about me..you can call me lilie ! I am 18 years old and use she/her pronouns. this blog will mainly be used to post any fanfic ideas I have, though I am open to requests! buttttttt I will not write for the following - sa, r-pe, inc-st, fauxcest, noncon, you get the idea. please please please respect my boundaries, I will not hesitate to use the block button. thank u !
who I write for..as of now, I mainly write for characters from the pitt! though I do plan on writing for animal kingdom soon...is it obvious that I'm currently on the shawn hatosy train? LOL. I do plan on expanding the fandoms I write for. I'll update this when the time comes!! :3 I'll add my current works down below <3
please dni..maga, zionists, edblogs, ck supporters, racists, homophobes, transphobes
current works..
the pitt..!
⋮ oopsies ! - jack abbot x dana’s daughter!reader
⋮ irreplaceable ! - michael “robby” robinavitch x reader x jack abbot (wip)
⋮ read your mind ! - jack abbot x f!reader smau
animal kingdom..!
⋮ we almost broke up again last night ! - andrew "pope" cody x f!reader smau
⋮ my good looking boy - andrew “pope” cody x f!reader
smurf’s house is packed when you go downstairs. your sundress bouncing off your thighs while you walk through the crowd. you reach the fridge for a beer and when you close it pope’s in front of you. you jump, startled by his sudden closeness “jesus andrew, stop jumping me” you say resting a hand above your heart. pope’s gaze hovers you for a few minutes, he’s so close you can smell the beer in his warm breath “i’m not jumping you”. he looks so energetic, on such a high, the adrenaline’s probably still running through his veins from the risky job they just pulled
you roll your eyes and take a sip of your beer, backing your feet to make some distance between you “aren’t you going to congratulate me?” pope asks leaning against the fridge “for doing your job?” that provokes a huff from his lips.
he looks, actually— stares at you. he’s clearly checking you out and he’s not even trying to hide it “you look nice” you almost choke on your beer when the words come out from his lips.
“stop that.. i’m easy” you laugh it off but pope is obviously not letting that go “easy? you don’t seem easy at all to me” you can feel yourself redden from the tip of your ears, and you try, really try to shake it off but it’s definitely not working “well… that’s just the impression i give off”
pope actually grins at that, making your knees wobble. you lean your hip on the counter for more stability “so would you give me that cookie now, if i asked?” your eyes widen at the words coming out from his lips “do you…i mean—are you..” you stutter at a loss of words. did you just hear right? are you daydreaming? did pope cody just manage to shut you up for once?
pope fucking laughs at you, like a genuine bubbly laugh probably no one has ever heard him make “i’m just messing with you” your hand grips the marble of the counter turning your knuckles white as you take a deep breath “i’m gonna go find nicky” you leave before he can say anything else.
summary: Whirling into the Cody’s life at 16 like the hurricane you are, the permanent intertwine was instant. Younger than the four sons and a late bloomer, you were an afterthought romance wise. Right up until after you turned 20. Having never even thought about you before, a certain Cody brother can’t help but do exclusively that at your newly developed captivating looks that match your ever-present, chaotic personality. After years of being nothing more than acquaintances, you and Popes growing bond eventually has you facing the possibility that the quiet and guarded Pope Cody could be the first to tame the tumultuous storm.
this chapter contains: MDNI as always! no use of y/n, afab reader/she her pronouns, age gap, cursing, mentions of erections if thats important, fantasizing in detail about kissing, r is drunk, a bit of not consensual touching (not from pope), um swimming in the ocean.. should i include that?, beaten up face mention at the end
wc: 6.4 k ?
Italics are flashbacks!
◅ masterlist ▻ ◅ previous chapter ▻
Pope quickly realized that letting you cut his hair was a mistake.
Not because you were bad at it or anything. It was simply that you were so fucking close to him.
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you since your conversation after dinner.
He had gone the past five years with having never noticed you. But now, it’s like he couldn’t help himself.
After one fucking conversation, its like he was hooked.
Not even on just your looks... but your mind. Your wacky thought process about stupid bubble gum and him not being able to know what you'll say next, had Popes hearts racing when he thought about seeing you again.
It was certainly a foreign reaction in Popes mind and body, causing multiple thoughts to anxiously course through him.
The first— and most persistently pathetic one— being: Was he so desperately in love with Catherine that he never even noticed any part of you— personality or physical— at all?
The second was: Can he even develop feelings for someone besides Catherine?
The third was: Should he even get to know you? Let himself get close to someone else who could potentially just use his loyalty for their own wellbeing?
Probably not.
You were younger than him— over a decade, younger than him. And you were Craig and Deran's friend, who they loved and did not mess around about. And you were bold and feisty and outgoing, all of the qualities he did not posses and most likely couldn’t keep up with.
As far as he knew, he was still so hung up on Catherine. His childhood best friend turned brothers long term girlfriend and mother to his child. Pope was in love with her, a part of him wondered if he always would be.
The first and only time that thought had ever faltered, was when you had given him the ‘told you so’ look about Smurf's hatred for gum chewing and made him laugh for the first time in weeks.
But why?
This morning— for some reason— just the knowledge that he was going to see you later for a haircut had sent a spark of excitement through him. It was weird and unfamiliar, not even something he felt with Catherine.
Everything with her was a slow and deep ache, but his new found attraction for you was a fast paced surprise of all the blood in his body rushing through him.
It was unique and a little bit addictive. It made him want to be near you, to finally talk to you and know the even the mundane shit about you. Like what else you ate when you got your braces off.
He would also like to know if you’re wearing a bra under your small teal tank top as you bend down to look at him in his chair.
It’s the next night after dinner, you had whirled into Smurfs after your second shift at the salon, plopped Pope into a wooden chair on the patio, and now hold a pair of scissors and a comb in your almond shaped acrylics.
His current line of sight is your tits that are so perky and pressed together so nicely-
“So how short do you want to go?” Your smooth voice rips him from his horny teenage-boy-like thoughts.
His eyes flick up to yours and you have a sly smile on your face, as if you knew he had just been thinking about putting his mouth on your breasts.
He swallows a bit, blinking up at you, “Whatever you think, Cay. Doesn’t matter.”
You huff in a bit of frustration, which immediately has Pope confused. He just told you to do whatever you want. Which, based on the stories Craig and Deran tell him— Isn’t that what you do anyway?
You cross your arms and stand up straight in front of him, chewing on your cheek, “I need an answer. I have to know what you want, so I can try to get it exactly right. Like how a real client would ask for.”
If you knew what he ‘wanted’ you to do to him right now, you would probably push his chair backwards into the pool.
So, he decides to say something else instead.
He shrugs, eyes roaming over your face, hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair tightly, “Okay… how about an inch or something off the sides and leave it longer on the top?”
His words bring a grin to your face, white teeth appear from under your sparkly lip gloss and he sees bubble gum sticking out on the left side of your mouth.
“Will do, sir,” you joke playfully as if he's a customer. But you calling him sir has him regretting his choice to not have something covering his lap.
You step behind him, your tan pumps clacking with the movements, and rest your hands on his shoulders. He feels your soft hands lay on his shirt and can’t help but tense up.
You remove them immediately when you notice, a cautious tone overtakes you, “Is it okay if I touch you?” Fuck you sound so awkward because he’s awkward— he hates how awkward he is. “I mean, I kind of have to if I’m gonna cut your hair.”
He nods and forces himself to drop his shoulders and just relax.
You're just a pretty woman cutting his hair. Can he chill the fuck out.
You had told him to wet his hair in the sink, which he did, so now he focuses on the water droplets that slide down his neck and not on the way your nails run over his scalp and spread goosebumps across his entire body.
Your long acrylics comb through his curls and he squeezes his eyes shut at the uncomfortable amount of pleasure he gets from the sensation.
He is so fucked.
You start to pull the side curls outward and snip away at some of the length with your small scissors.
