Riding Saturns Rings

sammy bryant x fem!reader

Summary: Your dumb ex-boyfriend Sammy ruins your date.

warnings: fluff-ish? existing relationship, mentions of sex, a little bit of touch from sammy that’s consensual, hurt feelings, making up at the end :)

author note: first go at writing for sammyyyyy. This ended up being cuter than I had originally thought. not sure how im feeling but excited to share and see!!

wc: 1.8k

You were actually having a good time. You matched with this guy on a dating app, had been talking for about a week, and finally your schedules aligned for a first date. No he didn’t offer to pick you up and you did have to be the one to choose the place, but nevertheless you were having a great time with him. The sleazy dive bar was about a 15 minute walk from your apartment so you could leave quickly in case things went south. He was nice. Nothing like your ex-boyfriend Sammy who you’d broken up with almost a year ago. This guy was simple. Very polite, with a normal corporate job and liked to go hiking on the weekends. You promised yourself you’d give other men a chance. Finally turn a new leaf, grow up, get sophisticated a little bit. You were on the last bit of your wine when out of the corner of your eye you saw him. Sammy fucking Bryant no no no no. 

The break up was bad. No sugar coating; you were devastated. Between still mourning his partner Nate, his divorce, trust issues, and navigating to be a father, your relationship was bound to blow up in your face. He was a sweetie pie. A goofball, a straight up fucking idiot that made you laugh and filled you with so many memories, he was also an asshole. Said the worst fucking things to you, and then immediately regretted them. Promised he’d change. And one day you were done waiting so you broke up with him. It was weeks before he finally left you alone. Showing up at your apartment. At your job. Begging and pleading to take him back at nights when he was drunk and crying. You couldn’t do it. You loved him too much, and yet you couldn’t do it. But as he walked through the doors of the bar your blood boiled. He looked great. Having lost his sweet tummy you’d spent all night caressing in bed while you were reading your book. The one you’d love to rub sunscreen on when you spent all day at the beach. The one that slammed perfectly against you when he was fucking you. His soft brown curls still looked the same. His stupid fucking freckles kissing him in all the right places. You quickly turned your head, hoping he didn’t see you. 

But he did. You were the first thing he saw when he walked through the door. He felt the lump in his throat harden when he saw you, laughing. It’d been almost a year and Sammy was still not over you. Still couldn’t let you go. Although he finally stopped reaching out to you, he still tried to keep tabs on you, still tried to get glimpses of you. But here you were, with another man, in a black tight dress that was way too short and forced his eyes to trace up the curves of your thighs and remember all the sweet moments he spent in between them, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Because there was no one but him who deserved to even be sitting across from you. The guy you were with was a fucking joke he thought to himself. 

He made his way to the bar with his friends, still looking back to watch you. “Isn’t that—” “Mhm.”

“Ouch man.” “Whatever.” He huffed out. He watched how nervous this guy was with you. How you were trying to smile and laugh and keep yourself interested. Nah she doesn’t even fucking like him. You kept your date going. He was a little boring. Okay maybe a lot boring. But he was really nice, and kept saying you were pretty. So that had to mean something right? After a while you felt like your bladder was going to explode, so you excused yourself and made your way to the bathroom. Your heels clacked against the sticky floors as you walked through the door. Sammy saw this and made a beeline to your date. He took a swig at his beer, introducing himself and chatting up the guy like they were about to be new best friends. When you came back, you watched the horror scene unfold: Sammy now having pulled up a chair, sitting and laughing with him. Motherfucker. You walked up to the table enraged, looking at Sammy. He flashes his ridiculous toothy smile. “Hey there!” He said a little sarcastically. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You barked back. Your date looked a little confused. “Do you guys know each other?” “Buddy this is my ex-girlfriend.” Sammy said, patting his new friend on the shoulder.

“And this is my asshole ex-boyfriend who’s gonna leave us alone now.” You pushed past him to sit next to your date again. But Sammy didn’t budge. He liked how mad you were. You were doing that little pout, that before when you were together, he’d grab your cheek and give you a kiss. And you’d whine in his mouth, pulling away from him because you still wanted to be mad at him. But you couldn’t. “Sweetheart, don't be like that.” He smiled at you. “So what do you guys have planned for the rest of the night huh? She’s a smoke show right?” He gave you a grimy wink with his soft brown eyes. “Uh…” Your date trailed and looked at you. “I-I’m not sure?” “Buddy come on you gotta have something.” “Leave him alone Sammy.” You rolled your eyes trying to get your date to look at you. 

