Everyone is talking about Fourth of July post and Iâm just thinking of the Big Three. The only Men I would ever let run a train on me fr. Pope Cody. Sammy Bryant. And of course Jack Abott. Ughhhh my mouth is literally salivating right now at the thought. I'm so mad that I cant fucking be with any of them fr. Anywho. Sorry for the late post I've been so busy, hope yall like!
The Cody's go completely overboard for the Fourth of July.
The second the sun started setting, Craig and Deran would already be hauling out boxes of fireworks that were definitely illegal, arguing over whose were bigger and who got to light theirs first. J would pretend he wasnât interested, only to immediately start helping set everything up, while Smurf sat back with a drink, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile.
Meanwhile, you would be tucked securely against Popeâs side on a blanket spread across the sand.
The beach would be loud. Music playing somewhere down the shoreline. People laughing. Fireworks already popping off in the distance. The smell of smoke hanging in the air. Yet somehow, wrapped up in Popeâs arm, everything felt quiet. Youâd watch as Craig lit another massive firework before taking off running.
âCraig!â Deran would yell. âMove your ass!â
The firework would explode a second later, sending both brothers into fits of laughter as they shoved one another.
Youâd laugh too, shaking your head.
Pope would grunt. âYeah.â
As another firework shot into the sky, you would instinctively lean closer to him. Not because you were scared. Just because you liked being close. His arm would tighten around your shoulders immediately.
Like second nature. Like he hadnât even thought about it. A loud crack would sound from somewhere down the beach. Popeâs eyes would immediately narrow.
âTheyâre too close.â
And before you could even argue, heâd be glaring at Craig. âBack it up.â
Craig would throw his hands into the air.
âCraig.â The warning in Popeâs voice would be enough.
Muttering under his breath, Craig would drag the next firework farther down the beach. Youâd smile into your cup. Protective didnât even begin to cover it.
Pope spent most of the night acting like everyone was one bad decision away from blowing themselves up.
Especially when it came to you. The second a spark landed too close to the blanket, he was brushing it away. The second someone suggested lighting multiple fireworks at once, he was already telling them no.
And every time a firework exploded overhead, painting the beach in flashes of red, blue, gold, and green, you found yourself looking at him instead. The colors caught in his eyes. Across the sharp line of his jaw. The small smile he tried to hide whenever he caught you staring.
âYou keep looking at me.â
His hand would slide up your back. Warm. Heavy. Possessive. Absolutely obsessed with you.
Youâd grin before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his mouth just as another firework burst overhead. The explosion would illuminate everything for a brief second.
The beach. The ocean. The smoke drifting through the air. How Pope would wrap you in his arms as he deepened the kiss, keeping you safe and warm in his embrace knowing damn well the minute you both got home he would devour you whole.
Which he absolutely did. Once home he waisted now time to have you face down, ass up. His big hands gripping your hips, pounding into you, balls slapping against your ass. His gaze remaining transfixed on your pouting, mumbling face through the mirror positioned in front of your bed. You were beyond fucking spent, the small little thong you had worn now torn and tossed across the room.
His chest shiny with a coat of sweat from all the work he was putting in. Your hands weakly gripping the sheets as your sickly sweat moans filled the room. He loved how pathetic you looked taking his fat cock. Loving how you just took him so fucking good.
"P-pope, i-its too much!" you cried, literal tears falling from your eyes as he fucked you. And he didn't wear condoms, so you could feel every little thing. Every little twitch and fucking vein in your pussy.
You felt so stuffed it made you feel dizzy. "Your okay sweetheart, just give in to me, come on," he grunted as he let his hands travel down to your puffy sensitive clit. Rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves. Your legs shaking profusely. "Cum for me, let me feel that tight pussy strangle this cock," he moaned. Fucking your poor pussy faster.
