โก summary: what starts out as a cozy night in while jack & robby watch a steelers game on tv soon sends you spiraling because of their endless shouting at coaches & players who can't hear them. you step out in attempt to calm yourself down & end up making nervous wrecks out of each of them when they can't find you.
โก content: angst, domestic fluff, mention of childhood trauma, robby is flirtatious & it ticks off jack, jack & robby banter
โก a/n: based off this request by @styx03. ty! | gif
"Oh, come on!" Jack bellows.
"Bullshit interception!" Robby interjects before slamming his beer down onto a coaster.
A porcelain plate slips from your sudsy hands and clatters against the walls of the sink you stand at. Intaking a deep, soothing breath, you slowly turn your head to the right to where the living room is located.
Just a football game, you reassure yourself. Nothing to be afraid of.
You watch silently for a moment as Jack relaxes back against the couch once more. Meanwhile, Robby stays rooted anxiously to the spotโelbows planted firmly atop his thighs while one of his hands stays cupped over the other that's pressed tightly to his lips in anticipation of the Steelers' next play.
Screaming patients already send your heart pattering from nerves while at work. The thought of not getting relief from such terror here at home for the next couple of months as football season wages on is discomforting, to say the least.
Shaking your headโreassuring yourself that you're just being foolishโyou return your attentions to scrubbing out a coffee mug instead.
You'd tried joining them earlier, but once they started in on howling at a ref that obviously can't hear them, your feet gained a mind of their own and led you into the kitchen, which you're gradually working on cleaning until it's as sterile as an OR. Force of habit. Can't be helped.
A sort of trauma response, maybe. A way to self-soothe in moments of fear.
You know it's something you should deal with: your physiological response to raised voicesโeven harmless ones. But they all sound the same to you; like angry parents hounding each other from another room as they go for the other's throat in a moment of rage while you try and pretend to sleep, hoping they don't come for you next.
Setting the mug on the nearby drying rack, you start in on the abandoned plate from a moment ago. You have no idea what quarter the game is at currently, so you can't even take comfort in the reassurance that it'll be over soon. You just wish Robby would sometimes watch them at his own place, because once he gets Jack going, they become an endless feedback loopโyelling about unfamiliar terms which all mean the same thing to you: another restless night where your heart continually beats out of your chest, despite drinking cup after cup of chamomile tea to calm it.
You set the plate next to the mug and frown at the quickly emptying sink.
Maybe you should mop next.
Just as you reach for the only remaining utensil left to be washed and rinsed, Jack throws an arm over the back of the couch and eyes you from the other room. "Could you bring me another beer, baby?"
You blink at him. "Oh, sure."
Robby turns in your direction. "Could I get one of those, too?" His lip twitches, knowing he's probably about to earn a smack upside the head. "Baby."
Your cheeks heat, so you quickly turn around and pad over to the fridge. "Okay."
You hear a quiet slap, followed by Ow! I was just messin' around!
You retrieve two amber-colored glass bottles from the fridge, leaving the door to click softly shut behind you.
"That's the excuse I'll give when I accidentally slice you open with a scalpel next time I'm ticked off at work," Jack retorts.
You roll your eyes, fighting against the smirk that's trying to force its way across your lips as you pad into the living room to dole out the requested refreshments.
Handing Robby his first, as he is the guest tonight, he grins mischievously and you wince quietly at whatever is about to come out of his mouth. "Thank youโ"
Jack shifts to face him, granting him his full attention.
Robby raises a brow, but finishes with a simple "Sweetheart."
"You're welcome," you reply quietly before handing Jack his bottle as well.
Before you can make to leave, however, he grabs your hand and pulls you down to him while patting his lips with his index finger. You roll your eyes, but ultimately oblige by giving him a swift peck on the lips before returning to your chores.
"I mean, if we're handing those out, tooโ"
"You're on thin fuckin' ice, buddy," Jack snaps while twisting the top off of his beer.
Robby merely throws his head back and laughs while you scurry back into the other room, not wishing to get between them and the flatscreen that has them so enraptured.
By the end of the third quarter, you're a nervous wreck. You've washed and put away the dishes, mopped the floor, tossed out expired leftovers and condiments that were in the fridge, wiped down the counters, and rearranged the spice wrack. But it's all done little to distract you from raised voices the next room over.
The game is going to take over another hour before it's through, and they're each having such a good time that you can't bear to ruin it by causing a scene. Or, at the very least, an awkward confrontation as you try and explain your trembling hands or shaking body, and how you'd really appreciate it if they could please use their inside voices for the remainder of the evening.
Instead, you head in the direction of the front doorโacting almost as if you're on autopilotโgrab your coat, slip on your shoes, and pocket your housekey before slipping out and into the night for a long walk and some fresh air to clear your head and calm your nerves, forgetting to make a note on the whiteboard stuck to the fridge that you're just popping out and will be back soon.
He's been pacing for an hour, worrying himself sick and calling every hospital in the tristate areaโincluding PTMCโasking whether you've been brought in tonight. Jack even went so far as to contact multiple non-emergency lines, desperate to hear them say 'No, sir, we've not had any women fitting that description called in tonight'.
You just...left. No note, no message written on the fridgeโYou were the one who insisted on buying that damn board in the first place!โand worst of all? Your cellphone left behind, mocking him from your beside table where it rests atop a wireless charger.
So here he sits at home, about to have a goddamn coronary. Meanwhile, Mike is out driving around, scouring the streets for hide or hair of you. If you were stepping out to pick up a couple groceriesโsince you apparently cleaned out the fucking fridge (it'd been sort of shameful just how much the two of you have let go to waste by practically living at work)โyou could've told him as much.
If it were the middle of the day, he'd be far less concerned. Instead, however, it's now bordering on midnight.
Just as he's about to speed dial Robby yet again, his head shoots up at the sound of the front door peeling opening.
Leaping up from his side of the bed, Jack practically races out of your shared bedroom, and quickly advances on you. You, who is just hanging up your coat like you've just come home from a casual jaunt around the neighborhood. "Where the hell have you been?" He demands.
You turn back to him with a sheepish look on your face. "I know. I forgot to bring my phone with me, I'm sorry."
"Do you have any idea what fucking time it is? I've called every hospital in the area, including the Pitt. Robby is out driving around looking for you andโ" He immediately goes silent when your lip trembles and tears well in your eyes.
"I just wanted to go for a walk," you say between quiet sobs. "With all the yelling... My head was pounding, and it was scaring me."
His greying brows furrow. "Scaring you..."
Jack breathes a sigh of frustration, but also relief. You're back and unharmed. That's what matters.
But he's still pissed.
"Why didn't you say something? Tell us to keep it down if it was getting to you. And why didn't you use that board you were all excited about buying?" It's initial intention had been so you couldโin your own wordsโ'leave each other cute little notes'. Instead, it's mostly used for grocery lists now. Coffee, medleys, chicken breasts and the like.
You nervously rub your arm, lowering your head so you don't have to face him quite so one-on-one. "IโI was worried it'd upset you. Both of you. If I told you what to do in your own home, I mean. How to act. I just wanted some fresh air."
He sighs. "Baby doll, it's your house too. You have just as much of a right to feel comfortable in it as me." Jack chews the inside of his cheek while he thinks. "We haven't had much chance to talk about themโour folks. Yours used to fight, didn't they?"
You nod solemnly. "Constantly," you murmur between sniffles.
He pulls you into his chest before folding his arms around you and kissing the crown of your head which smells of fresh air, if not a little like the sandwich shop down the street. Perhaps that's where you went tonight to decompress.
"I'm sorry," he says lowly. "From now on, no more yelling at the TV like a couple of idiots. I swear."
You nod and snuggle closer, enjoying the warmth being enveloped in his arms and against his brawny chest provides.
And then his ringing cellphone breaks the tranquil silence.
"That'll be Robby," Jack explains. "He's been out driving around, looking for you."
Guilt fills you to the brim. He must be so tired, and you kept him out later than needs be. And for no good reason.
Jack answers, putting him on speaker. "She's home. Just went out for a walk, she said."
"Thank God," he sighs, his baritone voice crackling slightly on the other line. "Where the hell she'd go?"
Sandwich shop, you mouth, not entirely wanting him to know you're listening. It'd require a long explanation if you answered yourself. And an even longer apology, which you'd prefer to give in person instead.
"Mr. Beef. That place with the hoagies and philly's down the street."
"Long as our girl's alright," Robby says.
Jack rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, but ultimately lets it slide, given his friend's good efforts tonight. "She is. We'll both see you in a few hours."
"See you then," he replies before the line clicks off.
You suck your lips inward to keep from laughing. The comedic side of youโwanting for a bit of relief from all this pent-up tensionโwins out, though. "Our girl, huh? So...do I get two for one twice in one night?"
Jack crosses his arms in irritation. You can't believe he's actually taking you and Robby's sarcasm seriously. You'd never really taken him for the jealous type, in truth.
Maybe he's just playing along?
"Keep it up. And twice? So you could've brought an extra sandwich home, but chose not to?"
You snort, then shrug. "I made you both burgers, fries, and a whole charcuterie board to snack off of. Figured I was owed something in repayment when I slipped a twenty from your jacket before leaving."
He barks a laugh. "Oh, you are so on my shitlist now, honey."
Before you can react, he sweeps his arms under you and tosses you over his shoulder before planting a firm smack against your ass. "Oh God, put me down!"
"No way," he snipes before carrying you into the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind him.
andrew and gf being soooo loud they make it everyone else's problem
-
craig finally understood why his brothers acted the way they did. why they gave him looks and cursed him out any time he stepped out of his room in the morning, hickeys to be found all over his neck and shoulders and red lines trailing down the length of his back.
because last night he'd learned just how thin the walls at the cody house were.
he'd learned that, yeah, maybe he should've been a little more considerate of his brothers when staying up all night with a new girl in his room every other day.
but, to be fair, there was no way for craig to know that this was what his brothers were hearing through all hours of the night when his promiscuity got the best of him.
"i swear to god, if i hear one more 'andy-!' i'm going to march in there with a shotgun."
deran could only chuckle into his mouthful of cereal, clearly way less impacted by the noise than his brother.
he was used to it. courtesy of craig himself.
"what, not as fun when it's not a girl screaming your name?"
before craig could answer, the slam of a headboard hitting the wall that separated the kitchen and pope's room began to accelerate once more, interrupting anything he could've said.
and when he opened his mouth after a short pause, he was interrupted once more, except this time by something worse โ wails of his brother's name.
"a-andy, fuck! please, fuck, andyโ!"
"you've gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered under his breath before addressing his brother, "no. in fact, sex completely loses its appeal when i'm not the one on the receiving end."
"shit! oh, andyandyandy- don't stop!"
craig rolled his eyes, movements brusque as he took out a few things to make himself breakfast. he could feel a headache coming in.
"hey, be happy it's only her you can hear. i can't even imagine what pope would soun-"
craig grimaced, "don't finish that sentence, man. i don't wanna know what fucking pope sounds like during sex."
deran shrugged, continuing to eat his soggy cereal. nonchalance seethed out of him.
some moments of silence passed between the brothers, with the occasional eye roll from craig and the snicker from deran as the noises came and went. both brothers shared a fleeting thought, which was just how long could the two of you go for?
"i mean, there's no way pope's that good, right?"
"dude, you just said you didn't want to think about pope having sex."
"okay, but listen," craig interrupted halfway through making himself a sandwich, "do you hear that? there's no way she's not faking it. pope can't be that good. he's way smaller than me, his dick can't be that-"
"dude."
"i'm just sayingโ!"
unfortunately, the hammering at the wall reached its crescendo just then, halting any further conversation that could be had.
your screams increased in volume, and now a few sounds could be heard coming from the other party involved. andrew's pained groans joined your wails, making both guys share a look of terror between one another.
and then a very loud grunt from pope was followed by silence.
craig felt some heat reach his neck, but he shook his head in a shudder in order to snap out of it.
meanwhile, deran felt weirdly shocked. he was happy that his brother had found what seemed to be the one and trusted them enough to bring her back home, but this was way more than he'd ever expected to hear from a brother. and this was said with craig's sexcapades in mind.
"okay, i'm gonna kill him-"
"that'll just make him go harder next time."
"fuck, you're right."
and so they found themselves at an impasse.
after the silence began to invade the next room over, it didn't take long for the eldest cody brother to walk into the room, breaking the awkward and defeated silence that had formed in the kitchen.
as expected, be was almost fully nude, with only a tight pair of boxers covering his manhood and a variety of marks adorning his upper body โ although craig's nosy eyes noticed a faded trail of hickeys to be found on pope's inner thighs, making him gag internally.
andrew immediately took notice of the weird silence and the shared looks behind his back as he neared the fridge for some cold water.
slowly turning around, he asked, in a somewhat pointed tone, "what?"
settled on opposite sides of the kitchen island, his brothers looked to him with different expressions.
deran seemed mostly incredulous. craig was just frustrated โ either jealousy or annoyance, not even he could tell.
"'andy'?" was all craig said.
"got a problem, craig?"
"maybe keep it down next time, yeah, brother?"
deran sighed, continuing to occupy himself with his cereal. pope could be a bit of a ticking time bomb if poked just at the right moment. this was uncharted territory, so he wasn't very sure how much craig could push before making pope blow up.
but craig continued.
his crown had been toppled a little, maybe.
"you're saying that to me?"
with a scoff and an incredulous chuckle, andrew turned back to the fridge, grabbing himself two water bottles before closing it back up and facing his brothers once more. to him, the conversation must've been over.
"i'm just saying, it's a shared space. i don't need to hear your girlfriend, or whatever, screaming your name all fucking night."
pope's eye twitched at the tone in which the word girlfriend was said, but he let it slide.
there was a certain, uncharted, sense of pride he felt at the comment.
his girlfriend screaming his name all night long.
yeah. this could easily become the new normal to him. he had felt a slight surge of confidence upon leaving his room that morning, somewhat aware of how much noise you'd been making, but just completely careless about it. it had been at the back of his mind, but every thrust just buried the thought deeper. up until the point where it became completely insignificant.
(how could he think about decorum when he had you under him, clawing at his back, crying out 'andyandyandy-' in the prettiest voice he'd ever heard, going higher and higher the more he lost himself in your pussyโ)
but when he turned around, craig continued to glare at him as if he'd personally offended him.
and normally andrew would've been perfectly fine with decking him, telling him to get fucked, and walking past him. but a very welcome interruption entered the room before he could.
"baby?"
it came from behind craig, leading to the hallway that connected the walls of the kitchen and his room. the soft sound of your voice caused all boys to face you. deran offered a smile, albeit a little forced and awkward. craig scoffed to himself and nodded in semi-polite greeting, hands in pockets as he leaned against the counter in order to create space for you to get to pope.
there you stood, hair disheveled, makeup running slightly down your waterline and donning only one of pope's plain pajama shirts.
with a little extra attention, it would've been easy to spot the matching trail of hickeys up your thighs. and some x-ray vision would've provided the life-ruining sight of your hidden skin filled with marks made by andrew's teeth.
"you were taking too long, what's wrong?"
and, fuck, andrew almost went hard again at those simple words.
pride swelled in his chest, a weird sense of superiority invading him at having his sweet, pretty, gorgeous girl standing in front of his family in such a state.
andrew didn't need to argue with craig any longer. no words were needed as the appearance of his sweet girl said everything that needed to be said.
"sorry, sweetheart, just saying good morning to the guys."
andrew took the few steps that separated you and held onto your hand with one hand as the other held the two bottles of water (swoon), beginning to lead you back where you came from.
at that you smiled at them, sleepy demeanor leaving you a bit as you mumbled 'morning,' seemingly unaware of craig's earlier complaints.
as andrew passed in front of craig, he smirked to himself, twice as much when he noticed craig's annoyed scowl.
"might wanna get some earbuds or somethin'" he mumbled under his breath as he walked away.
once he was gone, craig groaned to himself, speaking up one last time.
about me: stella, 25y/o. i've got 5 tattoos, a love for brown sugar lattes, daisies, lilies of the valley, silver jewelry, and way too many lipsticks.
โฆ๏ธ listen. not all my fics are 18+ but this is still an 18+ blog so mdni. you've been warned.
currently loving: the pitt, project hail mary
๐๐ช๐ผ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ป๐ต๐ฒ๐ผ๐ฝ โ
Jack Abbot โ The Pitt
coffee tables pt. 1 (hurt/comfort)
coffee tables pt. 2 (hurt/comfort)
she's a menace (suggestive)
what survived the fire (discontinued series)
gym crush (fluff)
i love him (fluff)
ask me again (small hurt/comfort)
the night after (suggestive)
constellations (fluff blurb)
was it ever fake? (fluff, smut)
is it too early? (fluff blurb)
pretty fucked (small hurt/comfort)
protective (fluff)
full of life (hurt/comfort)
suggestive blurb (suggestive)
a ring (hurt/comfort)
spare keys (hurt/comfort)
nanny! (fluff)
>> nanny! prequel: jack is sick (fluff)
>> nanny! sequel: date night (wip)
younger jack abbot (fluff blurb, slightly suggestive)
old bets (hurt/comfort)
sunday morning (fluff blurb)
cold feet (hurt/comfort blurb)
why are you still here (hurt/comfort blurb)
Michael "Robby" Robinavitch โ The Pitt
seize the moment (hurt/comfort)
scoliosis (fluff, slightly suggestive)
take a break (angst)
take a break pt. 2 (hurt/comfort)
run an ex (fluff)
green-eyed (hurt/comfort)
not just a jacket (hurt/comfort)
too old for this (fluff blurb)
isn't really real (hurt/comfort)
baby baby (angst blurb)
no, i can't forget you (hurt/comfort)
Andrew "Pope" Cody โ Animal Kingdom
invisible (kinda angsty?)
clementine (angst)
matchy match (fluff blurb)
lavender (hurt/comfort)
summary: Andrew has survived his whole life by wanting nothing. Until Craig introduces one of his friends, and suddenly, Andrew wants everything and more.
word count: 20.7k (yeah kinda lost my mind there)
c.w: age gap implied but not explicit; short suicidal ideation; crying; mentions of blood; light physical injuries; angst to fluff; smut - piv sex, oral sex; praising kink; breeding kink if you squint
a/n: sooooo...took me two weeks. had a breakdown. bon appetit! (and thank you to my wife for proofreading it) I really hope you'll like reading it like i enjoyed writing it.
โชโชโค๏ธโฌ Thank you so much for reading!
Andrew Cody has never been able to sleep properly.
Nights spent pacing the garden of Smurfโs house, bare feet on the cold ground, counting his steps to keep his mind occupied. It never did. He tried to outrun the memories of his actions, to drown his pain at the bottom of the pool. But on those nights, his torment wore the faces of his ghosts.