A blanket of quiet overtakes the backyard. Not a calm quiet, but a charged, intense kind.
He should try and make conversation, but what could he even say? He doesn’t know what he would even ask you. How does he start to get to know you now, after five years of never having tried before?
Doesn’t that make him a dick for only wanting to talk to you now that you’re… well— wet dream material — different?
You hum slightly as you work, shortening the sides and back to the best of your abilities as you— unbeknownst to you— torture Pope with the malleable grip of your hands and whatever floral perfume you have on.
After a few minutes of silence, you move to the top of his hair, still standing behind him. He knows you can’t take the quiet anymore because you tap your heel repeatedly, in what he assumes is restlessness.
By the time Pope realizes he could ask you about your time out with his brothers last night, and if you were hungover this morning, you break the silence first. “So... Where do you usually get your haircut?”
It’s a bland question that has him wondering if you’re dulling yourself down for him.
You move to his side to grab his ear lightly, pulling it down so you can trim the hair above it. Your thumb rests on his neck as you do, and he prays to any god listening that you don’t feel his pulse hammering below your finger.
“Uh— just at any barbershop that I’m closest too usually,” his words sound way too strained. Like he’s lifting heavy weights instead of getting a fucking haircut.
A “hmmm” sounds out of you in response.
Rounding to the front of him, you bend down to get a better view of your work. Your face is unbearably close to his as you use both of your hands and grab for the sides of his hair, pulling the length to see what’s left to cut.
His eyes widen a bit at your proximity before squeezing shut so he can’t focus on the details of your pretty face. He can unfortunately, still smell your sweet perfume, though.
His hands ball into fists and his whole body clenches— trying desperately not to get a fucking hard on as you do a simple task.
You must see him go taut with tension as he basically turns to stone at your closeness, so your tone is light and teasing as you speak up again, “This is the part where you ask me a question about myself, Pope.”
His brain short circuits — lips parting and chest heaving— as you lean somehow even closer and snip off a chunk on the top back side. His eyes flutter open as he feels your body heat, right in time to see that his face is basically pressed into your chest as you do so.
Words jumble up in his mouth and all he can spit out is a raspy, “So what do you do for work?”
You giggle at his stupid ass word-vomit of a question that hopefully you take as him making a coherent joke. Because he already knows you cut fucking hair!
“Craig and Deran never told you I was a neurosurgeon?” You playfully tell him through your giggle.
He should ask you another question. Maybe even tell you something about himself and— oh who fucking cares? He can’t even think straight at this point as your light laughter from your purposeful joke bounces your glorious tits in his face.
Oh god. This must be some kind of karma he got for breaking that guys nose the other day.
He’s barely two inches away from your cleavage, holding his breath so tightly that he starts to get light headed. When he can’t hold it in anymore, he exhales.
The breath must have hit the skin of your breasts because you jump back, eyes a bit wide with shock.
“Oh my god—” you squeak, your mouth a disbelieving gape, “I’m so sorry— I didn’t realize that you were— that I was—“
You break into uncontrollable laughter, your head thrown back as your pretty face crinkles with your smile. How the fuck are you laughing right now when Pope has a semi behind his zipper?
He thinks that you must not be attracted to him if you’re so chill about his face in your tits. He is such a loser for getting all worked up like this over a much younger girl he barely even knows.
You bite your lip to try and reign in your amusement, and the move goes straight to Popes dick.
“I swear I didn’t mean to press against you like that,” you casually assure him. You focus your attention back on his hair, stepping to his side once more.
He huffs out a ragged breath and mutters, “It’s fine.”
“Okay… I think I’m done,” you finally say after a few more minutes that Pope can’t even remember because he’s so tense.
Standing up and nodding, he moves to get the fuck inside as quickly as he can and pretend to care about what his hair looks like.
He takes a single step to—
“Oh wait!” You interject from behind him, as if you forgot something.
You move closer to his back, wrapping a manicured palm around his bicep and pressing the other flat against his shoulder blade. You push up onto your toes and blow on his fucking ear.
Well— you’re actually blowing on his neck trying to get the excess hair off of him, but your light breath goes straight to tickle his ear and he bites back a fucking groan. He sinks his teeth so hard into his bottom lip that he tastes blood.
He closes his eyes and thinks of every sinful and heinous thing he’s ever done, willing the incoming erection away.
You drop your hands and circle to face him. Once you’re parallel, you blink up at him and stare at his wet curls while he stares at your pretty face.
You smile brightly, pride radiating from your frame, “It looks good!”
“Thanks,” he says gruffly and avoids your gaze.
“I hope you like the length on you," your tone is so sweet and innocent that it makes Pope look back to your eyes. "Because I do."
He simply nods— trying not to dwell on that fact that you like how he looks or that you’re maybe batting your eyelashes at him.
He moves around you, going inside to the bathroom to look in a mirror, then to take a cold fucking shower.
"I don't know what to do Der, he wont stop calling me," You whine and float under another gentle ocean wave.
It’s been almost two weeks since you cut Popes hair. It’s a Saturday, so you don't have to go into the salon and are having a mid afternoon beach day with Deran.
“There’s definitely a storm coming,” you hear Deran mumble as you resurface and you realize that he hasn’t been listening to the last ten minutes of your rant.
“Hello? Deran! Can we get back to talking about me please?? I have a serious problem here!”
Deran scoffs a laugh from his place next to you, sitting upright on his surfboard, "Don’t know why I’m looking at the clouds when the hurricane is right in front of me.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
He sighs, finally addressing your men troubles, “Thats what guys do when they're obsessed with you. They call you."
You glance up at the faraway dark storm clouds as you blow bubbles of annoyance into the salty water, "But I didn't even do anything to make him act this way!"
Its not entirely untrue, because who are you to pass up some good old fashion male attention?
Your best friend deadpans, the windy breeze flipping through his hair being the only movement he makes, "You stuck your tongue down his throat at the club three days ago."
"That doesn't mean he can call me a dozen times a day!"
He simply shrugs, "Eh, it kind of does."
You splash him with as much ocean water as you can.
He laughs and spits out whatever water went into his mouth, right back at you.
"Who even is this guy anyway?" He wades his arms in the water to keep from floating away from you.
Pinching the bridge of your nose in thought and squeezing your eyes shut, you try to will this randoms name into your brain.
“His name is… um. Shit,” you mutter under your breath as you brace for what’s coming.
Deran drops his jaw in gleeful disbelief, “You can’t even remember his name? Jesus, you’re basically Craig.”
You gasp, truly horrified at the comparison. “I am not,” you hiss at him.
“Yeah you are, you can’t even remember this guys name and he’s all up in your phone. That’s classic Craig behavior,” his smile is pearly white and smug.
The waves rock you both, you fully submerged from the neck down in the warm sea and him perched on his long white board.
“The difference between me and your idiot brother, is that Craig sleeps with these nameless women.” You chide as you explain,
“I simply made out with a man and then didn’t fully catch his name because the two men I came to the club with—that’s you by the way— told me I was—“ you hold up finger quotes, emphasizing your disbelief of the story you were informed about the next morning “—‘so drunk I thought Deran was a Hemsworth brother.’ So in reality, it’s actually your fault.”
He shakes his head in pure amusement, “You are ridiculous. And you did think I was a Hemsworth brother, by the way. Wanted to go home with me too.”
Moving to float on your back, you try not to let the hangxiety get to you, because you definitely don’t believe for a second you tried to fuck your gay best friend.
You dismiss him, “Not likely Der. Those boys are blonde, I’m not into light haired men.”
“It seems like you’re not into men with any color hair, seeing as your new stalker was bald,” he mutters in response.
You shoot upwards and shriek at him, “What?!”
He points an accusatory finger at you, “Ha! I knew you were so drunk you didn’t remember anything. Of course he wasn’t bald Cakes, I would have stopped that before he even got close to you.”