“And not to be mean but this place as a spot for a first date? No dinner plans?” Sammy knew what he was doing. He knew that you were settling on this guy. He knew you better than you knew yourself. You weren’t happy on this date, your eyes have been looking at the exit, trying to find a way to leave early. You were starving, and you hated wine.

“Well she picked the place—” “You didn’t plan this?” Sammy asked. He smiled like a fucking idiot. “Did you at least pick her up?” “Give it a rest Sammy fuck!”

“So you didn’t pick her up, you didn’t plan this date, you think she’s gonna just fuck you because you showed up?” That was the final straw. Your date got up, pulled a couple of bills out of his wallet and threw it on the table. “Maybe you two can finish this date.” He stormed out of the bar, with Sammy taking another swig at his beer looking at you. 

You sat there, arms crossed trying to figure out what to say first. “You look so fucking beautiful.” Sammy said. The way you curled your hair and how it landed on your shoulders. The way you did your makeup just the way he liked it. Natural, a little more blush than the average look but it made your cheeks look so plump, mascara to make you eyes look bigger, lip gloss to show off your perfect lips he’s missed so much. It wasn’t fair that you could look even more beautiful than the last time he ever saw you. “Why the fuck would you do that?” You yelled. “Oh come on, that guy wasn’t the one for you.” “I was having a good time.” “Bullshit! You look fucking bored out of your mind. He’s not even a man. Didn’t pick you up? No dinner? He’s a fucking wimp.” You grabbed your purse and stood up. You felt a sudden wave of sadness wash over you. Why couldn’t he have left you alone? “Y-You didn’t have to do that.” The last word clinging onto the small tear that trickled down your cheek. You stormed out, trying to stop yourself from crying because it was fucking stupid to know that of course Sammy made you cry. You spent all this time being very strong and moving on with your life and he still managed to swoop in and make you cry. 

Sammy trailed behind you, knowing that he was a fucking idiot, and that he made you cry. It was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. Even when you two were together. And he replays that night over and over again. Hearing your sobs as you packed up the last bit of your stuff and walked out. And now you were walking home alone, crying, and he couldn’t let you walk away. “Baby hold on!” He yelled out. He ran after you, grabbing onto your shoulder to spin you around. And maybe you let him. The way your twirl smoothly back to him to face him. But you needed to stand your ground. “Sammy, please just leave me alone!” You jerked your head away but his hand cupped your cheek. Slowly bringing your face to look at him. Your pretty little eyes, puffy and red. He hated that. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do that? Why did you have to just come in and ruin that? I’m trying to forget you Sammy!” “Please don’t say that.” “But I am! I can’t keep loving you and thinking about you. I just can’t.” 

You managed to get out of his grip and continue walking. But one thing you’ve always known about Sammy, he’s annoyingly persistent. Again right behind you, grabbing onto your waist and spinning you around. This time your lips were inches apart. You could smell the beer, but also his cologne. It was still your favorite smell. It made you think about Friday date nights when he’d just gotten out of the shower and watched you do your makeup. He’d even help you with your hair, smiling, admiring you, being so in love together. 

He gave a little smirk. “You still love me.” 

andrew cody who used to watch how baz treated cath. he used to watch how he would leave her to run off to mexico, always partying and cheating and drinking. but cath would wait for him. wait for baz and never for andrew. and then andrew met you. you refused to wait for anything. if you wanted something you made sure to take it, and what you wanted was andrew cody. he wasn’t used to being desired, other than for sex, money, and brute strength. but you seemed to want andrew for everything. when you laid by his pool, you wanted him to sit next to you and talk about his day. then you inevitably realized he doesn’t like talking, so you forced your way into his little lawn chair and talked about yours instead.

andrew cody who soon learns it’s better to go along with your flow. and eventually he learns to love it. you have a pattern to your chaos, an underlying routine that he doesn’t even think you know about. but he does, because he learns to know you. he knows that while your drink orders seem random, that it usually depends on the type of food you had for dinner the pervious night. he knows that you always want to go to the beach when the weather man says there might be upcoming clouds, just because you want the waves all to yourself.

dazed, the man simply stared.

drinking in the sight of his lovely wife.

all dressed in her nicest of clothes, her skin luxuriously perfumed—with the hem of your favorite dress just dangling short over your knees. your shoulders clearly exposed.

and often, when your husband behaved this way—as though he hardly ever saw something as gorgeous as you, his newly wedded wife—you would give him a loving peck on his cheek. or two.

