Simon kinda has a crush on you. The only time he sees you is on field, you two work on a different task force that occasionally teams up with the 141, but every time he sees you it reminds him of his crush on you. Most of the time he just ignores it, he only sees you during missions so there’s no point in dwelling on it. That is until on a mission your captain gets injured and so your whole team goes back to the 141’s base because it was closer. Shouldn't be a big deal, Simon just needs to ignore you for a few days, then he’ll eventually forget about you again like he always does.
Until he walks into the locker room and he realizes, other than your face he's never really seen your skin. He’s only ever seen you on the field, when you are fully covered. And now Simon is learning you are absolutely covered in tattoos, much like him. He just stands there in the doorway staring at you, he can't stop himself. “Need something lieutenant?” Simon ran a hand over his face, fuck you were hot. He shook his head and just walked out. It was weird but you brushed it off.
Simon couldn't sleep that night, couldn't stop thinking about you and those tattoos and how hot it would be to fuck you senseless. Simon got out of bed earlier, hoping a long run would get you out of his head but of course you were also up and getting ready to run. He couldn't even think of anything to say while he looked over your body, you had tattoos all over your arms and legs, the top of your chest and your stomach, it seemed like you had tattoos everywhere except your face. “Lieutenant?” Simon's eyes snapped up from your tattooed thighs, you were smirking at him “like what you see?” Simon's face went bright red and he attempted to walk away but you stopped him “I like your tattoos too Simon” if he didn't have a hard on from staring at you he definitely had one after you said his name.
Simon absolutely couldn't get you out of his head no matter what he did to distract himself, he spent days avoiding you, and even still he got hard just at the thought of you. It got so obvious Simon was avoiding you that Price even asked if something had happened between you two. You were so fed up you went straight to his room. Simon didn't argue as you came in “what's your problem Simon?” he didn't look you in the eyes, he was just looking over your body “do you have a problem with my tattoos or something” Simon shook his head finally looking you in the eyes. He pushed you back against the wall “I want ya to tell me about each tattoos while I fuck you senseless”
eddie gets horny when you’re on your period bc he adoooooores taking care of you and how whiny you’re all the time.
also he loves the mess he can do w your pussy bc he’s feral by your blood, literally a FUCKING animal. fucking bastard loves fucking you when you’re blooding bc of how fast you can come and how sensitive you’re.
That’s what the Munson men are good for, right? Sinking into the quicksand of mediocrity. Becoming a permanent fixture in Hawkins; like the light posts on Main Street, dressed in multicolored tinsel around Christmas. Or the fire hydrant by the library that Smoky the Rottweiler always pisses on during his afternoon walk. Acclimating to the “working class,” or rejecting that and landing in prison. Wasting away on worn couches, or in smoke filled bars where the cockroaches outnumber the patrons.
When Bev asked Eddie if he wanted to take over The Hideout once he graduated, it felt like a trap wrapped in a deceptive bow. The money from managing the bar would guarantee Eddie could cut down on his gigs, and focus on building a more comfortable, normal life for himself. But would the extra money be worth the cost of stalling his getaway?
He’d dreamt of leaving Hawkins just as soon as his teeth sank into the dangling carrot of fame and notoriety. It’s why he spent many nights practicing instead of sleeping. He’d walk into homeroom with bags under his eyes that could hold carry-on luggage, and with a content, lopsided smile often worn by the musical geniuses of the world.
Eddie knew if he agreed to this arrangement, he would need to put a timeline on it. It was the only way he wouldn’t stay here and sink beneath the floorboards as a thumping, taunting heart which echoed the tale of another failure to launch. But not Eddie. Never.
So he committed to a year and a half. That was more than enough time to get his shit together, save up some money, and run for his life. Since the bar didn’t open until six pm, it also gave him room to give a handful of guitar lessons for another form of income. He would hustle as hard as he could, because for Eddie, it was about more than just success and silencing the naysayers.
It was about proving to himself that he was nothing like his old man. Because sometimes, a rage churned inside of him that felt eerily familiar. And when he looked in the mirror during those times… he swore he saw his father, looking back from the glass of a prison visitation room. Today, Ed was shuffling cards in his hands, calloused palms creating a zipping sound as his fingers worked. The same lopsided smile, except the curve of it wasn’t hopeful…
it was taunting. And in his gaze, Eddie could almost hear him say
“You’re not going anywhere, Eddie boy. You’ll be here with me soon enough. I’ll deal you a hand when you get here.” His dad took a long drag of his cigarette, like he did when they’d have Sunday breakfast together before mom took off to serve the insufferable church crowd.
“I had your mother, an angel on earth, and I still fucked it all up. What makes you think you’ll be any different? Face it, my boy. It’s Hawkins for you, not Hollywood.”
When Eddie came to, his fist was buried in the glass of the mirror. Blood haloed around the impact point, silently dripping to the counter below. He cursed to himself, realizing he’d once again fucked up his hand for the foreseeable future. Good thing he hadn’t booked any guitar lessons yet.
Wrapping his black bandana around his hand, Eddie brushed past Wayne just as he entered the door frame to check the commotion.
“Son, what the hell happened?!” Wayne called to Eddie. He paused at the front door, unable to think of a believable lie. “My hand slipped. I’m going to Melvald’s to get a new cabinet mirror,” he replied, not waiting for Wayne’s response as he crawled into the van. “One handed driving it is,” he muttered, holding his hand against his chest to avoid accidentally bumping it. Wayne stumbled from the trailer, no doubt to tell Eddie to move the hell over so he could drive him to Melvald’s. But Eddie couldn’t face Wayne’s gaze. A look of worry and recognition, which scared him just as badly as these episodes. Offering a feeble salute with his wrapped hand, he winced before pulling out of their driveway.
Now to find out if Melvald’s even had a mirrored cabinet. If he were in a bigger city, Eddie knew he’d find one at a Home Depot. But this was shitty Hawkins, where it didn’t matter if you bled out before getting to your desired destination.
Thank you for the tag @this-is-purgatory-silverstar and @brrrainst3w muah 💋
Last song: Goodbye Horses by Lazzarus
Currently watching: well as of right now nothing… but I did watch Flashdance last night.
Current obsession: getting back into ancient Egypt history (used to be obsessed with it as a kid), the Heartbeat City album by The Cars (been playing on repeat for 3 weeks now), linocut (I’m doing a zodiacs series rn: currently 5/12) and finally film photography!!
Currently reading: The Trial by Franz Kafka
Currently working on: balancing my personal life with my professional career, stop getting so anxious about possible threats that doesn’t exist outside my head, enjoying the simple things of my life, having fun hehe.
Currently wearing: my pajamas, so basically an old boxer short (with a hole on my left ass cheek… sexy I know) and an oversized long sleeve t-shirt.
Last google search: Victoria’s Secret, wanted to buy myself some cute new panties ;)
Favorite flower: hydrangeas!!! I love them, they’re a staple in my grandparents’ garden. Every time I see some, it reminds me of my childhood.
No pressure tag (and sorry if you have already been tagged) : @gatorgirlie @whispersoflost @cha0ticstranger @s111ut @snoopyharrington @tellcherhesgone @riddlersoupwrites @jinxispunk @djocufics @djopuppy
sammy bryant and his freaky gf who just wants him to rough her up a bit when they get intimate. begging him to pin you down, use his cuffs on you, throw you around the bedroom a bit, trying to get him to pull you over when he's working one night just to cuff you and take you over the hood of his patrol car. he's so adamant that he might hurt you but you insist you know your limits.
it isnt until he's had an awful day, that he finally caves needing to take his frustration out on your pretty body. he cuffs your wrists to the bed frame, laid out on your tummy as repeated open hand strikes come down on your ass until its stinging and raw. you're crying so pretty though, his sweet girlfriend just taking everything he gives you even when he's got a hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing and releasing to feel the way your pussy clenches harder around him when he's cutting off oxygen. his length stretching you open as the sound of wet smacking and squelches fills the room. his body is pressed into you from on top as he grunts into your ear whispering filth while his hands grope at your chest. every carnal desire to use you for his pleasure and by consequence your own, bubbled inside of him as he kissed up your spine before letting all his weight push you down into the mattress. his love pouring inside in warm white streaks that painted velvet walls, he's kissing your neck as your body trembles coming down from the high. uncuffing your wrists, kissing and massaging them where the leather had been tugging. he's got you bathed and dress, kissing rubbing every into of skin as your.
"you okay? i wasn't too rough? did u hurt you baby? you'd tell me if it was too much right?"
you're hushing him with a gentle kiss and pressing up against his body.
"sammy, baby, you were perfect... now, go to sleep and hold me... don't let go."
summary: when Steve vanishes and Eddie gets caught up in a secret, you find a way to force the three of you to put your cards on the table.
pairing: steve harrington x you (platonic), eddie munson x you (established relationship)
warnings: mention of drugs, other than that none? didn't proof read, lots of angst and dialogue.
word count: 3.7k
Things seemed to get a little better between you and Eddie, the dust sort of settling until the occasional argument broke out but you both always moved past it and focused on the baby. To your surprise, it was Steve who went radio silent.
Every phone call went unanswered, and when you stopped by Family Video, he wasn't there. Robin always offered the same frown and apology, whipping up some excuse as to why he wasn't working. You were hurting from his sudden absence; you desperately needed your best friend.
You knew Eddie didn't want you talking to Steve, and part of you felt so guilty for needing him, but you were used to Steve always being there, and now he wasn't. It felt like a death.
"I don't understand why he won't talk to me anymore," you frowned, your tired eyes incredibly heavy, "it's like he's vanished."
You watched as Eddie stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, double-checking the time on his watch, trying to avoid any conversation about Steve.
Eddie was the reason Steve went away, and he had no guilt; you were his, and that baby was his, DNA or not.
"Eds?" you asked calmly, staring at his face.
He looked up at you, his eyes lighting up, "Sorry, doll. I'm just waiting for something to arrive. Stop getting yourself so upset about him. He isn't cut out to be a dad. You know he's all talk."
You furrowed your eyebrows, "I don't know, it's not like him to act like this. Did he... did he say anything to you?"
Eddie shook his head, "Nah, I've not heard from him. Maybe he just wants us to do this on our own. We're the parents expecting a child, right? Not him."
Before you could argue back, a loud knock sounded at the door. Eddie jumped up from the couch and hurried towards the door with his hand hovering over the doorknob.
"You're going to love this!" Eddie beamed, opening your front door.
Outside, a deliveryman stood beside a large box, with a clipboard in his hand, "I've got an order for..." The deliveryman checks the name, "Mr Edward Munson?"
You walked behind Eddie, peering at the box, "What's this?" you asked.
"Just you wait," Eddie whispers, a huge smile spreading across his face. He then turns to the deliveryman, "That's me," he smiles, "how much again?"
"Fifteen hundred dollars."
Your eyes widened, but you focused on Eddie, casually pulling out the cash without breaking a sweat, counting it once before handing it over.
"Thanks, man."
Eddie carried the box into the middle of the living room as you slowly closed the door, he got onto his knees and removed the plain cardboard packaging, revealing another box decorated with illustrations of cribs and happy, smiley babies.
"Surprise!" Eddie smiled up at you, "Here's another thing ticked off the list."
He stood up and walked behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder before placing his large, ring-covered hands over your stomach. "Happy twelve weeks, princess. I'm gonna build it before work, thinking in the corner of your room or next to your side of the bed?"
"How did you afford this? You said the gig at the Hideout won't pay until next month." You said quietly, your eyes still scanning the box.
Eddie’s grip tightened as he shushed you, "Don't worry about it. I did some extra jobs... sold all the coke, I'll be done with dealing by the time the baby comes, thought I'd get on with it."
He placed a tender kiss against your cheek before he went back over to the box, pulling off the tape and opening it. You wanted to believe him, you knew things would be easier if you did, but something in you couldn't be convinced.
Eddie stopped dealing the moment he decided he could make it work with you, he knew how you felt about the risk of him being caught with drugs and getting locked up again. So you knew straight away he was lying about the coke; there was no way he'd risk missing out on the baby's birth and upbringing.
"So, corner of the room or next to your bed?" he asked again, reading the instruction manual.
"Uh.. next to my side of the bed."
The round wooden crib sat next to your bed, beautifully built, surrounded by the baby clothes Eddie bought weeks prior. You tried your best to distract yourself whilst Eddie went to work: reading a baby name book, flicking through a pregnancy magazine, then trying to nap, and finally going through all of the clothes again, but you couldn't settle. You couldn't rest.
You needed your best friend. You needed Steve.
Standing by the phone in the kitchen, you picked up the phone and dialled Steve's number, your heart throbbing.
"Harrington Residence, who is it?" Steve's mother answered.
"Hi, please can you put Steve on the phone? It's... I'm a close friend of his."
Steve's mother called him over to the phone, and his tone became suspicious when she couldn't tell him who it was. He took the phone from her and waited until she had walked away before pressing it up to his ear.
"Hello?" His voice came through the other line; he sounded tired and down, but you were relieved to hear him, regardless of his tone.
He recognised your breathing and instantly his heart ached.
"Steve? It’s me," you said quickly, "I know you've been avoiding me and the not knowing why is killing me. Eddie said he hasn't heard from you either, and I, I need to know what's happened... I'm so worried, this isn't like you at all."
Steve didn't answer. He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn't. Not with the arrangement he forced himself to agree to with Eddie.
Your chest felt heavy, and your throat swelled, forming a lump, hot tears pricking at your eyes. You sighed and swallowed hard, wiping your wet eyes.
"Steve, please talk to me." You cried, "I don't understand what I've done wrong. Was it because I threw up the pills? A-are you angry with me for something else? P-Please talk to me, Steve. You promised me you would be here."
"I can't," Steve snapped down the phone, tears prickling at his eyes, too. "I can't talk to you. Please don't call here again."
"Steve, wait—"
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Steve hung up the phone, and a suffocating wave of nausea washed over him. He ran up the stairs and into the bathroom, the guilt eating him alive.
Your eyes were wide, and all you could hear was the dial tone buzzing. Steve had completely shut you out, and Eddie was buying your happiness with secrets. Here you were twelve weeks pregnant, and the two men you trusted most were spinning a web of lies right beneath your feet. Hanging up the phone, you dragged yourself back upstairs and climbed into bed. You cried yourself to sleep until you were woken up by Eddie tumbling into your bedroom after work.
"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he murmured lowly as he climbed into bed, I didn't mean to wake you."
Eddie's calloused fingers gently stroked your cheek, he could feel the dampness of your skin and see the puffiness around your eyes through the low glow of the bedside lamp.
"Hey... what’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it the baby? Why didn't you call-"
You sat up slowly, pulling away from his touch, "I called Steve today, Eddie," you whispered.
Eddie's eyes didn't blink, he stared at you and clenched his jaw., "You did what?" he asked.
"I know it was wrong but I called him," you repeated "he sounded so broken, Eddie. He refused to talk to me, and I don't know why. It's killing me."
Eddie glared and got out of bed, frantically pacing around your room, "Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ!" He raised his voice.
"Eddie, my parents are sleeping, please be quiet!" You hissed at him, your eyes filling with tears again.
"I told you I was handling it!" Eddie lowered his voice, "I told you I was taking care of you! Why the hell are you calling Harrington behind my back?!"
You felt the guilt eating you up again, crawling up your throat and ready to spill out, "Because I need him!" you confessed, getting out of bed, "He's my best friend, he promised me he'd be here for me."
"You have me, yet you want him?!" Eddie stormed over to you, his eyes dark and possessive, "Harrington has everything. He was born into wealth; he's got a nice house and car. What do I have, huh?" He glanced at the crib, "I have a band that's going nowhere, a job that doesn't pay enough, and a girlfriend carrying another guy's baby!"
"How many times do I have to repeat myself? I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Eds!" You covered your bump with your hand.
"Then quit begging for him! Do you know what it feels like? Knowing that the guy who got you pregnant can buy you a better life at the snap of his fingers? I let him pay for the crib because I wanted you to have the best. But I’ll be damned if I let him walk in here and take my place. Playing daddy to the child I'm prepared to raise!"
Your eyes widened as you connected the dots.