Okay yes, he did just make your heart drop out of your ass, but it also warms slightly at his protectiveness over you.
“You’re a dick,” you mumble into the waves.
After a few seconds of the lapping tide being the only sound, a letter appears in your mind. ‘P’.
“I think his name might be um… Peter no wait— Paul something?” You rack your brain before giving up entirely, focusing back on the water in order to tread.
The two of you are as far out as you can go before a lifeguard brings a jet ski to come and get you.
Deran dials up the dramatics and feigns congratulations, bringing a wetsuit covered hand over his heart, “Wow, I can’t believe you’re going to the the next Mrs. ‘Peter no wait— Paul something’. I am so happy for you Cay!”
His sarcasm over your actual dilemma has you splash him once more.
“Oh go drown in some big wave!” You call out as you swim back to shore, entirely done with his unhelpful comments. His smooth laughter follows you the whole way back.
When you reach your towel, you lie down flat on your stomach and rest your forehead on your crossed arms.
What the fuck is this guys name?
You cant even remember kissing him or giving him your number.
Or anything from that night out to be honest.
It’s slightly weird that all the voice memos he has been leaving you don’t include his name, but leaving any voice memos at all is definitely weirder.
You think of the letter P again and a memory starts to play like a movie in your brain.
You’re in the club, swaying your hips to whatever pop song is playing in the background, tequila soda with lime in one hand and the other is thrown up into the air as you dance.
Everything is slow motion or all too fast as you whip your head to the music. A cloudy, drunken haze engulfs your body. The plus side of being this drunk though, is that you can’t feel the bite of the new pair of heels you’re breaking in.
You had been dancing all night with a few of the girls Craig, Deran and you party with.
They’re all super fun to hangout with because they’re always down for a good time and keep up with your spontaneity.
Only downside is they’re all addicted to drugs and have all hooked up with Craig.
Who they just left to do coke in the bathroom with, so you’re by yourself on the light up checkered dance floor. You’re so drunk that you try not to look down, or else you know you’ll get nauseous at the flashing.
You vaguely feel tap on your shoulder, but it could just be you accidentally bumping into someone for the millionth time… because you have also been wasted for hours, alongside the dancing.
When the poking feeling happens again, you spin around. Your vision is blurry and you try and blink past it, but it won’t go away.
You think a man is standing in front of you, he’s taller than you, wearing… um— and maybe, vaguely attractive?
“Hi im Pa-oheshhy,” the muffled words float into your ears.
What a weird name.
“What?” You yell as much as you can, but your voice is so slurred that you give up on speaking entirely.
The man says his name again and for a second your brain clears and you hear “Pope”.
Your heart drops into your ass that’s barely covered by your sequined dress.
Your whole body focuses harder than probably ever before, in order to squint through the bleariness and see if it’s actually him.
Of course, when the person comes into focus, it’s not Pope. You sag slightly in disappointment, it’s a dramatic come down from the spark of excitement you got at the fact that you thought he was there.
The guy steps forward and says more words into your ear, but each one is swallowed by the music and impossible to decipher.
Jesus, you are super drunk.
You go to step away from him —conscious just enough to realize you’re too drunk to engage— when you stumble forward.
Your new heels betray you and you have to reach out and grab his shirt for stability.
You feel buttons on his shirt and are reminded again of the oldest Cody brother. You think of how it felt to run your hands through his hair, how heated his gaze was on your bare legs and heels when you propped them next to him that day, and how big and muscular his body is.
A body that you’ve never even thought about in much detail until he was the first person to ask you about your bubble gum obsession.
A body that you couldn’t stop staring at as you cut his hair.
The unknown man takes your fall as an invitation to step into your space, gripping your hips with his hands.
It’s not Pope touching you — who you’ve never truly fantasized about before until this drunken moment—, but maybe if you just…
You run your hands up his chest— it’s not as muscular or broad as you think Popes would feel, but whatever— and you bring your nails to run through his hair.
It’s curly and soft like Popes, you twist your fingers into it and start to sway with the stranger.
He steps even further toward you, until you’re pressed up against each other, something you think Pope would never do because he is not very forward unless it’s to be blunt word-choice wise.
You try and look up at the man’s face but your vision is so cloudy and the flashing orange lights are so vigorous, that you decide to just close your eyes.
You stay dancing with him, keeping your hands in his hair as the music throbbing in your ears goes from upbeat and fast, to slow and sultry.
You let your drunken mind wander, imagining that you’re in Smurfs backyard with your hands in Popes hair again.
Except, instead of sitting in front of you, he’s pressing against you as the two of you dance together. You feel the warmth of his body through your flimsy napkin of a dress.
Pope moves a hand from your hip up your spine as you sway together and you allow yourself to relax into the touch. He murmurs something loud enough for you to hear the sound, his breath hits your lips as they’re inches from yours.
You imagine that it’s him asking permission to kiss you, he says it all awkward and hesitant like how he normally is around you, so you nod in agreement.
Just this once, you’ll let him. Just to find out what it would be like to kiss the oldest Cody brother. The brooding and scary one who’s never paid you any mind before.
Soft lips press to yours and your fingers tighten in his hair. Pope tastes like beer as his mouth starts to move tentatively against yours. You focus on his curls under your hands as you kiss him back, both melting into it after a second.
His mouth is firm and coordinated, warm tongue eventually snaking out to run across your lips. You open your mouth for Popes tongue and he entangles it with yours. You can tell he definitely knows what he’s doing, as he starts rotating between taking control over the kiss and then letting you have some.
His lips vibrate against yours and even though you cant hear it over the music and the sound of your drunken heartbeat in your ears, you know Popes moaning against you. You grip his curls tighter, satisfied that he's enjoying this as much as you are.
The moment is intense and the kiss is so good— slow and exploring— that you whimper into his mouth.
Popes hands run down to cup your ass, pressing you flush against the erection in his— slacks?
Wait, that’s not right, you’ve only ever seen Pope in jeans.
Oh shit.
Your eyes shoot open with your tongue in this strangers mouth, then you quickly push away from him, your movements weak from the inebriation, but it gets the job done.
The blurry man says something in a questioning tone.
You’re so drunk and embarrassed and extremely turned on, that you can’t even say anything to him besides “Phone.” And hold out your hand. You decide that giving him your number instead of rejecting him is the safer option for you right now.
A second later, a phone is placed into your hand, you don’t even try to type your number in as best as you can, you will not be calling him.
When you slide him back his phone he grabs you again, pulling you back against him.
You try to shove him off but it’s no use, he’s bigger and stronger and probably more sober than you are. Bracing your hands on his chest, you weakly push and slur out “Get off”.
But you’re only trapped in the embrace for a few seconds before the stranger is ripped away from you.
“Get the fuck off of her!” The first clear words you hear all night are Craig’s, as his angry voice fills your ears. You feel so relieved you could cry, and your so drunk you probably might.
Arms wrap around you a second later.
All of a sudden you’re being gently ushered off the dance floor. You glance up at who’s guiding you and see a blonde guy with a pretty face.
“Liam Hemsworth?”
You groan out loud, as the memory fades, the sound muffles past your skin and onto your beach towel where you lay.
“What’s wrong?”
Your head snaps up at Deran's voice next to you, you hadn’t noticed he had walked over and is packing up all your things strewn across the sand.
“Nothing, just tired,” you brush off, sitting up dusting off your bikini.
He nods, “Come on let’s go, storm is coming in.”
He gestures his head to the rumbling storm clouds that have gotten much closer to the coast line.
You help him pack up and get into his car in rare silence. Clearly you're in your head but Deran doesn't push, which you appreciate. It's what you do for him, so he's returning the favor.
He drops you off at your apartment with a cautious glance accompanied by a firm, "Call me if you need anything."
After you shower off the beach, you step into your room and watch the first rain drops fall onto your windows.
You lay in your bed, now completely alone and able to contemplate the other night at the club.
