning enough to make you giggle, but not enough to make you sick. Sammy made sure you had some snacks at arm’s reach all the time, feeding it to you so the high wasn’t so intense.
To be honest, Sammy had already been hard when you listened to his rules, all pouty and doe-eyed. He wanted to fuck you right then and there, to hell with some fucking weed. But he couldn’t help but be curious too. He was being selfish, not allowing you to see him high, but surprisingly craving to see you out of it.
You played a few rounds of strip UNO, and you kept insisting on taking off a piece of your own clothing even when he was the one who lost. Yeah, thank God you had never been high before. Sammy swore that he would have killed anyone who had seen you like this, clad only in your panties.
He was getting a little uncomfortable, his cock pulsing every time you giggled or rubbed against him.
And now, you were straddling his lap, grinding onto his bulge while you made out with him. Your panties had been soaked for a while now, and you were definitely creating a wet spot on Sammy’s shorts. Too bad you couldn’t see it, because they were too dark of a shade. His head was resting against the back of the couch, angling his head slightly to the ceiling. He was looking up at you when you pulled away from the kiss.
“You sure you don’t want to?” you asked, twirling a stray curl around your finger. Sammy snorted, because you asked him that after every kiss.
“Yeah, I’m sure. And I’m cutting you off too.”
“Whaaat? Nooo.”
“Yeees. You’ve had enough,” he told you with a smile, his teeth peeking out of his mouth. Your grin only grew wider, and you brought your thumb to his incisors, brushing over the uneven surface of one tooth overlapping the other one. “You have such nice teeth. Beautiful smile.”
He chuckled and shook his head, catching your wrist and pushing your hand down “Alright.”
“Wait. One more time. Please.”
It didn’t take him long to think about it when you were looking down at him with those puppy eyes. He allowed you one last hit. He watched you suck in the smoke, but what he wasn’t prepared for was you grabbing his chin and pulling his mouth agape as you leaned down and kissed him while letting some of the smoke escape your lungs.
He didn’t have to inhale it. He could just keep it on his tongue and exhale once you pulled away, sabotage your plan. But Jesus Christ, this was hot. You were hot. Fucking minx.
So, he sucked it in, letting the smoke expand his lungs. Once you both exhaled the rest of the smoke, Sammy locked lips with you, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You moaned against him, your fingers grasping his hair and nails scraping against his scalp. You rubbed yourself against his cock some more, and his arm wrapped around your back and pushed you against his front, making your tits rub against the material of his t-shirt. Your teeth were clashing against each other, saliva was collecting in the corners of your mouths, creating strings between you when you pulled away just to change the angle.
And then you had the audacity to giggle into the kiss. It was short-lived though, because you were silenced by the smack of Sammy’s hand against your ass. You gasped, the surge of warm air from your lips hitting his lips. He smirked then, that disgusting, cocky curl of his lips followed by his front teeth biting into his lower lip. But God, was it sexy. And he knew it.
“Such a bad fucking girl. Didn’t really take much to turn you into one, huh?”
You mewled at that, and when you didn’t answer, you felt another surge of pain in the same place, making your skin sting. Your hips jerked with the slap, a groan escaping Sammy’s throat from the stimulation against his clothed cock. For what it’s worth, he was trying to soothe the pain by stroking his palm against your burning skin, but it didn’t really do much. It just made the anticipation in you grow, your body just waiting for another spank.
“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you breathed out and his jaw clenched, his nose scrunched up into a sneer, and you almost thought he wanted to hit you again.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I was a bad girl.”
He strengthened his hold on you and leaned forward. It took you by surprise and you franticly tightened the hold around his neck, because you thought you were going to fall. Sammy would never drop you. That would be a crime which there is no punishment for. Unforgivable.
His other arm reached forward, taking the joint and putting it out before making you squeal when he stood up. Wrapping your legs around him, you giggled again when you realized he was holding you with only one arm. Your strong policeman, you swooned internally.
In the bedroom, he dropped you onto the mattress and then he disappeared into the bathroom. You squirmed on the bed, not able to stay still as you called out his name three times. Mind you, he was only gone for ten seconds, but it felt like two hours had passed. At one point, you heard the toilet being flushed and then he stormed back into the bedroom.
You shot him a dopey smile, and when he reached the foot of the bed, he wrapped his hand around your ankle, muttering a deep come here as he dragged you towards him across the sheets. They felt like clouds as they slid against your skin, and before you knew it, Sammy was pulling you into a sitting position and swiftly locking a handcuff around one of your wrists. It clicked in place, leaving the other cuff dangling down, bumping against your forearm and sending shivers through your body, not only because of how cold it felt.
Sammy crouched down, wrapping his arm around your waist. His knee brushed against your cunt as he bent it to kneel on the edge, crawling up the bed and taking you with him. Your head hit the pillow and soon, your arms were above your head. You tipped your head back, watching as Sammy’s hands looped the cuffs behind the metal bar of the headboard. He secured the cuff around your other wrist, making you completely trapped.
You zoned out, mesmerized by the shiny, fancy bracelets adorning your hands, but Sammy brought you back as he latched his lips to your still exposed neck. Your hands instinctively moved to grab on his hair, but were stopped by the chains, a clanking sound combined with your mewls resonated throughout the room. Sammy felt your neck vibrate from the sounds, and it made him scrape his teeth against the skin.
It didn’t take long before he was kissing down to your chest, sucking a few bruises into the skin of your boobs, before maneuvering his lips towards the side of your ribcage, that one specific spot that always made you squirm.
And as if on cue, your body jerked upwards. Sammy’s hands grabbed your hips and held you down, spending some time to torture you through that sweet spot, kissing, biting and licking, before he continued his descent. Over your hips, to your stomach, twirling his tongue around your belly button and kissing down toward the hem of your panties.
He hooked his index finger behind the hem, right at the center where the little bow decorated your underwear. Sammy tugged, just enough to expose the skin there and lay a kiss there too, but he went nowhere near your clit.
“Sammy,” you moaned, desperate for him to touch you where you wanted him the most. Instead, his mouth disappeared, and he let the elastic of your panties snap back into its respective place, stinging your skin for a millisecond.
Sammy shuffled down the bed just a little more to give himself a good look at your cunt. The sight almost made him roll his eyes into the back of his head, the wet spot outlining your engorged clit.
“Jesus Christ. You’re fucking soaked.”
He didn’t waste any more time. Leaning forward, he grabbed the undersides of your thighs and pushed upwards, giving himself a space to lick you over your panties. Your back arched at the sensation and Sammy followed your pussy lips as they tilted downwards, not taking his mouth off you even for a second.
“Sammy, please.”
You felt like you were sobering up, now drunk on the feeling of his mouth against you. But you wanted more, you wanted to feel the soft tongue lavishing around your clit. Sammy was nothing short of spectacular when it came to eating you out. He was like an artist, always focused to angle the strokes of his tongue just right, painting your pussy with his spit. However, he would always tell you, that you were the art.
He groaned, but didn’t comment, just hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them off. In swift motion, he appeared above you and gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth open before he stuffed the wet material into your mouth. You tasted the tanginess as you bit down, your noises now muffled by the cloth. Sammy kissed your open mouth, but he was actually really just kissing your underwear, and then he was lying back on his stomach between your legs again.
His hips grinded into the mattress as he pushed your legs together and lifted them, essentially bending you in half. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your weepy cunt. His eyes fell shut at the delicious scent and then he finally dove in and licked through you, collecting your wetness on his tongue and slurping it up as he reached your clit. You were tight in this position, and it only added to the sensation. You twitched and he was gone again, pushing your thighs against your stomach and lifting your calves to give himself a good access and good lighting.
“Keep your legs up. Like this,” he said, his hot breath hitting your cunt as he talked. It was an order, and you tried your best to oblige. You really did. You even caught yourself from opening your legs when he blew some cool air on you before he attached his mouth to your cunt again.
But your legs had a mind of their own. And it was hard to keep them in this position with your hands tied and without his support. It took only few swipes of his tongue over your clit for them to start falling open, and as soon as Sammy felt it, his mouth disappeared. You squeezed your eyes shut, cries catching in your throat at the loss.
“Close them. Keep them up.”
So far, it was relatively easy to do so, but you’d be stupid to think that he’d make it simple for you. So, when you lifted your legs again, he got back to swirling his tongue around your hole, humming into you as he felt another surge of wetness coming out of you.
Sammy then moved to work on your clit again. He was building you up and when he gave a particularly hard suck, it made you moan through your underwear and your heels brushed against Sammy’s ears when they fell down.
“Up,” he instructed you again, his voice scarily calm, but still domineering. You just needed a little time to get over the mixed sensations. You hadn’t even cum yet, and you were already sensitive. “Lift ‘em up, come on.” Now his tone changed to condescending. He wouldn't put his mouth on you until you did as he said.
You hitched them higher again, presenting your pussy to the menace of your boyfriend, and this time when he leaned down, his fingers joined his tongue. Sammy slowly inserted two his fingers into your tight hole, pushing some of the wetness back where it came from only to pull out more and spread it over your clit. He rolled the bud between his index and forefinger before putting the flat of his tongue on you and moving his head in slow circles, sending delicious sensations through your body.
Sammy slid the fingers down to your opening again and locked his lips around your clit. You received several harsh sucks while he crooked his fingers inside of you, massaging your sweet spot as he nibbled on your bundle of nerves. He slowly picked up the pace and the knot in your stomach started tightening, your pussy squeezing around his digits.
You threw your head back, focusing on the orgasm he was about to bring you. Sammy fucked you with his fingers hard, making sure you heard how fucking wet you were, how easily you swallowed him. You didn’t even realize your legs spread in the air, providing him with full access, your pussy exposing herself to him in her full glory. But Sammy wouldn’t have that, muttering a quiet fuck before he pulled out his fingers just as you were tipping over the edge. His mouth was gone too, and before you could even realize what had happened, a hard smack landed on your pussy, causing you to squeal and your legs to close.
“See, it’s not that hard, is it?” he muttered, but the next thing you knew, Sammy was moving, kneeling up and positioning himself next to your hip, still facing your lower body to get a good hold on your knees and jerk them apart, keeping them spread in the air as he slapped your cunt again, right on your clit.
“Is this what you wanted?” Spank. “Huh? For me to smack the shit out of your little pussy?” Spank. “I mean,” he coughed out a condescending laugh, shaking his head, “if you’re not inviting me, I don’t know what you’re doing.” He landed one last spank and you trapped his hand against your sensitive cunt when you closed your legs. Not that he wanted to move anyway. The tip of his finger slipped into your hole as he faced you, leaning over you. His nose was now brushing yours, his free hand coming up to squeeze your cheeks together.
“You’re such a spoiled little girl.” He was heaving like a predator ready to eat its prey. “Trying to get me high so you can have the shit fucked out of you, huh?”
You shook your head, tears now rolling down the corners of your eyes and over your temples, landing on the soft pillow underneath you.
“Oh, no?” He forced his finger deeper into you and your legs fell open once again. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy again.” He removed his fingers just to bring them in front of his face and spit on them. Returning them to your pussy, he started fucking you again, squelching sounds bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how wet you are?”
You were seeing stars again, ignoring the straining pain in your arms as you arched your back. Sammy’s fingers were slamming into you in ruthless pace, but then all of a sudden, his fingers were gone. Again. You wanted to scream, but you just settled for a long groan. The muffled noise amplified when your underwear was suddenly ripped from your mouth and replaced by the wet fingers that were just abusing your cunt. He pushed down on your tongue, nearly making you gag.
“What about now, hm? If I could, I would make you eat yourself out. I should feed every single drop to you, just so you finally realize how many buckets your sweet little cunt can fill.”
He massaged your tongue and you closed your lips around his digits, sucking on them, your eyes fluttering shut.
“So, I’ll ask again. Did you want me to ruin the absolute fuck out of your pussy?”
You looked up at him then. His pupils were wide, the ring around them green under this lighting. He was biting his lip too, something he never truly realized he did. And you nodded.
“Yes. I want you to ruin my pussy,” you replied, sounding as coherently as you could with the limited movement of your tongue.
He already did anyway.
“Atta girl.”
And with that, his fingers inserted themselves back into your cunt, and he fingered you until you made mess of them and the bed. Then he licked the cum off your pussy before he finally took off his clothes and fucked you into the mattress.
He barely looked at your face as he slammed into you. With his arms hooked behind your knees, he was too focused on his cock ramming into the tightness of your hole. You swallowed him too good to not look. And he would take a picture if you asked him. He might as well do it now, nothing you could do about it anyway, with your hands tied to the bed, stretching your figure into a magnificent arch. You were truly a sight to behold. Samuel Bryant’s Institute of Art. That’s where he would put you, where only he would have access to the art that was your body. Shit, he was doing it again.
Sammy grunted as you pulsed around him, letting the weight take him as he braced himself on his fists next your shoulders. However, he still kept his eyes glued to where he was sliding into you, his curls tickling your chin.
“Sam,” you moaned, getting his attention.
He couldn’t even mock you, because he was just as fucked out. Your pussy was making his brains dissolve. He kissed you, taking in a sharp breath and huffing it out. A thin string of spit formed between you when he pulled away and he began snapping his hips faster, chasing his orgasm and taking you right with him.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whined.
“Hold it for me, sweetheart. I’m right there with you.”
He lifted himself a bit to give himself more leverage, the pistoning of his hips against your ass creating slapping sounds that made your cheeks flush.
“Fuck. Cum for me,” he encouraged you, and with a few more snaps of his hips and give it to me, baby, you fell over the edge, milking his cock as he came too. “Fuuuck,” he growled, his moves slowing down to a complete halt. With a final, forceful press, he grinded against you, stimulating your clit one more time as he circled his hips for good measure, just to hear you whimper.
Sammy lowered himself on his forearms then, kissing your swollen lips as his cock softened inside of you. It made you instantly melt into him, the tips of his fingers gently playing with the strands of your hair.
Your hips shuddered as he pulled out, your mixed cum spilling on the bed. Sammy fell on his back, his chest rising once, twice as he caught his breath before he rolled onto his side with his back facing you. He reached down for the shorts he discarded on the floor earlier, stuffing his hand into the pocket and fishing out a key. Rolling to the opposite side, he tried his best to unlock the cuffs without having to get up, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Once you were free, Sammy threw bot the cuffs and the key on the nightstand. You had to stifle the groan as you finally changed the position of your arms, the muscles in them pulling in different directions.
You shifted closer to Sammy, lying on your stomach as you rested your chin on your forearm which was now on top of Sammy’s chest. He looked down at you with hooded eyes, a small, proud smile adorning his face when he brought his hand to your head, stroking and playing with the hair there.
“How are you feelin’?”
“Heavenly,” you replied, making him chuckle.
“Was that freaky enough for you?”
You hummed, pretending to think about it. “I dunno. I have a feeling you still have some tricks up your sleeve.”
Sammy huffed, shaking his head. He didn’t deny it though, which made you smile to yourself. You kissed him then, hair falling around his face like a curtain, tickling his ears.
You smelled so good, too. He wasn’t sure if it was the weed, but with every touch of your lips, every brush of your hair, every molecule of your scent he inhaled, he felt like you two were merging into one. Like you possessed him, spreading through him like Venom.
And when you pulled away and smiled down at him, he was a goner. God, how he loved that smile.
“Marry me,” he blurted out and your smile faltered, your brows twitching without you realizing.
“What?”
He lifted himself up on his elbows then, forcing your body off his. You sat up on your knees and wrapped the cover around yourself, suddenly becoming shy again.
“I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be yours.”
Hell, God knew Sammy already was yours. Just as you were his. But he wanted to wear that ring, to proudly and selfishly show that he had a fucking wife waiting for him at home. Ben was getting on his ass about it, too, always bugging him about “putting a ring on it”. Sammy always just rolled his eyes, shooting back with some off-hand comment about Ben’s he-whore ways of playing the field.
Not that Sammy wasn’t sure about you. He fell in love with you the second he recognized the brat in you that was perfectly matching his own. You kept him on his toes in the best way possible and it was because he loved you so much, that he didn’t want you to bolt if you weren’t ready. But this really felt right. And he had an inkling you felt the same way. He wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t sure.
“…Sammy, are you high?” He had inhaled that smoke you sent down his mouth.
“Probably, a little bit, yeah. But I was high when I sent my application to the Academy. And it was one of the best decisions in my life. This will top it, no doubt. If you say yes.”
You worried your lip, playing with the loose thread of the sheet and wrapping it mindlessly around your finger. The thread dug into your skin, probably cutting off the circulation to the tip.
Honestly, you wanted nothing more than to grow old with Sammy. But you just had an amazing sex after getting baked. You didn’t want to wake up the next day with Sammy taking it all back.
When you still didn’t say anything, Sammy got up, taking your hand in the process and pulling you to the end of the bed until your legs swung over the edge. He pulled his shorts on as he handed you his shirt, and you took it, throwing it over your head, confused.
Once you both were decent, he got on one knee right in front of you, taking your hands in his. His eyes shone with the sun coming down behind the windows and his lips were little chapped from all the kissing.
“I don’t got the ring. But I promise we will go pick one up first thing tomorrow. Or if you want it to be a surprise, I’ll go by myself. Whatever you want. And I promise to try to keep doing that. Getting you whatever you want, I mean. As your husband.” Fuck, he had no idea he’d suck at this so much. His fingers tightened around your hands. “And, I mean if you don’t want to marry me, I’ll do it as your boyfriend. I don’t care. But you are the best thing that’s happened to me and it would be an honor to be your husband… Please, say something.”
“Nothing would make me happier, Sammy,” you said, and his smile started growing. “But what if you change your mind? What if you wake up tomorrow, realize I basically drugged you and decide to break up with me instead?”
He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped from his throat, and he brought his hand to the back of your neck, squeezed and pulled you down to lock lips with you. He smooched you sporadically, lips smacking against each other before he pulled away, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You could kill a man, and I would still come visit you in prison and braid your hair.”
“If you really loved me, you’d pull a few strings and wouldn’t let me go to prison in the first place, actually.”
He formed an o with his lips, his eyebrows shooting up in amusement, but the shape of his lower eyeline still emphasized the invisible smile.
“Okay, smartass, if you ever commit a capital crime, I’ll make sure to cover your tracks. Do we have a deal?”
You cupped his face, your thumbs stroking the skin under his eyes back and forth.
“Yes.”
The plush of his cheeks shifted under your touch as he smiled at you, wrinkles forming from the corners of his eyes. They reminded you of small comets, shining like the North Star and burning into you the majority of the time.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, I will marry you.”
And with that, he tugged on your arm, pulling you into his lap and showering your face in kisses.
Hahaha, love the callback. It is definitely unfair; I’ve been thinking about Sammy lately and I think I’ll have to watch Southland again, because that man is just mmmm 🤌 dihlishuhs. But also very 🥹 ňuňu (as we say in my native language) at the same time.
As I have said before, I’m sure, a proper husband material. Nobody compares.
Just binged read ur pope series it was so juicy!! Any chance of another part?
Aww, you’re so sweet🥹 Thank you so much for reading.
There is definitely a chance. It honestly wasn’t my intention to keep it open-ended and I don’t want to leave it like that! I would hate myself. I just got so demotivated and lazy, because apparently, my creativity is suppressed by everything related to uni, I swear to God.
At the same time, I don’t want to make any promises, however, reading your guys’ comments made me want to revisit that story asap. So we’ll see.
Thank you for reading and especially for your patience, you guys really are the best!❤️
Also, if you have something in mind that you would maybe like to see in the story, I’m all ears!!
in the beginning, god created heaven and earth; for what it's worth, i think that he might've created you first.
pairing: andrew cody x f!reader
warnings: blasphemy? set in the church heist season, so yeah. unspecified age gap (reader is in college), hints of fluff, smut - fingering, unprotected sex, use of a vibrator, one slap, reader is a virgin but it's very subtle imo, depending on how you look at it..kinda soft dom!andrew
summary: you finally have some fun at church when a new guy joins bible study.
w/c: 7.2k cca
a/n: nothing, andrew cody just penetrated my brain for a second. this is kind of just a foreplay before i write something really disgusting for this man. also, just for the sake of the story, let's pretend he'd been scouting new canticle for longer than three weeks. i hope you enjoy!!
You weren’t a religious person, but it’s not like you didn’t believe in anything. You believed that there was some kind pull, besides the magnetic one, that brought you closer to your destiny, and it only depended on how much you fought it if you wanted to change or avoid it. You believed it, because despite your religious views, church had turned out to play a pivotal role in your life.
Words couldn’t describe how much you hated church. Well, that’s not entirely true, you just hated the reason behind why you went and the fact that it was basically against your will. You prided yourself in standing your ground, but this time, you tried to swallow that pride and not to be naïve at least once in your life. This way of thinking had been caused by your aunt who had made a deal with your parents: she would pay for your college tuition, and in exchange, you’d start going to New Canticle. It was presented as a fait accompli to you, even though you had never met bigger atheists in your life than your parents.
Fucking hypocrites.
Your aunt thought you were troubled. She had never dared to say it out loud to your face, but you could tell from the way she talked about you with other people, or the way she grimaced at your choice of clothes.
At least she hadn’t taken that away from you. Yet. Not that she hadn’t tried. She had offered you a few pieces of her own clothes, “appropriate” for church, but you had managed to convince her that you were allergic to rayon, which was all her clothes were made of.
So, yeah, she didn’t like the way you were turning heads, but she had made herself believe that patience and consistency would get you to the place that she was at.
That was the part you hated, but some of the people from church were actually pretty cool. Nice. You liked Amy, she never forced anything on you even though she was heavily invested in that lifestyle and work, organizing events, teaching Bible study all while practicing celibacy and staying sober. You thought she should replace your aunt as a head coordinator, but nobody was ready to have that conversation. Amy was also the only person to compliment your outfits, and it made you feel empowered. Not that she was the only one who liked it, some of the men there always had their eyes on you and they were trying to hold themselves back from acting on whatever their disgusting minds were telling them to do. You could just tell. However, poor Amy had earned herself a don’t encourage her speech from your aunt, so she had to limit her compliments eventually, and often settled for throwing you a thumbs up after she’d made sure that nobody was looking.
And then, Andrew joined Bible study. There was a lot of people circulating through the sessions, but you had never really paid attention to who chose to stay longer compared to others like you did to Andrew.
You had never tried to get anyone’s attention with the way you dressed, but the one time you wished it would catch a man’s eye, the man in question didn’t really seem to care. Yes, he stared a lot, but he stared at many people which, to be honest, made you a little petty.
It also seemed that he was close to Amy, and at first, you thought they were dating, but when you asked her about it, she assured you that that was not the case. According to Amy, he just seemed a little lost, broken, like someone who needed guidance which she’d offered simply because of her own agenda. It was always the same spiritual crap over and over again.
“So, go for it if you want.”
Your head snapped to her, arching an eyebrow at her. “Are you serious? Aren’t you supposed to deter me from that?”
“Not that I think there is no hope for you, but you don’t belong here. What we do here isn’t you. And I mean it in the nicest way possible.”
Your lopsided smile grew into a full-on grin as you hugged her arm, squishing your cheek against her shoulder.
“You’re such a cool person, Amy, you know that? I’m sure you’re God’s favorite. And I am serious.”
She started shaking her head bashfully, her cheeks reddening at the compliment, but you didn’t stop convincing her until she stopped moving her head and thanked you. You really loved Amy, and you weren’t sure how long you’d last here if it weren’t for her.
And just when you thought you couldn’t love her more, she arranged a tour of the New Canticle for you to give to Andrew, which he had supposedly asked for.
“But don’t tell your aunt I had something to do with it.”
You would never.
So, that was your first close contact with him after just admiring him from afar during Bible study sessions where you got to listen to his somewhat skeptical views on religion. Honestly, you were still trying to figure out whether he did believe in God, whether he was convincing himself that there was a God or if he was just trolling.
“So, who have you killed?”
You asked him after you’d shown him all the classrooms, the cafeteria and the counseling rooms, leading him to the empty auditorium which he already knew, but you wanted to be somewhere quiet with him, taking a seat in the furthest corner of the room. He didn’t sit at first, towering over you as his nose twisted at your question.
“What?”
“Well, you know. It’s the criminals that often turn to faith. Thinking it will save them or whatever. My aunt, for example, steals decorative rocks from the botanical gardens.”
He chose to stay silent still, sneering at the ground with his nose still twitching and eyes skating all over the place.
“Well, what did you do?” he rasped out, his tone slightly defensive.
You huffed. “Nothing, yet.”
He finally sat down, and you twisted in your seat just enough to face him. You had noticed it before, but God, did he have an amazing posture. You almost envied him.
“You never talk. During Bible study, I mean.”
Oh. So, he did notice you.
“Yeah. I really have nothing to say. Well, I do, but I don’t believe in God, and I don’t want to spoil it for Amy. She works really hard on… everything.”
You were confusing him word after word.
“Why are you here, then?”
“Bad parents and inappropriate clothes,” you said with a lifted corner of your mouth, thudding your skull against the wall behind you and lolling your head to the side, studying his expression.
His face finally relaxed, but you didn’t know if that was good in this case. Up to this point, you could at least tell that he was either confused, disgusted or offended. It had to be one of these emotions. But now, you had no idea what he was thinking, he was just staring at you with empty eyes. Neither one of you broke the eye contact, and you thought you saw him lean in, albeit unintentional. It was more like he lost a balance for a second, but he straightened up quick.
His eyes scanned your body, from the black crop-top to the high-waisted skirt and over your bare thighs, before returning to your hair and taking in the small clips holding your front locks away from your face.
“I think you look nice,” he said with a shrug, and despite the slightly insincere tone, you chose to believe him just for your own sake.
Since then, he’d always come to find you instead of Amy, and now her thumbs up’s gained a whole different meaning. Andrew even began to show signs of smiles from time to time before he’d catch himself and put on the stoic mask of which he was pretty fond. You weren’t exactly sure what he wanted to accomplish with that façade, but it always made you stifle a laugh.
You started to wear shorter skirts too, just for him, from jean skirts to tennis skirts or little black skirts with side slits, combining them with almost see-through, white blouses or small knitted vests, each piece revealing the shiny little cross on your chest. You also bought more dresses that you thought he might like
You did all of that for quite simple words: You look nice.
Andrew didn’t have any other compliments in his vocabulary, and frankly, you didn’t care. You yearned for this one specific line every time you were headed to the church. It was everything you needed to hear to get through, the addiction growing with each day.
Of course, your aunt had eventually noticed. Not only that you had started to reveal more skin, which was the polar opposite of what she had been trying to accomplish, but also how Andrew started to linger around you.
Your aunt didn’t like Andrew to begin with, so whenever she heard you giggle at something he said that wasn’t meant to be funny (which made his lips twitch into a soft smile too, even though he had no idea where your humor stemmed from), it made her fume.
“He’s the spawn of something evil. I can feel it. And you know I don’t use that phrase lightly,” she had said, and it made you roll your eyes. She claimed that she actually hated that phrase, so this must have been serious for her.
You honestly didn’t give a shit. He could be Satan and you’d still want to fuck him. Probably even more so, although you didn’t tell her that, because you were sure that you might as well say goodbye to your degree if you did.
Your aunt’s last straw was during the preparations for a garden party.
“What’s this for?”
You jumped at the sudden voice that was too close to your ear, feeling the hot breath brush against your skin as you threw the numbered sticker into its respectful box, right next to the box of sidewalk chalk and the pile of plastic mini racing flags.
“Jesus Christ. You scared me,” you gasped as your hand flew to your chest, turning to see Andrew peeking over your shoulder.
He hung his head, swallowing as he took a step back with his hands shoved into his pockets. You cursed yourself for making him do that. Andrew was sensitive to the variations of the word scare and you definitely didn’t want him to think that you were scared of him
So, to compensate, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the neighboring desk covered in pamphlets. Your chest puffed out when he didn’t flinch this time, a big difference to when you first started talking.
You showed him a pamphlet with cartoon turtles, explaining to him that the church was holding a turtle race before you ranted about how it bordered with animal cruelty.
“That’s… horrible,” Andrew drawled out, and you gazed at his face.
“I know, right? And they think I’m the devil because I wear skirts.”
Yeah, so you baited him a little bit, but it was worth it, because Andrew’s head snapped to your lower body immediately, bending backwards and craning his neck as his eyes scanned over the back of your bare legs and to your backside. Your eyebrow pinched together for a split second as you smiled at the fact that he probably didn’t even realize how it must have looked.
“You look nice.”
Your smile grew wider, and Andrew smiled too, holding eye contact as you thanked him. His smile didn’t even falter this time.
But you were an obnoxious guest in God’s home, and the spell just had to be broken by none other than your aunt inserting herself between your bodies and plastering a too wide of a smile on her face.
“Andrew! Will you be joining us for the garden party? We’re having a turtle race. It’s so much fun, especially for the kids.”
He glanced at you just in time to see you roll your eyes as you folded the pamphlet and returned it to the stack.