Steve paid for the crib.
Eddie suddenly had more money when Steve went away.
Eddie was taking Steve's money, Eddie forced him away.
"Oh my god..." you cried, "you've been taking his money, haven't you? You're the reason he won't talk to me!"
Eddie stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, "I told him to stay away, to protect us, to protect our family. The fact that you're crying over him hanging up on you tells me I was completely right to do it."
"I chose you, Eddie! I chose you!"
"Yet you can't keep away from him! You're not satisfied with just me, are you?!"
"You’ve been taking money from him, Eds, you can't do that!"
"It's child support!" Eddie’s voice snapped, running a hand through his wild curls, "He’s paying his dues without being involved!"
"You don't get to make that decision!"
"The hell I don't!" Eddie stepped in close, his hands hovered near your bump, desperate to touch you but too afraid to upset you further, "I am the one sleeping in this bed with you every night. I'm raising this kid with you. Not him."
"Steve is the father, Eddie," you whispered, the betrayal stinging your eyes with more hot tears. "He has a right to be here, even if you don't like it."
"He's a threat!" Eddie finally reached out, pulling you into him, "You think I don't see the way he's looked at you? You fucked him, and now you're connected to him for life..." Eddie croaked, "I lost you once, and I don't want to lose you and the baby if he comes back."
"Steve isn't like that," you sighed, "he isn't trying to take me away... he wants to help, and all you've done is force him to abandon me and become your cash cow so you can feel like a big man."
"I did it for us," he muttered, "I can't lose you to him."
"I know what I did to you... Hiding something as big as that hurts, and kills you every day, but lying to me and forcing Steve away isn't going to make things any better. You can't hide things from me, not like that." You pulled out of Eddie's arms, your eyes falling on the crib, "I think you should go home tonight, Eds. I need some room to breathe."
Without another word, you turned your back on him and climbed back into bed, squeezing your eyes shut.
-------------------
You woke up later than expected, and the sound of another knock at the door forced you out of your slumber. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up and stared at the wooden crib, thinking about how long Eddie spent building it but also thinking about how Steve was the one who paid for it.
Unable to stay in the room any longer, you forced yourself to get out of bed, still able to smell Eddie's shampoo on your pillows and sheets, and as you went down the stairs, you couldn't stop thinking about the argument; you broke your own promise to never sleep on it.
I should've resolved it. I was the one who chose not to.
He means well, he just makes fucking stupid decisions when he's scared and threatened.
The dial tone from your call with Steve still echoed in your head. You wanted to go back into the kitchen and call again but you knew it would be no good. Steve was under Eddie's control, but you needed to intervene somehow, and fast.
Walking over to the front door, you unlocked it to find the porch empty, but when you looked down, your heart dropped; sitting right on the top step was a small and soft plush duckling with a fluffy cream body, a yellow nose, and feet. Tied around its neck with a piece of green ribbon was a folded square of paper.
You crouched down and stroked the duckling's face before picking it up, untying the ribbon and unfolding the note, recognising Steve's handwriting, your breath hitched in your throat.
I'm so sorry for not being here, for ignoring you. Hearing your voice yesterday made me panic. The guilt is eating me alive. Munson made me promise to keep my distance; he said the only way this would work was if I kept away. He mentioned the money, and he was right about it. I can't refuse to pay for a baby I helped make... and he said you guys needed a crib. I don't want to keep away but I have no choice.
I bought this for you and the little baby. I love you both so much.
— Steve
You clutched the little yellow duckling tightly against your chest and squeezed your eyes shut, your tears seeping through the corners of your eyes and running down your cheeks. Nuzzling into the duckling, you couldn't help but feel relief knowing that Steve hadn't abandoned you, and that your suspicions were correct.
All you could do now was figure out what you needed to do to get him back.
You didn't go inside Family Video; you didn't need to; Steve's car in the lot gave him away. Stubbornly, you waited until he finished his shift and locked up and approached him once he was about to climb into his car.
"Steve." You cleared your throat, making him jump, "We can talk here, you don't have to hide, okay?"
Steve slowly turned to face you, his body stiffening as his eyes darted to your small bump and then to your face.
"Is everything okay?" He breathed, "Is the baby-"
"The baby is fine, Steve." You smiled at him, fighting the urge to pull him into a hug, "I got the duckling and your note, thank you."
Steve's face dropped, and his eyes began to go glassy, "I'm so sorry for what I've done, for disappearing. I wanted to be there, I swear to God, I wanted to be there for you both, but Eddie came over and..."
"He gave you no choice, did he?"
Steve swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, "He loves you and I'm a threat to him. I'd never ever do anything to ruin what you both have but... I want to be there for the baby too, I'm just as much as the father as him."
"I thought you hated me," you murmured, "that you didn't want to be part of this anymore... you should've told me, Steve"
Steve nodded, his eyes dull. "I know, but you should've seen how terrified he was; he's trying to build a life for you and the baby, and every time I show up, it'll just be another blow to him, and every time I'll have to look at you both with our child, it'll make me feel like I'm the mistake in all this."
"Steve," you whispered, your anger melting into overwhelming sadness, "You're aren't the mistake in all this, there is no mistake. I want this baby more than anything. I want you to be part of this with Eddie and me. I don't know how it's going to work, but it has to. For all of us."
Steve reaches out and takes your hand. He squeezes it when you don't pull back.
"I want to be here for all of you," Steve croaks, crying, "more than anything."
You squeeze his hand back and offer a small smile, "Well, come to Eddie's tomorrow night? The three of us need to get this sorted, talk it out."
Steve hesitated for a moment, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," your other hand rubbed his shoulder, "It'll be okay, Eds won't bite."
Eddie lit up another cigarette, his knee bouncing up and down whilst he tried to get comfortable on the couch but couldn't.
"I don't like this at all." He huffed.
"It'll be awkward for all of us, Eds." You walked over to him, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead, " But we need to do this, okay?"
Steve knocked on the trailer door, and Eddie got up and walked over to open it. You stopped Eddie for a moment, your hand resting on his shoulder, "Please be nice to him, he's sensitive about this."
"I think we all are." Eddie sighed, opening the door.
Eddie and Steve didn't speak, but Eddie stepped aside, allowing him to walk into his trailer.
You were careful with how you approached Steve in front of Eddie, not wanting to hurt him or cause him to panic. "Thank you for coming, Steve." You smiled at him, "Do you want to sit down, or-"
"I'll stand," Steve replied, the air in the trailer becoming stuffy.
Eddie walked over to your left and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw already clenching, and to your right stood Steve, pacing near the front door with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Both of them refused to look at one another, their eyes only focusing on you.
"Alright," you started, looking between the two men who meant the most to you in the world. "I don't want this to blow up, okay? No shouting, I don't want things to get heated but I'm done with secrets, no more of it. I'm tired of it, and I think we all need to be open about what we want and expect from one another because in a few months, this baby will be here. They deserve to grow in a peaceful environment, with both of you."
Silence hung heavily for a moment. Finally, Eddie looked up at you.
"I'm terrified I'm just a placeholder," Eddie admitted, then looking directly at Steve, "I’m terrified that the second this kid is born, you’re gonna step up and take them with your big house, and all your money... I'm fucking freaking out in case there's a chance that she’s gonna realise she made a mistake picking me," Eddie takes a drag from his cigarette, "I want to be a father to this kid, Harrington. The baby might be yours, but I want to raise them, pack their lunches for school, and teach them how to play guitar. I don't want or need you hanging around our house twenty-four-seven, reminding me of what I can’t give them when you show up with a huge dollhouse, or bike."
Steve listened carefully and nodded, not shrugging off Eddie's concerns or wants.
"I don't want to replace you," Steve spoke up, "It's never been about that. I just want what's best for her and the baby, but do you want to know what I'm terrified of?" He took a breath, "I'm terrified that I'm going to be pushed out, that I'll be denied the chance to get to know this baby... I know you're stepping up as the father, and I'd never get in the way of that but... I deserve to be in that child's, my child's, life too, maybe not as a father but a close uncle at least."
Tears pricked at your eyes, watching and listening to both of them talk it all out, with more respect and understanding for each other than they'd ever had in their lives.
"I want to support your girl too, pay for the medical bills, and make up for anything you're struggling to pay."
"Steve, no-"
"He has a point," Eddie cut you off, "If he wants to help, we can't stop him."
"And I want to be able to hold the baby, I don't want to feel like I'm overstepping with my own child." Steve sniffled, "That's all I want."
Reaching out, you placed one hand over Eddie's tightly clenched fist, and the other over Steve’s trembling fingers. Running your thumbs over their knuckles, circling the pad of your thumbs into them.
"Eddie" you sighed, looking into his eyes, "I chose you, and I love you more than anything. You need to believe that I'm not going anywhere. I want you to be my partner through this, to raise this baby with me, but you need to understand that Steve isn't a threat to any of that."
Your eyes then trailed over to Steve, and you squeezed his hand, "Steve. No one is going to take away your opportunity to have a relationship with the baby. I want you to be here to watch them grow... to take part in that growth. But I need you, Steve, I need you as my best friend and not his rival when the two of you are arguing over what's best for me."
You let go of their hands, "You both care so much, and you have a lot more in common than you realise." You looked between the two of them, "Can we do this? All of us?"
Eddie and Steve stared at one another in silence, your heart thumping. They both reached a mutual understanding, finally settling on the same page.
They were both two guys who loved you, who were terrified of screwing up.
"We figure out a schedule. You get your time with the kid, Harrington. But she's my girl."
A small smile broke across Steve's face, and he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.
"She's your girl, but she's still my best friend."
"Understood." Eddie nodded, pursing his lips, "Do you want a beer or a smoke?" He asked Steve, "This whole thing has stressed the fuck out of me."
summary: the three times you decided to flirt with pope cody and the one time you decided to take it one step further.
content/warnings: in my mind this takes place like during s4 but there's nothing really specific about it, pope calls himself andrew in his mind, canon typical violence/drinking/drugs, all the cody boys are here but mostly craig, reader is drinking alcohol and has hair/wears dresses/heels/perfume, sub!pope, fingering, a good ol handy, a little dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, really just an unseen amount of fluff from me tbh NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 10.2k (oops)
notes: omg my popey.... i love him so much. i got carried away with the plot (kinda a first tbh) but i wanna take care of him so bad. i need to bite his arms. only slightly proofread so proceed at your own risk
credit: gif taken from this set by @wesandresons :)
—
The first time Andrew met you, it was in his bedroom.
Throughout Andrew’s life, many people have come and gone through the doors of Smurf’s house. It would take another lifetime just to count them all.
The parties started when he was young and never ended. The faces blurred together for Andrew now, not that he could really bring himself to care all that much in the first place. Just like Craig’s girlfriends or Smurf’s boyfriends, nobody was ever really a permanent fixture in Andrew’s life. Not if they weren’t family.
He knows that everyone thinks that he’s different. That he’s weird. He notices their looks when he lingers around the pool, in the kitchen, when he’s just sitting on the couch. His own brothers even, a lot of the time. Everyone eyes him like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for him to go off.
Andrew doesn’t really mind, though. Or, if he did, he'd become numb to the feeling a long time ago. In fact, he’s probably become numb to a lot of feelings. But Andrew doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s just Pope and he has been for a very long time.
This party in the Cody household wasn’t different from any other. Booze, drugs, and a big mess Andrew would definitely have to clean up later. The music is loud, bass turned up too high, and Craig is attempting to jump off the roof into the pool again. Amidst the cheers, Andrew thinks about the rest of his brothers and wonders for a moment where exactly it went so differently for him, or if he was just simply born that way.
His brothers seem okay with being in the spotlight. Even his nephew seemed to fare better than him, assimilating perfectly into every situation that arose, especially when people were involved. Andrew was never like that.
J must have gotten it from Julia.
Andrew was never a people person. He was always out of place, like the Cody that just didn’t quite belong, all jagged edges. The parties always send him into the corners of his mind that he didn’t really like venturing into.
The pounding of the bass is getting to him.
He pulls open the door to his bedroom hoping for a moment of silence, when he’s greeted with a pair of bare feet hanging off the edge of his bed. The figure doesn’t stir when he enters, so he creeps in further and shuts the door quietly. He turns his head, scanning now that he has a better view of who exactly is in his room.
You’re laid on his bed, eyes shut, hugging your phone to your chest like a stuffed animal. You’ve clearly come to escape the crowds of the party, same as him. Andrew can’t help as his eyes drag up your legs all the way up to where your short dress shows just a little too much of your thighs. He notices your heels as well, placed nice and neat beside the bed.
“Who are you?” It comes out a bit more gruff than Andrew anticipated and your eyes finally flutter open. It takes you a minute to notice him but when you do you’re shooting up to your feet, spine rigid. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you panic. You startle like a small puppy.
“Oh my god,” you squeak, clearly embarrassed. Your hands fall to adjust the hem of your short dress, much to Andrew’s disappointment. He gives you a once over; it’s half assessing what exactly you’re doing in his room and half just taking you and your skimpy outfit. “I’m so sorry. Is this your room?”
Andrew gives a small nod and you wring your hands nervously. You’re taking him in now, a Cody brother here in front of you, live and in the flesh.
“So which one are you?” you ask, head cocked. Now that you know this is his room, he notices you assessing him in a different light. People always do —it didn’t bother Andrew much anymore but with you he feels a twinge of shame in his stomach. “Deran? Or, um…”
Andrew knows that you’re searching for his name. His nickname. It had to be since there was a short list of people who called him by his real name. Pope Cody is known by everyone in Oceanside. Andrew Cody, on the other hand, is not.
“Andrew.” he supplies, voice softer than before. Now you’ve been added to that very exclusive list. You repeat his name back to him, voice a little warm, no doubt from one of the many drinks that the Cody’s provided. Then you introduce yourself and Andrew attempts to burn your name into his memory.
“Okay, Andrew. Are you hiding too?” Now that he hasn’t kicked you out, you take a seat on the edge of his bed. He notices the compression of where your body laid just a few minutes before on his neatly made and pressed sheets but doesn’t say anything. He likes the sound of your voice too much to interrupt you. “Or just making sure nobody is defiling your room.”
“I’m not hiding,” he replies, crossing his arm over his chest. The strap of your dress falls and Andrew tries not to get distracted. “This is my house. I’m free to go where I please.”
“Fair enough. I’m hiding,” you shrug. A beat of silence passes and you pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit on his own bed. Andrew is curious enough to oblige, sitting on the other end of the bed, putting distance between you. He doesn’t miss how your shoulders drop slightly in disappointment. “My friend is here with Craig and they’ve conveniently disappeared... I don’t even want to know what they’re doing.”
“I have a few guesses.” Another one of Craig’s girlfriends. The giggle of a girl coming from Craig’s room that Andrew had heard when he was walking by suddenly made a lot more sense.
He wills himself not to flinch when you scoot closer to him, closing the distance he deliberately put between the two of you. Andrew was interested, too interested, and that worried him.
Pope Cody wasn’t allowed to want.
“Is it okay if I stay here with you?” you ask, and Andrew’s heart flips. He clears his throat, hoping that you don’t see the blush that’s creeping it’s way up his neck. “I’m just not really sure how long it’s going to take and I would much rather be in here.”
With you, hangs unspoken in the air.
“Sure.” Andrew likes the way you smile when he answers, a small flash of teeth. You scoot even closer and tuck your bare feet under you. You’re so close now that your knee is nudging his thigh. He can smell your perfume from here and it’s heavenly compared to the sweat and chlorine laced air outside. “I don’t really want to be out there either.”
“So, Andrew,” His name sounds like honey when it’s falling from your lips and he wonders how often he can make you say it. The feeling that settles in his chest when you say it is too addicting for him to live without it now. “Not really a party person?”
“No. But my brothers are.” He gestures vaguely to the door, the music pounding on the other side of the wall and then his hands retreat back to his lap. He can feel your eyes on him, but not in the usual way he always tends to notice. You scan him with a kind of curiosity that he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“I’m not really a party person either,” you agree, glancing at the door he had just gestured towards. You look a little sad, even. It makes Andrew’s fingers twitch.“My friend said she needed some moral support coming to meet this guy. So I came, and then she ditched me like an hour ago.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a shitty friend.” Andrew says plainly and he’s caught off guard when you let out a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess,” You shrug, shoulders still shaking with remnants of laughter. Andrew has turned his head fully now to look at you but he doesn’t really understand why you’re laughing. “But maybe it’s like fate, or something.”
