Summary: Andrew's girlfriend volunteers to be Lena's camp counselor. During a secret, late night meet up at the edge of the woods, she confesses a dark fantasy to him. Andrew fulfills it.
Content: +18 MDNI, established relationship, codependent tendencies from both pope and reader, size difference, slasher summer vibes, unprotected piv, dry humping, semi-public sex, fingering, oral f! and m!receiving, choking, facefucking, finger sucking, masked sex, knife play, predator/prey primal play, dacryphilia, pussy slapping, fem edging, bondage with zipties, rough sex, creampie, aftercare
Note: this is part two of of my fic sweetheart but can be read as a stand alone!! just written with the same shy freaky reader in mind! i hope you enjoy this new edition to the sweetheartverse <3
WC: 9.5k
[masterlist][AO3]
You are, single-handedly, the best thing to ever happen to Andrew Cody.
And he's painfully aware of it that day you pick up the phone to selflessly put an end to his anxiety. You don't hesitate or think twice. You see a solution even at the expense of yourself and you don't consider anything else.
The first week that school is out, Lena mentions summer camp no less than twenty times. So, Smurf finds one just out of town and signs her up.
She doesn't think about all the problems Lena's had with other kids this year. She doesn't think about the fact that they'd be dropping her off in the middle of nowhere with kids she's never met in her life.
They might be mean. They might exclude her or laugh at her or pull awful pranks. And no one would know until the four weeks were up, until summer camp was over, until she'd already endured it.
Andrew confesses his fears to you late one night, and the following morning he wakes to you making breakfast in the kitchen with your cellphone pressed to your ear, talking animatedly.
And when you're done, you tell him that you'd signed up to be a counselor at the camp Lena's going to. "So she has someone looking out for her," you explain.
Four weeks of your life, stuck in the middle of the woods with a handful of kids, all to protect Lena. All to give Pope a little bit of respite.
He doesn't understand what he did to deserve you, his sweetheart, but he promises to keep you. Happy, safe, satisfied—to keep you his.
The ache starts the moment you step out of his truck, encumbered by your duffel bag and Lena's backpack.
And even though you look back at him over your shoulder as you walk to the camp office building, hand in hand with his niece—even though you stop completely to run back to him for one last kiss, much to Lena's disgust—Andrew misses you the second you're gone.
He tries to busy himself by cleaning your shared room and color coding your dresser drawers. He pulls small jobs with his brothers and runs a few errands for Smurf and hires a new pool cleaner.
But the loneliness begins to suffocate by the second night.
He wasn't used to this. To the absence of your hand around his elbow, to the lack of warmth from your breath whenever you hid your face behind his shoulder, to the silence that presses in on him late at night.
He misses your quiet giggles and your whispered questions and the weight of your hand in his.
He misses the way you look up at him with wide eyes from down on your knees and the way you roll around restlessly in his sheets every night before finally giving up and admitting, "I can't sleep."
And he'll smile and kiss you sweetly and say, "I know, sweetheart. Take your shirt off."
Pope hadn't realized just how reliant he was on his nighttime routine of fucking you to sleep until he no longer could.
Sure, he could stroke himself to the gallery of photos he has of you split open on his cock, but it's not the same. It's not the same, and sleep evades him the same way it used to before he'd met you.
Before he'd been absolved of his sins by the sweetest little girl. Before you'd stuck your fingers between his ribs and taken hold of his twisted and mangled heart for yourself; without flinching, without hesitance—only a claiming.
And now you were gone, loving him in a different way, a way he had never experienced before.
On the third day, Craig is the first to point it out.
Pope is sitting in the same pool lounger you always lay on. His spine is straight and he doesn't speak, he only stares at the glimmers of reflection in the aquamarine waters.
"Dude," Craig says, lifting a joint to his lips and cupping his hands around the end to light it. "You've gotta get a hobby or somethin' man. I've got a girl coming over in twenty minutes, you can't just sit here all creepy and woeful cause you haven't gotten any pussy in a few days."
Andrew's lip curls. "Don't say that."
His brother shrugs dramatically. "Well, man. I'm just being honest. We're all thinking it, I'm just the one saying it."
"Saying what?"
"That this—" Craig sweeps his hands outwards, motioning to Pope and the state he's in. "It's not healthy. She's a real sweetheart and you love her, I get it. But this, like, codependency you've got going on is just sad, bro. Seriously."
Andrew doesn't respond, but the words stick with him.
He gets in his truck and drives himself to Deran's bar, knowing there's probably a hundred and one things to clean in the kitchen. A hundred and one things that will keep his mind busy.
But while he's reorganizing the back stock, he can't help but think about Craig's little speech.
Codependent?
Andrew Cody. Codependent.
No, he thinks. It's not that bad, is it?
Sure, he misses you. And yeah, it's hard to sleep without you. And he might be going a little stir crazy, not being about to take care of you in his day-to-day routines, but…codependent?
He's drinking a beer, sitting at the bar at the end of the night while Deran resets the register and wipes down the countertop one final time. Pope stares hard at his brother and carefully asks, "Do you think I'm…codependent?"
"Craig talk to you?"
The clarifying question comes immediately, and it does nothing to soothe his concerns. Andrew just levels his stare.
Deran lets out a sigh and says, "Uh…I wouldn't use the word codependent. Isn't that, like, a one sided thing?"
When Andrew speaks, the words come out monotone and rehearsed. "A codependent is someone who forms a dysfunctional, one sided relationship by prioritizing another persons needs over their own, often enabling harmful behaviors."
His brother stares blankly at him.
"I looked it up."
Deran sighs deeply and mulls over the definition for a moment, silence hanging between them while he counts the twenties in his hand. "I guess…maybe it's more like separation anxiety or something," Deran says. "You know, like a dog gets without it's owner."
"That's not helpful."
"You asked," he counters with a shrug.
Pope drops the subject.
And it doesn't matter, anyway. Because an hour later he gets a phone call from an unknown number and when he answers it, the sweetest voice speaks.
"Andrew?"
"Sweetheart? You okay? What's wrong?"
"I…I'm sorry for calling so late, but…"
He can hear it, even through the phone. The anguish in you. Pope hates it. Hates it so much that the words are rushed and desperate as they spill from his mouth. "Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it, okay? Talk to me."
A ragged sound leaves you, an almost-sob. "I—I can't sleep. I need to see you, to kiss you, to…please."
Oh—sweet girl. He knows what you need, even if you're a little shy with the asking. He knows because he needs it, too.
Pope's been fantasizing about this exact scenario for the last forty eight hours. So when he gives instructions, they're crystal clear.
"There's a…a trail. Into the woods, a little bit away from that cabin on the east side of the property, do you know which one I'm talking about?"
He's already got his keys in hand, halfway to his truck before you answer. "They call it Cabin Frog."
It makes Andrew laugh. He'd gone in the middle of the night two days before he'd dropped you and Lena off to scope the place out, and he does recall the cartoonish frog painted on the front door.
"Yeah, that's the one," he says, the faintest trace of amusement still in his voice. "Want you to take that trail through the woods, alright? All the way. It's gonna feel like you're walking a real long time, but once you get to the end you'll be at the side of that winding road we took to get to the camp."
"And you'll be waiting for me there?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," he answers gently. "Of course I will be."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart."
By the time you hang up, Pope's almost out of Oceanside. The bustle of the city falls away behind him, allowing for the tall, towering trees to replace the lights.
He likes it out here. Thinks about one day finding some land away from all the chaos and noise and building a home for you there. Someplace that doesn't belong to his brothers or his mother. Someplace that's just yours.
But maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe he's just excited and eager for the first time in days, fueled by the promise of seeing you.
Pope arrives at your spot before you do. He parks his truck on the shoulder of the empty street and gets out.
With his arms folded and his back pressed to the passenger door, he waits. It doesn't take long, though. He hears crunching leaves and cracking sticks beneath your feet seconds before you emerge from the darkness of the brush.
And the moment you see him, you melt into yourself. Shoulders relaxing, a long held sigh leaving your pretty mouth. You're dressed in nothing more than a pair of pajama shorts and one of Pope's old t-shirts.
That tightness in his chest dissipates right then and there. The tension bleeds from his muscles and everything settles in him as you run up the small, grassy bank at the side of the road and throw yourself into his waiting arms.
Pope smiles. For the first time in what feels like a long time. He smiles and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of you deep into his lungs. "Oh, sweetheart," he muses, hands squeezing you tight.
"I missed you so much," you mumble, face pressed into the crook of his neck.
Pope feels the wetness of your tears against his freckled skin and pulls back just enough to see your face. "Hey, don't cry. M'right here. Okay? I've got you."
His sweet girl.
When he slips his big hands beneath your shirt, pressed to the small of your back, it's not a sexual caress but instead a grounding one. Feeling the softness of your skin, warming the cold away with his heat.
Pope opens the passenger door of his truck, brackets a hand around your waist, and sets you on the edge of the leather seat. He pushes your knees apart to make room for him between them and rests his head against your chest.
He hears the steady thumping of your heart and feels himself finally, finally relax.
You card your fingers through his hair, messing up the structure of the ambery curls. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and he can't help the low groan that leaves him, the sound vibrating against your sternum.
When you tug lightly to pull his head back and press your mouth to his, he can taste the desperation on your tongue.
Andrew reaches up and grips your face just beneath your chin, holding you in place to lick into your mouth. He's moaning already, sounds mirrored in you, wanting to be impossibly closer.
Your hands grow fevered and he matches your every movement, fingertips pressing into the softness of your hips and the curve of your jaw.
He takes you right then and there; pushes your legs up to your chest and sinks his cock deep inside.
It feels like relief, like forgiveness, like coming home.
Andrew hadn't realized just how much he longed for the taste of your mouth. A craving satisfied only by your sweet sighs against his lips.
Even when he's finished, when he pumps you full of his release, he stays fully seated inside you. Not moving but simply feeling you, pulsing around his cock, sensitive and alive and his.
He traces the features of your face and feels like he'd taken his time with you for granted before. This closeness, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips—he hated being without it.
After some time, he helps clean you up with napkins from the glove box and climbs into the cab of the truck with you.
Only then, when you've got your head in his lap, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, does he ask, "How's Lena?"
"She's good," you answer, sleepy grin widening. "I think she's having a lot of fun. And there's this girl her age—Caitlin. They've been making friendship bracelets the last few days. So many of them they're halfway up her arm now."
Hearing it makes Pope crack a smile. She deserves it. After the rough year she's had, he finds peace in knowing she's at least having fun and being a kid for a few weeks the way she should be. "Thank you," he says, voice quiet and a little melancholic.
"For what?"
"For taking care of her," he answers. "And me."
You reach for his hand at your hip and take it in yours. Pope lets you move his fingers of your own will, flattening them before placing them against the side of your cheek. "I love you, Andrew," you say.
It makes his chest pull tight. It's different when you say it. Not like when Smurf tells him she loves him, not like his brothers.
It's painfully different, because it's something you choose.
Even knowing all you know about him and his family, even seeing all you've seen, the things he's never been able to fully shield you from—you still choose him.
He brushes his knuckles against the side of your cheek. And because he doesn't quite know how to explain his own devotion, he says, "I'd do anything for you. Anything."
Andrew means it. Lie or cheat or steal or kill. Anything.
But you don't ask for much. You never do. Just his time and his affection. "Will you rub my back? I haven't been sleeping very well without you."
He nods, eyes shining bright with adoration. You turn on your side with your head still in his lap, and Andrew spends the next several hours stroking his hand lazily up your spine.
Not sleeping, because he doesn't want to miss this precious time with you. Holding his sweetheart close, smelling the scent of your shampoo and the cedar of the trees.
He wakes you a little before sunrise, giving you just enough time that you can sneak back onto the camp's property and back into your cabin undetected.
But before you go, you press your forehead to his and give him that pretty, warm smile of yours. You brush your noses together and peck his lips and say, "Same time tomorrow night, okay?"
"I'll be here," Andrew says.
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart."
This time, when the sun begins to set, Andrew brings a few things with him. He's in less of a rush because there's a routine created now that he can expect.
He's got blankets laid out in the truck bed and a cooler full of your favorite snacks and your favorite movie downloaded on his phone. Everything to make you comfortable, to keep you coming back through the woods every night to find him.
Craig is the first to notice the change.
They're both standing in the kitchen. Pope is making himself something to eat and Craig and Deran are piling leftovers from yesterday onto plates and popping the caps off a couple of beers.
Craig offers one to Pope, and even though it's only eleven in the morning he takes it. Because he's got no where to be until nightfall, and the weather is nice enough out today that he won't be scorched by the sun. He could use a little time to unwind.
His brother's eyes widen in surprise when he takes the bottle from his hands. "You're in a good mood today," he says.
Andrew just shrugs. Knows good and well what's gotten him out of the slump he was in, but doesn't want to give either of his brothers another reason to believe he's codependent. "What? I can't just be in a good mood?"
Deran narrows his eyes and lifts his beer to his mouth. "Seriously, man. Something must've changed."
Whatever relaxation Andrew had hoped for disappears with the conversation at hand. "Stop," he says simply. He wants to argue, but has no ground to stand on that wouldn't collapse under the smallest amount of pressure.
So, Pope leaves it. Gathers his perfectly made sandwich and his beer and leaves the kitchen, trying to ignore the look of concern on their faces.
He chooses not to speak when he overhears Craig saying confusedly, "Therapy, maybe?"
It doesn't matter to him what they think. Not when he shows up on the side of the empty road each night to you bouncing on the balls of your feet, more excited to see him than anyone else has ever been.
So, yeah—maybe he's a little codependent. But none of that matters when you tilt your head back to smile up at him.
None of that matters when you're sitting in his lap, kissing his cheeks and nose and forehead, feverishly rocking your hips against his thigh and making a big wet mess on the denim of his jeans.
Pretty, desperate girl. Always so needy for him, never fully satisfied. And of course Andrew understands, because he's just as insatiable for you.
He does start to wonder if maybe it's a little perverse, though. What he's doing to you.
It clicks in his brain one night when you emerge from the trees in nothing but a bikini top and a pair of jean shorts. The ends of your hair are wet, and when he tilts his head curiously you explain, "The camp counselors had a swim race tonight. And guess what."
Andrew struggles to guess much of anything because he can't stop staring. Rivulets of water still drip down the center of your chest, just between your breasts that are held up beautifully by the polyester ribbon tied behind your neck. When he speaks it's a single word and it's low and slow and raspy, eyes locked on yours. "What?"
"I won! Fastest swimmer out of everyone. Lena was so happy. Seeing her giggling and jumping around—God, Andrew. She's so cute."
"You're cute," he says. "Come here."
And you do, of course. Let him pull you in by the belt loops on your shorts, talking and giggling all the while. So excited to recount your whole day to him that you hardly notice what he's doing until you're on the hood of his car and he's pulling your shorts down your legs and pushing your shoulders back.
It hits him then. With his head between your legs, staring up at you to watch your nipples pebble beneath your bikini. The rubber soles of your high top sneakers make little scuff marks on the black chrome paint as you writhe under the gentle ministrations of his tongue against your clit.
Andrew Cody's got the sweetest, filthiest girl in the palm of his bloodied hands. Wrapped real tight around his finger.
A sweetheart who'd do just about anything for him, and here he is indulging your every whim when in truth he should be protecting you. From himself especially. From the raging monster that lives between his ribs, from the guard dog he'd been molded into by the harsh edges of his life.
Andrew's too weak, though. Could never in a million fucking years deny you anything.
Especially when you set those cute little sneakers over his shoulders and beg so prettily, "Please, Andrew—more. Want you to be—hmm—be mean to me, make it—oh, god. Want you to make it hurt."
And he will, of course. Shoving your legs against your chest, squeezing the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise.
Later in the month, nearly through the final week of your new routine now, the thought crosses Andrew's mind again.
He wonders if the state of your desires has been subconsciously shaped by him. Wonders if maybe, somehow, that darkness inside has started to seep out of his heart and stain your sweet one.
Andrew's given the opportunity to confess these worries to you late one night in the back of his truck. He's got you tucked tight beneath his arm, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the muscle of his pectoral, right over his heart. "Can I…ask you something?"
You turn your head to look up at him. "Anything. Always."
He chews nervously on the inside of his bottom lip, mulling over how he can approach the subject without coming across insecure, despite the fact that he is.
"Do you…you don't…pretend to like the things we do for—for me, do you?"
A crease forms between your brows, and you prop yourself up on an elbow to fully look at him now. "What do you mean?"
Pope swallows hard, casting his eyes away, feeling suddenly as shy as you get around anyone other than him. "When we…when I…hurt you," he says. "You're not asking for those things just because I want them, right?"
"Andrew, what?"
"I just want to make sure I'm not changing you or….or corrupting you." He takes your face gently in his hands, stroking his fingers softly over your cheek. "You're so—so good. Such a sweetheart. And I'm…"
You wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling him away. It feels like a loss, like rejection, and he can feel his heart beginning to crack clean in two.
But then you look him right in the eye, voice more sure than he's ever heard it.
"I want you, Andrew. Not half of you. Not parts of you." You lean up further, on your knees now, a surety in your movements. "Do you…does it bother you? That I want those things?"
"No—no. Not at all. I…" The words get caught, stuck in his throat, horrified and exhilarated all at once to be so honest about the part of himself he's been taught to hate. The part of himself he knows is bad. Andrew is terrified of losing you, of scaring you.
But even as shy as you are, often hiding your face behind his shoulder, voice always timid and unsure, with this you seem certain. Unwavering.
With him, you've always opened your chest fully, willingly, your heart a soft feast for the darkness inside him.
And what is a man who's been denied softness at every turn of his life to do but devour it?
"Pope."
He stops, the spiral in his mind going quiet.
Not Andrew, but Pope. The worst of him. A name given to a boy with blood beneath his fingernails, a boy who'd already been molded.
You take his big hand in yours and bring it to the side of your neck, pressing his thumb just over your steady pulse.
His own heart hammers, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to realize you deserve better than this. Softer than this.
When you speak, the words are a whisper. A secret meant for him only. "I want you to violate me."
And because it's you who asks—his soft spoken, timid little sweetheart, who's never once flinched at the hard grip of his bloodied hands or shown an ounce of fear at a glimpse into what lives inside him—Pope does it.
Unleashes the worst of himself and lets his fingers tighten around your pretty neck. He presses you down and crawls on top of you, knees bracketing the top of your ribcage. Your hands come to steady themselves on the big expanse of his thighs, and the touch is so gentle that it grounds him. Helps him stay in the moment, reminding him that this is what you want.
Pope's hand on your throat moves up your jaw, cradling your face. He circles the shape of your mouth with the rough pad of his thumb, squishing your pretty lips beneath the pressure. "You have such a sweet mouth," he murmurs, his eyes dark and molten. "D'you know that?"
You can't answer, because he's shoving two fingers behind your teeth before you can inhale again. Your tongue swirls around them, between each digit, moaning around the thickness of his knuckles. He pushes them in deeper, deeper, until you're choking and gasping for air.
Pope doesn't pull them out, not right away. He lets those tears well in your eyes, lets your fingers flex at his thighs, nails scratching against the rough denim. But not once do you look afraid.
Instead, your glassy eyes hold a certain sort of magic in them.
When he does finally pull back, Pope's fingers come away slick and glossy with your saliva. You greedily suck in lungfuls of air that he'd denied you, lips turning up at the corners, forming the happiest looking smile he's ever seen.
Pope unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out, already hard and aching. He grips the back of your neck and guides himself between your swollen lips, letting out a sigh of relief when you swallow him down.
Your mouth is soft and smooth, warm velvet around him, tongue gentle but seeking as you swirl it around the tip. He pushes himself to the back of your throat, humming when you choke on his length.
His other hand joins the first, cradling the back of your head, holding you firmly in place so that when he snaps his hips forward your mouth stays in perfect position.
It doesn't take long. Pope fucks your mouth with reckless abandon. Violates you, just like you'd asked. When your eyes go all cloudy, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe. To let the oxygen return to your blood cells, groaning low at the way his cock looks covered in your spit, webs of it clinging to his length and snapping against your lips.
Pope slides himself back into your mouth, down your warm throat, until your nose is pressed up against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock.
He steals your air and you stare up at him with so much adoration in your eyes that it makes his heart constrict. He's never felt a love like this—unconditional and absolute. His own devotion met with equal and devastating totality.
That familiar coil winds tight around his spine, and before he can stop himself Pope is spilling his release at the back of your mouth with a heavy groan.
You swallow him down until he's finished, his cock twitching between your lips. And when he finally pulls out, assessing the fucked out state of you, guilt begins to creep up around the edges of his psyche.
But then you giggle and wipe the back of your hand across your messy, spit-covered mouth, and Pope can't help but mirror the sound.
You cling tight to him for the remainder of the night, and Andrew presses gentle kisses to every inch of exposed skin he can reach with your head on his chest.
It makes him a little sad when sunrise comes and you have to leave him again, but the feeling is soothed by knowing you only do so only to protect Lena.
Still, the final week comes as blessed relief.
On Tuesday night, you come bounding out of the treeline more excited than usual. There's a wide grin on your face as you fall into his embrace, arms wrapped tight around his neck.
"You're in a good mood," he observes, hands resting against the small of your back.
"Mhm. After we put the kids to bed today all the adults got together to watch a movie. A scary one. You wanna know what it was?"
Andrew opens the passenger door of his truck for you, relieved just to hear your voice. "Tell me."