“Are you sure there aren’t any other activities that don’t support animal cruelty?”
Your aunt’s forced smile slowly fell from her face, her head twitching towards you as you pretended to organize the piles before she looked back at Andrew.
“Did she get into your head, too? Honey, they are pet turtles. We make sure they are well fed, have enough water and are protected from the sun.”
“Yeah, but you’re putting unnecessary stress on them, you know, with the screaming and placing them into an unfamiliar environment. They could get injured, too. And what about those stickers, are you sure they are non-toxic? I can ask my friend who works for Welfare Services, and I’ll let you know what he has to say about that.”
It was quiet for a moment before your aunt said she’d talk to other coordinators about it and left, throwing you one last lethal look over her shoulder.
You nearly jumped up and down, but instead, you chose to stand on your tiptoes and kiss Andrew’s cheek.
“You’re fucking amazing. Thank you.”
Apparently, Andrew’s niece loved turtles, so he knew a thing or two about them. He helped you discard all the pamphlets and promised to give the turtle pellets to a local organization that tried to protect turtles and tortoises.
You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face for the rest of the day, even though you knew you should probably prepare for a piece of your aunt’s mind.
Except, it didn’t come. She drove you home and that was it, didn’t even come inside to tell your parents on you. It didn’t feel right, but you chose to ignore the nagging feeling, thinking maybe God, if there was one, chose your side instead of hers this time.
Andrew didn’t come to Thursday’s Bible study. It was weird, because he had never missed a class, and he occasionally visited you on other days too. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, because literally anything could have happened, maybe he was babysitting Lena, or he was sick. Naturally, you tried to text him, but there was no answer. So, you called, and again, nothing.
He didn’t come on Sunday either and you almost wanted to go home and change, because what was the point if he wasn’t there to say you looked nice? It led you to realize just how addicted you had become to his presence. Having Amy there just wasn’t enough anymore, you needed him.
He did show up on Tuesday. But not once did he look at you. He didn’t come to say hi or jab at other people in the group. And when the class ended, he jumped to his feet. You clenched your jaw as you watched him scurry away, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of your chair before you shot up too, but Amy stopped you before you could leave the room.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait? I’ve gotta–”
“I know. That’s what it’s about.”
You frowned, looking at the now vacant hallway as you let Amy tug you into the corner of the room.
“I overheard your aunt talking to Andrew the other day.”
So, apparently, your fucking aunt had told Andrew that you were too young for him and purposely made it sound like he was some kind of a creep.
Which was fucking ridiculous, because you were the creep, essentially.
“I would’ve told you sooner, but I never thought he’d take it to heart.”
You thanked her and rushed outside, hoping you’d still be able to catch up to him. When you exited the building, you searched the parking lot until you finally saw Andrew speedwalking to his car. You looked like a fucking idiot, running after him and calling out his name, and he didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge you, not even after you called out his name for the second and third time.
You weren’t going to let him get away though, so you sprinted off in his direction, and just as he started the car, you ripped the passenger’s car door open.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You know I look like a crazy person, right?” you said as you plopped yourself onto the leather seat of the Dodge, while he just stared ahead, completely non-verbal. “You could at least acknowledge me, you know. I know you’re a man of few words but come on. You could have at least talked to me.”
Your eyes were jumping all over his face, your chest rising as you tried to steady your breathing. He turned off the car.
“You’re too young.”
“Too young to what?” you asked, demanding some explanation that would make sense. You sure as hell weren’t going to let him get away without a reasonable argument. Which, by the way, there was none. “Andrew. Too young to what?” you pressed.
“I don’t know!”
“See?” you braced yourself against the dashboard and the seat as you leaned forward a bit. “She’s just putting words into your mouth. I fucking told you my family is crazy.”
He closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the headrest, releasing a deep sigh.
“Do you like me, Andrew?”
He didn’t answer and his eyes remained closed. Like a fucking brick wall. So, you decided to be bold, climbing over the console and straddling his lap. His eyes snapped open then, hands landing on your hips as if to push you away, but he didn’t. You cupped his face, locking eyes with him.
“Because I liked you. When you still talked to me. I’m not liking you right now.”
“Your aunt–”
“Fuck my aunt! She’s scared of you. And she hates me. That’s why she told you all those things.” Your thumb was absently stroking the skin under his eye, and you thought how pretty he was, how those once empty eyes were now filled with… something. Either you were right, or you were becoming fucking delusional. You didn’t care which. “I like you, Andrew. I like dressing up for you. I like it when you tell me I look nice. I miss it.”
Him. You missed him.
His lips twitched, and you swore you could see his cheeks change color. His eyes flicked to your lips, but he still seemed not to have made up his mind and you were done forcing yourself on anyone.
Scoffing, you began to remove yourself from his lap, but he caught your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist, sitting you back onto his thighs and eliciting a gasp from you.
With his fingers tangled in your hair, he yanked you down into a kiss, and as your lips molded together, you finally let all of your weight settle against him, rubbing your soaked panties over the rough material of his jeans, and in response, his hips bucked upwards.
God, you wanted him so bad.
Your hands fell to his belt, clinking sounds echoing through the car as you tried to unbuckle it, accompanied by the smacking of your lips. It was a few moments of no progress, you should have moved on to his zipper by this time, but your hands were shaking and you just took too long to open the fucking pants, so you had to break the kiss.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he watched you struggle, his ears picking up on the shuddering breath you released. You just nodded, swallowing down the embarrassment that was creeping up on you. “Are you sure? You want this? One hundred percent?”
Your eyes flicked between his face and your hands still on the belt before you exhaled, not realizing how irregular your breathing was.
“I do.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as his eyes suddenly softened, and for the first time, you could name the emotion that crossed his face. Pity.
You were still hoping that he would spare you the further embarrassment, that he'd be a jerk who just took what he wanted, ignoring the new piece of information he'd just learned. Not with your luck.
“You’ve never had sex, right?”
“Shit...” Your body slumped. “Did I just ruin this?”
“No!” he said incredulously, while still keeping his voice down. His fingers tugged some loose strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ears. “But maybe we should slow down. Is that okay with you?”
“Like, how much?”
“Well, I need to stretch you out for my cock first. Which could take some time.”
More heat rushed to your cheeks, your stomach twisting as you murmured a soft okay.
So, you didn't fuck him, but you convinced him to make you cum with his fingers, at least, because otherwise you would have probably thought that he’d ghost you or something. You told him that it would be a promise that he really would fuck you eventually.
Actually, Andrew didn’t need much convincing, he was pretty eager to touch you, too. You loved the way he watched you come undone into his palm, with hooded eyes and lower lip caught between his upper teeth.
He had to tell you multiple times to relax first, because you were too focused on the finish line, instead of the feeling of his fingers dragging against your walls.
“Don’t chase it. Let it come to you. I’ll be here as long as it takes.”
He was so patient with you, the entire span of his focus was on your reactions to certain flicks and twitches of his fingers, learning what made you flutter around him. His hot breath teased your skin, ghosting over your neck and chest, but he never once touched his lips to you, not even when you curled your fingers into his hair and tried to guide his face to your breast.
Once your hips started to move on their own, spearing yourself on his fingers as the heel of his palm grinded against your clit, Andrew brought his other hand to your breast, pinching the stiff peek and tugging hard. You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you, and with the last curl of his fingers against the spongy spot inside of you and a few flicks of his thumb over your clit, you came all over his hand. Your thighs squeezed his hips in an attempt to close your legs, muscles quivering as the orgasm ripped through you.
You brought your mouth to his, licking along the seam before you nipped at his bottom lip. Well, Andrew would later argue that you straight out bit him. And he wasn’t wrong as you broke the skin and drew some blood, which would turn into a small bruise the next day. He growled when he felt the sting, fingers instinctively pushing into you even harder and making you let go of his mouth as you cried out.
When you came down from your high, he slowly withdrew his hand, bringing it to your lips and making you suck your juices off his fingers.
“Do you taste sweet?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
“When I taste you, it will be with my face buried between your legs. Not today, though.”
You pouted before you leaned in to kiss him, but he stopped you with his palm cupping your chin and fingers squeezing your cheeks together.
“That would be cheating. Nice try, though.”
“Are you saying you’re not gonna kiss me anymore?”
In response, he kissed you on the tip of your nose and you thought you were going to melt right then and there.
“Do you have a ride home?”
Well, Amy had probably already left, so Andrew took you. The whole ride, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the steering wheel that was shining with your cum and spit, and he only smirked when he caught you. You tried to kiss him goodbye when he dropped you off, but evidently, his mind wasn’t as clouded as yours, so he still didn’t let you until the next day.
You both agreed that Andrew would stop coming to the church unless there was Bible study, in order to protect you from your aunt. He really didn’t want to get you in trouble, however, that didn’t mean that you couldn't see each other outside of church. He often waited for you in his car whenever your ride was provided by anyone else but your aunt, making you cum with his fingers, whether it be in his lap behind the wheel or the backseat, which you personally preferred, because of the way he'd hover over you which made you significantly wetter.
You kind of enjoyed Bible study too, because you made sure he suffered while he tried to act like he didn’t want you.
You’d cross and uncross your legs, offering him quick glimpses of your underwear, or the lack of it, and sometimes, you’d press yourself against him, just long enough to stuff said underwear into the back pocket of his jeans.
Sadly, you never got to see the expression on his face, because you were already risking too much by even being in his proximity.
You also liked to make a show of bending over, and you knew he was aware that with the skirts you wore, you’d be putting yourself on full display. He always rushed over in order to shield your ass and pussy from unauthorized eyes, only for you to reveal that you were wearing undershorts.
You weren't that slutty.
You kept him on his toes and he’d punish you every single time by ruining your orgasms until you begged him to let you cum.
“I swear I will never fuck you if you keep this shit up.”
“Promises, promises.”
Andrew swiped a hand across your cheek after that. Very gently. It felt like a caress, really, before he asked if it was okay, and you nodded. Of course it was okay. You’d let him do unspeakable things to you, but he had boundaries, unfortunately. He had never feared to slap you harder since then, threatening that one of those times, it would land on your cunt. You couldn’t wait for that to happen.
With each passing day, you were getting closer and closer to being able to take him, as he’d put all the work into stretching you out with his fingers. He never used anything else. Not his mouth, not his cock. He had also never let you touch him, always swatting your hands away when you got too grabby, and puppy eyes didn't help you in this case which was a disappointing discovery.
You were getting impatient and frustrated and he must have sensed it, because after he fingered you on a Wednesday night, he gifted you a flamingo vibrator. Remote controlled.
“I want you to wear this. Tomorrow, at Bible study.”
“What do I get in return?”
“Well, that depends on how you behave. Do you want to try it out now?”
You were feeling brave.
“No.”
So, you did as he told you, pushing the vibrator into your already slick pussy and covering it with baby blue panties before heading to the church.
You had never really paid attention during Bible study, but now your focus on other people was completely out the window. Your brain was keeping your body on high alert and all you could think about was Andrew, the vibrator inside of you, and that he might finally fuck you after this.
Andrew was manspreading on the couch right across from you, a complete opposite from your tightly crossed legs. Shit, you’d always managed to keep your dirty thoughts about Andrew at bay during Amy’s classes, but now, you just imagined yourself in his lap with your back against his chest and your legs split open by his thighs while he played with your pussy and fucked you with the vibe in front of everyone. Suddenly, you wanted those men and women to know that your body was a playground dedicated to Andrew, that he was the only one who owned you and got to do whatever he wanted with you.
You tried not to tear your eyes away from his hand which was stuffed in his pocket, probably holding the controller, and you hoped to catch a movement once he was ready to press the power button. You weren't even blinking.
But he was messing with you. He knew what you were trying to do, so he moved his hand as he pleased without even touching the remote, making his next moves unpredictable. You still jumped every time you caught the tiniest movement of his hand or even his knees rocking back and forth occasionally, while Andrew held eye contact with whoever was currently speaking, not having the slightest problem with keeping the conversation going. But he still hadn’t turned the vibrator on. Was it even working?
And then you heard your name.
You lifted your head. “What?”
“I said I’d like to hear about your opinion. You said you didn’t believe in God, right?”
Asshole.
“Yeah, um...” It had been a long time since you spoke at one of these things. “I’m just not a fan of the idea that some higher power is going to ‘save’ us. We bring obstacles onto ourselves and onto each other, and it’s up to us to overcome them, with or without the help of other people. Real people.”
You heard a few murmurs from the people that were new here, otherwise, nobody was really scandalized by your words.
And before you could find the source of those whispers, you yelped, your body jolting from the buzzing sensation that was quickly spreading through you all of a sudden.
“I mean, I’m not saying you have to believe in God, specifically. But not even a different form of higher power? You don’t consider science a higher power? When you die and someone shocks you back to life? That’s not higher power saving you?”
Andrew emphasized the word with a switch to a higher setting, your pussy clenching around the device torturing your clit as it worked double duty from the inside and outside, the combination growing more and more intense. You really didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.
You didn’t even have the stregth to argue that his logic still included the help of other people, but you knew this wasn’t even the point he was trying to make. Your silence gave Andrew a chance to continue. “You think you have all the power?”
And here we go.
You pressed your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the pain, and luckily, someone who had probably thought you too ignorant, chimed in with some enthusiastic commentary on God’s unconditional love.
At this point, you had lost yourself in your head again, too focused on the pressure blooming in your lower belly as you squirmed in your seat, unable to sit still.
The feeling wasn’t too different from the one Andrew had brought you with his fingers several times before, but this time, it was bordering between pleasure and pain. You couldn’t stop your hand from flying to your stomach, pressing gently against your abdomen and hoping the ache would vanish, but it only intensified, and Andrew took that opportunity to turn the vibe up even more.
It had come to the point where you had to stifle down your whimpers, biting your lip a little too hard in the process, and before you could let your vocal chords generate any sound, you jumped to your feet and excused yourself.
Fuck. You should have checked if you’d left a wet spot on the chair.
You made your way to the spacious restrooms, bracing yourself against the marble counter as you finally released a mewl, pressing your thighs together before you splashed some cold water on your face and the back of your neck.
There was absolutely no way you were coming back to that room. You couldn’t. And before you had a chance to question whether Andrew would be disappointed in you or not, the door opened, and his figure appeared in the mirror reflection.
“Andrew,” you whimpered, brows pinched together as you gripped the counter a little harder.
He was quick as he moved towards you, creating some distance between your body and the sink before he lowered himself to one knee in front of you.
“Let me see,” he said, your hands already working together to pull your dark jean skirt up, bunching it around your hips and revealing your ruined panties, all soaked through. Andrew was a menace, that much you knew, but you still didn't expect him to grip the waistband of your panties and tug upwards, making you cry out as it pressed the vibrator harder against your clit.
He murmured a quiet fuck before he ripped your underwear, his hand disappearing into his pocket. And just like that, the vibrations stopped and you could breathe again.
“I’m gonna pull it out.”
You nodded, biting your lip as you prepared yourself for the pain, but it never came. You were so wet that the vibrator slid right out, slick noises echoing through the bathroom before he shoved the wet device into the pocket of his jacket.
“Fuck, look at yourself.”
You couldn’t help but think that he moved like a ballet dancer, swiftly standing up and twirling around to stand behind you. His hands on your hips moved you a step further from the mirror so you could see the reflection of your lower body.
With your ass pressed against his front, he brought one of his hands to your pussy, gathering some of your juices on his middle finger and lifting it in front of your faces just to see it glisten under the golden lights.
“So sticky.”
He rubbed his thumb against the wet finger before he brought it back right onto your clit and instinctively, your body tried to escape the touch while simulataneously chasing after it as your ass pressed against the bulge in his pants. You were so fucking sensitive, your clit so red and puffy that you thought it was going to explode.
Andrew completely ignored your overstimulated state, only shushing you as you cried out when he touched the throbbing bundle again, not any less softer than before. He couldn’t even keep the pad of his finger on it as it kept sliding off.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he grunted against your ear, and you nodded frantically, already reaching behind you for his belt, but he caught your wrist. “Nuh-uh.”
Andrew set your hand back on the counter, hinging your hips slightly and then you heard the clinking of his buckle, the leather swiping over the skin of your ass as he undid his pants, and you imagined what it would feel like if he hit you with it.
“I really wanted your first time to be in bed.”
“I don’t care,” you rushed out, afraid that he would change his mind. Jesus Christ, he must have thought you were pathetic. And he would be right. Andrew nodded, mockingly rising his eyebrows and curling the corners of his lips downward with his eyes glued to your drenched cunt.
“I’m sure you don’t.”
And then you felt him tap the head of his cock against your clit, your hips rocking forward at the unexpected touch before backing into him. He coated his shaft in your wetness, sliding it up and down, spreading your folds and bumping his cock against your nub a few more times before he finally pressed himself against your hole.
You tried to rock back, and Andrew had to stop you from doing that because you were too sloppy and it didn't help either one of you. He slid into you slowly, and you barely felt any pain when he pushed deeper and deeper, because you were just so wet. Honestly, you felt so proud of how well you were taking him, until he spoke.
“Christ, I’ve never fucked anyone so tight.”
After all the work he’d done on you to prepare you for his cock, he still needed to give you time to adjust to his size before he grabbed your shoulder while his other hand stayed on your hip, sliding out slowly. You fluttered around him, and he had to put every bit of strength into not cumming right then and there.
He watched you in the mirror, the chain around your neck dangling in the air as you bit your lip. You were perfect. Looking so sweet and innocent, like something that was worth ruining. And he wanted to ruin you so bad, for others, and for God, too, even though you never offered yourself to Him and weren’t planning to. Andrew wanted you for himself.
When he pushed back in, you mewled, enjoying the beautiful stretch. You felt so snug around him, almost feeling every ridge of his cock as he bottomed out, and you couldn’t help but imagine having your lips around him. You probably weren’t even going to fit half of him into your mouth, but you wished he made you. You wished he made you choke him down as he told you what a good girl you were for swallowing all of him.
“Spread your ass.”
Your mind was fogged, and you spread your legs wider instead.
“I said your ass,” he said through gritted teeth, grabbing your hand and yanking it toward the globe of your butt harshly. Your other hand joined too, spreading your cheeks as he gripped your upper arms and started picking up the pace, trying to find a steady rhythm. You weren’t sure if he did it for the aesthetics of it or if he thought that it would help him glide in and out a little easier. It did not. At least you didn’t think it did, because he still felt too big.
Skin slapped against skin, your pussy was squelching with arousal and breathy gasps escaped both your mouths. Suddenly, Andrew moved forward until you were pressed against the cold marble, your hip bones bumping against the edge with every thrust of his cock. He bent over you, bringing his lips to your shoulder and scraping his teeth against your skin. His hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing and fondling before one traveled higher and squeezed the sides of your neck, propping your chest up as he lifted you, pressing your back against his front.
You focused your eyes on the hand around your throat, feeling your walls clench around him at the sight. He grunted, pressing down on your pulse point and slowing down the delivery of oxygen to your brain which was already malfunctioning anyway, so you didn't really care. Your eyes rolled back in your head and it made him buck his hips harder against you, bringing his fingers down to your center and pinching your clit between his ring finger and middle finger. The orgasm came out of nowhere, crashing down on you and making you feel like your body was imploding.
Your back arched into him, your legs quivered and your hands slammed against the counter as you braced yourself. Andrew fucked you until he came too, lifting one of your knees next to your hand and squeezing the flesh of your inner thigh to sink deeper into you, holding back his moans when he finally filled you up with his cum. Before he could come down from it, you heard footsteps in the hallway.
Andrew quickly walked the both of you backwards, keeping you speared on his cock, until he slammed the door of one of the stalls shut. You heard them cross the threshold to the restroom, and Andrew’s hand shot up to your face, covering your mouth with a firm hold as your released a small gasp when you squirmed against him. You squeezed your eyes shut as you leaned your head against his shoulder, trying to calm yourself down and hold in any other noise that could accidentally come out of you.
When you opened your eyes, Andrew was once staring at you, and suddenly, you felt cheeky again.
You clenched around his softened cock, which, besides a strict look, earned you having your nose covered along with your mouth, significantly limiting your oxygen intake. You were sick enough to gush around him at the thought of him killing you with his cock still inside of you. You closed your eyes again, focusing on slowing down your breathing as you waited for the person to leave.
When they finally did, Andrew spun you around, grabbing you under your throat again and slamming you against the door.
“Just for that, I should bend you over my knee and spank your ass so hard that you won’t be able to sit for weeks.”
“My ass should get in line then. I’m still waiting for you spank my pussy.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath. You’re too fucking greedy for that.”
He kissed you then, sweet and slow, like he hadn’t just almost broken your hip bones or made you lose consciousness.
“Are you okay?”
You nodded, your eyes crinkling as you smiled at him and brought your lips to his again. When you broke the kiss, he chased after you with a soft smile, leaning his forehead against yours as your noses bumped together. Then he pulled away.
“Okay. Now, I want you to walk out of here,” he said, as he tucked his cock into his pants. You nodded, reaching for the toilet paper, but his hand caught your wrist. “No. I want to see my cum trailing down your thighs.”
Fuck.
“Where should I go?”
“My car,” he said as he fished his keys from his jacket, placing them into your palm. “Wait there until the Bible study's over. You do not touch yourself, you do not make yourself cum with anything that you might find in the car. Understand?”
What did he have in his car that you could use to get yourself off?
“Yes. Where will we go?”
“My place. I want to be able to take my time with you. You have a punishment worth five strikes coming your way.”
“Five?!”
“And counting.”
You knew just about the one, but what about the rest? What the hell did you do?
“Well, letting me fuck you in a church is a big one. Leaving in the middle of the class is another. You also wore your panties–“
“You didn’t tell me I wasn’t supposed to–“
“Don’t raise your voice at me.”
You snapped your mouth shut, glancing down at your feet.
“What is the last reason?”
“Thinking you could somehow outsmart me in there.”
You rolled your eyes, because that’s not what you were doing.
“Jesus, did I fuck a brat into you? I’m gonna leave because otherwise I’ll lose count of how many times you actually deserve to be punished.” Although he tried to act like a hard-ass, he couldn't leave without kissing you again, squeezing your hips one more time before he blindly fixed your skirt, petting the sides of your thighs as he did so. You sighed when he removed his tongue from your mouth, staring at you with hooded eyes before he slapped your ass. “Car. Now.”
i’ve been lookin’ at you for a long, long time; just trying to break through, trying to make you mine.
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
warnings: fluff, pinch of angst, spiders, mentions of sex. it’s a love story.
summary: basically, you have a fat crush on Adrian, and he’s not the only one who is an idiot. (also, crush is an understatement).
w/c: 5.8k cca
a/n: i’m back, but with a new hyperfixation. not really proofread - maybe i’ll get back to it when i have the time.
“What the fuck is that?” Emilia screams as you snatch the piece of cloth, revealing a small tank with a hairy creature inside.
“A tarantula,” you beam, bending your knees to observe the spider.
“I can fucking see that. What the hell is it doing here?”
You straighten up, catching a glimpse of Economos as he rounds the table to see what the commotion is about.
“Oh my God, what the fuck is that?” He exclaims, bringing his hands behind his neck and locking his fingers there, acting like a bomb has just dropped on the building.
“Can you guys calm down?” you frown at both of them, because their reactions are, in your opinion, slightly exaggerated. “It’s a present for Adrian. I just picked it up and I wasn’t going to drive all the way home just to drop it off and drive back here.”
There was quite a few options to choose from in the pet store, and since Adrian has never mentioned his favorite spider, it made it easier for you to pick one. You asked the pet store employee for a beginner-friendly spider, and she showed you bunch – the brown wooly tarantula, the Brazilian black, the beautiful Gooty Sapphire. But as soon as you saw the orange Mexican red-knee, your mind was pretty much made up. It is just perfect for him.
When a new sound of the door being open reaches your ears, you quickly move your body to shield the cage in case Adrian has arrived at the scene. You turn around in the process, only to see Ads strutting towards you, sliding her headphones from her ears, and looping them around her neck. A frown overtakes her face when she watches you release a breath of relief, then her eyes jump to the see-through box on your desk as you step aside, her eyes widening.
“Woah, what is that? Is that Adrian’s?”
“It’s for Adrian. For his birthday.”
When Adebayo approaches the three of you, she leans over, watching the spider with a minor distaste.
“Man, he’s gonna love that,” Adebayo says.
That only makes your smile grow and your body rock on your feet. But as much as you appreciate her approval, her reaction doesn’t really mean anything compared to what Adrian’s going to say. His reaction is the only one you truly care about.
“Whatever, just keep it away from me,” Harcourt grumbles before trudging back to her working space. You cover the tank and hide it under your desk for the time being, hoping Adrian doesn’t notice.
Since it’s Chris’ turn to host, the birthday party takes place at his house. It’s not your usual rave, because this is supposed to be a quiet neighborhood and you don’t need his neighbor calling the police on you. But the music is still on, drumming against the small speakers that Adrian brought, Emilia is already relaxed enough to cozy up to Chris on the couch, and John is delivering new gossip to Adebayo, while you gaze at Adrian as he dances around the coffee table.
You stand up and disappear into Chris’ father’s bedroom, because he refused to let you hide the tarantula in his room. When you return to the living room, you get everyone’s attention by lowering down the speakers.
“Okay, Adrian, come here,” you say, waving him over. He steps over Chris’ stretched out legs, catching himself on the table as he almost loses his balance, before towering over you with a dimple-forming smile. “I hope you’re having a great birthday and that this will make it even better,” you say, handing over his present. “Happy birthday. It’s from all of us.”
It makes him look around, sending every one of his friends a smile of gratitude as they say Happy birthday, Adrian in unison. Then he removes the cover, and you swear you could watch over and over again, the way his eyes light up, growing comically wide as his jaw drops to the floor, his lower lashes creating downward crescents and crinkles adorning the corners of his eyes.
Damn it. You should have asked Ads to record this.
“No fucking way! I love spiders! That is so fucking cool.” Adrian lifts the box above his head, rotating it and trying to get a good look at it from every single angle. He turns to you then, “I could literally kiss you right now,” he says before finding a space in the kitchen to get a closer look at his new pet after Emilia lifted a finger at him with a don’t you dare as tried to fit next to her on the couch.
You are glad that he didn’t wait for your reaction to his words, because otherwise he would see your breath hitch, your eyelids flutter, and how sweaty you’ve suddenly become. You sink into the armchair next to Ads, your eyes never leaving Adrian.
“Girl, you’re down so fucking bad.” A nudge from Adebayo brings you out of your trance.
You roll your eyes when you see the smirk she’s giving you. “Shut up.”
“Dude, do not take this thing out inside of my house,” Chris tells him when he sees Adrian reaching for the lid.
The very next day, you help Adrian pick a bigger terrarium, some substrate and decorations to create a proper habitat for the red-knee.
“He’s gonna be so pumped when he sees the scrubland we’ve prepared for him,” Adrian beams, filling the tank with peat moss while you spread it around and fluff it up a little. When there is enough substrate for the spider to burrow, Adrian’s hand joins yours and as you spread it around, your fingers brush against his. A surge of electricity runs through you, making you flinch away like you just got burned.
You clear your throat.
“D’you think of a name yet?” you ask, reaching for a piece of bark.
“Michelangelo.”
So that is a specific name, clearly intentional, and you wouldn’t expect nothing less from Adrian – except maybe finding inspiration in his best friend and naming the spider Spidery. It takes you a minute, and he patiently waits for you to make the connection, but eventually, you do.
“You’re gonna name your spider after a turtle?”
“Yeah. Cool, right? He’s, like, the best Ninja Turtle and his favorite color is obviously orange. Did you know that orange is complementary to teal? What a coincidence, huh?”
Of course you did. That’s why you picked it in the first place.
“Yeah,” you smile. You move towards the smaller tank where the red-knee is still waiting for you to build his new home. “Did you hear that, Mikey? It’s gonna be hard to tell you apart from the other Michelangelo if you end up being a mutant ninja spider.”
Adrian rushes over to your side, a serious expression on his face as he watches him. “You think he’s a ninja spider?”
“Well, if he is, he’s probably gonna want to keep that identity secret, don’t you think?”
You grab his wrist and guide him back to the vivarium, handing him some fake plants for him to pick a place for. You put in a broken flowerpot too, some other bark pieces and branches and finally a bottle cap with some water.
“This looks great, Adrian,” you say, admiring the habitat.
“Well, it probably wouldn’t look so great if you didn’t help,” he says, poking you into your hip.
You smile at each other, and before the silence gets too awkward, you speak up.
“You wanna move him into his new home?”
Adrian leaves your side to retrieve the smaller tank before coming back just as quickly. He opens the lid and without flinching, he sticks his hand inside, letting the spider climb over his fingers and into his palm.
“Here you go, buddy,” Adrian says to him as he transfers him into the newly set up tank. “Gosh, he’s so freakin’ cute.”