“Fate?” Andrew echoes, even more confused than before. You lock eyes with him and he has to resist the urge to break it, enthralled enough by your gaze to ignore the awkward feeling settling in his chest.
“Yeah. Like maybe it’s fate that she left? Because then I wouldn’t have hidden in a cute guy’s room and got to talk to him.” He can tell that your mind is elsewhere, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a dreamy look painted on your face and he’s so distracted he almost misses the fact that you called him cute. Almost.
He opens his mouth to respond but your phone beats him to it, the shrill sound of your ringer filling the empty room. You look at him sheepishly and turn your head to answer as if that would give you the privacy you were looking for. It doesn’t work because as soon as you hit accept, he can hear what he assumes is your friend’s voice on the other side of the line.
You get up and he watches you nod along to the conversation. You’re not doing a lot of talking, but your friend definitely is; he can tell by the murmur of her drunken chatter and the sound of the music pulsing on the other side of the line. You’re kind enough to let her continue on for a bit longer before you let her know that you’re coming, don’t move!
Then you’ve turned back to Andrew, tapping your phone on your palm as you try to find the right words to say. You look genuinely apologetic —for what, Andrew doesn’t know. The silence stretches long, and Andrew is the first one to break it.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says plainly. You don’t really owe him anything, although the look on your face makes him feel otherwise. You take a step closer, poised like you want to take a seat next to him again. Andrew wants you to, but he won’t admit that part out loud.
“I know. I want to-” you start, but your phone starts buzzing like it’s possessed, cutting you off. A quick glance is all it gets; you’re quickly scanning the messages before returning your attention to him. Your phone doesn’t stop vibrating. “It’s hard to leave when you’re looking at me like a lost puppy.”
Andrew chooses to ignore that comment, instead turning to grab your shoes from the side of the bed next to him. He offers your heels to you, arms outstretched, closing the distance between you just like you had before. You give him a small smile as you take them from him, fingers brushing his just a beat too long. The way it sets his nerves alight is also something that he chooses to ignore.
“Thank you,” you say, slipping your strappy heels back on. Andrew looks everywhere but you as you bend down to tie them up, feeling the blush creeping up once again. Once you’re straightened up he gives you a small smile in return, watching as you pull your phone back out again. “Sorry for messing up your bed. I’ll make it up to you next time.”
You say it so definitively, like you somehow know there will be a next time. Before he can reply, you’re giving him a shy wave goodbye, sliding out the door. The music leaks in for a moment when you open it, blending in with the cheers of partygoers outside. When you close it he’s back to the silence of his room, alone. He had come in there looking for a moment to himself but now that you’re gone, he can’t help but want the opposite.
Andrew really hopes that there will be.
—
The next time Andrew met you, it was in Deran’s bar.
He could count on one hand the amount of times he actually sat at Deran’s bar for any other reason besides work. It was rare that he ever got to enjoy a beer, much less have a moment of free time. But between Deran’s insistence and Craig’s staggering frame, Andrew agreed to stay for one drink.
He’s on the dregs of his beer when he notices Craig straighten up in his seat and saunter over to the front door of the bar. Andrew’s head turns and suddenly he’s glad he came, perking up the same way his brother had just moments ago. A girl comes out to greet Craig, looking like his usual type, and he slings an arm over her shoulders, steering her towards the bar with a sly smile.
Then you walk in and Andrew almost falls off his stool in surprise. You’re dressed differently than when he first met you, softer and more casual. Both of you look like you’ve just come from the beach, donned in shorts and tanks, hair curled from the salt water in the air. It makes his heart skip a beat.
You walk in far more hesitantly than your friend, like you’re not too sure if you belong or where to put yourself. Andrew can empathize with the feeling. He watches as you scan the bar; maybe for your friend, or maybe for another place to hide. You lock eyes with him once you finally notice his presence at the bar and you begin to make your way over. Andrew isn’t sure if he should break eye contact but he can’t help it, eyes darting away before they make their way back to yours.
“Fancy meeting you here,” You take the seat next to him, flashing him a grin. Andrew mumbles something under his breath, but you’re not deterred. In fact, you scoot your stool closer to his. You’re laying it on real thick, but he has to admit that he kind of likes it. “You come here often?”
“You know Pope?” The moment is interrupted by Deran, who sets down a full glass of beer in front of you. He’s got a bemused look on his face, eyes darting between you and his brother. Andrew tries his best not to frown, especially at the use of his nickname when you only know him by Andrew. From the expression on your face, he can tell that he’s failing. Your eyes flicker with some kind of recognition, like you were suddenly recalling the name that you had forgotten the last time you met.
“Yeah, I do,” you nod, not even acknowledging the fact that his own brother had just called him by a completely different name. You gesture to his empty glass, the one that he had set aside to fully focus on you when you approached. “And I think I owe him a drink.”
“You do?” It slips out of both Deran and Andrew’s mouths, disbelief on both their faces. It comes out a bit rougher for Andrew, while Deran inquires like you just told him that unicorns were real. You handle both questions with grace.
“Well, I said I’d make it up to you next time,” You smile, pulling the glass that Deran set down closer to you. His brother leans in closer, clearly interested in what exactly was going on between the two of you. Andrew tries to shoot his brother a glare before you look back at him but he doesn’t have enough time. “So, are you going to have a drink with me, or what?”
“Yeah.” Andrew says, perhaps a bit too eagerly as Deran snickers under his breath. He slides him a beer as well, a knowing look painted all over his features. Andrew takes it with a scowl, but his expression softens when he looks back at you. You bring the beer to your lips with a smile and Andrew can’t help but smile back.
Two and a half beers later, Andrew’s face is a lot warmer and you are a lot closer. You’re so close that he can feel your shoes scuffing the edge of his newly polished boots, but he can’t bring himself to care. He likes when you giggle at his jokes; the way that your eyes shine. Andrew can feel his brothers’ eyes on the two of you; he even catches his nephew looking his way a few times.
But for the first time in a while, Andrew doesn’t really want to shrink away. He’s tuned out the background noise, even your friend’s obnoxious drunk laughter at Craig’s pretty mediocre jokes. Because, in reality, Andrew is not the type of guy that a lot of girls like. And Pope especially, is not. But here with you, he lets himself believe that maybe just this once, he’s allowed to have something just for him.
“I like your smile,” You break the silence the two of you were sharing once the conversation you were having earlier came to an end. Andrew hadn’t even realized that he was smiling. He had really just been using the silence to soak in your presence; you still smell the same as you did when you met the first time. Wearing the same perfume that you left on his sheets and pillows just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to admit how many times he shoved his face into them, chasing your scent before it faded. “It’s cute. I like your teeth.”
There it was again. That word. Cute. It’s not a word anyone used to describe Andrew, probably not since childhood. Or possibly maybe never. He almost wants to swing his head around to see if the rest of his family had heard.
“You really think I’m cute?” He can’t help but ask. It might be the beers or the way you look at him or the fact that he can feel your body heat, but his brain is a bit fuzzy. You look over at him, eyes a bit glazed over from the alcohol. Now he can feel you examining him again, looking him up and down.
“I guess cute isn’t really the word for a guy like you.” His heart sinks at that, wondering what you really think about him now that you know Pope and not just Andrew. He knows the stories that circle around Oceanside about him and he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear the ones that you’ve heard.
“A guy like me?” Andrew echoes, trying his best not to sound so sad. His mood perks up when he feels the heat of your gaze taking him in, seemingly a bit unguarded, presumably from all the alcohol.
“Yeah. You’re all built and…” You look around, trying to place a word to describe him. Then you lay a hand on his arm and Andrew stiffens for a moment but he softens quickly, leaning into your touch. You look pleased that he allowed you to do that, smiling like you’re ready to take a bite of him right then and there. “I don’t know. Strong. Thick. Handsome.”
Andrew is sure that he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He’s also pretty sure that he saw Craig choke on his drink at your comment a few stools down from you, but he decides that’s a later problem.
“Thanks,” he says gruffly and it’s really the only word that he can get out of his mouth, embarrassingly. You shoot him a smile, and it’s all sweet and a little too enticing. Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaning into you, ass halfway off his stool.
“Sorry, I’m being a bit forward, aren’t I?” you say, swirling whatever was left of your beer. He tries to shrug nonchalantly but it doesn’t really work. “I just get flirty when I’m tipsy.”
“So you don’t think us meeting again is fate?” He’s teasing, half smile tugging on the edge of lips. You giggle and Andrew basks in the sound. He can’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. The last time he wanted to be so close to someone.
“I never said that,” You’re hiding a cheeky grin behind your glass and Andrew desperately wishes that he could see it. “You do believe in fate then?”
Andrew has to think about it for a moment. He’s not sure, really. Lots of fucked up shit has happened in his life and it would be cruel world if that was the fate that the universe had in store for him. Then again, he’s done some terrible things as well, so maybe it was what he deserved.
“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. Andrew stares into his drink and reflects on all of the things he’s done, the crimes he committed. Julia. Cath. They swirl around in his mind, weighing on his conscience. Then he looks at you and they all seem to float away. “Maybe.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.” He thinks that you can probably sense his hesitancy or the spiral that it sends him down when he thinks about it too hard, so you pump the breaks. He almost can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide open and curious. Andrew is unsure of which version of him that you’re seeing or what exactly is going through your head. He doesn’t have the courage to ask.
“Okay.” he says, a bit too distracted by the pieces of hair that have fallen in front of your face as you turned to take another sip, shielding his view. His hand flexes as he resists the urge to push them away.
Then, like you could read his mind, you tuck them behind your ear and shoot him another look. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by Craig, who is steering your friend in your direction. Andrew’s hand flexes again as this time he suppresses the urge to hit Craig for cutting in.
“She just puked in the plant over there, and I’m pretty fucked up, so…” Craig isn’t subtle in what he’s asking and Andrew notices the worry flicker across your face as you take in your friend, who can barely stand up on her own without his brother gripping her shoulders. You mutter under your breath and he thinks he hears you basically cursing out Craig.
“Okay, just… take her outside. I’ll be out in two minutes.” you say, and Craig stumbles off, your friend in tow. Then you turn to Andrew, an apologetic look on your face that’s becoming all too familiar to him now.
“Is she going to be okay?” His gaze wanders to the door swinging shut behind the pair. You wring your hands nervously, standing up from the stool. Gathering your things a little frantically, you shrug. Andrew deflates a bit as he watches.
“Yeah, I think so. She’ll probably just puke into her purse on the way home or something,” Once you’ve gathered everything in your arms you give a deep sigh, turning your full attention towards him. He notes that you seem a little deflated too, but he’s not sure if it’s because you’re leaving him or because your friend and Craig seem to be deeply irresponsible individuals. “I’m sorry. Again.”
“It’s okay.” Your lips curl with a small smile, still tinged with a bit of anxiety. It’s cute when you lift your free hand up in a small wave, the same way you did last time, and then you’re gone. Your perfume is still lingering in the air when Andrew turns back around and it’s his turn to smile. It melts when he sees Deran standing behind the bar, a smug look on his face.
“You got it bad, man.”
—
After that, Andrew sees you a lot more often.
Your friend and Craig seemed to have made things very exclusive, because now she’s basically living at Smurf’s house. Which means that, since you’re her best friend, she invites you over quite frequently.
You two haven’t been able to have a moment alone since that night at the bar, much to Andrew’s disappointment. The brothers have been busy planning a job, which meant that he was in and out pretty often. His mind was elsewhere though, distracted by the way you brushed arms in the hallway on his way out or when your eye contact lingered longer than usual.
So, maybe that was why the job went a little awry.
They got what they needed to, but not without a fight. The boys trail into the backyard one after the other, everyone bruised and cut up. It always annoyed Andrew when his brothers were impulsive; he was the one that was always suffering the consequences.
He quickly notes that you’re laid out next to the pool in your swimsuit, your body shimmering with sweat under the sweltering sun. Andrew watches a bead of sweat drip from your neck to the valley between your breasts. Time slows as he watches, licking his lips. He barely has time to drag his gaze away before Deran is wheeling on Craig.
“Why are you always pulling this crap?” Deran almost has a finger in his face, gesturing angrily. Craig just rolls his eyes in response, pushing past him and giving him a glare. Andrew can see the tension tight in their shoulders as they both seethe.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.” Craig shoots back, making his way back to the house. Tension has been high between the two lately, just like always, trapped in a toxic cycle.
It seems to snap for Deran, especially after the job, and he jumps on Craig’s back, knocking him over. The commotion is loud, Craig hitting the ground with a loud thud. Deran throws the first punch and Craig’s skull cracks hard against the pavement. Craig is quick to recover though, probably due to his size, and it’s a full blown fist fight in seconds.
The two exchange blows for a minute before Andrew and J rush forward to pull the two of them apart. They don’t put up much of a fight and the two of them stalk off in different directions; Craig into the house and Deran out of the yard. J shakes his head and follows after Craig, hands shoved into his pockets.
A quick glance proves that the pool chair you were on just moments ago is left empty, your drink still sitting on the ground next to it. He assumes that you snuck out once his brother hit the floor, probably wise enough to know how the situation was going to unfold. He can see your figure in the window padding around the kitchen, blurred from the distance.
Andrew closes the sliding door behind him when he enters the kitchen and he finds you there, skimpy bikini and all. You’re rummaging through the fridge and he takes the opportunity to take in the view before you shut the door.
You’re holding the carton of orange juice when you turn, finally taking in Andrew’s state. The cut on his eyebrow, the bruise beginning to bloom on his cheek and his torn up knuckles. You make your way towards him, your brow furrowed in concern.
“Are you okay?” He hides his hand instinctively when you ask, which you definitely notice. You rub the back of your neck with your free hand, a bit sheepish. “I heard, uh, your brothers fighting.”
“Oh.” Andrew frowns as embarrassment clouds his thoughts. Will this deter you from coming back? He really hopes not. He’s silent as his eyes follow you as you grab yourself a glass and begin pouring.
“Yeah, oh.” You shoot a glance in the direction of J and Craig’s rooms, eyebrows raised. “So, back to my question. Is everything okay?”
Andrew contemplates his answer for a second, not sure how much detail to go into. You eye him in the same way that you always do and he is suddenly keenly aware that this is the first moment alone you’ve had together in ages. Pushing that thought aside, he settles on two words: “It’s complicated.”
“Right,” you scoff, making your way around the kitchen island. Andrew can’t help but watch you move, all bare shimmering skin and he shifts a little as all his blood flows downwards. He sucks in a sharp breath as you settle in beside him, resting your arm on the counter. Your sweat and tanning oil smears all over the stone island but he’s too focused on how close you are to be bothered by it. “That’s why you guys all look like shit. Did you guys get in a fight or did you guys do that to each other?”
“Like I said, it’s complicated,” he repeats and you set your glass down, a serious look on your face.
“Andrew, I know who you guys are,” you say and now he’s shifting uncomfortably instead, the sentence shattering any sort of lust filled haze he was just on the precipice of falling into. “I can keep a secret, don’t worry. I just… want you to be careful, okay? That’s all.”
“I’m always careful,” he replies and you huff in disbelief, but it also seems like you can’t help but smile. It’s a nice sight and it even makes him brave enough to take a step closer to you, finally being the first to lessen the gap between you two.
The proximity and the way you look up at him has the haze settling in once more. Andrew wants to reach out and toy with the strings of your bikini bottoms but he thinks better of it. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he almost has to physically shake his head to rid himself of the thought.
“I’m sure you are,” You scan him up and down, examining his cuts and bruises. Though, Andrew swears that he can feel your gaze linger on his arms and his chest. It makes a shiver run down his spine. “But if this is you careful, I’d hate to see when it gets messy.”