"It was Friday the 13th. You know, the one where the killer goes around and murders all the camp counselors."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't that scary. Some of it was even a little silly. But…there was this one part."
Andrew helps you up onto the leather seat in the cab and stands tall between your knees. He urges, "What part?"
"Well, it just…"
He sees it happen in real time; that slight embarrassment taking hold of you. You twist your fingers in your lap, fidgeting nervously. "Just what, sweetheart?"
Bashfully, you admit, "It got me thinking of you."
And he knows, before you even explain, that this particular scene had you thinking of what he does to you. Pope wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, breath growing a little slower. "Did it?"
"Mhm." You nod. "The killer is, like…super strong. He's tall and broad and big, you know? Like you are."
Andrew feels his face heat when you say it. "Big, huh?"
You giggle softly and press your forehead against his chest that is, in fact, big and broad. Corded with muscle beneath a masculine softness.
He nudges you back up with a shoulder. "Keep going," he says. "I'm still listening."
Your eyes shine brightly when your gaze finds his. When you continue, your voice is just a little lower, quieter—but that shy smile still persists. "He wears this hockey mask, too. Which got me thinking about that mask you wore for that one job—the one I helped with, remember?"
"Mhm."
"And the killer, he was…well, he was chasing one of the camp counselors through the woods. And it was late at night, and the actress was wearing the same shoes as me."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Same color and everything. And then she trips, and he catches her of course—"
"Well, of course."
You laugh at his dry attempt at a joke. "Of course. But then…I don't know. He has…he carries this big knife with him, too. Like a machete kinda. And…" You swallow hard, raise your index finger to his neck, and slide it across the crease in his skin. "He holds it to her, you know? Right here. And she looks so scared but…I don't think…if it were me. If it were…you."
Andrew picks it up then, what you're inadvertently asking him for. He knows you. Knows his sweetheart like the back of his hand, in fact. Can hear your desires even before you form the words around them. "You don't think you'd be scared? If I chased you through the woods and held a knife to your throat?"
Your breath stutters when he puts it plainly. But you don't speak, you just slowly shake your head.
He asks, holding eye contact so he'll know if you lie, "S'that what you want me to do to you?"
"I think…maybe…" You sigh, trying to fight of your shy demeanor. "Yes."
Truthfully, he's not sure what to make of it right away. Because Andrew would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before. Or an adjacent thing, anyway. Chasing you down, tying you up. Seeing that look in your eye when you're not sure what happens next. Seeing just how far he could push, seeing how much he could take.
But it's all only fantasy. Buried beneath his own shame, his own guilt, practicing the learned behavior of suppression. Because it's you, and he's fire holding fragility in the palm of his hand, and Andrew Cody thinks he would die if he ever managed to hurt you. To truly hurt you.
He would die. Should die.
But…he's not taking, is he?
You're offering up your trust, your safety, your life. For him. For pleasure.
No, Andrew thinks. He's not taking, and it's not something as simple as surrender.
You're giving. Eagerly. Wishfully.
The weight of it overwhelms him.
Andrew lifts his hand to your face, brushing the back of his knuckles gently over your cheek. "And you're—you're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart."
A smile pulls at his lips, hearing a phrase of his own echoed in your mouth. Vowing this time not on his darkened heart but on your sweet one. And because he'd give you anything, anything—even the very worst of him, Andrew nods stiffly. Says, "I think I want that, too."
Your shoulders slump just a little, relief bleeding the tension from your bones.
"But you'll tell me if you change your mind, right? Even during. If you…if you do get scared, I won't be upset or mad or—or anything. You just tell me, okay?"
You wind your arms and legs around him, pulling his body against yours, head resting at the crook of his neck. "I'm not afraid of you."
Only then does he feel himself relax, melting beneath your touch. Andrew lifts your face to his with a finger beneath your chin. But as soon as he presses his mouth to yours, his phone begins to ring.
With a sigh, he fishes the pesky device out of his pocket and presses it to his ear, listening to his brother fill him in on the situation going on back home, outside of the perfect bubble of devotion and safety he's created here with you.
When he hangs up, there's melancholy in his voice as he admits, "I've…I've gotta go. Scouting something for a job next week. And I won't make it tomorrow, either. But…Thursday night. Alright?"
"It'll be the last night before summer camp is over," you say with an excited smirk. "So we can…"
Pope nods. "Just don't—don't come all the way off the trail. alright? You find someplace to hide an' I'll…I'll find you. Yeah?"
He doesn't miss the flash of excitement as it flickers through your pretty eyes. But you only nod in agreement, press a kiss to his cheek and say, "Be careful. And come back to me in one piece."
Far sooner than he'd like, you're turning to walk back to camp and Andrew is turning the key in the ignition.
But even knowing he won't see you for two days, the unsettled feeling is soothed in knowing what comes next.
And when he swaps Craig and Deran out at the scouting spot, Andrew is left alone to his own thoughts and they're filled with only you.
Of how lucky he is that of all the people in the world you could choose to shower in your affection, you choose him. It makes Andrew feel lucky and blessed and perhaps a little undeserving.
He thinks about how pretty you always look and how much harder he'll be standing over you with a knife in his hand.
The thought does occur that maybe this whole thing is fucked up—that he is fucked up for wanting it as much as he does. But then he remembers the brightness in your eyes when you'd asked this of him, and it settles something heavy in his chest.
He moves through the next few days in a sort of haze. Unfocused, because his mind is stuck on you. Not an unusual thing, but more intense than any given day.
And by Thursday morning, Andrew feels like he's buzzing with excitement. A little nervous, too, because he wants this to be perfect for you.
He even picks out an outfit. Andrew isn't the type to typically care that much about how he looks, as long as it's neat and clean and comfortable.
But for this, he picks out a pair of black jeans and a black hoodie, an attempt to blend himself into the shadows where he'll be hiding in wait.
He doesn't own a hockey mask, but he does own an all black ski mask, and…there's a part of him that thinks maybe you'll like it even more.
It takes longer to pick out a knife than an outfit, though.
He has quite the collection, in truth. Mostly smaller ones, easily concealed in a pocket or a boot.
But the one he settles on is a little flashier. Sharp around the edges. It's got a heavy, four knuckled grip and a chrome blade. Serrated with a saw back and a glint at its point.
It's pretty, like you are.
Andrew packs his truck with a few extras for afterwards, too. Your favorite blanket. A thermos full of icy water. A towel and a change of clothes and the t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before just in case you ask for one to sleep in.
He stops at Deran's bar before he goes. Sets a stack of cash on the table and says, "I'm busy tonight. So don't bother me."
His brother asses him, trying to unearth an answer he won't be telling. Because this is something meant for Andrew only. Deran might know about your shared codependence, but all he needs to know apart from that is the truth; that you're a sweetheart.
"O…kay?"
Pope's jaw flexes. "I mean it. Don't call me unless one of us is dead."
Deran laughs nervously. "Somethin' going on I should know about?"
"No."
"Okay, well…you're acting weird, Pope. I mean, what? I'm just supposed to agree and not ask any questions?"
"Yes."
"You pullin' a solo job or something?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a solo job."
Deran levels his stare. And then asks with the smallest trace of amusement in his voice, "You breaking in to a summer camp tonight?"
Pope's jaw flexes. He blinks, and points at the cash. "That's for whoever takes my scouting shift," he says. And because he doesn't trust himself to say nothing more, he turns and leaves.
It takes more effort than he'd like to admit to ignore his brother's laughing in the background.
But none of that matters, Pope tells himself. Not now. Not tonight. Not when dusk falls, and he parks his truck in the familiar spot on the side of the road.
Not when he slides the freshly-polished knife into the leather sheath at his hip or when he pulls the black ski mask over his face.
Andrew's heart beats fast as he steps into the woods. The trees here are tall, the underbrush thick. The air smells like soil and rain and there's a faint aroma of fresh blossoms beneath it all.
His steps are careful. Meticulous. He's silent as he disappears into the cover of thick branches and green leaves. Darkness begins to descend, and Andrew lies in wait, knowing any minute now you'll come.
Knowing you'll run.
He's off the trail. Not far, but enough that you'd never spot him without knowing exactly where he's at. He breathes in deep, shedding free of that veil he wears of a righteous man, letting the his own darkness breach the surface of his psyche.
Pope hears you before he sees you. The branches breaking beneath your sneakers, the subtle shift of your feet. And when he does see you, coming into view just up on the trail, the thought crosses his mind that you got all dressed up for this, too.
Your hair's done up all pretty, and there's glitter on your eyelids and mascara on your lashes. There's even a shimmery gloss on your lips, and Pope can't help but think of how nice your glittering mouth would look around his cock.
He doesn't approach, not right away. He just follows close behind, observing the way you move when you think he's not watching. You're a little more stiff—more aware than you are with him. Like his presence alone puts you at ease, letting you become the sweet girl you are with the protective predator at your back.
You're wearing a pair of shorts and a black tank top over a bikini, the straps thin. Easily cut away, Pope thinks.
He steps deliberately on a stick, the sound loud and echoing in the silence of the forest.
Pope watches you turn towards it, your eyes wide and searching. But he's too well hidden in the shadows.
Yet still, you know he's there.
You turn and run.
Pope gives you a head start. Counts to ten in his head before chasing after you, a dark shadow that meets yours all too quickly.
You look back over your shoulder and stumble when you see him catching up, your balance faltering for only a second.
The trees blur at the edges of his vision as he closes the space between you. When he's close enough to hear your panting breaths, Pope flings his hand out to grab your elbow.
You give a yelp and wrench your arm away, slipping out of his hold.
A raw, animalistic sound of frustration rumbles deep in his chest.
Pope forces himself forward, breathing hard beneath the knit wool of his mask. His heart pounds in his ears, hands itching for another touch of your skin.
You're fast. Faster than he'd though you'd be. A sweet little gazelle slipping fluidly through the brush.
But he's the hungry wolf nipping at your heels, and it doesn't take long before he catches up with you again.
Pope surges forward, this time waiting until he's close enough to enclose his arms around your waist.
You let out a cry, loud and echoing in the trees, squirming in his hold that you'll never free yourself from. He's too strong, too big, too mean.
He holds you tight against him, trying to wedge his leg between your thighs as you struggle. Pope reaches for the knife at his hip and unsheathes it, gripping the handle hard as he brings the blade to your throat.
Your squirming settles.
Pope smiles when he sees you swallow hard. "Yeah," he whispers, breath warm against your ear. "You know what that is, huh?"
He pushes you forward, sharp blade pressing against your neck. You let him maneuver you, forcing you over to a tree a few feet away.
The bark is dark and rough, the trunk thin enough for what he intends.
Pope grabs your shoulder and turns you around, pressing your back against the tree. He lifts the knife and presses the point of it to your chin, lifting your head so you're looking right at him.
Your shimmery lips are parted, your eyes wide and zealous and wanting. Andrew doesn't think he's ever seen you this needy before. So filled with desire that your eyes are glassy with tears.
"Aw, sweetheart," he says tenderly. "You gonna cry? Shh. S'okay. You can cry if you need to, hm?"
A whimper stutters out of you, a single tear sliding down your cheek as you close your eyes.
Pope leans forward and licks at the wetness, drinking in the saltiness of your overwhelm. "You're pretty when you cry," he whispers.
He rights his blade, pressing the edge against your throat again. And then he caresses your arm, fingers sliding all the way down to your hand.
"Don't move," he orders, rounding the tree. Andrew sets your hand against the back of it, reaches for your other arm, and brings them together. He takes one of the black zip ties he'd stashed in his hoodie pocket and wraps it tight around your wrists, the plastic sliding noisily over the raised notches.
Pope comes back around the tree to face you, standing just a few feet away so he can get a good look at you. Sweet and pretty, completely at his mercy.
He could do anything to you, anything. And you'd let him. Perfect, perverted girl that you are.
The muscles in your shoulder flex as you fight against your restraints, trying to free yourself.
Pope smiles beneath his mask and steps closer, bringing the tip of his blade to your face. Carefully, he slides the cold steel down your cheek, over your pulse, across your chest.
"Please," you cry, shifting frantically from one foot to another.
He hooks the knife beneath the straps against your collarbone and pulls, cutting them clean.
You whimper, and Andrew feels the adrenaline in his blood peak. His skin buzzes with the power he holds, watching you twitch in fear and arousal alike.
He shifts the blade over, to the other side of your chest. He cuts away what remains of your straps and feels his cock pulse as your breasts bounce, released from their confines. With his free hand, Pope yanks the fabric down your chest, baring you to him, letting the polyester gather just above your hips.
A whimper escapes your mouth, and then his name, and Andrew pauses.
But then you say, "Touch me, please. Please, please, I can't—"
He sees the way your thighs press together. The way your hips move, chasing what little friction the seam of your shorts allows.
Pope tilts his head. "Filthy thing, aren't you?" He slides his blade down your chest, over the swell of your breast. He gently presses the tip of it against your hardened nipple, smiling at the way you squirm in response. "Got everyone fooled, hm? Always acting so shy. Embarrassed so easily."
His hand comes to your center, pressing hard between your legs. You moan at the contact, the sound desperate and guttural.
"But how pretty you sound when you're afraid," he whispers, rubbing his hand over your clothed cunt. He drags the tip of the knife across your sternum, laying the cold metal flat against your other nipple. "Begging me to touch you. To fuck you. To hurt you."
"Yes, please. I need it, I need it, Pope, please—!"
"Shh," he coos, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing hard. "Open your mouth."
You do, and Pope sets his blade between your teeth.
"Hold it," he orders. "Don't drop it. Understand?"
You nod frantically, biting down hard.
"Good." Pope unbuttons your shorts and drags them down your legs. He tugs them off over your sneakers, leaving you in nothing but your cut top around your belly and bikini bottoms.
He drops down to his knees and hooks his fingers around the strings tied at your hips. And as he slowly lowers them, a groan leaves him as he sees just how wet you are.
Sticky and slick, webs of arousal clinging to the polyester fabric as he pulls it away. Pope doesn't think he's ever been this hard before in his entire fucking life.
"Sweet girl," he mutters, discarding your bottoms. He wraps his big hands around the backs of your thighs and pulls them apart. "This where you need me?"
A cry escapes from between your clenched teeth. He thinks you look real cute like this. Squirmy and needy, all for him.
He brings his hand to your cunt, sliding only the tip of his index finger through your syrupy folds. He collects your wetness, dragging it down to press his finger into your entrance.
Pope curls it upwards, stroking that soft spot inside of you, and watches as you struggle to hold the knife in your mouth. Drool begins to collect at the corners of your lips, slowly leaking down your shin. There's a crease between your brows, frustration manifested.
With his free hand, Pope spreads your cunt open. "Pretty pussy's just crying for me, huh?" He pulls his finger out of you, painfully slow, and drags it back up to your swollen clit. He circles it gently, watching it twitch beneath his touch.
And then, with no warning at all, he brings his hand sharply down against your cunt.
You gasp, teeth parting just enough that you drop the knife.
It clatters to the ground between your feet, and Pope looks up at you with a darkened look in his eye. "What did I say?"
Your clit throbs beneath his hand. "M'sorry, m'sorry, I know—"
Pope picks up the knife and wipes both sides of it on his jeans, cleaning the dirt and spit from around the blade. "It's alright," he soothes. "I'm gonna give you one more chance. Okay?"
With a frantic nod you say, "Okay, okay—I'll be good—I promise I'll be good."
He stands, slides his knuckles tenderly over your cheek, and smiles sweetly at you. "I know you will be, sweetheart."
Pope sets the knife back between your teeth and lowers himself down to his knees again
This time, he pulls his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. He leans forward and slides a pointed tongue through all your wetness, drinking deep. You moan in tandem with him, satisfied fully for the first time all night.
He licks every inch of you, tongue hot and wet against your clit. He slides it up and down, up and down, circling your opening that flutters around nothing, begging to be filled.
Pope eats at you like a man starved for it, chin messy and covered in your slick. He presses his face against you, hardly breathing as he licks and sucks feverishly. You taste so sweet, a blend of ambrosia made all for him.
His pretty girl. His sweetheart.
He can hear it in your moans when release threatens. Can feel the way your clit throbs when he sucks it deep into his mouth, tongue flicking over it, ratcheting your pleasure higher and higher.
Pope doesn't let it happen. Pulls his mouth away from you at the very last second, ignoring your whining to slap your cunt again. Not as sharply this time, yet still no less forgiving.
You cry out, thighs trembling, drool covering your chin.
He taps your clit with his fingers. Not quite a slap this time, but not meant for pleasure, either. Just a quick rhythm to keep you right there, right on the edge.
Pope sucks in a breath through his teeth. "So fuckin' wet," he muses. "Does it hurt, baby? Does it burn right here, right in your belly 'cause you need to cum? Hm?"
You try to grit out a response, but it's muffled by the steel in your mouth. Pope stands to his feet and wraps a hand around your neck.
He licks your mouth, right over the blade you hold, cock leaking now behind his zipper. Your eyes are so full of lust and adoration and love that it makes him feel high on it.
The taste of metal and drool and strawberry lip gloss coats his tongue. Pope gently eases the blade from your mouth, smirking when your shoulders slump in relief.
He returns the blade to the leather casing at his hip and palms himself through his jeans.
"I need—fuck, Pope—I need you to fuck me. Please. Please."
It makes him laugh. All those shy, sweet words gone completely now, overshadowed by your desperation. "Yeah," he says. "I know it."
Pope undoes the button of his jeans, watching you watch him.
Your eyes are so eager as he slides his zipper down and reaches in to free his cock, thick and so hard that just stroking it has him fighting back a sigh of bliss.
He closes the small distance between you, lifting one of your legs and setting it up over his hip. Pope lines himself up at your entrance, sliding his cock through your spit-slick folds once before pressing inside.
It feels like solace. Satisfying, blessed solace as he sinks fully inside your cunt, filling you up, spreading you open.
"Oh god—"
Andrew thrusts his hips into you. Hard and unforgiving. The bark of the tree scrapes against your spine, but there's nothing but euphoria on your face.
He slams his hips up into you, fucking you as deep as your anatomy will allow, the head of his cock pressing right up against your womb.
"That's it," he mutters. "Look so fuckin' pretty taking my cock." Pope sets a punishing pace, finding your clit with his thumb and circling it.
Your head falls back, and your sweet moans echoing in the trees. Each wet slide of his cock reverberates in the open space, and the pleasure buzzes beneath you skin. "Don't stop, oh god—please—"
Pope loves the sound of the word in your mouth.
Please.
You beg so beautifully, music to his sick and twisted heart. He knows what he does to you is perverse and wicked and he knows that he shouldn't want to hurt you like this.
But he does. God, he does.
And what's worse is that you want it just as bad. More, even.
He fucks his cock into you, grunting low at how tight and wet you are around him. "You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hm?"
"Yes, yes yes—fuck, Andrew, please. Love you so much, I love you so fucking—hmm—"
The words send a shiver down his spine. To hear it now, while he's fucking you like this, rough and cruel and without mercy—it's euphoric.
He's never been loved by anyone else. Not like this. Not so true or so raw. You ask to be given the very worst of him and when he does you love it still.
The velvety walls of your cunt squeeze tight around him.
"Cum for me, baby," he orders. "Give it to me. S'mine. All mine. My fucking girl. My sweetheart. There you go. That's it."
He fucks you through it, even when his own releases crashes into him. Even when his cock grows too sensitive as he pumps you full of his cum, Pope doesn't stop the rhythm of his hips until your thighs tremble. Until your body twitches, balance faltering, pulling tight at the restraints around your wrists.
He's gentle when he pulls out of you to tuck his cock back into his jeans, and quick to grab his blade, reach around the trunk of the tree, and cut the zip ties away.
Your knees buckle, but Andrew is there to catch you. The way he silently vows he always will be. "Hey," he murmurs. "You're alright. Here, hold onto me."
He places your hands on his shoulders, and grabs your shorts from the forest floor. He shakes the dirt out of them and carefully pulls them back up your legs, righting the denim at your hips.
He then removes his ski mask completely, then his hoodie. Pope pulls it over your head, helping you get your arms through the too-big sleeves. When he's satisfied you're warm enough, he wipes gently at your face with careful fingers, cleaning away your tears and spit.
The entire time, you wear this sated, sleepy smile. Staring up at him through your lashes, mascara smudged now.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Soft. The words break a little in his mouth. "Are you…okay?"
You nod immediately. "I'm really good," you say. "Are you okay?"
Andrew kisses your forehead, cradling your face in his big hands. "Course I'm okay. Just wanna take care of you. Will you let me do that?"
An easy giggles leaves you, and Andrew wraps his arm around your shoulders.
He leads you back to his truck, where he hand feeds you your favorite snacks and urges you to drink water. He holds you close, your back to his chest, stroking his fingers delicately over your arm.
Your wrists are tender and beginning to bruise already, and Andrew thinks he'd hate himself for it if you hadn't told him how pretty they make you feel.
He tries to massage some of the tension from your shoulders, and wraps you up tight in a blanket. You fall asleep in his lap, safe and sound with his arms around you.
Only in the silence does Andrew admit to himself just how much he enjoyed the night. Only to himself does he admit that maybe he does want to hurt you.
Just a little bit. Just enough.
And he thinks it's not so bad, is it, if you want it too?
He gently wakes you just before sunrise. Just before the alarms back at the camp will start to go off, just before your fellow counselors will notice your absence.
Andrew hates to see you go, but the ache is soothed by knowing you'll return to him later tonight, just after five when he comes to pick up both you and his niece.
