Pope Cody?

In a backwards hat?

“Honey??? What’s goin’ on? You hurt?” You know it’s silly to cry over something that can be fixed, but you just have a hard time with things like this; inconveniences that throw your day off. You don’t like the unexpected, which you realize is ironic because that’s just life. But Sammy’s always there to get you through it.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m s-sorry Sammy. I’m just rattled. I was panicking trying to get all the way over and I’m going to be late for work and-“

“Oh baby it’s alright, you handled it great. Jus’ glad you’re safe. And I will have the Chief of fucking Police call your work if I need to, honey bee.”

You’re getting a pedicure when you realize you forgot your wallet. You call Sammy and ten minutes later in he walks, full uniform, black aviators perched on his nose. He walks over to your chair, earning an ‘Oooh!’ from the other women getting their nails done. You giggle watching Sammy blush under their praise at the good man he is. He hands you his American Express out of his wallet, and cash for the tip.

“Thank you Sammy,” you coo.

“Course baby,” he smiles. He leans down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. He turns to the other women. “You ladies behave now,” he smiles, all the ladies just fawning over his goofy charm.

You tell Sammy about the creep at your work who keeps inviting you out for drinks, despite you telling him politely - multiple times - that you’re happily married. And this morning, he cornered you in the parking garage on your way into work.

“He what???” Sammy is fucking seething. He’s seeing red. He wants to knock this guy on his ass. “Did he touch you? I swear to God baby if he laid a finger on you, I’m breaking his fuckin’ hands,” he growls. He’s pacing around the living room as you sit, eyes puffy and pouty lip quivering, on the couch with Richter in your lap. You’re scratching him mindlessly behind his ear as Sammy talks himself down from driving to the guy’s house right now.

“No, no he didn’t. Fortunately Tess arrived right when he was getting too close, and saw what was happening. She came up and grabbed me to talk about a nonexistent meeting she made up. But it still scared me,” you said. Sammy‘a eyes soften and he moves to sit next to you. He puts a warm hand on each shoulder, rubbing your arms up and down soothingly.

the arrangement between the two of you is simply to let off some steam after a difficult shift. it isn’t uncommon for you to end up in park’s bed at the end of the day, and it’s only recently you’ve started spending the night and waking up to the smell of fresh coffee wafting through his penthouse apartment in the morning.

things get a little too real when he offers to drive you to work. you laugh and tell him you’re sure you’ll be fine, but park feels something deflate in his chest. defeated, he nods and doesn’t say anything else.

when park has to come down to the ED and finds you talking to a resident who’s a little too close to you for park’s liking, his jaw clenches as he watches you flirt shamelessly. even as he reminds himself that you aren’t his, he stalks back up to the OR with a newfound frustration that causes him to snap at his residents.

“dinner. tonight.”

you look up to find park standing over the desk you’re charting at.

“what happened to hi, hello, how are you?” you joke. “i’m sure we can get takeout on the way—“

“i made us a reservation.”

you gape at him, “you did what?”

“see you at seven.”

Sammy Bryant is just the kind of guy who can never keep his hands off his girl. From the moment he sees you it’s like a switch in his brain, prioritizing touch and proximity above all else, loves to cop a feel wherever possible—doesn’t matter whose around. The moment he’s in through the door from work, languid with exhaustion he’s beside himself to find you bent over the kitchen counter, a sweet smile spread across your face while you speak into your phone. A friend, a colleague, he wasn’t sure, frankly—he didn’t really care. Eyes draping over the arch of your spine, dancing onto your tip toes with each lilted giggle that passed your pretty lips. He’s loosening his tie coming around the kitchen island, palm sliding against your hip and around to press to your tummy while his thick frame encases yours, front pressed to the soft dip of your spine, hips hunching against the supple curve of your ass to relieve the ache restrained beneath his slacks, hard cock pressed against the zipper seam. He’s pressing slow open mouth kisses to the soft line of your jaw, your open mouth stilting pants from travelling through the phone line, fidgeting back against him to feel the hard outline of his cock digging into the back of your thigh, “Hang up the phone.” “What? Oh, nothing, what were you saying?” “Come on, hang up the phone, baby.” “Um—yeah, I—ah—sorry, I thought I heard someone at the door,” you excuse pathetically, looking back at Sammy scandalized when you feel his thumbs hook into the soft fabric hem of your lounge shorts, slipping down your legs in a heap at your ankles with your panties.