“I don’t do messy,” he emphasises, his mind wandering back to the oily smudge you’ve left on the counter. You give a familiar giggle and your hand comes to rest on his arm, and he immediately forgets all about it again. This is the first time you’ve broken the touch barrier between the two of you on purpose and Andrew’s stomach flips at the thought. The heat of your hand is searing through his shirt and he’s glad you can’t feel the goosebumps that are rising under your palm.
“I know, Andrew. I’ve watched you clean,” you joke. Andrew loves hearing you say his name, his lips parting as you do so. He tries to pull his mind away from all the different things he would do to you to keep hearing it slip from your lips.
“Where’s your friend?” he asks, desperate to change the topic to anything but him and his family’s line of work. You let out a sigh, making your way back to the fridge. The door swings open and you start rummaging through the freezer like you lived at the house. Really, at this point, you kind of do.
“I’m not sure,” you say, voice a bit muffled from behind the freezer door. “Her and Craig are probably doing lines off each other’s chests or something.”
You pull out a bag of frozen vegetables, shutting the door behind you and approaching Andrew once more. You hold it out to him and he cocks his head in confusion. Rolling your eyes, you grab his bad hand and place the bag on top of his knuckles, still bloody. The cold dulls the stinging that Andrew had learned to ignore too early on in life.
“Why do you hang out with her?” He all but blurts out, but he can't help it. There was plenty of time for Andrew to watch you two interact when you were over, and you seemed more like a tired mother than a best friend. Plus, Andrew figured that if he could keep you distracted with conversation, you wouldn’t let go of his hand just yet.
“She’s been my best friend since, well, forever…” Pressing the bag into his knuckles further, your hand grips his gently and he can’t help but look at you while you fiddle with the frozen bag. “And if I don’t take care of her, who will?”
“I know the feeling.” Andrew says sincerely. He can’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t a protector, an enforcer, a guard dog. You look up at him now, eyes soft. He feels his gaze soften in return, lips parting.
“I can see that,” you hum like you’re contemplating his words. “Is there someone taking care of you?” The question catches him off guard and he almost jerks his hand back reflexively.
“I don't need anyone to take care of me.” It's a statement that doesn't fully ring true; he thinks about the people who have tried and what he’s lost. It's better off this way, perhaps. But he also thinks you probably wouldn't like that answer.
“Everyone needs someone, Andrew.” Coming from anyone else, he thinks he would refuse. But from you, he feels a bit more inclined to agree. You sound sincere, he feels. Or he just likes you too much to think about disagreeing.
Maybe he does need someone, but no one was ever up for the job. At least no one that knew him —all of him.
A door slams in the distance and you flinch at the loud noise. Not a moment later your friend is rushing past the pair of you, clad in a similar bikini to yours. She’s crying though, mascara streaking as she pushes her way into the backyard. Andrew watches as your head turns to follow her, eyebrows pinching in concern. She sits down on one of the lounge chairs outside, shoulders shaking as she cries silently. You look back at Andrew with a frown and just like always, he knows you have to go.
Maybe his fate is that the universe just wants to cockblock him forever?
“She and Craig probably got into another fight,” you sigh, chewing your lip. You take his uninjured hand and place it on top of the bag, looking up at him. Your face is stern as you speak, like he’s a dog that got caught chewing on the couch legs. “Keep it iced, okay? I’ll talk to you soon.”
You pat his hand gently, soft smile on your lips. You always say that. Soon. Like you know that you're going to cross paths again. That he’s a permanent fixture in your life.
He watches you walk away, eyes on your swaying hips in your cheeky swimsuit bottoms. He’s still staring when you sit down next to your friend, rubbing her back comfortingly.
Andrew stands alone in the kitchen, half hard, frozen bag of vegetables still pressed to his torn knuckles. The worst part is, he’s not even sure what exactly had made him hard; the sight of your body in your tiny swimsuit and the feeling of your hand in his or watching you take care of your friend so tenderly.
Yeah, Deran was right. He is so fucked.
—
If Andrew thought that he couldn't get you off his mind before that afternoon, now you were all he thought about.
When he was making lunch, when he was cleaning his guns, when he was fisting his cock in the shower, trying to keep quiet. All he could think about was you. Your perfume, your smile, your body. Your touch. He wanted to feel it all over his body, soft skin against the raised bumps of all his scars.
So the fact that you weren’t around as often anymore made things more difficult for him. Your friend and Craig seemed to be on the rocks, which means she was around less and less. Which means that you were barely around.
You said you’d talk to him soon and then promptly stopped being invited around, and the thought of how exactly he would get to see you again had him pacing. He didn’t want to scare you off, so he had to pivot towards more conventional methods. Which meant waiting around until Craig had finally got bored enough to start texting your friend back again.
Weeks passed and he rarely saw you, just in flashes; by the pool, walking through the front door, lounging on the couch. He barely had the chance to look in your direction lately, much less have any type of conversation with you. The distance made him hungry, desperate enough to try to flip the odds in his favour.
“What about a party?” He suggests to his family one afternoon, all of the Cody’s crowded in the living room. All three of them turn their heads, looking at him like he’s grown an extra limb. The room is silent as they all try to process the words that came out of his mouth. “What?”
“Pope wants to throw a party.” Deran states, like saying the words out loud may help him truly understand them. “Why?”
“Don’t worry about it,” He crosses his arms over his chest, aware that he’s become a bit too defensive just a beat too late. All pairs of eyes are still on him and he shifts on his feet uncomfortable. “Just do it.”
“You won’t hear me complaining, man.” Craig says on his way out, clapping a hand on Andrew’s shoulder before he goes. The remaining Cody’s watch him go, and then eyes are back on him. He doesn’t want to answer any other questions, so he turns on his heels before they can ask any and follows his brother out.
So that’s how he ended up here.
This party was the same as the rest. Andrew wasn’t around for most of it; he had some loose ends to tie up for his family and he always elected to be out of the house whenever there was something going on, especially now that he had the choice. When he returns, he sees the same damage as always; trash in the pool, people passed out on the lawn, empty solo cups and wet footprints littered across the hardwood floors.
And Andrew does what he always does. Starts cleaning up. He wasn't really sure what his plan was, if he's being honest. He knew you always liked to linger once the parties were done, to make sure your friend was okay. Andrew was hoping that you were a creature of habit with this idea. Seems like right now, it's just delegated him to the role of janitor with no reward.
He starts out by the pool; toeing the stragglers to wake up and get off his property, sifting the garbage out of the pool and throwing the random discarded bikini tops into the trash bag right after it. It’s already the late hours of the morning when he finishes up outside. The neighbourhood is silent besides the sound of the chlorine water softly lapping at the tiles of the pool. Then he makes his way inside and starts tossing out everything in the kitchen, trying not to think about exactly what was occurring when he was gone to make this sort of mess.
“Do you need some help?” A small voice asks and he whirls around on instinct. He turns to face you and he almost wants to drop the black trash bag he’s holding out of shock. Andrew gives you a once over and you look so similar to the first night that he met you that it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. A short dress and barefoot, except this time your heels are nowhere to be seen. You seem a bit groggy, dark make up smudged around your eyes. He oscillates between dwelling on how beautiful you are and wanting to get on his knees to see exactly what you got on under your dress.
“It’s late.” Is what he says instead, continuing his job of cleaning up. There’s a thousand unsaid things with those two words and it seems like you somehow know him well enough to answer all of them.
“Craig said I could crash on the couch,” you say, beginning to collect some of the empty cans off the kitchen counter. Andrew tries to level a look at you, to let him do it, but you give him a look straight back and continue. “And I want to help you. Doesn't seem like anyone else is.”
He accepts that and you two clean in silence for a few moments, working alongside each other. His eyes can’t help but follow you as you flounce around the kitchen, picking things up and tossing them into the bag into his hand. And then you speak. “So, why am I the only one helping you?”
He furrows his brows, pausing for a second as your words catch him off guard. Andrew glances over at you once more and you’re looking at him expectantly. He can’t help but feel compelled to answer, although your big fluttery eyes may play a small part in that. Trying to ignore the blood rushing downwards, he answers. “What do you mean?”
“Um, I mean there’s like, at least two or three other people who live in this house,” He can basically hear your frown as you speak, unceremoniously throwing another piece of trash into the bag. “Why am I the only one helping you clean up? The mess of a party that they threw?”
Andrew has never really thought about it before. He supposes this has always been his role, cleaning up after his family. Solving their problems. Making the bad things go away. Doing the messy work.
“I don’t need any help,” he says simply, voice gruff. He tries to ignore the heat of your disappointed eyes on him as he turns around, but he can still hear your loud sigh. You notice that he’s trying to avoid your gaze, so you catch his forearm in your hand. His muscles twitch under your touch, warmth seeping through your skin. Andrew slowly drags his gaze up from your hand on his arm to your face and he can’t help but soften. “I got it.”
“I just meant that you’re always taking care of everyone else, Andrew,” you explain, hand still on his arm. Your voice is soft in the way that he likes; a tone that seems to be reserved just for him. “Cleaning up after everyone. Making sure they don’t kill each other. Craig’s told me that you’ve bailed him out plenty of times.”
Andrew frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of his brothers talking about him when he’s not around, especially to you. He scowls at the thought, tying off the full garbage bag and placing it aside. He tries to pull away to grab another bag and continue, but your grip tightens on his arm.
“I’m serious. Just leave it for them to deal with for once,” You pull him back towards you, but he feels conflicted. He doubts anyone would actually do it if he left it for them to do —he’s seen the state the house gets into when he’s gone. Andrew hesitates for a moment, but all thoughts fade from his mind when your hand slips from his forearm into his palm, fingers twining with his. All he can do is stare while his brain tries to catch up to what’s happening. “Come on.”
You pull him along and it doesn’t take much effort to have him following. Continuing to stare, he’s got half a mind to hope that his mouth isn’t hanging open. He realizes where you’ve taken him in Smurf’s just a beat too slow as he enters the room.
His room.
He turns to face you slowly and the expression on your face is unreadable as you shut the door behind you. It reminds me of the first time that he saw you all that time ago. The room is silent for a moment as you two take each other in. Andrew hopes that you can’t hear the shaky breath that he lets out from across the room.
“Sit,” you command, gesturing to the bed. Andrew doesn’t waste any time obeying, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. His hands rest on his thighs, clenching and unclenching anxiously. You approach him slowly, closing the distance until he’s face level with your torso. The position has him blushing —he’s sure his face must be red. He tilts his head up to look at you and you take one step closer. His legs part naturally to accommodate you, bracketing your figure.
“Will you let me take care of you, Andrew?” you ask, hand sliding into his hair. He struggles to not let out a groan, blood rushing straight to his dick. He’s so distracted by the feeling of your nails scratching along his scalp as he leans into your touch that he barely even registers the question.
“Okay.” It comes out quiet and breathy, but it feels loud in the silent room. He watches the ends of your lips curl up into a smile, his eyes fluttering. You take the hands that were settled on his thighs and place them on your hips. Taking the opportunity to appreciate your body, his hands run over your curves slowly as he sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does so, too enraptured to take his eyes off you. It makes him twitch in his jeans when you lean a little closer, breath fanning over his face.
A few moments pass as you let him feel your body; he’s practically drooling at the feeling. Once you’ve decided he’s had his fill you climb into his lap, straddling him. He’s sure you can feel how much he wants you, the heat of your clothed pussy on his jeans making him all the more hard.
You barely give him a second to breathe before you’re catching your lips in his, your mouth parting instantly. The kiss is slow and sensual and it has him letting out a broken whimper into your mouth. That seems to spur you on, fingers gripping the front of his shirt to kiss him even deeper.
Andrew doesn’t even know how many times he imagined doing this with you. At this point he’s lost count, but this was beyond anything that his mind could ever put together. The smell of your perfume envelopes him and your body is so warm under your thin dress that it sets his nerves alight.
He can’t help just taking a bit more, big hands gripping your hips and grinding you against him. The small moan you let out as he does so has his hips bucking. Hands still roaming, he instinctively slips his tongue into the kiss. The fact that you continue to rock your hips against his once he lets go of your waist makes him dizzy. The kiss is wet and desperate and all Andrew wants is to get closer, greedy hands grabbing.
Then he feels your fingers drift to the hem of his shirt and he lifts his arms, allowing you to pull it off. The sensation of your nails dragging across his chest sends a shiver down his spine. His hands had settled on your thighs, gripping so tight that he’s sure he’s leaving marks. He feels bad, but then he decides that he’ll kiss them as an apology later, if you’ll let him.
You stop grinding and scoot backwards a little, moving further down his lap. He opens his mouth to ask why, but then your hands are at his belt buckle and the words die in his throat. You’re quick to undo his jeans, wasting no time in pulling him out and taking him into your hands. Your hands are much softer than his rough and calloused ones, warm against the hot flesh of his length. His head tips back as you begin to stroke him slowly, eyes to the ceiling as he lets out another shaky breath.
He had always imagined what your touch would feel like wrapped around him like this, letting himself imagine it was you touching him instead of himself when he was alone. The way you twist your wrist languidly, like you know exactly just how to get him going, has his mind going blank.
“Do you like that?” You mutter, tucking your face into his neck now that he’s made the space. The way you kiss slowly up the sensitive skin of his neck makes his mind fuzzy. He can’t seem to get the words out, so he gives a slow nod instead. “Good.”
The praise makes his hips stutter, fucking into your fist. You let out a small laugh, presumably at how desperate he is for you. A low moan escapes his mouth as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, swiping away the precome leaking from the tip. Your touch disappears for a moment and he tips his head back forwards to you, looking at you through hooded lids. He watches as you spit into your palm and resume your actions, his jaw dropping open ever so slightly. Andrew feels drunk, the slick shlick of you stroking him filling the room.
He thinks you can tell that he’s getting close. He knows that his hips won’t stop rising to meet your touch: a dead giveaway. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you get him there, cock leaking in desperation as he whines. Your hand slips away and he groans out loud at the loss of sensation. His mind is still fuzzy and he almost misses your fingers wrapping around his wrist, guiding his hand across your body and under your dress. Looking down at where your hands meet, his breathing almost stops when you dip his fingertips past the waistband of your lacy panties.
“Don’t you want to feel how wet I am for you, Andrew?” you breathe into his ear. The words affect him deeply and he lets out a strangled noise, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed with you on top of him like this.
“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. He sounds absolutely wrecked as he swipes a finger along your wetness, sickly slow, brows furrowing as he watches your lips part at his touch. You’re dripping for him; he can feel the wet patch you’ve left on your panties against his knuckles as he slides a finger into you. It’s your turn to moan, and he swears at the sound, “Fuck.”
He pumps his finger in and out slowly, basking in the feeling of you sucking him right in. You surge forward and capture his lips in yours, kissing him breathlessly. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he slips another finger alongside the first. His breath catches in his throat as he feels you flutter around his digits, velvet walls pulling him in even deeper.
Andrew loves having you like this, your dress bunched around your hips, giving him a full view of your pussy covered in lace as you grind your clit into the palm of his hand. It’s all too much for him; he drops his head to your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. He thinks of all the times he’s touched himself to the scent of you; whether that be from the sheets from the first time he met you or the way that it lingered in his room after a conversation with you, long after you’ve gone.
His pace quickens and he can feel your legs shaking against his while your hips buck, practically riding his hand. You’re mewling now, coming apart on his fingers the same way you do in his dreams. He feels you clamp down around him and he can tell you’re going to cum seconds before you tell him. He can barely hear it, words lost in your soft whimpers. A rush of wetness is slick against his palm as you let out a moan so loud that Andrew remembers there are other people in the house.
Eyes never leaving yours, he pulls his fingers out from your panties and brings them to his mouth. The way you taste has his eyes almost rolling back into his head, licking up the cum that had dripped down his fingers. He wants to get his head between your legs real fucking bad and eat you until the sun comes back up or until you’re begging him to stop. His cock aches with the desperate need to fuck you, eyes trailing down to your chest as you pull off your dress and toss it aside. He decides to save it until later. Maybe round two?
He’s appreciated your body countless times as you tanned by the pool, but the view of you on top of him, being able to touch you the way he wants, has his blood running hot in his veins. He could die under you right now and he’d die a happy man.