You kiss him hard before you start back down the trail in the woods. Look up at him through your lashes with a playful smile and embarrassment in your eyes.
Pope laughs when he sees it. Thinks it's a little silly, after all you've done together, to be shy about anything with him. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing…just—well…" He waits. Gives you the time to gather the courage. "Maybe, I don't know…maybe sometime, we could…do it again?"
A grin stretches wide across his face. "Of course we can, baby."
Your eyes brighten. "You swear?"
He thinks he'd promise you just about anything, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Like he put the stars in the sky. Like you're so unfathomably in love.
Andrew smiles. Kisses the tip of your nose and promises, "Cross my heart."
(When Sammy takes a job to help pay his child support, he ends up meeting his Angel)
Angel Wings (Sammy Bryant x Reader)
(Warnings: inaccuracy with modeling, mentions of sex, MDNI 18+)
———————————————————————————
“Sammy, we have got to get you laid.”
That was a phrase that Sammy Bryant had heard ever since he officially filed for divorce from his ex wife. Everyone was saying that to him, especially Sherman.
“I am well aware, Shermy. I have to find the right woman. I don’t wanna fuck around, not like some people.” Sammy muttered, rolling his eyes.
“What does that mean?” Sherman asked with a scoff, “Are you calling me a man whore?”
“Yes.” Sammy said, looking over to him, “Do I need to spell it out for you?”
“This is why you need to get laid, you get snappy.” Sherman said with a smirk, “You gotta get out that Sammy charm for the ladies.”
“Sammy charm?” Sammy asked with a laugh, “Sherman, I haven’t flirted with a woman since my frat days. I’m a little rusty.”
“Then we practice.” Sherman said with a smile, “Hit on our waitress when we go out next.”
“Absolutely not. No way. I don’t wanna come off as a pretentious jerk.” Sammy said just as his phone rang, “Hold on. I think it’s another security job.”
Sherman shook his head as Sammy answered his phone, “Hello, this is Sammy Bryant.”
“Hey Sammy, are you available Friday to take a security modeling gig. It’s an all day thing and it’s Victoria Secret. I guess they’ve got a model who needs escorting, ya know keeping the creeps off of her.” His boss explained, “It’s sixteen hundred for a sixteen hour shift, eight am to eight pm. Then if it works out, they’d like you to do security for her permanently.”
“Deal.” Sammy said immediately, “I’ll take it.”
“Awesome, they’ll be in touch.” His boss explained, hanging up.
Sammy set his phone down with a smirk, “Just got a security job for a modeling gig. Good pay too.”
“Our man is finally getting laid.” Sherman said, clapping his hands together.
“I said modeling gig, she’s probably got millions of guys sending her flowers and shit.” Sammy said, “I ain’t gonna think about it.”
“Whatever you say.” Sherman said with a smile, shaking his head.
For once, Sammy was starting to appreciate taking up security on the side.
———————————————————————————
When you picked Sammy Bryant, it wasn’t because he was just the guard they had needing a shift.
You heard about him through the grape vine with other models and local female celebrities. Your friend Gracie, who was a local celebrity in the area, raved highly about him.
“He is very respectful.” Gracie explained, “I mean we honestly offered him to come party with us and he was very nice about it, just explaining he wanted to keep us safe. He didn’t stare at us the entire night.”
“Huh, perfect.” You said, “I’ll book him.”
Booking him was the easiest part, now you just hope he lived up to your expectations.
Soon Friday came and you were already up at 6 am that morning getting ready for the day. You needed to perfect since today you had interviews as an angel and making appearances with brands which also meant a lot of outfit changes. Your first outfit for the day was a light pink dress that had a heart cut out on the bust and fell to your knees with pink heels.
Around 7:30 a.m as you were being spritzed with perfume and getting your glitter on, your security guard made his appearance and hot damn he was fine as hell.
He had opted for a black button up, clearly wearing a vest underneath with a gun on the hip. His curls you just wanted to tug and run your hands through.
“I’m Sammy Bryant, your security guard for the day ma’am.” He said with a smile, waiting till you were done being prepped to shake your hand, “It’s an honor to be in the presence of a Victoria Secret Angel.”
You and your assistant looked at each other, both of you clearly impressed.
“Ooh I like you already.” You said, “I have to apologize though, I have a lot of glitter on me.”
He chuckled and shook your hand, “If I get any on me, I’ll fit right in with the team then.”
You let out a giggle, “Exactly, you get it.”
He smiled and moved to go talk with your team about your itinerary for the day. Yet your eyes couldn’t help to follow him as he walked away. The way his muscles strained against his shirt as he moved.
You were about to eat him alive.
“He’s recently single.” Your agent whispered to you, “He’s fine as hell.”
“I’ll test the waters.” You whispered, trying not to stare at him.
“Alright! We are on schedule, let’s move!” Your agent called out and your team started to move, Sammy moving to walk beside you.
“If I seem to be in your personal space, I apologize.” He explained, “My number one priority today is to keep you safe. No matter what.”
“I don’t mind, I like having a protective guy watch over me.” You said with a wink as he walked with you to the suv.
He offered his hand to help you into the SUV, “Well good.” He said and you could tell he clearly couldn’t tell you were hitting on him.
You took his hand and stepped into the SUV, settling into the backseat with your agent. “I’m gonna be upfront with the driver so that way I can get a better view. Do not get out of the SUV until I come out to get you, do you understand?” He asked, maintaining eye contact, “That way I can have eyes on you the entire time.”
“Okay Sammy.” You said, practically speechless. You knew he took his job seriously, but this seriously? Yet you find that very attractive.
He nodded, heading up front with the driver. Your agent and Sammy started talking about paparazzi and how he needed to handle that, yet your eyes stayed on him the entire time. You couldn’t tell what it was about him, but he had caught your eye.
And in that moment, you knew you were going to lock that man down.
———————————————————————————
Your first event was a televised interview with MTV since you had recently worked on a music video with Lady Gaga for Paparazzi. As the SUV pulled up, Sammy got out first then your agent followed. As your door opened, Sammy took your hand gently leading out of the car. “I am gonna stay on your side.” He whispered as the paparazzi started taking their photos.
Right as you started walking, Sammy immediately walked a little bit behind you. It was easy to see he wasn’t trying to ruin any of the shots of you that news outlets were trying to get. You managed to keep your cool though as you walked toward the building where your interview was being held. Camera’s flashed with each step, people shouting for them to look at you. Once you made it to the entrance, Sammy opened the door for you and put a hand on the small of your back. You couldn’t help yourself and stepped a little closer to him as you stepped inside the building. Immediately you were guided to makeup because even though you already had makeup, there were always touch ups needed.
Sammy immediately followed you to makeup and one of the workers immediately turned to him and stopped him, “Sir you are hovering. Back up.”
Sammy stopped but you immediately spoke up, “You will not speak to my security guard like that for doing his job. I would rather him hover than be disengaged,” you turned to Sammy and nodded, “Keep hovering Sammy.”
He just nodded and stood a few feet back as you sat down in the makeup chair. You motioned toward your agent, “Get that worker off my team for this.” You whispered and she nodded.
“On it.” She said and scurried away.
Soon you were ready for your interview and you walked to meet your interviewer, Cassandra.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She explained, shaking your hand, “I am so excited to start this interview.”
“Me too! I love talking about my job, not to sound too self absorbed.” You said with a laugh, sitting down, “It’s just like a huge honor to be an Angel.”
Your interview went smoothly, talking about your lifestyle as an angel, how you became a model, and of course your love life. “So, we are dying to know. What is your dating life like as an angel?”
“Honestly? I’m single.” You said with a laugh, “I mean it’s not that I don’t want to, but I haven’t met a guy yet who doesn’t look at me just as an angel. Not to get too specific, but I want someone who looks at me for me and is okay to share me with the media. Not in a sexual way, but in a modeling way.”
“I mean I can’t say I blame you. I can only imagine how hard it is to date as an angel. What is your worst fan experience?” Your interviewer asked.
“You may wanna censor this.” You explained with a laugh, “So the worst fan experience I had was a guy harassing me with fan mail by sending nude photos of himself to my PO Box, then showed up at one of my events. Shout out to the LAPD for taking care of the issue for me.”
Sammy had remembered that incident, he wasn’t involved though. He believed it was Cooper and Tang. All he remembered was that Cooper had tackled the guy and you had taken a photo with them as a thank you.
You couldn’t help but find Sammy’s eyes after you spoke about that incident and Sammy just gave you a quiet nod, like he understood exactly what it meant to deal with someone crazy.
After the interview, you got up from the chair. You thanked Cassandra and headed to the fitting room to change into your next outfit. Of course though, you needed someone to unzip your dress and you had the perfect person for that.
“Sammy, could you unzip me?” You asked, looking back to him, “I could use a hand.”
“Oh, are you sure?” He asked, clearly flustered, “I don’t wanna accidentally rip your dress.”
“Honey, it’s just a zipper. I had no idea cops had a phobia of those.” You joked and Sammy shook his head.
“I can handle a little zipper.” He said, playfully rolling his eyes.
He moved to unzip, one hand on the zipper while the other hand was holding the dress. His knuckles brushed your back as he started to unzip you.
“You looked at me like you understood dealing with crazy.” You stated, “Have you?”
“Cut throat?” He joked, slowly unzipping you, “If you must know, yes I have dealt with crazy before.”
“Well yea as a cop.” You said with a laugh, “But other than that?”
“I have a crazy ex wife who I am currently dealing with custody of our two year old.” He explained, moving his eyes to look at you in the mirror, “I don’t mean to talk bad about her but she..”
“She was a lot?” You asked, maintaining eye contact with him, “Wanna talk about it?”
“Do you mind?” He asked, “Pretty sure, my partner is getting sick of me talking about her.”
“Your girlfriend?” You asked, trying not to sound too hurt about that.
“Oh no, I’m single.” Sammy said with a laugh, “I meant the officer who rides with me.”
“Oh! My bad for assuming.” You said with a blush, “But please, go on.”
“I had been with Tammi since college, she was free spirited and so was I.” He said, “But when we graduated, I realized all we were doing was smoking pot and not doing a lot. So, I applied for LAPD.”
You realized he got to the end of the zipper and held the dress by the top, “Oh close the door, but you can keep talking. Thank you.” You said as Sammy closed the door so you could change.
“So when I graduated from the academy, I proposed because that’s what I thought was right.” He explained, “I mean at that age, everyone was getting married.”
“I felt that.” You said with a laugh as you took off your dress.
He chuckled, “But yea, flash forward and she was still trying to live that free spirited lifestyle and asking if she could be a stay at home wife while we tried for a baby.”
He explained, “And I said yes because everyone was kinda pushing us to have kids. That’s kinda when she started hiding things from me and accusing me of cheating constantly. She would call me crying at work saying I was cheating on her, threatening to leave me and take the dog, and just constantly asking if I loved her.”
He paused for a minute then sighed, “Well then, I found out she was cheating on me with her instructor and pregnant with my child. Then she kicked me out of the house while my previous partner passed.”
“Oh Sammy.” You whispered softly as you got dressed, “That’s terrible.”
“It’s.. It’s okay.” He said with a sigh, “We co-parent but she can’t seem to get over the fact I am trying to get back out into dating and just sending her lawyers after me to check if I am an unfit parent. Which I’m not, I may work a lot but I can’t help it when she’s swarming me with child support and legal fees. According to her, I can’t bring anyone around to meet Nate until I have been dating them for six months.”
“Okay that is a little crazy.” You said, stepping out in a Victoria Secret crop top and matching shorts.
Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore you could see him trying to maintain eye contact with you.
“Ready to move for our next set?” Your agent asked, walking over and pausing, “Did I interrupt something?”
“Nope, she’s ready.” He said quickly, “Let’s go.”
The three of you started towards the back exit where you could exit privately. Your agent leaned over to you, “I watched that interaction, he wants to fuck you.”
You elbowed her, “Not here and not now.” You hissed as Sammy opened the door for you.
You and your agent headed to the SUV where Sammy Bryant opened the door for you, offering his hand as you stepped in.
“Such a gentleman, is that a premium service you add on?” You joked as you took his hand.
“Only to the pretty clients.” He said with a smirk, growing a little bolder with his remarks to you.
You winked at him as you sat down and got adjusted into your seat. He moved to sit in the front seat and the driver started to drive to your next location, the Victoria Secret Store on Beverly Blvd.
Thank god he was your security guard for the whole day.
———————————————————————————
You soon arrived at the back of the mall, hoping to avoid tabloids and paparazzi again. In your mind, you didn’t even consider the proximity with you and Sammy to be considered gossip for dating.
As you headed inside, you heard paparazzi already coming your way and without warning, Sammy picked you up by your waist and got you to the door in just three long strides.
“You can fire me for that later, I am just doing my job.” He mumbled, stepping back a bit to block the cameras as he set you down.
“Conside yourself in run for a promotion.” You answered as your agent stepped behind you.
“I think he needs to be a permanent security guard for you.” Your agent mumbled as she fell in step with you.
“More like permanent arm candy.” You whispered back as you were guided to the back of the store.
Soon you joined the rest of the Angels who were dressed in various Victoria Secret outfits, quietly talking amongst each other and applying lipgloss.
“Your security guard is cute.” Adriana whispered, “Is he single?”
“I’ve been putting on my charm so I am gonna say no.” You said with a smile, looking over to Sammy who was checking the perimeter.
“Ooh girl get it.” She whispered back as the six of you headed out into the store front. Cameras flashed as they stepped to their spots, the six of you posing exactly how you were told how to. You smiled at the camera, winking at times.
You listened to where you needed to smile at and what to do with your face. Yet at the same time, your eyes drifted over to where Sammy was and you caught his eyes watching you.
God, you couldn’t help but smile a little bigger as you two locked eyes. You knew he was just doing his job, yet you couldn’t help but continue to fuel that crush that was forming in your head.
After the event at the Victoria Secret store, you were taken back to a dressing room to change into a PINK tracksuit.
“Sammy, come along.” You said as you entered the dressing room and Sammy stumbled behind you, “Just stand in front of my door.”
He nodded, watching as you entered your dressing room and closed the door behind you.
“You were a natural out there.” He breathed out, “How do you do it? It’s like you were made to be a model.”
“I live and breathe modeling Sammy.” You said with a laugh as you got undressed, “I have to be a natural at my job.”
He chuckled softly, “Yea you are right.” He said, leaning his head against the wall.
“Now enough about me, tell me about your son. What was his name? Nate right?” You asked as you continued to get dressed.
“You wanna know about my son? Fuck, what do you wanna know?” Sammy asked with a laugh, “He loves cars, like any kind of car. So we play with cars a lot. He’s just a content kid, like he likes curling up with me and playing with a car or just looking at a book. Oh and his favorite animal is currently sharks.”
“He sounds like a sweet kid. My favorite animal is a Harbor Seal.” You said with a smile, “Does he have curls like yours?”
“Oh yea, my genes run strong in that kid.” Sammy said, running a hand on his jaw, “He’s the reason I keep going.”
“It’s sweet.” You said, stepping out as he turned to look down at you, “I can really tell how much you care about him.”
“Do you wanna see a photo?” Sammy offered and you nodded as he pulled out his phone. He turned his fliphone around to show you a photo of his son who had the same auburn hair his father did along with the same smile.
“He is absolutely adorable!” You cooed, “He looks so similar to you!”
“Thank you! He's a handful, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Sammy said, “I am positive Nate sent him my way because he and Nate are both hard headed. Just like very similar personalities.”
“Hand picked just for you.” You said with a smile, looking up at him.
Sammy met your gaze with tears in his eyes, “Yea- I mean you’re right.. It’s just.. It’s nice to hear that.” He said with a weak smile.
You suddenly wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly, “I’m sorry, I just feel like you needed a hug.”
He hugged you back, trying to avoid messing up your look, “Thank you. I honestly did.” He said with a soft chuckle.
Your agent suddenly cleared her throat and you two pulled away from each other. “At least you two weren’t making out.” She said, “It’s time for your next event.”
“Thanks.” You said with a smile, following her out of the dressing room with Sammy on your heels.
With the new knowledge you had gained, you were starting to fall in love with Sammy more and more.
And honestly? You couldn’t be happier.
———————————————————————————
After a full day of photo shoots, interviews, and talk shows it was finally time for your last event of the day.
Your last event for the day was posing on a corvette for Chevrolet for their new ad campaign, so you were on a black corvette with a specially made two piece bikini set that was black with silver wings.
“Looking spectacular for the camera!” The photographer called out, “Show us why you are a VS Angel!”
“She’s single, ya know.” Your agent whispered, walking over to Sammy.
“She told me.” Sammy whispered back, clearly not taking the hint.
“So did you invite her out to dinner?” She asked, “Or on a date?”
Sammy immediately started to blush and turned to look at your agent, “Excuse me? I don’t.. I mean.. I’m not her type.” He said, “She probably likes muscular men who don’t have a crazy ex wife and emotional baggage.”
“Listen Samuel.” Her agent warned, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, “She has been flirting with you all day. Now you are an attractive man who clearly she has taken interest in. A Victoria Secret Angel who can clearly pull any man she wants is very interested in you. Take that information with what you will.”
She let go over his shirt collar and went to join the photographer, making sure you were still looking your best.
And right now? Sammy had some thinking to do.
After you were done with the car, you invited the team who worked for the dealership up in the photo. That way, it was something cool they could display at their dealership. After the photo, you went to change again and like a trained puppy Sammy followed. As you got changed, you waited for Sammy to officially ask you out but the time never came.
Soon you were out of your dressing room and Sammy started to escort you back to the SUV. Since he wasn’t going to ask you, it was up to you.
“Sammy, give me your number.” You said and Sammy turned to look at you.
“Oh I’m sorry, you’ll have to book me through the security agency.” He explained walking in step with you.
“What?” You laughed, “Sammy, do you think I am asking you to be a security guard for me?”
“Yes.” He said, “Was my service adequate?”
“More than adequate.” You said with a laugh, “Sammy, I’m giving you my personal number so we could go out or you can come to one of my shows.”
Sammy froze like he was trying to fully understand what you just said, “You want to go out with me?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” You asked, grabbing his tie, “Sammy baby, I want to start seeing you.”
“Yes ma’am.” He said immediately, pulling out his phone. Sammy gave you his phone where you punched in your number.
“I have a modeling show two weeks from now. Be there.” You said, walking out to the SUV and Sammy was still standing there.
You had done your bit, now it was time for Sammy to follow through with his bit.
———————————————————————————
Time had passed and during that time you and Sammy were texting non-stop. Both of your schedules were too busy at the moment to properly plan a date so you two agreed after your fashion show you two would have that date.
It was the day of your modeling show and you were at your makeup station. “He’s here!” Your agent said excitedly, “He’s really here!”
“Sammy?” You asked, trying to look neutral so you wouldn't mess up your make up, “Please tell me you mean Sammy.”
“I mean Sammy and I won’t spoil what else he has with him.” Your agent said and your face dropped.
“Not his child.” You said and your agent made a face.
“Absolutely not, rather it’s something just as beautiful as you.” Your agent said with a wink, “You’ll have to see when you go out on the runway.”
You smiled to yourself as your artist continued to get you ready. Hopefully the outfit you were given to wear today was going to blow his socks off. The outfit that you helped pick out for this show was simple white wings with a soft pink two piece outfit with gemstones with white heels. Soon you began to get dressed in your first outfit which was the new baby doll line that Victoria Secret was introducing. Your baby doll set was of course pink.
“Pink goes with everything.” Your agent said, sprinkling glitter onto you.
“Of course.” You said, moving in a circle to make sure every bit of you was covered in glitter.
“Now go out there and show Sammy Bryant why he is taking you out tonight. Oh, and of course show why Victoria Secret made you an angel.”Your agent said, squeezing your shoulders, “Now go!”
The music started up and every model began to walk down the runway. Womanizer by Britney Spears began to play and just as you stepped out, there you saw Sammy. He was in the front row with a huge bouquet of roses in his lap as he clapped. Soon he noticed you and he began to wave right at you.
You smiled at him, unable to wave at him. The blush crept up your face as you noticed that those roses in his lap were for you. Your turn soon ended and you went backstage to get into your angel outfit.
“Did you see him?” Your agent said, helping you get out of your outfit, “That was so cute!”
“Oh so cute!” You said, blushing. “He brought me flowers and I am so excited to see him after the show!”
“I got one of the workers to get him a fan with your face on it.” Your agent said as she touched up your look.
“No you didn’t.” You said with a laugh as you got into your angel outfit, “And he took it?”
“Oh he absolutely took it with a badge of honor.” Your agent said, clasping your outfit.
“I can’t wait to see him again.” You said excitedly as you got your wings on. Your agent soon led you to your spot on where to stand.
“Go get 'em girl.” Your agent said as Paparazzi by Lady Gaga began.
Soon you made your way down the runway as the lights flashed. As you walked you immediately noticed Sammy again, this time cheering and recording as you made your way down the runway.
Once you hit your mark, you winked and blew a kiss his way. He fake caught it and cheered louder causing you to break a little bit and smile wider with a laugh. You soon finished your walk and got back into the dressing room.
“Amazing as always!” Your agent said excitedly, getting you a sip of water.
“I cracked at the end though.” You said with a sigh, sipping your water, “Ugh I am not proud of that.”
“This could turn in your favor.” Your agent said, “I wouldn’t panic.”
“If you aren’t worried about it then I won’t worry about it.” You said, moving to gently sit.