And Oh god.
What is wrong with you?
You drunkenly fantasized about your best friends’ brother so hard that you pretended a random guy was him.
Were you ovulating or something?? Because you have never done that about a man ever before. Well, not a man you knew at least. Sexy celebrities don’t count.
And just the fact that it was Pope had you all sorts of confused. You didn’t know anything about him besides that he had beefy arms that could probably throw you around and pin you down so easily—
Okay, down girl. You’ve decided that is enough of that.
You don’t think you’d ever actually do anything with Pope anyway, even with the fantasy he starred in being the hottest one you’ve ever had.
The Cody’s have basically been the only consistent men in your life since you were 16, and you don’t want to lose them. ‘Them’ being Craig and Deran. You couldn’t give a shit about Baz and you don’t even know Pope.
It’s why you’ve been the only girl to ever turn down Craig too. You are pretty positive he’s joking anyway when he makes hookup offers, but just in case, you made it clear that’s never happening. Not that you are attracted to him anyway because he is a moron.
Because if something goes wrong and then you lose them? You wouldn’t be able to survive it.
So you know that you could never get romantically involved with a man who was permanently in your life.
You wonder what Craig and Deran's reactions would be to you thinking about their brother like this.
Would they be mad?
Craig did once say that getting drunk and horny is the peak ‘in-your-20's’ experience... so maybe he wouldn't be mad? But you still assume they would be angry. Especially if you used Craigs words against him.
So, essentially you have two options.
You can either ignore Pope and will away this attraction that has you acting like a cat in heat at the club, or — nope there is no other option.
You should just ignore this and him.
Yes. Thats what you'll do. You nod to yourself at your decision and snuggle into your fluffy queen sized bed, going the fuck to sleep. Leaving all of todays retrieved memories in the past.
How hard will it be to not interact with someone that you've gone 5 years not speaking to at all?
Seems easy enough.
A shrill ringing rips you out of your deep sleep.
You peel open your eyes, immediately irritated by the morning sunlight streaking through your sheer curtains and into your sensitive irises.
You grip your phone that was vibrating on your nightstand so hard you think — you hope — it might break.
You answer the call before even looking at the ID. Your voice is scratchy from sleep and brimmed with annoyance, “What??”
“Hey it’s me, Percy.” A mans voice answers.
Who the fuck is—?
Oh no.
Shit shit shit shit.
It’s man-you-regret-kissing from the club.
His name is Percy? Isn’t that a dogs name?
You sit up in bed and smack your forehead with your palm in self hatred, “Oh… hi.”
“Listen, I got your number but never your name. And I’ve been calling because I had wanted to see you. To, you know—“ his tone goes all suggestive like he thinks he’s sexy— “have a good time again.”
Ew.
You forgot how annoying and one track minded men are.
This guy doesn't even know your name and he wants to wake you from your slumber, not to ask for it, but to know if he can grind up against you again?
He can fuck allllll the way off.
“No thank you Paul, lose my number and the memory of me being too drunk to consent to kissing you,” your words are brisk and leave no room for arrgument.
You don’t actually care about drunkenly kissing him— nothing more happened once you changed your mind so it’s whatever to you— but you want to successfully scare him off.
“Wait but—"
You hang up the phone.
Good riddance.
Now, you can go back to sleep.
You get all comfy under your covers again, your eyes fluttering shut after only a few seconds, starting to doze off, when a knock sounds at your door.
You jolt awake.
A terribly anxious and fearful thought strikes you.
Is that…? Oh shit you forgot his name already.
There is no way it’s the guy from the club/phone, right?
He didn’t even know your name, so there’s no way he could know where you live. Right??
Then again, you’re a 21 year old girl living alone, so the anxiety and the fact that you’re still half asleep doesn’t let you rationalize anything.
You hurry out of bed and run to your kitchen in a naive panic, as you think of all the ways this strange man could kill you.
You could go for a knife to defend yourself but the closest thing to you is a dirty frying pan you left on your stove. You grab it as the knocking sounds again, you flinch anxiously.
You tiptoe to the front door, you can hear your heart pounding and feel nauseous, as if you were still hungover from a few days ago.
What are you doing? Shouldn’t you call someone?— not the police obviously, because you have an unbelievable amount of stolen contraband in your apartment— But maybe Craig or Deran?
It’s too late though, the adrenaline pumps through you as you swing your door open, frying pan raised high while shrieking, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Only its not the stranger you kissed at the club.
Nope, its the man you imagined you were kissing at the club.
Thats right. Pope Cody stands at your doorway, looking utterly confused as he takes in your frying pan, frantic eyes and terrified voice.
You sag in relief about the fact that Peter is not at your door, and then you tense in embarrassment, face going red, at the fact that he was obviously not going to be at your door.
"Is this... a bad time?" Pope says in pure perplexity, bruised face all scrunched— Wait, what the fuck happend to his face?
You drop your pan wielding hand to your side and gasp as you take in his features. "Oh my god Pope what happened!?" you squeak.
He completely ignores your concern, glancing around the hallway of you apartment building, squinting suspiciously. "Who did you think was here?"
You sigh, a fresh wave of mortification washing over you as you step backwards and gesture him inside with your pan.
He steps through the door as you offer him a vague, "Some guy from the club," The words are unfocused because you're still staring at his beaten face.
You shut the door and he kicks off his boots next to the small lilac entry rug.
Okay... so he's making himself comfortable?
He fixes them so they're neatly lined up with the wall, amongst the chaos of all of your heels in a pile. You want to giggle at the fact that his now, straight facing black work boots are surrounded by colorful pumps, boots and wedges.
He steps further into the living room— doing as all Cody brothers do when they're at your apartment— circling around to take in all your mismatch decor.
He doesn't ask you about it though, he just tracks you with his brown eyes as you quickly go to put the pan back on your stove.
By the time you face him again in the center of your apartment, Pope's hands are buried in his dark jacket pockets, and he's planted next to your white couch, looking tense as ever. His dark curls are slightly mussed and his face is a bit rigid.
You brace your hands on your hips as you stand opposite him, the birch coffee table separating you.
Taking his injuries in fully, you see that his left eye is covered in an angry purple bruise, his bottom lip is split and his nose has a half-healed gash across the bridge of it.
"What happened to you?"
"Is this guy threatening you or something?" Is his response, ignoring your worry once again.
You huff in frustration and give him a stern look, "Pope."
He sniffs, rocking back on his feet, hands deepening in his pockets, "Had to help the family with something."
Oh. You get it now.
You never get any of the gory details because, although you're close to the boys, they're always pretty hush hush about the inner workings of their family. But Craig and Deran have angrily mentioned a few times— while complaining about Smurf— that she has Pope do all the family's... dirty work.
You nod in understanding, even though you don't fully understand, and you really want to know what happend, but you know not to push. You gave up trying to force details out of the Cody boys years ago.
Pope doesn't offer any explanation, he just stilled in your apartment looking everywhere but you, as if he's totally okay with standing in silence all day.
He looks at your dark red tv stand, then to a cheetah print vase on your birch coffee table, then at one of your 'No Boys Allowed' framed posters on the wall.
You let him glance around for a little because you know he's never been here before, and people always want to look at all the different shit you have.
Wait a second.
Your face scrunches in confusion at the fact that he's standing in your apartment for the first time, but... "How did you know where I lived?"
He shrugs, only offering up the single word, "Deran."
"Oh, okay..." A shiver passes through you and you glance down to see you're still in your flimsy tank top and shorts sleep set. You look back up at Pope but he's not looking at your exposed legs or midriff, just at your probably puffy and tired eyes.
You're relieved at the fact that another man isn't sexualizing you this early in the morning. It eases you enough to ask him, "So... what are you doing here?"
"I— I need you to cover these up," He gestures to his handsome battered face, voice sounding uncomfortable, as if he's never asked someone for help before. "I have to, uh, be somewhere tonight and I cant look like this."