First there was Julia, then Cath, quickly followed by Baz. And Smurf. Always Smurf. A cycle of misery that makes his ribcage feel as though it might collapse under the violent pounding of his heart.
Some days, seated at a table with his family, Andrew had felt he could scream until his throat gave out, and no one would have heard. He imagined falling into the pool, slipping under the surface, water closing over his head and staying there, lungs burning just long enough for the noise to finally fucking stop, no one coming to pull him out because nobody would have noticed he disappeared.
There were moments when the thought settled heavy in his bones: he would not survive another day in his family, he didnโt want to. He kept straining toward a bond that no longer reached his endโฆif it ever did.
Over the years, Andrew had grown accustomed to his role. Weird Pope, Creepy Pope, the familyโs guard dog: asking for nothing, obeying to the beatings, the killings and never, never, mentioning the ghosts hunting the corner of his eyes each night.
He remembered Smurfโs voice, years ago. โPop him a few pills and heโll follow your commands, baby.โ She said it to Baz like it was nothing, like he was nothing. This was before prison, before Andrew felt deep in his bones that the other half of his soul left this merciless Earth without him.
Sometimes he let himself think about Julia, since no one else did. He hoped that at least one of them had finally found peace.
Then, you happened.
And Andrew canโt make sense of it, no matter how much he turns it over in his head, how a girl like you ends up being friends with Craig and therefore, near the Cody brothers: you are sweet, kind, nothing but soft edges, and innocent. Almost like the world has spared you the knowledge of what men like him are capable of.
Whenever you are in the house, his gaze follows you from room to room. He tells himself that itโs vigilance and habit that pushes him to act like that. Except he doesnโt need to memorize the way you tuck your hair behind your ear, or how he can recognize the distinct sound of your footsteps in a heartbeat.
He learns and catalogues each of your reactions: the faint frown of your nose at the smell of a particular brand of coffee (gone from the house and replaced before sunset), the soft curl of your lips whenever you are kindly refusing his offer to make you a sandwich.
(He wouldnโt be bothered if you took a bite of his.)
To see you is a special kind of hell and an indescribable heaven, like pressing on a bruise just to make sure it still hurts.
Lately, you shift the air of the house by simply existing in it. Your laugh, in the rooms where Smurf had once lived, seems to almost cleanse the walls of her memory. ย And Andrew knows. He knows thatโs why Craig is friends with you. Because each day, the sun seems to finally be able to reach the house, even his own room.
It frightens him.
His body instinctively adjusts around your presence, his mind reassessing new rules (the glasses on the bottom shelf so you can have access to them, checking how many drinks you have at Deranโs bar). He memorizes your schedule, notes which books you are bringing with you in your bag, times how long it takes you to get home, parks far enough that you canโt notice his truck but close enough that he can reach you if something goes wrong.
All his life, Andrew had survived by wanting nothing. By hollowing himself out until the obedience Smurf wanted from him fitted neatly inside his ribs, because wanting had always been a liability, a weakness someone could press a knife into.
But nowโฆnow that life seems finally good and breathable, that he has the skatepark and his siblings and an almost regular life (if one exists for men like him) without Smurfโs claws on his throat, Andrew finds himself cornered by a simple, terrifying truth: he wants you.
He swallows it. Buries it deep inside, trying to drown it with numbness and even more repetitive actions when you are near: chopping, tidying the house, scrubbing counters that are already clean, fixing hinges that doesnโt squeakโฆ Anything to keep his hands busy so they donโt reach for you.
No, Andrew Cody has never been able to sleep properly.
โโโโโโโโโโ
You remember telling yourself that the house felt wrong before you ever understood why.
Craig had asked you to come meet his brothers and from his tone alone, you knew it was a big deal. That something was at stake.
You showed up at four sharp, even if he hadnโt given you a specific time (something you would soon realize was typical of Craig), a paper bag pressed to your chest, palms already sweaty. You stood outside for a full minute before knocking, taking a few deep breaths, and stepping over the threshold with a smile as he wrapped you in a hug with his tall frame before dragging you straight into the kitchen.
Thatโs when you saw him.
Broad shoulders, dark curls on a face held tight, back straight and hands braced on his thighs, his posture so still you almost thought he was a mannequin.
โMy brother Pope,โ Craig said. โDonโt mind him, he almost doesnโt bite.โ
His gaze was already on you, unblinking, steady in a quiet unnerving way, like he was committing every detail to memory, a look so intense it coaxed words out of you before you could stop them.
โH-Hi,โ you stuttered, giving your name as you tried to stay composed. You extended your hand toward him, and he stared at it for a moment. The pause stretched long enough for doubt to creep up your spine (maybe he didnโt shake hands? maybe you had already broken some invisible rule?).
You swallowed, blood rising to your cheeks, drawing your hand back to clutch the paper bag as you tried not to stammer on your words. โI brought pastries. I didnโt know what you all would like soโฆI kind ofโฆguessed,โ you hated how small your voice sounded.
He stayed silent, brows faintly furrowed, as if he was processing what you had just said. Then he nodded. โThank you.โ
His tone was quiet, almost a hum, pulled from the depth of his chest, the sound settling low in your stomach, warm and heavy, and your first thought (unwelcome and strange) was how that vibration would feel beneath your palm.
Craig sighed with desperation at the conversation with a quiet โStop being weird, bro!โ while his other younger brother, unbothered, simply ignored the awkwardness, nodded as an introduction and handed beers around.
It was a welcome distraction, the cold liquid sliding down your throat, and buying you time to think on what to say next, but the youngest, Deran, beat you to it, asking you about your job and how good a surfer you were.
โYou fuckinโ with me? You live in Oceanside and canโt stand on a board?โ he laughed and couldnโt stop the slight condescending tone from his voice. โNo worry, me or mister El Craigo here will introduce you to it. Youโll only swallow, likeโฆa gallon of water before you get it.โ
โOh, umโฆI donโt thinkโฆโ ย you tried to say, though it was mostly ignored.
Pope hadnโt looked away once, hand gripping tightly enough on the beer that you could see his knuckles whitening. There was something careful about the way he held himself: still, contained.
Your eyes met his again and you smiled tentatively.
โUmโฆPope,โ you started, uncertain, the name tasting strange on your tongue. โCan I ask youโฆโ
โAndrew.โ He interrupted, the tone firm enough to stop you mid-breath.
You suddenly became aware of your heartbeat, your chest lifting as it rattled against your ribs. Your gaze dropped at the intensity. Had you done something wrong? You suddenly felt foolish for the pastries, for the outstretched hand, for trying so hard, and an absurd urge to apologize rose in your throat, even if you didnโt know what for.
When you looked up, he was already halfway out of the kitchen.
You never finished your question.
Later that night, when you slipped into your bed, the sheets cold but familiar in their welcoming loneliness, you turned from one side to the other, eyes pinched shut without any release to exhaustion, realizing that you couldnโt remember what you had meant to ask.
Only that you wanted to hear his voice, just one more time.
โโโโโโโโโโ
The house is too loud. It always is when there are people over.
It reminds him of being a kid, hiding with Julia, hands intertwined, avoiding the drunk and high grown-ups. Whispering that everything would be alright. That no one would find them. Not even Smu-
(Bad thought. One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the dents on the kitchen counter.)
The volume of the music is pushed too high for his comfort, a constant buzz under the conversations in the house and near the pool while Andrew stands in the kitchen, hands deep in soapy water, scrubbing a glass that is already clean.
He finished the dishes ten minutes ago, but he is still washing, still drying, rearranging things that donโt need rearranging because it gives him somewhere to put his hands, to put his eyes. Because the alternative is the living room. And you.
(You, in that white dress. He has the stupid thought that you look like an angel and immediately hates himself for it. One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the droplets dripping from his fingertips.)
He tells himself that he is staying in the kitchen because it lets him see everything in the house, because parties mean unlocked doors, strangers who could wander into rooms they shouldnโt be in. And there are the habits he canโt shake off: watching the exits, the unfamiliar faces, counting heads (Deran, Craig, you), noting who is drinking too much, who is getting loud, who might break something.
He dries the same plate twice in a row before setting it down on the kitchen counter and looking up without meaning to.
You are by the couch, perched on the armrest while Craig, bare chest and shameless about it, tells you the story about the time he smuggled a burrito full of drugs across the Mexico border, story he knew you heard a dozen times these past three months. But still, you are laughing, head tipped back, hair falling down your spine (he wonders what they would feel like underneath his fingertips), one hand wrapped around a bottle you havenโt drunk from in a while, like it has more to do with keeping your hands busy while you are listening.
Andrew noticed it the first week he met you.
But the moment your lips wrap around the drink, he looks away and goes back to washing clean and dried plates, hands in the ice water, soap stinging the small cut on his knuckle.
(Good. Something sharp. Something real. Better than counting for now.)
โI bought you a new pair of gloves.โ
Your voice is closer than he expected and his head snaps towards you before he can stop it. You are standing at the edge of the counter, smiling, so close that he can smell your shampoo despite the soap and the lingering smell of weed (itโs so clean, so soft, he wants to drown himself in it).
ย โWhy?โ He asks, his nostrils flaring at his own bluntness.
You shrug, small. โI know Craig threw your pair away yesterday. And, umโฆ I know you like wearing them when you clean.โ
โWhy?โ his voice repeats, breaking at the word.
Of course, you ignore his question, and he canโt help but spiral (why did you do that? do you realize how much the gesture is affecting him? no one ever cared about his gloves. One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the freckles on your nose.).
โI got the good ones,โ you add, beaming. โSo the soap doesnโt mess up your hands.โ
While your eyes drop to his hands, his are still enraptured on your face, studying every single feature (you really do look like an angel. and you act like one too. maybe you are his salvation. stop, he needs to fucking stop but he no longer knows what to count.).
Andrew swallows what feels like an anchor in his throat because you look like you worry about him (you have done that for a while now, which still baffles him). Nobody worries about him: they worry about what he might do, not whether he is hurt.
โโm fine.โ He mutters, not convincingly enough, judging by the look on your face.
You are still looking at his bruised hands and your fingers twitch on the counter like you had the sudden urge to reach for him, like you might take his hand to look at it.
(He has the overwhelming need to know what you would do with his hands in yours. Hold them? Kiss them better? One. Two. Three- would you let his hands run along your hair? He knows what itโs like to touch you when you need help, but he feels that this would be very different.)
โThey are under the sink,โ you say above the music and Andrew canโt do anything else but stare, not trusting his own voice.
You linger for a moment at the counter and Andrew wants to ask you to stay (in the kitchen, in his life, doesnโt matter), but Craig shouts your name from the living room and suddenly he has some homicidal thoughts. You glance over your shoulder, then back at Andrew, and you lookโฆreluctant.
โIโllโฆโ
โYeah.โ
You donโt move. Neither does he.
โThanks.โ He finally says, his gaze still tracking every shift of your expressions, trying to burn your smile in his retina, hoping one blink would not be enough to erase it.
โOf course, Andrew.โ
Andrew. For you, he is Andrew and thatโs all that matters because you are the only one calling him by this name and you make it sound like it belongs to you ever since you first said it by the pool.
With one last little smile, you walk away and his eyes follow you until he knows you have reached Craig but even then, he doesnโt look away, afraid you might disappear, just like every good thing always did.
And Andrew learned, a long time ago, that if you wanted something to stay alive and safe, you watched it. Guarded it. Didnโt blink.
Andrew didnโt blink.
โโโโโโโโโโ
You stepped outside because the house had started to feel too small, suffocating all at once, Craig and Deranโs voices stacking over each other in the open kitchen, arguing about a job - a part of the Cody brothersโ lives you knew existed but mostly chose not to look at too closely.
You told yourself you only needed a second of quiet, just enough space to breathe properly again after a long day at work full of aggravating customers, meager tips and a coffee spilt by a coworker on your bare legs.
The noise softened once the door closed, letting you draw in a deep breath you hadnโt realized youโd been holding.
โFucking hell.โ You muttered, exhausted by the shouting.
You hadnโt noticed him at first, too busy staring at the pool and ignoring your inner voice telling you to jump straight in the pool fully clothed, a thought that you were soon pulled out of when you heard a sound that didnโt belong to the wind or the trees.
Thatโs when you saw him, seated at the edge of a lounge chair, head bowed, a skateboard turned upside down across his thighs, one hand spinning a wheel while the other oiled it with slow, precise movements.
โNot a fan of the shouting matches?โ you asked, trying not to startle him.
He glanced up, shook his head before going back to the board. โNo.โ
โSoโฆnot keen on loud noises either?โ
โNo.โ
For a moment, you simply watched him, struck by how different he looked when he was doing something he seemed toโฆenjoy. Less folded into himself, the usual tightness of his posture easing (was it because of the board? the sound of the pool? the absence of his brothers? whatever it is, the view looked precious enough for you to want to capture it).
You lowered yourself onto the warm concrete next to him, your back resting against the lounge chair, knees pulled to your chest, neither of you speaking for a while.
Thatโs when you noticed his hands: knuckles swollen and red, the skin split near the thumb, a faint line of blood reopening every time the skin stretched.
โThey look like they hurt. Y-Your hands, I mean.โ
He shrugged without looking at you. โTheyโre fine.โ
Your eyes drifted from them to his profile: from his hazel eyes fully focused on the board to the tight set of his mouth and you caught yourself distracted by his lips for a second too long before forcing your eyes back to the floor, warmth creeping up your neck (donโt think about that, donโt think about that).
โAndrew?โ
The wheel immediately stopped spinning. Not gradually, justโฆstopped.
The entire yard suddenly became too quiet as his face snapped towards you, something unreadable flickering across his face and vanishing just as quickly, and you felt the realization settle in slowly that you had finally said his name after almost a month of avoiding it.
โDo you think I could learn how to skateboard? Iโฆโ the words got stuck between your throat and your lips while you searched for the courage to finish your sentence without tripping over yourself. โI meanโฆI wanted to know if you could help me. Learn it, I mean. If you wanted to. You donโt have to, I justโฆโ (fuck. why? why were you so weird?)
Your fingers picked at the hem of your skirt and pulled on a thread to busy your hands, and from the corner of your vision you caught his brief smile, and the warmth that spread was so shamefully immediate that you bit your tongue until you tasted metal just to keep from blurting out something along the lines of โi really, really, fucking love your smile, please do it again so my day goes from moderately shitty to embarrassingly close to perfection.โ
โGive me your phone.โ he said, and you didnโt hesitate, fishing it out from your pocket, and placing it in his palm.
โThereโs no password on your phone.โ
โYeahโฆI know.โ
โItโs dangerous.โ His thumb hovered over the screen, nose flaring. โAnyone could get into it. Your photos. Your messages. Your address. Everything is in there.โ
You barely heard the end of it, too focused on the pull in your chest as his words kept coming, just for you.
โI havenโt thought about that.โ You murmured, feeling foolish while he muttered to himself something that definitely sounded like โI did.โ
He tapped his number in before going through the settings while you were still struck by his intensity and that he was doing this for you without being asked.
โSix digits. Not birthdates and not something simple like six zeros.โ He handed your phone back, his fingers lingering for a second too long before pulling away. โPut one.โ
This time you knew it was an order and you didnโt hesitate a second as you followed it, typing something in, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was standing, your shoulder almost brushing his calf, your pulse loud in your ears and a slow, humiliating heat pooling low in your stomach that you refused to think about at the moment.
โGood.โ He said after you saved the password. โText me your work hours.โ
โSo, itโs a yes? Really?โ
He grunted and whether the dusting of crimson over his freckles was real or something you imagined, you couldnโt tell, you were too busy feeling as light as a leaf.
โYes. Andโฆโ
His words were cut off by the screen door banging open, leaning back abruptly just as Craig made his way toward you both with a grin that meant whatever the fight with Deran had been about, he had won.
โDeran agrees for Friday night. And you,โ he tapped your forehead. โdidnโt hear shit.โ
โI donโt even know what youโre talking about.โ
โThatโs my girl. Now get your ass in the pool.โ
Craig was already running to the pool before you could respond, clothes coming off mid-step.
โI canโt believe this man has a kid. Has you brother always been a shameless nudist?โ
ย โUnfortunatelyโฆyes.โ
You snorted before murmuring. โThanks, by the way. For the password thing. And for agreeing to teach me. I promise Iโll only be likeโฆaverage terrible.โ
โYouโll be fine,โ he shrugged. Then, quieter, โIโll make sure.โ
His gaze dipped briefly to your mouth when he said it, before snapping back up, and something in your stomach turned warm and gooey, a reckless part of you hoping he might add something else. Or step closer again. But he didnโt, just nodded once, before muttering. โGo.โ
โOkay, Iโll leave you to your board, Andrew.โ
You made it halfway to the pool before you glanced back. He was still watching, not even pretending not to, looking like a leopard ready to jump. Like if you slipped, he would already be moving.
And lying awake that night, window cracked open and the ocean humming somewhere in the dark, you muffled his name into your pillow, trying to quiet yourself, imagining his hands instead of yours. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.
โโโโโโโโโโ
Andrew is used to ending his nights alone because wanting people to stay never goes well for him.
So, when the party finally ends at four in the morning, he does what he knows best: throwing the bottles into the trash, making sure no one is passed out in the backyard or asleep in one of the bedrooms andโฆcleaning.
First the diving board, even if Craig is still making out on one of the lounge chairs with a girl whose name Andrew canโt remember and doesnโt try to (he knows best). Next, the counter, twice in a row for good measure. Then the sink, while Deran claps a hand on his shoulder with a โDonโt stay up too late, okay?โ before heading out.
(One. Two. Three. Four. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. He counts the second you spend in the bathroom.)
He stands in the kitchen for a moment before realizing it might look strange and make you uncomfortable. Thatโs the last thing he wants.
He rushes back to his room (he wouldnโt exactly call it โsprintingโ. sprinting would mean he is trying to avoid you. which he is not. not at all.).
He doesnโt bother turning on the light when he decides to lie on top of the covers, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling because he knows that sleep wonโt come. It never does.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the cracks.)
Every time he closes his eyes, something crawls up from beneath his ribs and he is once again plagued by his ghost: Juliaโs voice, Cathโs smile, Bazโs forgiveness. Smurfโs words cutting straight through him.
He thinks about the pool and how easy it would be to let the water close over his head. How all the voices would finally be silent forever, his own included.
(Bad thoughts. One. Two. Three. Four. He recites the number of cameras in the bank for the incoming job.)
He forces himself to think of something else.
Of you, earlier, laughing at Craigโs story (and the immediate, unwelcome ache in his chest as he wonders if thereโs something between the two of you, if this will end the way things always seem to, if youโll be another Cath: close to him before preferring his brother).