You push him down onto the bed with a soft push and his back lands against his freshly pressed sheets. Lifting your hips, you pull his jeans and boxers down, leaving them to pool at his ankles where his feet are still planting firmly on the floor. He kicks them off and moves further up the bed, loving how you giggle as he jostles you.
Your tongue swipes across your lips and you settle yourself into position, the lace of your panties scratching intoxicatingly against his cock. Mesmerized, he watches as you hook your fingers into your panties and pull them aside, not even bothering to remove them before lowering himself down onto his length.
The two of you let out a needy noise as you sink down, taking him to the hilt. You look absolutely beautiful, the sight of you absolutely fucked out for him making his cock impossibly harder. His hands fly to your hips as you begin to grind again, much like you were earlier.
He lets out a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes hungry. You’ve spread your cum across the short hairs at the base of his dick, whining as you chase your high. You get tired of the grinding and lift your hips, bending forward and resting your forehead against his. His eyes are on yours as you slam your hips back down, eyes fluttering shut.
The pace you set is brutal, hips pistoning as you ride him. The force of it has the frame of his bed swaying, headboard making impact with the wall every time you drop your hips. That combined with the volume of both the noises you two make as you ride him is more than enough to hear through the wall or the door.
“So good, baby. Feels so fucking good,” he coos, lost in the way you fuck him. The wet slap of skin on skin is absolutely sinful, echoing in the room and mingling with the heavy breaths you let out. He’s got one hand on your ass and the other on your breast, overwhelmed with the need to memorize every part of your body. “Been fucking dreaming about your pussy.”
“Oh my god, Andrew,” you whine, hips moving fast. He can feel you clenching around him, trapping him in your cunt like a vice. He can barely keep his eyes open, lids low from the pleasure. You’re squeezing him so fucking tight that he swears his vision is going white. You straighten up and place a hand on his broad chest, using it as leverage to hit a whole new angle.
Andrew feels himself brush against your walls and it has his jaw dropping open as his entire body shaking at the feeling. He’s close but you’re closer, nails digging into his flesh and your moans grow more high pitched, picking up the pace. You don’t stop moving your hips when you cum around him, barely able to keep yourself upright. The feeling of you tightening around him and the sight he catches of your cum glistening around the base of his dick has him moments away from falling over the edge.
“M’gonna cum,” he slurs, hands around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you now. Still sensitive from your second orgasm you squeal, falling even farther forward into his chest. Soft grunts are punched from his chest every time his hips meet yours, taking what he needs from you.
“I want it so bad,” you babble mindlessly, voice dripping with pleasure. He’s never heard you like this before, but now he can’t imagine ever living without it. His thrusts are messy now, determined to hear you beg some more. “Please, I need it.”
“Yeah?” He barely even notices himself speak, too busy fucking into your pussy to think of anything else. He’s so close that his arms are shaking, thick muscles twitching in anticipation. He almost wants to cry, overwhelmed by the way he’s buried so deep inside you. “You want me to pump you full of my cum, baby?”
“Please,” you whine, voice cracking with need. The sound of it has Andrew’s hips faltering as he does exactly that, swearing sharply as he does so. His entire body jerks from the feeling, so wracked in pleasure that he can’t control it. You let out a moan alongside his as he fucks him cum back into you, nice and slow. Once the overstimulation gets to him his hips come to a stop, sweat beading on his forehead.
You fall limp on top of him, the deep rise and fall of your chest matching his. He wraps his two big arms around you instinctively, pulling you closer against him. Andrew basks in the quiet, punctuated by nothing other than your quiet breathing, closing his eyes.
“You okay?” Your voice is muffled against his chest, warm breath fanning over his skin. He’s got a hand running absentmindedly up and down the bare skin of your back, still sticky with sweat. “That wasn’t too much?”
“No,” he rumbles, voice soft. His fingers are still skimming as allows himself to take in the moment for just a beat longer. Then he’s got you under him, flat on your back. He loves the way you look up at him, legs still wrapped around his waist. He noses his way into your neck, noticing that his scent is intermingling with yours the more time you spend with him. His hands begin to roam once more and he can feel his blood rush downwards when you look at him with your big curious eyes. “Not enough.”
If Andrew had any say in it, you two were in for a long night.
—
In the morning, Andrew is the first to wake up. He always had trouble getting to sleep, sometimes staring at his ceiling for hours in the night, but the warmth you brought to his bed had pulled him under within minutes.
He turned his head to face you, eyes flicking over your face as the amber light of the sun painted your face. You were clad in one of his shirts, the plain black looking much better on you than it ever did on him. Andrew shifts slowly so as to not wake you and slides out of bed.
The walk to the kitchen is quiet, like it usually is in the morning considering the fact that the rest of his family regularly kept late hours, so he was surprised to find Craig, already seated at the bar, tucking into a bowl of cereal. He looks up and sees who it is, his face twisting into something much more smug as he takes another bite.
Andrew is quick to pull a face back, not interested in hashing out his night with Craig, who clearly wants to hear all the details. Instead, he starts to clear the mess that his brother had left out while he assembled his breakfast. Craig waits a beat, like he expects him to change his mind, but Andrew stays silent.
“Pope, man-” he starts, but a door creaks shut in down the hall that distracts him, leaving the unfinished sentence in the air. Then you turn the corner, still only in his shirt, and Andrew realizes that it wasn’t the noise that caught Craig’s attention. Your hair is still mussed and you’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when you approach him. You wrap your arms around his wide torso and his arm settles at your waist. Natural as if you’ve done it a million times before. Andrew allows himself to smile at the feeling, not even caring that his brother is watching with a shit eating grin on his face.
mallcop!sammy bryant catches you shoplifting lingerie. you're all teary and blubbering about how you've "never done this before! officer bryant, please..." but he doesn't wanna hear it. he has to give you a thorough patdown in the back room!!
of course he has to get you naked, it's part of the procedure.
of course he has to make you try on whatever you stole. he has to make sure it fits, or you could've been stealing on behalf of someone else! he palms his cock as he watches you slip on the bra and panties, your legs shaky.
of course he asks you to spread your thighs. he has to shove his thick fingers into your tight, wet cunt, you could've smuggled merchandise up there!! (you haven't, but sammy kinda wishes you had. he's watched some weird porn when he was supposed to be monitoring the security cameras.)
and of course he has to take his hard cock out of his slacks, bend you over the table and fuck you hard. how else is he gonna make sure you never do it again? you're old enough to know better, but still, someone has to punish little troublemakers like you :(
Gator grew up in a broken home - and eventually vowed that he'd never behave like his father. But when a familiar situation begins to unfold in front of his very eyes, does he have what it takes to be better for you?
a/n - ok I think this might end up being 3 parts my bad !!! hope everyone is chill w that !!
tw/cw - recollections/descriptions of domestic abuse + intimate partner violence, mentions of assault & rape, Gator is not entirely an asshole he’s doing his best ok, no use of y/n
~~~~~~~
Summer had arrived in Stark County not with a gentle breeze, but with a suffocating blanket of heat and humidity that shimmered off the asphalt in blinding, hallucinogenic waves. The air turned thick and soupy, tasting like dust and sweat.
Gator hated it. He hated the way his uniform chafed against his skin, trapped way too much sweat, and the way the days dragged on for far too long. But mostly, he hated that you were only going to be back for three weeks. Three measly, insignificant weeks.
You’d called him a week prior, your voice hurried and clipped - so unlike the melodic sound he used to know that always put him at ease - and explained that you wouldn't be spending the entire summer at home like you’d originally planned.
When Gator had pressed for a why, you admitted that - thanks to Caleb’s rich and powerful father - you’d landed an internship at a marketing firm in the city. Important. Prestigious. A foot in the door that would be “a huge stepping stone to further your career”. A one in a lifetime sort of opportunity, from the way you described it.
Gator had listened, of course, pressing the phone to his ear so hard it hurt. He forced a congratulations through a throat tight with jealousy and a cold, gnawing dread. Though it selfishly meant less time with you - he was more concerned about the fact that this whole opportunity was due to Caleb. Not that you couldn’t have gotten it through your own merit, but Gator’s gut felt sour. It seemed like just another thing for Caleb to hold over your head. Get you to rely on him. Plus it kept you in the city - which meant more time for him to sink his claws in deep. Mark you as his territory while Gator sat miles away, helpless and angry.
After what felt like ages without seeing you, the sight of your figure standing on your porch under the midday glare was a welcome one. Though his relief at seeing your face was instantly eclipsed by a confusion that curdled his stomach.
For some reason, you were wearing a sweatshirt. Not just a light layer for an over-air-conditioned room, but a heavy, grey university hoodie that looked about three sizes too big. It was at ninety-five degrees even in the shade today, the humidity oppressive enough to make a grown man gasp for air. But there you were, drowning in fleece, shivering like it was the dead of winter.
Gator got out of his truck and trudged up the steps to you,, squinting against the harsh white sun. "Expectin’ a cold front?"
You shrugged, hugging your torso - a defensive, cagey gesture he’d seen too many times from other women in his life. "It was cold in the car," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. "AC was blasting."
Gator bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper. He wanted to ask you who the hell you thought you were fooling. But he saw the way your eyes darted around the yard, checking for neighbors, observers, anything that could pose a perceived risk. You were like a cornered creature waiting for the trap to snap shut.
"Well, welcome back," Gator said, his voice deliberately light, belying the hurricane raging in his chest. "Wanna get outta here? We got a new foal down at the ranch. Ugly as sin but in a weirdly cute way."
The offer was a lifeline, and he watched you take it with a desperation that made his heart ache. You nodded eagerly, stepping past him toward his truck. His heart ached to pull you into his arms and shield you from the outside world, but you clearly didn’t want to be touched. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to violate that boundary.
The drive to the Tillman ranch was far too quiet. The windows were down, but the air rushing in did nothing to cool the tension radiating from you. Gator kept glancing over, noting that you were sweating through your hoodie, but also seemingly uncomfortable in a way that went beyond the heat. He could see a sheen of perspiration on your forehead, hair damp at the temples, yet you kept the hood up and your hands tucked deep inside the pouch. You looked utterly miserable, shrinking yourself down to take up less space.
When he pulled up to the main house, Gator’s radio crackled. Dispatch.
"Unit 4, we have a 10-15 at the Miller property. Requesting backup."
Gator sighed, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "I gotta check on this. It’ll just be a minute."
"Okay," you said quickly, opening the door and climbing out. "I’ll just… Wait here."
"Stay on the porch," Gator warned, holding up a finger. "Don't go wandering off. Got new dogs around somewhere, and they can be assholes if they don't know you."
You nodded, and Gator turned his attention to whatever the fuck was happening over the radio at the worst possible time. It only took five minutes - just a drunken dispute at a neighbor's, nothing serious - but when he glanced back towards the porch, his blood ran cold.
Roy Tillman was standing there, looming over you like a giant bear. You were backed up against the siding, posture rigid, that now-familiar, haunted look in your eyes as you stared up at him. Roy was too close. Way too close. He had one hand resting on the side of the house, caging you in, his face wearing a charming grin that was wildly out of place.
A white-hot spike of fury pierced Gator’s chest. He knew that look. That posture. He’d seen it a thousand fucking times aimed at his mother and Nadine. Really any woman who wandered too close to the Tillman orbit.
Gator didn't think. He just moved.
He sprinted across the yard, boots kicking up dirt, and arrived just as Roy leaned in closer, saying something that made you flinch violently.
"Hey!" Gator barked, skidding to a halt and inserting himself physically between you and his father. He met Roy’s steely gaze with a glare. "Get the hell away from her."
The older man raised an eyebrow, unhurried and unimpressed. "Just welcomin’ the young lady home, son. No need to get your panties in a twist."
"She doesn’t wanna talk to you," Gator spat, ignoring his dad’s narrowing eyes. He turned, placing a gentle hand on your lower back to lead you back towards the truck. "We’re just leavin’."
"Gator," Roy’s voice followed them, sharp as a whip. "Don't be rude, boy. We were just talking about her -“
"Fuck off, Roy," Gator shouted over his shoulder, not looking back. He opened the door to his vehicle and practically pushed you into the truck, slamming it and sealing you in before storming around to the driver's side.
He didn't speak until they were off the property, speeding down the gravel road with the tires spinning. His head spun angrily. The idea that his father had been sniffing around you made him want to vomit. The two of you may have been lifelong friends, but Gator hadn’t made a habit of bringing you out to his place even when Roy wasn’t there.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice trembling. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, and it broke Gator’s heart to see you so upset. "I didn't want to be rude. He just… He came out of nowhere."
"Not your fault. Don’t apologize. He's a prick," Gator gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He doesn't talk to people. He preys on them.
"I know," you said, pulling your knees up to your chest, burying your face in the sweatshirt. "I just wanted him to go away."
Gator drove aimlessly for miles, taking the backroads that wound through the cornfields, trying to outrun the image of his father trapping you on that porch. Finally, when he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he pulled off onto a dirt road that led to an old silo that decades of high school kids had taken turns vandalizing over the years. Killing the engine, he turned to look at you, his frayed patience finally snapping.
"You gonna tell me what the hell’s goin’ on?" He tried to keep his demanding voice in check, but it felt impossible. The corrosive anger was like acid in his bloodstream. "No bullshit. No 'it's complicated.' Tell me the truth."
You stared out the window, refusing to look at him. "Nothing, Gator. Just drop it."
"I can't just drop it!" He shouted, turning in his seat to face you fully, his desperation spilling over. You shuddered at the volume of his voice, unconsciously pressing up the passenger door in an effort to put some distance between the two of you.
“I -“
"You're sweatin’ through winter clothes in July. You look like you haven't slept since the last time I saw you. And now you're letting my dad corner you because you're too scared to tell him to get lost? That's not like you.”
That’s not my girl he wanted to add. But you weren’t his. Not really. Not in any way that mattered or that would change whatever the fuck was happening with you.
"It is me," you insisted, your voice rising in panic. "I'm just… Stressed."
"Bullshit.”
Gator reached out, his hand hovering over your sleeve, as if he was going to jerk it back to prove his point. He didn’t, but fuck, if it didn’t take every ounce of self control not to see if another purple handprint had bloomed across your skin. He needed to know if it was just a one-time thing. An accident. Ever since that day in the diner, he’d prayed to a God he didn’t even believe it that his eyes had played tricks on him. Your head snapped toward him, your eyes wide with fear.
“Fuck, don’t be - I wasn’t gonna -“
“Don’t touch me.”
Gator’s hand fell to his lap as he struggled to get his breathing under control. It felt like he’d run a mile in the midday summer heat without stopping. His next words tumbled out of his mouth before he could force them to stop.
“He hittin’ you?"
"What? No!" The denial was instant, explosive, and more tears sprang to your eyes. "God, Gator, stop it! Why do you always have to make everything so dramatic? He wouldn’t… He doesn’t hit me."
"Then why’re you hidin’?" Gator shouted, clenching his fists against his thighs. "Why the sweatshirt? Why’re you so fuckin’ jumpy?”
“I’m not -“
“You flinch when anyone moves too fast! You think you’re good at hidin’ it but guess what? I see you. I see the way you shrink away from everyone.”
"It’s not what you think!" Your voice was hoarse as you dissolved into sobs. "Please, just take me home. I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have done this."
You looked so utterly defeated and resigned that Gator felt the fight drain out of him. He wanted to scream, to demand the truth until his throat was raw, but looking at you - shaking and broken in the passenger seat of his truck - he felt like it would be the final nail in the coffin. If he pushed any more, he’d lose you. More than he already had.
"Fine," Gator bit out, putting the truck in gear. "Fine. I'll take you home."
The drive back to your house was agonizing. You cried silently the whole way, wiping at your face with the sleeve of that ridiculous sweatshirt, leaving dark streaks of mascara on the grey fabric. He wondered vaguely if it was Caleb’s, but he tried to banish the thought. Gator drove with white-knuckled intensity, the cab of the truck filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the hum of the engine. He was spiraling, his mind racing with a dozen horrific scenarios, but he clamped his mouth shut, terrified that if he opened it, he'd say something he couldn't take back and frighten you away forever.
When he pulled into your driveway, the house was dark. Your parents weren’t home, apparently.
"Come on," Gator said, cutting the engine. "I'm walkin’ you in."