Soon it was the end of the show and every model came back out for one final time, posing and smiling. You stood in the middle with the rest of the angels, smiling at the crowd. The crowd cheered and clapped for the models and you could see Sammy cheering as loud as he could.
After the event, your agent immediately went to grab Sammy. “Is this allowed?” He asked as she led him past security.
“Um duh!” She said, dragging him through the crowd, “She genuinely wants to see you.” She explained as she stopped outside the door, “I GOT A FAN FOR YOU!”
You stepped out in your robe and immediately lit up. “Could I get an autograph?” He joked, offering the fan up.
You squealed and threw your arms around him, “Sammy! You came!”
He pulled you into a hug, “Of course! We have a date tonight!” He said, gently rubbing your back.
“What did you think?” You asked, moving to sign his fan.
“You looked amazing! Absolutely beautiful!” He said, “Oh! I also got you flowers.”
He held out the beautiful bouquet of roses, “I’m sorry, I really hope you like roses.”
You gently took them and smiled brightly, “Oh Sammy! These are beautiful!” you said, gently smelling them, “These are going right to my apartment! Just let me change into street clothes and then we’ll head out.”
You passed your roses to your agent and passed the fan back to Sammy.
Oh the night had just begun.
———————————————————————————
You were dressed in a tank top with a PINK off the shoulder tshirt over it and jean shorts with sneakers.
“It’s like seeing a completely different person.” Sammy admitted as he walked you to his car.
“Sammy.. Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You asked with a laugh as he opened the door to his car. He paused and immediately got embarrassed.
“O-Oh my god! I am so sorry! Yes!” He said, “I totally meant it as a compliment. I am so sorry!” He said nervously, “I meant it as a compliment because it’s nice to see you! Like see you outside of being a supermodel.”
“Nice save.” You joked as you got in, “Keep talking Sammy and maybe I’ll just kiss you tonight.”
He just blushed and quietly closed the door. Sammy smiled to himself as he moved to get into the car.
“So Sammy, what’s the plan tonight?” You asked, looking over as he started the car.
“How do you feel about just pizza and an arcade?” He asked, “I always believed arcade dates truly revealed a lot about a person.”
“Honestly? I love that.” You said with a smile, “It’ll be nice to learn more about Sammy Bryant.”
“And same to you.” He said with a smile as he started to drive toward the pizza spot he was thinking of, “The nice thing is, they are pretty much connected.”
“Really?” You asked with a smile, “So how’d you find this place?”
“Don’t laugh.” He said, “But I like to blow off steam by going to play arcade games. Especially pinball.”
You covered your mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.
“I know! I know! It’s embarrassing!” He said with a laugh, “But it relaxes me. Plus, Nate loves the little carousel they have here.”
“No! It’s cute and sweet!” You said with a smile, “It’s nice that you take him with you.”
He soon pulled into a parking spot, putting his car into park, “Ready to get your ass handed to you in skeeball?” He joked, getting out of the car.
“Maybe in the first round I’ll let you win.” You said with a smirk as he moved to help you out of the car.
“Just maybe?” He joked, keeping your hand in his as you two walked towards the arcade.
“Keep talking like that and maybe I’ll pull back my offer.” You said with a smirk as he opened the door for you.
The two of you headed into the arcade, curious to see who was going to beat who in skeeball.
“Ready to lose?” Sammy asked, loading up the card you two were going to share.
“I think you mean ready to win.” You said with a smirk as you two headed to the skeeball machine.
———————————————————————————
After a couple rounds of skeeball where Sammy had only won once during those rounds so the two of you teamed up together to see how many tickets you guys could win. A couple rounds of coin pushers, claw machines, and other arcade games you two finally decided to call it and head to the counter to see how many tickets you guys had.
“So you two have 50,000 tickets on the card.” The attendant explained. You and Sammy looked at each other.
“I’m sorry 50,000? How?” Sammy asked with a laugh, clearly not believing the number.
“Our pinball machines also put out tickets.” The attendant explained and Sammy slowly nodded.
“That uhh.. Yea that makes sense then.” Sammy said with a laugh, looking around the prizes. “I’ll take the remote control car and then the stuffed seal please. Also two suckers please.”
The attendant got him the remote control car, the stuffed seal, and the two suckers.
“Oh wow! It’s a Harbor Seal plush!” You said with a laugh, “Nate is going to love it!”
“I got Nate the car.” Sammy said, holding the seal out, “The seal is for you.”
“For me?” You asked softly, gently taking the seal from him.
“It’s your favorite animal. A harbor seal.” He said with a warm smile, “You said it when my son said he liked Sharks.”
“You remembered.” You said softly, looking down at the seal, “You remembered my favorite animal.”
“Of course I did.” Sammy said as the two of you were about to leave the arcade, “I wouldn’t forget that, it’s one of the first things I learned about you.”
You paused, looking at Sammy. He was the first man you had ever met who took an interest in what you liked. Sammy noticed what your favorite animal was and he did it without even having to double check with you, he just knew.
“Oh! Before we get pizza, let’s get a photo strip from the photo booth.” Sammy said, gently taking your hand, “I want a photo to remember this.”
You giggled and followed Sammy into the photo booth. He sat down first, scooting over to let you in next to him. The two of you sat in close proximity inside the photo booth as he selected a frame. He picked out a pink one with hearts and the camera started up.
The first photo you two had bunny ears behind the other and the camera took the shot.
“Alright, let’s get a smile in!” Sammy said. The two of you pressed your cheeks together and smiled, the camera flashing as it took the shot.
“What about the third one?” Sammy asked and you just smiled at him, moving to cup his face. You gently turned him towards you and softly kissed him.
He paused, his eyes open as you kissed him. But then, he melted into the kiss bringing up his own hands to cover yours. The camera caught the shot of you two kissing. After the kiss, he gently rested his forehead against yours and smiled.
“Wow, that was..” the camera flashed again, “that was amazing.” Sammy whispered.
“It really was.” You said with a smile, “I’m really glad we did this.”
The two of you got out of the photobooth, hands lingering by each other. “So.. pizza?” Sammy asked with a smile, gently nudging your shoulder.
“Pizza sounds amazing Sammy.” You said with a smile, taking his hand.
The two of you walked towards the pizza place, excited for what was to come for the two of you.
———————————————————————————
After that arcade and pizza date, you and Sammy moved rather quickly together. He had asked you to be his girlfriend that night in the car and you happily said yes.
You also weren’t planning on sleeping together that night but when he walked you to your door, you knew he was coming to bed with you. And honestly? It was the best sex of your life. Sammy Bryant knew exactly what he had and knew exactly how to pleasure you, between which areas to suck and exactly what pace drove you mad.
After that night, you two were constantly sleeping over at each other’s places. Then a month later, Sammy had asked Tammi if you could meet Nate.
“I would at least like to meet the woman.” Tammi snapped over the speaker phone as you and Sammy sat across from the phone.
“Yes you can meet her.” He said with a sigh, “Totally like I met your boyfriend.” He muttered.
You gently took Sammy’s hand, quietly reminding him that you were here.
“Alright then, I’ll bring him over on Friday.” Tammi said, then hung up.
“I see why you two divorced.” You said quietly as Sammy set down his phone.
“Yea, glad I’m not crazy.” He joked, then took your other hand, “If this all works out, move in with me.”
“What?” You asked with a soft laugh, clearly unsure if you heard him correctly, “Did you just ask me to move in with you?”
“Yes. I did.” Sammy said, squeezing your hands, “But I want this. I want us. I know we’ve only been dating for a month, but I have never felt so sure about anything in my life.”
You paused, taking in what he just said, “I mean you are closer to my gigs.” You said, “Plus I practically spend every night here.”
“Is that a yes?” He asked with a smile.
You nodded, “It’s a yes! I’ll live with you.” You said with a smile, standing up.
He stood up as well and immediately pulled you in for a hug, “I love you.” He whispered, gently kissing your head.
“I love you too.” You whispered, smiling into his chest.
When Friday came, you had gotten Nate a toy car that he could drive around the driveway. It sat in the living room with a blue bow on it.
“What if he doesn’t like me?” You asked nervously, starting to pace, “I mean what if Tammi hates me?”
“Well she’ll probably hate you regardless.” Sammy with a laugh, grabbing your shoulders, “But Nate won’t. Don’t worry sweetheart, it’ll go fine.”
He softly kissed your head when the doorbell rang, signalling they were here. “We got this.” Sammy whispered and you gave him a quick nod. He moved to open the door and there Tammi was holding Nate in her arms.
“Hey Tammi.” Sammy said, moving to take Nate from her.
“Sammy.” Tammi said simply, stepping inside, “Alright, where’s this girl you’ve been seeing?”
You moved to introduce yourself and when you did, you saw her face immediately drop.
“Y-You’re a Victoria Secret Angel.” She whispered, staring at you.
“Yes, I was selected to be an Angel this year for Victoria Secret, it’s a pleasure to meet you Tammi.” You said with a nervous smile.
“You got with a Victoria Secret Angel?” Tammi asked with a scoff.
Before you could stand up for yourself, Sammy immediately moved to defend you, “She is more than just a Victoria Secret Angel and I would prefer if you stopped referring to her as just an Angel.” Sammy warned.
Tammi, who was clearly taken aback, nodded. “Yep, I can stop.” She said simply, “Um Sammy, he has everything he needs in his diaper bag and I’ll pick him up Sunday morning.”
“Thank you.” He said simply, “Nate say bye to mama.”
Tammi kissed Nate goodbye, soon leaving the three of you alone. Nate soon looked over to you and gently pointed, “Who?” He asked softly.
“This is daddy’s special friend.” Sammy explained, walking over to you, “She is gonna be living with Daddy from now on, which means when you come to see daddy you’ll also see her.”
“Hi Nate, it’s nice to meet you.” You said softly, “I heard you like trucks.”
“Tuck!” He said excitedly, bouncing in Sammy’s arms, “Tuck! Tuck!”
“He has trouble with R’s.” Sammy explained, setting Nate down. The two of you walked with Nate to the living room where the truck was, he squealed with excitement.
“Me?” Nate asked, putting his hand on his.
You chuckled and nodded, “Yes! It’s for you Nate!”
He immediately ran over and crashed into your legs, hugging them as tight as he could, “Dank you, Angle.”
Sammy stifled his laugh as you picked up Nate, “You are very welcome.” You said with a smile, “Why don’t we go drive that around?”
“Yea!” He said excitedly as Sammy moved to pick up the truck.
Soon the two of you were at the recreational area of his apartment complex where Nate was happily driving his new truck around. You and Sammy sat at a picnic table, quietly watching him.
“He’s a super sweet kid.” You said with a smile, leaning into Sammy.
“He is, I just wish he wouldn’t call you Angle.” Sammy said with a soft laugh.
“In due time.” You said, leaning over to kiss his cheek, “But for now? I love it.”
“Good.” He said, checking his watch, “It’s getting close to his bedtime, let’s head back.”
Soon the three of you headed back to Sammy’s apartment, Nate leading you in his car. “Beep! Beep!” He called out, causing you and Sammy to laugh.
“I am so glad he loves it.” You said, squeezing Sammy’s hand.
“Me too.” He whispered, kissing the side of your head.
After the three of you got back, you helped Sammy get Nate ready for bed. “I want Angle to read me a bed time story.”
“Wow, not your own daddy?” Sammy asked with a gasp as Nate went to go pick out a book.
“Out Dada! Out!” Nate said, shooing Sammy out. You tried to contain your laugh as Nate shooed Sammy out of the room.
“Okay then, I’ll be in my room.” Sammy said, putting his hands up, “I’ll come in and kiss you goodnight in a bit.”
Nate was too focused on you, passing you a book. “Lay and ead!” He said and you joined him in his little toddler racecar bed.
“Okay Okay!” You said with a laugh, looking at the book, “Clark the Shark, good choice kid!”
Nate snuggled next to you as you began to read, his eyes drooping as you continued.
Unbeknownst to you, Sammy was watching from the cracked door. He had tears in his eyes and a smile.
Because Sammy never believed he was deserving of this. A life where he was happy and loved. He couldn’t have been more thankful for you.
———————————————————————————
A couple months had passed since you two had officially been dating, six months to be exact. Things were going great! Your modeling career was steady and Sammy was able to still be your private security guard while still being an officer.
Except, he didn’t tell any of his buddies he was dating. Not even Sherman.
It wasn’t like he was ashamed of you. He just knew his fellow officers and he knew how they could be. Once they found out you were a model, who knew what they were capable of. Plus, Sammy didn’t want to beat up a guy because he disrespected you.
Everything was going great, so great even his co-workers had noticed he was overall a happier person.
But of course, he couldn’t keep the secret forever. Someone was bound to find out eventually.
And of course it was Sherman.
Sherman hadn’t even meant to find out, he just happened to be leaving for work from his recent hookup house which just happened to be down the road from Sammy’s place. As he drove by he saw Sammy talking to you outside of his door.
You were in one of Sammy’s old police hoodies in a pair of his boxers, kissing him as he was about to leave for work. Sherman was trying not to stare as he watched Sammy say goodbye to you.
That stuck with him all through his drive to work because what was Sammy hiding?
And why wouldn’t he tell his partner?
So he decided to confront Sammy when they were alone in the squad car.
“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone.” Sherman stated as they started their shift.
“I didn’t think I had to tell you.” Sammy said with a laugh, sipping his coffee, “Are you honestly upset that I didn’t tell you?”
“You know what? Yea I am! I’m your partner!” Sherman started, “I have been trying to get you back into the dating world for months!”
“How did you even know I was seeing someone?” Sammy asked, looking over to Sherman, “You stalking me Shermy?”
“I drove by your place.” Sherman said casually, “Had a hookup a couple places down.”
“Just move into the neighborhood dude, you keep hooking up with people in my neighborhood.” Sammy said, shaking his head.
“Don’t distract me!” Sherman warned, “What’s her name? How’d you meet her? Is she a hook up or are you two dating?”
“I’ll answer one of your questions.” Sammy said simply, “We are dating.”
“Nothing else?” Sherman asked with a sigh.
“Not telling you anymore.” Sammy said simply with a smirk, “Sorry Shermy.”
“You suck Bryant.” Sherman mumbled, crossing his arms.
Word got around quickly that Sammy was seeing someone, yet no one could figure out any details on you.
“Give us one hint Sammy!” Officer Dewey begged in the locker room as they got ready for the day.
“Cmon guys leave him alone!” Cooper said, putting on his belt, “The man clearly doesn’t wanna share.”
“He just doesn’t want to share because it’s his left hand.” Officer Munoz said with a laugh.
“She’s real!” Sherman argued, “I’ve seen her!”
“Alright! Alright!” Sammy called out, tucking in his shirt, “Fine, you guys wanna know so badly?” He asked.
All of the officers in the room nodded, “Bryant we all wanna know.” Officer Robinson said with a smirk.
“She’s a Victoria Secret model.” Sammy said simply, “She’s an Angel this year.”
The room grew quiet before the Officers erupted into laughter, truly not believing Sammy.
“No she’s not!” Dewey said, laughing so hard he had to lean on a locker, “Oh Bryant, I want whatever you are on!”
Sammy stormed out, immediately pissed off at everyone. He started the walk towards the briefing room before ducking into a private hallway. Because Sammy had a plan to prove to everyone in the office you two were dating.
He quickly dialed you on his phone, waiting for you to pick up.
“Hey baby, miss me already?” You cooed into the phone, “I thought this morning would last you all day Sammy baby.”
That morning you had woken Sammy up with a blow job which quickly turned into a quickie where Sammy had barely left for work in time.
His cheeks immediately brightened and he tried to push away the inappropriate thoughts that appeared in his head.
“Baby girl, that isn’t why I’m calling.” He said with a chuckle, “Though I do miss you.”
“I miss you too, baby.” You cooed, “Especially after this morning when you put your hand around my-.”
“I want you to bring in my lunch today. I left the lunch you made me at home.” Sammy said, immediately cutting you off, “Also stop trying to give me a boner during work sweetheart.”
You giggled into the phone, “Well baby, I have a modeling gig around one. Can it wait till after?”
“Absolutely, are you sure you don’t wanna get something with Sherman?” You asked, “I don’t want you starving.”
“I won’t starve, plus I get to see you.” He said with a smile, “That’ll make my day ten times better!”
“Okay baby!” You said excitedly, “I’ll see you at one! I love you!”
“I love you too baby.” He said, hanging up.
He headed to the briefing room, putting his phone in his pocket. Sammy was gonna show everyone today he wasn’t lying, that he truly was dating a Victoria Secret model.
———————————————————————————
You had just finished your modeling gig with Victoria Secret for their new pj lingerie set and you had changed into jean shorts and a crop top tee. Sammy had told you to go straight into the lobby of the station and just to ask for him. Not only did you grab his lunch, you always brought donuts for the officers on duty.
“Hi!” You said with a warm smile to the front desk attendant, “I’m looking for Officer Sammy Bryant.”
The worker was just about to call when Cooper came out, “Well hey! Look who it is!” He said with a smile, “Are you here to make a report?”
“Oh no, I’m here to see Sammy!” You said excitedly and Cooper paused.
“Wait, are you dating Sammy?” He asked, letting you into the precinct.
“I am!” You said following him, “We’ve been dating for six months!”
“Wow so you two weren’t dating when Officer Tang and I helped you!” He said walking with you.
“Just a little after that!” You said, following him to where some desks were lined up.
“Hey Sammy! Look who I found!” Cooper called out just as Sammy and Sherman walked in.
“Baby!” You squealed, setting his lunch and donuts down. You practically tackled him with a hug, but he caught you easily.
“Baby?” The officers repeated as Sammy hugged you.
“Hey pretty girl, look at you!” He said, catching your lips in a kiss.
You were too focused on him to realize everyone was staring at the two of you.
“Holy shit, you are dating a Victoria Secret Angel.” Robinson breathed out as you and Sammy pulled away.
“Told ya.” Sammy said smugly as you passed him his lunch.
“I also brought everyone donuts!” You said excitedly, opening up the box of donuts.
“You are the best baby girl.” He said with a smile, “Are you in a rush today?”
“Nah, I got all my modeling done for the day.” You said with a smile, “Can I join you for lunch?”
“I ain’t ever gonna say no to that.” He said then fake gasped, “But where are my manners? Let me introduce you to the other officers.”
He introduced you to everyone, yet no one could still understand how Sammy was able to bag someone like you. Especially with Sammy’s track record of women.
“I mean this in the nicest way possible, how?” Munoz asked, eyeing you up.
“Sammy was my private body guard for the day.” You explained as Sammy snaked an arm around your waist, “He came to one of my shows then he asked me out. The rest was history.” You said with a smile, leaning on him.
“Holy shit Bryant, I am sorry I doubted you.” Dewey said with a laugh, “I just didn’t think I had it in you.”
“I still have game.” Sammy said with a smirk, looking down at you.
You smiled warmly, “I am truly one lucky girl.”
“I’m still pissed you didn’t tell me!” Sherman warned, grabbing a donut.
“I was waiting till we could go on a double date!” Sammy argued, “But you never settled.”
“I would’ve if you told me!” Sherman said with a laugh.
“Listen, I’m done sharing.” Sammy said, squeezing your hip, “Say bye sweetheart, I want you to tell me all about your day.”
“Okay baby!” You cooed, “Bye guys! Enjoy your donuts!”
Sammy led you to the breakroom, gently squeezing your ass as the two of you walked. He didn’t even care if he got written up for inappropriate conduct, he was just happy no one was going to doubt him anymore.
Sammy Bryant had finally gotten the happy ending he deserved and you had finally found a man who loved you for you.
same vibe…wolfy wolf americas own junk food connoisseur casually consuming some cuisine 🐺😋 canadian mcdonalds hamburger? 👎🏻 skor mcflurry 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻
Summary: Andrew's girlfriend volunteers to be Lena's camp counselor. During a secret, late night meet up at the edge of the woods, she confesses a dark fantasy to him. Andrew fulfills it.
Content: +18 MDNI, established relationship, codependent tendencies from both pope and reader, size difference, slasher summer vibes, unprotected piv, dry humping, semi-public sex, fingering, oral f! and m!receiving, choking, facefucking, finger sucking, masked sex, knife play, predator/prey primal play, dacryphilia, pussy slapping, fem edging, bondage with zipties, rough sex, creampie, aftercare
Note: this is part two of of my fic sweetheart but can be read as a stand alone!! just written with the same shy freaky reader in mind! i hope you enjoy this new edition to the sweetheartverse <3
WC: 9.5k
[masterlist][AO3]
You are, single-handedly, the best thing to ever happen to Andrew Cody.
And he's painfully aware of it that day you pick up the phone to selflessly put an end to his anxiety. You don't hesitate or think twice. You see a solution even at the expense of yourself and you don't consider anything else.
The first week that school is out, Lena mentions summer camp no less than twenty times. So, Smurf finds one just out of town and signs her up.
She doesn't think about all the problems Lena's had with other kids this year. She doesn't think about the fact that they'd be dropping her off in the middle of nowhere with kids she's never met in her life.
They might be mean. They might exclude her or laugh at her or pull awful pranks. And no one would know until the four weeks were up, until summer camp was over, until she'd already endured it.
Andrew confesses his fears to you late one night, and the following morning he wakes to you making breakfast in the kitchen with your cellphone pressed to your ear, talking animatedly.
And when you're done, you tell him that you'd signed up to be a counselor at the camp Lena's going to. "So she has someone looking out for her," you explain.