Then he thinks about the way he made you laugh on your first skateboard lesson, all because he wanted to make you feel safe and seen, how the simple feel of your waist had nearly made him press his forehead to your shoulder and beg for you to stay and keep looking at him like that.
He thinks about that night when you called him for help, and how he didnโt hesitate for even a second when reaching for his keys, truck already running before you even finished explaining because the simple thought of you alone somewhere in the dark, waiting and frightened, had felt like acid running through his veins, the kind of fear that made him beg to the sky โNot here, not her, not again. I wonโt fail herโ. ย
He presses his palms against his eyes until he sees bursts of purple light.
(Breathe. One. Tw-)
A faint knock against the door makes him freeze.
Nobody knocks in this house, his brothers justโฆbarge in.
He is already on his feet before he realizes it, his hand finding the handle before he opens to find you there.
Barefoot, hair loose and messy, the mascara smudged at the corners of your eyes and the dress wrinkled. Earlier, Andrew thought you looked like an ethereal angel, something untouchable and holy.
But nowโฆnow you just look human, real and warm, which is worse because real things like you can stay as well as leave.
โHey.โ You murmur, leaning against the doorframe.
He grips the handle tightly to steady himself.
โSomething wrong?โ
โI was supposed to sleep on the couch,โ you begin, talking with your hands the way you always do when you try to explain a situation, โbut signor El Craigo has decided that itโs now his new make out spot with Sam and I really donโt need that image burned into my brain. And of course, I thought about taking his room in retaliation, but I donโt trust his conception of hygiene,โ
That makes him huff.
โSoโฆโ you add, rubbing your arm, almost shy which doesnโt make sense in his mind because you havenโt been shy with him in a long time with the skatepark lessons or with the โhallway accidentโ you both had together, โCan I stay here tonight?โ
You donโt say โwith youโ nor โin your bedโ, but Andrew understands and he is pretty sure his brain short circuits for a second or two.
You didnโt text Deran or try to Uber home. You just came to him. Because you trusted him.
โYes.โ He replies too fast, stepping back from the door.
โYou sure?โ
He nods to avoid confessing that he would give you the bed. The room. The house. The air in his lungs.
You slip past him into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed before looking back at him and asking gently, โYouโre not sleeping, right?โ.
โNo. Notโฆnot really.โ
โYeah, figured.โ
You lie down beneath the covers first, curling onto the side of the bed closest to the wall, leaving him space.
โDonโt think about staying on top of the covers, Andrew.โ
The warning in your tone almost makes him laugh so he complies, lying down beside you, fully clothed and aware of every inch separating the two of you.
He stares at the ceiling again.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He counts your breathing.)
The mattress shifts while you slowly roll onto your back before turning fully toward him, your shoulder brushing his arm.
โSorry,โ you mumble sleepily. โโm cold.โ
โItโs fine.โ He says it like the ghost of your breathing over his collarbone didnโt just set every of his nerves on fire, like he was not terrified to shift even an inch.
After a few minutes, you drift closer in your sleep, chasing warmth without thinking, your knee pressing against his thigh, your hand sliding across the sheets until your fingers come to rest on the fabric of his shirt, right over his heartbeat and for a moment he genuinely forgets how to breathe.
Your palm is so warm, and he is painfully aware that you can probably feel how hard his heart is pounding.
Nobody has ever touched him like this, like he is something safe and out of everything that has happened to him: the underground fights, the prison, the jobsโฆnone of that ever made him feel this defenseless.
His eyes suddenly burn because he wants to turn so much to see your peaceful face, tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pull you closer to know just once in his life what itโs like to hold something good without destroying it, to press his face into your hair and breathe until the ghosts quiet down, but he doesnโt.
He stays exactly as he is, lying in the dark, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He counts your breaths again. Then the seconds between them. He thinks about the fact that youโre here and the miracle of it.)
Sleep doesnโt come, but for the first time in years, the night doesnโt feel empty.
Because youโre here. Warm. Alive. Trusting him.
So, Andrew stays awake until morning, guarding the only good thing that ever chose him.
โโโโโโโโโโ
You were so, so late.
You had told Andrew on the phone that you would be at his skatepark at 5:15 sharp after work, and it was now 5:42 and you were sprinting the half mile that separated the coffee shop from there, bag smacking against your hip, your lungs burning, already sweaty before you even reached the entrance, trying to slow your breathing with a few useless deep inhales, hands braced on your knees, pretending that you were not seconds away from passing out.
(First lesson and you were already late and a disaster. Great. Very impressive.)
You straightened, wiped your forehead, and stepped inside, scanning the park before finding Andrew, board tucked under one arm, sleeves riding up his biceps, curls messy from the wind and sweat and you were now positively sure that you had some drool at the corner of your mouth (the universe had decided to sabotage you and that was fucking unfair.)
You watched the tiny smile he had as a girl showed him her board, proud and beaming at him like he had personally hung the sun in the sky (no, you didnโt need to think about him being good with kids. you didnโt need to picture him with kids, him gentle, himโฆstop. shut up.).
The second his head lifted and locked eyes with you, you were pretty much done for. It was ridiculous, really, how one look from him could short-circuit every coherent thought in your brain, how your feet justโฆmoved, carrying you toward him instinctively, dropping your bag by the fence without breaking your stride as he met you halfway.
His gaze dragged over you once: your face, your hair, your chest.
โYou ran here?โ
โYes. And Iโm sweatingโฆa lot. Please donโt judge me.โ
He took a few seconds, a storm passing through his eyes before he added.
โYouโre late.โ
โI know,โ you rushed, your hands quickly moving and your words tumbling over each other like they always did when you got flustered around him. โbut a guy ordered for his whole โcheaper by the dozenโ family like three minutes before we closed. Iโm probably sure he sensed my despair and fed on it.โ
A small huff escaped him. โYou didnโt have to run.โ
You shrugged, eyes to the ground. โDidnโt want you to think I bailed on you.โ
You felt it, his head tilting down just enough to catch your gaze again, stubborn about it.
โI wouldnโt. Now you ready?โ
โBorn ready.โ You lied through your teeth.
โYou look terrified.โ
โI can do both, you know,โ you shot back quickly. โI am large, I contain multitudes.โ
There was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. โOkay, Whitman.โ
โY-You know Whitman?โ
A pause.
โI meanโฆnot that I donโt believe you or think you canโt read poetry or anythingโฆthatโs actually super hot, so good job!โ you gave him a thumbs-up, aware you had just lost every ounce of dignity you had ever possessed. โItโs just that last week Craig asked me if โPride and Peaceโ was a good book to impress a girl, soโฆmy bar was very low.โ
Andrew stared at you for a moment. โPride and Peace.โ
โYeah.โ
โThatโs notโฆโ
โI know, I know. But donโt worry, I did a good deed for society and told him not to mention any book ever. You and Deran are safe from now on. Youโre welcome.โ
And there it was again: that quiet amusement on his lips, the roll of his eyes like he couldnโt help himself, making you feel the stupid and dangerous need to continue to jest (keep talking, say anything, make him do it again).
He shook his head once. โCโmon Whitman. Letโs see what you got.โ
You trailed after him without thinking and the first few attempts wereโฆhumiliating to say the least: your balance was nonexistent, your feet refused to cooperate, your arms stood uselessly at your sides, and you had absolutely no idea where you were supposed to look while Andrew hovered nearby like he was ready to intervene at any moment.
โI look stupid!โ you complained.
โYouโre fine.โ
โIโm not fine! This is deeply humiliating. I can barely stay upright and there are twelve-year-olds doing tricks behind me! Tricks, Andrew!โ
โYouโre doing good.โ
โI almost died.โ
โYou didnโt.โ
โSocially, I assure you I did.โ
Your heart did a stupid little skip when a tiny, amused sound escaped him.
(You could bottle that sound and live off it. You were now pretty sure you would commit crimes for it.)
โMakes sense youโre friends with Craig,โ he muttered. โDramatic.โ
You gasped, unable to contain your grin. โExcuse you mister Cody, but I am layered! I am complex!โ
He looked unimpressed and repeated โDramatic.โ
You opened your mouth to argue before your foot slipped, the board shooting forward, and for one horrible second you thought that worse than falling off in front of children was falling off in front of the guy you had a crush on.
But you never got to know the feeling before his hands were suddenly there, at your waist, catching you fast and steadying you while you became acutely aware of every nerve under his palms, of his thumbs grazing your hipbones, of his breath brushing your cheek as heat pooled between your legs.
He moved behind your back, still holding your waist before murmuring โDonโt lean and bend your knees.โ
(You were starting to suspect he was fucking with you on purpose.)
But still, he adjusted you gently, palms rotating your hips and guiding your stance before kneeling to help place your legs on the board and you couldnโt stop yourself from blurting:
โI havenโt shaved my legs. Sorry.โ
โMe neither.โ He huffed, his breath warm on your calf and the faintest hint of amusement threading through his voice.
(Was thatโฆa joke? Was he joking? Since when was he doing that? You liked that. You wanted that.)
Andrew pushed himself back on his feet, stepping away just enough for you to feel the sudden absence of his body, leaving you oddly cold, like you had stepped out of the sunlight.
โTry again.โ
You nodded, realizing that his joke had somehow shaken the worst of your nerves away, before pushing off, your knees bent like he had shown you, your weight centered and the board rolled.
โOh my God, Iโm doing it! Andrew, Iโm really doing it!โ you exclaimed happily.
โYou are.โ
You risked a glance over your shoulder, and he was watching you with his usual careful intensity, hands half-raised and prepared to catch you, like protecting you was the only thing on his list right now.
So (naturally), you did the dumbest thing possible and tested him. Just a little bit. Just to know.
You leaned and let your weight tip forward just enough to know ifโฆ
His hands immediately caught you, his hands on your ribs, scanning up and down if you had been hurt, โYou okay?โ
You swallowed, realizing that you had never doubted a second he would be there. And that settled something warm and terrifying in your chest.
It was not a silly crush, not your friendโs brother that you thought was hot and interesting, no. It was falling. Headfirst, no parachute.
And judging by the way his hands hadnโt moved from your waist yet, you werenโt entirely sure he wasnโt falling a little too.
โโโโโโโโโโ
You are screaming and he is too late.
He is always too late.
Your voice breaks into something small and terrified, the kind of sound that doesnโt even feel human anymore, and he is running but his legs donโt cooperate, move in slow-motion, the floor stretching longer and longer beneath him and the house smells like chlorine, metal and something sour he recognizes too fast.
Youโre in the pool, face down and the water is red. And you are so, so still. He tries to move, to drag you out, but he canโt.
You turn toward him, eyes open and your mouth spilling blood.
โYou were supposed to be there, Andrew. Why werenโt you there?โ
He jerks awake, his whole body snapping upright while air refuses to enter his lungs, a pain in his ribcage so intense he thinks it might split him open from the inside out.
He doesnโt understand why at first: why his pillow feels cold and damp to the touch, why his throat burns, until he drags a shaky hand across his face and touches something wet, the realization feeling nauseating.
He has been crying in his sleep for God knows how long.
He presses his palms hard into his eyes like maybe the pain will help him, like maybe if he suffers enough the images will disappear. That you wonโt be floating face down in the pool, covered in blood, your blood, your voice joining all the others, the same disappointed tone heโs memorized over the years with his ghosts.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He tries to count but it doesnโt work.)
The house is quiet for once, too quiet, and Andrew has this awful, crawling sensation lodged under his sternum, something cold and irrational that he canโt help but spiral into.
(What ifโฆNo.)
He is already moving, because lying back down would mean closing his eyes again and he canโt, he fucking canโt risk seeing you like that again, canโt hear the sound of your voice pleading and begging for him to save you when you are already gone, canโt add you to the long list of ghosts that wait for him every night.
Halfway down the hall, he gets as quiet as he can manage, moving through the house like he is on a job, because it feels the same: this sick, urgent need to verify something, to be sure that you are here, that you are safe.
The living room is glowing faintly blue before he even steps in, the light spilling on the floor and he hears it: a narrator speaking about sharks and the distant sound of recorded waves.
You always pick sea life documentaries when you stay over.
He doesnโt know when you figured out he liked them.
He stops at the threshold and sees you: curled on the couch, hidden beneath a blanket and alive.
(Your chest rises. Then falls. Rises. Falls. Youโre not floating. Youโre not gone.)
His lungs finally unlock and he breathes sharply, the sound loud enough that you look up immediately, like you sensed him there, like you are now tuned to him in a way he doesnโt understand, and your expression softens the second you see his face.
โHey,โ you say, voice thick with sleep. โEverything okay?โ
He nods automatically but knows that he canโt bullshit you.
โYou donโt look okay.โ
โIโm fine,โ he manages, but the words come out wrecked and dragged through his throat.
Your eyes examine him slowly and it clicks behind them. โNightmare?โ
(Oh, he hates this word. Hates how small it makes him feel. Hates how childish it sounds. Hates how accurate it is.)
His jaw locks so hard it aches and he canโt force out anything more than a stiff, miserable nod, his nails digging crescent moons in his palms as he braces himself for questions, for having to justify why he is standing there at three in the morning, shaking over a bad dream. But you donโt push.
You just scrub a hand over your tired face before moving your legs and lifting the blanket, creating space beside you.
โCome here.โ You mumble, looking at him, patient.
He crosses the room slowly, the couch dipping under his weight as he lowers himself beside you, hyperaware of every inch of distance, of your arm brushing his, of the warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your shirt, of how close your knee is to his thigh and how easy it would be to accidentally touch.
Your hand bumps his and even if he should pull away, he doesnโt. The contact is small, just skin against skin but for Andrew, itโs the closest to heaven heโs ever been.
Your fingers linger, uncertain, like youโre giving him time to decide, like he is allowed to decide. His thumb moves before he can stop it, brushing lightly over your knuckles, slowly, reverently, like he needs to make sure you are solid and not a trick of his mind. You feel warmer than him.
(Alive warm. Not water cold. Not bloody and floating. Not like in the pool.)
The memory hits so hard it hurts.
He jerks his hand back abruptly, his breathing going wrong again, shame creeping hot and fast because for a moment he wanted something and asked for it, letting the walls go down.
But you donโt comment, donโt tease and donโt pull away in response to his neediness and instead, you shift closer and you help settling the blanket over both of you, your arm following, tugging him in gently, like there has never been a version of this world where he wasnโt permitted to be here.
He stiffens when your hand finds the back of his neck and he wants to reassure you that itโs not because he wants it to stop but because he wants it too much, and he doesnโt deserve it. But your fingers brush his scalp, and suddenly he is nothing but starving for it, leaning toward it instinctively.
You guide him down gently, so gently and he canโt win this fight tonight, his ear pressing against your chest.
The documentary keeps whispering about tides and sharks, but he barely hears it now because all he can focus on is the rhythm under his cheek and the way your fingers keep caressing his curls in slow strokes like you were calming a frightened wild animal.
He wants to move. To slide his arm around your waist. To press his face into your shirt and breathe you. To hold you tight enough so nothing could ever take you away.
But he stays still, terrified of ruining it and breaking something with the weight of his want.
Your fingers drift lower to cradle the back of his head while your other arm tightens around him and pull him fully into you, closing the remaining space between your two bodies. His relief is immediate and overwhelming, pulling a whimper out of him, emptying him of his thoughts.
His chest caves inward on a shaky exhale, his hand finally moving hesitantly until it rests lightly on your waist, barely touching and giving you room to pull away if you want to, but you donโt. You tuck him closer, your chin brushing his hair.
The words land deep and it takes him a moment to realize he is sobbing in your arms, the tears soaking your shirt while he presses his forehead closer to your chest, just to confirm that the heartbeat under him is real.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He counts your heart now.)
โShhโฆItโs going to be okay, Andrew.โ
The storm in his head โ the ghosts, the pool, your voice โ slowly quiets for the first time all night, dissolving under the simple, undeniable fact that you are here and breathing under his cheek, speaking to him, comforting him.
And somewhere, between one beat and the next, his body finally gives up the fight, his sobs stop, exhaustion dragging him under gently this time, no drowning, no screaming, just the steady rhythm of you and your quiet voice drifting above him.
โIโm not leaving Andrew.โ
He knows that for tonight at least, no nightmare will come at him.
You promised.
โโโโโโโโโโ
โFuck, Fuck, Fuck.โ
Craig was the worst and you were absolutely going to kill him. Not even metaphorically, but in the sense where you would pick up the nearest heavy object and aim for his head the next time you saw him, if only you were able to find him right now instead of wandering through a house you didnโt know that smelled aggressively of weed and alcohol.
Deran and Andrew would forgive you, you were sure of it, if you murdered their brother under these circumstances. Hell, they might even help you bury the body. Because you could have had a regular evening at home, watching for the hundredth time Shawshank Redemption but no, you had to be alone in a strangerโs kitchen, trying not to panic.
The party had shifted, you felt it about twenty minutes ago.
It had stopped being loud fun and started being loud wrong when little bags started to be passed around, people disappearing in rooms and coming back with pupils blown wide and white powder on their nostrils.
You had looked for Craig. Texted him. Called. Nothing.
You had found someone who vaguely resembled one of the friends he introduced you to earlier, and when you asked if they had seen him, they laughed and replied something about โupstairs with Renn so it might take a while, Sweetheart,โ and you stood there for a second, scared. Really scared.
Because you didnโt know anyone there, not really. And you were now surrounded by idiots who were snorting cocaine.
(Okay. Calm down. Breathe. Donโt cry. It doesnโt help your situation at all.)
A guy you didnโt recognize slid a drink toward you with a grin that lingered too long, and the fact that your very first thought was โI wonder if he put something in thatโ made your decision for you: you were leaving. Immediately. Whatever Craig was doing upstairs with Renn was officially no longer your problem.
The night air hit your face, making you regret for the lack of jacket.
You stood on a sidewalk for a moment, trying to calculate the distance back to your apartment. You were too far, with no car and a phone at nine percent.
โCraig is dead. He is fucking dead. I will kill him myself,โ you muttered under your breath as you started walking anyway, heels dangling in your hand, bare feet against the cold concrete, just to put some distance between you and the house.
But the further you got, the louder your heartbeat became, pounding in your ears, the fear crawling up your spine.
Still, you kept walking, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, repeating โYouโll be fine,โ over and over to your brain.
(You were not fine. You were alone. In the middle of the night. Walking barefoot down a street you didnโt know. Why were you like this? Why didnโt you just stay? Why didnโt you drag Craig out by his stupid hair to drive you back home?)
You didnโt want to try to call Craig again and waste your last percentage of battery on someone who would not answer.
And before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could rationalize or be embarrassedโฆyour thumb was already pressing Andrewโs name.
(If you called him, he would come. He wouldnโt hesitate. You knew it.)