“c’mon, the reservation is at three.”

you hummed, passing him by with that same knowing smile. the kind that would have him nearly eating out of your hand if you so wished.

and sweetly, ever so sweetly, the man then spun you around by the hip until you were facing him once more; chests now pressing into chests, lips suddenly meeting lips.

as his desperate tongue soon slipped in between the seam, placing you on the countertop’s edge. your dress now hiked to expose those beautiful thighs.

“absolutely fucking gorgeous.” he mumbled, still kissing you in that desperate sort of way. “mrs. abbot..”

and as he used your name—your new, married name—a sudden lance was sent straight to your spine, so sharp that it made that familiar warmth now blossom from just beneath your hips.

“mr. abbot…” you breathed, cheeks somewhat flushed as you whispered back, “we’re going to be—”

“don’t care. we can reschedule.”

“jack…”

and at the little, whining tone—your husband then grinned.

that same kind of grin he would give whenever he didn’t get his way. drooping his chin just so to make those gorgeous eyes of his shine just right.

“five minutes. promise.”

“promise?”

and without even answering back, you soon found your lips recaptured into his, that strong arm of his now swooping to scoop at your ass while he carried you back into the bedroom.

and of course, it was never just five minutes when it came to jack..

in hindsight, you should have known that listing brendon park as "my man" in your contacts would cause you some sort of disturbance

☀️ brendon park x sunshine!ERdoctor!reader

☀️ smau

pope shaving your legs for you when you’re too much in a rut to do it yourself🤧

your right leg is propped up against the edge of the tub, a large hand holding your ankle whilst the other moved the razor slowly down against the shaving gel. pope barely said a word as he worked. you felt comfortable enough to ask him to do this for you since you had quite a bit of hair growth but no desire to do it yourself. he was initially surprised, not cause the request had grossed him out or anything but because he hadn’t expected you to entrust him with something so intimate and personal to you.

like with everything else he handles, he was meticulous, carefully moving the razor with surgical precision over your hair. his grip on your ankle was steady as he worked the blade against the grain, being careful to avoid any nicks or cuts. your head tilts slightly as you watch him with a small, appreciative smile. how lucky you felt to have a boyfriend do this for you without any complaints or reluctance. you truly fell in love with him more each day.

pope clears his throat as he rinses the blade under the water, shaking it before his eyes caught yours. his cheeks flush an adorable hue.

“what?”

your smile grows as you shake your head. “nothing, i just love you.”

god, he’d never get tired of hearing that. he’d be doing the most simple, menial task and you’d spring those 3 words at him- words that felt meaningless and hollow before he heard them from your lips.

“i love you too.”

(wc: 371)

18+ mdni 

Officer Sammy Bryant is known for getting ‘zero play’ and so far as ‘no bitches’. He cusses like a sailor, but he doesn't want to think of it that way, because you aren't a bitch, and it's no one's business who he sleeps with. Let alone who he dates. 

And he's dating the fuck out of you on an every other day basis when he has the time. The one complaint you had about these work-related anecdotes Sammy would tell you about how everyone thinks he's this monk is that he is far from it and much less a saint. 

Officer Sammy Bryant is the same man who pins your legs by your head on either side, taking pride in seeing tears welling in your eyes. 

“My pretty girl is gonna wake the neighbors, yeah,” he grunted with every stroke as a smug look crossed his face. “You like when I get this deep, huh? There's still so much to--hnh--to give you.”

Officer Sammy Bryant who liked to eat your pussy from behind in your kitchen because he was appreciative of the meal you prepared for him after a long shift. 

“Fuck my tongue, baby. I want to taste you well into my next shift,” he would say into your heat, pressing his face into you and shaking his head. 

He liked to watch you try and keep your balance and weight on the counter, afraid to bury his face into you while he made it vehemently known that he would live there if he could. Then, after you came, he would proudly smack your ass, and walk away to make himself a plate. 

“I can eat now that I've had my appetizer,” Sammy smirked from over his shoulder. 

Your boyriend, Officer Sammy Bryant, who would have sustained secondhand embarrassment from anyone else doing bar karaoke, but when he watched you he found himself enamored. Then, kissing you openly and ferociously because the drinks were flowing and your hand felt good on his cock through his jeans. Leaving him to suggest the bathroom stall. 

You weren't so bold, but he was tempting enough which made you laugh, and left a goofy smile on his face. 