Four weeks of your life, stuck in the middle of the woods with a handful of kids, all to protect Lena. All to give Pope a little bit of respite.
He doesn't understand what he did to deserve you, his sweetheart, but he promises to keep you. Happy, safe, satisfied—to keep you his.
The ache starts the moment you step out of his truck, encumbered by your duffel bag and Lena's backpack.
And even though you look back at him over your shoulder as you walk to the camp office building, hand in hand with his niece—even though you stop completely to run back to him for one last kiss, much to Lena's disgust—Andrew misses you the second you're gone.
He tries to busy himself by cleaning your shared room and color coding your dresser drawers. He pulls small jobs with his brothers and runs a few errands for Smurf and hires a new pool cleaner.
But the loneliness begins to suffocate by the second night.
He wasn't used to this. To the absence of your hand around his elbow, to the lack of warmth from your breath whenever you hid your face behind his shoulder, to the silence that presses in on him late at night.
He misses your quiet giggles and your whispered questions and the weight of your hand in his.
He misses the way you look up at him with wide eyes from down on your knees and the way you roll around restlessly in his sheets every night before finally giving up and admitting, "I can't sleep."
And he'll smile and kiss you sweetly and say, "I know, sweetheart. Take your shirt off."
Pope hadn't realized just how reliant he was on his nighttime routine of fucking you to sleep until he no longer could.
Sure, he could stroke himself to the gallery of photos he has of you split open on his cock, but it's not the same. It's not the same, and sleep evades him the same way it used to before he'd met you.
Before he'd been absolved of his sins by the sweetest little girl. Before you'd stuck your fingers between his ribs and taken hold of his twisted and mangled heart for yourself; without flinching, without hesitance—only a claiming.
And now you were gone, loving him in a different way, a way he had never experienced before.
On the third day, Craig is the first to point it out.
Pope is sitting in the same pool lounger you always lay on. His spine is straight and he doesn't speak, he only stares at the glimmers of reflection in the aquamarine waters.
"Dude," Craig says, lifting a joint to his lips and cupping his hands around the end to light it. "You've gotta get a hobby or somethin' man. I've got a girl coming over in twenty minutes, you can't just sit here all creepy and woeful cause you haven't gotten any pussy in a few days."
Andrew's lip curls. "Don't say that."
His brother shrugs dramatically. "Well, man. I'm just being honest. We're all thinking it, I'm just the one saying it."
"Saying what?"
"That this—" Craig sweeps his hands outwards, motioning to Pope and the state he's in. "It's not healthy. She's a real sweetheart and you love her, I get it. But this, like, codependency you've got going on is just sad, bro. Seriously."
Andrew doesn't respond, but the words stick with him.
He gets in his truck and drives himself to Deran's bar, knowing there's probably a hundred and one things to clean in the kitchen. A hundred and one things that will keep his mind busy.
But while he's reorganizing the back stock, he can't help but think about Craig's little speech.
Codependent?
Andrew Cody. Codependent.
No, he thinks. It's not that bad, is it?
Sure, he misses you. And yeah, it's hard to sleep without you. And he might be going a little stir crazy, not being about to take care of you in his day-to-day routines, but…codependent?
He's drinking a beer, sitting at the bar at the end of the night while Deran resets the register and wipes down the countertop one final time. Pope stares hard at his brother and carefully asks, "Do you think I'm…codependent?"
"Craig talk to you?"
The clarifying question comes immediately, and it does nothing to soothe his concerns. Andrew just levels his stare.
Deran lets out a sigh and says, "Uh…I wouldn't use the word codependent. Isn't that, like, a one sided thing?"
When Andrew speaks, the words come out monotone and rehearsed. "A codependent is someone who forms a dysfunctional, one sided relationship by prioritizing another persons needs over their own, often enabling harmful behaviors."
His brother stares blankly at him.
"I looked it up."
Deran sighs deeply and mulls over the definition for a moment, silence hanging between them while he counts the twenties in his hand. "I guess…maybe it's more like separation anxiety or something," Deran says. "You know, like a dog gets without it's owner."
"That's not helpful."
"You asked," he counters with a shrug.
Pope drops the subject.
And it doesn't matter, anyway. Because an hour later he gets a phone call from an unknown number and when he answers it, the sweetest voice speaks.
"Andrew?"
"Sweetheart? You okay? What's wrong?"
"I…I'm sorry for calling so late, but…"
He can hear it, even through the phone. The anguish in you. Pope hates it. Hates it so much that the words are rushed and desperate as they spill from his mouth. "Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it, okay? Talk to me."
A ragged sound leaves you, an almost-sob. "I—I can't sleep. I need to see you, to kiss you, to…please."
Oh—sweet girl. He knows what you need, even if you're a little shy with the asking. He knows because he needs it, too.
Pope's been fantasizing about this exact scenario for the last forty eight hours. So when he gives instructions, they're crystal clear.
"There's a…a trail. Into the woods, a little bit away from that cabin on the east side of the property, do you know which one I'm talking about?"
He's already got his keys in hand, halfway to his truck before you answer. "They call it Cabin Frog."
It makes Andrew laugh. He'd gone in the middle of the night two days before he'd dropped you and Lena off to scope the place out, and he does recall the cartoonish frog painted on the front door.
"Yeah, that's the one," he says, the faintest trace of amusement still in his voice. "Want you to take that trail through the woods, alright? All the way. It's gonna feel like you're walking a real long time, but once you get to the end you'll be at the side of that winding road we took to get to the camp."
"And you'll be waiting for me there?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," he answers gently. "Of course I will be."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart."
By the time you hang up, Pope's almost out of Oceanside. The bustle of the city falls away behind him, allowing for the tall, towering trees to replace the lights.
He likes it out here. Thinks about one day finding some land away from all the chaos and noise and building a home for you there. Someplace that doesn't belong to his brothers or his mother. Someplace that's just yours.
But maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe he's just excited and eager for the first time in days, fueled by the promise of seeing you.
Pope arrives at your spot before you do. He parks his truck on the shoulder of the empty street and gets out.
With his arms folded and his back pressed to the passenger door, he waits. It doesn't take long, though. He hears crunching leaves and cracking sticks beneath your feet seconds before you emerge from the darkness of the brush.
And the moment you see him, you melt into yourself. Shoulders relaxing, a long held sigh leaving your pretty mouth. You're dressed in nothing more than a pair of pajama shorts and one of Pope's old t-shirts.
That tightness in his chest dissipates right then and there. The tension bleeds from his muscles and everything settles in him as you run up the small, grassy bank at the side of the road and throw yourself into his waiting arms.
Pope smiles. For the first time in what feels like a long time. He smiles and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of you deep into his lungs. "Oh, sweetheart," he muses, hands squeezing you tight.
"I missed you so much," you mumble, face pressed into the crook of his neck.
Pope feels the wetness of your tears against his freckled skin and pulls back just enough to see your face. "Hey, don't cry. M'right here. Okay? I've got you."
His sweet girl.
When he slips his big hands beneath your shirt, pressed to the small of your back, it's not a sexual caress but instead a grounding one. Feeling the softness of your skin, warming the cold away with his heat.
Pope opens the passenger door of his truck, brackets a hand around your waist, and sets you on the edge of the leather seat. He pushes your knees apart to make room for him between them and rests his head against your chest.
He hears the steady thumping of your heart and feels himself finally, finally relax.
You card your fingers through his hair, messing up the structure of the ambery curls. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and he can't help the low groan that leaves him, the sound vibrating against your sternum.
When you tug lightly to pull his head back and press your mouth to his, he can taste the desperation on your tongue.
Andrew reaches up and grips your face just beneath your chin, holding you in place to lick into your mouth. He's moaning already, sounds mirrored in you, wanting to be impossibly closer.
Your hands grow fevered and he matches your every movement, fingertips pressing into the softness of your hips and the curve of your jaw.
He takes you right then and there; pushes your legs up to your chest and sinks his cock deep inside.
It feels like relief, like forgiveness, like coming home.
Andrew hadn't realized just how much he longed for the taste of your mouth. A craving satisfied only by your sweet sighs against his lips.
Even when he's finished, when he pumps you full of his release, he stays fully seated inside you. Not moving but simply feeling you, pulsing around his cock, sensitive and alive and his.
He traces the features of your face and feels like he'd taken his time with you for granted before. This closeness, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips—he hated being without it.
After some time, he helps clean you up with napkins from the glove box and climbs into the cab of the truck with you.
Only then, when you've got your head in his lap, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, does he ask, "How's Lena?"
"She's good," you answer, sleepy grin widening. "I think she's having a lot of fun. And there's this girl her age—Caitlin. They've been making friendship bracelets the last few days. So many of them they're halfway up her arm now."
Hearing it makes Pope crack a smile. She deserves it. After the rough year she's had, he finds peace in knowing she's at least having fun and being a kid for a few weeks the way she should be. "Thank you," he says, voice quiet and a little melancholic.
"For what?"
"For taking care of her," he answers. "And me."
You reach for his hand at your hip and take it in yours. Pope lets you move his fingers of your own will, flattening them before placing them against the side of your cheek. "I love you, Andrew," you say.
It makes his chest pull tight. It's different when you say it. Not like when Smurf tells him she loves him, not like his brothers.
It's painfully different, because it's something you choose.
Even knowing all you know about him and his family, even seeing all you've seen, the things he's never been able to fully shield you from—you still choose him.
He brushes his knuckles against the side of your cheek. And because he doesn't quite know how to explain his own devotion, he says, "I'd do anything for you. Anything."
Andrew means it. Lie or cheat or steal or kill. Anything.
But you don't ask for much. You never do. Just his time and his affection. "Will you rub my back? I haven't been sleeping very well without you."
He nods, eyes shining bright with adoration. You turn on your side with your head still in his lap, and Andrew spends the next several hours stroking his hand lazily up your spine.
Not sleeping, because he doesn't want to miss this precious time with you. Holding his sweetheart close, smelling the scent of your shampoo and the cedar of the trees.
He wakes you a little before sunrise, giving you just enough time that you can sneak back onto the camp's property and back into your cabin undetected.
But before you go, you press your forehead to his and give him that pretty, warm smile of yours. You brush your noses together and peck his lips and say, "Same time tomorrow night, okay?"
"I'll be here," Andrew says.
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart."
This time, when the sun begins to set, Andrew brings a few things with him. He's in less of a rush because there's a routine created now that he can expect.
He's got blankets laid out in the truck bed and a cooler full of your favorite snacks and your favorite movie downloaded on his phone. Everything to make you comfortable, to keep you coming back through the woods every night to find him.
Craig is the first to notice the change.
They're both standing in the kitchen. Pope is making himself something to eat and Craig and Deran are piling leftovers from yesterday onto plates and popping the caps off a couple of beers.
Craig offers one to Pope, and even though it's only eleven in the morning he takes it. Because he's got no where to be until nightfall, and the weather is nice enough out today that he won't be scorched by the sun. He could use a little time to unwind.
His brother's eyes widen in surprise when he takes the bottle from his hands. "You're in a good mood today," he says.
Andrew just shrugs. Knows good and well what's gotten him out of the slump he was in, but doesn't want to give either of his brothers another reason to believe he's codependent. "What? I can't just be in a good mood?"
Deran narrows his eyes and lifts his beer to his mouth. "Seriously, man. Something must've changed."
Whatever relaxation Andrew had hoped for disappears with the conversation at hand. "Stop," he says simply. He wants to argue, but has no ground to stand on that wouldn't collapse under the smallest amount of pressure.
So, Pope leaves it. Gathers his perfectly made sandwich and his beer and leaves the kitchen, trying to ignore the look of concern on their faces.
He chooses not to speak when he overhears Craig saying confusedly, "Therapy, maybe?"
It doesn't matter to him what they think. Not when he shows up on the side of the empty road each night to you bouncing on the balls of your feet, more excited to see him than anyone else has ever been.
So, yeah—maybe he's a little codependent. But none of that matters when you tilt your head back to smile up at him.
None of that matters when you're sitting in his lap, kissing his cheeks and nose and forehead, feverishly rocking your hips against his thigh and making a big wet mess on the denim of his jeans.
Pretty, desperate girl. Always so needy for him, never fully satisfied. And of course Andrew understands, because he's just as insatiable for you.
He does start to wonder if maybe it's a little perverse, though. What he's doing to you.
It clicks in his brain one night when you emerge from the trees in nothing but a bikini top and a pair of jean shorts. The ends of your hair are wet, and when he tilts his head curiously you explain, "The camp counselors had a swim race tonight. And guess what."
Andrew struggles to guess much of anything because he can't stop staring. Rivulets of water still drip down the center of your chest, just between your breasts that are held up beautifully by the polyester ribbon tied behind your neck. When he speaks it's a single word and it's low and slow and raspy, eyes locked on yours. "What?"
"I won! Fastest swimmer out of everyone. Lena was so happy. Seeing her giggling and jumping around—God, Andrew. She's so cute."
"You're cute," he says. "Come here."
And you do, of course. Let him pull you in by the belt loops on your shorts, talking and giggling all the while. So excited to recount your whole day to him that you hardly notice what he's doing until you're on the hood of his car and he's pulling your shorts down your legs and pushing your shoulders back.
It hits him then. With his head between your legs, staring up at you to watch your nipples pebble beneath your bikini. The rubber soles of your high top sneakers make little scuff marks on the black chrome paint as you writhe under the gentle ministrations of his tongue against your clit.
Andrew Cody's got the sweetest, filthiest girl in the palm of his bloodied hands. Wrapped real tight around his finger.
A sweetheart who'd do just about anything for him, and here he is indulging your every whim when in truth he should be protecting you. From himself especially. From the raging monster that lives between his ribs, from the guard dog he'd been molded into by the harsh edges of his life.
Andrew's too weak, though. Could never in a million fucking years deny you anything.
Especially when you set those cute little sneakers over his shoulders and beg so prettily, "Please, Andrew—more. Want you to be—hmm—be mean to me, make it—oh, god. Want you to make it hurt."
And he will, of course. Shoving your legs against your chest, squeezing the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise.
Later in the month, nearly through the final week of your new routine now, the thought crosses Andrew's mind again.
He wonders if the state of your desires has been subconsciously shaped by him. Wonders if maybe, somehow, that darkness inside has started to seep out of his heart and stain your sweet one.
Andrew's given the opportunity to confess these worries to you late one night in the back of his truck. He's got you tucked tight beneath his arm, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the muscle of his pectoral, right over his heart. "Can I…ask you something?"
You turn your head to look up at him. "Anything. Always."
He chews nervously on the inside of his bottom lip, mulling over how he can approach the subject without coming across insecure, despite the fact that he is.
"Do you…you don't…pretend to like the things we do for—for me, do you?"
A crease forms between your brows, and you prop yourself up on an elbow to fully look at him now. "What do you mean?"
Pope swallows hard, casting his eyes away, feeling suddenly as shy as you get around anyone other than him. "When we…when I…hurt you," he says. "You're not asking for those things just because I want them, right?"
"Andrew, what?"
"I just want to make sure I'm not changing you or….or corrupting you." He takes your face gently in his hands, stroking his fingers softly over your cheek. "You're so—so good. Such a sweetheart. And I'm…"
You wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling him away. It feels like a loss, like rejection, and he can feel his heart beginning to crack clean in two.
But then you look him right in the eye, voice more sure than he's ever heard it.
"I want you, Andrew. Not half of you. Not parts of you." You lean up further, on your knees now, a surety in your movements. "Do you…does it bother you? That I want those things?"
"No—no. Not at all. I…" The words get caught, stuck in his throat, horrified and exhilarated all at once to be so honest about the part of himself he's been taught to hate. The part of himself he knows is bad. Andrew is terrified of losing you, of scaring you.
But even as shy as you are, often hiding your face behind his shoulder, voice always timid and unsure, with this you seem certain. Unwavering.
With him, you've always opened your chest fully, willingly, your heart a soft feast for the darkness inside him.
And what is a man who's been denied softness at every turn of his life to do but devour it?
"Pope."
He stops, the spiral in his mind going quiet.
Not Andrew, but Pope. The worst of him. A name given to a boy with blood beneath his fingernails, a boy who'd already been molded.
You take his big hand in yours and bring it to the side of your neck, pressing his thumb just over your steady pulse.
His own heart hammers, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to realize you deserve better than this. Softer than this.
When you speak, the words are a whisper. A secret meant for him only. "I want you to violate me."
And because it's you who asks—his soft spoken, timid little sweetheart, who's never once flinched at the hard grip of his bloodied hands or shown an ounce of fear at a glimpse into what lives inside him—Pope does it.
Unleashes the worst of himself and lets his fingers tighten around your pretty neck. He presses you down and crawls on top of you, knees bracketing the top of your ribcage. Your hands come to steady themselves on the big expanse of his thighs, and the touch is so gentle that it grounds him. Helps him stay in the moment, reminding him that this is what you want.
Pope's hand on your throat moves up your jaw, cradling your face. He circles the shape of your mouth with the rough pad of his thumb, squishing your pretty lips beneath the pressure. "You have such a sweet mouth," he murmurs, his eyes dark and molten. "D'you know that?"
You can't answer, because he's shoving two fingers behind your teeth before you can inhale again. Your tongue swirls around them, between each digit, moaning around the thickness of his knuckles. He pushes them in deeper, deeper, until you're choking and gasping for air.
Pope doesn't pull them out, not right away. He lets those tears well in your eyes, lets your fingers flex at his thighs, nails scratching against the rough denim. But not once do you look afraid.
Instead, your glassy eyes hold a certain sort of magic in them.
When he does finally pull back, Pope's fingers come away slick and glossy with your saliva. You greedily suck in lungfuls of air that he'd denied you, lips turning up at the corners, forming the happiest looking smile he's ever seen.
Pope unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out, already hard and aching. He grips the back of your neck and guides himself between your swollen lips, letting out a sigh of relief when you swallow him down.
Your mouth is soft and smooth, warm velvet around him, tongue gentle but seeking as you swirl it around the tip. He pushes himself to the back of your throat, humming when you choke on his length.
His other hand joins the first, cradling the back of your head, holding you firmly in place so that when he snaps his hips forward your mouth stays in perfect position.
It doesn't take long. Pope fucks your mouth with reckless abandon. Violates you, just like you'd asked. When your eyes go all cloudy, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe. To let the oxygen return to your blood cells, groaning low at the way his cock looks covered in your spit, webs of it clinging to his length and snapping against your lips.
Pope slides himself back into your mouth, down your warm throat, until your nose is pressed up against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock.
He steals your air and you stare up at him with so much adoration in your eyes that it makes his heart constrict. He's never felt a love like this—unconditional and absolute. His own devotion met with equal and devastating totality.
That familiar coil winds tight around his spine, and before he can stop himself Pope is spilling his release at the back of your mouth with a heavy groan.
You swallow him down until he's finished, his cock twitching between your lips. And when he finally pulls out, assessing the fucked out state of you, guilt begins to creep up around the edges of his psyche.
But then you giggle and wipe the back of your hand across your messy, spit-covered mouth, and Pope can't help but mirror the sound.
You cling tight to him for the remainder of the night, and Andrew presses gentle kisses to every inch of exposed skin he can reach with your head on his chest.
It makes him a little sad when sunrise comes and you have to leave him again, but the feeling is soothed by knowing you only do so only to protect Lena.
Still, the final week comes as blessed relief.
On Tuesday night, you come bounding out of the treeline more excited than usual. There's a wide grin on your face as you fall into his embrace, arms wrapped tight around his neck.
"You're in a good mood," he observes, hands resting against the small of your back.
"Mhm. After we put the kids to bed today all the adults got together to watch a movie. A scary one. You wanna know what it was?"
Andrew opens the passenger door of his truck for you, relieved just to hear your voice. "Tell me."
"It was Friday the 13th. You know, the one where the killer goes around and murders all the camp counselors."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't that scary. Some of it was even a little silly. But…there was this one part."
Andrew helps you up onto the leather seat in the cab and stands tall between your knees. He urges, "What part?"
"Well, it just…"
He sees it happen in real time; that slight embarrassment taking hold of you. You twist your fingers in your lap, fidgeting nervously. "Just what, sweetheart?"
Bashfully, you admit, "It got me thinking of you."
And he knows, before you even explain, that this particular scene had you thinking of what he does to you. Pope wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, breath growing a little slower. "Did it?"
"Mhm." You nod. "The killer is, like…super strong. He's tall and broad and big, you know? Like you are."
Andrew feels his face heat when you say it. "Big, huh?"
You giggle softly and press your forehead against his chest that is, in fact, big and broad. Corded with muscle beneath a masculine softness.
He nudges you back up with a shoulder. "Keep going," he says. "I'm still listening."
Your eyes shine brightly when your gaze finds his. When you continue, your voice is just a little lower, quieter—but that shy smile still persists. "He wears this hockey mask, too. Which got me thinking about that mask you wore for that one job—the one I helped with, remember?"
"Mhm."
"And the killer, he was…well, he was chasing one of the camp counselors through the woods. And it was late at night, and the actress was wearing the same shoes as me."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Same color and everything. And then she trips, and he catches her of course—"
"Well, of course."
You laugh at his dry attempt at a joke. "Of course. But then…I don't know. He has…he carries this big knife with him, too. Like a machete kinda. And…" You swallow hard, raise your index finger to his neck, and slide it across the crease in his skin. "He holds it to her, you know? Right here. And she looks so scared but…I don't think…if it were me. If it were…you."