“Yeah,” you say absent-mindedly as your eyes follow Adrian’s features, teeth gleaming, creases apparent in his cheeks and around his eyes. God, you want to kiss them. His lips, his teeth, his wrinkles, every part of him. You have never lied to yourself about the feelings you are harboring for Adrian, but you have lied about how easy it is to be around him without being able to wrap yourself in his arms.
The truth is, it is becoming harder and harder, almost to the point of it being painful, your heart lurching into your throat every time he smiles – at you, at Chris, at anyone. Your love for him has been spreading through your organs with every passing day, and now, it has finally reached the depths of your bones.
“You okay?” His voice is soft when he speaks, and his eyebrows are pinched together. It makes you finally blink, moisturizing your drying eyes.
“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
You stare at him, contemplating whether or not you want to take the risk of ruining the mood or even your friendship by offering him insight into your brain.
“I think Chris is jealous that he’s not the only one with a sidekick anymore.”
Adrian grins again.
“Totally.”
“I think you need to tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that could happen? He rejects you? So you move on!”
You thought that confiding in Ads would set your mind at peace. So far, it’s kind of the opposite. At least you’re giving her another thing to gossip about with Economos.
“Gee, thanks, Ads,” you scoff, taking a sip of your water before you fold your legs under you, leaning your elbow against the back of the couch, palm cupping your head.
“Tsk. I didn’t mean it like that. He probably won’t, because you’re like his favorite person, but trust me on this one. Not knowing where you stand is the worst. That’s what’s truly eating at you.”
She is right, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not combined with the fear of being rejected by Adrian. Two things can be true.
“Chris is his favorite person.”
She gives you a pointed look.
“Please. I don’t think even Adrian believes that. They have history and that’s all there is to it.”
“Still. Adrian’s brain is like a fucking kaleidoscope. All the fucking colors blur together and I just can’t see through them.”
“That’s the thing, though. You can. Why do you think you two mesh together so well? Not just as friends, but in the field, too? You’re made for each other.”
You shook your head dismissively, not buying anything she’s saying. You have never been insecure about stuff like this, not to the level where you went fishing for reassurance from your friends. Love feels pathetic at this moment but dare you say it’s one of the most exciting feelings you’ve ever experienced.
“Honestly, I thought he was just fucking around with the spider stuff.” Ads speaks, pulling you out of the thoughts that have piled up on you. “Personally, I wouldn’t trust him enough to give him a live spider. He didn’t even know how many eyes they have for God’s sake.”
You frown. “It’s all he talks about, though. Didn’t you hear him when he talked about the dispersion of the jumping spiders throughout Europe?”
She stares at you, eyebrows raised. “Right,” she drawls out. “See what I mean? And don’t even get me started on how he behaves in front of his mother when you’re around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine how mean he is towards someone who fucks with Chris. Now multiply it by ten. But subtract the killing part. He treated her like shit whenever we came to his house. And then you joined, and suddenly, he’s like a baby angel.”
Honestly, it sounds like Adrian. He still curses her out from time to time when you visit him at his home, but never to her face. You can’t say you blame him, though, because if your parents fussed over you in front of your friends like that, you’d be embarrassed too. But seeing as you are not in his shoes, you find it quite sweet, the way Mrs. Chase cares about him, and even sweeter how flustered and red he gets. You are pretty sure he is a mama’s boy, and it makes your heart grow warmer whenever you think about it.
“Also, no offence, but you’re a freak, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, first, when that tarantula escaped. Too fucking calm. Normal people just don’t go and pick up a big hairy spider like that.” She’s talking about the day you brought it into work. It appears that the placement under your desk wasn’t the best, and you accidentally tipped the cage over with your foot, the lid swinging open and setting the tarantula free. It made Economos gag at the thought of a big ass tarantula wandering around, and Emilia also left, barking at you to find it ASAP, which you did. “And then there’s the time when you killed a guard your first week in prison.”
You clench your teeth at the memory. Yeah, the asshole fucking deserved nothing less. To put it lightly, he was taking advantage of your fellow prisoners, and when you saw the state some of them were left in, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
But wait.
“I only told Adrian about that.”
“Yeah, and it looked like he was going to write a poem about it. I swear, he had heart eyes the whole time he was telling me that story. Seriously. You should tell him.”
You find yourself sitting on a barstool at Fennel Fields, completing a quiz on Alpacas created by Adrian for you to fill the time that you spend waiting for him until he finishes his shift. You’re already reading question number five, when an arm stretches next to you, palm flat on the bartop, the digital watch shifting as he flexes his forearm. Your nostrils flare at the familiar smell of cardamom, making your pupils dilate. His other hand brushes against your back and then you feel a hot breath tickle the shell of your ear.
“I’ll give you a hint. The answer to the third question is not A, neither B, nor D.” He whispers enthusiastically like he’s providing you with a groundbreaking revelation. You cross out the already circled letter B and make a new circle, marking the only answer left.
“A baby Alpaca is called Cria?”
“Yeah, and so are baby Llamas. In Spanish, they call human babies crias, too.”
“Cool. Now, shoo, I can do this on my own,” you say, elbowing him lightly into his chest, making him stumble backwards. He refills your water before he makes his way around the restaurant, cleaning and refilling other customers.
It is quiet at this hour, only a few patrons left – a couple in the far corner, a family of four close to the entrance and two friends chattering right in the middle of the restaurant, already pulling out their wallets. You glimpse at your watch – only twenty minutes left until the closing hours. The kitchen has already closed, and you saw the cook leaving, as well as some of the waiters.
The only employees left were Adrian, Dave, some waitresses you did not recognize, and Blake, who was pretty familiar with you at this point. She always took your order – either from you or Adrian, because he had a habit of interrupting her when she was serving other customers, just because he refused to keep you waiting.
You talked to her about it, because you felt bad that Adrian was making her job harder, but she just laughed, telling you that there are customers that make her job harder tenfold. She has also said that she isn’t one to stop a man from pampering his girlfriend, and even though it made you blush and your stomach twist, you sadly had to strip her of that assumption. She chuckled again with a sure, honey, and strutted in a direction of new customers.
“Hey, stranger,” you lift your head to Dave’s voice, just to see him make his way over to you. “Are you doing crosswords again or what?” Dave says teasingly as he looks over your shoulder.
“A quiz on Alpacas, actually.”
“Hm.” His eyes scan over the paper, nodding along. “Bet you’re top of the class. Do you have Science before or after recess?”
You roll your eyes at the remark, shaking your head as return your focus to the quiz - it does look like it's made for first graders, aside from your own doodles of little Alapacas, there are pictures of all kinds of cartoon Alpacas scattered around the edges of the paper, and you can't help but imagine Adrian as he giddily plays around with the design in Canva.
Anyway.
Dave is a decent guy. More than decent, actually. Funny, kind, patient. And as bad as it makes you feel, you can’t help but enjoy all the flirting engaged in whenever he ran into you at Fennel Fields.
“I actually was top of the class, just so you know.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
You don’t fight the smile, but you don’t dwell on the compliment either. You circle letter C after you read all the answers to the ninth question.
“Hey, so listen. I know you’re probably waiting for Adrian, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang with me after.”
You pause, eyes flitting to the top of the paper where you play with the corner, forming a small crease in the sheet. You turn to face him, squinting at him.
You did not expect that. Sure, you know he has been flirting with you this whole time, but you assumed it was something he did with a lot of people. You never expected him to take it this far. And you hate yourself for considering his invitation, even if it’s just for a second.
“You think I’d ditch my friend just like that?”
Dave shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
You hope that is the end of it, but before you can focus on the quiz, he speaks again.
“So what about tomorrow night? I have the day off.”
His tone is hopeful, and this time, you give yourself more than just a second to consider his ask, but before you can give your answer, a new person joins the conversation.
“Yeah, you’re paid to do your job. Not to pick up girls who are clearly uncomfortable in your presence,” he says, sticking his free palm out towards you, fingers spread so wide that the skin between his digits tightens.
“Adrian, relax, please. I’m good. He’s not making me uncomfortable.”
You know that harassment is in Adrian’s book of violations pretty high up, and you don’t need him killing his boss first thing he gets off work.
“Oh! Oh, so you do wanna go out with him? Great!” He forces his body between Dave and you and slaps his palm on the quiz before lifting the sheet and scrunching it up in the process. “Then he can make you his own quizzes from now on.” He says, turning on his heel before heading towards the back. You spring from your seat and rush after him, indifferent to the eyes of customers that currently follow you.
“Adrian, wait, I didn’t agree to anything!”
You follow him, grabbing at his suspenders that hung from his hips in an attempt to stop him, but he ignores you completely. You can think of six different ways to effectively stop him, but as there are kids present, you’re sure their parents probably wouldn’t leave a good review on Yelp if you were to carry on that here, and Adrian is already in enough trouble as it is.
You wouldn’t have a problem with following him into the restricted area, though, half expecting Dave to stop you, but to your mild surprise, it’s Adrian. He stops in his tracks, spinning around right in front of the door before he jabs his finger against the sign, reading the words aloud.
“Staff. Only. Don’t you dare stepping a foot over this threshold. Or I’ll have the security escort you out.”
This place doesn’t have any security guards; he’s just being too fucking dramatic. But you listen anyway, hoping he will cool off and then you can talk to him. You return to your seat, slumping over and gulping down the water you had left. Dave is already gone, but you catch his eyes when he’s going table to table, probably trying to do some damage control. He offers you a small, understanding smile, before returning his attention to the patrons.
Fuck. You should be the one apologizing. Dave's EQ score definitely falls into the right range. But what does it matter when he’s not Adrian? Who probably isn’t going to turn up until the end of the shift. You check your watch, twisting the strap around your wrist nervously. Three minutes. The kitchen entrance opens, and you straighten up, hoping it’s Adrian. Instead, you see Blake with a mournful expression on her face as she makes her way over to you. She squeezes your arm in comfort. “Honey, I think you’re gonna want to go out back.”
Confusion is replaced by shock of realization in a span of seconds, your eyes widening before you grab your jacket, hurtling towards the exit. Shit, you didn’t even thank her, but you make a mental note to do it next time you’re here. You round the building just in time for Adrian to exit through the back door, dressed in his own clothes – a polo sweater and regular washed out jeans; hair slightly flat from wearing the Fennel Fields hat. He still looks gorgeous.
“Oh, fuuck,” he groans, tipping his head back as he frowns, his fingers tightening around the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“You wanted to bail on me?” you asked, incredulously, even though you aren’t so surprised in the end. “What the fuck was that? Are you trying to get yourself fired, Adrian?”
He walks past you without even looking at you. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll probably quit anyway.”
“What? Why?” you ask as you stay in place, only twisting your body to face him and hoping he will acknowledge you. He doesn’t. Not with words, not with eyes, he just keeps on walking. Angry tears well in your eyes and it’s enough to make you run after him, swooping past him and blocking his pathway. “Talk to me, asshole.”
He laughs manically, but he does stop walking.
“I’m an asshole now? I am? Well, I guess it takes one to know one!”
You stare at him with glossy eyes, grating your teeth as you try to stop yourself from saying something hurtful, something he probably most definitely deserves, but you might regret later. Your fists are clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms.
“How am I the asshole?” you ask.
“Well, maybe because you’re flirting with my enemy?”
You know Dave isn’t exactly Adrian’s favorite person, and vice versa, but despite Adrian acting like a brat towards Dave from time to time, you thought that there must have been at least some mutual respect shared between them, otherwise Dave would have already fired Adrian a long time ago. And Adrian wouldn’t have gushed to you about Dave being a fucking icon when he had thrown out a customer who was trying to pick up a fight with one of the busboys for not doing the job the waiters and waitresses are supposed to do. He said that Dave was essentially defending every busser’s honor.
“Since when is Dave your enemy?”
“Since he’s been stealing away my friend I guess.” Your heart skips a beat. Wait, is he jealous? Could this possibly mean that he… feels the same way? “Next thing I know, he’s stealing Chris, then Eagly, then Economos, and even Harcourt.” Okay, stupid, nevermind.
You take a deep breath, tilting your head towards the sky as if gravity is supposed to stop the tears from beading in the corners of your eyes. Then you face him again, lips trembling before you finally find the courage to reveal your most vulnerable self to him.
“You know, I’m so fucking tired, Adrian.” A tear finally slips down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away as you sniff. “Ads says that you follow me around all the time like a lost puppy. But I feel like I’m the one following you, wagging my tail all the fucking time like a Goddamn poodle and waiting for you to throw me a bone, but you never even notice me.” Your voice cracks at the last words.
His eyebrows knit together, and his lips form a confused pout. You force the heels of your palms against your eyebrows, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s nothing soft in the way you massage your forehead, bone against bone as you dig your hands into your forehead like it’s supposed to free you from some of the strong emotions that are flooding your brain. You drop your arms to your sides again, and more tears streak down your face. This time, you let them.
“I never thought that loving somebody could be so fucking exhausting, and I’m honestly running out of fuel.”
You bring your sleeve up to wipe the mixture of tears and snot away. Adrian stands there, eyes jumping over the small fragments of rocks scattered around the ground as he mentally rewinds to the beginning of the night. He adjusts the strap on his shoulder, looking back at the backdoor he walked through a few moments ago before his eyes meet yours.
“You’re in love… with me? Not with Dave?”
You want to smack him, you really do.
“Jesus Christ, Adrian, did you listen to what I just said?”
He strides over to you, outstretching his arms as if to stop you from running away. But he doesn’t touch you.
“Yes! I’m just making sure. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself.”
You give him a pointed look, raising your eyebrow. Little late for that, no?
“Not any more than I already have, anyway,” he adds when he reads your expression.
You cross your arms over your chest. You sure as hell hope this is not all he has to say.
“Right, okay. So first of all, if you were a dog, you’d totally be a Dachshund. Poodles aren’t so stubborn, and they are too afraid to take on bigger animals like Dachshunds do. I have nothing against Poodles, but Dachshunds are way more cooler. Second of all, how can you say that I never notice you? I’m looking at you, like, all the time.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing, like you’re supposed to somehow know that. But is he even talking about the same thing? Fucking kaleidoscope.
“But you don’t look at me.”
“Ehh, I just said–”
Ugh, fuck.
“No, just… I look at you. Differently than I do at the rest of our friends.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to say. I literally told you that I wanted to kiss you. At the birthday party! See? I’m not the only fool here,” his smile stretches.
You twist your face, shaking your head as you try to make sense of his words. “But that’s just what people say. It’s an expression.”
“Well, I’ve never said it to anyone else.” He shrugs.
Your mind is hazy from all the crying and confusion, from all the overlapping emotions, from Adrian. You don’t know where you stand anymore.
“I have no idea what you’re trying to say, Adrian.”
“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced love for another person. I’ve said that I love Chris, because I thought I did. But then you gave me Michelangelo, and I immediately fell in love with him too. I realized that love can be even stronger.” He stops, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks. “Different might be the right word.”
Your heart flutters. You had never doubted that he would like the spider before you gave it to him, but you didn’t expect him to grow this fond of him.
“And then I thought about the time when Ads had caught me 'gazing' at you one day – when we went to the farmer's market with you and you were taste-testing all the different kinds of honey?”
Yeah, you remember Ads telling you afterwards that she’s never going somewhere alone with you and Adrian ever again, because she refuses to reduce herself to a third wheel.
Adrian bought five jars of ginger honey for you that day, because that was the one you took most samples of and the one you were feeding to him until he agreed that it was the best out of all of them. Truly, he was not convinced.
“She told me that I look like I’m ready to make the moon shine just for you. Which didn’t make sense because I can’t light up the moon, especially not in the middle of the day...” Adrian’s arm waved to the natural satellite, the waxing gibbous moon reflecting in his glasses when his duh expression is replaced by a scrunch-up as he tilts his head. “But then I started thinking about what I would do if you did ask me to make the moon shine, so I decided to watch Despicable Me, thinking it would give me some answers, but it actually–”
You ignore the churning in your stomach caused by his words and step forward, grabbing his forearms to stop him from getting sidetracked. “Adrian.”
He stops rambling, his green eyes connecting with yours.
“I think I’m in love with you, too. I have been for a while, I just didn’t realize it until Michelangelo helped me see that.” God, he’s such a fucking oddball. “I care about you more than Chris, and you’re basically on par with Michelangelo.” Adrian’s face twists into a grimace as he mulls over his words. “Even though I don’t think I’d want to steal the Moon for him. And I definitely don’t want to kiss him,” he finishes, licking his lips before chewing on them with his teeth.
Fuck. You have no right to be angry at him for not telling you this sooner, because you didn’t exactly set a good example, but Adrian is a blabbermouth and if you expected anyone to share each and every single piece of their mind with other people, it would be him.
You grab the lapels of his sweatshirt and tug him down, your lips colliding harshly and foreheads bumping together, making Adrian whimper a small ow into your mouth. The kiss is messy at first, teeth clashing together before you manage to find a rhythm. You let him suck on your upper lip, lightly nipping on his bottom one before soothing the dent in the thin skin with your tongue.
Goosebumps swarm every part of your body as you feel his fingers thread into your hair, your roots tightening when he forms a fist in order to hold you firmly to his body. An invisible force pulls you to your tiptoes, eager to get swallowed by him as you let your palms travel upwards over his shoulders, folding your arms behind his neck. The fingers of his other hand find the loop on the side of your jeans, curling his thumb and index around it and tugging you closer.
You are literally consuming each other in the quiet alleyway, the hooting of owls accompanied by the sounds of your lips smacking and puffs of air escaping through your noses. When you pull away to take a proper breath, Adrian’s lips chase after yours, catching them in one last peck before he pulls away with a smile, mirroring yours.
“Fuck. I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.”
Yeah, you can’t either. You try not to dwell on what could have been, instead choosing to embrace this present moment and cherish the fact that he’s finally yours.
Adrian leans in one more time, kissing away the remaining tears that glimmer under the night sky only to realize he's smearing them rather than removing them. He brings his hand up, his long sleeve stretched over his palm, swiping at your skin with the soft material instead, soaking it in the process.
You let out a light giggle, bringing your hands up to cup the sides of his neck, thumbs brushing over his jawline and nicking his earlobes, enjoying the feeling of his skin under your fingertips. Both his hands fall to your hips again, preventing you from moving further away. Not that you want to.
“You wanna go over to my place?” you ask. You were supposed to into the woods to practice combat in complete darkness – no night vision, no flashlights, relying solely on your instincts and senses – but it was really hard to ignore the bulge in his jeans when your bodies were pressed up against each other.
He tilts his head, his glasses inching down the bridge of his nose. You bring your index up, shifting them back into place. “Are we gonna have sex?”
“Probably. If you want to.”
“Sick.” Adrian grabs your hand, compressing your fingers in his big palm as he drags you towards his car. He opens the passenger door for you before rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat with the backpack on his lap.
“Want me to take it?” you ask, reaching over for it, but he just shakes his head, tugging onto the zipper.
He fishes out a crumpled-up piece of paper. You are surprised that he didn’t just tear it up and throw it into the trash.
“I graded your test. Not bad, just a few errors. We can go over them after the sex. Or before, I don’t care. I gave you some bonus points for the Alpaca doodle, but then I had to deduct them for… flirting with Dave.” The last part of the sentence is said with a hint of guilt, his head hanging low. You lean over the console, one hand on his thigh as the other squishes his cheeks together, turning him to face you before you peck his plushy lips.
“Maybe I can earn them back?” You smile, tickling the tip of his nose with yours and batting your eyelashes before you pull back.
“Fuck. I take it back. Definitely after,” he says, stuffing the paper back into his bag before throwing it onto the backseat.
i’ve been lookin’ at you for a long, long time; just trying to break through, trying to make you mine.
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
warnings: fluff, pinch of angst, spiders, mentions of sex. it’s a love story.
summary: basically, you have a fat crush on Adrian, and he’s not the only one who is an idiot. (also, crush is an understatement).
w/c: 5.8k cca
a/n: i’m back, but with a new hyperfixation. not really proofread - maybe i’ll get back to it when i have the time.
“What the fuck is that?” Emilia screams as you snatch the piece of cloth, revealing a small tank with a hairy creature inside.
“A tarantula,” you beam, bending your knees to observe the spider.
“I can fucking see that. What the hell is it doing here?”
You straighten up, catching a glimpse of Economos as he rounds the table to see what the commotion is about.
“Oh my God, what the fuck is that?” He exclaims, bringing his hands behind his neck and locking his fingers there, acting like a bomb has just dropped on the building.
“Can you guys calm down?” you frown at both of them, because their reactions are, in your opinion, slightly exaggerated. “It’s a present for Adrian. I just picked it up and I wasn’t going to drive all the way home just to drop it off and drive back here.”
There was quite a few options to choose from in the pet store, and since Adrian has never mentioned his favorite spider, it made it easier for you to pick one. You asked the pet store employee for a beginner-friendly spider, and she showed you bunch – the brown wooly tarantula, the Brazilian black, the beautiful Gooty Sapphire. But as soon as you saw the orange Mexican red-knee, your mind was pretty much made up. It is just perfect for him.
When a new sound of the door being open reaches your ears, you quickly move your body to shield the cage in case Adrian has arrived at the scene. You turn around in the process, only to see Ads strutting towards you, sliding her headphones from her ears, and looping them around her neck. A frown overtakes her face when she watches you release a breath of relief, then her eyes jump to the see-through box on your desk as you step aside, her eyes widening.
“Woah, what is that? Is that Adrian’s?”
“It’s for Adrian. For his birthday.”
When Adebayo approaches the three of you, she leans over, watching the spider with a minor distaste.
“Man, he’s gonna love that,” Adebayo says.
That only makes your smile grow and your body rock on your feet. But as much as you appreciate her approval, her reaction doesn’t really mean anything compared to what Adrian’s going to say. His reaction is the only one you truly care about.
“Whatever, just keep it away from me,” Harcourt grumbles before trudging back to her working space. You cover the tank and hide it under your desk for the time being, hoping Adrian doesn’t notice.
Since it’s Chris’ turn to host, the birthday party takes place at his house. It’s not your usual rave, because this is supposed to be a quiet neighborhood and you don’t need his neighbor calling the police on you. But the music is still on, drumming against the small speakers that Adrian brought, Emilia is already relaxed enough to cozy up to Chris on the couch, and John is delivering new gossip to Adebayo, while you gaze at Adrian as he dances around the coffee table.
You stand up and disappear into Chris’ father’s bedroom, because he refused to let you hide the tarantula in his room. When you return to the living room, you get everyone’s attention by lowering down the speakers.
“Okay, Adrian, come here,” you say, waving him over. He steps over Chris’ stretched out legs, catching himself on the table as he almost loses his balance, before towering over you with a dimple-forming smile. “I hope you’re having a great birthday and that this will make it even better,” you say, handing over his present. “Happy birthday. It’s from all of us.”
It makes him look around, sending every one of his friends a smile of gratitude as they say Happy birthday, Adrian in unison. Then he removes the cover, and you swear you could watch over and over again, the way his eyes light up, growing comically wide as his jaw drops to the floor, his lower lashes creating downward crescents and crinkles adorning the corners of his eyes.
Damn it. You should have asked Ads to record this.
“No fucking way! I love spiders! That is so fucking cool.” Adrian lifts the box above his head, rotating it and trying to get a good look at it from every single angle. He turns to you then, “I could literally kiss you right now,” he says before finding a space in the kitchen to get a closer look at his new pet after Emilia lifted a finger at him with a don’t you dare as tried to fit next to her on the couch.
You are glad that he didn’t wait for your reaction to his words, because otherwise he would see your breath hitch, your eyelids flutter, and how sweaty you’ve suddenly become. You sink into the armchair next to Ads, your eyes never leaving Adrian.
“Girl, you’re down so fucking bad.” A nudge from Adebayo brings you out of your trance.
You roll your eyes when you see the smirk she’s giving you. “Shut up.”
“Dude, do not take this thing out inside of my house,” Chris tells him when he sees Adrian reaching for the lid.
The very next day, you help Adrian pick a bigger terrarium, some substrate and decorations to create a proper habitat for the red-knee.
“He’s gonna be so pumped when he sees the scrubland we’ve prepared for him,” Adrian beams, filling the tank with peat moss while you spread it around and fluff it up a little. When there is enough substrate for the spider to burrow, Adrian’s hand joins yours and as you spread it around, your fingers brush against his. A surge of electricity runs through you, making you flinch away like you just got burned.
You clear your throat.
“D’you think of a name yet?” you ask, reaching for a piece of bark.
“Michelangelo.”
So that is a specific name, clearly intentional, and you wouldn’t expect nothing less from Adrian – except maybe finding inspiration in his best friend and naming the spider Spidery. It takes you a minute, and he patiently waits for you to make the connection, but eventually, you do.
“You’re gonna name your spider after a turtle?”
“Yeah. Cool, right? He’s, like, the best Ninja Turtle and his favorite color is obviously orange. Did you know that orange is complementary to teal? What a coincidence, huh?”
Of course you did. That’s why you picked it in the first place.
“Yeah,” you smile. You move towards the smaller tank where the red-knee is still waiting for you to build his new home. “Did you hear that, Mikey? It’s gonna be hard to tell you apart from the other Michelangelo if you end up being a mutant ninja spider.”
Adrian rushes over to your side, a serious expression on his face as he watches him. “You think he’s a ninja spider?”
“Well, if he is, he’s probably gonna want to keep that identity secret, don’t you think?”
You grab his wrist and guide him back to the vivarium, handing him some fake plants for him to pick a place for. You put in a broken flowerpot too, some other bark pieces and branches and finally a bottle cap with some water.
“This looks great, Adrian,” you say, admiring the habitat.
“Well, it probably wouldn’t look so great if you didn’t help,” he says, poking you into your hip.
You smile at each other, and before the silence gets too awkward, you speak up.
“You wanna move him into his new home?”
Adrian leaves your side to retrieve the smaller tank before coming back just as quickly. He opens the lid and without flinching, he sticks his hand inside, letting the spider climb over his fingers and into his palm.
“Here you go, buddy,” Adrian says to him as he transfers him into the newly set up tank. “Gosh, he’s so freakin’ cute.”
“Yeah,” you say absent-mindedly as your eyes follow Adrian’s features, teeth gleaming, creases apparent in his cheeks and around his eyes. God, you want to kiss them. His lips, his teeth, his wrinkles, every part of him. You have never lied to yourself about the feelings you are harboring for Adrian, but you have lied about how easy it is to be around him without being able to wrap yourself in his arms.
The truth is, it is becoming harder and harder, almost to the point of it being painful, your heart lurching into your throat every time he smiles – at you, at Chris, at anyone. Your love for him has been spreading through your organs with every passing day, and now, it has finally reached the depths of your bones.
“You okay?” His voice is soft when he speaks, and his eyebrows are pinched together. It makes you finally blink, moisturizing your drying eyes.
“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
You stare at him, contemplating whether or not you want to take the risk of ruining the mood or even your friendship by offering him insight into your brain.
“I think Chris is jealous that he’s not the only one with a sidekick anymore.”
Adrian grins again.
“Totally.”
“I think you need to tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that could happen? He rejects you? So you move on!”
You thought that confiding in Ads would set your mind at peace. So far, it’s kind of the opposite. At least you’re giving her another thing to gossip about with Economos.
“Gee, thanks, Ads,” you scoff, taking a sip of your water before you fold your legs under you, leaning your elbow against the back of the couch, palm cupping your head.
“Tsk. I didn’t mean it like that. He probably won’t, because you’re like his favorite person, but trust me on this one. Not knowing where you stand is the worst. That’s what’s truly eating at you.”
She is right, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not combined with the fear of being rejected by Adrian. Two things can be true.
“Chris is his favorite person.”
She gives you a pointed look.
“Please. I don’t think even Adrian believes that. They have history and that’s all there is to it.”
“Still. Adrian’s brain is like a fucking kaleidoscope. All the fucking colors blur together and I just can’t see through them.”
“That’s the thing, though. You can. Why do you think you two mesh together so well? Not just as friends, but in the field, too? You’re made for each other.”
You shook your head dismissively, not buying anything she’s saying. You have never been insecure about stuff like this, not to the level where you went fishing for reassurance from your friends. Love feels pathetic at this moment but dare you say it’s one of the most exciting feelings you’ve ever experienced.
“Honestly, I thought he was just fucking around with the spider stuff.” Ads speaks, pulling you out of the thoughts that have piled up on you. “Personally, I wouldn’t trust him enough to give him a live spider. He didn’t even know how many eyes they have for God’s sake.”
You frown. “It’s all he talks about, though. Didn’t you hear him when he talked about the dispersion of the jumping spiders throughout Europe?”
She stares at you, eyebrows raised. “Right,” she drawls out. “See what I mean? And don’t even get me started on how he behaves in front of his mother when you’re around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine how mean he is towards someone who fucks with Chris. Now multiply it by ten. But subtract the killing part. He treated her like shit whenever we came to his house. And then you joined, and suddenly, he’s like a baby angel.”