"You don't have to -“
"I'm walkin’ you in," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I'm not leavin’ you alone like this."
There was apparently no fight left in you, and you didn’t protest as he followed you up the path to the front door, his boots heavy on the gravel walkway. You fumbled with the lock, hands shaking so badly you couldn't insert the key properly. Gator gently took it from you, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
The house was silent and empty, a tomb of suburban normalcy that felt completely at odds with the storm that raged within you.
"Can we talk? Like, actually?" He asked quietly as you stepped into the hallway.
"Just go, Gator," you whispered, not turning around. "Please. Just leave."
"No," he said, closing the front door and leaning against it. "We aren't done."
You turned on him then, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and terror. He hated that you were clearly scared of him - he certainly didn’t want you to be - but it gave him hope to see even a flicker of the feistiness you’d previously had.
“Yes, we are! I can't do this with you!”
“Can’t do what?”
“Getting interrogated every five seconds like I'm a fucking criminal!"
"I'm not interrogating you!" Gator fought to keep his voice even, stepping away from the door and into your space, his hands clenched at his sides. "I'm tryin’ to help you! Can't you see that? I feel like I’m the only one who actually gives a shit about whatever’s happenin’ with you!"
You backed away from him until your back hit the wall, hands out in front of you slightly has if to either defend yourself or placate him. Gator wasn’t sure which option was worse.
“You think just because you're playing cop that you can swoop in and save me. But you don't know my life. You don’t know what I -“
"But I know you!" The wild animal he’d fought against his whole life to keep in a cage clawed at the insides of his chest as his frustration boiled over into a blind rage. "Used to know you better than anyone! I know you're lyin’ to me. You're scared. And I know that Caleb is bad fuckin’ news."
Gator was towering over you now, chest heaving, his face flushed with anger. Not at you, of course. Never at you. But he was close enough that he saw the moment you snapped. The defiance in your eyes shattered, replaced by a primal, bone-deep fear.
You didn't yell. You didn't fight. You just…Crumbled.
A choked sob escaped your throat, and you slumped against the wall, sliding down until you hit the floor. You curled into a ball, covering your head and neck with your arms, and started to weep. Not the quiet tears from before, but heart-wrenching, terrified sobs that shook your entire body.
"Please," you gasped, your voice muffled by your denim-clad knees. "Please d-don't be angry. I'm sorry. I'm so s-sorry. Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."
Gator froze.
Hurt you?
The rage drained out of him instantly, replaced by a cold, creeping horror. He stood there, looming over you like a monster, and realized with a sickening lurch that you weren't afraid of the argument. You were afraid of him.
You were waiting for the blow. You were reacting to him the way he was now willing to bet money on how you reacted to Caleb.
“Oh god," Gator breathed, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. "Oh god, no."
He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering awkwardly, terrified to touch you. "Hey… Hey, look at me. Shh, it’s okay. Please look at me."
You shook your head, face still buried in your arms as your body trembled violently. "I'm sorry.”
“What’re you sorry about?”
“I don’t - I-I'll be good, I promise. I won't do it again. Just please… Don't."
"Whoa, whoa," Gator’s voice cracked, his heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. "Baby, no. I’d never - hey, shh. Breathe. It's Gator. It's just me."
Slowly, you lowered your arms, peeking out at him with red, swollen eyes. You looked so small, so defeated. The sight of you made him ache.
"I’d never hurt you," Gator whispered, tears stinging his own eyes. "You know that, right? I would never… I'm not… I wouldn’t.”
You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face, looking for the lie. When you didn't find it, you let out a shuddering breath, but the fear didn't leave your eyes. It just settled in, a heavy, permanent resident.
"Why?" Gator asked, his voice trembling. He knew the answer, but it was still circumstantial. He didn’t want to hear you say it, but he needed to. "Why’d you think I’d do somethin’ to you?"
You didn't respond. You just looked down at your hands, picking at your cuticles. The silence stretched out between you, thick enough to choke on.
Gator waited. He waited for you to lie. Deflect. Tell him to leave again. But instead, you slowly reached for the hem of your sweatshirt. Your hands were shaking so badly you could barely get a grip. Hesitantly, you pulled the heavy grey fabric up, over your head, and off, letting it drop to the floor beside you. Underneath, you were wearing a thin tank top that was practically see-through even in the dim light of the entryway. With a small sigh, you peeled it off too, leaving you in just a bra and your jeans.
Though you were beautiful in any state, Gator felt his soul leave his body.
He couldn't breathe or even form a coherent thought. He could only stare, dark eyes tracing the map of violence that had been etched across your skin.
There were bruises everywhere. Dark purple splotches on your upper arms, fingerprints blooming on your biceps, and grapefruit-sized contusions all over your back and torso. A long, jagged scratch ran down your forearm, crusted over with dried blood - probably only hours old, if he had to guess. There were older bruises too, fading yellows and greens, evidence of a campaign of terror that had been going on for a long time.
But it was your chest that broke him.
Just above the curve of your left breast, stark and angry against your skin, was a burn mark. It was circular, about the size of a cigarette, or something similar, but the shape was undeniable. It was a C.
The brand of Caleb.
Gator felt a wave of nausea so strong he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling over. Despite the fact that his entire life had been marred by violence, seeing it effect you made him physically ill.
I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna find Caleb and tear him apart with my bare fuckin’ hands.
How could he do this? How could anyone hurt someone like you? It went against every natural instinct he had. Men like Roy and Caleb - they were parasites. Cancers that needed to be cut out.
After the initial shock wore off, rage hit him like a tsunami, a blinding red fury that threatened to consume him completely. He wanted to scream. Put his fist through the drywall. Hunt down your “boyfriend” and end his fucking life.
But then he looked at your face.
You were watching him closely, fear in your eyes, waiting for him to snap. Waiting for him to become a monster.
He couldn’t let that happen.
So Gator forced the rage down, swallowing it down like about as easily as shards of glass and sandpaper. He knew that if he completely lost it now and gave in to the violence singing in his blood - he would only be proving your worst fears right. He’d just be showing you that he was just like Caleb. Or Roy.
Instead of acting on his most primal urges, he just looked at you, his heart shattering in his chest, and reached out a shaking hand.
"He do this to you?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
You looked away, unable to meet his gaze, shame burning in your cheeks. "Please don't… Don’t m-make me say it."
"I need to know," Gator said, his voice gaining strength, steeling itself against the horror. "So I can… I dunno, fix it."
You let out a broken laugh, a hollow, empty sound. "You can't fix this, Gator. Nobody can."
The silence that stretched between you was heavier than the humid air pressing against the windows. Gator couldn't tear his eyes away from the brand on your chest - that, angry 'C' that claimed ownership over flesh that had always been too good for this world. He felt like he’d been hollowed out with a spoon, scraped clean of anything resembling hope or stability. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to act, but he forced himself to be a statue. He realized with a gut-wrenching clarity that if he so much as raised his voice right now, he would only exacerbate your nightmares.
So he just sat across from you, his back against the wall, close enough to be a comfort but far enough to be safe. Hopefully. He wanted to reach out, to gather you up in his arms and promise you the moon, but he kept his hands on his knees, white-knuckled and trembling.
"Hey," he whispered after what felt like an hour, the sound scraping against his dry throat. "Look at me. Please?”
Slowly, you raised your head. Your eyes were swimming a shame so profound it seemed to darken the very air around you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide the bruises and burn, trying to disappear inside yourself again.
"Don't," Gator said softly, shaking his head. "Don't hide. Not from me."
"I'm ugly," you choked out, the words barely audible. "Look at me, Gator. I'm… I'm ruined."
"You ain't ugly," Gator said, his voice fierce with a sudden, intense protectiveness. "And you ain't ruined. Not even a little bit.”
A scoff fell from your lips as you painstakingly pulled the tank top back on, hiding some of the injuries from sight again.
“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Always have been.” The raw sincerity and honesty in his tone softened your expression. “Bruises don't change that. Burns don't change that. You could be covered in dirt and dressed in a fuckin’ potato sack and you'd still be the only light in this godforsaken state."
He saw the skepticism in your eyes, and tried not to think about all the shit you must’ve heard - probably from Caleb - that would make you doubt how stunning you were. Gator wouldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t occasionally as shallow as the next guy when it came to some women - he had his faults and vices. But the idea of anyone making you feel anything less than gorgeous inside and out made him want to scream.
"I mean it," he insisted, leaning forward slightly, careful not to crowd you. There were a million things he wanted to say to you, but words failed him.
I've loved you since we were kids scraping our knees on the playground. I loved you when you had popsicles smeared on your face. And I love you now. Nothing changes that. Not Caleb. Not anyone.
“I’m here with you, okay? Always will be.”
A fresh wave of tears spilled over your lashes, but the tension in your shoulders dropped a fraction. You took a shuddering breath, and for the first time, it felt like you were actually seeing him - seeing the boy who had stood by your side through everything, the man who was currently breaking apart at the seams just looking at you.
"Can you… Can you tell me?" Gator asked, his voice hesitant, terrified of pushing you too far. "How did this happen?"
You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, leaving a streak of mascara across your cheek. You looked down at the floor, picking at a loose thread in the carpet, gathering the courage to speak. It took nearly ten minutes for you to speak again.
"He was in my English class," you began, voice small and distant, as if you were narrating a movie you’d watched rather than a life you’d lived. "Last fall. First day. He sat behind me. He was… Nice. Really. He helped me with my essay on The Great Gatsby, and I helped him with Jane Eyre. He brought me coffee when I was pulling all-nighters. Said I was brilliant. Beautiful. That he’d never met anyone like me."
Gator nodded, keeping his face neutral, though inside he was fighting tooth and nail.
"Eventually he asked me out," you continued. "I didn't… I didn't really feel a spark. You know how it is. Like, he was handsome and smart, but he just… I didn't care about him like that. So I told him no. That I just wanted to be friends."
"’Course you did," Gator murmured. "You got standards."
"But he… He wouldn't take no for an answer," you said, your voice shaking. "Said I was just scared. He said I was damaged from my past or close minded or some shit. That I needed to give him a chance to show me how a real man treats a woman. He just… Kept pushing. And he was so nice about it. So persistent. I thought… I thought maybe I was being ungrateful for shrugging off someone who was making such an effort. Maybe I was being close minded.”
"You weren't," Gator ground out. "You were picky. That ain't a crime."
"At some point I said yes," you whispered, shame coloring your cheeks. "We went on one date. Then another. And then… Next thing I knew I was his girlfriend."
"And that's when it all changed?" Gator asked gently.
"Yeah," you let out a hollow laugh. "It was slow at first. Those little comments. 'Don’t you think that skirt’s too short?’ ‘Why are you talking to that guy?' 'You shouldn't go out without telling me.' I thought he was just… protective. You know? I thought he cared. Like you.”
Gator’s stomach churned. He was protective. But he didn't want to lock you in a cage. Maybe lock you away in a temporary safe house until he gutted Caleb like a fish so you’d feel safe again - but never an actual cage.
"And then it got worse," you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. "He started checking my phone every time we were together m. And if we weren’t then he’d get mad if I didn't text back in five minutes. He’d drive by my dorm to make sure I was there. He hated any of my guy friends. He especially hated…"
You trailed off, eyes darting to Gator’s face and then quickly away.
"He especially hated what?" Gator pressed, dread pooling in his gut.
"You.”
Gator felt a cold shock run through him. "Me?"
You nodded. "I told him about you. Probably in the first date, honestly. How we grew up together, that you were my best friend. Turns out he didn't like it. After we started dating he liked you even less. Said you were in love with me, and were going to try and steal me from him or something stupid. He said you were… Um-“
“Said I was what?”
A tormented look crossed your face. As if a mean comment about him would would hurt worse than the harm Caleb had cause you. “He said you were a dumb hick cop who couldn't let go of his high school crush."
Gator wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. Technically - he was in love with you. He was a dumb hick cop unable to let go of his feelings for you. But hearing it used as a weapon to isolate you, made his blood boil.
"He was… Jealous?”
"Obsessively," you whispered. "It was like he couldn't stand that I had a life before him. That I had people who cared about me who weren't him. He wanted me to cut everyone off. My parents, my friends… Especially you. He tried to make me stop talking to you. But I… I couldn't. I’d already lost all my other friends. I couldn't lose you too. So I lied. I told him we weren't super close anymore. But I still… I still texted you. I still called you behind his back whenever I could. I didn’t tell him we met up over fall or winter break. And he only agreed to let me casually see you in the spring if he came too.”
A sudden, horrific clarity dawned on Gator. He remembered all the texts from the last many months, the phone calls that had gone unanswered. He remembered the frustration he’d felt, the confusion.
"The first time," Gator said slowly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "The first time he hit you. What happened?"
You didn't answer for a long time. You just stared at the floor, your body trembling violently. Finally, you looked up, your eyes filled with a devastating amount of sorrow.
"We were at his apartment," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It was a Tuesday night in November. I was in the kitchen, making dinner. And my phone rang. It was you."
Gator stopped breathing. He remembered that night. He’d called you to complain about his dad, to ask you if you wanted to come home for Thanksgiving early. In all honesty, he’d just wanted to hear your voice.
"Caleb was in the shower, so I answered it," you continued, tears streaming down your face. "I was so happy to hear from you. I don’t even remember what he talked about, but I remember laughing with you. Honestly I hadn't laughed in weeks."
Gator squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the urge to cry himself. He could hear the joy in your voice in his memory, a sound he’d cherished without realizing how much it would cost you.
"Then he came into the kitchen," you said, your voice breaking. "He didn't say anything. He just… I said goodby and hung up, and then he took the phone out of my hand. Asked who I was talking to.”
“Did you -“
"I lied and told him it was my mom. But he didn't believe me.” You hung your head. “He checked the caller ID and said he’d known I was lying. He thought I was cheating on him so he smashed my phone.”
Your eyes clouded over, as if reliving the trauma all over again.
“H-he threw it against the wall. And then he… he grabbed me. By the hair. And he threw me on the floor."
Gator felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, to scream, to curse, but no sound came out.
"He started yelling," you continued, voice low and detached, as if you were reciting a list of groceries. "He called me a whore and a slut and said I was nothing. Told me how I was lucky he put up with me at all. And then… He kicked me."
"He kicked you?" Gator choked out, the image of you on the floor, defenseless and terrified, searing itself into his brain.
You touched your side unconsciously. "He knocked me around a little more, and said if I ever talked to you again, he’d kill you and make me watch. But honestly, I thought he was going to kill me that night. Thought that a lot over the last few months, honestly.”
Gator felt the world tilting on its axis. “I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears finally spilling over, tracking hot paths down his cheeks. "I am so fuckin’ sorry. I never should have called. I never should have -“
"It wasn't your fault," you said firmly, reaching out to touch his arm. Your skin was cold against his. "It wasn't you, Gator. It was… He just… I think he wanted - needed - a reason. And you were the easiest target. If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been someone else.”
Gator covered your hand with his own, squeezing it gently, trying to pour every ounce of love he felt for you into that simple touch.
"I'm gonna kill him," Gator whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I'm gonna find him, and I'm gonna kill him."
"No," you said, shaking your head frantically. "No, Gator. Please. You can't. He… he knows people. He’s got money and lawyers and shit. If you touch him, he’ll destroy you. He’ll put you in jail. Or worse."
"I don't give a shit," Gator said, his voice gaining a dangerous edge. "I got people too. I don't care about jail. He can't keep doin’ this to you. He can't brand you like livestock."
"It's not just that," you whispered, pulling your hand back and hugging yourself again. "It's that… If you go after him and it doesn’t work out, he'll know I ratted him out. And he'll… Make me pay for it.”
The fear in your eyes was absolute. Gator felt helpless, a new and terrifying sensation for a man who prided himself on being able to handle anything. He knew that saving you wasn't just about beating the bad guy; it was about dismantling the cage you’d been locked in, brick by psychological brick. And he didn't know how to do that without breaking you further.
"Okay," Gator breathed out, forcing the violence back down into the dark place where he kept his father’s sins. "Okay. We do this your way. We play it smart. I don’t want you to think I’m tryin’ to control you, but you can’t go back there. You hear me? You’re never going back there."