The phone only rang once before he picked up.
โYes?โ
That was all it took for you: the sound of his steady and low voice to make something inside your chest collapse, the fragile composure you had been clinging to dissolving instantly as you let out a shaky exhale, thanking all the Gods above for Andrew Codyโs existence.
โAndrew,โ you said, your voice betraying you immediately with a crack right through the middle of his name. โI-Iโm sorry. Itโs late, I know. I justโฆโ
โWhat happened.โ
You swallowed, trying to force the tears to back down. โIโm at this party andโฆand Craig left. I meanโฆhe is upstairs with Renn doing I donโt know what and he wonโt answer me. I left the house because it got weird there and Iโm trying to walk home but I think that was a stupid idea and I justโฆโ
(You hated how your voice wobbled. How small it sounded. You should have bought pepper spray.)
โIโm so scared.โ
In the background, you could hear keys jangling, a door closing and his truck starting.
โWhere are you?โ
No โwhyโ, no โwhat were you thinkingโ. Just that.
You gave him the street name and the closest intersection you could see, wiping your face with the back of your hand and trying to steady your breathing so you didnโt sound like you were seconds away from a breakdown.
โIโll be there in five.โ
You let out a weak, disbelieving laugh. โItโs at least ten.โ
โFive.โ
The line went dead before you could argue, the call cutting off abruptly as your screen went black. Dead battery.
You stared at your reflection for half a second on the dark screen, heart hammering while you counted the seconds in your head, hoping that somehow it would summon him faster.
It took less than three hundred for you to see headlights cut around the corner of the street faster than the required speed limit, relief crashing into you. He didnโt even fully stop before the driverโs door was already swinging open, crossing the distance to you in three long strides, eyes sweeping over you from head to toe then past you to the houses.
โYou okay?โ
You nodded too quickly and he stared at you, jaw locked so hard you could see the muscles twitching. He looked furious.
โGet in,โ he said, opening the passenger door, one hand braced on the roof as he helped you climb up into the seat, taking your shoes to put them in the back seat.
You stayed silent, not wanting to know to whom his anger was directed at. It was only once you were down the street that he finally spoke again, eyes flicking between the road and you.
โDid anyone hurt you?โ
You blinked at him. โNo.โ
โTouch you?โ
โNo.โ
โFollow you?โ
You shook your head, watching his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.
โSay anything to you?โ
โJustโฆoffered me stuff,โ you admitted quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself again. โBut I said no. I would never do that. You know I would not.โ
You werenโt sure why you felt the need to add that, why you wanted him to understand that you hadnโt been reckless. That hanging out with Craig didnโt mean being like him. That you wouldnโt caught yourself in drugs. You knew better.
The streetlight caught the side of his face and for a split second you saw something raw there before it slipped behind his mask of control. The silence continued to stretch, heavy.
โAre you angry at me?โ
The truck slowed to a stop at a red light, allowing him to turn his head toward you fully, eyes dark and intense in a way that made your whole body pulse in response, not from fear but from the weight of being seen.
โIโm not angry at you,โ he said, holding your gaze. โIโm angry you were there alone. Angry that my stupid brother left you. Angry that I wasnโt there sooner. But not at you.โ
The light shifted to green, but he didnโt move right away. His eyes remained locked on yours, unblinking, making sure you understood the distinction.
โYou call me,โ he added quietly. โThe second you have a problem, you always call me. Okay?โ
You nodded, fingers twisting in the fabric of your dress. โI didnโt want to bother you.โ
โYou donโt.โ
And there was something in the way he said it, like he was wounded at the idea you thought you might ever be an inconvenience to him, that made you blush.
The truck finally rolled forward, but the air between you felt different, heavier in a way that youโll only be to shake off with a cold shower.
You watched the way his shoulders remained tense all the way to your home and understood then that he had come because he had been frightened, that the thought of you alone in the dark had unsettled something in him, and that he had needed to fix it.
And the scariest part was that something warm and traitorous inside your chest responded to that.
You liked that he had been scared.
You liked that he came in less than three hundred seconds.
That he didnโt even hesitate when you admitted you were frightened, he simply moved.
And you liked the way he refused to let you walk barefoot to your apartment, carrying you, as if the idea of your skin touching the cold pavement was something he would not allow.
He didnโt put you down immediately. No, he held you all the way from his truck to your doorway, one arm firm beneath your legs and the other steady at your back, your shoes dangling loosely from his fingers, your body tucked close enough to feel his breathing through his shirt, making you aware of how easily you fit there.
When he finally set you down at your threshold, his hands lingered at your waist a second longer than necessary.
โYouโll be good?โ he asked quietly, handing you your shoes, your fingers brushing his in the exchange.
You nodded, incapable of trusting your own voice, because if you opened your mouth, you were fairly certain that something reckless would fall out, something dangerously close to โstayโ and you were overwhelmed enough by the urge to step over, to reach for him and press your forehead against his chest just to see if his heart was still beating as fast as yours.
He was still staring at you, something unspoken passing like electricity.
โGood night,โ he whispered, the softness of it almost undoing you.
โGood night, Andrew.โ
You closed your door slowly, pressing your back against it, listening to his boots on the pavement, realizing that he hadnโt moved until he heard the lock click.
Only then did he walk back to his truck.
You would maybe not murder Craig after all.
โโโโโโโโโโ
Andrew spends the entire day watching for the moment you are going to change your mind and run from him.
And you donโt act differently when you wake up: you drink coffee while humming along to the songs on the radio, trying to coax a laugh out of him, but he keeps waiting for it anyway: the flicker in your eyes that says youโve seen too much of him now, that holding him while he sobbed was enough to scare you off for good.
He replays the night while you are in the shower. How he cried in your arms. How your fingers combed through his curls. How you held him pressed against your chest. How he let himself need you.
He wonders if he should apologize, or explain, or at least even justโฆacknowledge that you saw him at his weakest and that he was thankful it was you.
Instead, he washes the dishes twice in a row to calm his brain, avoiding looking directly at your body when you step back into the kitchen in your coffee shop uniform, hair damp.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the dents on his mug.)
You ask him if he is still taking you to the skatepark after your shift, and he wants to say no. The word sits right there on his tongue, ready to spill, because the park means proximity and proximity means touch and desire which always ends with something being taken away from him.
But you smile at him in such an open and easy way, and if it was something you really wanted to do, far be it from him to deny you after last night when you held him like he was something that could be saved, that was worth saving.
So, he nods and the way your whole face lights up makes him think, not for the first time, that he would probably give you anything you asked for.
That is the part of himself that scares him.
And now that he is finally at the skatepark with you on this late afternoon, he knows that he should be tracking your stance and foot placement the way he always does, but today he notices different things about you instead: how you are not pulling away from him, not avoiding him, how you stand close when you talk, lean into his space without hesitation.
And somehow that unsettles him more than distance would have. Because, if you are not afraid of him, if you are not stepping back after seeing what he is like during his worst nights, then what does that mean?
You sway on the board.
He sees it, but his brain is still half-caught in the memory of your heartbeat under his ear, still waiting for the recoil that doesnโt come and by the time his body reacts, youโre already too far from his reach.
You hit the concrete hands first, palms slamming down on instinct before your knees follow, the skin scraping on the ground with a sound that makes his stomach drop. The impact steals the air from your lungs and for a fraction of a second you manage to hold yourself up before your face strikes the ground with a sickening thud.
Andrew is already moving before you even understand what happened, the board rolling behind you while he drops to his knees so fast, he doesnโt register the sting tearing through his own skin, doesnโt feel the way his jeans split at the knee or how his knuckles scratch raw when he catches himself, because none of it matters to him. He is scanning, assessing and cataloguing the damage, forcing his mind to clear before he dares to touch you.
Your palms and knees are damaged through the torn denim, but itโs the blood beginning to run from your eyebrow that makes him feel abruptly cold. It gathers at the edge of your lashes and runs along the curve of your nose, bright red against your skin, and for a second, the world tilts.
(Blood. So much blood. He knows blood. Knows how to stop it. How to clean it. How to stitch it close. Pope is good with blood.)
The thought lands with cold precision, and even if he hates the name, even if it sounds wrong in his own head, he canโt afford to hate the part of himself that steps forward first right now - efficient Pope, steady Pope, the one who does not panic.
โIโve got you,โ he says, and his voice is low, measured, trying to reassure you the way you reassured him last night while he broke apart against your chest, even though his heart is hammering through his ribs.
Your eyes flutter, dazed, before you try to sit up, but he is already there, placing one hand at the back of your neck and the other on your shoulder to help you.
โItโs okay sweetheart, Iโve got you. Youโre gonna be okay,โ he murmurs, and there is something almost pleading behind his words that has less to do with your eyebrow and more to do with the memory of the pool and your voice accusing him of being too late.
He swipes his thumb gently beneath the cut to assess its depth, his other hand moving to brace your jaw so you donโt move, and when fresh blood coats the pad of his finger, he feels the familiar switch inside him flips into place.
(His breathing slows. His hands stop shaking. This he understands. This he can control.)
โItโs not deep,โ he says after his inspection, even though he knows youโll need stitches. โYou still with me?โ
Your hand lifts and finds his wrist, fingers curling around it, and the contact sends something through him that is not adrenaline and not fear but softer that frightens him more because it makes him aware of how much he needs you to be okay.
โIโm fine,โ you whisper, though your voice is small.
He shakes his head once, tearing a strip from the hem of his shirt. โLetโs get you home so I can clean this properly, okay? Keep pressure there,โ he instructs, guiding your hand back to your eyebrow and pressing it into place.
You nod, and thatโs enough for him.
He slides one arm behind your back, his broad palm spanning the length of your shoulder blades, the other slipping beneath your knees to lift you, ignoring the sting of his knees and the sticky blood drying across his knuckles because none of it is important compared to the steady rhythm of your breath brushing his collarbone.
He carries you toward the truck, opening the door and lowering you carefully into the passenger seat, one hand coming up to your jaw, his thumb resting lightly on your cheekbone to make sure your eyes focus on him.
โStay with me,โ he says softly.
Your lips twitch despite the pain. โBossy.โ
He goes to buckle your seatbelt, adjusting the strap and closing the door gently before circling the truck, wiping his bloody hand against his jeans.
While driving back to your apartment, his eyes keep darting to you every few seconds.
โTalk to me,โ he says after a moment.
โAbout what?โ
โAnything.โ
You take a moment before starting to talk about your day at the coffee shop, just mindless little moments. He doesnโt interrupt, he listens and nods at the right moments. You are grounding him on purpose, he realizes, dragging his thoughts back to something ordinary, something alive.
(You are not in the pool. You are breathing. You are not telling him he failed you. He counts your breaths.)
Inside your place, he works methodically, like he always does when someone comes back from a job hurt and bleeding โ controlled, shutting everything else out. He lays out all your medical supplies on your desk with a precise spacing: first gauze then antiseptic, needle, sewing threadโฆThe order is important. Order means control.
ย You sit on the edge of your bed, looking at him and continuing the pressure of the piece of his shirt against your eyebrow.
โAlright,โ he says quietly, stepping between your knees so he can reach your face properly. โHold still.โ
He cleans your palms first, his concentration absolute because his entire world has narrowed down to the square inch of skin beneath his fingers.
โI should have caught you.โ
โItโs not your fault, Andrew. Donโt punish yourself for it, okay? Iโm fine, I promise Iโm fine.โ
He doesnโt answer. Doesnโt trust himself to.
Instead, he goes silent and returns to the work in front of him, bandaging thoroughly your hands before taking off your pants and doing the same with your knees, making sure everything stays in place.
Finally, he allows himself to look fully at your face again, examining the cut on your eyebrow and tilting your chin upward with two fingers, feeling your breath ghosting on his lips in the small space between you.
โYouโre going to need stitches,โ he murmurs.
You study him for a second. โYouโre very serious about this.โ
โYes.โ
โIโm not dying, Andrew.โ
โI know.โ
โYou look at me like I am.โ
His jaw tightens and for a moment, he almost says it. Almost tells you that in his head, heโs already seen that version of you, floating and gone, but he swallows it back.
โHold still,โ he says instead.
He cleans the wound carefully by dabbing away the dried blood, and when you flinch, his free hand comes up automatically to steady the side of your head, thumb resting near your temple, not commenting on the way you lean into that touch.
The first puncture makes you inhale sharply.
โBreathe,โ he says low, โJust breathe slow for me.โ
You obey, focusing on him rather than the pull of the thread, your eyes locking on his face. He works carefully, tying each stitch with precision, trying not to falter at your gaze and even less at the reckless, intrusive thought about pressing his mouth to your brow to undo the wound.
When he finishes, he doesnโt move right away. He studies the line of the sutures, checks for tension, checks for bleeding or anything he might have missed before studying you.
โYouโre okay,โ he says, trying to convince himself.
You give him a small, tired smile. โI told you. Iโm tougher than I look,โ you say before your gaze drops, narrowing as you notice what he has been deliberately ignoring. โAndrew.โ
โWhat?โ
โYouโre bleeding.โ
He shrugs, dismissive, trying to pull his hand back so you canโt look too closely. โItโs nothing.โ
โNo, itโs not nothing,โ you murmur, reaching for him before he can retreat, your fingers tracing carefully over his knuckles, making him go still. โYou canโt patch me up and ignore yourself.โ
He swallows, and before he can argue, youโre already reaching for the antiseptic with your bandaged hand, fumbling slightly. He catches the bottle before you drop it, his other hand covering your instinctively.
โYou shouldnโtโฆโ
โNone of that,โ you interrupt, and there is a flicker of stubbornness there that makes his mouth twitch despite himself.
You tug his hand toward you, and this time he lets you clean the scrape on his hands. He doesnโt look at the wound. He looks at you.
At the crease between your brows as you concentrate. At the way your lips press together. At the way you treat his injuries as if they matter. No one ever does.
Your fingers tie the bandage clumsily but securely, and when you finish, you donโt let go right away. Your thumb lingers, stroking slowly over the back of his hand. He is not sure how to breathe. The room feels so much smaller now. Quieter?
You lift your eyes up to him and whisper. โCan you stay? Just for a bit. Soโฆwe can check on each other.โ
He could tell you itโs starting to get late and he was supposed to meet Deran and Craig for their next job.
He could tell you heโll call you tonight to see how you feel.
But there is nothing in him that wants to leave this room.
โYeah,โ he says quietly. โI can stay.โ
He helps you shift properly onto the bed, careful of your knees. When you lie back against the pillows, you reach for him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
It takes him a second of hesitation before lying down beside you, stiff at first, but you roll toward him, your bandaged hands pressing against his chest as you settle close, your head finding the space beneath his chin.
He exhales through his nose before lifting his arms and resting them around you.
After a few minutes of silence, when he thinks you might already be drifting, you murmur. โI like it when you called me sweetheart.โ
He presses his mouth lightly into your hair.
โGo to sleep now.โ
You nod, your body going slack after a few minutes while he stays wide awake, his hands moving slowly along your spine.
โYou scared me,โ he whispers into the quiet, once he is sure youโre gone.
His fingers move to brush lightly just above the stitches of your brow.
โI canโt lose you,โ he breathes, pressing his forehead gently against yours.
(He counts your breathing. One. Two. Three. Four. Not because he is afraid. But because he simply likes knowing the rhythm.)
When sleep finally comes at him, he knows there wonโt be any nightmare.
Because youโre there.
โโโโโโโโโโ
You did not mean to end up alone with Deran.
In fact, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you had carefully avoided being alone with him since you met, not because he had been hostile to you, but because he seemed to have this unnerving habit of seeing through people and you were not a fan of subjecting yourself to that.
Craig had dragged you to the bar โjust for a bit,โ (which in Craig language meant โindefinitelyโ) before promptly disappearing with a girl, leaving you at the counter, nursing a soda because you had work in the morning.
Deran was wiping down the bar in front of you.
โEl Craigo has already left?โ he asked without looking up.
โโFleeโ would be a better word to describe what happened.โ
โAnd so now youโre justโฆโ he gestured vaguely toward you with the cloth, โโฆmiserably contemplating on drowning yourself in your drink?โ
โItโs a soda.โ
โYou know what? Thatโs so much sadder.โ
You exhaled, dragging a hand over your face before saying, โCan I ask you something without you telling Craig?โ
That caught his attention immediately, making him glance up.
โDepends how embarrassing it is.โ
โItโs not embarrassing,โ you protested automatically, then faltered. โFine. Itโsโฆa little embarrassing.โ
โA little?โ
โA lot,โ you admitted.
He huffed once, almost amused, tossing the cloth over his shoulder. โFine. What?โ
You took a breath, suddenly aware of how absurd this was and how you were feeling like you were sixteen instead of twenty-nine. โItโsโฆโ you cleared your throat. โItโs about Andrew.โ
(Fuck. This was so deeply humiliating. But Craig was not an option. He would weaponize the information and never let you live it down.)
Deran blinked once before leaning his forearms on the counter, a smirk spreading on his lips. โOh, I see.โ
You groaned immediately. โOh, please, can you not react like that? Youโre making this worse.โ
โI havenโt reacted! Iโm justโฆnot quite surprised about this discussion. Come on.โ he waved a hand. โWhatโs your question?โ
โItโs justโฆโ you stopped. โI donโt know how to tell if heโฆโ
(Oh my God. You had faced worst things than this. You could finish a sentence.)
Deran tilted his face slightly, with a shit-eating grin that you absolutely hated. โIf heโฆwhat?โ
โIf he likes me,โ you blurted out in one breath.
The silence fell for exactly two seconds before he let out a short, incredulous laugh.
โYouโre fucking with me. Right?โ
Your face burned instantly. โOkay, great. Never mind, Iโm just gonna dig my gra-โ
โEasy tiger. Donโt get your panties in a twist. Heโs obsessed with you.โ
You stopped, your stomach flipping violently.
โThatโs not true.โ
โIt is deeply true,โ Deran replied flatly. โHe reorganized the shelves in the kitchen.โ
You blinked. โWellโฆI thought he just liked order.โ
โOh yeah, he does. Trust me, he fucking does. Butโฆnot that much.โ
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
โSurely that doesnโt meanโฆโ
โHe drove across town at three in the morning to get you out of a party,โ Deran continued, counting off on his fingers now. โHe cancels family meetings to go to the skatepark with you. He did his โscary stareโ to me the last time I drank in your mug.โ
Heat crept up your cheeks as you stammered, throat dry. โB-But he doesnโtโฆHe doesnโt say anything.โ
Deran snorted. โYeah, thatโs Andrew.โ
โItโs just...sometimes I donโt even know what heโs thinking.โ
โNeither do we,โ he deadpanned. โWelcome to the family.โ
You exhaled, frustration spilling over. โSo, what am I supposed to do now?โ
Deran considered you for a moment. โJustโฆlet him try to go at his own pace here. He is not good at the wholeโฆrelationship thing.โ he said, his voice stripped of its usual sarcasm before adding. โAnd for the record, the way you look at him? Not subtle. Like, at all.โ
You nearly choked on your own spit. โI am subtle!โ
โI mean, yes,โ he conceded dryly. โYou are subtleโฆfor Andrew and Craig. So donโt be proud about it. Thatโs the lowest level of subtility possible.โ
โI hate you, Deran.โ
โYeah?โ he replied with an amused smile. โWell, get in line.โ
There was a pause before he said quietly. โYouโre good for him. Justโฆdonโt screw it up. Youโre in the tribe now. Which means I have to tell you thisโฆโ
You straightened slightly.