Honestly, it sounds like Adrian. He still curses her out from time to time when you visit him at his home, but never to her face. You can’t say you blame him, though, because if your parents fussed over you in front of your friends like that, you’d be embarrassed too. But seeing as you are not in his shoes, you find it quite sweet, the way Mrs. Chase cares about him, and even sweeter how flustered and red he gets. You are pretty sure he is a mama’s boy, and it makes your heart grow warmer whenever you think about it.
“Also, no offence, but you’re a freak, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, first, when that tarantula escaped. Too fucking calm. Normal people just don’t go and pick up a big hairy spider like that.” She’s talking about the day you brought it into work. It appears that the placement under your desk wasn’t the best, and you accidentally tipped the cage over with your foot, the lid swinging open and setting the tarantula free. It made Economos gag at the thought of a big ass tarantula wandering around, and Emilia also left, barking at you to find it ASAP, which you did. “And then there’s the time when you killed a guard your first week in prison.”
You clench your teeth at the memory. Yeah, the asshole fucking deserved nothing less. To put it lightly, he was taking advantage of your fellow prisoners, and when you saw the state some of them were left in, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
But wait.
“I only told Adrian about that.”
“Yeah, and it looked like he was going to write a poem about it. I swear, he had heart eyes the whole time he was telling me that story. Seriously. You should tell him.”
You find yourself sitting on a barstool at Fennel Fields, completing a quiz on Alpacas created by Adrian for you to fill the time that you spend waiting for him until he finishes his shift. You’re already reading question number five, when an arm stretches next to you, palm flat on the bartop, the digital watch shifting as he flexes his forearm. Your nostrils flare at the familiar smell of cardamom, making your pupils dilate. His other hand brushes against your back and then you feel a hot breath tickle the shell of your ear.
“I’ll give you a hint. The answer to the third question is not A, neither B, nor D.” He whispers enthusiastically like he’s providing you with a groundbreaking revelation. You cross out the already circled letter B and make a new circle, marking the only answer left.
“A baby Alpaca is called Cria?”
“Yeah, and so are baby Llamas. In Spanish, they call human babies crias, too.”
“Cool. Now, shoo, I can do this on my own,” you say, elbowing him lightly into his chest, making him stumble backwards. He refills your water before he makes his way around the restaurant, cleaning and refilling other customers.
It is quiet at this hour, only a few patrons left – a couple in the far corner, a family of four close to the entrance and two friends chattering right in the middle of the restaurant, already pulling out their wallets. You glimpse at your watch – only twenty minutes left until the closing hours. The kitchen has already closed, and you saw the cook leaving, as well as some of the waiters.
The only employees left were Adrian, Dave, some waitresses you did not recognize, and Blake, who was pretty familiar with you at this point. She always took your order – either from you or Adrian, because he had a habit of interrupting her when she was serving other customers, just because he refused to keep you waiting.
You talked to her about it, because you felt bad that Adrian was making her job harder, but she just laughed, telling you that there are customers that make her job harder tenfold. She has also said that she isn’t one to stop a man from pampering his girlfriend, and even though it made you blush and your stomach twist, you sadly had to strip her of that assumption. She chuckled again with a sure, honey, and strutted in a direction of new customers.
“Hey, stranger,” you lift your head to Dave’s voice, just to see him make his way over to you. “Are you doing crosswords again or what?” Dave says teasingly as he looks over your shoulder.
“A quiz on Alpacas, actually.”
“Hm.” His eyes scan over the paper, nodding along. “Bet you’re top of the class. Do you have Science before or after recess?”
You roll your eyes at the remark, shaking your head as return your focus to the quiz - it does look like it's made for first graders, aside from your own doodles of little Alapacas, there are pictures of all kinds of cartoon Alpacas scattered around the edges of the paper, and you can't help but imagine Adrian as he giddily plays around with the design in Canva.
Anyway.
Dave is a decent guy. More than decent, actually. Funny, kind, patient. And as bad as it makes you feel, you can’t help but enjoy all the flirting engaged in whenever he ran into you at Fennel Fields.
“I actually was top of the class, just so you know.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
You don’t fight the smile, but you don’t dwell on the compliment either. You circle letter C after you read all the answers to the ninth question.
“Hey, so listen. I know you’re probably waiting for Adrian, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang with me after.”
You pause, eyes flitting to the top of the paper where you play with the corner, forming a small crease in the sheet. You turn to face him, squinting at him.
You did not expect that. Sure, you know he has been flirting with you this whole time, but you assumed it was something he did with a lot of people. You never expected him to take it this far. And you hate yourself for considering his invitation, even if it’s just for a second.
“You think I’d ditch my friend just like that?”
Dave shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
You hope that is the end of it, but before you can focus on the quiz, he speaks again.
“So what about tomorrow night? I have the day off.”
His tone is hopeful, and this time, you give yourself more than just a second to consider his ask, but before you can give your answer, a new person joins the conversation.
“Yeah, you’re paid to do your job. Not to pick up girls who are clearly uncomfortable in your presence,” he says, sticking his free palm out towards you, fingers spread so wide that the skin between his digits tightens.
“Adrian, relax, please. I’m good. He’s not making me uncomfortable.”
You know that harassment is in Adrian’s book of violations pretty high up, and you don’t need him killing his boss first thing he gets off work.
“Oh! Oh, so you do wanna go out with him? Great!” He forces his body between Dave and you and slaps his palm on the quiz before lifting the sheet and scrunching it up in the process. “Then he can make you his own quizzes from now on.” He says, turning on his heel before heading towards the back. You spring from your seat and rush after him, indifferent to the eyes of customers that currently follow you.
“Adrian, wait, I didn’t agree to anything!”
You follow him, grabbing at his suspenders that hung from his hips in an attempt to stop him, but he ignores you completely. You can think of six different ways to effectively stop him, but as there are kids present, you’re sure their parents probably wouldn’t leave a good review on Yelp if you were to carry on that here, and Adrian is already in enough trouble as it is.
You wouldn’t have a problem with following him into the restricted area, though, half expecting Dave to stop you, but to your mild surprise, it’s Adrian. He stops in his tracks, spinning around right in front of the door before he jabs his finger against the sign, reading the words aloud.
“Staff. Only. Don’t you dare stepping a foot over this threshold. Or I’ll have the security escort you out.”
This place doesn’t have any security guards; he’s just being too fucking dramatic. But you listen anyway, hoping he will cool off and then you can talk to him. You return to your seat, slumping over and gulping down the water you had left. Dave is already gone, but you catch his eyes when he’s going table to table, probably trying to do some damage control. He offers you a small, understanding smile, before returning his attention to the patrons.
Fuck. You should be the one apologizing. Dave's EQ score definitely falls into the right range. But what does it matter when he’s not Adrian? Who probably isn’t going to turn up until the end of the shift. You check your watch, twisting the strap around your wrist nervously. Three minutes. The kitchen entrance opens, and you straighten up, hoping it’s Adrian. Instead, you see Blake with a mournful expression on her face as she makes her way over to you. She squeezes your arm in comfort. “Honey, I think you’re gonna want to go out back.”
Confusion is replaced by shock of realization in a span of seconds, your eyes widening before you grab your jacket, hurtling towards the exit. Shit, you didn’t even thank her, but you make a mental note to do it next time you’re here. You round the building just in time for Adrian to exit through the back door, dressed in his own clothes – a polo sweater and regular washed out jeans; hair slightly flat from wearing the Fennel Fields hat. He still looks gorgeous.
“Oh, fuuck,” he groans, tipping his head back as he frowns, his fingers tightening around the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“You wanted to bail on me?” you asked, incredulously, even though you aren’t so surprised in the end. “What the fuck was that? Are you trying to get yourself fired, Adrian?”
He walks past you without even looking at you. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll probably quit anyway.”
“What? Why?” you ask as you stay in place, only twisting your body to face him and hoping he will acknowledge you. He doesn’t. Not with words, not with eyes, he just keeps on walking. Angry tears well in your eyes and it’s enough to make you run after him, swooping past him and blocking his pathway. “Talk to me, asshole.”
He laughs manically, but he does stop walking.
“I’m an asshole now? I am? Well, I guess it takes one to know one!”
You stare at him with glossy eyes, grating your teeth as you try to stop yourself from saying something hurtful, something he probably most definitely deserves, but you might regret later. Your fists are clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms.
“How am I the asshole?” you ask.
“Well, maybe because you’re flirting with my enemy?”
You know Dave isn’t exactly Adrian’s favorite person, and vice versa, but despite Adrian acting like a brat towards Dave from time to time, you thought that there must have been at least some mutual respect shared between them, otherwise Dave would have already fired Adrian a long time ago. And Adrian wouldn’t have gushed to you about Dave being a fucking icon when he had thrown out a customer who was trying to pick up a fight with one of the busboys for not doing the job the waiters and waitresses are supposed to do. He said that Dave was essentially defending every busser’s honor.
“Since when is Dave your enemy?”
“Since he’s been stealing away my friend I guess.” Your heart skips a beat. Wait, is he jealous? Could this possibly mean that he… feels the same way? “Next thing I know, he’s stealing Chris, then Eagly, then Economos, and even Harcourt.” Okay, stupid, nevermind.
You take a deep breath, tilting your head towards the sky as if gravity is supposed to stop the tears from beading in the corners of your eyes. Then you face him again, lips trembling before you finally find the courage to reveal your most vulnerable self to him.
“You know, I’m so fucking tired, Adrian.” A tear finally slips down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away as you sniff. “Ads says that you follow me around all the time like a lost puppy. But I feel like I’m the one following you, wagging my tail all the fucking time like a Goddamn poodle and waiting for you to throw me a bone, but you never even notice me.” Your voice cracks at the last words.
His eyebrows knit together, and his lips form a confused pout. You force the heels of your palms against your eyebrows, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s nothing soft in the way you massage your forehead, bone against bone as you dig your hands into your forehead like it’s supposed to free you from some of the strong emotions that are flooding your brain. You drop your arms to your sides again, and more tears streak down your face. This time, you let them.
“I never thought that loving somebody could be so fucking exhausting, and I’m honestly running out of fuel.”
You bring your sleeve up to wipe the mixture of tears and snot away. Adrian stands there, eyes jumping over the small fragments of rocks scattered around the ground as he mentally rewinds to the beginning of the night. He adjusts the strap on his shoulder, looking back at the backdoor he walked through a few moments ago before his eyes meet yours.
“You’re in love… with me? Not with Dave?”
You want to smack him, you really do.
“Jesus Christ, Adrian, did you listen to what I just said?”
He strides over to you, outstretching his arms as if to stop you from running away. But he doesn’t touch you.
“Yes! I’m just making sure. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself.”
You give him a pointed look, raising your eyebrow. Little late for that, no?
“Not any more than I already have, anyway,” he adds when he reads your expression.
You cross your arms over your chest. You sure as hell hope this is not all he has to say.
“Right, okay. So first of all, if you were a dog, you’d totally be a Dachshund. Poodles aren’t so stubborn, and they are too afraid to take on bigger animals like Dachshunds do. I have nothing against Poodles, but Dachshunds are way more cooler. Second of all, how can you say that I never notice you? I’m looking at you, like, all the time.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing, like you’re supposed to somehow know that. But is he even talking about the same thing? Fucking kaleidoscope.
“But you don’t look at me.”
“Ehh, I just said–”
Ugh, fuck.
“No, just… I look at you. Differently than I do at the rest of our friends.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to say. I literally told you that I wanted to kiss you. At the birthday party! See? I’m not the only fool here,” his smile stretches.
You twist your face, shaking your head as you try to make sense of his words. “But that’s just what people say. It’s an expression.”
“Well, I’ve never said it to anyone else.” He shrugs.
Your mind is hazy from all the crying and confusion, from all the overlapping emotions, from Adrian. You don’t know where you stand anymore.
“I have no idea what you’re trying to say, Adrian.”
“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced love for another person. I’ve said that I love Chris, because I thought I did. But then you gave me Michelangelo, and I immediately fell in love with him too. I realized that love can be even stronger.” He stops, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks. “Different might be the right word.”
Your heart flutters. You had never doubted that he would like the spider before you gave it to him, but you didn’t expect him to grow this fond of him.
“And then I thought about the time when Ads had caught me 'gazing' at you one day – when we went to the farmer's market with you and you were taste-testing all the different kinds of honey?”
Yeah, you remember Ads telling you afterwards that she’s never going somewhere alone with you and Adrian ever again, because she refuses to reduce herself to a third wheel.
Adrian bought five jars of ginger honey for you that day, because that was the one you took most samples of and the one you were feeding to him until he agreed that it was the best out of all of them. Truly, he was not convinced.
“She told me that I look like I’m ready to make the moon shine just for you. Which didn’t make sense because I can’t light up the moon, especially not in the middle of the day...” Adrian’s arm waved to the natural satellite, the waxing gibbous moon reflecting in his glasses when his duh expression is replaced by a scrunch-up as he tilts his head. “But then I started thinking about what I would do if you did ask me to make the moon shine, so I decided to watch Despicable Me, thinking it would give me some answers, but it actually–”
You ignore the churning in your stomach caused by his words and step forward, grabbing his forearms to stop him from getting sidetracked. “Adrian.”
He stops rambling, his green eyes connecting with yours.
“I think I’m in love with you, too. I have been for a while, I just didn’t realize it until Michelangelo helped me see that.” God, he’s such a fucking oddball. “I care about you more than Chris, and you’re basically on par with Michelangelo.” Adrian’s face twists into a grimace as he mulls over his words. “Even though I don’t think I’d want to steal the Moon for him. And I definitely don’t want to kiss him,” he finishes, licking his lips before chewing on them with his teeth.
Fuck. You have no right to be angry at him for not telling you this sooner, because you didn’t exactly set a good example, but Adrian is a blabbermouth and if you expected anyone to share each and every single piece of their mind with other people, it would be him.
You grab the lapels of his sweatshirt and tug him down, your lips colliding harshly and foreheads bumping together, making Adrian whimper a small ow into your mouth. The kiss is messy at first, teeth clashing together before you manage to find a rhythm. You let him suck on your upper lip, lightly nipping on his bottom one before soothing the dent in the thin skin with your tongue.
Goosebumps swarm every part of your body as you feel his fingers thread into your hair, your roots tightening when he forms a fist in order to hold you firmly to his body. An invisible force pulls you to your tiptoes, eager to get swallowed by him as you let your palms travel upwards over his shoulders, folding your arms behind his neck. The fingers of his other hand find the loop on the side of your jeans, curling his thumb and index around it and tugging you closer.
You are literally consuming each other in the quiet alleyway, the hooting of owls accompanied by the sounds of your lips smacking and puffs of air escaping through your noses. When you pull away to take a proper breath, Adrian’s lips chase after yours, catching them in one last peck before he pulls away with a smile, mirroring yours.
“Fuck. I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.”
Yeah, you can’t either. You try not to dwell on what could have been, instead choosing to embrace this present moment and cherish the fact that he’s finally yours.
Adrian leans in one more time, kissing away the remaining tears that glimmer under the night sky only to realize he's smearing them rather than removing them. He brings his hand up, his long sleeve stretched over his palm, swiping at your skin with the soft material instead, soaking it in the process.
You let out a light giggle, bringing your hands up to cup the sides of his neck, thumbs brushing over his jawline and nicking his earlobes, enjoying the feeling of his skin under your fingertips. Both his hands fall to your hips again, preventing you from moving further away. Not that you want to.
“You wanna go over to my place?” you ask. You were supposed to into the woods to practice combat in complete darkness – no night vision, no flashlights, relying solely on your instincts and senses – but it was really hard to ignore the bulge in his jeans when your bodies were pressed up against each other.
He tilts his head, his glasses inching down the bridge of his nose. You bring your index up, shifting them back into place. “Are we gonna have sex?”
“Probably. If you want to.”
“Sick.” Adrian grabs your hand, compressing your fingers in his big palm as he drags you towards his car. He opens the passenger door for you before rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat with the backpack on his lap.
“Want me to take it?” you ask, reaching over for it, but he just shakes his head, tugging onto the zipper.
He fishes out a crumpled-up piece of paper. You are surprised that he didn’t just tear it up and throw it into the trash.
“I graded your test. Not bad, just a few errors. We can go over them after the sex. Or before, I don’t care. I gave you some bonus points for the Alpaca doodle, but then I had to deduct them for… flirting with Dave.” The last part of the sentence is said with a hint of guilt, his head hanging low. You lean over the console, one hand on his thigh as the other squishes his cheeks together, turning him to face you before you peck his plushy lips.
“Maybe I can earn them back?” You smile, tickling the tip of his nose with yours and batting your eyelashes before you pull back.
“Fuck. I take it back. Definitely after,” he says, stuffing the paper back into his bag before throwing it onto the backseat.
i’ve been lookin’ at you for a long, long time; just trying to break through, trying to make you mine.
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
warnings: fluff, pinch of angst, spiders, mentions of sex. it’s a love story.
summary: basically, you have a fat crush on Adrian, and he’s not the only one who is an idiot. (also, crush is an understatement).
w/c: 5.8k cca
a/n: i’m back, but with a new hyperfixation. not really proofread - maybe i’ll get back to it when i have the time.
“What the fuck is that?” Emilia screams as you snatch the piece of cloth, revealing a small tank with a hairy creature inside.
“A tarantula,” you beam, bending your knees to observe the spider.
“I can fucking see that. What the hell is it doing here?”
You straighten up, catching a glimpse of Economos as he rounds the table to see what the commotion is about.
“Oh my God, what the fuck is that?” He exclaims, bringing his hands behind his neck and locking his fingers there, acting like a bomb has just dropped on the building.
“Can you guys calm down?” you frown at both of them, because their reactions are, in your opinion, slightly exaggerated. “It’s a present for Adrian. I just picked it up and I wasn’t going to drive all the way home just to drop it off and drive back here.”
There was quite a few options to choose from in the pet store, and since Adrian has never mentioned his favorite spider, it made it easier for you to pick one. You asked the pet store employee for a beginner-friendly spider, and she showed you bunch – the brown wooly tarantula, the Brazilian black, the beautiful Gooty Sapphire. But as soon as you saw the orange Mexican red-knee, your mind was pretty much made up. It is just perfect for him.
When a new sound of the door being open reaches your ears, you quickly move your body to shield the cage in case Adrian has arrived at the scene. You turn around in the process, only to see Ads strutting towards you, sliding her headphones from her ears, and looping them around her neck. A frown overtakes her face when she watches you release a breath of relief, then her eyes jump to the see-through box on your desk as you step aside, her eyes widening.
“Woah, what is that? Is that Adrian’s?”
“It’s for Adrian. For his birthday.”
When Adebayo approaches the three of you, she leans over, watching the spider with a minor distaste.
“Man, he’s gonna love that,” Adebayo says.
That only makes your smile grow and your body rock on your feet. But as much as you appreciate her approval, her reaction doesn’t really mean anything compared to what Adrian’s going to say. His reaction is the only one you truly care about.
“Whatever, just keep it away from me,” Harcourt grumbles before trudging back to her working space. You cover the tank and hide it under your desk for the time being, hoping Adrian doesn’t notice.
Since it’s Chris’ turn to host, the birthday party takes place at his house. It’s not your usual rave, because this is supposed to be a quiet neighborhood and you don’t need his neighbor calling the police on you. But the music is still on, drumming against the small speakers that Adrian brought, Emilia is already relaxed enough to cozy up to Chris on the couch, and John is delivering new gossip to Adebayo, while you gaze at Adrian as he dances around the coffee table.
You stand up and disappear into Chris’ father’s bedroom, because he refused to let you hide the tarantula in his room. When you return to the living room, you get everyone’s attention by lowering down the speakers.
“Okay, Adrian, come here,” you say, waving him over. He steps over Chris’ stretched out legs, catching himself on the table as he almost loses his balance, before towering over you with a dimple-forming smile. “I hope you’re having a great birthday and that this will make it even better,” you say, handing over his present. “Happy birthday. It’s from all of us.”
It makes him look around, sending every one of his friends a smile of gratitude as they say Happy birthday, Adrian in unison. Then he removes the cover, and you swear you could watch over and over again, the way his eyes light up, growing comically wide as his jaw drops to the floor, his lower lashes creating downward crescents and crinkles adorning the corners of his eyes.
Damn it. You should have asked Ads to record this.
“No fucking way! I love spiders! That is so fucking cool.” Adrian lifts the box above his head, rotating it and trying to get a good look at it from every single angle. He turns to you then, “I could literally kiss you right now,” he says before finding a space in the kitchen to get a closer look at his new pet after Emilia lifted a finger at him with a don’t you dare as tried to fit next to her on the couch.
You are glad that he didn’t wait for your reaction to his words, because otherwise he would see your breath hitch, your eyelids flutter, and how sweaty you’ve suddenly become. You sink into the armchair next to Ads, your eyes never leaving Adrian.
“Girl, you’re down so fucking bad.” A nudge from Adebayo brings you out of your trance.
You roll your eyes when you see the smirk she’s giving you. “Shut up.”
“Dude, do not take this thing out inside of my house,” Chris tells him when he sees Adrian reaching for the lid.
The very next day, you help Adrian pick a bigger terrarium, some substrate and decorations to create a proper habitat for the red-knee.
“He’s gonna be so pumped when he sees the scrubland we’ve prepared for him,” Adrian beams, filling the tank with peat moss while you spread it around and fluff it up a little. When there is enough substrate for the spider to burrow, Adrian’s hand joins yours and as you spread it around, your fingers brush against his. A surge of electricity runs through you, making you flinch away like you just got burned.
You clear your throat.
“D’you think of a name yet?” you ask, reaching for a piece of bark.
“Michelangelo.”
So that is a specific name, clearly intentional, and you wouldn’t expect nothing less from Adrian – except maybe finding inspiration in his best friend and naming the spider Spidery. It takes you a minute, and he patiently waits for you to make the connection, but eventually, you do.
“You’re gonna name your spider after a turtle?”
“Yeah. Cool, right? He’s, like, the best Ninja Turtle and his favorite color is obviously orange. Did you know that orange is complementary to teal? What a coincidence, huh?”
Of course you did. That’s why you picked it in the first place.
“Yeah,” you smile. You move towards the smaller tank where the red-knee is still waiting for you to build his new home. “Did you hear that, Mikey? It’s gonna be hard to tell you apart from the other Michelangelo if you end up being a mutant ninja spider.”
Adrian rushes over to your side, a serious expression on his face as he watches him. “You think he’s a ninja spider?”
“Well, if he is, he’s probably gonna want to keep that identity secret, don’t you think?”
You grab his wrist and guide him back to the vivarium, handing him some fake plants for him to pick a place for. You put in a broken flowerpot too, some other bark pieces and branches and finally a bottle cap with some water.
“This looks great, Adrian,” you say, admiring the habitat.
“Well, it probably wouldn’t look so great if you didn’t help,” he says, poking you into your hip.
You smile at each other, and before the silence gets too awkward, you speak up.
“You wanna move him into his new home?”
Adrian leaves your side to retrieve the smaller tank before coming back just as quickly. He opens the lid and without flinching, he sticks his hand inside, letting the spider climb over his fingers and into his palm.
“Here you go, buddy,” Adrian says to him as he transfers him into the newly set up tank. “Gosh, he’s so freakin’ cute.”
“Yeah,” you say absent-mindedly as your eyes follow Adrian’s features, teeth gleaming, creases apparent in his cheeks and around his eyes. God, you want to kiss them. His lips, his teeth, his wrinkles, every part of him. You have never lied to yourself about the feelings you are harboring for Adrian, but you have lied about how easy it is to be around him without being able to wrap yourself in his arms.
The truth is, it is becoming harder and harder, almost to the point of it being painful, your heart lurching into your throat every time he smiles – at you, at Chris, at anyone. Your love for him has been spreading through your organs with every passing day, and now, it has finally reached the depths of your bones.
“You okay?” His voice is soft when he speaks, and his eyebrows are pinched together. It makes you finally blink, moisturizing your drying eyes.
“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
You stare at him, contemplating whether or not you want to take the risk of ruining the mood or even your friendship by offering him insight into your brain.
“I think Chris is jealous that he’s not the only one with a sidekick anymore.”
Adrian grins again.
“Totally.”
“I think you need to tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that could happen? He rejects you? So you move on!”
You thought that confiding in Ads would set your mind at peace. So far, it’s kind of the opposite. At least you’re giving her another thing to gossip about with Economos.
“Gee, thanks, Ads,” you scoff, taking a sip of your water before you fold your legs under you, leaning your elbow against the back of the couch, palm cupping your head.
“Tsk. I didn’t mean it like that. He probably won’t, because you’re like his favorite person, but trust me on this one. Not knowing where you stand is the worst. That’s what’s truly eating at you.”
She is right, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not combined with the fear of being rejected by Adrian. Two things can be true.
“Chris is his favorite person.”
She gives you a pointed look.
“Please. I don’t think even Adrian believes that. They have history and that’s all there is to it.”
“Still. Adrian’s brain is like a fucking kaleidoscope. All the fucking colors blur together and I just can’t see through them.”
“That’s the thing, though. You can. Why do you think you two mesh together so well? Not just as friends, but in the field, too? You’re made for each other.”
You shook your head dismissively, not buying anything she’s saying. You have never been insecure about stuff like this, not to the level where you went fishing for reassurance from your friends. Love feels pathetic at this moment but dare you say it’s one of the most exciting feelings you’ve ever experienced.
“Honestly, I thought he was just fucking around with the spider stuff.” Ads speaks, pulling you out of the thoughts that have piled up on you. “Personally, I wouldn’t trust him enough to give him a live spider. He didn’t even know how many eyes they have for God’s sake.”
You frown. “It’s all he talks about, though. Didn’t you hear him when he talked about the dispersion of the jumping spiders throughout Europe?”
She stares at you, eyebrows raised. “Right,” she drawls out. “See what I mean? And don’t even get me started on how he behaves in front of his mother when you’re around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine how mean he is towards someone who fucks with Chris. Now multiply it by ten. But subtract the killing part. He treated her like shit whenever we came to his house. And then you joined, and suddenly, he’s like a baby angel.”
Honestly, it sounds like Adrian. He still curses her out from time to time when you visit him at his home, but never to her face. You can’t say you blame him, though, because if your parents fussed over you in front of your friends like that, you’d be embarrassed too. But seeing as you are not in his shoes, you find it quite sweet, the way Mrs. Chase cares about him, and even sweeter how flustered and red he gets. You are pretty sure he is a mama’s boy, and it makes your heart grow warmer whenever you think about it.
“Also, no offence, but you’re a freak, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, first, when that tarantula escaped. Too fucking calm. Normal people just don’t go and pick up a big hairy spider like that.” She’s talking about the day you brought it into work. It appears that the placement under your desk wasn’t the best, and you accidentally tipped the cage over with your foot, the lid swinging open and setting the tarantula free. It made Economos gag at the thought of a big ass tarantula wandering around, and Emilia also left, barking at you to find it ASAP, which you did. “And then there’s the time when you killed a guard your first week in prison.”
You clench your teeth at the memory. Yeah, the asshole fucking deserved nothing less. To put it lightly, he was taking advantage of your fellow prisoners, and when you saw the state some of them were left in, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
But wait.
“I only told Adrian about that.”
“Yeah, and it looked like he was going to write a poem about it. I swear, he had heart eyes the whole time he was telling me that story. Seriously. You should tell him.”
You find yourself sitting on a barstool at Fennel Fields, completing a quiz on Alpacas created by Adrian for you to fill the time that you spend waiting for him until he finishes his shift. You’re already reading question number five, when an arm stretches next to you, palm flat on the bartop, the digital watch shifting as he flexes his forearm. Your nostrils flare at the familiar smell of cardamom, making your pupils dilate. His other hand brushes against your back and then you feel a hot breath tickle the shell of your ear.
“I’ll give you a hint. The answer to the third question is not A, neither B, nor D.” He whispers enthusiastically like he’s providing you with a groundbreaking revelation. You cross out the already circled letter B and make a new circle, marking the only answer left.
“A baby Alpaca is called Cria?”
“Yeah, and so are baby Llamas. In Spanish, they call human babies crias, too.”
“Cool. Now, shoo, I can do this on my own,” you say, elbowing him lightly into his chest, making him stumble backwards. He refills your water before he makes his way around the restaurant, cleaning and refilling other customers.
It is quiet at this hour, only a few patrons left – a couple in the far corner, a family of four close to the entrance and two friends chattering right in the middle of the restaurant, already pulling out their wallets. You glimpse at your watch – only twenty minutes left until the closing hours. The kitchen has already closed, and you saw the cook leaving, as well as some of the waiters.
The only employees left were Adrian, Dave, some waitresses you did not recognize, and Blake, who was pretty familiar with you at this point. She always took your order – either from you or Adrian, because he had a habit of interrupting her when she was serving other customers, just because he refused to keep you waiting.