You want to ask why he doesn't go to Smurf for help, but you decide not to when you assume that she's probably the reason why his face is like this in the first place.
You bite your lip to try and conceal your smile as you think about what 'covering up' means.
"Pope Cody... are you asking me to do your makeup?"
authors note: WHADDUP FAMILY!! I hope you all enjoy readers drunken daydreaming about pope cause she's just like me fr... anyways i always love a good 'he comes to you for help' trope 😛 sorry for the cliffhanger lmao
Tag list (comment to be added to it!) : @anotb @keysmashcentral @iwishuweredead @materialgirl-97 @arigoldsblog @juneburrow @firefoxkairan @alexisheartsdilfs @sergeantsebastian @lsolo @laceyvt3 @honimoon @dr-yapper @r-oxy1 @kennedywxlsh @sunfl0wersblog-blog @scream4mami @intermittentacademic @popecodysgirl @saqes0 @error-reality-not-found @averyaurorawilson @bombtasticbritt91 @mjrf @velvetumbranightmare @snake-in-a-flower-crown @plasticbottleholder @3-smi @gmmsos @grxnde-dwt @doe-jenna @1dhoe93 @starlitflora @fizzywizzyglizzy
summary - andrew tried his best to keep your relationship separated from his family and their life of crime. but he should have known better than to keep secrets from smurf. now, he finds himself being forced to stay away from you.
warnings - age gap (reader is around her early to mid-20s, Andrew is in his mid to late-30s), does not follow the show’s plot, eventual smut, angst, fluff, smurf, profanity, violence, mentions of blood and injuries, flashbacks are in italics ! - does not follow the canon timeline - and I don't know why, but reader calling him "andy" in fics is my guilty pleasure so there's lots of that in here hehe..
an - this is what happens when good looking by suki waterhouse plays on repeat..there will be multiple parts ! credits to @uzmacchiato for the dividers ! I wrote most of this half asleep so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes, will go back and fix any mistakes when I wake up :3
Andrew Cody had never known peace.
From the moment he was born, he was seen and used as nothing but a weapon. A weapon only his family could control, a weapon his mother had molded him out to be. He never once fought back against their demands, always following through with any job Smurf or Baz assigned him to perform. It’s not like he had a choice anyway; he wasn’t allowed an education and barely had any experience socializing outside his family. All in all, without them and the jobs, he served no true purpose in life. It was pathetic. If he wasn’t out there threatening someone his mother deemed a loose screw, he was at Baz’s place, going over details of their next job. That was all he could do, all he was good for.
On nights like these, he can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he were born into a normal family, a family that wasn’t as dysfunctional and broken as his. Would he have grown to be a better man? Maybe he would have been able to experience what true love felt like; maybe he wasn’t stuck pining over a woman who had never loved him back. Maybe the normal version of him also had a normal relationship with his mother, one that lacked the manipulative and cruel nature Smurf had. Maybe those versions of his brothers actually saw him as family, instead of looking at him like he was a monster. And maybe that version of him was man enough to get his twin sister the help and support she needed instead of leaving her out to struggle on her own. Maybe, just maybe.
A part of him wished he had never been released early from prison. Lying on that cold, hard metal bed staring at nothing but the wall would have been better than coming home to the news that his sister died, and that the only thing left of her was a son. His nephew, one he never really got to know. Andrew can’t help but curse himself for not doing anything more for Julia and J. He knew Julia would never have wanted it to be like this, never wanted J anywhere near Smurf and the family. Now he has to watch as Smurf grooms J into becoming another pawn in her game, a new puppet she could control. It twisted something in him, watching his mother get close to her grandson; it was like looking into a mirror, bringing him back to his childhood, reminding him of all the times Smurf would force him and Julia into helping her with petty robberies. It felt good back then, not the robberies, no, but the time spent with his mother and sister. It pained him to think about it now, how the only happy memories he had of his childhood were intertwined with the same person who ruined it for all of them.
-
He didn’t understand.
Even now, after a few months of dating, Andrew still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re his. That he gets the privilege of coming home to you every night, touching you, protecting you. He was told all his life that he would never be able to find a woman dumb enough to tolerate someone like him, that if there happened to be someone with an interest, they were just using him for the money. And he thought that was what your intentions were at first, too. But you had proved him wrong time and time again.
“Andy?” You peeked your head through the bedroom door that your boyfriend had just disappeared into. It was half past midnight when you heard his footsteps; your heart raced at the sound. You’d think you would be immune to this by now. It was common for Andrew to come home late at night; he told you that on your first date. His job required him to work gruesome hours. And as much as you trusted him, you still couldn’t help but worry about his health. His eyebags were getting darker and darker every day, and you could tell he wasn’t sleeping or eating enough. It strained your heart to see him in such a broken-down state. But this wasn’t the worst you’ve seen.
Usually, when it came to the men you were seeing, you’d want to know everything about them. Their morals, values, career, what their favorite movie was, and other random stuff you could think of. Andrew was puzzling to you when you first met him; he didn’t really talk much during the date, choosing to just nod or shake his head at your questions. You were put off by this behavior, but something about him piqued your interest. Maybe it was because every time you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but compare him to a lost puppy. He was older than you, yes, but there was something about him that made you want to take him in and care for him. And you were right to think like that.
When you made your relationship official, Andrew started coming over to your apartment more often. Most days, he just showed up and wanted nothing more than to lie in bed with you with his head on your chest, your hand combing through his curls as you watched TV. But then came the nights he would show up with blood all over him and scars gushing all over his body. It had gotten to the point where you bought multiple first aid kits and even enrolled in an emergency first aid class at the local community college. Maybe you should have questioned it then, what kind of job he had for him to be coming home in that state, but you didn’t want to push his boundaries. So you opted for silently treating his wounds and comforting him the best you could.
“You can come in.”
You push the doors open, your eyes instantly locking on the figure in front of you. His clothes were discarded on the floor, mud and blood stains all over the fabric. Your eyes drift back up to his chest, and you can see a faint scar near the middle, little dribbles of blood still surrounding it as Andrew worked on patching up his hands.
“Andy! Oh my god, what happened?!” You frantically run up to him and cup his face in your hands. Your brows furrow as you scan his face for any other injuries, but you don’t find any.
“ ‘m fine.”
“No, you’re not!” You take one hand off his cheek and gesture to his body, “You have blood all over you!”
You take a step back and turn towards your dresser, opening the bottom compartment and grabbing your first-aid kit. You gulp and turn back to Andrew. “Sit.” You point him over to the bed.
“Sweetheart, I’m fine. I can patch myself up.”
“Oh my god, Andy, please sit down.” Andrew lets out a tired sigh at that, his shoulders slouching in defeat before walking towards the edge of the bed and sitting down. You open up your kit and grab a bottle of saline and an alcohol pad. Thank god you took those classes. You begin to gently dab on the blood still left around the cuts on his chest, your lips pursed as you try to concentrate.
“You need to be more careful, Andy..” you mumble out, brows furrowing.
Andrew runs a hand across his face as he looks up at your concentrated face. Cute, he thought. Truth be told, his injuries really weren’t that severe. Just a few shallow cuts and bruises. He hated making you worry like this, hated the fact that you were so scared for him that you took a whole fucking class dedicated to first aid, just in case. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have gone to your apartment tonight, but he knew that it’d just make you worry even more if he didn’t show, so he tried his best to get rid of all of the blood on him in his truck before heading to you.
“I’m sorry.” He pauses, “They aren’t that bad. Don’t worry.”
You roll your eyes at his remark. All you could do was worry; every time he left to go to work, worry was the only thing on your mind. Afraid that he might not show up one day, or that you might get a call from the hospital, telling you that he needed surgery or something worse. “Just please promise me you’ll call next time.” You whisper, lips trembling as you meet his gaze.