Pope Cody has decided to start taking night classes to get his GED because he’s sick of Smurf making fun of his lack of education. He's not necessarily doing it in secret but he hasn't broadcasted anything to his family either. During the first class he squirms in his seat as the math instructor drones on, thinking about how much of a mistake this was. He’s just about to give up and leave when a young woman moves to the front of the classroom and introduces herself as the science instructor. You're not like the other teachers who seem worn and tired. You're bright and engaging and talking a lot with your hands in way Pope finds oddly charming. You're young, younger than Pope at least, and he can’t help but notice how pretty you are. You speak with so much enthusiasm that Pope can see other people sitting up straighter in their seats. You even asks the room a few questions which are met with some tentative mumbles and raised hands. The two instructors who go after you for the language arts and social studies seem all the more boring in comparison.

After all the instructors introduce themselves the math teacher explains the schedule: Math on Monday, Language Arts on Tuesday, Science on Wednesday, and Social Studies on Thursday. Fridays they hold a study hall led by each instructor in a rotation, each holding one study hall a month. As the math instructor goes over scheduling you stand and start passing around printed schedules with all this information on it, as well as each instructors email address. You give Pope a warm smile as you hand him the sheet, your fingers brushing for the briefest of moments. He quickly looks down trying to hide any reaction to your touch. The first night school meeting lasts a little less than an hour, you hold the door open for everyone as they shuffle out, offering little farewells to each person.

"See you Wednesday," you smile as Pope passes through the door but he drops his gaze to his boots as he exits the room.

The first Wednesday of the month Pope is buzzing. He drives a little too fast to Oceanside High School where the classes are held, going through yellow lights as if they're green. It's 5:45pm when he arrives and after a moment of deliberation he decided to go in early. He sees the light to the classroom is turned on as he approaches down the long, dark hallway. He lingers just past the threshold for a moment, you're sitting inside behind the big, wooden desk, you have on a little black vest, checkered pants, and bright red Mary Jane's. Your eyebrows are furrowed slightly and your foot bounces as you read over a paper in front of you with a green pen. Pope wonders what you're reading with such intensity and worries he might bother you if he goes in now. But just as he decides to back off and give you a minute his boot squeaks on the linoleum floor and you look up, right at him.

Pope is used to people reacting to him with fear so when you smile warmly, just like you did that first night, he's not really sure what to do.

"Hi!" You smile, "you can come in if you'd like. Early bird gets the- uh... pick of the seats," you scrunch your nose a little, like you're not sure why you said it like that. Pope just swallows a smile and walks into the room, sitting at a desk in the second row, right in front of you. You cap your pen and push the stack of papers you were pouring over to the side, introducing yourself.

"I'm Andrew," he says.

"It's nice to meet you, Andrew," you say and he loves the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth, "can I get your opinion on something?" you ask, doing the same little nose scrunch as before. God, that is adorable.

"Uh, sure," he says.

"Is it really lame if I ask everyone to make little name cards to put on the desk?" You say, your expression serious and contemplative, "I mean, I know we're all adults but I just hate to point at someone and be like 'you,' you know?"

"No, I-" Pope starts, stammer a little, utterly charmed by you, "I think it would be nice,"

"Ok," you say with a little smile, sitting up straighter in your chair, "I'll make one too,"

You bend over, grabbing a little stack of card stock from your bag and a small bundle of sharpies tied together with a rubber band. You and Pope stand at the same time, both taking a step towards each other.

"Oh," you say with a little laugh.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly as you hand him a marker and a card.

"No- no, you're fine," you say, backing towards your own seat, hip checking the desk by accident, "fuck-" your eyes go wide and your bring your hands up to your mouth like you'd just said something you shouldn't. You close you eyes, dropping your hands with a little laugh, "sorry, I spend all day with kids- I forget swearing isn't- yeah-"

"It's ok," Pope says, trying not to smile at you, "you a teacher?"

"Yeah, I teach here actually," you say, "science- well- obviously."

Pope only nods.

"What do you do during the daylight hours?" you say, writing your name down on your piece of card stock, "or- you don't have to say, if you don't want,"

"No- I-" he says, a small smile breaking through, "I work with my family. I do property management,"

"Is that nice? Working with your family?" You ask, sounding genuinely curious.

"Can be nice," Pope says, folding his little card stock with his name on it so it stands facing you. You seem utterly delighted at his little name card, folding yours so it stands the same way, "can also be... not nice,"

"All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," you say, nodding, before your eyes go wide again, "not that you- I didn't mean you're unhappy- that's just- Tolstoy- Anna Karenina- have you read Anna Karenina?"