By the time he was done abusing your poor cervix with his bully of a cock, you remained on your stomach, legs no longer working as he had fucked out all your energy. Not that he cared much. He was too busy admiring how your pussy had to stretch and accommodate him. Loving how your pussy always had a small gape leaking his thick creamy cum.
He always felt so proud. Felt so acomplished.
âHappy Fourth of July, sweetheart.â
Sammy had been stressed about the Fourth of July for weeks.
Not because he cared much about the holiday itself, but because he knew exactly what it meant for LAPD.
The streets would be packed with idiots doing dumb shit. Drunk drivers. Illegal fireworks. Fights. Calls stacked on top of calls. And if things got bad enough, gang violence.
The Fourth was never a quiet shift.
Which meant there was a good chance he'd be working.
Years ago, that wouldn't have bothered him. After Tammi, holidays had become just another day on the calendar. He'd spend them alone, maybe order takeout, watch whatever was on TV, and enjoy the silence of his empty house.
He'd gotten used to being alone.
Then you came along and ruined that. Now he hated coming home to an empty house. Hated waking up without you. Hated spending days away from you.
Somewhere along the way, every holiday and every ordinary Tuesday started feeling like something he wanted to spend with you.
So about a week before the Fourth, he started asking around.
At first casually. Then not so casually. Then downright shamelessly.
He traded favors. Covered shifts. Asked supervisors. Asked coworkers. Asked people who probably had no authority to help him at all.
By the end of it, he was pretty sure everyone at the station knew he was desperately trying to get the holiday off.
And still, it wasn't looking good.
Every answer seemed to be the same.
Eventually he forced himself to accept it. He was going to work. There wasn't much he could do about it. Then, at the absolute last minute, everything changed. A schedule adjustment. A shift swap. A miracle.
Sammy didn't even care what happened or who he owed.
All he knew was that suddenly he had the Fourth off. The second he got home, he spotted you sitting outside on the grass.
You were stretched out beneath the evening sky, watching the first fireworks bloom overhead. Reds. Blues. Golds. Reflections dancing across your face as you looked up. Sitting peacefully on a small beach towel.
And just like that, every bit of stress from the past week disappeared.
Before you could even react, he was crossing the yard.
You barely had time to sit up before he dropped down on top of you, grabbed your face, and kissed you hard enough to make you laugh into his mouth.
"I got it off." His grin was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
The smile that spread across your face made every favor, every conversation, every embarrassing amount of begging worth it.
Because he knew you. You would've never complained if he'd had to work. Never guilted him. Never made him feel bad about missing the holiday.
You would've told him it was okay. Told him to be safe. Waited for him to come home.
That was just who you were.
Patient. Understanding. Grateful for every little thing he gave you, even when he wished he could give you more. It was one of the many reasons he loved you. So as another firework exploded overhead, painting the sky in bright streaks of color, Sammy couldn't help himself but to kiss down your neck excitedly.
"Sammy..." you giggled softly, while also tilting your head giving him more space to kiss. "Twenty minutesâ" he begged. You giggled again knowing that he was dead serious too. Not that it was much of a issue either, knowing that deep down you wanted the same thing.
Which is how you both ended up in the hallway to his room. Too hot and impatient to even make it to the room. Deciding the floor would just have to make do.
You on top, bouncing like a little bunny on his fat cock. Loving how he bullied your poor little pussy. How he would also thrust into you, eyes stuck on your bouncing tits. The perky-sensitive buds practically calling out his name to come suck them. His hands were gripping your ass as he helped move you on top of him. Your hands perched on his bare chest as you whined at how deep inside he was. It practically felt like he was in your throat. Which he was, not long before this.
The wet sounds of your combined bodies fill the house. The slick of a mess just leaking everywhere. It was so fucking filthy, both fucking on the floor, and how many times he had made you squirt on him, but both of you were too lust-filled to give a fuck.