Andrew picks it up then, what you're inadvertently asking him for. He knows you. Knows his sweetheart like the back of his hand, in fact. Can hear your desires even before you form the words around them. "You don't think you'd be scared? If I chased you through the woods and held a knife to your throat?"
Your breath stutters when he puts it plainly. But you don't speak, you just slowly shake your head.
He asks, holding eye contact so he'll know if you lie, "S'that what you want me to do to you?"
"I think…maybe…" You sigh, trying to fight of your shy demeanor. "Yes."
Truthfully, he's not sure what to make of it right away. Because Andrew would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before. Or an adjacent thing, anyway. Chasing you down, tying you up. Seeing that look in your eye when you're not sure what happens next. Seeing just how far he could push, seeing how much he could take.
But it's all only fantasy. Buried beneath his own shame, his own guilt, practicing the learned behavior of suppression. Because it's you, and he's fire holding fragility in the palm of his hand, and Andrew Cody thinks he would die if he ever managed to hurt you. To truly hurt you.
He would die. Should die.
But…he's not taking, is he?
You're offering up your trust, your safety, your life. For him. For pleasure.
No, Andrew thinks. He's not taking, and it's not something as simple as surrender.
You're giving. Eagerly. Wishfully.
The weight of it overwhelms him.
Andrew lifts his hand to your face, brushing the back of his knuckles gently over your cheek. "And you're—you're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart."
A smile pulls at his lips, hearing a phrase of his own echoed in your mouth. Vowing this time not on his darkened heart but on your sweet one. And because he'd give you anything, anything—even the very worst of him, Andrew nods stiffly. Says, "I think I want that, too."
Your shoulders slump just a little, relief bleeding the tension from your bones.
"But you'll tell me if you change your mind, right? Even during. If you…if you do get scared, I won't be upset or mad or—or anything. You just tell me, okay?"
You wind your arms and legs around him, pulling his body against yours, head resting at the crook of his neck. "I'm not afraid of you."
Only then does he feel himself relax, melting beneath your touch. Andrew lifts your face to his with a finger beneath your chin. But as soon as he presses his mouth to yours, his phone begins to ring.
With a sigh, he fishes the pesky device out of his pocket and presses it to his ear, listening to his brother fill him in on the situation going on back home, outside of the perfect bubble of devotion and safety he's created here with you.
When he hangs up, there's melancholy in his voice as he admits, "I've…I've gotta go. Scouting something for a job next week. And I won't make it tomorrow, either. But…Thursday night. Alright?"
"It'll be the last night before summer camp is over," you say with an excited smirk. "So we can…"
Pope nods. "Just don't—don't come all the way off the trail. alright? You find someplace to hide an' I'll…I'll find you. Yeah?"
He doesn't miss the flash of excitement as it flickers through your pretty eyes. But you only nod in agreement, press a kiss to his cheek and say, "Be careful. And come back to me in one piece."
Far sooner than he'd like, you're turning to walk back to camp and Andrew is turning the key in the ignition.
But even knowing he won't see you for two days, the unsettled feeling is soothed in knowing what comes next.
And when he swaps Craig and Deran out at the scouting spot, Andrew is left alone to his own thoughts and they're filled with only you.
Of how lucky he is that of all the people in the world you could choose to shower in your affection, you choose him. It makes Andrew feel lucky and blessed and perhaps a little undeserving.
He thinks about how pretty you always look and how much harder he'll be standing over you with a knife in his hand.
The thought does occur that maybe this whole thing is fucked up—that he is fucked up for wanting it as much as he does. But then he remembers the brightness in your eyes when you'd asked this of him, and it settles something heavy in his chest.
He moves through the next few days in a sort of haze. Unfocused, because his mind is stuck on you. Not an unusual thing, but more intense than any given day.
And by Thursday morning, Andrew feels like he's buzzing with excitement. A little nervous, too, because he wants this to be perfect for you.
He even picks out an outfit. Andrew isn't the type to typically care that much about how he looks, as long as it's neat and clean and comfortable.
But for this, he picks out a pair of black jeans and a black hoodie, an attempt to blend himself into the shadows where he'll be hiding in wait.
He doesn't own a hockey mask, but he does own an all black ski mask, and…there's a part of him that thinks maybe you'll like it even more.
It takes longer to pick out a knife than an outfit, though.
He has quite the collection, in truth. Mostly smaller ones, easily concealed in a pocket or a boot.
But the one he settles on is a little flashier. Sharp around the edges. It's got a heavy, four knuckled grip and a chrome blade. Serrated with a saw back and a glint at its point.
It's pretty, like you are.
Andrew packs his truck with a few extras for afterwards, too. Your favorite blanket. A thermos full of icy water. A towel and a change of clothes and the t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before just in case you ask for one to sleep in.
He stops at Deran's bar before he goes. Sets a stack of cash on the table and says, "I'm busy tonight. So don't bother me."
His brother asses him, trying to unearth an answer he won't be telling. Because this is something meant for Andrew only. Deran might know about your shared codependence, but all he needs to know apart from that is the truth; that you're a sweetheart.
"O…kay?"
Pope's jaw flexes. "I mean it. Don't call me unless one of us is dead."
Deran laughs nervously. "Somethin' going on I should know about?"
"No."
"Okay, well…you're acting weird, Pope. I mean, what? I'm just supposed to agree and not ask any questions?"
"Yes."
"You pullin' a solo job or something?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a solo job."
Deran levels his stare. And then asks with the smallest trace of amusement in his voice, "You breaking in to a summer camp tonight?"
Pope's jaw flexes. He blinks, and points at the cash. "That's for whoever takes my scouting shift," he says. And because he doesn't trust himself to say nothing more, he turns and leaves.
It takes more effort than he'd like to admit to ignore his brother's laughing in the background.
But none of that matters, Pope tells himself. Not now. Not tonight. Not when dusk falls, and he parks his truck in the familiar spot on the side of the road.
Not when he slides the freshly-polished knife into the leather sheath at his hip or when he pulls the black ski mask over his face.
Andrew's heart beats fast as he steps into the woods. The trees here are tall, the underbrush thick. The air smells like soil and rain and there's a faint aroma of fresh blossoms beneath it all.
His steps are careful. Meticulous. He's silent as he disappears into the cover of thick branches and green leaves. Darkness begins to descend, and Andrew lies in wait, knowing any minute now you'll come.
Knowing you'll run.
He's off the trail. Not far, but enough that you'd never spot him without knowing exactly where he's at. He breathes in deep, shedding free of that veil he wears of a righteous man, letting the his own darkness breach the surface of his psyche.
Pope hears you before he sees you. The branches breaking beneath your sneakers, the subtle shift of your feet. And when he does see you, coming into view just up on the trail, the thought crosses his mind that you got all dressed up for this, too.
Your hair's done up all pretty, and there's glitter on your eyelids and mascara on your lashes. There's even a shimmery gloss on your lips, and Pope can't help but think of how nice your glittering mouth would look around his cock.
He doesn't approach, not right away. He just follows close behind, observing the way you move when you think he's not watching. You're a little more stiff—more aware than you are with him. Like his presence alone puts you at ease, letting you become the sweet girl you are with the protective predator at your back.
You're wearing a pair of shorts and a black tank top over a bikini, the straps thin. Easily cut away, Pope thinks.
He steps deliberately on a stick, the sound loud and echoing in the silence of the forest.
Pope watches you turn towards it, your eyes wide and searching. But he's too well hidden in the shadows.
Yet still, you know he's there.
You turn and run.
Pope gives you a head start. Counts to ten in his head before chasing after you, a dark shadow that meets yours all too quickly.
You look back over your shoulder and stumble when you see him catching up, your balance faltering for only a second.
The trees blur at the edges of his vision as he closes the space between you. When he's close enough to hear your panting breaths, Pope flings his hand out to grab your elbow.
You give a yelp and wrench your arm away, slipping out of his hold.
A raw, animalistic sound of frustration rumbles deep in his chest.
Pope forces himself forward, breathing hard beneath the knit wool of his mask. His heart pounds in his ears, hands itching for another touch of your skin.
You're fast. Faster than he'd though you'd be. A sweet little gazelle slipping fluidly through the brush.
But he's the hungry wolf nipping at your heels, and it doesn't take long before he catches up with you again.
Pope surges forward, this time waiting until he's close enough to enclose his arms around your waist.
You let out a cry, loud and echoing in the trees, squirming in his hold that you'll never free yourself from. He's too strong, too big, too mean.
He holds you tight against him, trying to wedge his leg between your thighs as you struggle. Pope reaches for the knife at his hip and unsheathes it, gripping the handle hard as he brings the blade to your throat.
Your squirming settles.
Pope smiles when he sees you swallow hard. "Yeah," he whispers, breath warm against your ear. "You know what that is, huh?"
He pushes you forward, sharp blade pressing against your neck. You let him maneuver you, forcing you over to a tree a few feet away.
The bark is dark and rough, the trunk thin enough for what he intends.
Pope grabs your shoulder and turns you around, pressing your back against the tree. He lifts the knife and presses the point of it to your chin, lifting your head so you're looking right at him.
Your shimmery lips are parted, your eyes wide and zealous and wanting. Andrew doesn't think he's ever seen you this needy before. So filled with desire that your eyes are glassy with tears.
"Aw, sweetheart," he says tenderly. "You gonna cry? Shh. S'okay. You can cry if you need to, hm?"
A whimper stutters out of you, a single tear sliding down your cheek as you close your eyes.
Pope leans forward and licks at the wetness, drinking in the saltiness of your overwhelm. "You're pretty when you cry," he whispers.
He rights his blade, pressing the edge against your throat again. And then he caresses your arm, fingers sliding all the way down to your hand.
"Don't move," he orders, rounding the tree. Andrew sets your hand against the back of it, reaches for your other arm, and brings them together. He takes one of the black zip ties he'd stashed in his hoodie pocket and wraps it tight around your wrists, the plastic sliding noisily over the raised notches.
Pope comes back around the tree to face you, standing just a few feet away so he can get a good look at you. Sweet and pretty, completely at his mercy.
He could do anything to you, anything. And you'd let him. Perfect, perverted girl that you are.
The muscles in your shoulder flex as you fight against your restraints, trying to free yourself.
Pope smiles beneath his mask and steps closer, bringing the tip of his blade to your face. Carefully, he slides the cold steel down your cheek, over your pulse, across your chest.
"Please," you cry, shifting frantically from one foot to another.
He hooks the knife beneath the straps against your collarbone and pulls, cutting them clean.
You whimper, and Andrew feels the adrenaline in his blood peak. His skin buzzes with the power he holds, watching you twitch in fear and arousal alike.
He shifts the blade over, to the other side of your chest. He cuts away what remains of your straps and feels his cock pulse as your breasts bounce, released from their confines. With his free hand, Pope yanks the fabric down your chest, baring you to him, letting the polyester gather just above your hips.
A whimper escapes your mouth, and then his name, and Andrew pauses.
But then you say, "Touch me, please. Please, please, I can't—"
He sees the way your thighs press together. The way your hips move, chasing what little friction the seam of your shorts allows.
Pope tilts his head. "Filthy thing, aren't you?" He slides his blade down your chest, over the swell of your breast. He gently presses the tip of it against your hardened nipple, smiling at the way you squirm in response. "Got everyone fooled, hm? Always acting so shy. Embarrassed so easily."
His hand comes to your center, pressing hard between your legs. You moan at the contact, the sound desperate and guttural.
"But how pretty you sound when you're afraid," he whispers, rubbing his hand over your clothed cunt. He drags the tip of the knife across your sternum, laying the cold metal flat against your other nipple. "Begging me to touch you. To fuck you. To hurt you."
"Yes, please. I need it, I need it, Pope, please—!"
"Shh," he coos, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing hard. "Open your mouth."
You do, and Pope sets his blade between your teeth.
"Hold it," he orders. "Don't drop it. Understand?"
You nod frantically, biting down hard.
"Good." Pope unbuttons your shorts and drags them down your legs. He tugs them off over your sneakers, leaving you in nothing but your cut top around your belly and bikini bottoms.
He drops down to his knees and hooks his fingers around the strings tied at your hips. And as he slowly lowers them, a groan leaves him as he sees just how wet you are.
Sticky and slick, webs of arousal clinging to the polyester fabric as he pulls it away. Pope doesn't think he's ever been this hard before in his entire fucking life.
"Sweet girl," he mutters, discarding your bottoms. He wraps his big hands around the backs of your thighs and pulls them apart. "This where you need me?"
A cry escapes from between your clenched teeth. He thinks you look real cute like this. Squirmy and needy, all for him.
He brings his hand to your cunt, sliding only the tip of his index finger through your syrupy folds. He collects your wetness, dragging it down to press his finger into your entrance.
Pope curls it upwards, stroking that soft spot inside of you, and watches as you struggle to hold the knife in your mouth. Drool begins to collect at the corners of your lips, slowly leaking down your shin. There's a crease between your brows, frustration manifested.
With his free hand, Pope spreads your cunt open. "Pretty pussy's just crying for me, huh?" He pulls his finger out of you, painfully slow, and drags it back up to your swollen clit. He circles it gently, watching it twitch beneath his touch.
And then, with no warning at all, he brings his hand sharply down against your cunt.
You gasp, teeth parting just enough that you drop the knife.
It clatters to the ground between your feet, and Pope looks up at you with a darkened look in his eye. "What did I say?"
Your clit throbs beneath his hand. "M'sorry, m'sorry, I know—"
Pope picks up the knife and wipes both sides of it on his jeans, cleaning the dirt and spit from around the blade. "It's alright," he soothes. "I'm gonna give you one more chance. Okay?"
With a frantic nod you say, "Okay, okay—I'll be good—I promise I'll be good."
He stands, slides his knuckles tenderly over your cheek, and smiles sweetly at you. "I know you will be, sweetheart."
Pope sets the knife back between your teeth and lowers himself down to his knees again
This time, he pulls his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. He leans forward and slides a pointed tongue through all your wetness, drinking deep. You moan in tandem with him, satisfied fully for the first time all night.
He licks every inch of you, tongue hot and wet against your clit. He slides it up and down, up and down, circling your opening that flutters around nothing, begging to be filled.
Pope eats at you like a man starved for it, chin messy and covered in your slick. He presses his face against you, hardly breathing as he licks and sucks feverishly. You taste so sweet, a blend of ambrosia made all for him.
His pretty girl. His sweetheart.
He can hear it in your moans when release threatens. Can feel the way your clit throbs when he sucks it deep into his mouth, tongue flicking over it, ratcheting your pleasure higher and higher.
Pope doesn't let it happen. Pulls his mouth away from you at the very last second, ignoring your whining to slap your cunt again. Not as sharply this time, yet still no less forgiving.
You cry out, thighs trembling, drool covering your chin.
He taps your clit with his fingers. Not quite a slap this time, but not meant for pleasure, either. Just a quick rhythm to keep you right there, right on the edge.
Pope sucks in a breath through his teeth. "So fuckin' wet," he muses. "Does it hurt, baby? Does it burn right here, right in your belly 'cause you need to cum? Hm?"
You try to grit out a response, but it's muffled by the steel in your mouth. Pope stands to his feet and wraps a hand around your neck.
He licks your mouth, right over the blade you hold, cock leaking now behind his zipper. Your eyes are so full of lust and adoration and love that it makes him feel high on it.
The taste of metal and drool and strawberry lip gloss coats his tongue. Pope gently eases the blade from your mouth, smirking when your shoulders slump in relief.
He returns the blade to the leather casing at his hip and palms himself through his jeans.
"I need—fuck, Pope—I need you to fuck me. Please. Please."
It makes him laugh. All those shy, sweet words gone completely now, overshadowed by your desperation. "Yeah," he says. "I know it."
Pope undoes the button of his jeans, watching you watch him.
Your eyes are so eager as he slides his zipper down and reaches in to free his cock, thick and so hard that just stroking it has him fighting back a sigh of bliss.
He closes the small distance between you, lifting one of your legs and setting it up over his hip. Pope lines himself up at your entrance, sliding his cock through your spit-slick folds once before pressing inside.
It feels like solace. Satisfying, blessed solace as he sinks fully inside your cunt, filling you up, spreading you open.
"Oh god—"
Andrew thrusts his hips into you. Hard and unforgiving. The bark of the tree scrapes against your spine, but there's nothing but euphoria on your face.
He slams his hips up into you, fucking you as deep as your anatomy will allow, the head of his cock pressing right up against your womb.
"That's it," he mutters. "Look so fuckin' pretty taking my cock." Pope sets a punishing pace, finding your clit with his thumb and circling it.
Your head falls back, and your sweet moans echoing in the trees. Each wet slide of his cock reverberates in the open space, and the pleasure buzzes beneath you skin. "Don't stop, oh god—please—"
Pope loves the sound of the word in your mouth.
Please.
You beg so beautifully, music to his sick and twisted heart. He knows what he does to you is perverse and wicked and he knows that he shouldn't want to hurt you like this.
But he does. God, he does.
And what's worse is that you want it just as bad. More, even.
He fucks his cock into you, grunting low at how tight and wet you are around him. "You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hm?"
"Yes, yes yes—fuck, Andrew, please. Love you so much, I love you so fucking—hmm—"
The words send a shiver down his spine. To hear it now, while he's fucking you like this, rough and cruel and without mercy—it's euphoric.
He's never been loved by anyone else. Not like this. Not so true or so raw. You ask to be given the very worst of him and when he does you love it still.
The velvety walls of your cunt squeeze tight around him.
"Cum for me, baby," he orders. "Give it to me. S'mine. All mine. My fucking girl. My sweetheart. There you go. That's it."
He fucks you through it, even when his own releases crashes into him. Even when his cock grows too sensitive as he pumps you full of his cum, Pope doesn't stop the rhythm of his hips until your thighs tremble. Until your body twitches, balance faltering, pulling tight at the restraints around your wrists.
He's gentle when he pulls out of you to tuck his cock back into his jeans, and quick to grab his blade, reach around the trunk of the tree, and cut the zip ties away.
Your knees buckle, but Andrew is there to catch you. The way he silently vows he always will be. "Hey," he murmurs. "You're alright. Here, hold onto me."
He places your hands on his shoulders, and grabs your shorts from the forest floor. He shakes the dirt out of them and carefully pulls them back up your legs, righting the denim at your hips.
He then removes his ski mask completely, then his hoodie. Pope pulls it over your head, helping you get your arms through the too-big sleeves. When he's satisfied you're warm enough, he wipes gently at your face with careful fingers, cleaning away your tears and spit.
The entire time, you wear this sated, sleepy smile. Staring up at him through your lashes, mascara smudged now.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Soft. The words break a little in his mouth. "Are you…okay?"
You nod immediately. "I'm really good," you say. "Are you okay?"
Andrew kisses your forehead, cradling your face in his big hands. "Course I'm okay. Just wanna take care of you. Will you let me do that?"
An easy giggles leaves you, and Andrew wraps his arm around your shoulders.
He leads you back to his truck, where he hand feeds you your favorite snacks and urges you to drink water. He holds you close, your back to his chest, stroking his fingers delicately over your arm.
Your wrists are tender and beginning to bruise already, and Andrew thinks he'd hate himself for it if you hadn't told him how pretty they make you feel.
He tries to massage some of the tension from your shoulders, and wraps you up tight in a blanket. You fall asleep in his lap, safe and sound with his arms around you.
Only in the silence does Andrew admit to himself just how much he enjoyed the night. Only to himself does he admit that maybe he does want to hurt you.
Just a little bit. Just enough.
And he thinks it's not so bad, is it, if you want it too?
He gently wakes you just before sunrise. Just before the alarms back at the camp will start to go off, just before your fellow counselors will notice your absence.
Andrew hates to see you go, but the ache is soothed by knowing you'll return to him later tonight, just after five when he comes to pick up both you and his niece.
You kiss him hard before you start back down the trail in the woods. Look up at him through your lashes with a playful smile and embarrassment in your eyes.
Pope laughs when he sees it. Thinks it's a little silly, after all you've done together, to be shy about anything with him. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing…just—well…" He waits. Gives you the time to gather the courage. "Maybe, I don't know…maybe sometime, we could…do it again?"
A grin stretches wide across his face. "Of course we can, baby."
Your eyes brighten. "You swear?"
He thinks he'd promise you just about anything, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Like he put the stars in the sky. Like you're so unfathomably in love.
Andrew smiles. Kisses the tip of your nose and promises, "Cross my heart."
mini rant here, because quite frankly, i am sick of seeing discourse about shawn’s weight loss. it’s all over different platforms.
(yes, i am aware of the irony of making a post about people discussing his body negatively while technically discussing his body. the difference is that i’m not here to critique it, diagnose him, or decide what weight he should be. i’m criticizing the entitlement people feel to do exactly that.)
i just saw @unc-peepaw receive an anonymous ask, which is what prompted this. (so sorry someone came onto your account with that bullshit)
“shawn looks awful. he lost too much weight.”
he looks leaner than he did in some previous roles. that is literally all anyone can responsibly conclude from a photograph. body weight or appearance alone tells us very little about someone’s overall health, and a picture tells us even less. lighting, clothing, posture, hydration, muscle definition, and camera angle can all change how a person appears. revolutionary information, apparently.
people also seem to forget that actors often build and maintain specific physiques for specific roles.
muscle can also become harder to maintain with age because the body’s response to resistance training and dietary protein gradually becomes less efficient, and recovery may change over time. i’m not saying that is what is happening here because, unlike half of the trolls commenting about it, i do not have access to his medical records. i’m saying it is completely normal for a fifty-year-old man not to look exactly the same as he once did.
and for christ’s sake, he is fifty. not elderly. not frail. and doesn’t have to keep perfect continuity with a past version of himself.