You talked to her about it, because you felt bad that Adrian was making her job harder, but she just laughed, telling you that there are customers that make her job harder tenfold. She has also said that she isn’t one to stop a man from pampering his girlfriend, and even though it made you blush and your stomach twist, you sadly had to strip her of that assumption. She chuckled again with a sure, honey, and strutted in a direction of new customers.
“Hey, stranger,” you lift your head to Dave’s voice, just to see him make his way over to you. “Are you doing crosswords again or what?” Dave says teasingly as he looks over your shoulder.
“A quiz on Alpacas, actually.”
“Hm.” His eyes scan over the paper, nodding along. “Bet you’re top of the class. Do you have Science before or after recess?”
You roll your eyes at the remark, shaking your head as return your focus to the quiz - it does look like it's made for first graders, aside from your own doodles of little Alapacas, there are pictures of all kinds of cartoon Alpacas scattered around the edges of the paper, and you can't help but imagine Adrian as he giddily plays around with the design in Canva.
Anyway.
Dave is a decent guy. More than decent, actually. Funny, kind, patient. And as bad as it makes you feel, you can’t help but enjoy all the flirting engaged in whenever he ran into you at Fennel Fields.
“I actually was top of the class, just so you know.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
You don’t fight the smile, but you don’t dwell on the compliment either. You circle letter C after you read all the answers to the ninth question.
“Hey, so listen. I know you’re probably waiting for Adrian, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang with me after.”
You pause, eyes flitting to the top of the paper where you play with the corner, forming a small crease in the sheet. You turn to face him, squinting at him.
You did not expect that. Sure, you know he has been flirting with you this whole time, but you assumed it was something he did with a lot of people. You never expected him to take it this far. And you hate yourself for considering his invitation, even if it’s just for a second.
“You think I’d ditch my friend just like that?”
Dave shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
You hope that is the end of it, but before you can focus on the quiz, he speaks again.
“So what about tomorrow night? I have the day off.”
His tone is hopeful, and this time, you give yourself more than just a second to consider his ask, but before you can give your answer, a new person joins the conversation.
“Yeah, you’re paid to do your job. Not to pick up girls who are clearly uncomfortable in your presence,” he says, sticking his free palm out towards you, fingers spread so wide that the skin between his digits tightens.
“Adrian, relax, please. I’m good. He’s not making me uncomfortable.”
You know that harassment is in Adrian’s book of violations pretty high up, and you don’t need him killing his boss first thing he gets off work.
“Oh! Oh, so you do wanna go out with him? Great!” He forces his body between Dave and you and slaps his palm on the quiz before lifting the sheet and scrunching it up in the process. “Then he can make you his own quizzes from now on.” He says, turning on his heel before heading towards the back. You spring from your seat and rush after him, indifferent to the eyes of customers that currently follow you.
“Adrian, wait, I didn’t agree to anything!”
You follow him, grabbing at his suspenders that hung from his hips in an attempt to stop him, but he ignores you completely. You can think of six different ways to effectively stop him, but as there are kids present, you’re sure their parents probably wouldn’t leave a good review on Yelp if you were to carry on that here, and Adrian is already in enough trouble as it is.
You wouldn’t have a problem with following him into the restricted area, though, half expecting Dave to stop you, but to your mild surprise, it’s Adrian. He stops in his tracks, spinning around right in front of the door before he jabs his finger against the sign, reading the words aloud.
“Staff. Only. Don’t you dare stepping a foot over this threshold. Or I’ll have the security escort you out.”
This place doesn’t have any security guards; he’s just being too fucking dramatic. But you listen anyway, hoping he will cool off and then you can talk to him. You return to your seat, slumping over and gulping down the water you had left. Dave is already gone, but you catch his eyes when he’s going table to table, probably trying to do some damage control. He offers you a small, understanding smile, before returning his attention to the patrons.
Fuck. You should be the one apologizing. Dave's EQ score definitely falls into the right range. But what does it matter when he’s not Adrian? Who probably isn’t going to turn up until the end of the shift. You check your watch, twisting the strap around your wrist nervously. Three minutes. The kitchen entrance opens, and you straighten up, hoping it’s Adrian. Instead, you see Blake with a mournful expression on her face as she makes her way over to you. She squeezes your arm in comfort. “Honey, I think you’re gonna want to go out back.”
Confusion is replaced by shock of realization in a span of seconds, your eyes widening before you grab your jacket, hurtling towards the exit. Shit, you didn’t even thank her, but you make a mental note to do it next time you’re here. You round the building just in time for Adrian to exit through the back door, dressed in his own clothes – a polo sweater and regular washed out jeans; hair slightly flat from wearing the Fennel Fields hat. He still looks gorgeous.
“Oh, fuuck,” he groans, tipping his head back as he frowns, his fingers tightening around the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
“You wanted to bail on me?” you asked, incredulously, even though you aren’t so surprised in the end. “What the fuck was that? Are you trying to get yourself fired, Adrian?”
He walks past you without even looking at you. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll probably quit anyway.”
“What? Why?” you ask as you stay in place, only twisting your body to face him and hoping he will acknowledge you. He doesn’t. Not with words, not with eyes, he just keeps on walking. Angry tears well in your eyes and it’s enough to make you run after him, swooping past him and blocking his pathway. “Talk to me, asshole.”
He laughs manically, but he does stop walking.
“I’m an asshole now? I am? Well, I guess it takes one to know one!”
You stare at him with glossy eyes, grating your teeth as you try to stop yourself from saying something hurtful, something he probably most definitely deserves, but you might regret later. Your fists are clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms.
“How am I the asshole?” you ask.
“Well, maybe because you’re flirting with my enemy?”
You know Dave isn’t exactly Adrian’s favorite person, and vice versa, but despite Adrian acting like a brat towards Dave from time to time, you thought that there must have been at least some mutual respect shared between them, otherwise Dave would have already fired Adrian a long time ago. And Adrian wouldn’t have gushed to you about Dave being a fucking icon when he had thrown out a customer who was trying to pick up a fight with one of the busboys for not doing the job the waiters and waitresses are supposed to do. He said that Dave was essentially defending every busser’s honor.
“Since when is Dave your enemy?”
“Since he’s been stealing away my friend I guess.” Your heart skips a beat. Wait, is he jealous? Could this possibly mean that he… feels the same way? “Next thing I know, he’s stealing Chris, then Eagly, then Economos, and even Harcourt.” Okay, stupid, nevermind.
You take a deep breath, tilting your head towards the sky as if gravity is supposed to stop the tears from beading in the corners of your eyes. Then you face him again, lips trembling before you finally find the courage to reveal your most vulnerable self to him.
“You know, I’m so fucking tired, Adrian.” A tear finally slips down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away as you sniff. “Ads says that you follow me around all the time like a lost puppy. But I feel like I’m the one following you, wagging my tail all the fucking time like a Goddamn poodle and waiting for you to throw me a bone, but you never even notice me.” Your voice cracks at the last words.
His eyebrows knit together, and his lips form a confused pout. You force the heels of your palms against your eyebrows, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s nothing soft in the way you massage your forehead, bone against bone as you dig your hands into your forehead like it’s supposed to free you from some of the strong emotions that are flooding your brain. You drop your arms to your sides again, and more tears streak down your face. This time, you let them.
“I never thought that loving somebody could be so fucking exhausting, and I’m honestly running out of fuel.”
You bring your sleeve up to wipe the mixture of tears and snot away. Adrian stands there, eyes jumping over the small fragments of rocks scattered around the ground as he mentally rewinds to the beginning of the night. He adjusts the strap on his shoulder, looking back at the backdoor he walked through a few moments ago before his eyes meet yours.
“You’re in love… with me? Not with Dave?”
You want to smack him, you really do.
“Jesus Christ, Adrian, did you listen to what I just said?”
He strides over to you, outstretching his arms as if to stop you from running away. But he doesn’t touch you.
“Yes! I’m just making sure. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself.”
You give him a pointed look, raising your eyebrow. Little late for that, no?
“Not any more than I already have, anyway,” he adds when he reads your expression.
You cross your arms over your chest. You sure as hell hope this is not all he has to say.
“Right, okay. So first of all, if you were a dog, you’d totally be a Dachshund. Poodles aren’t so stubborn, and they are too afraid to take on bigger animals like Dachshunds do. I have nothing against Poodles, but Dachshunds are way more cooler. Second of all, how can you say that I never notice you? I’m looking at you, like, all the time.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing, like you’re supposed to somehow know that. But is he even talking about the same thing? Fucking kaleidoscope.
“But you don’t look at me.”
“Ehh, I just said–”
Ugh, fuck.
“No, just… I look at you. Differently than I do at the rest of our friends.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to say. I literally told you that I wanted to kiss you. At the birthday party! See? I’m not the only fool here,” his smile stretches.
You twist your face, shaking your head as you try to make sense of his words. “But that’s just what people say. It’s an expression.”
“Well, I’ve never said it to anyone else.” He shrugs.
Your mind is hazy from all the crying and confusion, from all the overlapping emotions, from Adrian. You don’t know where you stand anymore.
“I have no idea what you’re trying to say, Adrian.”
“Okay. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced love for another person. I’ve said that I love Chris, because I thought I did. But then you gave me Michelangelo, and I immediately fell in love with him too. I realized that love can be even stronger.” He stops, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks. “Different might be the right word.”
Your heart flutters. You had never doubted that he would like the spider before you gave it to him, but you didn’t expect him to grow this fond of him.
“And then I thought about the time when Ads had caught me 'gazing' at you one day – when we went to the farmer's market with you and you were taste-testing all the different kinds of honey?”
Yeah, you remember Ads telling you afterwards that she’s never going somewhere alone with you and Adrian ever again, because she refuses to reduce herself to a third wheel.
Adrian bought five jars of ginger honey for you that day, because that was the one you took most samples of and the one you were feeding to him until he agreed that it was the best out of all of them. Truly, he was not convinced.
“She told me that I look like I’m ready to make the moon shine just for you. Which didn’t make sense because I can’t light up the moon, especially not in the middle of the day...” Adrian’s arm waved to the natural satellite, the waxing gibbous moon reflecting in his glasses when his duh expression is replaced by a scrunch-up as he tilts his head. “But then I started thinking about what I would do if you did ask me to make the moon shine, so I decided to watch Despicable Me, thinking it would give me some answers, but it actually–”
You ignore the churning in your stomach caused by his words and step forward, grabbing his forearms to stop him from getting sidetracked. “Adrian.”
He stops rambling, his green eyes connecting with yours.
“I think I’m in love with you, too. I have been for a while, I just didn’t realize it until Michelangelo helped me see that.” God, he’s such a fucking oddball. “I care about you more than Chris, and you’re basically on par with Michelangelo.” Adrian’s face twists into a grimace as he mulls over his words. “Even though I don’t think I’d want to steal the Moon for him. And I definitely don’t want to kiss him,” he finishes, licking his lips before chewing on them with his teeth.
Fuck. You have no right to be angry at him for not telling you this sooner, because you didn’t exactly set a good example, but Adrian is a blabbermouth and if you expected anyone to share each and every single piece of their mind with other people, it would be him.
You grab the lapels of his sweatshirt and tug him down, your lips colliding harshly and foreheads bumping together, making Adrian whimper a small ow into your mouth. The kiss is messy at first, teeth clashing together before you manage to find a rhythm. You let him suck on your upper lip, lightly nipping on his bottom one before soothing the dent in the thin skin with your tongue.
Goosebumps swarm every part of your body as you feel his fingers thread into your hair, your roots tightening when he forms a fist in order to hold you firmly to his body. An invisible force pulls you to your tiptoes, eager to get swallowed by him as you let your palms travel upwards over his shoulders, folding your arms behind his neck. The fingers of his other hand find the loop on the side of your jeans, curling his thumb and index around it and tugging you closer.
You are literally consuming each other in the quiet alleyway, the hooting of owls accompanied by the sounds of your lips smacking and puffs of air escaping through your noses. When you pull away to take a proper breath, Adrian’s lips chase after yours, catching them in one last peck before he pulls away with a smile, mirroring yours.
“Fuck. I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.”
Yeah, you can’t either. You try not to dwell on what could have been, instead choosing to embrace this present moment and cherish the fact that he’s finally yours.
Adrian leans in one more time, kissing away the remaining tears that glimmer under the night sky only to realize he's smearing them rather than removing them. He brings his hand up, his long sleeve stretched over his palm, swiping at your skin with the soft material instead, soaking it in the process.
You let out a light giggle, bringing your hands up to cup the sides of his neck, thumbs brushing over his jawline and nicking his earlobes, enjoying the feeling of his skin under your fingertips. Both his hands fall to your hips again, preventing you from moving further away. Not that you want to.
“You wanna go over to my place?” you ask. You were supposed to into the woods to practice combat in complete darkness – no night vision, no flashlights, relying solely on your instincts and senses – but it was really hard to ignore the bulge in his jeans when your bodies were pressed up against each other.
He tilts his head, his glasses inching down the bridge of his nose. You bring your index up, shifting them back into place. “Are we gonna have sex?”
“Probably. If you want to.”
“Sick.” Adrian grabs your hand, compressing your fingers in his big palm as he drags you towards his car. He opens the passenger door for you before rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat with the backpack on his lap.
“Want me to take it?” you ask, reaching over for it, but he just shakes his head, tugging onto the zipper.
He fishes out a crumpled-up piece of paper. You are surprised that he didn’t just tear it up and throw it into the trash.
“I graded your test. Not bad, just a few errors. We can go over them after the sex. Or before, I don’t care. I gave you some bonus points for the Alpaca doodle, but then I had to deduct them for… flirting with Dave.” The last part of the sentence is said with a hint of guilt, his head hanging low. You lean over the console, one hand on his thigh as the other squishes his cheeks together, turning him to face you before you peck his plushy lips.
“Maybe I can earn them back?” You smile, tickling the tip of his nose with yours and batting your eyelashes before you pull back.
“Fuck. I take it back. Definitely after,” he says, stuffing the paper back into his bag before throwing it onto the backseat.
take control, please own me; only love can save me
pairing: sammy bryant x f!reader
warnings: smut (unprotected sex, oral - f!receiving, fingering, some spanking, pussy slapping, light bondage - handcuffs); use of drugs (weed), and fluffff. also, reader has hair long enough to braid it.
summary: it seems unfair to you that you never got to smoke weed with sammy
w/c: approx 6.6k
a/n: so here’s the thing. on some occasions, i get inspired and write something. but i can’t, for the love of god, manage a blog. this is the occasion. and while i love pope and jack, i couldn’t stop the fall that this guy here is responsible for. i hope you enjoy him just as much as i do!🥹🧡
“I gotta say, I never would have guessed that a guy like you would make me cum so easily.”
“A guy like me?” Sammy’s face scrunched up in offense, looking at you from his position on his back.
You turned your face to him, your chest expanding with deep breaths, matching his own. His skin glowed with all the sweat that was the result of your morning sexcapades, the short her around his ear also damp.
“Well, you know. A cop. They are usually all talk, no game. But then again, you are too sweet for a cop, too.”
He let out a deep breath as his heart finally slowed, his face turning to the ceiling for a split second and his eyelids fluttering before his eyes locked with yours again.
“You wanna tell me how many cops you’ve dated?” he asked, rising an eyebrow as he propped himself on his forearm, his body moving closer towards yours. It was almost like he was a magnet, and you were cobalt, the was your body was being pulled automatically toward him. Just an inch. Enough to feel his body heat and the air coming from his nose bouncing off your skin when he exhaled.
“Please. You’re lucky I’m even dating you. I would never date a cop voluntarily.”
Sammy’s arm wrapped around your waist. His sweaty forearm stuck itself to your sweaty stomach as his fingers squeezed at your side, making you jump just slightly. Ticklish. He pulled you closer to him, his robust figure creating a fort around you. Your hand automatically went to his thick forearm, just resting there, your thumb stroking over the bump of his vein. His eyebrows furrowed as his eyes flickered between yours.
“So, let’s clear some things up. You’re saying that not only am I holding you hostage, but you’re also ashamed of me? And to top it all off, you were what– hoping for the best when you first slept with me?”
You turned on your side, your lower body now pressed flush against him, your legs tangling together. It put your neck into an uncomfortable position, having to crane it to maintain eye contact. Sammy’s hand had now slipped to your ass, mindlessly tapping his fingers against the flesh.
“Did you not catch the part where I said you were sweet?”
Sammy sucked in a breath, his fingers squeezing your butt as he leaned deeper into your space.
“You mean the part where you were trying to sweet-talk a cop?” he asked against your lips, grabbing you more tightly and rolling you back onto your back as he kissed you, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips. You wrapped your arms around his back as his thigh slipped between your legs, pressing against your still wet cunt. A grunt got caught in Sammy’s throat as your fingers tangled in his dark curls, tugging slightly. Then he rolled on his back, flipping both of you over.
“I was a stoner before I dropped out of college, sweetheart. You get into lotta freaky shit when you’re stoned,” he said in some-what cocky tone when you pulled away, circling back to your earlier statement.
You were now straddling his hips with your hands resting on his chest. The light touch of the pads of his fingers to your knees sent tingles up your body as he unconsciously tickled the skin there, waiting for some kind of response. One of your roasts. Anything.
But you just locked your eyes with him, pursing your lips as you held back a smile. His eyebrows furrowed at first, but then your lips twitched, and it clicked. He rolled his eyes, before he grabbed your hip and forced you off him and back into the softness of your shared bed.
“Absolutely not.”
“Sammy,” you whined as he got up from the bed, grabbing some clean boxers from the dresser before heading into the adjoined bathroom.
“No!” he said incredulously. “I haven’t smoked in years! And while you evidently weren’t planning on dating a cop, I should remind that you are dating one.”
“And a good one at that! Caring. Smart.” He walked out of the bathroom, now clad in his boxers and with a washing cloth in his hand. “Loyal. Dreamy. With a heart of gold–“
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, throwing the cloth onto your stomach. “Now you’re really trying to sweet-talk me.”
You rolled your eyes, taking the cloth and cleaning yourself up, while Sammy headed to the dresser again, opening the top drawer to pick a shirt.
“So, you said it just to make me jealous or…?”
Sammy threw a glance over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look before focusing back on the search for a decent shirt. Before he could find one, you shuffled toward him and wrapped your arms around his sturdy front, now clad in his shirt that he’d thrown on the floor earlier that morning, the hem pooling around your thighs. You peppered a few kisses over the freckles on his back before standing up on your tiptoes and kissing the specks just behind his ear where his hair curled.
“Have you ever smoked?” he then asked.
“Never.”
“You could get sick, you know. It can make you drowsy or– or anxious. It’s not always good.”
“I would have a competent police officer to look after me, wouldn’t I?”
Sammy closed the drawer and turned around with a shirt clutched in his hand. He looked defeated. You locked your hands behind his neck, hanging onto him as he watched you, the corner of his mouth quirked up. And yeah, you were his weakness. Sammy simply couldn’t resist the way you were looking at him, in his shirt no less. So lovingly. Like he was your whole world. He liked to pretend that he was.
Suddenly, you stretched yourself up on your tip-toes again, pressing your forehead against his, your noses brushing against each other.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you said gently. “It was just an idea. Just thought it could be fun. But I don’t want you to feel obligated now. I get it. And I love your sober, righteous self the most, of course.”
You pulled away with a smile, teasing but genuine, and he couldn’t help but huff out a smile too, shaking his head at your antics.
“I love you too,” Sammy said, and your smile only widened before you kissed him. And what the hell, he had some time for another round.
Two weeks later, you came home to the smell of delicious Pad Thai. Sammy had learned how to cook the meal just for you, and you almost felt like you didn’t deserve him.
Passing the living room, your brows furrowed at the bowl of chips set on the coffee table, right next to the Pringles tube. There were also some unopened packs of gummies lying close to the edge of the table.
Sammy had probably found a new movie he wanted to watch, and this was his way of bribing you to watch it with him.
“I fucking love you, you know that?” you said as you entered the kitchen, skipping the hi's and how are you's.
Sammy looked over his shoulder, his dimple making an appearance as he smiled at you. He didn’t even stop stirring the noodles as he waited for you to reach his side and kiss him. Sliding your hand under his shirt, you stroked the skin of his back as you pulled away and leaned over the stove.
“It looks delicious.”
“Yeah, I just hope I didn’t add too much soy sauce. My hand kinda slipped.” He then twirled some noodles around the fork and brought it in front of your mouth. “Careful. It’s hot.”
You wrapped your fingers around his hand to keep the fork steady as you blew some air on the food. Then you opened your mouth and closed it around the fork, the flavor spilling all over your tongue, your tastebuds soaking it up. You couldn’t hold in the moan even if you wanted to, because it really tasted delicious.
“It’s perfect,” you said after you swallowed, feeding his ego in exchange. It made him smile, all proud and happy that he gets to treat you like you deserve. You kissed him again and then went to get the plates.
“I’ll just go change. Be right back,” you told him once you set the table and went to change into some comfy clothes. “Oh, and I picked up some Claritin for you. Noticed you were running out,” you said, loud enough for him to hear you as you put it in the med cabinet in the bathroom.
Once you were seated, you talked about work, he spilled some gossip about the Hollywood division and half-joked that he should probably visit an ophtamologist, because his sight was getting worse.
“Oh, you’ll definitely look hot in glasses.”
“Yeah, right. You look hot in glasses,” he remarked, stuffing mouthful of the noodles. “I don’t know about–“ he continued, barely intelligible as he spoke through the food.
“Sammy, please.”
He shut up immediately, nodding his head in understanding as he swallowed. “Sorry.”
You chatted some more before you went to load the dishes into the dishwasher and transferred the rest of the noodles from the skillet into a box. You left it open to let it get cold before you’d put it into the fridge.
“So, what’s with the set up in the living room? You find another ancient movie you don’t wanna watch alone?”
Sammy faced you, taking your hand and walking backwards to the living room.
“That is the reason you’re gonna fucking love me even more.”
Your brows knit together, confused. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he echoed, matter-of-factly. He held your gaze, his mouth growing into a small smirk. Waiting. Your eyes widened.
“No.”
His eyebrows raised.
“Are you joking?”
“Go take a look,” Sammy prompted you with a jerk of his head.
You hurried to the living room, looking around like a child on a Christmas morning.
“Getting warmer,” Sammy quipped when you reached the couch. You took another step between the table and the sofa. “Warmer.” You knelt on the couch with one knee, bracing yourself on the backrest. “Warmer.” Then you took the pillow in the corner of the couch and placed it aside, revealing a small, brown paper bag. “Burning.”
You snacthed it and flipped over, your butt sinking into the cushion after two swift bounces. Sammy came over too, sitting in the opposite corner of the couch and throwing his arm over the back, watching you as you clutched the bag in your lap, making it crinkle in your hold.
“Open it,” Sammy encouraged you and you did.
When you pulled out a roll along with a lighter, your mouth was already wide open in slight surprise.
“Sam, are you sure?”
“Are you?”
You stared at the two small items in your hands, contemplating.
“Hey, if you changed your mind, we don’t have to do this, alright? Say the word, it’s down the toilet.”
“No. I want to,” you quickly said, put both the lighter and the joint on the table, throwing yourself at Sammy and kissing his cheek. “I would love you even more if it were even possible.”
Sammy chuckled, grabbing you and creating some distance between you. “Alright, I have some conditions though.”
You relaxed, sitting on the heels of your feet.
“You need to tell me if you get too dizzy or anything, alright?” You nodded quietly, focused on the police-mode tone. “If and when I see or think you have had enough, I’m getting rid of the weed, okay? Right away.” You nodded again. “And also… I won’t be smoking.”
Your face scrunched up. “What?” You shuffled a little closer. “I thought that was the point of it all.”
Sammy tugged a stray hair behind your ear.
“Sweetheart, I don’t need to be stoned to fuck you good," he said, blunt as ever. He brought his face closer to yours, the smile had already fallen from his lips. “Or are you saying I’m not fucking you good enough? Hm?” His head cocked to the side as he followed your eyes, wide and innocent. “You sayin’ that you barely holding yourself up after I fuck you against the counter is not enough?”
You shook your head. You were speechless. He barely talked to you like that.
“See? I don’t think I’m the one who’s shy to fulfil their potential. You on the other hand… You could use some loosening up. And as much as it pains me that I couldn’t do it myself–”
Oh, God. You couldn’t let him think that you didn’t feel comfortable with him.
“It’s not like that–”
“No. You don’t get to speak on that now,” Sammy said sharply, but then his voice softened again, and he brought his hand to your cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth over your skin. “It’s alright. Good girls like you are always a little shy to let go at first. And I can’t even begin to imagine the pressure you feel, dating a man of the law and all. It must be so hard on you, hm?”
You nodded your head again. Sammy whispered a quiet yeah as he nodded along with you, brushing his thumb over your pouty lips.
“So, what do you say? You okay with all that I said?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Sammy explained you the ropes as well as he could without actually smoking himself.
Woah, hold your horses, would ya? Just… start with small puffs, okay? Don’t rush it. Sammy told you when you put the joint between your lips and brought the lighter to the tip. You almost burned him when his hand shot up to cover your hand that was holding the lighter.
Sammy instructed you not to hold the smoke in for too long, but it wasn’t even physically possible. At one point, you wanted to give up when you still couldn’t get over all the coughing. Sammy even had to take the joint from you, so you didn’t drop it as your reflexes took over you.
After some time had passed, the world was spinning enough to make you giggle, but not enough to make you sick. Sammy made sure you had some snacks at arm’s reach all the time, feeding it to you so the high wasn’t so intense.
To be honest, Sammy had already been hard when you listened to his rules, all pouty and doe-eyed. He wanted to fuck you right then and there, to hell with some fucking weed. But he couldn’t help but be curious too. He was being selfish, not allowing you to see him high, but surprisingly craving to see you out of it.
You played a few rounds of strip UNO, and you kept insisting on taking off a piece of your own clothing even when he was the one who lost. Yeah, thank God you had never been high before. Sammy swore that he would have killed anyone who had seen you like this, clad only in your panties.
He was getting a little uncomfortable, his cock pulsing every time you giggled or rubbed against him.
And now, you were straddling his lap, grinding onto his bulge while you made out with him. Your panties had been soaked for a while now, and you were definitely creating a wet spot on Sammy’s shorts. Too bad you couldn’t see it, because they were too dark of a shade. His head was resting against the back of the couch, angling his head slightly to the ceiling. He was looking up at you when you pulled away from the kiss.
“You sure you don’t want to?” you asked, twirling a stray curl around your finger. Sammy snorted, because you asked him that after every kiss.
“Yeah, I’m sure. And I’m cutting you off too.”
“Whaaat? Nooo.”
“Yeees. You’ve had enough,” he told you with a smile, his teeth peeking out of his mouth. Your grin only grew wider, and you brought your thumb to his incisors, brushing over the uneven surface of one tooth overlapping the other one. “You have such nice teeth. Beautiful smile.”
He chuckled and shook his head, catching your wrist and pushing your hand down “Alright.”
“Wait. One more time. Please.”
It didn’t take him long to think about it when you were looking down at him with those puppy eyes. He allowed you one last hit. He watched you suck in the smoke, but what he wasn’t prepared for was you grabbing his chin and pulling his mouth agape as you leaned down and kissed him while letting some of the smoke escape your lungs.
He didn’t have to inhale it. He could just keep it on his tongue and exhale once you pulled away, sabotage your plan. But Jesus Christ, this was hot. You were hot. Fucking minx.
So, he sucked it in, letting the smoke expand his lungs. Once you both exhaled the rest of the smoke, Sammy locked lips with you, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You moaned against him, your fingers grasping his hair and nails scraping against his scalp. You rubbed yourself against his cock some more, and his arm wrapped around your back and pushed you against his front, making your tits rub against the material of his t-shirt. Your teeth were clashing against each other, saliva was collecting in the corners of your mouths, creating strings between you when you pulled away just to change the angle.
And then you had the audacity to giggle into the kiss. It was short-lived though, because you were silenced by the smack of Sammy’s hand against your ass. You gasped, the surge of warm air from your lips hitting his lips. He smirked then, that disgusting, cocky curl of his lips followed by his front teeth biting into his lower lip. But God, was it sexy. And he knew it.
“Such a bad fucking girl. Didn’t really take much to turn you into one, huh?”
You mewled at that, and when you didn’t answer, you felt another surge of pain in the same place, making your skin sting. Your hips jerked with the slap, a groan escaping Sammy’s throat from the stimulation against his clothed cock. For what it’s worth, he was trying to soothe the pain by stroking his palm against your burning skin, but it didn’t really do much. It just made the anticipation in you grow, your body just waiting for another spank.
“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you breathed out and his jaw clenched, his nose scrunched up into a sneer, and you almost thought he wanted to hit you again.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I was a bad girl.”
He strengthened his hold on you and leaned forward. It took you by surprise and you franticly tightened the hold around his neck, because you thought you were going to fall. Sammy would never drop you. That would be a crime which there is no punishment for. Unforgivable.