Now, when you were both close to orgasms. âI-Iâ Sammy your too deep!â you cried out. âJust take it, baby. I k-know you can, come on, b-bunny, just hop on this dick. T-there you go, g-good bunny!â
Your face fell into a small pout, growing tired, but your orgasm was so close, closer than you even anticipated. Before you even knew it, you were cumming all over him, walls clenching around his fat cock as your legs shook profusely.
Your cries and moans sounding one of a pornstar. His orgasm followed quickly behind yours. His lips fell open as he thrust one final time deep into your small little cunt.
When you were both coming down from your highs, he looked up at you with a small, crooked smile as he tucked a frizzy strand of hair behind your ear. âHappy Fourth of July, Bunny.â
You knew there wasn't a chance in hell you'd actually get to spend the Fourth of July with Jack. Not all of it, anyway. Not when he worked in an emergency department.
If anything, holidays like the Fourth practically guaranteed he'd be at the hospital. People were stupid on a normal day. Give them alcohol, fireworks, and a day off work, and somehow they managed to become even worse.
It was disappointing at first. Truly.
You would've loved nothing more than spending the day with him. Laying around together in the morning, grilling food later in the afternoon, and watching fireworks paint the night sky in bursts of red, blue, and gold.
But that wasn't reality. Jack would be working. Still, that didn't mean you couldn't find ways around it. Which was exactly why you found yourself awake before sunrise. The apartment was still quiet as you slipped from bed and padded into the kitchen. If you couldn't spend the whole day with him, then you could at least start it with him.
So you got to work. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. The good kind, too. The fluffy ones. You even warmed up the syrup. By the time you were finished, the kitchen smelled amazing. You were just setting everything on the table when you heard movement behind you.
His eyes immediately landed on the food. Then on you. Then back on the food. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What's all this?"
You rolled your eyes. "Happy Fourth of July."
Jack glanced down at the spread before looking back at you. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he stepped forward, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pressed a kiss against the side of your head.
A quiet thank you. The kind that meant more coming from him than a hundred words ever could.
When he finally pulled away, he grabbed a plate and immediately started loading it up. You couldn't help but smile. Because if there was one thing you knew about Jack Abbott, it was that the man absolutely loved a good breakfast.
Which is exactly why he immediately had to go for seconds. Which just so happened to be you on your back, lying on the bed as your legs dangled over his back while he lapped hungrily at your very sensitive opening. Soft moans and cries leaving your lips as your stomach tightened in pleasure.
Jack still had a shift later that evening, but there were a few hours left before he had to head to the hospital, and the two of you were determined to make the most of them.
So you wandered. No real destination in mind. Just enjoying the warm weather and the energy that seemed to fill every street. People were outside decorating porches with flags and streamers. Families hauled coolers out of their cars. Music drifted from open backyards while the smell of barbecue carried through the air.
Everywhere you looked, people were preparing for the holiday. But what caught your attention the most was the children.
Kids ran up and down the sidewalks with sparklers that hadn't even been lit yet, pretending they were magic wands. Others chased each other through sprinklers set up on front lawns, their laughter carrying halfway down the block. Little poppers snapped against the concrete as excited squeals followed immediately after.
You watched all of it with a soft smile. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always noticed. His gaze shifted from the children to you. "You've been staring at them for like ten minutes."
You looked over at him. "They're cute."
"They're sticky,â he corrected.Â
You just laughed. "They're having fun."
You rolled your eyes before looking back toward the group of kids racing across a lawn. One little girl couldn't have been older than five. She was running around waving a tiny flag with so much enthusiasm that she nearly tripped over her own feet.
The sight made you smile even wider. You'd always had a soft spot for kids. Jack had figured that out pretty quickly. You were the type of person who waved at babies in grocery stores. The type who offered to watch a friend's children without being asked. The type who somehow knew how to get shy kids talking within minutes.
You genuinely liked being around them. Especially during holidays. There was something about the way children experienced the world that you loved.
Everything was exciting. Everything was magical. The decorations. The food. The fireworks. The anticipation. They felt it all with such genuine enthusiasm that it was impossible not to get swept up in it.