โโฆif youโre not sure about this, about yourself, you go now. Not in a few months. Not after he lets himself think this might be real. You donโt get to backpedal if it gets complicated. He wouldnโt recover from it.โ
You shook your head immediately. โI swear, I wonโt hurt him. Heโsโฆheโs-โ
You stopped, because the word felt too large to say aloud. But Deran looked at you intensely enough for you to finish.
โHeโs important. To me. I donโt want to fix him, because I donโt think heโs broken. I like him the way he is. I...I think I wouldnโt recover from losing him too.โ
Deran held your gaze for a long moment. โAlright.โ
You tilted your head. โAlright?โ
โAlright,โ he repeated. โYou pass.โ
โWas-Was it an interview? Are you serious?โ
โYep. And congrats, you got the job.โ
You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt lighter than it had in quite some time while Deran smiled, a real full grin, almost boyish, making it easier to see the younger brother under his usual cryptic attitude.
โI forgot what it was like,โ he said after a beat.
โWhat?โ you asked.
โHaving a sister you can annoy.โ
โThatโsโฆextremely sweet of you.โ
โDonโt ruin it,โ he warned, pointing the towel at you. โI will absolutely deny this conversation ever happened if you mention it to my brothers.โ
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head.
Then, he leaned forward and whispered to you. โAnd if you hurt him, Iโm stealing your car and slashing your tires.โ
โO-Okay.โ
He had a little smile before straightening up. โWelcome into the family.โ
โโโโโโโโโโ
He has not told you.
No one has told you about the job.
Craig said it wasnโt necessary, that you would make a big deal out of it. Deran said it was cleaner that way, the less people know, the less risk and Andrew didnโt argue, telling himself it was better if you didnโt know the details, better if you didnโt have to sit there, waiting for them to come back and spiraling about what could be happening to them.
He told himself that ignorance would keep you safe.
The screen door slams and your voice, sharper than he has ever heard it is rising against Craig, whoโs following you in the backyard like a kicked puppy.
Andrew doesnโt turn immediately from his spot, staring at the water of the pool. He closes his eyes, preparing himself for the loud noises.
(One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the tiles of the pool.)
โYou asked me to babysit Nick,โ youโre saying, your voice shaking like you are about to start crying, โand you made it sound like it was for a date or something stupid! You didnโt say it was because you were going to fucking rob a jewelry store!โ
โJesus, lower your voice.โ
โLower my voice? How about you shut your mouth you liar!โ
It isnโt only outrage in your voice, Andrew feels it. Itโs fear. A raw, unfiltered fear for them. For him. And he doesnโt know what to do with that because no one has ever been afraid of losing him. When he went to prison years ago, his family moved on, sold his place and went on with their lives. For them, it was an inconvenience, for him, it was three years in Folsom.
Andrew turns then.
Youโre standing a few feet from Craig, hands still bandaged, the thin line of stitches above your eyebrow visible, pointing a finger at Craig angrily while he tries to stay calm, running a hand through his hair.
โItโs not a big deal.โ
โYouโre breaking into a jewelry store, Craig. Thatโs not exactly Disneyland.โ
โWeโve done jobs for years,โ he snaps. โWeโre good at it.โ
Andrew watches the way your shoulders rise and fall too fast with your breath, the way your fingers flex like youโre resisting the urge to grab something and throw it at Craig.
โYou know what happens if you get caught, right? You know what that would do to Nick?โ
Craigโs jaw tightens. โWe donโt get caught.โ
You let out a bitter sound that is half a laugh, half a sob.
โRepeat this in the eyes of your brother, I fucking dare you. Thatโs not how life works, and you know it. You can get caught.โ
Andrew feels the words hit him in the chest and rip something out of him. He doesnโt know when you learn about it. Doesnโt know who told you or the extent of your knowledge about those three years of fights and isolation.
If you know โ truly know - why arenโt you running away? Why are you still here?
(He doesnโt understand. He canโt understand. Itโs too much. Itโs too little. One. Two. Three. Four. He counts the cracks on the floor.)
โWeโre not idiots, just trust us, okay?โ Craig argues, rolling his eyes.
โYou left me alone at a party in a house full of people doing coke,โ you fire back, your finger jabbing hard against his chest. โYou are the exact definition of an idiot, Craig.โ
Craig winces. โWe donโt have to do this right now, okay? I already told you I was sorry about it. Pope, back me up.โ
Both of you turn toward him at once, the weight of the fight landing on his shoulders. He doesnโt move immediately. Doesnโt speak either. Andrew has never been good at splitting himself in two, at giving his opinion. He was raised to follow orders.
Craig gestures toward you. โSheโs acting like weโre amateurs.โ
You slap his arm, wincing, forgetting for a moment about your bandage. โFuck.โ
Andrew walks up to you, checking your hand while you keep repeating him. โIโm okay, Andrew. I promise.โ
He lifts his eyes to yours, angling his head to catch them, and when your gaze finally locks with his, he holds it, stubborn and unblinking. Your eyes shine brighter tonight than they usually do, so he doesnโt give himself permission to look away.
(Youโre about to cry. Itโs his fault. It must be his fault. He should have been better. But the voices are too loud. He doesnโt like when itโs too loud. One. Two. Three. Four. He remembers your breaths when you sleep.)
โI justโฆI thought you all trusted me,โ you say, your voice breaking halfway through, fighting back tears of frustration.
Craigโs shoulders drop while Andrewโs thumb strokes over the back of your hand, grounding himself.
โWe do,โ Craig says, less combative now. โThatโs why I asked you to watch Nick.โ
โThatโs not making me feel like you trust me. Itโs making me feel like Iโm a convenience.โ
The word hangs there, making Andrew feel like he failed something. He has never wanted you to feel like this. He wanted you to be protected.
His gaze doesnโt waver as he keeps your hand in his, stroking over the bandage.
Craig looks between the two of you, seeing the hand, the closeness and mutters, โJesus, bro, this is the worst time,โ under his breath.
โOkay,โ he exhales finally, turning fully toward you. โI fucked up. Massively. About the party. About not telling you. Aboutโฆprobably a million other things. I didnโt mean for you to feel unsafe.โ
You donโt look convinced.
โTrust me,โ Craig adds quickly, throwing Andrew a sideways glance, โI got my ass kicked enough by Pope to regret this party for the rest of my life.โ
Your lips twitch a little, trying to keep it contain.
โNow, if you could hand me back my brother, I would be very grateful because we have a job to do, and you have a kid to entertain,โ Craig says, rolling his eyes and retreating inside the house.
Andrew doesnโt let go of your hand, refusing to blink and terrified of losing a moment of you. He has the irrational feeling that if he does, something will waver on your face, the moment when you realize what this life looks like and he wonโt be able to see his failure in time.
ย โWeโve planned it,โ he murmurs finally.
You hold his gaze. โAnd if something goes wrong?โ
He doesnโt answer right away because he knows the answer to this, and he is certain you donโt want to hear it.
(If something goes wrong, he goes down first. He makes sure Deran and Craig are safe. He doesnโt come home because he wonโt ever go back to prison. He prefers to die trying to escape than go back in a cell. One. Two. Three. Four. He counts your eyelashes.)
You are still waiting, searching his face.
โThen I handle it,โ he says quietly.
You shake your head, your jaw working as if youโre trying to physically hold yourself together. โPromise me to come back safe.โ
His hand lifts before he can stop himself to settle against the side of your face, his thumb resting just beneath your eye, making you go very still, waiting for what he will do next.
His thumb caresses your cheekbone once, just enough to fill his mind with the memory of your skin.
โI wonโt let anything happen to me,โ he whispers, and he doesnโt know if itโs meant as a vow or a lie heโs trying to force into becoming true. โI promise,โ and before he allows himself to overthink it, he presses a careful kiss to your forehead, his lips brushing just above the line of stitches.
He can hear you catch your breath and it makes him pull back, his lips tingling at the contact. He knows it now: if he stays longer, if he lets himself feel the warmth of you, he might not leave at all.
He memorizes the sight of you like this: looking like losing him would break you and it does something unfamiliar to his chest. No one has ever been scared at the thought of him disappearing. No one has ever demanded that he come back.
He turns quickly, putting distance between the two of you before he changes his mind, the promise he made echoing in his head.
He hears it when Deran cuts the alarms. Promise me to come back safe. When he cuts through the back entrance. Promise me. And when Craig tries to improvise. Promise. He is not one to do reckless things but tonight, he is particularly unyielding each time the job almost goes sideways.
He knows you are in the house with Nick, probably pacing the kitchen and waiting to see the outcome of his word. So, when he finally reaches the main display room, he is quick to reach for the highest value pieces that will be cut down and reshaped. No traces or evidence will be left, they have done this long enough to know how to make everything disappear completely.
Andrewโs hand hovers for half a second over a particular velvet cushion before picking up the thin gold chain, a small heart-shaped pendant set in the center. Itโs delicate and quiet, reminding him how it feels to bask in your light. He turns it between his fingers once, twice, imagining it resting just below the hollow of your throat, his thumb brushing over it absentmindedly while you are both sitting on the couch and watching a documentary.
He slips it securely into the inner pocket of his jacket, pressing it flat against his chest for a brief second before stepping back into motion and leaving with his brothers without any alarms or police sirens cutting through the night.
And when they get at the warehouse to stash the duffel bags, Andrew doesnโt stay like he usually would to make sure about getting his fair cut of the job. He nods once, quiet, ignoring their snickers and comments about him being โdown badโ all the way to his truck.
The house is dim when he enters, a soft glow coming from Craigโs bedroom and before he sees you, he hears your voice. Itโs so soft.
โAnd baby whale swam all the way across the ocean to find mama whale,โ you murmur.
He quietly walks up to the threshold to see you sitting on the bed with Nick lying, his eyes dropping with sleep, his thumb in his mouth and clutching to his monkey plushie. You slowly close the illustrated book before pressing a kiss onto the his hair and something expands in Andrewโs.
(You would be good at this. At building something steady. He can picture you pregnant, swelling with a child. His curls and your smile on a being that would never know the kind of hurt he had to go through.)
You stand up from the bed and see him, the relief crossing your face so achingly tender it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs.
โAndrew.โ
He nods once, trying to convey his feelings, โI came back.โ
You smile, closing the bedroom door behind you and stepping close to him, scanning for injuries the way he did for you at the skatepark. He lifts his hands, showing you his palms.
โIโm fine. I promised you I would.โ
Your shoulders drop in a way that tells him youโve been holding yourself rigid for hours, managing a barely audible, โThank God.โ
His lips tilt upward before reaching into his jacketโs pocket, โTurn around,โ before adding a quiet, โPlease.โ
โBossy,โ you reply, amused, before turning your back to him.
He closes the one last step between you, pulling out the necklace from his pocket, careful not to let his hands shake as he lifts your hair to expose the back on your neck. He fastens the chain, the clasp clicking softly into place and for a second he doesnโt step away, the pad of his thumb grazing at the nape of your neck.
โAndrew,โ you whisper, turning back toward him, your fingers lifting to trace it. โItโsโฆItโs beautiful. Thank you.โ
He keeps staring at the pendant who rests exactly where he imagined it would be, then at your mouth before quickly going back to your eyes. You are close enough that he can feel your breath on his face, the world narrowing to the space between you.
He wants to close the distance, to press his mouth to yours.
Instead, he rests his forehead gently against yours, grounding himself with your scent, refusing to close his eyes.
โYou should sleep,โ he murmurs.
You smile softly and suddenly, Andrew wonders how he can extract a memory and preserve it forever in resin.
Because this moment feels like the dawn of his existence.
โโโโโโโโโโ
When Andrew was seven years old, the house was already too loud.
Somewhere down the hall a door slammed hard enough to be heard from the bedroom he shared with Julia, who was sitting on the floor with a deck of cards spread between them while he lined them into exact rows instead of playing War.
He liked the rows and the symmetry of it. It calmed him each time the edges were precisely following the pattern of the carpet. With this, he didnโt need to count.
In the backyard, someone shouted about money, making the twins flinch in fear. Julia reached for his hand, and they sat like that for a long time: her fingers curled tightly around his, his eyes fixed on the the cards. (Hearts. Diamonds. Clubs. Spades. Everything will be all right.)
Smurf emerged in the doorway with her bright smile, eight months pregnant with their little brother, tilting her head, โMy baby is a strange one,โ she whispers to his new stepfather, โBut useful.โ
Andrew heard it. He didnโt know what strange meant exactly, but he knew it was something you said when you didnโt want to say wrong.
At school, boys kept snatching his skateboard, tossing it across the asphalt because he rode the same loop over and over during recess, memorizing how many pushes it took to reach the fence.
(Fourteen. Fourteen every time. An even number. He liked them. Thatโs why he always counted till four.)
The first time a boy shoved him and called him a freak, Andrew didnโt respond. Just took back the board and kept doing his loops. The second time, when the board got kicked away and Julia was not there to held his hand, Andrew swung without warning. He couldnโt remember deciding to, just the sound of the impact and how the noise inside him went blissfully silent.
After that, teachers called him difficult, the kids stopped approaching him and Smurf congratulated him with a kiss on his mouth.
At night, when Julia was asleep beside him, Andrew kept staring at the ceiling, wondering something he couldnโt say out loud to his mother or his sister: would anyone ever see that he was trying? Trying to keep himself together so he didnโt explode? Trying to be good? Trying to stop the noises in his head?
-
When you were seven years old, the house smelled like warm cookies.
You were sitting on the couch, your small arms cradling your cousin, afraid to drop her. You didnโt know how to act with a baby. Your parents had sat you down a few months ago at the kitchen table and told you that you were their little miracle, that Santa sometimes forgot things and that maybe it would always just be the three of you โ which sounded a little sad until your father had squeezed your hand and told you that three was already perfect.
But it was alright, because now, you had your cousinโs fingers clutching onto your hair, โSheโs holding me!โ you squealed, delighted and in awe because here, in this house, you were allowed to be amazed and to grow at your own pace.
The day you scraped your knee on the sidewalk, trying to teach yourself how to roller skate, you cried for less than a minute before your mother knelt in front of you, cleaning the wound and kissing the sting away. โYouโre gonna be okay,โ she said, and you believed her.
At school, you had a best friend who whispered to you how babies were made, and that made you giggle all day, the teacher shaking his head and calling you incorrigible, even though you had no idea what that meant and decided it must be something wonderful if it made you laugh that hard.
And the day you asked what you could be when you grew up, no one laughed. โYou can be anything my little monkey,โ your father had told you, and you thought about it for the whole day. Because anything was a lot for your brain: a teacher, a vet, a marine biologist. You always circled back to the same answer: something to help people.
And at night, as you looked at your glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, you wondered about other things: would someone look at you the way your father looked at your mother when she was singing in the kitchen, with that love that said I am home?
โโโโโโโโโโ
Deranโs bar is louder than usual tonight, crowded by sports fans watching a game between Los Angeles and Atlanta. Craig has tried to tell him why it was so important to win at least five times since their arrival, but Andrewโs attention remains elsewhere entirely, watching you from across the room the way he has been watching you for four months now: trying to read something in your posture or in the tilt of your head that could give him an answer.
Because the truth isโฆhe doesnโt know what you are after last night and if what happened in the hallway, or every night youโve spent wrapped together, mean the same thing to you that they mean to him. He wants to ask, to spill the question out before it eats him alive: what are we?
Andrew hates not knowing. On a job, he knows every camera, every blind spot, every possible way things can go wrong but with you, thereโs no map. And he hates that he canโt predict your next move.
You are standing at the bar, ordering a drink, your back half-turned to him and wearing a dress that shouldnโt be allowed to exist in public. It makes his pants grow tighter and has him readjusting on the stool, trying to pretend he isnโt affected while his brother sits three feet away and would never let him live it down if he knew.
And he knows he shouldnโt be staring, but you keep touching absentmindedly the necklace, your fingers tracing the pendant as it moves with your breathing, and before he can stop himself, heโs counting it.
(One. Two. Three. Four.)
You had said thank you last night in a way that felt like you meant something more, had let him secure the necklace around your neck and had met his eyes when you called it beautiful as if you were promising you would always wear it.
Always.
(Oh, how he doesnโt trust that word. Doesnโt trust anything that implies staying. He knows better. He should know better.)
And yet, there you are, wearing it for everyone to see, which does nothing to steady his accelerated pulse, and leaning across the counter to collect your cocktail from Deran. The movement doesnโt reveal much more of your skin, but it still sets ablaze Andrewโs brain, his lips going dry as he tries to resist the urge to walk up to you and beg for you to tell him that he isnโt the only one picturing rings, and a cradle in a quiet house and your head on his chest until he is old and grey.
โYouโre not being subtle, you know that?โ Craig says, cutting through the haze of his thoughts.
โDonโt start.โ
Craig raises his hands innocently. โJesus, relax.โ He immediately reaches for the bowl of peanuts on the table, and Andrew feels his jaw tighten at the thought of how many unwashed hands have touched that bowl already. โSeriously, whatโs wrong with you tonight?โ
Whatโs wrong is that he just stole diamonds worth more than all of the jobs he did last year and it doesnโt compete to the way you look with the chain resting against your collarbone.
Whatโs wrong is that he would give back every dollar from last night if it meant waking up beside you for the next fifty years.
Whatโs wrong is that he is one second away from walking across that bar and lowering himself at your feet for your hands to baptize him clean, as if loving you were the only absolution worth asking for because whatever heaven exists for a man like him begins and ends with you.
And whatโs wrong right now is that a man slides into the empty space beside you, leaning too close and touching your arm to get your attention. You turn toward him politely, your lips curving into the small smile you once called your โcustomer smileโ. ย You had explained it to his brothers and him: that you always kept the worst-case scenario in the back of your mind and that a smile felt safer than a hard no since it could mean the difference between walking away or not.