His other arm reached forward, taking the joint and putting it out before making you squeal when he stood up. Wrapping your legs around him, you giggled again when you realized he was holding you with only one arm. Your strong policeman, you swooned internally.
In the bedroom, he dropped you onto the mattress and then he disappeared into the bathroom. You squirmed on the bed, not able to stay still as you called out his name three times. Mind you, he was only gone for ten seconds, but it felt like two hours had passed. At one point, you heard the toilet being flushed and then he stormed back into the bedroom.
You shot him a dopey smile, and when he reached the foot of the bed, he wrapped his hand around your ankle, muttering a deep come here as he dragged you towards him across the sheets. They felt like clouds as they slid against your skin, and before you knew it, Sammy was pulling you into a sitting position and swiftly locking a handcuff around one of your wrists. It clicked in place, leaving the other cuff dangling down, bumping against your forearm and sending shivers through your body, not only because of how cold it felt.
Sammy crouched down, wrapping his arm around your waist. His knee brushed against your cunt as he bent it to kneel on the edge, crawling up the bed and taking you with him. Your head hit the pillow and soon, your arms were above your head. You tipped your head back, watching as Sammy’s hands looped the cuffs behind the metal bar of the headboard. He secured the cuff around your other wrist, making you completely trapped.
You zoned out, mesmerized by the shiny, fancy bracelets adorning your hands, but Sammy brought you back as he latched his lips to your still exposed neck. Your hands instinctively moved to grab on his hair, but were stopped by the chains, a clanking sound combined with your mewls resonated throughout the room. Sammy felt your neck vibrate from the sounds, and it made him scrape his teeth against the skin.
It didn’t take long before he was kissing down to your chest, sucking a few bruises into the skin of your boobs, before maneuvering his lips towards the side of your ribcage, that one specific spot that always made you squirm.
And as if on cue, your body jerked upwards. Sammy’s hands grabbed your hips and held you down, spending some time to torture you through that sweet spot, kissing, biting and licking, before he continued his descent. Over your hips, to your stomach, twirling his tongue around your belly button and kissing down toward the hem of your panties.
He hooked his index finger behind the hem, right at the center where the little bow decorated your underwear. Sammy tugged, just enough to expose the skin there and lay a kiss there too, but he went nowhere near your clit.
“Sammy,” you moaned, desperate for him to touch you where you wanted him the most. Instead, his mouth disappeared, and he let the elastic of your panties snap back into its respective place, stinging your skin for a millisecond.
Sammy shuffled down the bed just a little more to give himself a good look at your cunt. The sight almost made him roll his eyes into the back of his head, the wet spot outlining your engorged clit.
“Jesus Christ. You’re fucking soaked.”
He didn’t waste any more time. Leaning forward, he grabbed the undersides of your thighs and pushed upwards, giving himself a space to lick you over your panties. Your back arched at the sensation and Sammy followed your pussy lips as they tilted downwards, not taking his mouth off you even for a second.
“Sammy, please.”
You felt like you were sobering up, now drunk on the feeling of his mouth against you. But you wanted more, you wanted to feel the soft tongue lavishing around your clit. Sammy was nothing short of spectacular when it came to eating you out. He was like an artist, always focused to angle the strokes of his tongue just right, painting your pussy with his spit. However, he would always tell you, that you were the art.
He groaned, but didn’t comment, just hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them off. In swift motion, he appeared above you and gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth open before he stuffed the wet material into your mouth. You tasted the tanginess as you bit down, your noises now muffled by the cloth. Sammy kissed your open mouth, but he was actually really just kissing your underwear, and then he was lying back on his stomach between your legs again.
His hips grinded into the mattress as he pushed your legs together and lifted them, essentially bending you in half. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your weepy cunt. His eyes fell shut at the delicious scent and then he finally dove in and licked through you, collecting your wetness on his tongue and slurping it up as he reached your clit. You were tight in this position, and it only added to the sensation. You twitched and he was gone again, pushing your thighs against your stomach and lifting your calves to give himself a good access and good lighting.
“Keep your legs up. Like this,” he said, his hot breath hitting your cunt as he talked. It was an order, and you tried your best to oblige. You really did. You even caught yourself from opening your legs when he blew some cool air on you before he attached his mouth to your cunt again.
But your legs had a mind of their own. And it was hard to keep them in this position with your hands tied and without his support. It took only few swipes of his tongue over your clit for them to start falling open, and as soon as Sammy felt it, his mouth disappeared. You squeezed your eyes shut, cries catching in your throat at the loss.
“Close them. Keep them up.”
So far, it was relatively easy to do so, but you’d be stupid to think that he’d make it simple for you. So, when you lifted your legs again, he got back to swirling his tongue around your hole, humming into you as he felt another surge of wetness coming out of you.
Sammy then moved to work on your clit again. He was building you up and when he gave a particularly hard suck, it made you moan through your underwear and your heels brushed against Sammy’s ears when they fell down.
“Up,” he instructed you again, his voice scarily calm, but still domineering. You just needed a little time to get over the mixed sensations. You hadn’t even cum yet, and you were already sensitive. “Lift ‘em up, come on.” Now his tone changed to condescending. He wouldn't put his mouth on you until you did as he said.
You hitched them higher again, presenting your pussy to the menace of your boyfriend, and this time when he leaned down, his fingers joined his tongue. Sammy slowly inserted two his fingers into your tight hole, pushing some of the wetness back where it came from only to pull out more and spread it over your clit. He rolled the bud between his index and forefinger before putting the flat of his tongue on you and moving his head in slow circles, sending delicious sensations through your body.
Sammy slid the fingers down to your opening again and locked his lips around your clit. You received several harsh sucks while he crooked his fingers inside of you, massaging your sweet spot as he nibbled on your bundle of nerves. He slowly picked up the pace and the knot in your stomach started tightening, your pussy squeezing around his digits.
You threw your head back, focusing on the orgasm he was about to bring you. Sammy fucked you with his fingers hard, making sure you heard how fucking wet you were, how easily you swallowed him. You didn’t even realize your legs spread in the air, providing him with full access, your pussy exposing herself to him in her full glory. But Sammy wouldn’t have that, muttering a quiet fuck before he pulled out his fingers just as you were tipping over the edge. His mouth was gone too, and before you could even realize what had happened, a hard smack landed on your pussy, causing you to squeal and your legs to close.
“See, it’s not that hard, is it?” he muttered, but the next thing you knew, Sammy was moving, kneeling up and positioning himself next to your hip, still facing your lower body to get a good hold on your knees and jerk them apart, keeping them spread in the air as he slapped your cunt again, right on your clit.
“Is this what you wanted?” Spank. “Huh? For me to smack the shit out of your little pussy?” Spank. “I mean,” he coughed out a condescending laugh, shaking his head, “if you’re not inviting me, I don’t know what you’re doing.” He landed one last spank and you trapped his hand against your sensitive cunt when you closed your legs. Not that he wanted to move anyway. The tip of his finger slipped into your hole as he faced you, leaning over you. His nose was now brushing yours, his free hand coming up to squeeze your cheeks together.
“You’re such a spoiled little girl.” He was heaving like a predator ready to eat its prey. “Trying to get me high so you can have the shit fucked out of you, huh?”
You shook your head, tears now rolling down the corners of your eyes and over your temples, landing on the soft pillow underneath you.
“Oh, no?” He forced his finger deeper into you and your legs fell open once again. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy again.” He removed his fingers just to bring them in front of his face and spit on them. Returning them to your pussy, he started fucking you again, squelching sounds bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how wet you are?”
You were seeing stars again, ignoring the straining pain in your arms as you arched your back. Sammy’s fingers were slamming into you in ruthless pace, but then all of a sudden, his fingers were gone. Again. You wanted to scream, but you just settled for a long groan. The muffled noise amplified when your underwear was suddenly ripped from your mouth and replaced by the wet fingers that were just abusing your cunt. He pushed down on your tongue, nearly making you gag.
“What about now, hm? If I could, I would make you eat yourself out. I should feed every single drop to you, just so you finally realize how many buckets your sweet little cunt can fill.”
He massaged your tongue and you closed your lips around his digits, sucking on them, your eyes fluttering shut.
“So, I’ll ask again. Did you want me to ruin the absolute fuck out of your pussy?”
You looked up at him then. His pupils were wide, the ring around them green under this lighting. He was biting his lip too, something he never truly realized he did. And you nodded.
“Yes. I want you to ruin my pussy,” you replied, sounding as coherently as you could with the limited movement of your tongue.
He already did anyway.
“Atta girl.”
And with that, his fingers inserted themselves back into your cunt, and he fingered you until you made mess of them and the bed. Then he licked the cum off your pussy before he finally took off his clothes and fucked you into the mattress.
He barely looked at your face as he slammed into you. With his arms hooked behind your knees, he was too focused on his cock ramming into the tightness of your hole. You swallowed him too good to not look. And he would take a picture if you asked him. He might as well do it now, nothing you could do about it anyway, with your hands tied to the bed, stretching your figure into a magnificent arch. You were truly a sight to behold. Samuel Bryant’s Institute of Art. That’s where he would put you, where only he would have access to the art that was your body. Shit, he was doing it again.
Sammy grunted as you pulsed around him, letting the weight take him as he braced himself on his fists next your shoulders. However, he still kept his eyes glued to where he was sliding into you, his curls tickling your chin.
“Sam,” you moaned, getting his attention.
He couldn’t even mock you, because he was just as fucked out. Your pussy was making his brains dissolve. He kissed you, taking in a sharp breath and huffing it out. A thin string of spit formed between you when he pulled away and he began snapping his hips faster, chasing his orgasm and taking you right with him.
“I’m gonna cum,” you whined.
“Hold it for me, sweetheart. I’m right there with you.”
He lifted himself a bit to give himself more leverage, the pistoning of his hips against your ass creating slapping sounds that made your cheeks flush.
“Fuck. Cum for me,” he encouraged you, and with a few more snaps of his hips and give it to me, baby, you fell over the edge, milking his cock as he came too. “Fuuuck,” he growled, his moves slowing down to a complete halt. With a final, forceful press, he grinded against you, stimulating your clit one more time as he circled his hips for good measure, just to hear you whimper.
Sammy lowered himself on his forearms then, kissing your swollen lips as his cock softened inside of you. It made you instantly melt into him, the tips of his fingers gently playing with the strands of your hair.
Your hips shuddered as he pulled out, your mixed cum spilling on the bed. Sammy fell on his back, his chest rising once, twice as he caught his breath before he rolled onto his side with his back facing you. He reached down for the shorts he discarded on the floor earlier, stuffing his hand into the pocket and fishing out a key. Rolling to the opposite side, he tried his best to unlock the cuffs without having to get up, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Once you were free, Sammy threw bot the cuffs and the key on the nightstand. You had to stifle the groan as you finally changed the position of your arms, the muscles in them pulling in different directions.
You shifted closer to Sammy, lying on your stomach as you rested your chin on your forearm which was now on top of Sammy’s chest. He looked down at you with hooded eyes, a small, proud smile adorning his face when he brought his hand to your head, stroking and playing with the hair there.
“How are you feelin’?”
“Heavenly,” you replied, making him chuckle.
“Was that freaky enough for you?”
You hummed, pretending to think about it. “I dunno. I have a feeling you still have some tricks up your sleeve.”
Sammy huffed, shaking his head. He didn’t deny it though, which made you smile to yourself. You kissed him then, hair falling around his face like a curtain, tickling his ears.
You smelled so good, too. He wasn’t sure if it was the weed, but with every touch of your lips, every brush of your hair, every molecule of your scent he inhaled, he felt like you two were merging into one. Like you possessed him, spreading through him like Venom.
And when you pulled away and smiled down at him, he was a goner. God, how he loved that smile.
“Marry me,” he blurted out and your smile faltered, your brows twitching without you realizing.
“What?”
He lifted himself up on his elbows then, forcing your body off his. You sat up on your knees and wrapped the cover around yourself, suddenly becoming shy again.
“I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be yours.”
Hell, God knew Sammy already was yours. Just as you were his. But he wanted to wear that ring, to proudly and selfishly show that he had a fucking wife waiting for him at home. Ben was getting on his ass about it, too, always bugging him about “putting a ring on it”. Sammy always just rolled his eyes, shooting back with some off-hand comment about Ben’s he-whore ways of playing the field.
Not that Sammy wasn’t sure about you. He fell in love with you the second he recognized the brat in you that was perfectly matching his own. You kept him on his toes in the best way possible and it was because he loved you so much, that he didn’t want you to bolt if you weren’t ready. But this really felt right. And he had an inkling you felt the same way. He wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t sure.
“…Sammy, are you high?” He had inhaled that smoke you sent down his mouth.
“Probably, a little bit, yeah. But I was high when I sent my application to the Academy. And it was one of the best decisions in my life. This will top it, no doubt. If you say yes.”
You worried your lip, playing with the loose thread of the sheet and wrapping it mindlessly around your finger. The thread dug into your skin, probably cutting off the circulation to the tip.
Honestly, you wanted nothing more than to grow old with Sammy. But you just had an amazing sex after getting baked. You didn’t want to wake up the next day with Sammy taking it all back.
When you still didn’t say anything, Sammy got up, taking your hand in the process and pulling you to the end of the bed until your legs swung over the edge. He pulled his shorts on as he handed you his shirt, and you took it, throwing it over your head, confused.
Once you both were decent, he got on one knee right in front of you, taking your hands in his. His eyes shone with the sun coming down behind the windows and his lips were little chapped from all the kissing.
“I don’t got the ring. But I promise we will go pick one up first thing tomorrow. Or if you want it to be a surprise, I’ll go by myself. Whatever you want. And I promise to try to keep doing that. Getting you whatever you want, I mean. As your husband.” Fuck, he had no idea he’d suck at this so much. His fingers tightened around your hands. “And, I mean if you don’t want to marry me, I’ll do it as your boyfriend. I don’t care. But you are the best thing that’s happened to me and it would be an honor to be your husband… Please, say something.”
“Nothing would make me happier, Sammy,” you said, and his smile started growing. “But what if you change your mind? What if you wake up tomorrow, realize I basically drugged you and decide to break up with me instead?”
He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped from his throat, and he brought his hand to the back of your neck, squeezed and pulled you down to lock lips with you. He smooched you sporadically, lips smacking against each other before he pulled away, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You could kill a man, and I would still come visit you in prison and braid your hair.”
“If you really loved me, you’d pull a few strings and wouldn’t let me go to prison in the first place, actually.”
He formed an o with his lips, his eyebrows shooting up in amusement, but the shape of his lower eyeline still emphasized the invisible smile.
“Okay, smartass, if you ever commit a capital crime, I’ll make sure to cover your tracks. Do we have a deal?”
You cupped his face, your thumbs stroking the skin under his eyes back and forth.
“Yes.”
The plush of his cheeks shifted under your touch as he smiled at you, wrinkles forming from the corners of his eyes. They reminded you of small comets, shining like the North Star and burning into you the majority of the time.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, I will marry you.”
And with that, he tugged on your arm, pulling you into his lap and showering your face in kisses.
unsavory characters anon- i was definitely thinking of terry when i sent that b/c i just watched reckless lol but more so sent the ask b/c you’re the only one (may be wrong so sorry if there’s others) who i’ve seen write for anyone besides jack, pope, charlie, or sammy..
also loooove the idea for sammy, charlie, and terry!!!
Hello, again!
Then yes, Terry is definitely coming! I’ll try to concentrate on him next, because your ask got me into a moood. I didn’t get the chance to watch Reckless today, but I will tomorrow. I just looked up some clips and Jesus Christ, he really is disgusting in like every scene lmao. I need that. I’ll have to be admitted into a psych ward soon, thanks to these kind of characters Shawn plays, but why is it always cops😪
Anyways, thank you for your ask, I’ll never say no to a nudge that will get me to write something hehehe🥰🧡
are you considering writing any of shawn’s other….. unsavory (i guess would be the word?) characters
Aww, thank you so much! 🥰🧡
I don’t think I’d be opposed to writing for any of his characters, the inspo just needs to strike right!
warning: some lil’ nsfw thoughts
I started writing a small town cop x upper class reader with Sammy in mind, but it just didn’t feel right so I switched to Charlie for a bit before changing my mind and replacing him with Sammy again🤣 I just need to think that fic through or scrap it completely, because there are like snippets, scenes, interactions that hit so fucking hard, but they’re not good as a whole if you know what I mean. Maybe the key is to write this thing with both of them and make it a good cop/bad cop fic 🤣 How would you feel about a threesome with our lover boy Sammy and wicked Charlie?
It’s not like Sammy is an angel, and Charlie would definitely be bad influence on him. They would butt heads, no doubt, arguing about who gets to fill your pussy first. Oh, and then there’s Terry who operates as an independent unit and wants you all to himself. And we know that not even a husband will stop him from getting the girl, so two of his colleagues is pff, nothing. He will break into your house and punish you for being a slut. He will leave bite marks all over your ass, so the next time Sammy and Charlie fuck you, they realize they better up their game.
Oh, Terry McCandless. I need to write for him, that’s for sure. He’s one of Shawn’s hottest characters, and I’m afraid I’ll be watching Reckless today. So, yeah, Terry’s definitely at the top of my list.
Then I also loved David from Tangled.
warning: spoiler alert?
Shawn’s very cute in that one, while being essentially a psycho. It’s been a while since I watched that one, though, so I’d need to refresh my memory, but I do wanna write for him someday. It would definitely be a challenge though, because I only write for older characters and age gap shit, right?🤣 So that could be fun.
So these are some of the, as you said, unsavory characters that have entered my mind a couple of times. Terry, David and Charlie. Mind the order, because Charlie himself isn’t really doing it for me. The idea of him, that he’s a silverfox, corrupt and a man of power? Sign me up. But idk, I just didn’t care for his story in Chic PD, so..😪
Anyway, did you have anyone in particular in mind?
i don’t got a single problem with provocative; see the bodies, how they burn, it’s just the way it is.
pairing: boyd fowler x f!reader
warnings: unspecified age gap, cheating, insinuations at sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, jordan chase (i know, i’m sorry), kidnapping, murder, boyd’s mustache, smut - bondage, oral (m & f!receiving), fingering, squirting, spanking, gun sucking, mentions of blood, one slap i think, some biting, breath play, hair pulling, mentions of unprotected sex & cockwarming, dom!boyd.
summary: you start an affair with your husband’s friend.
w/c: 7.7k approx.
a/n: Well… I tried to get around the original modus operandi of these guys as much as I could, but it was a liiittle bit challenging. So at the very least, I tried to ignore it, meaning there are no mentions of any of the original crimes they committed on the show. Boyd isn’t a rapist in this, but they are all murderers. Having said that, I think it’s really mostly up to your imagination. Also, I listened to ballad songs while I was writing this, and evidently, I can't write a character that’s not soft for his girl..So, there you go. I hope there are some freaks like me who will enjoy Boyd!
You considered yourself a hopeful person, a woman that believed in manifestation, karma, ‘whatever’s meant for you will find you’ and all that shit. You cruised through life as a survivalist, a mesopredator with opportunistic tendencies, someone who was willing to do anything to survive the wilderness of the world and win the long-lasting competition, while relying on let’s see what happens philosophy.
So, when the opportunity to marry Jordan arose, of course you took it, as it was never about love or devotion to either of you. For Jordan, it was always about keeping up appearances, and for you, it was about A) money; but especially about B) hoping that something good would come out of it, something that would get you further in life – another opportunity. It just never occurred to you that the opportunity would be of romantic matter.
Hate couldn’t quite cut the way you felt about all of them, and that included Jordan. Dan was the sleazeball of the group, they all were, but he held the scepter for sure. Cole had hated you since the moment Jordan introduced you, and you assumed it was because he was one of those guys who believed that their super-tight boyband was the planet Earth, and you were an asteroid responsible for its destruction. You quite liked Alex – not because he was better than Jordan or Dan, but because he wasn’t an active participant of that circle. He was a bit cynical, had a hard time keeping it together, so he was always sweating his ass off in a cheap suit elsewhere.
Obviously, they all wanted a piece of you – except maybe for Cole, but the rest of them looked at you like you were prey. Jordan didn’t mind at all, because he was too ignorant to even notice anything. He had decided a long time ago that you were only pretty enough to occasionally hang on his arm at his events, but you could never replace Emily. Thank fucking God for that.
But then there was Boyd. For a long time, you thought that you hated him too… well, you probably had, but you realized soon that he was the only one who wasn’t making your skin crawl when he called you sweetie or honey as he asked you to bring him some water. You realized that you were pretty quick to fulfill his wishes and too slow when others asked for something.
Boyd observed you. When you caught him staring, he never looked away like Dan. The only thing Dan cared about was your ass, removing his eyes from you as soon as you turned around, but Boyd waited until you locked eyes with him and then slowly and appreciatively dragged them over your figure, squinting when he reached your eyes again as if it would give him an X-ray vision that would allow him to see more of you. Every time you entered the room, he seemed to stop caring about whatever Jordan was saying and focused solely on you, making goosebumps erupt all over your body.
Boyd did make your skin crawl after all, but you loved that feeling when it was caused by him, despite how uncomfortable it was. Jordan was never capable of stirring such emotions in you, but that was okay, he wasn’t obligated to do so.
Jordan also wasn’t the one to notice that you started to dress down whenever the guys were around, that you started to wear a more expensive perfume, that you did whatever you could to get into Boyd’s proximity. Boyd noticed, and that was everything you wanted – at the time, at least.
How did you know he had noticed? He started to mirror your actions – wearing clean clothes, switching his uniform for button-ups unless he arrived straight from his shift, he added belts to his outfits and started wearing cologne. He would also always subtly touch the back of your knee – the softest brush of his fingertips against your skin when he was sat down and you’d just served him with a cup of coffee.
You saw an opportunity.
Boyd had a habit of never locking his car, so one day, when they wrapped up their get-together, you had been already waiting in the passenger seat of his ugly, yellow pick-up truck.
He literally stopped in his tracks when he noticed you through the windshield as he walked to his car, fidgeting with his car keys. He glanced over his shoulder, checking whether some of his buddies were around.
“What are you doing?” he asked, when he got behind the steering wheel.
“I need to pick some flowers for the house. Thought you could give me a ride.” You smiled.
He sniffed, his mustache twitching as he pressed his lips into a tight line, wheels turning in his head.
“Jordan know about that?”
You frowned. “He’s my husband, not my dad.”
Boyd laughed at you, his neck finally twisting to look at you with raised eyebrows as if to say seriously? “Isn’t he your sugar daddy?”
“Still. I make my own decisions. So, will you take me? Please?”
And Boyd just couldn’t resist you – sitting in his car like that, wearing a short skirt and a tight baby tee combined with that puppy look of yours. He couldn’t resist the way you said please to him; he simply wasn’t that strong, and he couldn’t pass on the opportunity to be alone with you. So, he started the car and drove you.
He wondered if Jordan would kill him for thinking about you like this. He didn’t think so. Jordan didn’t like to get his hands too dirty, that was mostly Boyd’s job. He’d lost count of how many people he had disposed of, but there was a time he thought he would eventually be disposing of you, too; that you’d become just another lock of hair in his binder.
He was glad it hadn’t come to that yet. But once it did, what would he do? Could he maybe be the one to prevent it from happening? Boyd bit his cheek, glancing at Jordan’s CD in the cup holders before he parked the car. Thinking.
“Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”
Your breath hitched, hands hovering over your seatbelt you’d just unbuckled. How did he…?
“What?” you laughed. “I am wearing underwear,” you said defensively. But why? You weren’t wearing any. And Boyd was the reason. Why would you suddenly lie?
“I clean up dead animals. My nose is basically trained to pick up all sorts of smells,” he said, brows quirking as his lips formed a proud smirk.
“Shouldn’t it be desensitized, actually?”
His expression stayed the same, knowing. “Answer the question.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For fuck’s sake, you wanted to smash your head against the concrete. You felt like you weren’t in control of your own words. What was happening to you? Were you suddenly scared of what he might do? Were you shy? You needed to get it together. You were supposed to be happy he called you out on it.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“No. I think you’re too in your head.”
“Too in my head? Should I check myself then?”
“You want to harass me? I’ll tell Jordan.”
“Like hell you will,” he chortled. “You’ve been bent on slutting yourself out for me the past couple of weeks.”
“Thinking a little too high of yourself, aren’t we? What if it was for Dan?”
Boyd burst out laughing. “Right.”
“Or Cole.”
“You hate Cole. You hate that he’s always taking up your precious space. I can see it in your eyes every time he enters the room.”
“Alex, then.”
He tilted his head at you, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “Alex is never around, for a change.”
Admittedly, you got wetter with each truthful argument he presented, and you were out of excuses. You were finally getting what you wanted. Stars were aligning. And you couldn’t think of doing anything better than reaching for Boyd’s hand and bringing it to your bare thigh, his fingers automatically spread out to cover as much of your skin as possible.
He seemed hesitant at first, eyes fixed on his unmoving hand and throat bobbing with a hard swallow. He remained still until you coaxed his hand up a little and his fingertips slipped underneath the hem of your skirt. Then, as if you flipped a switch, his fingers squeezed, creating soft dents in your skin.
You let your hand travel upward, gently skimming over his strong forearm, feeling all the different muscles that flexed with his movements as his whole hand disappeared under your skirt, his pinky finger bumping lightly against your bare center. He let out a shuddering breath at the feeling of your sticky juices coating his fingertip, then his face hardened into focus again, lips pursed as his eyes flicked to yours.
“Is this all for me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get this wet every time I was around?”
“And every time I thought of you.” You shifted, trying to get him to touch you more.
“Do you get this wet for Jordan, too?”
You shook your head. “I don’t think I ever got this wet for anyone.”
You probably shouldn’t feed his ego like that, but the smirk Boyd gave you pushed the thought away.
“And what do you want me to do about it?” he asked, subtly moving his finger over your clit.
Your chin jutted towards the CD. “You listen to his crap, right?” This was the first and only time you’d ever say this. “Do what Jordan says.” Take it.
“He’s my friend, you know. I might as well drive back to the house and tell him what a whore his wife is.” Boyd emphasized the crude word by flicking his wrist and slipping his middle finger between your wet folds.
You leaned deeper into his space which caused your thighs to squeeze his hand tighter, essentially trapping it between your legs.
“Go ahead. Your word against mine. But a little warning? None of you are his friends. I guarantee you that as soon as the shit hits the fan, he’s only willing to save himself.”
To Boyd, that was old news; he wasn’t that naïve. Ever since Jordan became successful, he wasn’t afraid to use his narcissism and entitlement against others, and lately, Boyd’s patience had started running thin with him. Maybe jealousy had something to do with that. Not of his fame and wealth, no, but he was jealous that Jordan had a woman at home that he didn’t deserve in any universe.
Boyd withdrew his hand, nails lightly scraping against your skin in the process, and you thought for a moment that he’d throw you out of the car. Instead, the same hand made its way to your neck, squeezing just above your pulse points and keeping your face close.
If you had any patience left in you, you’d enjoy the way his pupils dilated and his hot breath bounced off your lips, but you didn’t. So you closed the gap and connected your lips with a little too much force that cause the glasses on his nose to shift. His hand around your neck relaxed for just a millisecond before squeezing again as he reciprocated the kiss.
During the kiss, you tried to climb over the console and into his lap a few times, but every time, he tightened his hold on your throat and held you down. Eventually, you whimpered out of sheer frustration and broke the kiss, pouting at him. Boyd fixed his glasses as he gave you an entitled smile, brushing his thumb over you lower lip.
“Are you gonna fuck him tonight?”
What kind of question was that? You couldn’t even remember the last time you had sex with Jordan.
“Maybe. Since you don’t seem interested.”
“Oh, I wanna fuck you,” he rebutted while his hand that had yet to touch you landed on his crotch to adjust himself as if to prove his point. Your eyes followed the motion. “Not in a filthy dead animal pick-up truck, though. You deserve better.”
The butterflies inside your stomach flapped their wings, and you felt your face soften. You wouldn’t peg Boyd for a gentleman.
“So you’ll take me to your place, then?” you leaned in again, eyes flicking to his lips as you bit yours, eager to kiss him again, but the reply he gave you wiped that smile off your face.
“No. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
…What’s that supposed to mean?
He didn’t explain, just told you to stop pouting which only made you pout more.
What he meant was that you weren’t ready for the collection of toys he possessed, all the cuffs and ropes, nipple clamps, vibrators… You were beyond shocked when you saw all the tools, but more importantly, you became jealous and felt fucking stupid. How could you have been so naïve and thought that he wasn’t sexually active?
“Is that why you came onto me? You felt sorry for me?” His voice wasn’t hurt. Far from it. He was fucking ecstatic to unintentionally play you like that and get such a reaction out of you.
“I didn’t feel sorry for you,” you were quick to correct him. You wouldn’t fuck anybody who you felt sorry for.
“But you thought I wasn’t having sex, correct?”
Your silence was enough of an answer for him.