Andrew softens at the sight. “I promise.”
You bring your pinky up, “Pinky?”
Andrew brings his up and bites back a smile, “Pinky.” You intertwine your pinky fingers together. God, how did he get so lucky with you?
-
“Tell me why we’re following him again?”
Smurf sighs as she turns to look at J in the driver’s seat. To be fair, she didn’t really know why they were following Pope either. It’s not like he’d been acting out lately; in fact, he was doing the opposite. He’d been good at following through with the jobs and keeping people in check, but Smurf had a growing suspicion. Her son hasn’t been visiting the family home as often as he usually does, and he hasn’t been attending dinners. At first, she thought he had gotten in another fight with one of his brothers, probably Baz, but when Pope came home one day smelling like flowers and vanilla, her suspicion grew stronger.
She didn’t believe it at first, or at least she didn’t want to believe it. Out of all her sons, Pope was the one who never really showed any interest in women, and women never showed interest in him either, for the most part at least. So if there does happen to be a woman in his life, one that isn’t her, one he was in love with, she needed to know. She couldn’t have someone interfering with her family, especially not Pope; she couldn’t risk having someone take him away from them, from the jobs. He was her attack dog, the one person she knew would do anything she asked; she couldn’t have him turning soft. Especially not for some girl.
“Just need to see something. Keep your eyes on the road, baby.”
J shut his mouth and listened to his grandmother’s orders. He had a bad feeling about this, tailing Pope around Oceanside. He would have declined if he knew that this was what Smurf had meant by “bonding time”. Well, no, he wouldn’t have. After just a few months of living with his family, he knew that Smurf got whatever she wanted, and if you refused her orders, you’d be suffering the consequences. But he was also scared of his uncle; he knew what Pope was capable of doing to those who wronged him, and right now? J was definitely crossing a line. He didn’t know why Smurf was so caught up in this. Did it really matter that much if Pope had a love life? It would be good for him, he thinks. Maybe he’d finally soften up a little.
“Oh. I think I see him.” J points to a flower shop on the side of the road.
“Pull over.”
Smurf’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the shop. What could he have possibly been doing in there? Her mind was reeling with ideas. Maybe he was scouting it for a potential job, but last time she checked, they had already planned on hitting that bank downtown. Shit. She closes her eyes and grips her purse tighter. There was only one other possible answer, the one Smurf had kept in the back of her mind, the one she hoped wasn’t true. Her worries only expanded when she saw someone step out, Pope. Wearing a lavender button-up, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, and the other holding a bouquet of flowers. This had to be some joke.
“Uhm.” J contemplates his next words for a second, “Are we meeting up with him?”
“No, baby.” Smurf’s gaze follows Pope for another minute before turning to look at her grandson. “Take us home.”
J nods and pulls out from the curb, starting the drive back to the compound.
-
“Oh my gosh, Andrew!” You bring the bouquet up to your nose and take another sniff. “They’re gorgeous.”
You had just gotten off an eight-hour shift at the boutique, tiredness evident in your eyes. It had been a long day of plastering on a smile and repeating the same phrase to any customer who walked in. You love your job, but days like this make you wish you had stayed in school. You had texted Andrew earlier during your break, complaining about a customer who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She had asked if you had something in stock in the back, and when you told her no, she flipped out. It was ridiculous, a middle-aged woman screaming because of some dress that wasn’t even cute enough to be raging over.
“I’m glad you like them. I had to go to four different stores to find one that sold your favorites.”
Your heart melts at his words. Since the beginning of your relationship, Andrew had always done things like this. Even after your constant reminders that it wasn’t necessary. Paying for your clothes, nails, hair, he had even paid your rent once, when you were running short on money. You told him he didn’t have to, but he had insisted. And unlike your past boyfriends, he never asked for anything in return; he was doing it purely out of his love for you. You wonder how you got so lucky, how a girl like you managed to catch his heart. Not that you’re complaining, you wouldn’t trade this for anything.
“Aww, Andy. You really didn’t have to.” You take a step forward and wrap your arms around his neck.
Andrew wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. He leans down and gives you a small peck on the lips, which gets a giggle out of you.
“I know, but I wanted to make you feel better. Especially after that customer was rude to you.” Andrew hated hearing about complicated customers, and he hated that it happened often. What could be so agonizing about a boutique that caused people to lash out like that? He didn’t understand. If it were up to him, he’d be going to work with you every day and take care of anyone who gave you even an ounce of aggression. But he didn’t want to scare you off; he always tried his best to be softer when it came to you. He never learned how to love properly, but he wanted to learn. He always worried that one day he’d come home and find that you were gone, that you had left. That was his biggest fear, aside from you finding out what he did for “work”.
“Thank you.”
He nods, pulling away from you. “You ready to go home?” He gestures to the truck behind him.
“Mhm!” You retort, intertwining your hands with his as you both walk towards the car.
chapter warnings - mentions of past abvse, drvgs, alcohol
02. Hallucination
-
“Jump! Jump! Jump!”
Pope can’t help but scoff at the noise coming from the pool. He despised the parties that his family threw, everyone was always so reckless and inconsiderate with the mess, something he always found himself having to clean in the morning. Tonight was no different. Smurf had invited everyone in the neighborhood, and those people invited their friends. People were drinking, smoking, and making out in every corner of the house. She had told him that it was a way to welcome him back home, but Pope couldn’t think of anything less welcoming than this. Disgusting.
As he stared out at the crowd, he couldn’t help but notice that his two younger brothers were nowhere to be found. Huh. The party had been going on for at least an hour already. Craig should have been by the loungers surrounded by a group of women, and Deran should have been at the pool doing the same reckless shit he always managed to come up with. In all his years of living, Pope can’t remember the last time his brothers had willingly missed a party. He stood there for another minute, contemplating his choices. A part of him could have cared less about his brothers’ whereabouts, but the other part wondered if this had anything to do with the conversation he had with Deran earlier. He left in a hurry as soon as he got that notification from his phone. Was it from you? It had to have been. No one else would have been able to make Deran leave that abruptly, maybe except for the family, but still.
A thought pops up in his head. Deran must have told Craig what had happened, that’s why they aren’t at the house. They must be on their way to see you, probably to warn you about him, tell you that he’s back. Pope didn’t understand why his brothers were so desperate to keep him from seeing you. It’s not like he did anything wrong, not to you, at least. Never. He’d never do anything to harm you, he’d hurt himself before even thinking about it. His mind unconsciously flashed back to that night, to your tear-soaked eyes, to your trembling mouth that spat out insult after insult; he had deserved it, and he made peace with that. Then, the memory drifts him back to the time he spent in Folsom. He had spent all of those nights thinking and dreaming of you, fantasizing about how he’d make it up to you. Hell, you were all he could talk about, too. Anytime one of his cellmates asked about his life, all he could manage to mutter were things about your relationship, about how he had this wonderful woman waiting for him at home. That part couldn’t be farther from the truth, but Pope had hoped that somehow you would have changed your mind and decided to come back to him.
It was pathetic, really. He didn’t know what he hated more, the fact that he was being restricted from seeing you, or the fact that he could have easily prevented this from happening. He knew that you were starting to drift away from him, and he knew that it was because of Smurf, it always was. She tends to take everything he loves away from him. First, it was Julia, then it was you. She always wants him to obey her, to be the only woman he answers to, it was her twisted version of motherly love. You were his haven, the only person he could confide in when things got bad. Whenever he was with you, the only things he felt were peace and serenity; you had never shown him any hostility, nor used him for anything, unlike Smurf. He knew that was why Deran and Craig stayed close friends with you, too. Even as a child, you were well aware of how abusive Smurf could get when things didn’t go her way. So you decided to open up your arms to them, helped them sneak out of the compound, and brought them into your home. Comforting them with their favorite snacks and late-night TV, like the sister they never really got to have. And they had helped you, too, when your dad got too drunk and decided to take it out on you, Deran and Craig would protect you. Craig would distract him while Deran helped you pack your backpack, then you’d run out to the back where Andrew was waiting in his truck. He never questioned it back then, if he had known your father was like that, he wouldn’t have hesitated to put a stop to it.