(Andrew doesnโt know the names or the faces of those who made you feel like that but he wants to find them. He wants to press them on the ground and feel their pulse panic under his thumbs. He wants them to understand what fear tastes like when it turns metallic into the mouth. He wants the air stolen from their lungs the way it must have been stolen from yours when you felt scared. He no longer wants to count. He wants to hurt. To see this manโs blood on the bar.)
Andrew starts walking towards you before he even formulates the thought, shoulders squared, already calculating how much force it would require to grab the stranger by the collar and steer him outside of the bar.
His vision narrows as he sees the stranger laughing, his hand lifting to linger near your elbow as if he was testing whether he can push for more and that makes Andrewโs vision blur at the edges. He is three steps away. Two.
Your eyes find his instantly, and something shifts in your expression. Your hand leaves the cocktail and you smile at him. Itโs not the customer smile. No, itโs the real one that unravels him each time.
โHey, honey,โ you say brightly as your arm wraps around his neck and you press a kiss to his cheek, your hand traveling down his side before sliding into the back pocket of his pants, settling against him.
Andrew is almost sure he died at some point on the way there because he is pressed against you and now, he is no longer Andrew or Pope. For a brief moment, he gets to just be honey, and the word makes him happier than any name ever has.
The stranger glances between you. โOh. I didnโt realizeโฆโ
โMy boyfriend,โ you cut him off with a smile, looking up at Andrewโs face.
His eyes were already on yours, searching for the smallest flicker of fear. Because if the man has dared put some in them, Andrew would dig an unmarked grave without blinking. When he finds none, his hand comes to your waist, his thumb strolling along your hip as he dips his head and presses his mouth above the faint line of stitches on your forehead.
โHey, sweetheart,โ he murmurs, low enough that the word belongs only to you.
He feels your breath hitch against his skin before turning to the man and saying lightly. โNo worries, he always gets a little intense about men crowding me,โ you tilt your head, thoughtful. โNot sure if itโs the boxing or the prison time. But donโt mind himโฆhe almost doesnโt bite.โ
The strangerโs smile falters just enough to satisfy something dark in Andrewโs chest. โOh, umโฆyeah. Sorry man, I didnโt know she was taken.โ
Andrew doesnโt raise his voice or move, he just stands there with your hand in his pocket, letting the silence stretch until it feels suffocating. โShe is.โ
โRight. Iโll go back toโฆthe match.โ
Andrew doesnโt blink and keeps track of the manโs back until he is laughing again at his friendsโ table like nothing happened and only then does he let his focus shift back to you. You, whoโs still close and warm, holding onto him like you have no intention of letting go.
His hand remains at your waist as he turns toward you, the movement bringing your faces close enough that your noses almost brush and your breaths mix between you. He lowers his head slightly, almost enough to kiss you.
โYou okay?โ he murmurs while his thumb keeps its slow movement on your hip.
You nod, your mouth curving up in that smile he loves. The real one. The one that you have at the skatepark each time you manage to stay upright a little longer than the day before: proud, bright and stubbornly pleased of yourself. And he canโt help but think about those lips and the way they said โhoneyโ.
(He wants to hear it again. Wants to hear it softly. Wants to hear it moaned in the dark and against his mouth. He wants to kiss them every day for the rest of his life. To learn them. To know how they would part as he pounds into you. Stop. He has to stop.)
He blinks twice, grounding himself in the feel of your waist.
โAndrew. Iโm good, I promise,โ you murmur, sliding your hand out of his pocket and lace your fingers with his instead, interlocking them. โLetโs get out of here, please. Itโs too loud.โ
He doesnโt say it out loud, but relief settles at your suggestion. The bar feels too loud, too crowded and the idea of how many unwashed hands like Craigโs have been over the counters keeps coming back at him. So, when you tug gently at his hand and turn toward the door, he follows without hesitation, grateful that you were the one saying it.
The door swings shut behind you and the noise from the bar dulls instantly, reduced to a muted thud. The air is cooler than inside, smelling like the salt of the ocean mixed with your shampoo and he doesnโt understand how he gets to still have your hand in his and your thumb moving across his knuckles.
Itโs only when you stop beside the truck and turn toward him that his eyes drop to the thin gold chain resting around your neck. His free hand lifts carefully to brush the chain first, following it down until the pad of his thumb rests over the pendant itself, flattening it against your skin.
โStill got it on,โ he murmurs, tracing the outline of the pendant.
(He imagines doing this, years from now. In the kitchen. In bed. In the shower. Adjusting it before you leave the house. Brushing it aside before he kisses the curve of your throat. Seeing it against your skin when you are carrying his child.)
โLooks better on you than it did in the store,โ he adds.
Your fingers slide slowly between his, guiding his hand so it settles flat over your heartbeat. He can feel it beating loud and fast under his palm, matching his own.
You tilt your face enough to find his eyes back. โThank you for what happened in there, Andrew. You were good.โ
His eyes slip shut for half a second because he doesnโt trust himself to survive the way you are looking at him, smiling at him with such warmth he shivers of pleasure.
(Good. You think he is good. If thatโs what you want, he can be good. He can kneel. He can find how to rebuild himself from the bones if it means you keep calling him good.)
โYou shouldnโt say things like that,โ he says under his breath.
โWhy?โ
โBecause Iโd do anything if you asked.โ
Your fingers start to caress the back of his hand. โAnything?โ
He nods, his gaze unwaveringly focused on your eyes. โIf you told me to walk away from the jobs, I would.โ
Your hand pauses against his.
โAndrewโฆโ you murmur, but thereโs no panic in it, no immediate rejection. โYou know why I wanted to reject him, right?โ
He doesnโt answer, too scared of startling the moment with another word.
โYou know why Iโd reject any other guy in that bar and why I wanted him to know?โ
โKnow what?โ
โThat Iโm not available.โ
โYouโre not?โ he asks, as his mind races.
โI donโt know,โ you say softly. โAre you?โ
The question hangs there, in the small space between your bodies, his mind fumbling with a thousand overlapping questions.
(Are you with him? Calling him yours? Defining what this was? Finally answering the question that has been rattling his brain for weeks?)
โAre you available Andrew?โ you repeat gently, your hand lifting up to cup his face.
He exhales slowly, trying not to whimper at the contact, shaking his head.
You lean closer, your nose brushing his and your voice dropping lower. โNo?โ
โNo.โ
Your thumb traces patterns along his cheekbone and it takes him a few moments to realize that you were mapping his freckles. โHow long?โ you whisper.
He feels too weak to reply, overwhelmed by the tenderness of your touch. If his heart had not been already yours, he would lay it at your feet right there, so long as you promise to treat him with this gentleness and care for the rest of his life.
โBefore the party? When I called you to help me?โ he nods. โBefore our night on the couch?โ another nod. โBefore our first skateboard le-?โ
ย โWhen we met. And you brought pastries,โ he replies, on the verge of a sob, shameful to confess that he keeps thinking about you on top of him, under him, any way you want it as long as he could disappear into your light and be drown whole by your grace to wipe out every horror he has ever seen or done for the sake of others.
โAndrew. Honey. Please, look at me.โ
He keeps his gaze darted to the ground, like looking anywhere but you might prevent him from saying anything more revealing about the depth of his feelings, before his eyes close on their own instinctively, only realizing a heartbeat later that itโs because your lips found his.
And for the first time in Andrewโs life, that deep pit of misery in his heart goes completely silent, frozen for a flash before kissing you back.
Your lips are warm and a little reckless, tasting like mint and something entirely yours that he knows he will crave for the rest of his life. Your fingers thread into his curls, pulling a groan he canโt control out of him. He moves closer without thinking, his hand sliding along your waist until your back meets the metal of the truck door.
The second he registers the force of it, he pulls back just enough to search your face, to scan for any sign that he has gone too far, but the pause barely lasts a breath before your fingers tighten in his hair, guiding him back down as your body arched into his, slipping his tongue past your parted lips.
You are an oasis and he is nothing but a thirsty man wandering in the dark who gets to finally know what itโs like to drink every drop of it. You taste dizzy and intoxicating and he knows that he has been feeding on scraps of affection all his life and nowโฆnow he understands what it means to be full.
He is about to tell you how much sweeter you taste than in his fantasies before you bite down on his lower lip, drawing another sound of his throat.
You tilt your head, your arms wrapping fully around his neck as his drop to your hips, steady and sure, to raise you higher against the door, a gasp spilling out of you that he swallows eagerly and your dress hiking up as your legs wrap around him, denying any space between your bodies.
He feels you pull away for air by an inch or two, making him whine at the loss of contact, but he quickly recovers as he sees the flushed smile on your kiss-swollen lips. โShow off.โ
โYeah?โ he asks while one of his arms tightens under you, anchoring your body to the door while the other frees itself to trail up your body and adding a smug, โYeah,โ skimming your inner thigh and marveling at how many sounds he can coax out of you, wondering how much more heโd pull if he could trace his thumb along your heat. But instead, he cups again your cheek, tracing slowly the bow of your lips.
โDimples,โ you murmur.
โWhat?โ
โDimples, Andrew,โ you repeat, delighted, like youโve just discovered something rare. โI didnโt know you had them.โ
(Oh. Of course. You can see them because he is smiling. For real. A real one. Not the tight, guarded version. Not the twitchy one. A full unguarded smile. When was the last time he did that?)
โI do,โ he says, trying and failing to smooth it away. โSo do you.โ
Your eyebrows lift. โI do not.โ
โYou do,โ he insists quietly, shifting his hold slightly to keep his arm secure around you, his thumb pressing gently at the corner of your mouth. โRight thereโฆโ
Inside the bar, the crowd erupts in a wave of shouting, making you glance at the door before erupting in laughter, eyes wide.
โOh, fuck,โ you whisper, incapable of stopping your giggles. โI forgot.โ
Andrew exhales through his nose, trying to calm the blood pumping hard all the way down his length. He knows that youโve been feeling him against you the whole time, your hips still rubbing together, and for once in his life, he doesnโt want to excuse himself or feel ashamed of his desires, of how much he wants. He has spent too many nights thinking about how youโd taste, how youโd moan. Too many cold showers to try get rid of his hard-on whenever he was picturing you.
โMaybeโฆโ you murmur against his mouth, pecking soft kisses along his jaw. โMaybe we should relocate.โ
He looks at you, at the way your lips are still swollen and glistening from kissing, at your panting and the tremors of your legs.
He nods, lowering you carefully back onto your feet, his hands still trailing along your sides to still have some ways of being connected to you before reaching for the door handle of the passenger seat and helping you in.
He feels, walking around to the driverโs side, that he is still smiling. Dimples and all.
โโโโโโโโโโ
โMaybeโฆโ you sigh, struggling to keep your composure and pressing kisses along the freckles dusting his jaw. โMaybe we should relocate.โ
The intensity of his eyes on you, trailing along your body and taking in your rampant arousal, feels like he is on the verge of taking you against the door. You are pretty sure that if heโd ask you for permission, youโd grant it promptly. You want him. You want to know how long it would take for his unwavering hazel eyes to become pleading wet just by your lips telling how good he is to you.
But he just nods, jaw tight before lowering you carefully back onto your feet, making you bite down a protest at the loss of contact, like even the air feels like too much distance, until you feel his fingertips dragging over your waist.
He opens the door for you and not so long ago, you would have described his current behavior as controlled and cold, but now that you know himโฆyou recognize a man whoโs trying to contain himself, like a wild animal finally freed.
(Devour. You want him to devour you. To ruin you. Four months of trying โ miserably โ to have a date with him and it took only a gross man and a โhoneyโ to get him to kiss you like that and tell you he would quit everything?ย Fuck. Focus.)
He starts the engine, snapping you out of your thoughts, before pulling out of the parking lot, still smiling. You stare at his profile: the line of his jaw that has now faint traces of your lipstick, the way his tongue briefly drags across his lower lips like he can still taste you and his hand on the gear shift that slowly drifts to your thigh.
Your breath stutters the moment his palm settles just above your knee, the pads of his fingers tracing patterns over it while he keeps his eyes on the road. That definitely doesnโt help your craving for more.
(How much can be a fine for having sex in a car anyway? Andrew has money. Plenty from what you understand soโฆthat would just be a drop in a bucket, right?)
You slide your fingers over his, intertwining them on your lap and stilling his slow, absent movements. He glances at you immediately, probably to understand why you stopped him. But the look you give him is enough to answer his question.
His eyes trail your face a fraction too long before looking back to the road, purposefully, the streetlights passing by a little faster.
โWeโll be there in five,โ he declares without looking at you.
โAndrew, itโs at least ten minutes away,โ you say, with a barely contained smile.
โFive.โ
โIโm timing you, you know,โ you smirked, pointing at the car clock.
The truck moves through an intersection just as the light turns yellow - once, then again at the next block โ while Andrew doesnโt do so much as blink.
โSee?โ he says, the hint of a smug smile on his face when the car finally parks home.
You check the dashboard clock. Four minutes.
You shake your head, laughing as you both unbuckle your seatbelts. โShow off.โ
Of course, you should know better now, he is not a man to stop there. So, when he opens the door for you before you even reach for the handle, and offers his hand, you should see it coming.
He helps you down carefully and for half a breath you think that maybe this time heโs not going to do it. No, you definitely should know better cause the moment your feet hit the ground, his arm slides behind your knees, sweeping you off while the other moves behind your back.
A breathless gasp escapes your mouth. โAndrew!โ
(God you are so fucking gone for him. Is this what it would feel like? Crossing a threshold with him as a young bride? Completely besotted in a white dress? No. Not would. Will.)
He shuts the door with his hip, adjusting you against his chest as your arms loop around his neck automatically, your body relishing his touch as the thought slips out before you can stop it: โI feel like your bride right now.โ
His steps slow on his way to the door, just enough for you to notice and wonder if you should just tell him to brush off your stupid words. That you are just drunk (you barely had the time to drink a sip of your cocktail earlier) and tired (you just spent two nights in a row sleeping like a baby in his arms).
The garage light flickers as he reaches the front door. โYou are.โ
He carries you inside like heโs done it in a million other lifetimes while you are still gaping, mouth wide open at his words. You shake your head a bit wobbly before moving your hand from the nape of his neck to the place on his cheek where you know a dimple is hiding.
โCareful,โ you murmur, smiling softly. โKeep talking like that and I might start looking for a dress rea-โ
Your words are being cut off by his mouth, kissing you like he is trying to drown in the sensation, tilting his head to fit you better, to take more of you, and you canโt stop the moan passing your lips. It feels like stepping into the fire and realizing you donโt ever want to be pulled out.
Your feet carefully find back the ground as his hands slide along your backbone, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades. His lips part yours with the same confidence he has when he catches you at the skatepark. You feel him everywhere and you still want more.
(Is it ever going to stop? This feeling? This whole tremor that dances under your skin every time he touches you? Every time he kisses you like he means forever?)
He pulls away just enough, heavy breath mingling with yours, hazel eyes half-lidded in pleasure and his nose brushing yours softly with your foreheads pressed together, โWe can just kiss. If thatโs what you want. I donโt need more. Just you,โ he murmured in a broken voice.
The words settle deep in your chest, heavy and large as if they have roots. It makes you want to answer him with your mouth, to kiss him until his doubts leave his bones entirely. You bring your fingers to the bow of his lips and he kisses them gently, one after the other, the softness of it making you tremble.
โAndrew,โ you say quietly, smiling despite your racing pulse. โTake me to bed.โ
He regards you for a long moment, his eyes moving slowly over your face as though he is searching for hesitation and when he finds none, a smile begins at the corner of his mouth, enough to carve that rare, gorgeous dimple into his cheek. โBossy,โ he smirks before lifting you back by the waist so your legs can wrap up around his waist, walking around the house guided only by his memory since his lips are too busy coaxing moans out of you.
You are almost blacking out from the lack of oxygen when the kiss suddenly breaks. In the soft lighting of his bedroom, you distinguish most of his expression: lustful and bewildered that this is finally happening.
โI want to taste you. Please,โ he breaths and you nod, not trusting yourself to reply.
The look that passes through his hazel eyes is hazy, fingers finding the hem of your dress and carefully pulling it up.
โDonโt want to mess it,โ he says, folding it neatly on his chair. โYou look pretty in that.โ
You sit on the edge of the bed, trying not to feel too self-conscious about being only in your underwear, braless as he kneels down to the floor, still fully clothed and face a few inches lower than yours, prying your legs apart.
โAndrew,โ
He doesnโt respond, pressing his lips to the inner corner of your thigh and moving further up between your legs.
โYou donโt have to Andrew.โ
He only lifts his gaze up to yours, unwavering as he continues his kisses, โYou donโt want it?โ
โIโฆIโm not saying that. I justโฆI donโt want you to feel obligated to it. I know itโs notโฆwhat men like the most,โ you gasp, your hand finding his curls and twisting them around your fingers, making him grunt.
โItโs what I want to do the most, right now,โ he says with a sinful gaze. โCan I?โ
โYes. Okay. Sure,โ you choke, closing your eyes and lying down as he continues his torturous path, his hands slowly tugging the last piece between him and your pussy.
You donโt think you have ever been this wet with a man. Or a woman. Or anyone at all. Normally, you feel a bit uncomfortable with men going down on you cause they never seem to know what they are doing or are too impatient of having โreal sexโ to let you finish. But here with Andrew, you are nothing but pleasure, his lips fiddling with you like you are an instrument that he is tuning to his own harmony.
You gasp as his tongue finally probes your folds stopping just underneath your clit, earning from him a low whimper.
โYou taste delicious,โ he goes, coming up for air by an inch. โJust like how I dreamt,โ he adds, making you feel close to delirious.
He lowers his face again, tongue working its way up your pussy again, finally reaching for your clit and rolling over it, making you shudder and writhe on the bed, incapable of keeping your moans down and your hands running through his scalp.
โAndrew, please. Just like that. Itโs perfect,โ you praise him, feeling how it makes him pick up the pace.
Your last straw is the sight of his face between your legs, eyes burning with nothing but want, his hands used to stealing and hurting now holding onto your legs to keep them open and making you come with a hoarse cry. If thereโs a heaven on Earth, you know now that it must only exist in this man. In his hands, his chest, his mouth, his eyes. He is nothing but your sanctuary, your promised land and your altar.
When your orgasm subsides, you feel Andrew crawling over you and pressing his lips against you, making you taste yourself on his mouth as you slip your tongue in it. The small noise of pleasure from the back of his throat is the most delicious sound youโve ever heard.
โYou,โ you breathe against him, your lips brushing his, pupils probably wide. โI want you. Like right now. So pleaseโฆtake off those clothes. I love them. Really. But take them off.โ
His lips twitches again to the side, โAnything.โ as he starts to undress, folding them before going above you, his hard cock pressing against your heat.