“I have to go back to school in the fall, Gator.”
“Transfer somewhere else. Do online shit. Easy.”
“What about my internship?”
“The one his daddy got you?”
Your lower lip trembled. “I know it sounds stupid, but it was such a good career opportunity.”
“I’m not sayin’ you didn’t earn it, but dontcha think it’s just one more thing hes usin’ to control you?”
You looked at him, hope warring with despair in your eyes. "I don't know how.”
“How to what?”
“Leave.” You shuddered. “I’m not brave like your mom. Or Nadine.”
The comparison broke his heart all over again. “You’re plenty brave. An’ good news is you ain’t married to him. So this should be a lot easier.”
“But how -“
"We change your number. Get a restraining order. Maybe get you a gun -“
“A gun?!”
“I don't care what it takes. We’re gonna figure this out. Both of us."
"Together," you whispered, testing the word as if it were a foreign concept.
"Together," Gator promised, leaning his forehead against yours, careful not to crowd you too much, but desperate to bridge the gap between your pain and his protection. "I’m not lettin’ you go again. Not ever. And I sure as hell ain't letting him win."
Your shoulders relaxed half an inch.
"Come on," Gator said gently, pushing himself up off the floor. He kept his hands visible, open and non-threatening. "Let's getcha cleaned up. Some of those scratches… they look like they need attention."
You hesitated, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes, but eventually nodded. Slowly, you let him help you up, your movements stiff and jerky from how long you’d been sitting on the hardwood floor. He led you upstairs to the bathroom connected to your bathroom, relishing in the scent of your perfume that seemed to have soaked into the walls over the years.
Gator closed the door softly, shutting out the rest of the house just in case your parents turned up while he was there, creating a small, safe bubble in the fluorescent light. He lifted you up onto the counter with ease and turned to the medicine cabinet. His heart beat wildly as he pulled out the first aid kit - alcohol, cotton pads, bandages.
It was a routine he knew intimately. Far too intimately.
Flashbacks of his childhood crashed over him - sneaking into the bathroom after his father had gone to bed or left in some rage. His mother sitting on the edge of the tub, trying to stifle her whimpers as he dabbed peroxide on a split lip or a bruised cheek. Or Nadine in the kitchen, ice pack in hand, while Gator checked her wrist for fractures. He had been the medic in a war zone he was too young to fight in.
And now, here he was. Years later. Doing the exact same thing for the only woman he’d ever really loved. Not that it was the right time to tell you that.
"Okay," Gator turned back to you, forcing a reassuring smile he didn't feel. "This might sting a little bit."
You flinched as he touched the cotton ball soaked in alcohol to the jagged scratch on your forearm. He worked with a surgeon's precision, his hands steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. He cleaned the dried blood, trying desperately not to cause you any more pain.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I'm such a mess.”
"You ain't a mess," Gator murmured, focusing intently on a particularly deep gouge near your elbow he was afraid to ask the origin of. You're a survivor. Big difference. “Besides. Even if you were, I like your mess.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on your lips. “You say that now, but you won’t -“
“Won’t what? Still think that when I wake up tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged, though sadness radiated off of you in waves. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth sometimes, I think.”
Gator tucked a lock of hair behind your ear carefully, his eyes steadily meeting yours. “Who told you that?”
You hung your head, and Gator had his answer.
“He’s wrong, you hear me?” He leaned forward and pressed a light, chaste kiss to your forehead, only lingering for half a moment. As he drew back, he saw that you’d closed your eyes, as if relishing in the gentle gesture. How many times could one man’s heart break in the span of an evening? “You’re worth everythin’. And I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it. Okay?”
All you could over him was a small nod.
He bandaged your arm, moving on to put a special gel on the burn. Then he examined the bruises on your shoulder and lightly massaged a menthol-scented salve across them. It wouldn’t cure the bruises, but it would help ease the pain in the muscles.
As he worked, a question began to form in the back of his mind. A question so vile and horrific, that he tried repeatedly to push it away. But it kept coming back, gnawing at him, demanding an answer. He’d seen the bruises. The burn. But those were things done in anger, in a moment of rage. There were other kinds of violence. Violations that didn't leave a mark on the skin but shattered the soul.
Gator finished applying a bandage to the burn above your heart after the medicine had soaked it, and took a step back, his hands resting on the edge of the counter on either side of your hips. He looked at you, finally at eye level, and felt his heart break all over again.
"Hey," he said softly. "There’s… Somethin’ I need to ask you."
You tensed, eyes darting to the door, the panic rising instantly. "W-what?"
"And I need you to tell me the truth," Gator continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "No matter how bad it is. I need to know."
"I… I don't know if I can," you stammered.
"You can," Gator insisted, his gaze intense but pleading. His thumb brushed the outside of where your hand rested on the counter, rubbing calming circles against your pinky. "You trust me, right?"
Trembling, you nodded.
"Then tell me," Gator said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Did he… Hurt you? In other ways?"
You looked at him, confusion warring with fear.
"I mean," Gator took a deep breath, steeling himself against the answer he knew was coming. "Did he ever force himself on you? When you didn't want to? When you said no?"
With that, the dam broke.
A sound tore itself from your throat - a raw, guttural sob that seemed to come from the depths of your soul. You didn't answer with words. You just collapsed forward, burying your face in Gator’s chest, and began to weep hysterically. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as your body shook with the force of your grief. He didn't speak or soothe you with empty platitudes. He just held you, letting you cry, letting the poison out.
"He didn't understand the word 'no'," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled by his shirt. "Didn’t like it either. Never did."
Gator closed his eyes, resting his chin on top of your head, fighting back the urge to put his fist through the bathroom mirror. He’d expected this. But hearing you say it out loud made it real in a way that stole the air from his lungs.
"Did he… Often?"
"So many times," the words were barely audible, your fingers clutched the fabric of his uniform. "When I said no, he just… Laughed. He said I was his girlfriend. It was my job. He said if I really loved him and wanted him to be happy, I’d…” Another sob wracked your body.
Gator felt physically ill. The thought of you, terrified and being used like a piece of meat by that monster, made him want to tear the world apart.
"It wasn't just… It wasn't just when he was angry," you continued, your voice detached, as if you were recounting a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. "He’d do it when I was asleep sometimes. I’d wake up, and he’d be… Inside me. And I’d just freeze. I’d just pretend I was still asleep because I was too scared to move."
Gator’s grip on you tightened, his jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. The violation of it, the sheer, calculating cruelty, made his blood run cold.
"And in the shower," you added, another sob tearing through you. "He’d… Make me wash him. And then he’d… He’d push me up against the wall or down in my knees and take what he wanted. Over and over, and it’s my fau-“
"Shh," Gator whispered, rocking you back and forth. "Nothin’ about this is your fault. You're safe now."
"I'm not though," you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with eyes full of devastation. "I'll never be okay. I’m ruined, Gator. I’m dirty and used up and what if I never… Never get over all this?”
"No," Gator said fiercely, cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. "Listen to me. You’re not dirty or ruined or any of that shit. What he did to you - that's on him. He’s fuckin’ evil and you - you’re the best thing I’ve ever known. Period.”
You searched his face, looking for the revulsion you expected to see, but he holed you were finding only love. And maybe a burning, righteous anger.
"When we came back during spring break," you whispered, shame burning in your cheeks. "When we met at the diner."
Gator felt his stomach drop. He remembered that day. He remembered seeing you in the booth with Caleb, looking small and broken.
"He was so mad that we were even there,” you continued. "He said I was flirting with you. That I was embarrassing him. After we left, h-he drove us out of town to some abandoned field off the main road. There was nothing there. No one at all."
Gator closed his eyes, dreading where this story was going.
"He got out," you whispered. "And he hauled me around it and threw me in the bed of the truck. And he… He -“
You broke off, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to say the words.
"He raped you," Gator finished for you, the words like lead in his mouth.
"He was so angry. I knew he wanted to punish me, because he’d never been that rough before. And it hurt. It h-hurt so much. And when he was done, I was bleeding so bad, I thought I was gonna die right there. I know it sounds over dramatic, but I…” You touched one of the bandages on your arm. “Anyway. He said I needed to learn a lesson. Remember who I belong to."
Gator couldn't breathe. The image of you - his sweet, kind, beautiful friend - sitting next to Caleb, traumatized and bleeding, less than an hour after he’d seen you, was more than he could bear. It felt like a miracle you were still sane at all.
Gator pulled you back into his arms, holding you as if he could fuse your broken pieces back together with nothing but hope and his own body heat.
"I swear to you right now, I’m never gonna let him touch you again. Got it? You’re not his property. Or anyone else’s. I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you like that. Never again. We’ll figure this out.” The words came out in a rambling rush.
"I know," you whispered against his chest, your breathing finally starting to slow, though the tears still fell. "I know we will."
Gator held you there on the bathroom counter, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and despair, and made a silent vow to every God he’d ever ignored. He would burn the world down before he let Caleb so much as look in your direction again. He would go to hell and back to keep you safe.
summary: gator tries his best to make up for making you upset, and you do your best to drag it out.
tags: gator is bad with emotions and pitiful and pathetic (whats new), reader is sensitive, reader has gator on a leash pretty much, lowkey ooc gator but shhh, briefly proofread
wc: 3.3k (got carried away whoops)
This was ridiculous. All because of stupid argument. Not even an argument.
All because of Gators stupid self saying something stupid just because he was frustrated after work.
And now being alone and being ignored for hours has Gator parking on the sidewalk outside your house at midnight.
He found out early on that even though you were shy, you got snappy too. You got mouthy with him, you had an attitude at times.
But he’d expect at least a goodnight text, no matter how annoyed you’d get with him in the past, you’d always send some sort of little text to remind him you were there, and that you were still upset.
Tonight, he got nothing. No call, no text, not even a little emoji, nothing.
You had argued somewhere after the dinner rush. He got back from cleaning up his dads dirty work and being scolded for not doing good enough for him.
Right after being chewed out by his father, he stopped by the little library where you work, as he always does after his shifts.
And he promised. You hadn’t seen him in a few days due to him being ordered to run around doing whatever the hell he did, you didn’t like to think about it. He promised he’d make sure to see you today.
So, of course when he texted you as soon as you got on your lunch break saying he was outside, you rushed your way out, abandoning the rest of your chips and sandwich just to see him.
You hopped in his truck and immediately crossed over the center console, sitting in his lap and wrapping yourself around him.
He hugged you back, but his arms were tight and tense around you.
“I missed you.” You smiled into his neck, pressing little kisses against his neck to his jaw to his lips. You continued all over his face, his lips were weak and loose when he kissed you back.
“Baby- hold on, hey.” He said as nicely as he could, he turned his face away and held your wrists. “Can you calm down with the touchiness?”
“What?” You mumbled.
“Baby- don’t get me wrong, It’s nice and stuff, but you’re doin’ a lot right now, like goddamn just give me a minute to fuckin breathe.” He muttered, wiping a hand over his face.
Then he saw the way your face fell, that crease form between your eyebrows, the way you gulped and clenched your jaw. You pulled away slowly.
You slid off his lap and back into the passenger seat quietly. It took a few seconds of sitting in silence and staring ahead before he heard the car door open.
“My lunch break is almost over, I should go back.” You muttered the lie as you hopped out, slamming the door shut before he could get a response out.
Now, the only light outside is the streetlamps, and Gators phone is still void of any texts from you while he decides what to do.
He sighs, both your parents' cars are in the driveway. From what it looks like from the windows, every light is off in the house.
Except for the small rectangle of warm light on the side of the house, where your room is.
If Gator wasn’t so pissed off right now, he’d feel like a teenager again as he sneaks out to the side of the house, rapping his knuckles lightly on the window.
He can see that your door is closed, the doorknob is locked, you are nowhere to be seen in your room, and there is a small slither of your window left open with no screen on it.
He really should have never taught you how to take the screen off your window.
But now he’s worried, not panicking, he doesn’t panic. He just doesn’t like the idea of you being out this late at night by yourself. You already nearly made him pass out the other week with the spider.
Gator only clenches his fists and stomps as he mutters out curses. He whips out his phone and starts sending even more pathetically apologetic texts to you.
He’s on his second attempt of calling you by the time he’s back in his truck seat. He’s bouncing his leg enough to the point the vehicle is slightly shaking along with the movement.
Your voice appears but it’s only your voicemail telling the caller to “leave a message and I’ll try to get back to you soon!”. And you sound so fucking sweet in it, it’s killing Gator.
The slicked back style of Gators hair has been long destroyed by now with the amount of times he’s ran his hands through it and his excessive stomping. The next best thing he can do is try and find you himself, he is not waiting.
The truck pulls off the sidewalk and he keeps his foot on the pedal with enough weight for him to be going at a slow but tolerable pace, he’s impatient. He’s worried, but he doesn’t like to say that. It makes him feel like he’s saying he’s scared, which he is, but it makes him feel weak.
You couldn’t have gone far? It’s a small neighborhood. You’re probably just walking somewhere farther down the sidewalk? Maybe you were walking the other way when he was coming down your street?
He’s nearing the end of the street and he’s on the verge of smacking his horn, but a few more feet and you’ve appeared.
You’re at the playground that got built not too long ago at the end of your neighborhood, you’re sitting on the swingset. You’re in an old hoodie and pajama pants, your using the toe of your sandal to sway yourself back and forth.
Gators headlights practically blind you as you look up. He can see you squint, recognize it’s him, then grimace and look away.
He doesn’t even try to attempt to park nicely in between the freshly painted white lines. His truck is slanted and taking up three parking spaces.
You’re still swaying, you know Gator is walking up but you keep your eyes on the ground. Keeping that pouty look while you let your head lean against the chain on the swing.
Gator sighs and slides his hands into his pockets, he’s doing his own swaying now too.
Goddamn, he feels like a piece of shit.
“Planning a getaway?” He tries to joke. It falls flat.
“‘M not talking to you, Gator.” You mumble.
You didn’t mean to be so sensitive, you were just excited to see him. Gator is still getting used to physical touch being a good thing. Your hands have been the first to feel like his skin isn’t stinging when you touch his.
“Yeah. I kinda..noticed that.” He sighed. For the first time in awhile, Gator has no smart comebacks.
“Thought you wanted space. Thought you wanted to be alone.” Your eyes are burning holes into playground dirt, digging the sole of your old closed toe sandal into the woodchips.
“I wanted to say…that ‘m sorry.” He winces, it sounds pained. He doesn’t apologize much. “Sorry” is a word that’s becoming more common in vocabulary now that he’s met you.
God, you hate him. You’re considering taking your shoe off and throwing it at him.
You’re considering telling him to leave. But you won’t. You don’t want him to.
You’ll torture him a bit more.
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” He says clearly. Pitfully, pathetically.
“I heard you.” You finally look up at him, your pink and slightly puffy eyes feel like a million tiny daggers into his body.
“So…you’ve got nothing to say about that? Nothing to say back?” He sticks his neck out. You roll your eyes and look away. You’re not looking at Gator, it’s making him ache.
“What is there to say? I heard you.” You shrug, pursing your lips together.
Gator sighs again, sliding his hands out of his pockets and pressing them against his back. He lets out a little groan as he stretches, he’s torturing you now.
“I guess you won’t be gettin’ my apology gift then.” He shrugs.
He catches the way your eyes shoot up. You’re a sucker for gift giving. Giving and receiving. Though you don’t get the latter much often from others.
Gator does his best to make up for it.
“Guess I’ll just return it, I got the receipt somewhere in my glovebox.” He shrugged. “It’ll just go back on the shelf and some other sorry boyfriend will buy it.” He sighs, kicking a few rocks. He’s putting on the most dramatic act to win you over.
And it’s working. God, you hate him.
He turns slowly and walks back to his truck, he can feel your eyes on him. He turns on the engine, but he’s not moving anywhere. He’s counting down.
Waiting for it.
It takes a little over 30 seconds. And then there’s the light knocking on his passenger window. Your silent way of asking to be let in. You can’t help but be polite.
He reaches over to push the door open, letting you see the surprise sitting on the passenger seat.