Jack glanced over and saw the way your eyes followed the children. The way you smiled whenever one of them laughed. The way your entire face seemed to soften. And suddenly a thought crossed his mind. A dangerous thought.
One that had absolutely no business being there. You with a child on your hip. You sitting at a backyard barbecue helping a little girl untangle a ribbon. You kneeling down to tie a little boy's shoe. His child. The thought appeared so suddenly that it caught him completely off guard.
Which is exactly why, when you two had gone home, he pumped and pumped loads of his cum into your small tight little hole, each and every single time nuzzling as deep as possible into your cervix. Not that it would do much of anything in reality, you were on birth control. But it was fun to think and pretend like you could get pregnant. Belly round and swollen with his child.
How he would collect all the leaking cum from your small pussy and shove it back inside of you. Admiring how puffy and pink and just perfect your pussy was. He could honestly stare at it all day.
"I want you plump and round, so I need you to keep this in baby," he would tell you as he would put the cum in you again, only making it leak back out from how over stuffed you were.
By the time there were only two hours left before Jack had to leave for work, the mood had shifted.
Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else would've noticed. But you did. You could see it in the way he kept checking the time. In the way his smile didn't linger quite as long. In the way he seemed just a little quieter than before.
He was dreading it. Not because he didn't want to work. Jack was a doctor. He understood that people needed him. He understood that holidays didn't stop emergencies from happening.
That didn't mean he had to like it. Because if he had it his way, he'd be spending the evening with you.
Curled up on the couch. Sitting outside together. Watching fireworks burst across the sky while arguing over which colors were the best.
Anything but spending the night in a crowded emergency department full of burns, broken bones, and people who thought lighting explosives in their hands was a good idea.
But wishing wasn't going to change reality. So instead of dwelling on it, you decided to do what you did best. You distracted him. The moment he asked what you were doing rummaging through the pantry, you simply pointed toward the living room. "Go sit down."
His eyes narrowed immediately. "That's never a good sign."
Jack stared at you for a moment before shaking his head and walking away. "You get bossier every day."
You smiled to yourself as you pulled ingredients onto the counter. Truthfully, it had worked out perfectly. The little cookie jar you'd bought him a few weeks ago was nearly empty anyway. Which meant it was the perfect excuse to bake. A fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies quickly became the plan.
Then, because you knew him far too well, you decided to make a few glazed cookies too. Just a small batch. His favorites. The kitchen soon filled with the smell of butter, vanilla, and warm sugar. And, unsurprisingly, Jack found his way back in. You didn't even have to look up to know he was standing in the doorway.
You laughed. "Supervising?"
"Making sure you don't burn the apartment down. You almost melted a spatula last month." You rolled your eyes and pointed your spoon at him. "Get out."
Instead, he walked closer. His attention immediately landed on the cooling rack. "Are those glazed?"
You gasped. "They're not done yet."
"So stop trying to steal them."
"You absolutely were." The corner of his mouth twitched. Neither of you believed that for a second. A few minutes later, you caught him reaching for one anyway.
And despite the shift hanging over his head and the fact that he'd be leaving soon, seeing him standing in your kitchen trying to steal cookies somehow made everything feel a little lighter.
It especially helped that you had given him a small reward in return for being so patient and not stealing the cookies.
Which was you on your knees cock deep in your mouth, as tear streaks ran down your cheek. Him now wanting to give you his own special recipe for a homemade glaze. His hand in your hair as he gripped your scalp, pushing you a little bit deeper as you gagged at the feel of his so deep down in your throat.Â
You looked up at him with those same beautifully desperate eyes, core dripping with want. Mouth none stop working on him. Saliva dripping down your chin. Making a absolute mess of him.
Just the way he liked it. Messy and beautiful.
âBest fucking Fourth ofâshitâJ-july,â he moaned as he came in your mouth, your hand squeezing his leg tightly. Nails pressing into his thick thighs, definitely leaving marks later.