The sound of the back door opening pulls Pope out of his thoughts. He blinks as his attention drifts to the people in front of him, Smurf and Baz. Great.
“You doing okay, baby?”
Pope could only nod, not wanting to join in whatever conversation they were having. He gave them a shitty excuse and turned to head towards the garage. If his brothers weren’t going to help him win you back, then he’d just have to do it his way.
-
5:30 am
RING! RING! RING!
Fuck Craig and Deran. Those were the thoughts circling your head as you grabbed your phone and tapped the alarm off. Of course, they didn’t listen when you told them not to bring any of that shit into your apartment. Now, here you are, up at the asscrack of dawn with a raging headache. You were never the type to participate in any of the substances your friends took, but after yesterday, you really needed to cool down. Granted, all you did was drink a few bottles of beer, but hey, tomato potato, or whatever they say. You rub your eyes as you slip your blanket off your body, sitting up in the process. Today was Wednesday, which meant you had a morning shift at the cafe, just your luck.
After ten minutes of mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you decide to finally get out of bed and head into your bathroom to start getting ready for the day. You kept your routine simple in the mornings: wash your face, do your skincare, and apply the tiniest bit of makeup. You would usually put more effort into your makeup for work, but morning shifts meant you were too tired to deal with all of that. Not like you need it anyway, you’re as beautiful bare-faced as you are with a full face. Once you added the finishing touches, you walk back into your room and grab your uniform from your dresser. It consists of a tan apron and a white dress shirt, which you paired with a pair of black slacks. It isn’t the cutest uniform ever, but you are a barista, so it’s the best you can get.
A couple of minutes pass, and you find yourself outside your door. Your apartment was in a pretty nice area, as nice as you could get on a barista's salary. Your dad had offered to have you move back in with him, but you had made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with that place anymore. Too many bad memories, and you didn’t want to deal with the shit he was doing in there. God knows what would happen if you stumbled upon something you weren’t supposed to again. You’re no stranger to your dad’s life and career choice, it was the whole reason you met the Codys after all. But you never wanted to take part in any of it, not any of the jobs, and definitely not what Smurf sent him down to Mexico to do. You’ve refused countless things from your father, jewelry, clothing, and any other stolen goods he kept. Didn't want the responsibility of holding on to any of them.
You think back to your childhood as you begin your walk to the cafe. Your mom was never really there for you, too busy going to parties and acting half her age to bother taking care of you. It didn’t take long for your parents to divorce, and it took even shorter for the judge to grant your father full custody. You wonder if your mom knew about what your dad was doing on the side; maybe that was why she chose to stray away from your family. But then again, they were two sides of the same coin, one of them was just way deeper into it. You sigh and shake your head. You need to stop thinking about them if you want to be in a good mood today.
As you reach the last crosswalk in your path, you can’t help but glance to your side, a gray truck catches your eye. The windows are all rolled up and tinted, but you couldn’t help but be reminded of Andrew. He drove a similar truck back then, this one looked a bit newer, though. You purse your lips at the thought, leave the past in the past. You mentally scold yourself.
-
Pope knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. After he excused himself from Smurf and Baz last night, he decided to go on a late-night drive around Oceanside. It wasn’t his fault that he happened to spot Deran’s green harvester scout on the road, and yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have followed it, but he just wanted to make sure his brothers made it to their destination safely. His actions were definitely not influenced by the knowledge that they were currently making their way to you, definitely not.
He ended up following them to the cafe you were working at and all the way back to your apartment complex. He didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of you at either place since it was too dark, and he didn’t want to be seen. The urge to step out and knock on your door that night was higher than he’d like to admit, but seeing that you had just gotten out of a long night shift, he knew you’d be too tired to completely register the words itching to get out of his throat. So as soon as he saw Deran’s car leave the parking lot, he started his own drive home, choosing to take the long way so that he wouldn’t run into his brothers.
Now, here he is. Currently on your trail as he watches you walk to the cafe. He woke up extra early today, giving him enough time to drive to your apartment. He didn’t even know if you worked today, and even if you did, it’s not like he could be certain about the time you’d leave. But looks like luck was on his side because he only had to wait two hours until the door to your apartment swung open. You looked prettier than he last remembered, if that was even possible. Your hair remained at the same length, but he could tell you took proper care of it. Not that he was questioning it, you were always on top of your health and beauty when you two dated. He loved watching you get ready at your vanity, so much so that he’d give himself a mental note of anything you were running low on, so he could buy it for you. Pope missed those nights, especially when you’d make him sit down on the chair and rambled on about whatever face mask you were about to put on his face. He never complained, he loved hearing you talk about your interests, and he was happy to be your skincare and makeup test subject.
You’re doing this to make sure she’s safe. He tells himself. And in his defense, that was true. He wonders why you were even walking in the first place. The last time he checked, you had a car. But it’s been three years since then, and lots of things could have happened during those years, so he let the thought fade away. He isn’t surprised that you work at a cute and tiny, but trendy cafe; you’ve always been good at influencing others, and he was sure you did that often at work.
As the truck comes to a stop, Pope grabs a hoodie and a cap from the back seat of the car. He quickly slips the hoodie on and tilts the cap down so that half of his face is covered. If he’s going to show up at your job, he should at least be considerate enough not to startle you. He didn’t want your reunion to be like this. He just needs to see you, make sure you are okay, and that no one is giving you shit at your job.
A few deep breaths and seconds later, he gets out of the truck and walks toward the front door of the cafe. Ding! The bell rings as he walks in.
“Good morning, sir!”
He glances up at the man in front of him, who is wearing the same uniform you had on. He takes a step forward, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his hoodie.
“Hi.”
The barista, John, according to his nametag, awkwardly stood there. “Uhm, what would you like this morning?” He questioned.
Pope was about to open his mouth and tell him he just wanted a plain black coffee, but something on the counter caught his eye. A small chalkboard with the words, Barista’s favorites!, written on it. He skims the board until he finds your name. He bites back a smile as he reads what your recommendation was; of course, it was one of the sweetest on the menu.
He points at the drink and turns to look at John, “I’ll take that one.”
John turns the board towards him and looks at the chosen drink. “Oh! What a splendid choice, that’s been one of our most popular drinks for the past week now!” he beams.
Pope tilts his head. He was sure it was because of you. “Ok.”
“Uhm, would you like that hot or iced? And what size? We have small, medium, and large.”
“Hot. Medium.”
“Perfect! Would you like Oat, Almond, Soy, Whole, 2%, or Skim milk with that?”
Pope purses his lips at the question, what the hell was he talking about? How much milk could possibly exist? This is ridiculous. “Normal milk is fine.”
John blinks before awkwardly looking down at the register and punching in his order. Normal milk…whole should be fine, right? “Alright, sir! Your total is $7.65 today! Will that be cash or card?”
Seven dollars and sixty-five cents for a drink? What the fuck. Pope thought to himself. He reluctantly takes his card out of his pocket and taps on the screen. He didn’t bother to listen to what else John was about to say, turning away to secure the spot in the farthest corner. Far enough so you wouldn’t be able to see him, but close enough so he could see you.
–
An hour has passed since then. Pope’s still sitting in his spot in the corner. John had brought him his drink earlier; it took Pope one sip to know that he wasn’t going to enjoy it, but he forced himself to drink it anyway. It was your favorite after all.
