idkkkkk!!!!

hello freaks! i’m sunny, ur friendly neighborhood 21 year old plus-sized southeast asian!! i go by she/they pronouns:) thanks 4 all the love on my first few posts, it rly means a lot :D

i write primarily for:

jack abbot, pope cody, benny cross

and potentially for:

feyd-rautha harkonnen, sammy bryant, michael robinavitch, mel king, samira mohan, and art donaldson!

requests are open! send me asks if u wanna chat about any of the above my dearies!!!

topics/things i will NOT write about:

incest • pedophilia • dom!reader (imsorryyerrhghkk) • rpf

please remember to respect this when u send me asks!!! anywayyyyyyyyy let’s have fun n hang out!! please be nice!!

jack abbot x fem!reader

heels clack across the pavement as you might as well be stomping away from jack, arms crossed over your chest, lips twisted in a little pout. “no.” you say, with a petulant huff.

“sweetheart,” he calls after you, passenger door still open. “sweetheart, get in the car.”

still frowning, you twist your neck to look at him over your shoulder to send him a furrowed brow, before continuing to walk away from him. he exhales.

it was a little, stupid thing. but little, stupid things to you were never just that, and so the waitress and her silly smile and the fact that she laughed absentmindedly at an inside joke between you and your loving husband immediately turned into: she wants you, she was flirting with you, and you flirted back!

none of that, of course, were actually verbalized to jack. instead, you sat in your chair and sulked, ordered another cosmopolitan, sulked some more, then ordered another cosmopolitan, until jack decided dinner was over and it was time to get you home and investigate what the hell got you looking so sour in the midst of what had started as a pretty good night.

jack shuts the door to his truck, one hand in the pocket of his slacks as the other massages his jaw. “sweetheart, come on.” he calls after you again, as you traipse down the street. when he realizes you’re not stopping, he begins to follow after you. “you can’t walk all the way home, honey.”

“i can,” you huff, despite the fact that the balls of your feet have already started to rub themselves raw against the sole of your manolo blahniks. “i’ll call a cab.”

“you got your wallet with you?” he asks.

your jaw shifts. because, of course you don’t. you don’t think you’ve brought your wallet out on a date with him in the last year.

jack doesn’t wait for an answer, already knowing. “so how the hell’re you gonna pay for the ride, huh?”

you look at him over your shoulder again, still pouting as you reach the crosswalk. “whatever.”

he lengthens his stride until he catches up to you, his hand, warm and heavy, resting on the dip of your waist. “the hell’s goin’ on?” he asks, voice low and raspy. warmth, sticky and strong, settles in your lower belly as you lock eyes underneath the streetlamp. another petulant huff, before you turn your face away from him again.

with exasperation, he sighs, tilting his head up to look at the sky as if to ask what it is he did to deserve this, and moreover, why he feels like he’s right where he wants to be.

“what? c’mon, honey, tell me. where’d i fuck up, huh? can’t fix it you don’t tell me.”

sad, round eyes look up at him once again. “she liked you.”

his brows quirk upwards. “the waitress?”

almost timidly, you nod.

his expression loosens as he sighs. “okay, so what?”

“she laughed at our joke,” you whine. “and you laughed at her joke!”

“i was being polite to a service worker.”

“you laughed at her joke. she was givin’ you fuck-me-eyes the whole time, i swear,” you huff, folding your arms tighter over your chest.

“sweetheart—“

“no!” you interrupt, shifting your body to face him as you drop your arms, purse flopping down against your thigh. “she was—she was flirting, i saw! and—and she wanted you, an’—an’ you—“

“and i what?” he asks, grabbing hold of your wrist from where you’d started poking a finger into his chest. he rubs little circles into the joint with his thumb. “sweetheart, take a breath. come on.”

you do, lips still downturned in this sweet little frown.

he nods, his voice shifting to something gentler. “okay. okay?”

again, you nod, quiet. a little embarrassed.

“you think i put this on your finger just to act a fool over someone else? huh?” he asks, thumb shifting to toy with the shiny diamond ring on your ring finger. “think she didn’t see it at the table?”

bashfully, you shake your head. “but—“

“ah-ah. i’m talkin’, baby.” you quiet. “fuck kinda business does she have flirting that openly with a happily married man?” he asks.

“none.”

“that’s right, none,” he says, lifting your hand to press a kiss over the ring. “and i’m sorry i made you think all that. didn’t mean to.”

pouting, you mumble, “‘s okay.”

“yeah?” he asks, pulling you closer by the hand, pressing his nose into your temple before kissing at it. “if another waitress ever does that again, i’ll be givin’ her the stink eye the whole time.” you giggle. “i’m serious. gotta make it clear i’m taken.”

“yeah, y’do,” you murmur, as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his body. you bury your face into his chest. “she was so desperate.”

“so desperate,” he humors you, rubbing his hand in circles into your lower back. he gives your ass a little squeeze. “you done now? you okay?”

tilting your head up to rest your chin against his sternum, you nod.

“okay,” he chuckles, eyes wrinkling. “gonna let me take you home?”

again; you nod.

“alright,” he hums, letting out a little sigh as he grabs your hand, tugging it lightly as he leads you back to his car. “jesus, baby. starting to think you do this just to get a rise out of me.”

you giggle. “a little bit.”

he turns his head to look at you, a brow raised, before he chuckles, shaking his head. “c’mon. let me take my pretty girl home. gotta make it up to her.”

you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.

“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.

“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.

she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”

“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”

“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”

“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.

her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.

“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.

then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”

“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.

then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”

a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.

rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.

you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.

cw: 18+ MINORS DNI, givin pope a blowjob hehebrurbrhfnn, mentions of bruises/cuts + cage match violence (pictured below), short and sweet, listen to come to me by björk while reading 😋

there’s something about pope after a fight.

his adrenaline runs high, and he’s been watching you from the other side of the cage all night every second he got a chance. his girl. keeps him hungry, keeps him wanting, keeps him winning.

he stalks towards the foot of the bed, fresh out of the shower, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. his eyes, piercing and hot, bore into you as he stares with unabashed desire, chin tipped low. it sends a shiver of heat up your spine from where you sit at the center of his bed.

MDNI 18+ CONTENT

“benny,” you whine, pawing aimlessly at his chest. you can feel him in your stomach, the slow, angering pace he takes driving you to the edge — both of your pleasure and your patience. “benny, baby, c’mon—“