His eyes keep searching your face, looking for an ounce of backtrack in your eyes before slowly entering you. Thatโs when you realize how grateful you are for the previous climax because in any other situation, you would have probably wince at his thickness. Thankfully, he seems to catch on with it - probably due to his gaze not leaving your face and refusing to blink โ and takes his time to be fully inside you.
For a couple of minutes, the two of you donโt move, give you the time to marvel at how good he feels inside of you. You know now that youโll have other days and nights to ask him to stay like this for hours, just to be one.
Andrew presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing yours as he whispers. โI love you.โ
The word hums through your body. Love. Love. Love. Andrew loves someone and itโs you. From your scalp to your toes, you can feel it resonating through you. Love. Love. Love.
โI love you, Andrew. My Andrew,โ you murmur happily, moving a drenched curl from his forehead. โSo good to me.โ
His face ends up in your neck, trying to cover his reaction to your words. โYou really think Iโm good?โ
โOf course you are. Look at me, honey,โ you say, holding onto his chin to bring back his face close to yours as your legs wrap around his waist. โYou are good. You are kind. You keep making me feel safe. AndโฆIโm so lucky to have you,โ you add, rolling your hips and making him shiver.
You drink in the sight of him: his sweaty hair sticking to his head, curls messy from where your fingers had run through, the freckles dusting his chest and the traces of old wounds that youโll ask about one day. But the most important of all is the way he is looking at you โ as if he loves you. Because he does. He said it. I love you. I love you. I love you.
You keep whispering sweet nothings into his ear, just to see the flush spreading on his cheeks, his ears, his chest and encouraging his thrusts to go harder, deeper. Soon enough, you are quivering around him, your nails digging in his skin as you bite on his lower lip in retaliation for making you wait so long for this moment.
He lets out a desperate moan. โI wonโtโฆlast long. โm sorry. You feel soโฆโ
โItโs okay,โ you encourage him. โI want you to come.โ
He slams his cock one more time and goes. โWh-Where?โ
โIn me,โ you beg, and you know you have hit the right nerve from the way his whole body trembles.
โReally?โ he breathes.
โPlease.โ
The sight of his body, eyes fighting to not shut tight from the pleasure, mouth pursuing yours, mixed with how good he is making you feel, is too much. Your back arches as you reach your second climax tonight, quickly followed by Andrew, clinging to you as his warm load fills you up. Both of you are gasping for one another, time almost freezing as your eyes are sharing the same thought. I love you. I love you. I love you.
After a couple of minutes, Andrew slips out of you and lays most of his body against your side, putting his head above your breasts, on your heartbeat, intertwining your hands together.
โTomorrow,โ he says.
You brush a kiss on top of his head. โWhat?โ
โTomorrow, weโre picking out your dress.โ
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Summary: You hit your head and don't want to wait for medical treatment, but Jack will be damned if he lets you leave
Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of vomiting, concussion accurate symptoms, passing out, brief mention of IV placement, reader is about as stubborn as you could possibly get
WC: ~1.3k
a/n: New series! Thank you again for all the love on my works!
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~~~~~
โFuck this.โ You stood from your chair in the ER waiting room, having waited for three hours now. You knew people had been waiting much longer than that but you were hesitant to come in the first place. It was nothing.
You blinked rapidly while walking away from the hospital.
โY/N?โ You cursed yourself as you heard your boyfriendโs voice behind you.
You turned slowly. โHi.โ
โWhat are you doing here?โ He walked closer and a small part of you considered running.
โNothing, was just in the area and-โ
He grabbed your chin and moved your head to the side when he finally stood in front of you. โYou hit your head?โ
โNo.โ You lied.
โRight, so the cut here and the dried blood around it is what, an accessory?โ
You sighed. โJack, I'm fine. I have to get home and you have to work. I'll see you later.โ
Jack caught your wrist as you tried to walk away. โHey. Not so fast. What happened?โ
You rolled your eyes, spinning back toward him. โI just fell off a stool and hit my head on the counter a little. It's nothing, really. I shouldn't have even come.โ
โWhy didn't you call me?โ He tugged at your wrist to prevent you from turning away again.
โBecause I knew you'd worry too much. It's okay babe, just need to put a bandaid on and get some rest. Just, go work and I'll text you later, okay?โ
โNo, not okay. You're not leaving until I do an exam and maybe get you a head CT.โ He demanded.
โJack-โ
โJack nothing. You're not getting out of this. Come on.โ You groaned, following him. Not that you had much choice, he practically had a death grip on your wrist.
A blonde nurse at the main desk in the ER glanced up at you and the man pulling you behind him. โWhat's going on here?โ
โYou got a room open?โ Jack didn't hesitate, but sighed, knowing she wasn't going to budge without more detail. โThis is Y/N. She hit her head.โ
The woman perked up and walked over. โOh, so you're the girl our very own Dr. Abbot is head over heels for.โ
You shot Jack a look. โWhat have you been saying about me?โ
โNothing, that's the problem. I'm Dana, it's nice to meet you.โ She smiled.
โNice to-โ Your hand jerked out of Jackโs grip, flying toward your face.
Dana had a puke bag in front of you within a second, clearly something she'd done many times before.
You wiped your mouth with a tissue she handed you. โThanks. Sorry about that.โ You took note of the increase in worry on Jackโs face, but elected to ignore it.
โIt's okay, it's a pretty normal occurrence around here. Central Two is available, Abbot. Let me know if you need me.โ Dana gave your arm a gentle squeeze before returning to the desk.
โJack, I'm fine. Stop looking at me like that.โ He ignored you, gripping your shoulder firmly but not painfully, leading you to the room Dana had mentioned.
โSit.โ He pointed to the bed there and sanitized his hands before sliding on a pair of gloves. You stood your ground.
Jack always had mixed feelings about this side of you. He admired your determination and ability to not be swayed. But along with that came a very stubborn woman. Often too stubborn for your own good.
โItโs noth-โ
โY/N, I swear to God if you say it's nothing one more timeโฆ Just sit down. I'm not asking.โ He stared you down until you finally relented.
You slapped his hand when his penlight hit your eye. โHoly shit that's bright.โ
โI know. Just let me do this. I'll be quick.โ He started again and you tried to sit still. โWhen did you hit your head?โ
You glanced at your watch. โLike five hours ago.โ
โWas this the first time you threw up?โ He saw you pause for only a moment, but he knew you well enough at this point to know you were about to lie to him. โLet me rephrase. How many times did you throw up prior to arriving here? Don't bullshit me, Y/N.โ
โTwice.โ You mumbled.
โTwice?! You hit your head, started bleeding, threw up TWICE and still didn't call me?!โ Jack didn't notice he was shouting until another doctor peaked his head in.
โDr. Abbot? Everything okay?โ
Jack turned. โYeah. Yes, sorry Robby, didn't mean to raise my voice.โ
โIs this the infamous Y/N?โ The doctor, Robby, inquired.
Your lip twitched up in an awkward smile. โJack, how many people did you tell about me?โ
โI literally only told them your name. That's it. But they're all extremely nosy.โ He turned his attention back to Robby. โWe're good brother, I've got it.โ
Robby was clearly hesitant to leave, but gave a short nod and walked out.
โI want to get a head CT. To be safe.โ Jack expressed, continuing his exam.
โI just want to go home. You're overreacting. Besides, aren't CTโs like, super expensive?โ You asked.
โI'll pay for it. And I'm not overreacting. I'm going to order one. Stay put.โ He pointed at you sternly while backing out of the room.
โฆ
Forty-five minutes later, you were still sitting in the room and Jack hadn't come back.
โAlright, I'm done.โ You slipped out of the room, careful that no one saw you. That was, until you started seeing stars. You heard someone calling your name but the voice seemed distant.
โY/N!โ Jack yelled from the other side of the large area. He started running when he saw you stumble and caught you in his arms just as you passed out.
He threw an arm under your legs and lifted you bridal style, carrying you back into the room and laying you down.
Dana followed behind. โWhat happened?โ
Jack didn't respond, just lifted your eyelids to check your pupils again. โY/N look at me. Open your eyes baby. Come on. Dana get-โ
He cut himself short upon seeing her already starting an IV.
You stirred a few seconds later with a deep groan. Dana pinned your arm down. โStay still honey, almost done.โ
โWh-what?โ You whispered.
โOpen your eyes Y/N, look at me. Come on, you can do it. Show me those pretty eyes.โ He pleaded.
You forced one eye open. โJack?โ
โYeah baby, it's me. How are you feeling?โ
โI'm fine I was justโฆ How'd I get back in here?โ You looked around the space as if that would give you some sort of answer.
โYou were trying to sneak out but I saw you start to stumble and got to you just in time for you to pass out in my arms. I carried you in here.โ Jack explained.
โWas I out for long?โ
He huffed. โNo, only about thirty seconds, but it's not something I wanted to see. Dana, put a rush on that CT?โ
She nodded and hurried out.
Jack squeezed your hand and kissed it, lowering himself onto a stool beside you while another nurse hooked your IV up to a bag of fluids. โDon't do that to me.โ
You smiled. โI wasnโt trying to.โ
โI know, but you did try to leave when I told you to stay put.โ He couldnโt decide if he was mad at you for putting yourself at risk or just grateful that you had opened your eyes again.
โI didn't think it was a big deal.โ You shrugged.
โWell maybe next time, God forbid there be a next time, just listen to me? I may be your boyfriend but I'm also a doctor. I know what I'm doing.โ He waited for your nod, then smoothed your hair out and kissed your forehead. โI love you.โ
โI love you too, Jackaroo.โ You winked at him.
He hid his chuckle with a scoff, trying to keep up the charade that he hated the โJackarooโ part you always added when returning his words.
But right now, you in front of him like this, all he could think about was how he wanted to hear those words for the rest of his life.
Pairing: andrew pope cody x girlfriend!reader
Warnings: fluff, established relationship.
The Orange Peel Theory is a relationship concept suggesting that a partner's willingness to perform small, unprompted acts of service is a strong indicator of their care, attentiveness, and overall emotional safety within the relationship
The California sun was doing its best to bake everyone alive, even with the constant splashing coming from the pool.
It was a quiet day at the Cody house, which just meant no one was currently bleeding or planning a heist in the kitchen.
You were lounged on a deck chair, the heat making you fee lazy. In your lap sat a stubborn navel orange. Youโd been picking at the skin for a minute, but between your sunscreen slicked fingers and a lack of nails, you were losing the battle.
Without looking up, you felt a presence shift beside you.
Andrew.
He just sat there on the edge of the lounger, his eyes fixed on the water where J and Deran were arguing over something.
You didnโt even have to ask. You simply nudged your hand toward him, the orange resting in your palm.
His hand moved automatically. Andrewโs fingers were moving in seconds. He stripped the rind away in a few perfect spirals, his thumb digging in just enough to clear the pith without bruising the fruit.
He kept his gaze on the horizon of the backyard, his jaw tight in that way it always was, surveying the perimeter like he was expecting a strike team.
But his touch with you? Quiet. Attentive. Grounded.
Within seconds, he was nudging your hand back. The orange was perfectly cleaned, split into two neat halves, and placed back into your palm.
"Thanks, baby," you murmured, popping a slice into your mouth.
He finally looked at you then. His eyes softened, just a fraction, the kind of look he saved only for the people heโd decided were worth protecting.
It was his version of a love poem. He didn't need to be told you were struggling; he just saw a need and fixed it before it could become an inconvenience.
"Too much sun," he said. "Go inside soon."
"I will," you promised, reaching out to offer him a slice.
He leaned in, his frame blocking out the glare of the afternoon sun and shielding you entirely from the rest of the backyard.
His lips caught yours in a slow kiss that tasted faintly of citrus and salt. It was deliberate and grounding, his hand coming up to rest gently against the back of your neck.
When he finally pulled away completely, he took the orange slice from your fingers with a smirk, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary.
He ate the fruit, the two of you sitting in a small pocket of peace while the rest of the Cody brothers moved loudly around you.
He was a dangerous man but he was the man who made sure you never had to break the skin of an orange yourself.
Summary: When Andrew โPopeโ Cody was taken into care Smurf pulled some strings and got him put in a place close to Oceanside.ย
That place was with you and your parents.ย
Something Smurf would later regret when she realised that the bond you and Andrew forged in the month he was there was never going away.
The years went by and the older boy became your best friend. Your protector. Your person. ย
Fast forward and when Andrew gets out of prison he finds out Smurfโs hatred for you has gone to a whole other level.ย
Pairing: Andrew โPopeโ Cody x readerย
Warnings: Smut, sub!Pope if you squint, overprotective Pope, piv sex, oral sex, established relationship.
ย A/n: I couldnโt get this idea out of my head and Iโm thinking of doing it as a series for the points in the series I think would be interesting. Especially flashbacks of when they were younger.
Three years of letters.
Three years of phone calls.ย
Three years of only seeing him on the other side of that thick glass.
Three years of that constant hollow ache in your chest meant that you were struggling to process the fact that he was stood in front of you. He looked nervous, his hands in his jeans pockets as he looked at you with that intense stare. The one youโd known for as long as you can remember.ย
You jump into his arms burying your face in his neck, him doing the same thing as though you could disappear at any second. This had to be a dream but the way he inhales deeply as his hands grip you closer to him makes it feel too real.ย
โI missed you so fucking much.โ He murmurs against your skin and the shiver that goes through you is very real. He is really there.ย
โWhatโฆwheโฆโ youโre struggling to get your words out, just staring up at him, unwilling to leave your place pressed into his chest. Your hands are holding his face and the way he nuzzles into your touch is like a punch to the chest. Every time you saw him in Folsom Prison he had kept up the mask you were all too familiar with, the one he has to wear all his life. Around his family, around the people they interacted with but not you. Seeing him soften for you instantly has you tearing up.ย
You pull him into your apartment and watch him look around, taking in your new place with a disapproving glint in his eye.ย
โWhen did you get out?โ
โThis morning.โ Youโd missed his voice this way, unfiltered, right in front of you.
โWhy didnโt you tell me? I could have picked you up!โย
He closes the small gap between you again, this time his hand on your cheek. โDidnโt want you to get your hopes up if something went wrong.โ You nod in understanding, Deran had told you how much theyโd messed him around in there even if Pope hid everything from you. โPlus I wanted to see the look on your face when you saw me.โ
Your hands touch him everywhere, sliding over his chest, arms, shoulders and up to his hair, where those curls you always loved to play with used to be.
โThis doesnโt feel real.โ
โItโs real.โ He grabs your wrist bringing your palm to his mouth, placing a kiss there. โIโm here. Iโm out.โ His voice breaks slightly on the last word.
You nod and pull him down so that his forehead rests against yours, staying that way, just feeling each others presence. You were his peace, his comfort. If there was a god he thanked him every day that your paths had crossed and that he had at least one thing in his life that made it bearable. No matter what you were to each other.ย
He would be whatever you needed.ย
And you him.
Thatโs just how it had always worked with you both.ย
He is the first to pull away and when he does itโs with his jaw clenched and that intense gaze looking around your apartment again.
Uh oh.ย
You saw him darken with disapproval at the downgrade. With the sheer shock of seeing him youโd forgottenโฆ he shouldnโt even know where you lived now.ย
Youโd had no choice. Pope had told Smurf to give you money from his cut of everything while he was in prison.
She hadnโt and it hit you hard.
You hadnโt realised just how much he did for you, no matter how much youโd argue and tell him not to. Youโd quickly learned that was pointless. He wouldnโt ever see you struggle. He wanted you comfortable and happy. He took great pride in making your life easier, solving any problem before they could even hit you.ย
Your oil would be changed.
Tires pumped up.ย
Creepy work colleagues would quit out of nowhere.
Groceries in your fridge when you didnโt have time. He sometimes even paid your rent months in advance, youโd only hear about it from your landlord. So when Smurf had stopped sending you money not long after he was sentenced you had in fact struggled. He didnโt know this, of course. You knew heโd be beyond pissed, worry even more about you than he already was and maybe get in trouble. You didnโt want to put it on him.ย
So you lied. He had always sent his letters to Deranโs address anyway, over protective to a point that he didnโt want anything going to yours from the prison. Youโd check his post box on your way to work everyday.ย
Pope had no idea that you had struggled for the last three years. Gotten a second job, kept the one you hated and still hadnโt been able to keep the comfortable apartment youโd loved.
You hadnโt told any of his family. Too proud. Too worried it would get back to Pope.ย
โYou moved.โ His glare fixed on you now but you knew the anger wasnโt at you. Not directly.ย
โYeahโฆโ You say with a casual shrug of your shoulders as you sit down on the sofa which looked out of place in the run down space, damp in the corners youโd given up on hiding.ย
He nodded slowly. The calm way he continued to take in the space made you grimace. Andrewโs anger was explosive, everyone saw that but you could always recognise the build up in a way no one else could.
โWhen?โ His voice was controlled but the dangerous edge was there. He was piecing things together.ย
โDoes it matter?โ You can easily reach his hand from your place perched on the sofa. โCanโt we just enjoy this please?โ Your thumb stroking his knuckles.ย
He sits down beside you stiffly but leans in like his body instinctively remembers it wants to be as close to you as possible even though his brain is distracted.ย
โHow long have you been here?โย
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, he will not leave this alone that much is obvious. At least he didnโt find out while he was still in prison. โAbout six months after you went in.โ You sigh.
Over two and a half years. His eyes snap to yours full of anger and hurt. His family hadnโt only sold his place, theyโd put you at risk. The one person he had, the one constant. They hadnโt done the only thing he had asked while he rotted in that cell for them. Take care of you. โWhy didnโt you tell me?โย
Your hands find his face again, your fingers going to the spot at the base of his skull, the one that always made him melt. Not now though. He took your safety very seriously. โI didnโt want you to worry about me. It wasnโt your problem. I didnโt want to add to the shit you were already dealing with.โ
Something terrifying flashes in his eyes, the look he gets before he does something he shouldnโt but you notice itโs different. Something in him has changed while he was in prison, he seems more unhinged, harder to reach and it breaks your heart. He hadnโt had you, hadnโt had someone there to ground him.ย
โYouโre not a problem.โ His voice is firm but soft, completely opposite to the look in his eyes. โYouโre my responsibility. I told Smurf to look after you. That money was yours. I specifically set it aside for you.โย
You melt at the words, you hadnโt known he had done that. Had thought about what would happen to you if he was ever arrested or worse. He felt that responsibility for you the same way you did for him. You had done ever since you found him crying all those years ago in your treehouse. You smile softly at him.