“he’s lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time.”
if he were sick or had lost an unhealthy amount of weight, turning it into public commentary would still be cruel and completely unhelpful. concern does not require announcing that someone looks “awful,” dissecting their body, or inviting strangers to speculate about their health. if your first response to the possibility that someone may be struggling is to criticize their appearance, please do some self-reflection.
same vibe…wolfy wolf americas own junk food connoisseur casually consuming some cuisine 🐺😋 canadian mcdonalds hamburger? 👎🏻 skor mcflurry 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻
good morning ☀️ getting straight down to business this week…hoping my investigation brings things to light once its completed ✨ hoping for answers 🙏🏻🕵🏼♀️📂🔎 wishing a happy sunday to my oomfs and noomfs alike 💖💖💖💖💖
Diamond Rings, Pearl Necklaces, Two Bengals, and a Tabby.
Brett Richards X Younger Wife!Reader
-Part Two: Hot Younger Wife-
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This series is a collection of stories about Fire Chief Brett Richards and his younger wife, as they move through life together. Reader is early 30's, hyper-feminine, whip-smart, rich girl of the Clean Energy industry, and the only impulsive thing Brett has ever done in his life is marry her after only 6 weeks of meeting.
Original little Inspo Blurb is here.
Reader is inspired by @thatfanficstuff's reader from her fic That's My Girl! Go read it's cute!
Chapter Summary: Bode reveals Brett's relationship with you, and instead of letting rumors fly, your husband decides everything would go better if they all just met you for themselves. 8.9k words.
Tags: fluff, nosy coworkers, age gap, judgmental coworkers :/, protective!Brett, no smut this time but bit of flirting, bit of backstory dump, talk of death/dead family members, this is the team getting to know you!
A/N: This is a direct continuation of the first chapter, but I don't plan for every part of this series to work like this...I just kept thinking about the team meeting reader and being begrudgingly charmed by her lol as usual, if you have requests/suggestions for scenarios for this universe I'm open to hearing!
Read on A03 if you prefer!
There's a weird energy in the air today.
Brett got used to the station walking on eggshells around him that first week, all their anxious energy fuel for him to force them to improve. Their jumpiness at his every word, even the friendly ones, showed that at least they took his presence seriously.
But today, his first shift back after a couple days off, the nervousness comes with eyes on the back of his head, and immediate downcast stares whenever he tries to catch them.
It's coming from pretty much everyone except Manny and Sharon, who treat him the same as they did the first week; Manny does his best to be an advocate for the positive aspects of the team while hiding the bad, and Sharon responds with arguments and attitude, but frustrated anger whenever they fuck up. He admires her stubbornness, at least, as a woman Division Chief, she's needed it to control a male dominated field.
Everyone else, however, has been looking at him sideways all day. Eve stuttered when Brett instructed her to take a team to cut lines, Crawford's eyes got very wide and scared when Brett told him to take control clearing a path, Audrey couldn't even look him in the eye when he put her on wound care for an accident victim. The rest of the team all bristled with fear each time he gave an order...everyone except Bode Leone.
Bode answered each order with a stiff, questioning frown. More than once, Brett saw him squinting and staring at him, looking him up and down like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Every word from Bode's mouth was dripping with unwell hidden defiance, completely different from the open rebellion he'd had before.
What happened in those two days he was gone?
They've had three calls today, two minor and one major, and thankfully even with the weird atmosphere in the air, everything went off without a hitch.
Now as everyone sits around the loungeroom for dinner, Brett can really feel the difference as he walks across the floor to grab a bottle of water. The other nights everyone had been loud, talking over the TV, playing pool, mostly ignoring him, but tonight it's all hushed whispers and murmurs.
Brett ignores it, mostly, arching his brow and pursing his lips as he feels their eyes on him. When he turns around, every single head turns away.
"You know, during downtime, you don't have to worry about me barking orders at you. Just when that bell goes off again," he says casually, one hand on his hip while the other brings his water to his mouth.
"We're just um, tired, sir," Crawford says, coughing through his obvious nerves.
Brett looks over and sees Bode next to Crawford, about to open his mouth to say something, but before either man can get anything out, Brett feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.
Your name comes up on the caller ID, and for one tiny half a second, a soft smile flashes over Brett's face. It's quickly gone by the time he looks up again, but he knows they all saw it from the way they stare at his phone.
He excuses himself to his office, and again the only person who is able to watch him is Bode, still with that same suspicious frown.
Brett closes the door behind him and his body sags as he releases all tension through a deep exhale. "Sweetheart? Everything alright? You never call when I'm shift."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, did I interrupt anything? Are they behaving?"
Brett looks over shoulder through the window on his office door, where most have gone back to whispering to each other, but Bode, Eve, Crawford, and Audrey continue watching him.
"You could say that. They're being...strange today, watching me all weird."
"Did you yell at them again?"
"Yes, well, yelling is part of the job, Sweetheart, I gotta whip them into shape."
"Well, just remember you know what it's like in their shoes, so try to go easy on them when you need."
"I know, Sweetheart, I know," Brett sighs, heart tightening at the memory of his own mourning period. A period that lasted for years, until just about the time he'd met you. "What's up, why you'd call?"
"Oh, um, well now it feels silly, but...well I got all the contracts finalized, threw in a couple extra discounts since the state also recently signed an order blocking more data centers from being built. You know, wanted to reward them and all, and now I'm just doing some celebratory shopping and..."
"Sweetheart if you're about to send me sexy pictures of new lingerie or whatever you've bought, then I'm glad you called so I can beg you to wait on that. Don't think I could handle looking at you like that right now."
"Ha ha, very funny," you say, and he can practically feel your eyeroll through the phone. "It's nothing like that. I absolutely would not warn you if that's what I was doing, by the way, I know you can handle a little pressure under fire...so to speak."
Actually, Brett probably wouldn't even hate it if you did.
"No, I'm at this jewelry store and they have these really nice watches...would you ever consider yourself a Rolex guy?"
Brett lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head and smiling, completely taken aback. "Sweetheart, there is not a man alive who isn't a Rolex guy. Are you trying to tell me you're gonna get me a watch worth a couple grand?"
"I don't have to! I know you're not normally into things like that but...our anniversary is coming up and I want to get you something you'll love."
"Baby girl, I'd love anything you get me, but I don't expect any gifts, okay? Just you and me and whatever we wanna do is good enough for me."
"So, what if what I wanted to do," your voice drops to a quiet, seductive tone, "was give you an expensive watch and then bounce on your dick in the back of your pick-up, that would be a satisfactory anniversary celebration?"
"Jesus, Sweetheart," Brett sucks in a breath, unable to hide is smile, before looking out the window to find everyone's eyes still on him. He turns to face away. "Yeah, that would be more than satisfactory, Baby girl. But you still don't have to get me the watch."
"Hmm okay, well, then I'll think about it, that's why I checked in first. I mean I also missed your sexy ass voice, but it was mostly about the watch."
Brett can just picture it: you're standing in some corner in an expensive store, twiddling your hair between your perfectly manicured nails, eyes a little wild and sparkling from the reflection of watches, biting your lip to hide the smile you always get when you tease him. He thinks it's cute how you still try to hide it from him.
"I'll let you get back to work," your sweet voice comes through the speaker, just a hint of disappointment behind it. "Don't wanna keep you from saving lives."
"Alright, Sweetheart, it is nice to hear from you while I'm on shift," Brett assures you. "I'll see you in a day, Baby girl. Love you."
"Love you too," you say, punctuating it with a blown kiss.
Brett pockets his phone again, and much to his complete unsurprise, he still sees eyes on him through the door. A small part of him wonders if maybe the wood is thin enough for them to have heard at least his half of the conversation too.
He carefully steps out the door, to Bode's little group all looking at him with wide eyes.
"Can I help you?" He asks sternly.
Crawford and Eve look away, shaking their heads. Bode's expression stays the same. Audrey James's mouth starts to run before she can stop it.
"Who was that on the phone?" Audrey asks with wide, alarmed eyes, words slow like she already regrets them.
Brett's brow furrows and he crosses his arms. "It was a personal call."
"Oh," she says with a nervous nod of her head. "Well okay—"
"Was it that girl?" Bode cuts off with a disgruntled bark.
Brett's body tenses as he snaps his gaze to the other man. "Excuse me?"
"Bode!" Eve hushes, as Crawford and Audrey both join in on trying to silence him.
"No, no, let him speak," Brett says, an unamused frown now gracing his own features.
"That personal call, was it to that younger girl you're having some fling with?" Bode asks, face hardened, as he stands and puffs out his chest.
The rest of the room goes silent, all eyes on Brett. Even Manny and Sharon come out of her office across the room to see what all the tension in the air is about. But Brett stays straight in his power stance, looking directly into Bode's eyes with an intensity that would have turned anyone else into a groveling mess.
"My personal life is nobody's business," Brett says carefully.
"Cut the shit man!" Bode snarls back.
"Bode!" Manny yells, shaking his head angrily.
Brett takes the brief moment while the men silently argue with each other, to look around the room, at everyone looking at him, and he finally realizes. That's what everyone has been so nervous about today. Somehow they all know about you.
Or rather, they know whatever Bode thinks he knows about you.
"Firefighter Leone, what exactly are you saying right now?" Brett asks, continuing his stare down with the man. "How do you know about her?"
That puts a crack in Bode's resolve. His mouth snaps shut and his eyes widen just slightly, out of words to say. But Brett isn't going to let him off easy, and he looks over at Bode's closest friends, the ones he obviously blabbed to first. Out of them, Eve is the one who looks the most alarmed. Bingo.
"Captain Edwards, how does firefighter Leone know about my personal business?" Brett asks, staring her down with a locked jaw.
"Well, um," Eve stutters, looking anywhere but at her chief. "See, uh, Bode wanted to talk to you about the running of the station, and he, uh, thought it pertinent, to do so in person, without any interruptions, so we umm, we uhhh—"
"Fuck it," Bode exclaims, throwing up his hands in defeat. "We followed you home, okay!"
"His idea—" Eve quickly tacks on.
"You followed me home?" Brett snaps.
"What the hell man?" Manny gasps with a shake of his head.
"Bode Leone what were you thinking?" Sharon groans, pressing her face in her hands.
"I was thinking I didn't like the way Brett Richards, someone dad hated, was coming into his station and trying to run it like some dictator! You agreed with me, mom!" Bode shouts back at Sharon. "I just wanted to talk, man to man, Eve came to make sure I didn't go overboard, but when we got there, we saw Brett making out with some ditzy looking girl, who's gotta be younger than me!"
"Watch your fucking mouth, Leone," Brett snarls, voice dropping an octave, anger boiling under his skin. He doesn't care how much attitude any of these people give him, but he'll be damned if they think they can disrespect you. "So, you thought you saw something, and you took it on yourself to tell everyone here? My personal life has nothing to do with how I operate this battalion."
"Of course it does!" Bode scoffs. "You come in here, talking about rules and regulations and 10's and 2's, responsibility and character, but you move like that outside? You want to act all high and mighty like you're the pinnacle example of how to behave, but you mess around with younger girls? How are we supposed to take anything you say seriously?"
Brett lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head as he just stares at Bode. "You have no idea what you're talking about, kid."
"See that? That right there is what I'm talking about!" Bode shouts, slamming his fist against the wall. "If I'm just some kid, then what the fuck is she?"
"That's enough!" Brett barks, stepping up to Bode's space, forcing him to back up against the wall. He can hear Manny and others behind them, pleading for the men to give it a rest. Brett takes a step back and turns to address the rest of the room. "Bode Leone has once again demonstrated that he's all instinct and no thought, no follow through on getting necessary information. You just act. We get to a scene and you jump into action without thinking of every angle, and put more lives at risk in the long run."
"What does my firefighting have to do with this?" Bode scoffs.
"It has everything to do with this, because it's who you are. My job is to assess, I'm good at figuring out what makes people tick, and you think trying to undermine me by airing out my personal life is going to show anyone that you're more suited to be here?" Brett says, voice booming through the lounge. "Firefighter Leone, did you even consider taking a moment to ask me about her, to find out the truth of what you think you saw?"
All eyes turn back to Bode, waiting on his answer, as he visibly deflates. Everyone can see there's still a fight in his eyes, but his lips stay clamped shut and he shakes his head with a defeated sigh.
"No, you didn't," Brett says. He takes another look around the room, at all the unspoken curiosity about the one person in his life that keeps him going every day. How can he sum you up for them? What does he even say to convince people to erase the salacious image they have of you in their minds.
He shouldn't even have to. It's not his job to come into this station and make friends and convince them to be okay with the personal decisions he's made in his life. His job to fix this station and make it run better, so nothing like the loss they experienced ever happens again, so a vulnerable town can be protected
But your voice starts to appear in his mind from when you'd first met. That sweet voice that told him it's okay to be open and just live to make himself happy. Choosing you had made him so happy.
Brett sighs, "For the record, she's not my girlfriend, she's not a fling, she's not someone I'm 'messing' with, she's my...wife."
He lets the word hang in the air, watches as people look at each other to take it in. Manny's brows raise and he looks at Sharon, who's jaw drops ever so slightly. Bode and his crew look green with guilt.
"Yep," Brett continues. "And yes, there's a bit of an age gap, she's thirty-one, incredibly independent, the smartest person I've ever met, and frankly," he looks right at Bode when he says the next part, "If you gave her a chance and met her, you'd all probably like her."
There's a brief pause, the tension cuts through the air for just a moment, until the room explodes with a flurry of questions from almost everyone.
"How long have you been married?" "How did you meet her?" "What does she do for a living?" "Why did you keep her a secret?"
Brett groans, while Manny does his best to shut down the barrage. "We met at an Environmental Impact Prevention Convention, she works for a company that manufactures clean energy materials, and I was not keeping her a secret, I was keeping my personal life private."
"You can have privacy without keeping secrets, why aren't you wearing a ring?" Bode asks in an accusatory tone.
"Because I already lost a ring while working once and just got it replaced, I can go put the silicon copy on if would make everyone happy!" He knew he should have listened to you and just wore the damn thing. But the silicon just doesn't feel as good as the silver, and it's hard to wear metal in his line of work.
"Hey, hey man you don't have to answer this," Manny says, walking up and clapping Brett on the back. "We get it—"
"I think he should answer some of it, he's the one walking in here and not being honest," Bode snaps again.
"Bode!" Manny strikes back. "Stop it, this isn't productive, okay? You wanna prove yourself in the field, fine, argue about that, but trying to call out a guy for what he does outside this station, isn't how we rebuild this team." Manny stops and looks at everyone, at the anger in Brett's expression, still pointing like a dagger at Bode for what he said. "But...we also can't rebuild a team by keeping things from each other."
Brett's face falters for a moment and he cocks his brow at the captain.
"You know, Manny and Bode are right," Sharon says, shrugging nonchalantly, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Brett Richards wants to come in here and build up a team he doesn't even know, it doesn't make much sense...so how about you bring her in and we can all meet little Mrs. Richards?"
"Yeah, yeah that's a great idea Chief," Manny says enthusiastically. "In fact, why don't we do a whole family day? Everyone bring in their partners, spouses, parents, siblings, kids, whoever, we'll throw a barbecue, everyone can bring something...we haven't done something like that since Vince was here, anyway. It can add to the healing."
General consensus of the room is positive, and Brett winces but he ultimately agrees. "Yeah, why not?"
Honestly, he knows you live for things like this, and the only reason he hasn't suggested it is because he wasn't expecting to work at this station too long, didn't think you'd need a reason to get attached to anyone. You, the ever energetic social butterfly, tend to latch on to things and people, and a station and town like this? With all their problems? It's exactly the kind of project you'd take on headfirst, the perfect fixer upper.
But as he shakes Bode's hand to solidify the compromise, all Brett can think is...they have no idea what they're in for.
Sharon pulls him aside, a sly smile on her face as she whispers, "Hot younger wife, huh?"
Brett rolls his eyes. "Like I said, you'd all like her if you met her. You especially would be impressed by her."
"We'll see about that," she replies before sauntering away.
And as everyone goes back to their business, the mood calming to a much more casual one overall, Brett's phone buzzes in his pocket again, this time just with a couple of texts from you.
And he's so thankful he's inside the privacy of his office again when he opens them to find several mirror snapshots of you in fire engine red, lacy underwear.
+
"I should have made an apple pie, with cinnamon, you know? Those are always crowd pleasers," you say, looking forlornly down at the pink box in your hands.
"Sweetheart, everything you make is a crowd pleaser, speaking as the usual crowd," Brett says.
You're both sitting in his car about a second after he'd pulled up to the station, already alive under the dark nighttime sky with the party they put on, just to meet you. The smell of really good barbecue is seeping into the windows, but it doesn't quite overpower the blueberry cobbler you have sitting on your lap.
"Aww, you're so sweet," you say, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turns and meets our lips with his own instead. You giggle into it, and even more when you pull back to see a slight shine from your lip gloss on him. You reach up to wipe it away with your fingers, the light blue on your nails really bringing out the hazel in your husband's eyes. "Sorry, better not let you go in there with Tropical Punch Parfait all over you."
Brett licks his lips, "Too bad, tastes good, Baby girl."
"Well, there will be more where that comes from later," you say with a wink, pulling your gloss from your purse to reapply. You can feel Brett's eyes on you, can see in the mirror how he looks at you with a combination of reverence and nerves. "You don't have to look so scared, this is supposed to be a fun night."
"No this is an interrogation of you, disguised as a fun night."
"Whatever, I'll pass any test they give me."
"And when they ask how long we've been together?"
You pause your movements, looking over at him from the side of your eyes. "Are you saying they don't know?"
"It hasn't come up," Brett says. Not because he purposefully avoided the question when it did. "But these people are...judgmental."
"Oh and you're very open minded."
"For work, to save lives, no, but I'm paid to judge. When it comes to people's personal lives, yes I am. I don't care what someone does in the comfort of their own home. The shit you and I get up to sometimes? We can be pretty taboo. I don't think these are people who can handle taboo."
"If they ask, I'm not going to lie, because I don't care," you say with a shrug. You run your fingers through Brett's curls, mostly silver with little streaks of red still coming out in the yellow light that floods in from the party. "So we moved fast? So what? When you know, you know."
A small muscle twitches in Brett's cheek as he fights back a smile, lips curling just a little. "Yeah," he whispers.
Sometimes, the look of you still takes his breath away. He can't believe he found love again, he can't believe how fast it hit him, and he can't believe it's with someone like you. The amount of times he's stayed up just to stare at you asleep in the bed next time him, soft and youthful and sweet, he can't even count. But you fill him up. Everything with you is easy. You know what you want and who you are, you aren't waiting for him to lead you through life.
You were just as lonely as he was when you'd met. Not for the same reason, but lonely enough that meeting him at the time you did felt like the universe brought you together.
"But I'm not going to let them be rude to you," Brett continues. "The things that kid was saying..."
"It's okay, I can handle it," you assure him. "Now, be a gentleman and help me out of this car."
Brett smiles and steps out of his door, walking around to the other side to open yours. There's so much about you that's a modern woman, but fuck if it doesn't turn you on that Brett is into old fashioned chivalry. Besides, you work hard, you deserve to have a man who will open the damn door for you.
You hand him the pie box and take dainty steps down to the ground, and you straighten your little yellow dress from the wrinkles that formed during the drive. Your hair is pulled up with a pink bow, with little whisps coming out to frame your face. There's not much in your wardrobe that isn't white or yellow or pink or baby blue. Or red, when the occasion calls. Your neck is adorned with a light pearl necklace, with matching earrings to complete the look. You stand up straight in your white peep-toed platform wedges, that give you a little height to match your husband, though he still has to look down to look into your eyes.
Brett kisses your cheek and hands you back the pie box, before he takes your hand in his, leading you both into the metaphorical fire.
The back doors to the lounge area have been propped open, so the party is half inside and half out, plenty of room for all the families and guests to spread out, barbecues running and music playing loud, children laughing filling the air.
It's all so alive that most people don't even notice you at first when you walk in, but as your heels clack on the ground, every single eye in the place turns to you.
The first friendly face you're met with is from Violet, Crawford's fiancé, as she gives you two a big smile and waves you over to a table full of food. "Hi! You must be Chief Richards's wife! Wish I could say Jake has told me all about you, but you're sort of a big mystery around here."
The two of you giggle together while she leads you over to an empty corner of the table to set up your cobbler. "Yes, I heard about the whole big bad secret of Brett's hot younger wife, gotta say I think it's actually kind of fun."
A few guilty expressions look away from you, but you return all of them with a warm smile instead. Brett walks up behind you, protective hand on the small of your back, tight smile on his face directed at the room, while you properly introduce yourself to Violet.
"Well, it's great to put a face to the rumors," she says sweetly. "And wow, I just love this look! Those shoes? Gorgeous!"
"You've got great taste, I can send you a link to the shop! They come in all colors!"
She's about to thank you when Crawford appears behind her, sheepishly hunching his shoulders as he shakes your hand. "Hey, uh, Mrs. Richards, we uh, the group of us," he gestures with a nod over to a circle of Bode, Eve, and Audrey all sitting in their own little clique on benches just outside the doors, "we all wanted to apologize for what you might have heard. It wasn't fair of us to try to start something without meeting you."
"Oh," you look up at Brett with a knowing smile. "You mean that's the interrogation circle?"