Boyd was and wasn’t gentle the first time he fucked you. His priority was to learn what made you tick, what your body liked and what your brain liked, what made you uncomfortable and what drove you absolutely crazy and desperate for him. He needed to improvise a bit, because you wouldn’t let him use the toys on you. You told him that that was just gross.
Restraints, you were okay with, but he was still careful to treat you almost like glass. You were young, and Boyd had known Jordan long enough to know that he wasn’t exactly confident when it came to sex. It’s not like you were a virgin, but Boyd could imagine just how far your experience went. So, he dipped a toe in first instead of plunging right in, choosing to tie your hands with his old tie instead of the ropes that were always ready at his bed, coiled around the wooden bedposts.
You were responsive, which made it a hell of a lot easier for him, too. Besides from that, it also made his cock throb – every little whimper, every twitch of your abdomen, every attempt of your thighs to close and shield your pussy from him. Fuck, he loved everything, and he loved when he got to hold you down with his bare hands. He loved building you up to your orgasm only to tear it away, repeating this over and over until you were crying and shivering, and he was out of breath and sweaty.
He did a number on you the first time, but it was nothing compared to the things he planned for you in the future. And he could see it in your eyes, too; that you wanted more, that you would let him do more. You were so fucked out of your mind that day, your pussy was so sore that he was afraid to touch it, and despite that, you clung to his body afterwards, desperate to preserve the feel of his body against yours.
Boyd wasn’t used to that. He had craved it, of course he had. But every woman he had ever got into his bed up and left right after the act. Not that he wanted them to stay, that option had never even crossed his mind; until you. He supposed it was a good thing, but there was a downside to it – he hated that at the end of the day, just a couple of hours after he’d ruin you, you were going to share a bed with Jordan.
Fucking fraud; he always just fucking blabbed and blabbed but never took his own advice.
He tried not to dwell on it too much while he drew circles into the skin of your shoulder, otherwise he was afraid he’d dig his fingernails just a little too deep.
Given Jordan’s disinterest in you, it was pretty easy to sneak around. You and Boyd had a lot of sex. You made him throw out all the toys, and using Jordan’s money, you helped him build a new collection, meant only for you. The toys helped you recognize Boyd’s mood – whenever he was in a good mood, he’d use them on you. If he was pissed, he’d use anything else but the toys, and that was when he was at his most dangerous.
But then the investigation started, Dan had been murdered, and Cole had disappeared. After that, Jordan limited his contact with Boyd and Alex, they didn’t meet at the house anymore, relocating to a place unknown to you. Jordan also had to cancel all his events, which made him snappier than usual and for the first time, because he missed his audience, he started controlling your life instead – deciding when and where you were allowed to leave the house, and if you did, you were always to be accompanied by one of his bodyguards. Don’t be fooled – it wasn’t for your safety; it was for his. He needed someone to keep an eye on you in case you decided to open your mouth and tattle away.
That meant that you didn’t get to see Boyd. On a few occasions, he was bold enough to come by the house, pissing Jordan off, naturally. But he needed to make sure you were okay.
He even managed to steal you away one day, for long enough time to explain to you that even though Jordan had selfish reasons to do all of this, you benefited from it too.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” you asked angrily.
“Well, someone killed Dan. Someone probably killed Cole. You could be next.”
“Or you.”
His reply was a scoff, making your eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh? That sounded pretty confident.” You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you kill them?”
“Excuse me?”
“I wouldn’t be mad if you had.” You shrugged and it just made him roll his eyes.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. Just…” He took a deep breath, taking a step forward and lifting his hands before he remembered where he was and dropped them back to his sides. “Just fucking hang on. I’ll figure something out. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it.”
“I won’t.”
Well…
It got a little out of hand and one night, you and Jordan got into an argument, because you had managed to sneak out of the house. You only went for a walk, nothing else, but he lost it. And you lost it.
You were dumb enough to tell him you had been cheating on him, in the hopes he would throw you out. That he wouldn’t care. You fucking hoped he’d never let you back into that Goddamn house. As you tried to leave on your own, he caught up to you and used his strength to stop you. It didn’t click for you at first what he was doing, but once you realized that he was trying to pacify you, you fought back – kicking, scratching, elbowing him – but then there was a wet rug to your nose and mouth, and you fell into a deep sleep.
When Boyd got the call, he knew something was off. He fucking knew. Jordan had this drop in his voice, the tone of a strategist in what Boyd knew was a completely spontaneous situation. Boyd considered the option that he was just being paranoid, but he wasn’t going to rely on hope, and his karmic debt was a little bit too high. Jesus, he needed to stop listening to your bullshit. He grabbed his gun before he left the house and made his way to the abandoned camp.
Every time you let Boyd tie you up, you looked so fucking ethereal. He could never take his eyes off you when you were in his bedroom, offering yourself to him, free for him to use however he wanted. Just the thought of it made him hard, and oftentimes, when he was patrolling the neighborhood, he had to park the car in a secluded nook so he could jerk himself off to the mental image of your naked body sprawled on his bed.
This time? No dead animal had ever made him want to throw up so bad like the sight of you tied to a chair. He was expecting this though, wasn’t he? So, he needed to focus. He wasn’t even sure what had gone down between you and Jordan. You must have pissed him off, that’s for sure, but he didn’t know whether Jordan had a reason to be pissed at Boyd too. He needed to be careful.
“Jordan,” Boyd greeted, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose before his eyes found yours, trying to assess if you were hurt at all. “What happened?” The question was directed at Jordan, but in reality, he wanted nothing more than to hear it from you. You seemed calm, all things considered, Jordan didn’t even have to gag you. Always such a good girl.
“See this pretty mouth on her?” Your husband gripped your chin, mockingly jerking your jaw like you were a puppet. “Apparently, she’s been using it to suck another man’s cock.”
Boyd’s eyes bored into yours and you gave him a subtle shake of your head. He doesn’t know it’s you.
“So, I thought, since she likes to be shared – right, honey? – That I’d give you guys a few rounds with her. Well, I mean… you and Alex. But Alex is too much of a pussy right now, and he skipped town. So, congratulations. She’s all yours.”
“…You want me to fuck your wife?”
Jordan scoffed. “My wife. A disrespectful bitch is what she is.” He tapped the back of his hand against your cheek. It was far from painful, but it still made you wince. “Come on, Boyd. I know all of you guys have wished for a piece of ass like that. I’m making it pretty easy for you, so take it. We’ll take care of her later.”
And there it was. Boyd knew this moment would come, but ever since you two started having an affair, it had just slipped his mind how dangerous Jordan truly was. Now he regretted that he didn’t get you out of the house before he let this happen.
Boyd nodded slowly before walking towards you. Jordan took a few steps back and prepared himself for the show. Fucking freak. You looked up at Boyd, with those big eyes that still somehow managed to sparkle, no matter the circumstances. He tried not to get too lost in them, because otherwise you’d both be fucked.
“I want her blindfolded.”
Jordan chuckled. “You sure you don’t want to see the tears?” he asked in a tantalizing voice as he took off his tie and threw it to Boyd who could only offer a small, strained laugh. But then he looked at you again and his nose flared, and his jaw clenched and you knew he was holding back.
Once he blindfolded you, as much as you tried to hide it, your breath became heavier and your nails dug into your palms. You didn’t want Jordan to know that you were scared – of him, of whatever might happen to you, of anything… You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You flinched when you felt a hand caress the crown of your head, Jordan’s laughter bursting your ear drums despite how far he was. It was still coming from behind you, meaning Boyd was the one touching you. Good, that was good.
Another confirmation was when a set of lips pressed against yours, and your brain quickly registered the familiar sensation of his facial hair against the soft skin of your cupid bow. It made you relax a bit, but you didn’t kiss him back, as difficult as it was. God knows what Jordan would do if he found out that all this time, it was his friend who had been fucking his wife.
“Wow. Got no fight left in you, huh, honey?” Jordan taunted, before hissing, “I hope I finally fucking broke you.”
He wasn’t left wondering for too long, because Boyd reached into the waistband of his pants, swiftly pulling out his handgun and aiming at Jordan. He fired three quick shots, every single one of them startling you.
Everything was rushed after that. Boyd freed you and got you the hell out of there, never letting you even glimpse at the lifeless body.
That’s how you ended up here, tied up again, only this time, it had been done with gentleness and a sense of professionalism. You were high on your knees, your arms extended above your head and secured to the upper rails of his antique canopy bed with a rope that was also keeping your wrists together. He had the length of the rope precisely measured according to your height so that you were basically hanging from the ceiling, your body forced into a delicious stretch and prevented from lowering your ass to your heels.
Boyd figured that one out after the one time where you couldn’t handle the swats to your ass anymore and had the audacity to hide yourself from him. He thought that if you hadn’t been tied to the bed, he would have had to chase you around the house.
It was his favorite way to spank you, because this position gave him access to every inch of your body – to touch it, to admire it, to ruin it.
Smack.
Your body arched as pain surged through your body.
“How many was that?” Boyd’s breath tickled your ear before his lips softly touched the skin of your shoulder, a complete contrast to his rough hands.
Honestly, you had no idea. You’d lost count after 18, simply because you got tired of keeping up with the count and he hadn’t asked you in a while, so you just stopped. He’d been playing with you for too long.
You answered anyway, as confidently as you could. Nobody was stopping you from taking a guess. “Thirty-two.”
You heard a huffing laugh, your eyes squeezing shut at the sound as you braced yourself for impact.
Smack.
Fuck.
The rope around your wrists frayed your skin as your torso swung around, and you feared that you’d see blood trickling down your arms soon.
“Where did you learn how to count? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here.” Boyd lashed your sore skin again, accompanied by a triumphant: “Twenty-five!”
The weight of his knuckles against your butt felt too heavy, even though it was just a brush, mindlessly traveling to your hips and back. He kissed along the column of your neck again. “I wanted to leave it at that, but evidently, you think you deserve more. So I’ll give you thirty-two.”
He gave you five successive slaps, the thirtieth hit making your ass burn so much that you thought you would stop feeling that part of your body altogether soon. You didn’t let the sensitivity keep you from pressing yourself back against the rough material of his cargo shorts, the zipper irritating your bruised skin even more. Your neck also gave up on the support of your head, and you let it fall against his shoulder while his hands resumed their exploration.
They roamed over your sides, felt over your ribs until they finally settled on your breasts. Boyd pinched your nipples between his index and middle finger, rolling the pebbled peaks and giving them occasional tugs. You arched into him and closed your eyes, letting a happy sigh escape your parted lips.
His breath tickled your cheek as he spoke. “Remind my why we’re here.”
When you didn’t reply, too tired to think of the correct answer, you received another slap, only this time to your tit. It made your head snap upright as you gasped in shock.
“I almost got myself killed.”
“How?”
“I told Jordan the truth.”
“Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”
You shrugged, but it only reminded you of the ache in your shoulders. “Pretty well, actually. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
He smacked your other breast, eliciting a sound between a gasp and a laugh.
“You think this is funny? You made me shoot my best friend.”
You snorted, right before his hand collided with your ass again.
You waited for the pain to subside before you unclenched your jaw and spoke. “I didn’t make you do anything. I was tied up, remember?”
“If you hadn’t decided to be a loudmouth, I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”
“You wanted to kill him– Can we not do this? We’re together, right? That’s all that matters.”
It was easy for you to say. You were just trying to manipulate him into fucking you already. That was all that was on your mind in that moment.
But really, instead of not taking the situation seriously, you should be thanking him, because he was the reason that you didn’t have to worry about anything other than him stuffing you with his cock. You knew he was carrying most of the weight of the situation, but that was on him. You told him you’d help him with the body, but he didn’t want to hear it.
And the fact that Boyd wasn’t in a rush even though Jordan was still rotting at the camp was turning you on.
“It’s not. You need to accept the consequences of your actions and apologize.”
A scowl appeared on your face. Apologize? For what? For speeding up the process?
“Did you listen to his stupid CD’s again?” You rolled your eyes at the possibility. “I thought I threw them all out. Or are you just pretending you don’t have a brain?”
Your body jolted with another slap. Thirty-two. Fucking finally.
“Apologize.”
“No!” you exclaimed incredulously. That’s when you heard the clanking of his belt. You shifted on your knees, hoping – fucking hoping – he wasn’t going to touch you with it. But you already knew you were dead wrong, and soon, as he wrapped your hair around his hand and yanked on it, he was whipping your ass and thighs with the leather until he saw bloody marks forming on the skin and your face was soaked with tears and snot.
“Are you sorry yet?”
You nearly sobbed. “Yes.”
“Well, let me hear it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“I’m sorry for almost getting myself killed. I’m sorry for making you kill your friend. I’m sorry for being stupid when you told me not to.”
You recoiled when he brought his palm to the tender skin to rub gentle circles there. “Good girl,” he said, giving you a kiss under your ear.
Boyd untied your wrists then and made you crawl to the foot of the bed on all fours while he stood in front of you. He cupped your chin, slipping his thumb into your mouth, and letting you twirl your tongue around it for a moment before hooking the finger behind your lower teeth and pulling you upwards until your face was level with his. You kissed him then, fingers curling around his neck as he shrugged his flannel off.
You enjoyed the taste of him, the way his soft tongue danced across yours. When your lips disconnected, he pushed you back down, positioning your arms to hang over the wooden footboard, the carved ridges digging into your armpits. He removed his shorts and boxers too, but not before taking ahold of his gun. His throbbing cock sprung free, bumping against his stomach as he grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your mouth forward.
You didn’t even wait for his command. Opening your mouth for him and swallowing him down was like second nature to you.
But he stopped you before you could do any of that and instead brought the gun to your mouth. Your blinked up at him.
He nodded, lips curling inwards, creating a tight line as if to tell you that you understood correctly. “Suck on the gun.”
“What?”
“Suck on the gun that killed your husband.”
Those words were the pushing force that convinced you to hesitantly wrap your lips around the barrel of the gun, a taste of metal and gun powder absorbing into your tastebuds as your tongue slid against the underside of the weapon.
“Thaat’s it, you fucking slut. You like that, huh?”
You made a sound of agreement, before you moved your head back and forth as if it were his cock that was currently in his hand as he tugged on it.
You frowned, focused on being mindful of your teeth, and you sure as fuck hoped he was being consciously careful too, because you didn’t want them to get knocked out. The metallic taste became more and more prominent with each slide of your soft tongue against the hard barrel, mixing with your saliva that made the gun shimmer under the bedroom lights.
Your focus was disrupted by the clicking sound as he took the safety off, and you couldn’t do anything but glare at him.
“You better hope my finger doesn’t slip. Don’t wanna be scraping your brains off the ground like roadkill. Are you scared?”
Your response was sliding the gun deeper into your mouth while maintaining eye contact with him, and you could see the flicker of pride in his eyes.
“God. Which fucking loony bin spat you out, hm? You’re so fucking sick.”
He clicked the safety back on before pulling the gun out of your mouth and throwing it into the heap of clothes, and then finally, he allowed you to taste his cock, stuffing your mouth full of it.
Once you relaxed your throat, Boyd rocked forward, pulling a gagging sound from you before the fist in your hair pulled you off him until only his tip was resting against your tongue. Your mouth stretched to accommodate more of him, letting him fill your throat until your nose was squished against his stomach.
Your nails scraped against the wood as you coughed around him, bubbles of spit making their way out through the corners of your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed as they stung with budding tears.
When he pulled out, you spurted out the spit that had collected on your tongue and ended up on your chin.
He set a pace then, rapidly snapping his hips against your face and fucking your mouth until you were gurgling around him and moans of pleasure fell from his mouth. Then he stilled his hips again, the head of his cock nestled deep against you vocal cords as he tilted your head a little.
“Look at me,” he ordered, but your gag reflex and eyelids teamed up against you. “Come on, babygirl,” Boyd cooed condescendingly when he saw you struggle, removing the hair that was sticking to your face. “Try to give it your best. Come on.”
You breathed in through your nose and stared up at him, your eyes brimming with tears that made your vision blurry. You could still tell that he was beautiful, though.
“Such a gorgeous, gorgeous girl. It would be a cryin’ shame if I had to dump you in a swamp.”
Boyd pinched your nose, restricting your intake of oxygen and your eyes fluttered shut once again when your brain started to slowly shut off. Your head span faster and faster with each passing second, your back twitching as if you were doing a cat-cow pose, but before you were completely gone, he released you and pulled his cock out of your mouth, your scalp stinging from his grip on your hair. You dry-heaved, trying to come to your senses from all the torture to your body.
The floor under you was wet – with tears, his precum, but mostly, it was the drool produced by your mouth. Strings of saliva hung from your lips until Boyd wiped them with his palm before squishing your cheeks together as he leaned down to kiss your shiny lips, cleaning his own precum away from your tongue.
“You can just say you couldn’t bear to lose me,” you rasped out once he finished licking into your mouth. You didn’t expect him to suddenly go all sweet on you, you knew what would follow. And as soon as you stopped talking, his wet palm collided with your cheek.
“Don’t get cocky now.”
You just grinned, because you had every reason to be cocky. Your boyfriend killed your husband for you, his childhood friend. Without hesitation. And if that isn’t a declaration of love, you don’t know what is.
You shuffled a little closer, and at the expense of your armpits, you started laying small kisses all around his cock – his thighs, along his happy trail, licking at his v-line, and eventually taking his balls into your mouth and suckling on them until he whimpered above you. You took the opportunity of free will and licked a fat stripe up the underside of his cock, following the thick vein all the way to the tip where you twirled your tongue in circles. Boyd grunted and tugged on your hair then, with a force that got you sitting high on your knees again, your hands instinctively shooting up to the one in your hair to get rid of the source of the pain.
His eyes glimmered as they danced across your face – your pretty lips, your pretty nose, those eyes that literally made him commit murder. Fuck, he was down bad, and if he hadn’t had a motivation to keep himself out of prison before, he definitely had it now. He couldn’t let anybody else fuck that face, and certainly not your pussy. If that ever happened, he swore he’d break out just to kill the asshole who touched you. You were his. End of story.
“It was pretty stupid of you, too, to shoot him like that,” you said, bringing him back to present.
He quirked an eyebrow at you. “It was necessary. Telling him that you were cheating on him was stupid. I think we established that.”
You shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin. “What can I say? Love makes you do stupid things.”
He didn’t full-on smile, but it was the wrinkles around his eyes, peeking from underneath his frames that gave him away. Before you could tease him about it, he shoved you and your back bounced against the mattress. You were reminded of the fire your ass was on. Boyd was quick and good at predicting, catching your hand that was already en route to your behind to sooth the pain, but he pinned it down next to your head, your other hand joining too as he hovered over you, glasses gone and revealing the rest of the freckles that decorated his face.
You lifted your hips with the intent of rubbing your pussy against his cock, but he jerked away, tightening his hold on your wrists. “Brat.”
“What? It’s not my fault I’ve been wet since you pulled the trigger.”
“You really get off on me killing someone?”
This time you lifted your head, your noses nearly brushing. “I get off on you killing Jordan.”
He scoffed. “As I said. Sick.”
You giggled and let your head sink back into the pillow. Boyd decided to tease you then, peppering kisses all over your body. You felt the brush of his lips against your biceps, the crook of your elbow, your chafed wrists and your palms. He took his time kissing over your torso, your chest, your stomach that was especially sensitive to the bristles above his lips. He dipped his tongue into your belly button before licking a stripe up to your breast and sinking his teeth into the underside of your mound.
You played with his hair, auburn curls sticking out between your knuckles as you gently ran your fingers through them. God, but all this hair-pulling was always better when his head was framed by your thighs, and his tongue was lapping at your pussy.
“Boyd,” you whimpered as he kissed along your hips and to the crease between your leg and stomach.
“What do you want?”
“Eat my pussy.”
He gave a kiss to the top of your thigh before he spread your legs and kneeled between them. “You want me to eat your pussy?” he asked, leaning down and bringing his face closer to your center.
“That’s what I said.”
“Yeah?” his hot breath hit your folds, his lips were parted, eyes bored into yours, and he seemed like he was ready to dive in. When he was just a whisker away from kissing your cunt, he turned his head and sank his teeth into your thigh. You cried out, and after he let go of your skin, Boyd crawled up your body, folding you in half as your legs hooked around his arms, his cock brushing against your cunt.
“Say it again.”
“I want you to eat my pussy.”
“Again.”
He made you repeat it five times, until your cheeks were flushed and the confidence in your voice faded. Boyd knelt between your knees again, sitting down on his heels before he lifted your legs and pressed them together. He told you to keep your feet up, so he could kiss along your thighs, facial hair scratching against the patches of abrased skin and sending stinging sparks of pleasure through your body and into your clit. You loved every bit of it. He took his time, switching from one leg to another, but he wasn’t even trying to tease you this time. Your legs were his weakness, and he wanted to worship them.
You didn’t know how much time had passed before he finally spread your legs and threw your legs over his shoulders as he dipped his tongue into your glistening slit. Your eyes rolled back as soon as he reached your engorged clit, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth. It was absolutely electric, the way he flicked his tongue over your bud before taking it into his mouth and sucking, moving his head from side to side before he released you with a pop.
When he moved lower and stuck his tongue into your hole, his mustache created friction on your clit that made your pussy flutter, and your fingers curl into his hair, nearly pulling them out of their roots. He groaned against you, moving his tongue in and out of your weepy hole in a quick pace, fucking your cunt with the wet muscle and setting your stomach up for fireworks.
You whined above him, arching your back and making yourself look absolutely beautiful. He licked a broad stripe up to your clit again, shaking his head from side to side and making a noisy mess of your pussy before tugging the hood of your clit back to hit every single nerve ending as he rolled his tongue over it.
It made your whole body convulse, your knuckles threatening to tear through your skin as you gripped the sheets underneath you, the gasps getting caught in your throat. When he closed his lips around the exposed nub and suckled, you were done for. Your stomach exploded, and you were cumming right into his mouth, covering his chin, his lips and his facial hair in your juices.
He didn’t ease up, and this time you brought your hands to his head to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. You moaned out his name, begged him to stop, pushed on his forehead, clawed at his scalp and even tried to twist away, but he was too strong, too persistent. Eventually, he pulled away before you could cum again.
He let you think for exactly four seconds that he’d leave your overstimulated pussy alone, and then he was flipping you over and sliding his thigh under your stomach, propping up your ass on his leg as he inserted his thumb into you and quickly pulled another orgasm out of you by driving his thumb into you and rubbing your clit with the rest of his fingers.
His free hand was squeezing the flesh at your hip, his forearm against your back to hold your squirming body down. Your arms flailed around, trying to reach behind you and pry his fingers away from your waist, but that was futile, so you just held onto him, as he worked you through it, fluids spurting out of you like a fountain, wetting his hand and watch as well as the sheets, soaking everything through. Your screams, muffled by the mattress, didn’t stop until Boyd removed his hand.
You sere slumped over him, completely pliant as your chest heaved and stomach still twitched from the consuming orgasm. Fuck. You should have brought a towel. Boyd withdrew his thigh from underneath your body, and you extended your legs, laying yourself flat down on your stomach. He traced lines onto your back, letting you catch a breath.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled and turned your head to face him. “Just need a minute.”
Boyd brought his hand to your legs then, massaging them while avoiding touching the bruised skin. Half of his face was wet, mustache soaked, and his hair was a mess. You let your eyelids fall in appreciation of his digits working the knots out of your calves. He couldn’t resit though, bringing his finger to your quivering pussy and with the lightest touch swiping over the length of your puffy folds. You twitched away, of course, whimpering. He removed his finger but kept his eyes on your cunt.
“You know,” you murmured. “Jordan didn’t have a will. We’re sort of rich, now.”
He snorted. “That’s what you’re fuckin’ thinkin’ about right now?”
When he decided you got enough rest, he rolled you over onto your back and fucked you messily to sleep, pulling out just to lay you on your side and situating himself behind you before pushing his cock back inside you, using you to warm himself. You fell asleep like that, filled to the brim, cum leaking out of you the whole night.
You slept for about twelve hours, and when you woke up, you had a hard time getting up, barely walked, barely talked. Literally everything was sore. You couldn’t sit comfortably for days, and Boyd couldn’t take his eyes off your bare ass whenever you lied next to him, admiring his artwork with heaping pride. He hoped that some of it would scar so he could have a reminder of that day forever.
I know that absolutely no one asked for this, but I might or might not be writing a small piece for this motherfucker. The unkept hair? The glasses? The fucking mustache? The tummy? The limp hand? Give me all of it.
This guy holds special place in my heart, because that’s how I discovered Shawn Hatosy. And I was absolutely baffled when I found out that the silverfox doctor from The Pitt is the same guy.
So, anyway, I will probably change some canon facts about Mr. Boyd here, because it’s obviously ugh... If you know, you know. But he’ll be disgusting in other, more acceptable ways😌
5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.
Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.
A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.
“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana.
She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”
“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible.
“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him.
Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”
Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore.
He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”
You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”
Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”
Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.”
“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you.
“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways.
“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Thursday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.
“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.
“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.
“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”
“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”
Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”
“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?”
It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Thursday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”
“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”
Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.
“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”
“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”
“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him.
Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.”
You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.
“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest.
“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.”
“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple.
“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much.
“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp.
“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond.
“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion.
He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you.
“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.”
Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”
“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”
“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.”
Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you.
“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away.
“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”
It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack.
“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.”
“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm.
“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him.
“I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”
He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder.
He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”
You bite your lip and smile at him.
“What?” He eyes you with suspicion.
You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”
He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”
“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack spins around.
“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack.
“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler.
He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.
“Jack-”
“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED.
Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby.
Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him.
She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse.
“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim.
Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”
Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you.
Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him.
Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.
His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do.
He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole.
Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye?
“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”
He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?
“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”
“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby.
There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby.
“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”
“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled.
“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street.
He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.
“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”
He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.
The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening.
It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones.
Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.
Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.
He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.
“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”
He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.
“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary.
The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel.
“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object.
You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”
“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling, but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious.
You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee.
“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way.
“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.
You raise an eyebrow but do as he says.
‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page.
You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”
He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”
You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him.
“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily.
“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”
You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”
It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own.
“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in.
“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”
“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.
Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.
“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable.
“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself.
“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands.
It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you.
You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once.
Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you.
“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit.
“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be.
He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”
You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”
You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.
It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did.
On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.
You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.
You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise.
You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood.
It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.
Time. You were supposed to have more time together.
“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.
Oh my god, this was amazing. I can’t stop holding my breath. The build-up of it all, the parallels between the flashbacks and present, everything was 🤌🤌🤌.
warnings: fluff, smut - spanking (ass & pussy), some slapping, light bondage, use of toys (butt plug), fingering, unprotected sex, a lil’ bit of cum eating, a lil’ bit of spitting, and of course soft dom!sammy
summary: a peek into your post-engagement life with Sammy.
w/c: 6.8k
a/n: back on my sammy bryant bullshit yay. this can be read as a one-shot, but it’s set in the same universe as this. all of my fellow sammy bryant enthusiasts, i hope you enjoy!
You didn’t mind spending some of your time with Sammy’s colleagues, as long as any sexist or misogynistic comments stayed out of their mouths or, at least, out of earshot. You could tolerate Sammy hanging out with them–it’s not like you even had a choice since they were his only buddies and you were his life partner. However, you let him know early on in the relationship that if he ever uttered a single word similar to what they often did, in front of you or not, you wouldn’t hesitate to end things, as cute as he was.
Luckily, Sammy got enough socializing at work. Sometimes he went out to get a few beers with the guys and gals from his division, and occasionally, he attended a retirement party which you always accompanied him to if he asked, because he was more important to you than any copper who had something distasteful to say. Yes, sometimes you had to bite your tongue at these events, but you were too in love with him to not make that sacrifice.
“No matter what happens in there, you know I love you, right?” Sammy squeezed your hand, making you roll your eyes as you gave him a tug back.
“You’re being dramatic.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’m being dramatic? You were the one doing breathing exercises and muttering insults about Dewey like some fucking mantra.”
Well, yes, you meditated before you left, chanting ‘Dewey’s just a fucking clown’ under your breath, because that’s the only strategy you believed would keep you sane throughout this party.
“Would you rather I punch him in the face as soon as he makes a ‘joke’ about you keeping my taco sauced?”
Sammy wheezed, but when he saw your arched eyebrow, he collected himself and cupped your face. The grin stayed as he pecked your lips.
“I’d bet my money on you.” Sammy kissed you once more before bringing your hand up and kissing the shiny rock on your forefinger. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Of course. I love you.”
His dimples deepened at the words before he repeated them to you, and then he led you inside the bar. Ever the gentleman, he entered first, in case there was a physical dispute near the door, his arm outstretched behind him to keep your fingers laced.
On the way to your table, the two of you greeted a few of his colleagues, he introduced you to some new faces and then you found Ben already waiting for you to join him, with Officer Cooper looming over him as they chattered. You slid into the seat while Sammy went to order some Coke for both of you, leaving you alone with Ben after Cooper congratulated you on the engagement and made his way back to his table.