He watched you as you interacted with customers, taking in the way you’d smile at the regulars and the way your voice lowered when dealing with an aggressive customer. He fought back the urge to stand and teach those customers a lesson, it’s a cafe for fucks sake, there’s no need to be hostile to the employees. He could stay here for the rest of the day, just watching you make drinks and gossip with your coworkers. He loved it when you laughed. It’s been a while since he’s heard it, but it’s as beautiful as he remembered. He can’t wait until he can be the one making you laugh like that again, and he knows you’d be able to get some laughter out of him, too.
A notification from his phone takes his attention away from you. He taps on the screen and sees a text from Baz: Where are you? Strategizing today, come home. Of course. It hasn’t even been a day since he got home, and Smurf already has him on a job. Whatever. He stands up from the chair and places the empty cup on the counter before turning and heading towards the door.
Bump!
“Shit, man, my bad.”
Pope doesn’t notice the way his cap lifted up as the man bumped into him. He was too busy glaring at him before turning to leave again; this time, he didn't bother stopping.
–
“Shit, man, my bad.”
You look up as you hear those words, seeing two men at the entrance. One looks to have accidentally bumped into the other. You roll your eyes and sigh, praying that this wouldn’t lead to any altercation. You weren’t paid enough to stop a fight, nor did you want to. But as your gaze shifts between the two of them, you notice the crooked cap on the head of the taller one, which caught your attention. As your eyes drift further down, enough to see the man’s eyes, your heart drops. You freeze in place as he leaves the cafe, and you feel yourself hyperventilating as you try to process what the hell you just saw. You put the drink in your hand down and rush to the backroom, ignoring the stares and remarks you were getting from your coworkers. You hurriedly grab your phone out of your pocket and open the message app.
hey! trying to do this positively but may i suggest you check your tags? it can be so so so frustrating for people looking for specific tags when it gets clogged up with fics with no relation to said tag! thank you!
hi yes omg !! I’m so sorry, I’ll def be double checking my tags from now on. thank you sm for letting me know !! so sorry for the inconvenience 😓
That’s how long Pope has gone without seeing you, without touching you. Leave it to Baz to fuck up a job and leave him there stranded as the cops came and cuffed him for the robbery. He didn’t even care that he got caught, never once did it cross his mind during the time he spent inside. All he could think about was you, and that night. The night you decided that you were done with him and the relationship, the night you left him. He kept replaying it in his head, word by word, thinking of the things he should’ve done, the stuff he should’ve said, instead of standing there like an idiot as you sobbed and yelled at him before getting in your car and driving away. So when he got the news that he was being released three years early, he knew exactly what he had to do. But before he could head to you, he had to go back home, surprise his family, and interrogate his younger brothers about your whereabouts so he could surprise you, too.
-
Today felt off. Maybe because the sky was cloudier this morning or because your dad went off to Vegas with his newest fling of the month, you didn’t know. All you knew was that the Cody’s were throwing a party tonight and that Julia was dead. God. Dead, from an overdose. You were never that close to Julia growing up, but you did look up to her. The girl with the coolest style and even cooler friends, you wanted to be just like her. You were only 7 when Smurf kicked her out of the Cody compound. You remember feeling so sad when Deran told you the news, only for your sadness to go away when your dad told you that “big girls don’t cry”, whatever that meant.
As you reminisce on the past, your mind can’t help but wander to him, Andrew. As far as you know, he’s still serving time in Folsom for that stupid robbery he and Baz pulled off a couple of years back. You scoff at the memory, you told him it was a bad idea, that he shouldn’t have gone with it, but of course, Smurf manipulated him into doing it anyway. Fuck her. You’ve never liked Smurf, granted, she didn’t really like you either. Always making Andrew go on a job whenever you two had plans, trying to get Deran and Craig to hate you, thank god they never fell for her bullshit lies. You’ve always found her relationship with her sons to be weird and just downright creepy. You never dared to speak out on it though, afraid that she’d do something to your dad if you pissed her off too much. You may hate your father for bringing you into his life of crime, but you still cared for him, as pathetic as that is.
“Miss?”
“MISS!”
That brings you out of your thoughts. You’ve been too busy stuck in the past that you completely forgot you were at work. Get a grip. You tell yourself. You blink and turn to look at the woman in front of you, who’s holding her drink in one hand and a receipt in the other. You mentally prepare yourself for what you knew was about to happen. This was a common occurrence at the cafe, people coming in with ridiculous coffee orders that they found on tiktok, only to be disappointed that the drink was “too sweet” or not like what the video told them, then they chose to take their anger out on the innocent employees who aren’t paid enough to deal with their bullshit. It’s fucking insane. You plaster on an innocent smile as you stare at her.
“What can I help you with, ma’am?”
“This drink is way too sweet!! I thought it was supposed to be sweet and salty, not a sugar overload!” There it is. Of course, of fucking course the drink was too sweet, why wouldn’t it be when there were 7 pumps of vanilla in it? You bite back a remark as you take the receipt and drink from her hands, telling her that you’d remake it and that you were so sorry for the inconvenience. You sigh and roll your eyes as you begin making her new drink. Some days, you wish you could tell these types of customers off, but unfortunately for you, you liked your job too much to risk getting fired because of a well-deserved comment.
While you wait for the espresso machine to finish brewing the shots, you find yourself thinking about him again. You wonder if he’s heard the news yet, if one of the brothers visited and told him. You shake your head at the thought, focus. As you hand the woman her new drink, you can’t help but feel excited about the party later tonight, lord knows you need to wind down after today's shift.
-
“No.”
“No?”
Deran sighs and rubs his hand across his face as he looks at the man in front of him. It hasn’t even been an hour since Pope got home, and he’s already bothering him with questions about you. It’s bad enough that he showed up out of nowhere and scared the shit out of the family, now he has to deal with whatever the fuck this is. Deran knows you’d give him hell if he told Pope anything about you and your life, you made that clear when you came to him and Craig crying the night you broke it off with him. Neither of them knew what happened between you two, why the breakup happened, and they both knew better not to pry, especially not with your relationship.
“Look, man, I don't know what you want from me, but I’m not telling you shit about her.”
Pope’s jaw clenches at his words, his face visibly angry. “Why not?” he seethes.
“You know why.” Deran bites back.
Pope’s fists clench at his sides. The urge to grab his brother and shake him until he gave him the answers he wanted was high, but Pope knew that’d just make things worse, so he pushed the thoughts back. It’s not like he was asking for much, he just wanted to know where you worked, lived, and if you had somehow found someone else during the time he was away. And if the answer was yes to that last question, then I guess Pope had no choice but to - No. Stop. He shakes the thoughts from his head. If he wants to win you back, he has to do this the right way.
Ding!
The sound brings Pope back to reality, his glare drifting from Deran’s eyes to the phone he was holding.
summary - you’ve been best-friends with craig and deran cody since you were 4 years old, your dad being one of smurf’s “business” partners helped with that. though, as you grew older, you found yourself catching feelings for the eldest cody boy, andrew. and to everyone’s surprise, he reciprocated those feelings. your relationship was one filled with a possessive type of love (mainly on pope’s behalf), and a shocking touch of softness.. well as soft as you could get in the world you were living in. so it came as a huge shock when the two of you broke up, and it became an even bigger problem when andrew got sent to prison just two days after your breakup. now, 3 years later, he’s out of prison, and as much as deran and craig try to keep him from seeing you, he always has a way to make you come crawling back.
warnings - not lore or plot accurate, canon violence, profanity, sexual jokes, age gap (about ten years, reader is around deran’s age), some characters may be a bit ooc (sorry), spoilers for animal kingdom seasons 1-4 (I need to lock in and finish the show already </3), mentions of drvgs + alcohol, mentions of past abvse, I’ll add more as I write !!
chapters..!
01. welcome back
02. hallucination
03.
04.
05.
06.
07.
an - I’ve been seeing soooooo many animal kingdom smaus and I was inspired to make my own !! I’m currently working on a pitt smau and other projects, so my schedule is all over the place right now, but I’ll probs get the first few chapters out later tn or tmrw !! taglist is open ofc