Crawford's eyes bug out a little and he starts stuttering, "Oh, um, well, I mean—"
You cut him off with a light hearted laugh, but take a step back to lock your arm with your husband's. "Hey, it's fine, I'm looking forward to it. But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get some food in me and let my man introduce me to his new team first."
"Right, of course, um, we'll, uh, we'll be right out there when you're ready," Crawford says, nodding nervously.
You watch, holding in more laughter as he swiftly takes Violet back outside, and the rest of the group all lean in to whisper about the interaction.
"Wow, you must have really scared them straight," you say, looking up at your husband with an amused smirk.
"What can I say, nobody disrespects my girl," Brett says, punctuating it with a kiss to your cheek.
You let him lead you around the station and introduce you to the team, each person even more charmed than the last by your...everything. One thing of the first thing Brett learned by observing you, was that you knew how to work a room. Everyone got a friendly hello, a handshake, a sincere compliment. Every child got a sweet introduction down at their level. Every spouse or partner got a funny story about some struggle you share as partners to firefighters.
At a point, Brett left you to do everything on your own, just went to fill some plates with food, and pass everyone with a smile that said "I told you so".
Manny especially adored you, after you shared that you remembered watching his daughter dive at the Olympics, and it prompted you to have your company join in on sponsorship for the swim teams.
Sharon kept her distance, just followed you with her eyes while you easily danced through every conversation, and avoided the knowing glances from Brett. She isn't quite ready to admit that he might be right about you...
Brett goes up to you with your food, joining in on a conversation with a couple of the guys and their wives, about a vacation the two of you took to Hawaii, and the sea turtles that swam right up to you.
"I swear, I thought it was a shark, I screamed so loud!" You explain through a giggle, earning loud laughter from the others. "Brett jumped in so quick to rescue me, until we realized what it actually was and," your voice stops for only half a second when you feel his hand on your back again, just over the curve of your ass. "And it was so romantic, so magical."
That story got a few oohs and ahhs, like it always does, and as Brett leads you away, you can hear little spouts of jealousy amongst the couples.
"You're amazing, you know?" He whispers to you as he leads you out the back doors. "I don't know how you do it, Sweetheart."
"Yeah, that's the same witchcraft that got you to marry me, so I'm not ever spilling my secrets," you say with a wink.
"Right, of course," Brett breathes through a small laugh. His smile instantly drops at the sight of Bode and his group, who stop their own loud conversation in its tracks as you two approach. "Firefighter Leone...this is—"
"Brett's wife, charmed to meet you," you interrupt, giving your name and holding out your left hand, the pink gem of your wedding ring sparkling under the torch lights.
It must blind him a little, because Bode's hard expression blinks away, as he hesitates to shake your hand. "Nice, um, nice to meet you. Sorry about um, the whole, you know?"
"Spying on my husband thing?" You finish for him. You can't help but hold in your laughter. Bode is so big and built, even more muscle than Brett, but in this moment, this giant man looks absolutely terrified of you. This must be how Brett feels all the time, wielding his power at the station. "Honestly, I laughed when he told me about it. I'm pretty used to people underestimating me, but Brett is very protective of me, so you probably should have played it more cool."
"Right, sorry about that..." Bode says recoiling with a flinch. Damn, Brett was right, you are kind of cool.
Brett walks around to place his jacket on a corner of the bench for you to sit on, not wanting to get any kind of stain from the wood on your dress, and then takes his place next to you. The group collectively raise their brows, looking at each other as you and Brett share a smile and a soft kiss.
This softer side of him is a little unnerving for them.
"I'm also sorry, even though I was an unwilling participant in the spying situation," Eve says, raising her hand. "I told him it was a bad idea."
"You must be Captain Edwards!" You say excitedly. "I actually have heard a lot about you, all good things! Brett told me you run the inmate camp? I think it's so wonderful you have that kind of program. Rehabilitation is so important to changing the exploitative prison systems in this country."
That earns you an impressed nod from the group, especially Eve, who shares her look with Brett over your shoulder. He returns it with a satisfied smile.
"Yeah, I completely agree," Eve says. A pensive frown passes over her features for just a moment, and she's about to bring up Three Rock, and how it's struggling, maybe having you here to soften the blow of getting Brett on her side would help her out. "Which is why I'm putting everything I can into getting Three Rock up and running again, my guys need that place. It's more than a rehab, it's a home while they have to be away from home. I've seen real good change happen there."
"Why can't you get it running again?" You ask sincerely.
"Well, uh," Eve clears her throat. "The Zabel Ridge fire basically destroyed the land, and there's a lot close by that we could move to and rebuild, but the city is going to sell it for a lot of money. More money than we'd be able to afford."
You bite your lip and look over your shoulder at Brett, who is already shaking his head, "Sweetheart...don't."
"What?" You ask playfully, waving him off and rolling your eyes. "How much are they selling for?"
"What?" Eve asks tentatively. "Why?"
"Well, I mean, if it's just a couple million you need to buy the land and get everything going again, I could easily take care of that."
Your confident, expectant blinking smile is met with jaws dropped and utter confusion.
"Wait, what do you mean you could easily take care of it?" Eve asks. "Are you like...?"
"Rich? Yeah, a little," you say with a shrug.
Again, everyone is completely baffled by you, but behind you can feel Brett amusedly shaking his head, and you hear him take a sip from his beer, no doubt using it to cover his laughter.
"I'm sorry, what do you do for a living?" Crawford asks.
"I work for my parents' company," you say casually. You feel a little nudge on your back from your husband. "Right, right," you continue. "They started InfiniteAir, the largest manufacturer of clean energy machinery in the country. I work in sales and marketing and data...well I wear a lot of hats. I took over some of the roles after my father passed, but my mom is the CEO so I'm not, like, in charge or anything but...well we have a lot of money."
"Are you a billionaire or something?" Bode asks.
You let out a loud giggle. "No, we've always given away too much money to make it to that status. That's how my dad operated. So, if Three Rock just needs money, then I'm more than willing to help out—"
Eve is ready to run into her office to grab her contract papers and give you every financial breakdown she's put together the past few weeks.
But Audrey is practically buzzing next to her, and she almost leaps forward to get her own two cents in. "I'm so sorry, um Audrey James, and that's all cool and everything but I just...I have to say what we're all really thinking, what we've been thinking for the last few days...um...well how does this happen?"
Her hands gesture between the two of you, and you let out a soft sigh, leaning back against your husband. It's at this moment you realize a few more people have gathered around, sitting just far enough for it to seem like they're not trying to eavesdrop. Even Sharon Leone had parked herself just a few feet away. Interrogation time.
"What do you want to know? I know Brett wasn't exactly up for sharing the other day, but I'm an open book," you say, taking a small bite from your food.
You feel Brett's hand snake around to your side, giving you a small squeeze there for comfort. He knows you're fully willing to answer their questions, but he also knows you can be a bit of a stress eater, so obviously the snacking means you've come with at least a little bit of nerves.
"Okay..." Audrey starts, taking in a deep breath. She looks at the rest of the group with pleading eyes, like she doesn't want to be the one to do it. When nobody else steps, Audrey lets out a long groan. "Ugh, alright, how long have you been together?"
You take a slightly bigger bite from your food, as Brett's fingers start to tap on your side, reminding you he's here. "A little over a year."
"You've been married for a little over a year?" Crawford asks suspiciously.
"No," you say, starting to smile. You look up at Brett, who flicks his tongue out before biting his lip, eyes narrowed like he's already about to go on the defensive. You place a comforting hand on his thigh, all eyes quickly snapping to the movement. "She asked how long we've been together, and it's been a little over a year."
"Wait..." Eve throws up her hands, face scrunched up in confusion. "So then...how long have you been married?"
And there's something so funny to you about all of their confusion and slight horror. This isn't the first time you've had to explain yourselves, but this is the toughest audience for it. You can't stop the giggle that comes out, eyes still shining up at Brett. "A little under a year."
It's like numbers and calendars are flying around the group in front of everyone's eyes, each person doing the mental math, each person growing more confused and alarmed by the second.
Crawford slicks his tongue. "But...how long were you—"
"Six weeks." Brett cuts him off, voice stern but confident.
Every jaw around you drops. Bode's eyes go wide. Manny just nods his head with an impressed smile. Sharon lets out a loud laugh.
"Oh that's rich!" She says, clapping her hands together.
"Sharon!" Manny tries to hush her with an apologetic wince to you and Brett.
"It's fine, Manny, we know it's unusual," you say, waving your hand to calm all the tension. "But, you know. We both already had established work lives and all that, we were just missing one thing, and we found it with each other pretty fast. When you know, you know."
Brett takes your hand from his thigh and brings it to his lips, the action causes quite a few of the women surrounding you to swoon. But Brett only keeps his eyes on you, a glint of pride in them, a small confidence boost from the obvious jealousy you cause in everyone.
"Life's short, why not do something bold while we can?" Brett says. Give love a chance. It was what you said to each other when you came up with the idea to just throw caution to the wind and get married, after six weeks of pure bliss. A year later, and even through rough moments, you're still just as happy as back then, and even more in love. "Never know when you'll run out of chances."
Small, admirable murmurs sift through your little audience, even Bode looks like he understands you two. Maybe a proper apology from him will be in your future after all. Sharon, however, quietly stands up to excuse herself, and Brett doesn't miss the frown on her face, the sadness in her eyes. He watches her go back inside the firehouse on her own.
"So do you guys like share financials or?" Audrey asks, before grunting in pain when Eve elbows her in the wide. "Hey! I'm just askin'! Rich younger girl marries the older not as rich guy, it's a little unheard of and kind of backwards by society's standards."
"Maybe the talk of our finances is a little too far and not exactly on the scale of things that are anybody else's business," you say, but you keep your tone light, kind of loving how unfiltered Audrey is. "But, speaking of money...how much was it you needed to get Three Rock up and running again, Eve? Because he can scoff all he wants, but I'd be more than happy to sponsor if I can. Maybe we can set up some kind of fund or trust? Something where the money is protected and insured but people can donate to in the future? OH!" You sit up and clap excitedly. "I can set up an initial fund to get it back going and then we can like, do a fundraiser event every year to keep money on hand to cover costs for emergencies? Or—"
"Woah, slow your roll there!" Eve says, throwing her hands up with wide eyes. "I just want to get the thing up again, we can worry about all that other stuff later. And fundraisers? I don't know how long it will be until anyone in this town can help with something like that, most are still rebuilding for themselves."
Maybe anyone else would be deterred and actually listen to Captain Edwards telling them to slow down, but you're only fueled by the challenge. Brett takes a moment to sit back and listen to you rattle on about even more solutions, with about a million questions about exactly what Three Rock and the town needs. He's seen this wild, excited, and sparkling look in your eyes before, and it's one of the things that made him fall in love with you, how easily and passionately you commit to helping others.
But as much as he'd love to sit here and watch you go back and forth with Eve about how to save Three Rock, he can't help the nagging feeling inside telling him to check in on Sharon. Who knows what she's thinking, having to listen to the two of you after everything she went through losing Vince.
He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, which you barely acknowledge in your fervor, and excuses himself to join Sharon inside.
She's gone all the way into her office, and Brett finds her sipping a beer and touching up the positioning of picture frames around her desk. She doesn't look up until the door latches behind Brett.
"Well, look what we have here, good old nosy Brett Richards barging into someone else's office uninvited," Sharon says in a playful tone, with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hardly counts as barging in."
"You didn't knock."
Brett shrugs. "Alright got me there." He walks over to the chair in front of her desk and leans down with his hands on the back of it. He catches her hand pausing on a frame of her and Vince from when they were younger, and from the wearing on the picture he can tell it was from their academy days. "What got you running in here so suddenly?"
"I didn't run, I very calmly walked," she says, pursing her lips. Her hand finally leaves the frame, and she lets out a resigned sigh. "You got me, you know? I do like her. But she's way too sweet for you, hardass."
"Would you believe I'm actually a sweet guy out of work?" Brett asks batting his lashes.
Sharon snorts. "Not really, but you must have done something right to land someone like her. Was she made in a lab to be completely perfect?"
Brett laughs and shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "She's not perfect. For one thing, she can't cook for shit. I mean, she can bake very well, because she says baking is a science, but cooking is more of an art and she can't handle when instructions are vague. She cares a lot, but sometimes too much...she can get anxious when she can't just fix something and...well she needs someone to bring her back down to earth. There's other little things I've gotten to know this last year, but fuck I don't care about any of it. Believe it or not, every day I just love her more."
"Good to know," Sharon rolls her eyes but nods. She crosses her arms. "You know, all that stuff about life being short, not missing chances...I guess that hit me a little hard right now."
"Course it did," Brett says softly. "You're still in mourning, I get it."
"You don't have to do that Psychology Degree sympathy thing with me, Richards, it's okay to not understand what I'm going through. Look at what you have in your life, that beautiful, nice girl...don't downplay it for me."
Brett bites his lip, as the two of them look out the window, where they can see you happily chatting with everyone outside. He can't help the smile that cracks in his eyes as he watches you, the way the setting sun looks reflecting off your skin. "I'm not trying to downplay anything...That beautiful girl is my second wife."
Sharon's head snaps to him, mouth dropped open. "What?"
"She's my second wife," Brett says, letting out a heavy exhale. "That, um, mentor I told your crew about? The one who died seven years ago? She was my first."
"Your mentor was your wife? Who died in the line of duty?" Sharon asks, mostly to herself as she collapses into her desk chair. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Brett shrugs. "I'm not here to get into my tragic backstory shit, I'm here to help a grieving station heal. Besides, it was a long time ago, and I mean...I've made it through."
"What happened, if I could ask?"
"Structure fire in Clearlake Oaks, one of those quiet morning calls that's supposed to be simple..." Brett's voice starts to trail off, cold anxiety flooding up his throat. "She stepped on a spongy roof and realized too late, sunk like a stone, by the time we found her..."
"Okay, yeah, yeah I get it," Sharon nods, the same sadness in her own voice. "Tell me the truth, when does it get...easier?"
"I can't speak for everyone, but...for me I tried to get back out there a year later, tried to move on but I was stuck. I kept my wedding ring on for so long, you know? It felt like I was cheating if I took off...then one day, I took it off to shower or something, I don't even remember, but I realized I forgot to put it back on and...I don't know. It was just time. Met her not long after that."
"So six years of mourning and then you just marry the first hot girl you meet, or?" Sharon asks with a lighter tone, an attempt to cut off the tension.
It works as Brett chuckles, shaking his head. "I mean before her, I adopted a few cats, and what can I say? They loved her instantly, so I couldn't exactly let her go."
"So, you're saying I should become a crazy cat lady, and marry a young hunk?"
"If that makes you happy."
"Oh brother," Sharon laughs, leaning back in her chair. "What about her? I'm sure you think you're a catch, but how does someone like that just get married on a whim?"
"I am a catch, first of all," Brett says, hands on his hips, puffing out his chest. "And it wasn't much of a whim. We both fell hard, fast. We both went through things that made us not want to lose out on life. Lost my wife, had to find my way of living again, and she...she lost her father around the same time. He was her best friend and she...let's just say we both woke up to how fragile and short life is."
"Well..." Sharon's eyes drift down to the picture of her and Vince again, mind flooding with a lifetime of memories, from heartache to pure happiness. "That part I am starting to understand."
"Good, that's step one."
"Oh yeah? What's step two?"
Brett claps his hands together with a grin as he walks around to her side of the desk, and pulls her chair back. "Step two is not avoiding situations where you have to be social with others."
Sharon starts to groan as she's forced out of her chair. "You're so annoying."
"Sorry Chief, but you're not gonna wallow in here all by yourself, if it's not me dragging you back out there, then it would be my wife. And knowing her, you'd end up roped into a girl's weekend at the spa, which I'm sure you're not interested in at all—"
"Wait, now hold on a second—"
The two of them bicker all the way back out to the party, lighter in both mood and weights from their shoulders.
Brett takes his seat back next to you, just in time to hear you and Eve finish negotiating your solution to Three Rock's issues.
The party moves on, and conversation turns light as drinks start to flow. You down a couple of fruity mixed drinks made by Audrey, and you do in fact invite all the girls to join you in a spa weekend. Sharon is the first to say yes.
Eventually, as the sun fully sets and stars begin to take over the sky, the children running around get restless, the food starts to run out, and the natural end to the evening comes.
You say goodbyes to everyone who part with bigger smiles and more sincerity for you than when you walked in. Brett throws his arm around your shoulders and starts to lead you to the parking lot, when the two of you are stopped by Bode on the way out.
"Listen, Chief I just wanted to apologize, for real, for everything—"
Brett holds up his hand to silence the man, "It's not me you need to apologize to." The two of them look down at you, and you just smile sheepishly back. Brett leans down to give you a small kiss on the temple, "I'll meet you at the car, Sweetheart."
Your eyes stay trained on Bode as your husband walks away, but you're not mad, how could you be? You know exactly how he's feeling, what he's been dealing with. The lashing out and misdirected negative emotions are all things you spent plenty of time doing when your father had passed. It took a long time for those feelings to subside, for you to come back to your old, cheerful self. Luckily when that time came, Brett walked right into your life.
"I, um, I'm really sorry for violating your privacy, and for telling your personal business to everyone. It was wrong of me, and I wish I could take it back..." Bode says, unable to make eye contact with you.
And your heart just breaks for him, the way he's shaking, his voice so quiet. You can't stop the hand that comes up to his cheek, to gently pull his face up. "You don't have to do all this, actually. I mean, I don't love that you followed my husband home, but I know what you've been going through. It must be so hard to see someone in your father's place."
You have half a mind to just come out with it and tell him everything about you, let him know that you're a lot similar than outside appearances would make it seem.
"It's not an excuse," he whispers. "But...I'm glad I got this chance to meet you. I mean, the way you just jumped in to help Three Rock? That was amazing. And your cobbler? Just about the best homemade pie I've had in a while."
"Aw," you coo. "That means so much, especially about the Pie, I mean you should taste my apple cinnamon, but blueberries are in season so it's better for the environment if I just work with those, you know?"
"Right, yeah," he says, cracking a smile. "Look, I um, I understand if you want to keep me at arms length, and I don't know if your husband will ever ease off me, but maybe someday we can just be friends."
You give him a soft smile, holding out your hand for him to shake. "Of course we can. Just do me one favor? When you're out on a call, don't let anything happen to my husband. I love him very much."
Bode gives you a sincere nod, before stepping out of your way, and he watches you with curious eyes as you make your way to the back of the lot.
Brett is leaning against the passenger side door, the car is already started.
"Have a good talk?" He asks, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in tight to him.
You feel the heat of his hands spreading on your back, and you lick your lips at the feeling of one slipping down to your ass. "Yeah, you should take it easy on him, he's trying very hard."
"You're way too nice," Brett says, bending his neck down to join your lips in a quick kiss. His warmth leaves you to pout and shiver as he opens the door, and he holds your hand to help you lift inside. "But I'll take it into consideration."
As he drives away, beginning the long drive home, he keeps a strong hand on your upper thigh, which you cover with your own, petting his thick fingers.
It's mostly quiet on the drive, just soft music and the sound of your nails clacking away on your phone. At a light, he looks over and sees you donating to GoFundMe's from the Zabel Ridge fire.
"Sweetheart..."
"I don't need the money, they do."
He's not going to argue, not when your eyes are so lit up and wide with joy. Instead, he just lifts his hand from your thigh and brings it to your cheek. Heat swells in his chest, bursting from his heart and into the rest of his body, pure happiness, pure life. You look at him with stars reflecting in your eyes.
"Have fun tonight?" He asks, thumb tracing down from your cheekbone to your lips.
Your tongue swipes out lick the tip, a playful glint flashing over your expression for just a second. "You know I did. How about you? Have fun showing me off."
The light turns green just as Brett starts to smirk, and his hand falls to your thigh again, sliding up higher under your dress until you shiver. "You know I did."
FIN.
A/N 2: well now that the team knows her it is time to just get to more fun stuff in this universe lol like at some point i gotta write how they met and that whole thing :)
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process for this work in gif form from sketch to final polish
i'll share more about my process slowly but surely, if anyone is interested. this one i forgot to save the barebones sketch and the timelapse video was... a lot 😬.
but! pretty much this is what i do...
→ see pic or obsess over a song lyric
→ thirst for a bit and make a playlist
→ frankenstein (collage) things + references to fit my vision
→ draw for hours in procreate
→ ride out adhd hyperfocus
→ send illustration layers to photoshop for added effects + textures
→ overthink everything
→ post work here knowing not a lot of people will see it (which is fine really)
→ rinse & repeat
Sadly, that's not the first time I see someone say that, and that's NOT ok
Shawn did lose a little bit of weight, but he still looks very good and healthy. He didn't "lose too much weight." He doesn't look like a freaking skeleton. Y'all are being overly dramatic 🙄
We have the bts picture of Cry Wolf and the updated pictures from yesterday as proof. He looks completely normal and healthy for me
Y'all need to seriously stop talking about people's bodies. And I really hope Shawn didn't lose weight because of the idiots who said he had a belly. 🤬
I'm fuming rn. You should be ashamed of yourself anon.😤
TELL EM @unc-peepaw !!!!! first of all….i’d love to see how they would react if i judged their body and finally….LOOK AT HIM….he always looks so HOT, HANDSOME, SEXY, BUFF, ALL THE APPROPRIATE ADJECTIVES MAKING ME WANT TO DO ALL THE CORRESPONDING ADVERBS….YUMMMMMMMM
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