“Still haven’t changed your mind?” Ben asked, taking a sip of his bear.
“About what?”
“Marrying Sammy, what else?”
“Why, you have someone better for me?”
In that moment, you felt a tug on your ear, Sammy slipping into the seat beside you and nudging his hip against yours as he placed his arm on the back of the seat behind you.
“You tryna’ give my girl ideas, Sherman? Why don’t you go play matchmaker somewhere else, huh?” Sammy snarked, and you squeezed his knee underneath the tabletop.
Ben chuckled, taking another sip from his bottle as you fell into a casual chat until the speeches started. All in all, the night wasn’t so bad, since it turned out to be the better crowd of cops. Most of them didn’t even know you or couldn’t care less about you. Sure, there was some pseudo-mingling, either Sammy ran off to say hi to the very few detectives, or you ended up at the bar, speaking to Jessica before returning to your seat to chat with Ben. Or it was Ben who left the table, giving you and Sammy a moment alone.
“Anyone made it on your hitlist, yet?” he asked and lifted your joined hands slightly, swaying his arm over your head and letting it settle around your shoulders. It brought your faces closer together, your noses tickling each other as you smiled at him.
“Isn’t that like a trigger word for you guys? I don’t want anybody to tackle me or something.”
“You’re mistaking us for a K-9 unit, sweetheart.”
“Oh, right. The better bunch.”
“Don’t start.”
“They are dog lovers, Sammy,” you said matter-of-factly.
“I’m a dog lover,” he retorted. You stayed quiet, giving him that look, sweet smile and batting eyelashes, silently waiting for the neurons in his brain to click. A soft smile formed on Sammy’s lips and his head started bobbing up and down. “You want a dog? That it?”
You gave him a double-peck on his lips, before murmuring against him, “Maybe.”
Sammy hummed.
“Yeah. Figures,” he murmured back, almost defeatedly as he smirked at you. You were making him fuzzy all over again and he was pretty sure his ears were getting red and yeah, you were getting a dog.
“Jesus Christ, man, could you be anymore whipped?” Ben’s voice interrupted the sweet moment, and you snickered while Sammy’s eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. The guys fell into a verbal contest of who was jealous of who before the three of you got separated again.
Tonight you could actually admit that you were having a good time. You got to know some good people, successfully escaped some distasteful conversations and easily found Sammy if you felt overwhelmed. You were enjoying yourself until you entered a conversation about your engagement and the wedding.
Naturally, you were more than happy to talk about it, even though many people looked like you knocked their socks off when you explained that neither you nor Sammy wanted anything grandiose. Their reactions didn’t faze you, though, because you had prepared yourself for worse long before Sammy proposed to you. But the words of this particular person sent you into a spiral, and honestly, you forgot who the person was shortly after you parted ways, and you cursed yourself for it.
You didn’t realize it at first, instead it built up inside you until it hit really you. It was stupid, really. You were stupid for letting a stranger get to you like that, all the more so considering they didn’t even have ill intent. You knew you needed to consult with Sammy, you knew you should have done that in the first place, but against your better judgement, you called Ben instead.
Now, Ben wasn’t the best relationship guru, despite him thinking exactly that. But he gave you advice which, at the time, didn’t sound so bad, but it demanded a plan. Luckily, you were good at scheming, especially against Sammy.
It wasn’t unusual for you to walk around the house with as little clothes as possible, especially during a heatwave. The same went for Sammy, but despite his considerable muscle and fat mass, it appeared that his body temperature regulation had improved thanks to the fact that he was consistently bearing extra weight of the uniform, so he was a little bit more resilient, you would say. You used to worry about him, always driving him crazy when you kept making sure that he was wearing sunscreen and drinking enough water. He always tried to sound tough, insisting that water was the least of his problems in his line of work.
So, how are you supposed to catch the bad guys if you’re having heatstroke?
After their cooler had been stolen, you went as far as buying him an insulated water bottle that you always put into the freezer before his shift, so his water would stay cold in the searing car for as long as possible. You also made sure that his partner was ready to step in not only when gangsters started shooting at them, but also in case Sammy showed any signs of passing out.
“What exactly makes you think that I shouldn’t be the one looking out for Ben?”
“Well, he isn’t my boyfriend, is he?” You pecked his cheek. “And you aren’t exactly getting any younger, either.”
He couldn’t do anything more than scowl as he headed out to work, but he would show you later that night that he was more than capable of surviving the physical demands of his job and fucking you on top of that.
So, with Sammy and the amount of clothes he wore at home, it was 50/50, but your body couldn’t get used to it. It was always just too fucking hot, and as if that wasn’t enough, the AC had been acting up, so you walked around the house, wearing different combinations of clothes – a simple shirt with panties, shorts with a bralette, sometimes even just your sports bra and your boyshorts. That was all normal.
It was normal that Sammy was in his shorts and a T-shirt when you entered the living room. What was not normal though, was you wearing Sammy’s Los Angeles Police Academy shirt.
Sammy’s fingers fiddled with the game controller, putting the animated police officer on TV in motion. At the sound of your footsteps, he gave a quick glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the game, only to make a double-check when he saw the shirt you were wearing. His brows creased.
“Wow. Never thought I’d live to see the day you’d finally become a police fan. You wanna pose for the recruitment flyers?” he said, bringing his attention back on the simulator.
“A police fan? What if I decided to join the force? My obsession has grown to the point where I need to keep my eye on you at all times.” You rounded the couch, carefully sinking into the pillows and leaning your back against the armrest as you threw a blanket over yourself, squirming underneath it. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh-oh.” His crooked teeth caught his lower lip in concentration as he coordinated his fingers to move the character in a challenging maneuver.
“I think I’m gonna keep my last name.”
Sammy’s head whipped toward you, fingers on the controller coming to a stop, but as soon as he locked eyes with you, he tsked, shaking his head. His fingers continued to press the buttons. “You’re full of bull. Give me a break.”
You crossed your arms over the shirt’s logo. “You don’t believe me?”
“Nah,” he said absentmindedly, his body jerking as he got into pursuit of an animated perp. You kindly asked him to explain why he didn’t think you were telling the truth.
“Because I’m observant. I’m a good listener and communicator and have great analytical skills.” He ticked each point off on his fingers. “Maybe it’s the former detective in me, but personally, I think I’m just a great husband material.”
“You forgot humble.”
“Humility didn’t really do much when I heard you gushing to Marianna on the phone about being future Mrs. Bryant.”
Your jaw dropped at his words, in embarrassment mostly, as you felt your cheeks heat up.
“So you’re eavesdropping now?”
He snorted. “Yeah, eavesdropping in my own house. You aren’t exactly quiet when you talk on the–”
“Says the guy who’s turning heads in every restaurant we eat at.”
Sammy’s tongue poked at his cheek, eyes wide as the controller clattered onto the coffee table. He braced his hand against his thigh, twisting his body toward you and tilting his head
“Are you trying to pick up a fight?”
“No. You know you’re too loud.”
“Yeah,” he huffed out, voice shaking with insincere laughter. “Because you do a pretty good job bringing it up every time.”
Now he was making you sound like the bad guy. Of course you kept pointing it out! But it wasn’t every time; you did it in places where it was considered uncivil, he knew that. Sammy was loud and he talked through his food, chewing away at a steak while he screamed about a rookie police officer that dared to pull him over. He was really lucky that that your first date wasn’t at a restaurant, because this particular thing would definitely be a turn off. And it wasn’t like you were mean about it either. All you always did was give his forearm a squeeze with a gentle shh. One of you had to stay decent.
Most of the time, he apologized. Other times, when he was a little edgy, he rolled his eyes because he refused to believe that he was being that loud.
“And every time, I do you a favor. But in all seriousness,” you said, reaching for the magazine with photographs of wedding venues. You both knew that it was just a prop. You had already agreed to a micro-reception at Sammy’s parents’ vacation house out in Santa Barbara. “I don’t want people to call me Mrs. Bryant… Tammi was Mrs. Bryant.”
He hitched one of his legs on the cushion, knee bent as he stretched his arm over the back of the couch, finally settling into focus as he realized this wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Are you serious?” he asked, confusion taking over his face.
You flipped a page. “I just said in all–”
“I heard what you said,” he interrupted, tearing the magazine out of your hands, pages probably creasing as it flew in the air before landing in a messy heap on the table. He released a deep sigh, shaking his head as his eyes studied your face, trying to figure out how to go about this and potentially fix it.
No, Sammy wasn’t responsible for whatever mess you had in your head, and he was not going to take the blame for it. But he would be responsible for not changing your mind back, so he needed to get to the bottom of this.
“Who got into your head like that?”
You frowned, chin folding as you scoffed a little too hard. “No one.”
You hated the idea of him thinking that you couldn’t think for yourself.
“Was it Marianna?”
“No one. I have a question, too,” you were quick to deflect.
Sammy’s brows shot up, lips curling into a somewhat mocking smile. Oh, this was going to be good.
“Would you take my last name?”
He huffed, averting his gaze to the game that he didn’t care to pause as he scratched his chin with his thumb.
“I’m serious. Would you?”
The corner of Sammy’s mouth was quirked up, creating a crease in his cheek. He rolled his eyes when he looked back at you, trying to assess if you were truly being as serious as you claimed.
“No.”
You reached for the magazine again, palm smacking against the glossy paper before you leaned back into the couch.
“You know, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, a little offended.
“Tracks with your age group. Ben said he’d take his girlfriend’s name.”
Pause. Sammy’s face scrunched up, palm hovering in the air as he tried to make sense of what you just said. “You’re talking to Ben about our wedding?”
You shrugged. “Of course. He’s our friend,”
Sammy was carefully watching you now, again searching for any indications that you were just fucking with him because you had tendencies to do that a lot.
“He is my partner.”
“Okay. My friend then.”
Sammy’s nostrils flared as he closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. He had no idea why, but you were definitely trying to provoke him. He was going to knock Sherman’s teeth out as soon as he saw him for putting ideas into your head, because he was now 99 % sure that he was the one to bring up the Mrs. Bryant bullshit, too.
“Maybe you should marry Sherman then.”
“Thanks for the suggestion. Maybe I’ll consider it.”
Sammy’s hand shot out, grabbing your cheeks and turning your face upward until you’re your nose brushed against his. You heard the sound of the magazine hitting the floor.
“You’re being childish, you know that?”
You know what they say: it takes one to know one. You would never deny that, sometimes, your actions and words could be perceived as immature, but right now? You thought you were being pretty fucking reasonable.
Soon, you were thrown over his thighs and his LAPD shirt was bunched up around your waist, revealing your butt to him. But more importantly, he revealed the shiny jewel-heart nestled between your cheeks, the twisted lace of your panties doing nothing to cover it up.
He scoffed, muttering a fucking Christ as he stuck out his neck to the side to give you a pointed look which you purposely avoided.
“Look at me.”
You clenched your jaw, mind racing as you suddenly became unsure whether you were still the mastermind in your own game, or you just became an underdog in his. You had a feeling it was the latter. Reluctantly, you turned your head.
“How long have you been like this?” he asked, skimming his fingers across the plug and pressing down lightly, just enough to make the toy shift within you. All you could do was whimper, until suddenly, a sharp smack landed against your flesh. “How long?” he repeated firmly.
“Since this morning.”
Sammy gave a slow nod, lips curling downwards as his eyes scanned the length of your body.
“So, this is the reason for that stunt of yours?” he asked, wide eyes boring into yours as you squirmed against him. “Hm? Got a little restless, having you poor ass plugged up all day?”
“No. I still have a problem with your last name.”
He laughed, throwing his head back in disbelief.
“Have a problem with my last name. Okay.”
You felt another blow to your ass, a small ow escaping your lips, when suddenly, your upper body was yanked up by his hand under your neck, fingers squeezing just under your ears as your back arched into an unnatural angle and your elbows locked in to support your weight against the couch.
“You needa help me out here, baby. I really don’t know if you want me to fuck you senseless or fuck some sense into you.”
“I want you to fuck me however you want. And then I want you to take my last name.” You croaked out, but the confidence in your voice didn’t waver, Sammy had to give you that. He didn’t doubt that you felt his cock twitch in his shorts, matching your throbbing pussy that had definitely already ruined your underwear.
He brought his other hand to your head, gently stroking your hair before he bent down to your level. His nose brushed against your temple, and his lips tickled the apple of your cheek as he spoke.
“Do you really think I’m gonna fall for that? You think I got stupid or what?” His hand returned to your ass, and he gave a gentle tug on the plug, making you twitch at the unexpected sensation, gasp escaping your lips. “You hate your last name. So cut the crap already.”
Okay, Sammy was right. Your name actually belonged to the father of your sister since your own dad was an asshole, and your mother had done everything in her power to put a significant distance between you and him. Well, your half-sister’s father turned out to be an asshole, too, and he basically abandoned the family and created a new one. But you didn’t remember him anyway and eventually, you and your sister grew apart. Point being that you never had a string to that name.
You actually never really hated it until Sammy came into your life and asked you to take his name. As stupid as it was, you had become so excited about the idea of finally having a last name that meant something to you. To have a last name of someone you actually knew and cared about. You loved Sammy unconditionally and you loved his last name, so when someone completely random, who you didn’t even have a memory of, managed to ruin this whole idea for you in just a couple of seconds, it saddened you a little. It annoyed you.
“Poor baby. Always worried about me, when it’s your brain getting sun-fried until you can’t think straight. Allowing someone to think for you–Sherman, of all people. What did we say about that?”
Fuck, there we go. You knew he was going to bring it up.
“It wasn’t Ben.”
“Then who was it?” he asked sternly through clenched teeth, hot breath bouncing off your skin.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Someone at the party.” He exhaled sharply before letting go of your jaw, your arms folding underneath your chest after they gave out, your face planting into the cushion. “I swear I don’t know,” you whispered, turning your head to the side to look at him.
Sammy nodded. He seemed to believe you, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was satisfied with your answer. He massaged your glutes, causing goosebumps to litter your skin, before tugging your underwear to the side. His fingers slid between your thighs and sank into the wetness of your pussy. Instinctively, you parted your legs as far as the limited space allowed you to, and tilted your hips, chasing the contact as he teased your opening.
“You’re really lucky I’ve been hard since the moment I saw you in my clothes.” A smirk broke on your face. You knew it would work on him. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t fuck you until you swore to take my name.”
He wouldn’t do that, because he was very well aware that you would just settle for your stash of vibrators, and he hated it when you fucked yourself without his presence. He also knew that you had several hiding spots that he still hadn’t figured out.
“We need to get your train back on track, too. You will become Mrs. Bryant.”
“Ugh.”
That it only earned you a punishing slap to your cunt.
“What do I have to do? Fuck you at the station? Show everybody who Mrs. Bryant is? I’m sure they won’t forget after they see your pussy full of my cum.”
Your pussy pulsed at his words before his palm smacked you once again, your whole body jerking at the impact.
“For having no shame in liking that idea. Fucking slut.”
He slid his digits against you, your tight pussy lips enfolding his middle finger as it bumped against your clit, sending sparks throughout your body. Two of his fingers then slipped into your drenched hole, and he curled them upwards, prodding at the plug from the other side. Simultaneously, he gently tugged at it with his free hand, creating a blissful feeling that had moans pouring out of your mouth.
You rocked back into him, fucking yourself on his fingers, only for him to remove them and slap your cunt again. You cried out, your asshole clenching around the plug. With one hand gripping the underside of your ass and spreading you, Sammy twisted your arm until your hand reached his mouth.
His lips wrapped around your fingers, sucking and covering them in saliva, tongue twirling around them. He slid his mouth lower until your fingertips were resting against the root of his tongue, swallowing them as his teeth finally scraped against your ring, drenching the diamond too.
After releasing your fingers, he guided your hand to your pussy.
“Finger yourself, Mrs. Bryant.”
You didn’t react to the title anymore, instead hitching your hips up and filling your cunt with your digits. Well, filling was an exaggeration. From this particular angle, it was harder than you’d thought, and you struggled to reach your spot, only the first knuckles finding home inside of you.
In the meantime, Sammy removed your panties, briefly lifting your hand to make way before he forced it back. He couldn’t tear his eyes from you, desperate and double-stuffed, your underwear in his hand fucking soaked through. Sherman was going to turn fucking green once he heard about this.
It wasn’t really all that shocking when Sammy brought your panties toward his face, giving them a sharp, though savoring sniff. However, his predictability didn’t change the fact that the act still made your cheeks flush.
Sammy loved your scent. Every time he trailed kisses along your legs, he caught the whiff of your bar soap first–for some reason, it lingered longer on your skin than classic body wash. Then it starts to mix with the scent of your pussy, and he swore that no weed had ever got him as high as your essence.
He never wanted to wash his hands after he fingerfucked you, nor his mouth after he ate you out. Several times, he had made you ride his pillow so he could fall asleep to the smell of your arousal, bringing him the sweetest dreams a man could ever dream. He was just too damn addicted.
“Maybe I should bring these to work. Pass them around and tell everyone to remember how delicious Mrs. Bryant smells.”
He discarded them, grabbing your occupied hand and bringing your fingers back into his mouth, closing his eyes and humming at the tanginess of your juices as he licked them off.
“You gonna let them taste me, too?” you asked, flashing him your most innocent look.
He paused, his eyes peeling open as he let your arm drop. He leaned over you, giving you too saccharine a smile when he forced his thumb between your cheek and the couch while his fingers squished the opposite cheek. His twinkling eyes skimmed over every inch of your face in a parallel pattern. Then his hand disappeared before striking your face, causing you to hiss, but also more wetness to gush out of you and soak his shorts.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
He played with your ass for a bit, kneading and scratching, delivering light slaps just to see it jiggle under his touch, only occasionally giving your cunt similar treatment. It was rare for him to be like this; the plug combined with the LAPD shirt must have really affected his brain and impulse control.
“How did it feel?”
You blinked. “What?”
“When you filled your ass with that plug. How did it feel?”
“It hurt a little.”
“Yeah, I’d think so. You whine even when I slip a finger in that tight, little hole.” His thumb pressed against the center of the heart, and you pressed back. “You know I don’t like surprises, right?”
“I thought this might be an exception.” You bit your lip, hesitant, before you continued. “I have another one for you.” Sammy’s eyes darkened even more, piercing through yours. “The app to it is in your phone.”
Sammy held your body firmly to his lap as he stretched his torso over you. Frantically pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table, he found his phone beneath another magazine, one with wedding dresses which you definitely hadn’t put there.
It didn’t take him long to find the app, thumb already hovering over the various settings and modes.
“Did you already try it?”
“Only to make sure it worked. Before I put it in.”
“And are you sure you can handle it?”
You shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”
But of course you could handle it. You could handle anything Sammy gave you, and you knew he would never make you uncomfortable. This man had every right to brag, because he was a good listener, and that applied to your sex life, too. Especially to your sex life.
You were nearly shaking with excitement until he finally tapped the screen, and the toy came to life. Despite the lower setting, you jumped in an unavailing attempt to run away from the plug that was safely secured inside of your ass.
Sammy was just testing the waters first, but once he saw you relax, he upped the ante, the vibrations getting more intense. Small moans started to leave your mouth and Sammy decided he was satisfied for the time being.
His fingers started exploring your pussy again, dragging his fingers along your folds, flicking your bundle, filling you up with them. All of it. You squirmed against him, angling your hips to rub your clit against his thigh and competing for that release that your pussy desperately wanted. It didn’t take long for your mouth to form pitiful pleas.
“Sammy, please.”
“What are you begging for?”
“I wanna cum,” you whined, giving a vigorous (and laughable) buck of your hips. Your version of a stomp.
“Not until we have an agreement.”
“Fine! I’ll take your name.”
He chuckled, taking his phone and turning on a pulsing mode. Your gasp was followed by a frustrated whine, your asshole stretched and overstimulated from his continuous teasing.
“As I said, you’ll take my name either way. But you need to learn to use your head and lose that attitude. You get that? Is that clear?” His voice raised gradually, reaching condescending wavelengths and switching to the tone he used with perps, and you hated that.
“Yes,” you grumbled.
So, it would go on like this until he got his point across. When your patience betrayed you, you daringly tried to reach behind you, fingers curling around the heart-shaped base of the plug to fuck yourself with it, but his reflexes were quick, and your wrists were suddenly crossed at your lower back. Wheels were spinning in Sammy’s head, eyes rapidly scanning the room before he decided to pull the drawstring from his shorts and tie your wrists together, the skin wriggling under the rough material.
He got back to teasing then, playing with you and the setting of the plug, enjoying every single reaction he pulled from you. At one point, his head hovered over you, spit leaving his pursed lips as he let it dribble down to the crack of your ass. It traveled down to your stuffed hole where he smeared it with his fingers.
Sammy was truly in awe. You were gorgeous like this, submitting yourself to his mercy. It made him so fucking proud, like you wearing his name would. But some asshole had to go and ruin everything.
His middle and index bracketed the toy, clamping around the base and moving it in circular motions. The hidden part of the vibe bumped against your inner walls, making your eyes roll back into your head.
“Fuuuck, Sammy,” you groaned through gritted teeth.
“Yeah? You like that?”
“Yeah.”
To your surprise, Sammy didn’t stop, he brought his fingers up and spat on them, returning them to your pussy, shoving them in and out of you in swift motions. He focused on driving his fingers upwards rather than forward, aiming for stimulating more of your ass than your cunt. And it paid off, because soon, you were teetering on the edge, pussy spasming as you neared your orgasm. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you let yourself by swallowed into the euphoric freefall.
But then all of a sudden, you were pulled back, the buzzing stopped as did his fingers. Your eyes snapped open as you shifted your weight, the lace around your wrist chafing your skin.
“Fuck. Sorry, honey, it’s just so fucking hot,” he said, and then you watched with wide eyes as he pulled his shirt off, throwing it onto the armchair to join your panties.
“Are you out of your mind?”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching nonchalantly. Alright, you needed to keep your head cool right now; he was just trying to annoy you. He had already put his fingers in you; there was no way he was going to stall for long. Sammy was full of surprises like you though, because there was a gentle pull on your hips, and then he was sitting you onto your knees to provide himself with a room to get up. He didn’t forget to pocket his phone.
You blinked, once, twice, as he disappeared into the kitchen only to get back with a bottle of water he was already chugging down. If your orgasm just hadn’t been ruined, you would appreciate his sturdy figure, the way his cock was poking through his shorts and the wet patch you left behind.
“You are unbelievable.”
“What? You’re always the one telling me to stay hydrated.” You scoffed and Sammy walked up to you, studying your pouty face. He pinched your chin between his thumb and index. “Open up.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Open. Up.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly, jutting his chin out.
“You’re always the one telling me that no one’s allowed to make decisions for me.” Two could play this game. “No.”
Sammy puffed out his chest as he inhaled, then released a deep sigh.
“No one outside this household. I thought I made myself clear last time we were in a situation like this.”
“You made yourself out to be a hypocrite, in other words.”
He silently stared at you, trying to intimidate you and it was working. With each passing moment, you got more and more nervous about what he might or might not do.
“Last chance. Open up.”
You hesitated just a little before unhinging your jaw and tilting your head back. Sammy grabbed your jaw to hold you still, and then you felt a globule of spit land onto your tongue.
“Swallow,” he ordered, and you did. “Gotta keep you hydrated, too.” You gave him a scowl, almost rolling your eyes at him. You were getting fed up. “I’m just kidding, sweetheart. Come on, open your mouth again.”
You prepared yourself to get humiliated again as he tilted the bottle, carefully quenching your throat with the cold liquid. You didn’t realize how dry it was and that the water did actually do you good. You focused on gulping it all down as more and more water filled your mouth, when suddenly, the plug inside you came into motion again and you were choking on the water that made its way into the wrong pipe. You coughed it out, body jerking and causing Sammy to miss your mouth. He finally pulled the bottle away from your face.
“Jesus Christ, Sam, are you trying to kill me?” you nearly screamed.
Sammy’s face lit up with genuine amusement, eyebrows shooting up and lips forming a small o.
“Woah, you just gave me chills.”
He drank the rest of the water and threw the empty bottle on the table before maneuvering your body. He wasn’t really gentle about it, and the harsh movements only made the plug move deeper. You collapsed against the back cushion, your hands contorting under your weight and feet almost touching the ground before he kneeled in front of you and spread your legs, pressing your calves against the back of your thighs.
Sammy watched your pussy flutter, the plug twitching with the contraction. God, he wanted to take a picture of you, of your disheveled hair, of your pouty lips, of your tits covered by his brand all while being stuffed full.
He laid down gentle kisses over the skin of your thigh, giving a nip or two as he neared your center only to switch to your other leg and repeating the action. Anticipation clawed at you, your chest moved up and down, belly flexed at his touch. He never reached your pussy, though.
“Have we learned something today?” he asked as he lifted his head, maintaining eye contact.
“Yes?”
His palm clapped against your cunt. At this point, pleasure was hard on pain’s heels, your leg that he freed attempted to shield your pussy from his view and touch, but he was quick to rearrange it into its original position.
“Was that a question mark?”
“No, I’m sorry. We have.”
He narrowed his eyes, almost daring you to say something he wouldn’t be a fan of. “And what’s that?”
“I’m in control of my own thoughts and decision-making.”
“And?”
“And you’re the only person allowed to take over. Nobody else.”
“Good girl.”
His head dipped down, and when you thought that he was finally going to run his tongue through your slit, he settled to kiss the skin of your mound. Your trapped hands itched to grasp his hair and shove his face into your pussy, but all you could do was shudder as he held you down.
“I’d really love to eat your pussy, baby, but I need to fuck you more.”
And he did. Getting to his feet and making a quick work of the knot at your wrists first. Your palm instantly cradled the back of his head, bringing him down to you. He had to catch himself on the backrest at the unexpected pull, lips colliding in a powerful crash. The kiss was rough and messy–the result of it being the first one that night. Neither one of you would admit it, but going so long without your lips touching made you both desperate.
Sammy would never ever get bored of kissing you, of tangling his tongue with yours, sucking on your lips, creating an obscene melody as they smacked against each other and teeth clashed together.
When your hand tickled his stomach and your fingertip curled behind the waistband of his shorts, he took it as a sign to break the kiss, a quiet whimper escaping you as you mourned the loss. Sammy stepped out of his shorts and boxers, bending his knees and aligning his cock with your entrance, teasing it with his tip before slipping it inside. It was a tight fit with the plug still inside of you; he could feel it, you could feel it.
“Deeper. Please.”
Fuck. His hands curled into fists as he held himself back from just slamming into you. Very slowly, he sank deeper, the grip of your pussy on his cock getting tighter. He brought his fingers to your clit, trying to get you to relax so he could move without hurting you. You both had to be patient, but once you got used to him and he buried himself in you completely, you shattered to absolute pieces.
The combination of his fingers flat against your clit, the drag of his cock against your walls and his balls nudging the plug further into you as he rocked against you both kept you conscious and threatened to knock you out. You couldn’t remember when you felt such an ecstasy.
You used your remaining strength to hold your legs open to him, but there were instances when you got too dizzy from the drive of his cock into your pussy. In these moments, you lost the hold on your legs and Sammy had to adjust you to keep them from folding. The stretch was simply miraculous for both of you, and the moans, the growls, the squelching – everything was proof of that.
Sammy made you cum around him twice, mostly because one orgasm followed another from how overstimulated you were, your cunt clamping down on him, almost locking him inside of you. He wished he could give you more, but he wasn’t strong enough with you being so surrendered to him.
So, when you came down, he slid out of you and dragged himself along your folds, bumping against your sensitive clit and guiding your hand to his shaft. You didn’t curl your fingers around him, just pressed him firmly against you, helping him finish.
Soon, his movements faltered, and he repeated breathy yeah’s until he squirted his cum across your peeking stomach, but mostly drenched his shirt with it, white streaks complementing the navy blue.
“Fuck,” he sighed, his droopy eyes fixating on your dopey smile, and again, pride filled his chest when he realized he was behind that. He sniffled, mouth twitching as he scooped some of his cum from your stomach and brought it to your lips. After you thoroughly cleaned them up, he leaned down and gave you a long, toe-curling kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
When you disconnected, a serious look appeared on his face. “Even if you don’t take my name officially, I will refer to you as Mrs. Bryant. At home, at work, at the gym, at the fucking supermarket. Everybody’s gonna know that my name is yours. Nobody fucking else’s.”
You huffed, shaking your head as you cupped his cheek, stroking your thumb under his eye. “You don’t have to do that. I want to be Mrs. Bryant.”
You could see that the smile he gave you was one of relief, and your heart broke a little that you let it bother you so much that you almost hurt Sammy’s feelings.
“Good.”
“You wanna pull the plug out?” You gave him a cheeky smile and Sammy glanced down at your absolutely messy pussy, juices leaking down to the gleaming heart.
“No. I’m gonna eat you out until I’m hard again. Then I’ll take the plug out and fuck your ass.”