It’s a teddy bear with a little bow wrapped around it’s neck, as well as a fake flower that you can slip from its arms. There’s two party sized bags of your favorite candy along with it.
Worst of all, he’s buckled the bear in. The seatbelt is fastened right around its stomach and over its shoulder.
You almost smile, you have to fight it, really fight it.
Yeah, he’s won you over. But you won’t let him know what yet.
Gator’s got one hand on the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching. His bottom lip is tucked under his teeth. He’s nervous.
You purse your lips and clench your jaw, tilting your chin up as you inhale.
You unbuckle the seatbelt and grab the bear from it’s spot, you hold it in your hands and stare at it like you’re analyzing it. You’re pretending to decide how you feel.
The poor teddy's little beady eyes are staring right back at you. You swallow your pride happily.
Gator’s already moving the bags of candy out the way so you can sit. His eyes stay on you while you hop into the seat. You shut the door and keep your eyes on the bear.
Gator tilts his head, he’s trying to look at you, get you to look at him. You rub one of the bear ears between your thumb and pointer finger, the fur is soft and a little silky against your skin.
“I’m still mad at you.” You let him know sternly, you still haven’t smiled yet.
“I know.” He sighs. He lets his hand fall from the steering wheel.
He grabs the bar under his seat and pushes his seat back, all the way back.
“C’mere.” He murmurs, laying slack against the seat. His hands lay flat on his thighs.
You slouch down into your seat and look at the side mirror, pretending to ignore him.
“Don’t make me ask you again.” Yet there’s no demand in his tone. But fuck, he’s worried he’s being mean again.
“You’re not even asking me. You’re just telling me.” You grumble.
But you go and you sit in his lap anyways, leaving the bear back on your seat and crawling over the center console to get to him. Lips jutted and eyes looking down and away from his face. You can see the cocky little smile blooming at the ends of his mouth in your peripheral vision.
“You’re so pouty.” Gator squishes your face between his fingers while his other hand lays against your waist.
The thing that’s changed in your personality now that you’ve gotten more comfortable with Gator. You pout a lot, you’re sensitive, you’re still quite shy. Just pouty too. Gator brought out the mouthy side of you that’s been hidden for years.
And Gator takes any chance he can to tease you for it. Because he’s Gator.
“I’m not pouty.” You grimace.
“Yea? Then what’s all this about?” He squishes your cheeks more and shakes your face lightly in his grasp.
“You.” Now you’re getting annoyed. You shove his hand away and move your head back. Your face seems to be stuck in a scowl.
Gators face slowly drops, he feels like an asshole again.
“Hey.” He says as softly as he knows how to, “Hey, ‘m not mad at ya.” The hand that you shoved away comes up to rub at your upper arm. Your fiddling with his hoodie strings, eyes focused on the way the gray cords of fabric twirl around your fingers.
Gator runs his hand down your arm and stops at your hand. He takes it into his, the rough pad of his thumb skates over your knuckles. He tilts his head down again, trying to get you to look at him. You give in.
Your eyes meet his and you swear you can see his face soften with relief.
“Look, ‘m pretty pissed you snuck off this late in the cold in this lil pair of shorts.” He mumbles as he tugs at the hem of your pajama shorts with his other hand, rubs at the fabric. “But ‘m not mad at you.”
A little sigh leaves you, you’re not sure how to respond. So he takes his chance to keep talking.
“Baby, I love you touchin’ me. I love your hands on me, all over me.” He takes your hands in his and presses them against his chest. You can feel the rump of his heartbeat under your palm when you press. “I love you touchin’ on me, yeah?” He brings up one of your hands to his lips, he presses kisses over your fingers, your palm, your knuckles, your wrist.
He’s really trying to make it up to you.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just- I had a shit day, I’ve been surrounded by asshole and fuckin idiots and- I was pissed off and I should’ve let myself cool down real quick before I saw you,” He’s rambling, this is new. “I should’ve told you I was pissed off and I could’ve- I should’ve been nicer ‘bout it. Should’ve been nicer to you.” His eyes are wandering all over as he fumbles through his words, looking everywhere but your face.
He takes a breath to swallow his own stubbornness.
“And I’m sorry, baby.” He squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head a bit.
Good fucking god, he’s embarrassed. He can feel you looking at him and he wishes you weren’t, at least not in this moment. He can’t let you see him like this.
When he opens his eyes, you look away again. You’re biting the inside of your cheek.
“C’mon baby.” He murmurs, cradling his hand against your face, giving it a little push of encouragement to get you to turn your face to his. “I’m sorry.” You still avoid his eyes, he knows you’re waiting for more, you’re making him beg. This is a humiliation ritual for Gator.
He gets an idea and reaches over to the passengers seat where your new bear lays.
“Gator’s sorry, yeah?” He picks up the bear, brushes the face of it against yours. The fake fur tickles your nose. Your face spreads into a meek smile. “You gonna forgive Gator? Gonna stop torturing him?” He keeps pressing it against your cheek until you can’t hold back and let out a little giggle.
You grab the bear and he takes his chance to press a kiss against your cheek while you’re occupied.
“Fine, fine.” You say through another giggle, Gator could faint at hearing your voice again. “I’m done torturing you. For now.”
“Good.” He smiles. “You can get fussy with me all you want, I deserve that, but don’t go running off ‘cus of it.” He holds your chin gently, tilting your face down to give you a kiss to your forehead, the tip of your nose, then your lips.
You just smile and kiss him back before you wrap your arms around his neck, you smush yourself against him.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” You speak into his shoulder.
“You don’t gotta apologize, ‘s nothing. You made it better.” He feels like a cornball saying that outloud, but he can feel you smile against him, so it’s not too bad.
The two of you stay like that for a little while. Gator strokes his hand up and down your back while pressing little kisses to your neck here and there. Your shoulders loosen after some time, your chest rises and falls more slowly against his.
“You falling asleep on me?” He nudges you.
You absolutely are.
“Mm-mm.” You give him a lazy shake of your head.
Gator pulls you away from him like he’s trying to take tape off a piece of paper without ripping it. Once he gets a look at your lidded eyes and pouty lips, he knows you’re about to knock out.
“Alright, time to go home.” He rubs his thumb against your cheek and you groan.
“Why can’t I just stay with you?” You whine.
Last time you fell asleep in his car, smushed against him, your neck hurt the rest of the following day.
“Next time.” He promises with a kiss to your lips. “Gotta get back to the ranch.” He holds onto your waist as you slip off his lap and onto the passenger seat, he’s pretending to guide you, he really just wants to hold you.
“I thought you were patrolling?” You yawn, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“Only to find you.” He kisses the top of your head before turning on the engine. You smile to yourself.
Once he’s parked outside your house again, he walks you to your window and lifts you just a little bit so you can sneak back in through your window.
“Get your little sneaky ass back in there.” He gives you a small swat to your ass and he can hear the little giggle you try to hide.
He passes you the two bags of candy he bought for you, you already carried your bear with you crawling through your window.
Gator finishes off giving you his gifts by leaning in and pressing one last kiss for the night to your lips, he lingers.
You’re just about to say goodnight and close your window when he stops you.
“Uh uh, screen back on the window.” He tells you with that stupid cocky grin. You roll your eyes but you listen anyway, you pick up the window screen from where it’s laying against your wall and shove it back into the windowsill.
It’s annoying having to look at each other through the thin grid, you feel like some princess locked in a tower.
“I better not see you running around this late again.” He's still got that stupid grin on his face. He shoots a wink at you before walking away from your window.
“Uh huh. Later Gator.” You say with a sweet sweet smile, you know it pisses him off.
And before he can fully turn around, you’re shutting your window and closing your blinds. You laugh behind your hand, you love torturing him.
Gator drives back to the ranch in silence. He yawns and runs his hand down his face to his neck, rubs at it.
He wishes he crawled through the window with you, wrapped his arms around you and stayed in your bed for the night. Feel your arms tucked around him and legs lay over his under the covers, feel your hands twitch the way they always do and listen to the little breaths you always make when you’re asleep.
What if the reader fell asleep while on Konig's dick. Like they were riding him (he was moving them for them) and they already had their face against his chest, but all of a sudden they just slump a bit more. What would he do?
"Liebling?" König nudges your head with his nose, chuckling when you let out the softest snore. He knew you were already tired when you started pawing at his cock. He told you that you would fall asleep, but you had begged, whined so so sweetly for him to 'just fuck me, please -"
Of course, he had to give you what you asked for. "Oh, you poor sleepy thing." He coos as he cups your ass a little more firmly, leaning back on the couch. "Your Dad always has to take care of everything for you, huh?"
He bounces you quickly, careful not to jostle you around too much. "That's alright... I love taking care of you." You let out the softest little moans when he hits that sweet spot inside of you, face twisting sleepily. Even in your sleep, you sucked him in, squeezing around him tight until he came deep inside you.
"Sleep well, little one. I'll keep you warm in my lap."
first time she pointed out the townhouse, jack didn't think much of it. he hummed in response, holding onto her smaller hand even tighter as a biker was passing them on the sidewalk.
they were walking back from their favorite coffee shop, paper cups warming their hands against the chilly pittsburgh morning.
she'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring across the street with that dreamy look she got whenever something captured her attention.
"ugh.” she swooned. “that's my favorite house," she'd said.
jack had followed her gaze.
it was a beautiful townhouse. it was about three stories of brick and black shutters with overflowing flower boxes beneath the windows. it was elegant without being flashy. it was lived-in without looking old.
he'd hummed his acknowledgment and continued walking.
that should have been the end of it.
but it wasn't.
because the next week she pointed it out again.
and the week after that… and the one after.
soon it became part of their routine.
coffee, pastries, the townhouse.
every single saturday morning and every single time they passed it, her pace slowed.
sometimes she'd admire the little balcony on the second floor, or the iron railings, even the huge windows that flooded the interior with sunlight. and other times she would just smile at it quietly before continuing down the block.
jack never teased her about it.
he just listened the way he always listened.
collecting and gathering every detail she offered without her realizing it.
it was like he was storing them away somewhere safe.
—
months later, she was standing in front of the pastry display at the coffee shop when jack casually mentioned the open house.
she looked up immediately.
"what.. really?" she said in disbelief. “i didn’t see a sign, though. are you sure?” she said in the middle of taking a bite of her banana loaf.
"yeah they’re showing the townhouse today.” he repeated with that signature sideways smile. “it’s a private showing.” he shrugged.
the excitement that lit her face was instant and for a moment, jack almost felt guilty because she had absolutely no idea…
when they arrived, the house was somehow even more beautiful inside.
sunlight spilled through oversized windows, warming polished hardwood floors and pale walls.
the entire place felt bright, open and comfortable.
it was a place that people built lives together and they could feel the warmth of a loved and cherished home.
jack spent most of the tour watching her instead of the house.
watching her wander into every room with wide eyes, watching her run her fingertips along the bathroom countertops.
watching her stand in front of windows and imagine things.
he knew she was imagining things because she'd always done that. her imagination was everything that made her into the dreamer that she was.
even in their tiny conversations, or while walking down the street.
she saw dreams everywhere and a beautifully bright future in every empty space.
"this kitchen is incredible." she mused, as she rounded the kitchen island and peered out the windows that rested right above the kitchen sink.
her voice echoed softly through the room as jack leaned against the doorway.
her shoulders sank as she peered into the lush backyard garden.
"It is." he said as he watched her in quiet awe.
she moved toward one of the windows, sunlight caught her hair. the sight of her standing there nearly stole the breath from his lungs.
because she looked like she belonged there.. with him. he nearly groaned at the sight of her. her hair falling behind her shoulders while she playfully pretended to wash the dishes.
he smiled wildly as she looked behind her at him and wiggled her eyebrows, causing them both to giggle.
it looked like she wasn’t visiting.
or imagining.
she was just belonging.
as if the house had been waiting for her this whole entire time.
the realtor eventually left them alone to explore.
that was when the trouble started.
because the more she saw, the more she fell in love with it.
and the more she fell in love with it, the more impossible it became for her to hide her disappointment.
by the time they reached the living room again, she was trying very hard to be realistic.
jack knew that look it was the one where she talked herself out of wanting something.
“it's okay," she said softly.
nobody had even asked a question.
jack raised an eyebrow as she laughed a little sadly.
"this place is just..." her gaze drifted toward the windows.
the fireplace.
the staircase.
everything.
"it's perfect." she hummed as jack placed his hand on the back of her small back. her words came out as barely more than a whisper as she looked up at him.
jack felt something squeeze painfully inside his chest.
because she wasn't being dramatic.
or materialistic, or unrealistic, she just genuinely loved this place.
the same way she loved old bookstores and small coffee shops and rainy afternoons cuddled with a good book.
she loved things completely, with her whole heart.
"a girl can dream, right?" she said softly to him. her smile small.
jack stared at her for a long moment— long enough that she did a double take when she wanted to pull him out and go back home.
"w-what?" she looked at him in confusion.
his hands slipped into his pockets, a nervous habit which was one she rarely ever saw.
then he nodded toward the room around them.
"good thing you don't have to." he nodded earnestly.
confusion flickered across her face. she laughed his name, "what are you talking about?"
"you don't have to dream about it, baby."
the silence that followed stretched before he finally said it.
"i bought it."
she blinked…once…twice.
the words clearly didn't fully register and he wanted to kiss her stupid as she gave him a look of pure confusion.
"i bought the townhouse, baby.” he said stalking closer to her, his shoes echoing throughout the room.
still nothing.
her mouth opened slightly.
closed it.
opened again.
jack fought back a smile because for someone so smart, she looked completely lost.
"you..." her voice disappeared.
jack nodded trying to get it out of her.
"i bought it." he said cocooning her into his arms as if to block her away from the rest of the world.
another heartbeat passed.
then another.
finally her eyes widened.
not a little.
a lot.
the kind of realization that arrives all at once. it was sudden and overwhelming and her heart was beating so fast she could have sworn that he could hear it.
"f-for us?" the question cracked in the middle.
jack's expression softened immediately.
"yeah." his voice was gentle, “so we can have somewhere that's ours."
the tears arrived instantly.
jack sighed.
because of course they did.
she slapped both hands over her face.
which somehow made it worse.
"sweetheart—"
"you bought me a house?”
his laugh filled the room. "i bought us a house."
"a whole house, jack."
"technically it's a townhouse." he teased causing her to let out a watery laugh.
then immediately started crying harder.
“i want you to decorate it however you want and i’m gonna help you.” he said softly, moving her hair behind her shoulders as she looked up at him. “we’re gonna make it ours.”
the next thing jack knew, she was throwing her arms around his neck as he wrapped his strong arms around her small frame.
of course he caught her automatically.
strong freckled arms wrapping around her waist as she buried her face against his chest.
the familiar scent of coffee and aftershave surrounded her instantly.
safe, comforting, home.
kack rested his chin on top of her head, holding her tightly. neither of them spoke for a while.
they just stood there in the middle of their future living room as the sunlight poured in around them.
the house quiet and waiting.
finally she tilted her head back enough to look at him.
her eyes were red and her cheeks damp.
beautiful.
"you remembered." the words were tiny they made jack frown.
"remembered what?" he wanted to know, as he wiped his thumb against her wet cheeks.
she laughed softly. "the windows."
his expression immediately melted because of course that's what she was talking about.
not the price, or the size and not even the investment of it all.
the windows.
the thing she'd mentioned months ago during a random walk.
"the balcony." her voice trembled.
"the flower boxes."
jack brushed his thumb against her bottom lip as it quivered.
"i remember everything you tell me." he mused.
and judging by the way her face crumpled, that might have been the most emotional thing he'd said all day.
—
later, after the realtor returned and paperwork was discussed and the reality of it all slowly settled around them, they found themselves standing on the little front patio.
the one she'd always admired and pointed out dozens of times.
jack handed her the key, simple and unassuming. yet somehow heavier than anything she'd ever held before.
she stared at it in her palm, then up at him, then back at the house.
their house. their future.
their home.
jack leaned down and kissed her forehead softly before giving her the smile that destroyed her every single time because it was the kind of smile he reserved only for her.
"what do you say we go back and start to unpack" he hummed.
and this time, when she looked at the townhouse, she didn't have to imagine anymore.