"No," Pope says. He doesn't think he's ever heard of it, or whoever Tolstoy is.

"That's ok," you say, "it's not gonna be on the test. I don't think. You'd have to check with Ellen- she's- uh- she's the language arts instructor- you don't have to check-"

As you adorably bumble another student walks into the room. You seem a little relieved to be saved from your little off-the-rails tangent, greeting the woman with the same enthusiasm you had used for Pope. He slumps down in his seat an almost imperceptible amount. You were just doing your job, being nice to him is just part of it. Slowly the room fills up, about fifteen people total.

"Ok," you clap your hands, standing at the front of the room, "I just want to start by saying that I'm so happy you're all here. Education, at any point in life, is a noble pursuit, and you should each feel proud of yourself for pursuing it no matter the reason. I'm sure you all have different goals, and just being here to pass the test is a perfectly appropriate one, but if I had my wish your main takeaways from this class isn't just learning what to think but how to think. You probably won't need to know about cell division in your daily lives but we can use the subjects we'll cover to explore reasoning, critical thinking, problem solving, and lots of other practical uses..."

You continue your spiel talking about homework and practice tests and the curriculum but Pope mind lingers on what you said first... the math teacher certainly didn't give an uplifting speech on the value of learning and education. And it was so clear to him how terribly earnest you were being. You said all that stuff because you really believe it. He wonders why you were here, teaching night school. Of course it wasn't lost on him that a public school teachers salary doesn't exactly provide the means for a life of luxury. Could you really be here for the simple reason that you love teaching?

Pope hopes to find out.

cackling and squealing with laughter as your hands are covered in the dinner you’re making, and sammy’s grinding against you and dodging your pushes.

flipping you around by your hips to face him– trying to hit a high note and failing so terribly. “c’mon baby dance with me” “no, sammy! you’re so flat” “what?! flat?! stop lying and dance with your husband”

"i only have 5 minutes left," sammy groaned, his head thrown back against the seat as you sucked at his neck. by some grace of god, the both of you managed to have your lunch break at the same time so of course you had to make it count. all you could do was hum against his skin, teeth sinking a little bit before you were kissing right back up to his mouth. "just a little longer, please," you whined finally as you pulled back, a small faux pout on your lips as you stared back at him. his hair was an absolute mess from your hands constantly running through it, his collar was loose and tie was almost undone from your pulling at it, and your lipstick was everywhere.

his large hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs stroking your skin as he stared into your eyes. your lip only jutted out more at him, eyelashes batting over and over at him. he groaned loudly before he was pressing his lips back to yours, tongue immediately pushing into his mouth. you couldn't help the soft moan that left your mouth, your hands immediately going back to hold tightly onto his collar. this was such a common occurrence between the two of you. one kiss always turned to two, two kisses turned to three, and three turned into your tongues shoved down each other's throats. he could feel your hand slowly starting to drift down his chest, coming to stop right on his belt buckle.

sammy's large hand immediately wrapped around your wrist, pulling back from you. "no. i have to go," he spoke with narrowed eyes, a whine coming from your lips. "you can't do this to me! get me all excited then leave!" you huffed, your arms quick to cross over your chest which only caused him to laugh. he leaned over to press a soft kiss to your head before he was climbing out of the passenger seat of you car, making his way around to the driver's side. your window slowly rolled down as you continued to stare up at him, pout remaining. "can finish later. i love you," he mumbled, thumb reaching forward to wipe some of the lipstick that was smudged around your mouth. you couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him. he looked like he had been mauled by a wild animal.

"make sure you go straight to the bathroom and fix yourself up! you look rough," you called after him as he walked away, sammy simply blowing you a kiss as he shrugged. there's no way you did that much damage in those fifteen minutes. boy was he wrong. "jesus christ!" one of the officers was quick to yell as soon as sammy stepped in, everyone turning to look at where he stood. the room erupted in laughter and snickers, sammy's cheeks beginning to burn. "she tore you up," nate mumbled to sammy, struggling to keep his own laughter in at his partner. "shut it, it's not that bad," he shrugged, moving to glance at himself in the mirror. his jaw dropped a little as he turned his head back and forth to look at all the lip stick prints that littered his skin. "okay maybe a little overboard," he mumbled, quick to grab a napkin to wipe but it only smeared the makeup. they all continued to laugh at him, sammy's face only burning more with embarrassment. "everyone just laugh it up! at least my wife still wants to fuck me!" he finally shouted out, the laughter quickly dying down.

it was true. you still did want to fuck him. just at the most inconvenient times.