โI figured it out. Iโm fine.โย
He looks at you like youโre crazy and stands up abruptly from his spot starting to pace.ย
โShe cut you off. That bitch.โ He was shaking with the suppressed anger and all you could do was put your face in your hands. This has always been inevitable but here was the reason you dreaded it. His relationship with his family was already so toxic, this would only make things worse.ย
โShe fucking hates you because I put you first.โ He snaps as he kneels in front of you, grabbing your hands away from your face. His eyes are wild and you start to worry youโre in over your head. But no, this is still Andrew, your Andrew. โShe knows Iโll do anything for you.โ
You sigh. Thats exactly why she hated you. She knew that you were the only thing that could stop him being manipulated. If anything happened to you that would be the end of Pope doing any kind of dirty work for her.
That simple fact kept you safe from her schemes.
He already hated her for Julia but he had been too young then. Too confused and scared to stand up to her.ย
Heโs still holding your hands and his thumbs stroke the back of your hand. You push your hands so that they are stroking up and down his forearms, bigger than when he went in, you notice.ย
โSheโs a bitch. We know this! She did it out of spite but it doesnโt change the fact that Iโm not going anywhere, Andrew. She hates that.โ He leans forward slightly and you scoot forward so his face buries in your neck again. โIโm okay.โ
He pulls back his eyes searching yours for any signs of you lying but you keep them steady, strong. You and he had always done this. He was the physical strength you lacked and your were his mental strength when he needed it.
You were okay. You were tired. You had missed him more than you could ever have imagined but he was here now. All the bad shit youโd had to deal with for the last three years melted away.
โYouโre not okay.โ His hands went to your hips, gripping you tightly.ย
โI am. Iโm the best Iโve been in a long fucking time because youโre here. So what if I live in a shitty apartment and picked up some extra shifts?! I needed a reality check anyway, youโd been spoiling me.โ You let out a short laugh hoping he will at least smile.ย
He doesnโt.
โDonโt. You had to work harder. Live worse because of her.โ He pulls you closer, sitting back on his heels so that he can bury his head in your stomach. You stroke along his back.ย
โIโm fine.โ You know it wonโt help. Know he canโt see past the fact that youโve been alone, lived in a dangerous area, just getting by.ย
โYouโre not.โย
You roll your eyes. There was no arguing with him right now and you didnโt want to, just so happy he was here. That you were touching him.
You were each others person.
Had been for as long as you can remember and that had adapted over time. That included hooking up as you got older. He had been your firstโฆ everything and with him pressed into your torso, on his knees in front of you all you wanted to do was pull him on top of you. No doubt it would be the perfect way to distract him from his anger.ย
But it had been three years, even longer since youโd kissed or had sex and so you had no idea how to approach it.ย
You had wanted more with him for a long time but he was always scared of losing you. Fucking it up and not having you in his life at all.ย
You were too important to him, deserved more. He always had this fucked up idea that one day you would meet someone who did deserve you and when you did he would let you go. But until then he would look after you, take every opportunity to kiss you, touch you, be inside you that you gave him. He was the luckiest bastard in the world as far as he was concerned.ย
He also knew deep down he would never be able to let you go. Not really.
He feels your hips shift, the way your breath hitches. He knows you. He slowly leans up, his strong arms either side of you as his eyes, sad, angry and desperate take you in. The rise and fall of your chest, breasts heaving with the lace from your bra peaking out, your lips that he swore had been a constant thought in his mind since he last brushed his against them. He remembered the way he fit so perfectly in between your thighs. He had thought of it in every quiet second he got. Damn even the times he really shouldnโt think of you. There you were.
The moment is broken when thereโs a loud bang from the apartment next door followed by angry shouting. You canโt stop yourself from jumping slightly, barely perceptible to anyone who hasnโt had decades to learn and memorise everything about you. His body goes rigid, his grip on your hips tightening as he pushes his chest against you. Letting you know he is here now. You almost cry with relief.
โThat happen often?โ
You just nod, so close to him that you barely need to move. He sees it. Feels it.
The confirmation hits him like a physical blow. He had seen the tweakerโs when he entered the apartment and now hearing the reality of your situation, it hit him. It wasnโt just the shitty apartment, it was the fear. The lack of security, the shouting matches and drugs. The fact youโd had to navigate it all alone. Sure you were no stranger to violence and drugs having been around him and his family most of your life but he had always shielded it from you as much as he could.ย
That shit didnโt reach you. He made sure of it.ย
โAndrewโฆโ You can see the anger coiling in him again. โYou were in Folsom Prison. I was in a shitty apartment. Stopโฆโ
He stands up and the moment is fully gone. You fall back into the sofa with a heavy sigh.
โDonโt fucking compare it. At least I knew what I was dealing with.โย
You shake your head, the thought of what he might have been dealing with in there kept you up at night, not the noise.
You cringe when the music starts up loudly in the apartment above you.ย
His face contorts with an anger you know will linger for a very long time if he doesnโt find an outlet. You really wouldnโt want to be Smurf right now.ย
โPack.โ He commands sharply. No room for argument. โYouโre not staying here another night.ย
โWhere are we going?โ You ask as you follow him into your bedroom. Not hard to guess which it was as the door was open. He starts looking around the small sleeping area, finding a suit case he throws it on the bed and opens it.ย
โThey got me a BnB. Didnโt want me at the house.โ He says gruffly as he literally pulls the drawers from your dresser, tipping them into the suitcase. A big thing for him to not be folding them, thatโs when you know heโs beyond coherent thought as the music gets louder.ย
The argument continues next door.
Thereโs people laughing loudly somewhere down the hall.
You place your hand on his back, softly saying his name but he moves away, his hands up and eyes wild. Heโs overwhelmed, freshly out of prison and already blaming himself for things out of his control. You know he was probably being eaten up by guilt. Youโre already making a mental list of all the things youโre going to have to work through with him.
So you just nod before helping to pack quicker. None of this was his fault. But you knew he would take the burden.
โIโll come back for anything you leave. Youโre not coming back here.โ He says as he zips up the case and you put on your shoes and a jacket.ย
โI just need to grab something, Iโll be right out.โ You tell him. Thereโs something else you need, canโt leave but donโt want him to see you get because then he will knowโฆย
Andrew of course just stands there, case in one hand and your handbag in another, staring at you with his head titled down like a moody toddler.ย
โAndrewโฆโย
He just growls your name back at you. You sigh heavily as you grab the small stool and step on it to reach the vent at the top of the wall. You pull it off, feeling his eyes burning into your back. You pull out your jewellery box, put back the vent cover and hop off the stool before turning to face him.
โHow many break-ins?โ Thatโs all he says but his knuckles are white from the grip he has on your bags. This was exactly what you didnโt want him to know. You sigh knowing if you donโt tell him heโd find out himself anyway.ย
โMe? Just the one. I wasnโt here. Some tweakers looking for quick easy cash. They took my laptop. Thatโs all but I caught on quick and hid all my shit.โ
He just stares at you. You know heโs adding it to the catalogue of things heโs missed. Things he wasnโt here to prevent. Things that had happened as a direct cause of Smurf being a vindictive bitch.ย
โOut.โ Is all he says as he steps to you to grab your hand in his tightly, pulling you to the front door. You lock it and canโt say you feel anything but relief at the thought of never going back there.
You stay close to him and he senseโs the immediate shift. Revels in the way you mould into him, trusting him to handle the world while you navigate through it. Itโs an old dynamic, one you both slip back into effortlessly, even after three years apart. He hates that you survived it alone, as resourceful as he knows you can be he hates that it was forced upon you.ย
Once youโre in his truck you let the last half an hour catch up with you. You canโt quite believe that in that time he had arrived back in your life and gotten you straight out of a bad situation. He reaches over and grabs your hand as he drives, threading his fingers through yours.ย
You know what he needs. He needs to look after you, he needs to fix what he feels is his fault. Most of all he needs you to let him and so you will.ย
โThe BnB they got me is nice. Itโs by the coast. Weโll stay there until we find something more permanent.โย
You want to ask what he means by we but itโs not the time. You both know that and right now neither of you want to think about you both as separate entities.ย
You wonder if you ever had been.
โI missed you so muchโฆโ You say, your voice quivering. The last three years had been hard. Youโd gone from having someone you could call for anything, someone you loved in whatever fucked up way you loved each other to being alone. To feeling like youโd lost a part of yourself.ย
He doesnโt reply just clears his throat roughly, you know heโs trying to keep it together.ย
โHow did you know where to find me?โย
โWhen an old lady answered your door and told me you didnโt live there anymore I went to Smurfs.โ He lets go of your hand to make a sharp turn before reaching over to grab your thigh this time. His fingers digging in slightly. โWasnโt the warmest welcome home.โ You grab his hand in yours. โShe told me theyโd sold my place and Smurf knew where youโd moved to.โ He shook his head but didnโt go into more detail. โDidnโt tell me why though.โ
He pulls into a parking spot, breaking hard but his arm moves up across your chest to stop you from abruptly lurching forward in your seat. โStay there.โ He says as he gets out of the car, slamming the door before he locks it from the outside. He disappears into the reception.ย
You pull out your phone and see 3 New Messagesย
Smurf:
Popeโs out.
You scoff and roll your eyes at the first contact youโd had from her in years.ย
Deran:
Heads up. Popes on in his way and heโs PISSED. You moved?
Deran was the only one youโd kept in contact with. Seen him sometimes when you went to grab Popeโs letters but he was a busy guy and you wanted to avoid Pope finding out what was going on with you, so youโd avoided him.ย
Baz:
Call me.ย
โFuck off.โ You say out loud. You hadnโt seen Baz since Pope was arrested. Youโd had a huge argument. You already had a rocky relationship with Baz but when you found out heโd been the one to pretty much leave Andrew behindโฆ you flipped. You fully blamed him.ย
Pope opens the passenger door, your case and bag already in one hand. โCome on.โย
You jump out of his truck and follow him to the room.ย
Itโs set back slightly, behind some trees and the ocean air reaches into the room from an open window. The room is clean, a crisp white and bigger than your whole apartment. Pope puts your suitcase on the floor unzipping it. He starts to fold everything, putting it away in the drawers and you stand beside him, just watching. Knowing better than to try and help.ย
Heโd only redo whatever you did.ย
โWhereโs your stuff?โ You ask.ย
โIโll go get it later.โ He says softly without even looking up. You just nod.ย
โAndrewโฆโ You say softly, coaxing him to look up at you, your hand on his bicep.
He doesnโt.
โHey, handsomeโฆโ You use a certain voice. One he recognises no matter what the situation. Itโs softer, almost like you would use to comfort a kid and tell them everything was going to be okay. It was one used in private.
You had decided long ago that you wouldnโt ever call him baby. The connotations of the word were negative to you once you realised who Smurf really was. The sickly sweet way she would purr it to Andrew and the other boys turned your stomach.ย
So you settled on handsome. Knowing if there was anything Andrew Cody needed it was a boost in confidence. To know someone found him handsome, attractive, kind. The opposite of all the things everyone told him he was.ย
He faltered slightly as he put away the last of the clothing from the case. It still worked you thought as he shifted closer to you, his head dipped.ย
He was home. You were his home. No matter where you were.ย
In the low lights of the room he turned to you, nose dragging against yours as his hands went to your waist.ย
Every time youโd had sex it had been spur of the moment, sometimes drunk, sometimes just a mutual understanding that you needed each other in that moment.
You knew he needed you right now.ย
He knew you needed him.ย
The air practically crackled with it and his breathing became more laboured along side the crash of the waves outside. Your hand dipped under his shirt to graze across his lower abdomen, just above his belt.ย
A silent question youโd both agreed to use over the years.
He nods his head, his face pressing against yours, lips not touching. โYeahโฆโ He says, a whispered moan.ย
You nod back as he starts to undo his belt. When his lips finally brush yours you let out a soft moan of your own before kissing him.
Something snaps in him. Three years of built up tension you assume and he dips to pick you up, one hand supporting your ass and the other fists in your hair, keeping your mouth against his as he deepens the kiss.ย
He carries you to the large bed in the middle of the room and lays you back onto it. You work to start undressing him, wantingโฆ no, needing to feel him close. He helps you, quickly shedding his shirt before he busies himself with your jeans and tank top, kissing every inch of visible skin he comes across as he does. Heโs panting and desperate and the sound of him has you writhing beneath him. You reach down to finish undoing his belt and as he kisses you he quickly disposes of his jeans before pushing your hands away focusing back on you.ย
โMissed thisโฆ missed youโฆโ He groans as he pulls off your bra. As he dips down taking your nipple into his mouth you gasp arching into him. He sucks hard as his hand slips in between your legs, sliding through your wetness, to rub against your clit exactly the way he knows you like.ย
โFuckโฆโ You moan and you feel him grin against your breast as he laps at your sensitive nipple. Youโre not embarrassed by how wet you are. You hadnโt been with anyone since the last time youโd been with him. Been too busy. Been too sad. Just not wanted to. You were desperate for him. Just as he was for you.ย
He begins to kiss down your body, murmuring against your skin like a prayer.ย
โPleaseโฆ need youโฆ thought about thisโฆโ Before you can respond he licks along your slit slowly, moaning, clearly exactly where he wants to be in this moment. This is as much for him as it is you.
Your hips roll into him as he devours you like itโs all he needs in the world. Three years without your taste, without hearing the sweet sounds youโre making. His tongue finds your clit pressing against it firmly, sucking gently as he slips two fingers inside you, crooking them just right.ย
Youโre a whimpering, moaning mess, barely able to string together a coherent thought as you look down and see him buried between your thighs, his strong shoulders and arms rolling as he pushes your thighs apart and back to make more room for himself.
โAndrewโฆโ The edge in your voice is one he would know anywhere, one he thanked his lucky stars he had heard enough to recognise. You were close, already.ย
Nothing built up his pride like making you come for him. Youโd known that since the first time heโd done it and he looked like heโd just solved the mystery of life.
โI know, sweetheart.โ He rasps softy from between your legs, looking up at you with that intense stare, watching you as he sucks on your clit whilst rubbing that sweet spot inside you. He knows exactly what to do to ease you through your orgasm when you begin to clench around his fingers. He groans against your pussy as you come apart and the vibration only sends you higher.ย
Your legs are shaking, you moan and pant as he works you through it, not letting up until he feels your body relax ever so slightly. His fingers still working you slowly, his mouth and tongue getting gentler but still sucking and licking softy.ย
โWowโฆโ You gasp and he finally sits up, licking his lips before giving you a slow, crooked smile, the one he didnโt show often, the same one that always got you into trouble.ย
He kisses your hip before crawling up your body. โThree yearsโฆโ He mutters, his face nuzzling into your chest.ย
โI knowโฆ I knowโฆโ You whisper but itโs broken by a moan when his hard cock, wet at the tip slides across your thigh before making contact with your sensitive hole. You stroke his back and he trembles as he presses into you ever so slightly.ย
โNeโฆneed you to look at meโฆโ He whispers and so you do.ย
โTake what you need handsome.โ You whisper back, your hips rocking into him slightly. A look of pure relief, hunger andโฆ youโre sure of it, love crosses his face as he thrusts forward, filling you in one stroke.ย
You both cry out, finally together again. His arms are shaking as he holds himself above you, not from exertion but because heโs so desperate, because it feels so good and heโs already so close. Heโs home. He moans your name quietly, just for you.ย
He stays still and you grind up into him. โItโs okayโฆ donโt hold back.โ You tell him. You want this to be completely about him, especially after what he had just done for you.ย
He groans loudly, trembling all over, he pulls out slowly then slams back in. Over and over again. Itโs desperate, his hips moving erratically as he buries his face in your neck, mouth warm on your skin.
Three years of wanting.ย
Three years of waiting.ย
Three years of trying to convince himself that friendship was enough.
His hand reaches for yours, threading your fingers together while his other grabs one of your thighs to wrap his arm around it and lift slightly higher to get even deeper. His pace quickens and the slight change of position makes you cry out, your pussy clenching around him so tight he can barely think.ย
โIโฆ canโtโฆโ You know what heโs trying to say. Know there was no way he was going to last much longer and you moan watching him come apart.
โCome for meโฆโ You gasp as he buries himself deep inside you, his hot thick release coating your walls. He shakes and practically whimpers as he grinds into you, your pussy milking everything from him.ย
โFuckโฆ fuckโฆโ Is all he can say in-between your name.ย
When he finally calms, still inside you, your sensitive pussy is still fluttering around him and you reach down to his ass, pulling him in, wanting him to stay right where he is.ย
โLove you.โ You whisper in his ear before kissing his face.ย
You said it to each other often. Always distinctly making sure not to say. I love you.ย
Your friendship was too deep, too long to not be able to say it. He says it back, a quiver in his voice and you feel wetness on your shoulder that you know isnโt sweat.ย
He canโt help it. After three year of hell he was back with you. The one person who made him feel truly loved and accepted for who he is, flaws and all. A tear escapes the corner of your eye too, you turn to wipe it on the pillow as he slowly pulls out of you with an unhappy groan before lying beside you, his head on your chest.ย
This is what you had always done for him. Held him when he fell apart, been there for the ugly parts nobody else cared to be there for. Without conditions. Strong for him mentally when he couldnโt be. He holds onto you like youโre the only thing keeping him grounded.
โGot youโฆโ He says.ย
โAwaysโฆโ You kiss the top of his head, your hands continuing to stroke where ever they could reach comfortingly.ย
After a few minutes you smile. โI pictured that differently. I imagined making it all about you.โ
You feel him smile softy, his fingers tracing your ribs. โIt was about me. It was about us.โ
โIt felt like it was about me.โ You laugh. โI am not complaining by the way.โ
โI thought about doing that. Must have thought about doing that to you everyday I was in there.โ He wanted to add that heโd thought about it everyday since you first let him touch you, maybe before then but he didnโt.
โReally?โ You say somewhat shyly. You donโt get shy with him, not about this stuff but the thought that heโd been thinking about you in that way all that time made butterflies flood your stomach. โI wasnโt with anyone else. While you were goneโฆโย
He stills beneath you. โYou didnโt?โ He asks almost disbelievingly. He knew you didnโt have a boyfriend or anything, youโd have told him, like you had in the past. Years ago now. A bastard who he couldnโt afford to think about right now while the anger was still bubbling under the surface. He assumed you might have found someone, even casually in the three years. He kisses your chest, not willing to think about what this meant. Why it made him feel so good.
โDidnโt want to.โ You said simply.ย
You never push. The situation youโd been in all these years worked. So you didnโt push it. He was everything you ever needed, when you needed it but being without him for three years had you wondering.ย
Could you do this forever?
You knew he has issues, more trauma than you would ever be able to understand keeping him connected to his family but you werenโt sure youโd make another three years without him.ย
His thoughts were threading with yours, your fingers threading through one another's at the same time as you both imagined a future.
One where he was safe. You were both safe. No jobs. No prison sentence hanging over his head. No Smurfโฆย maybe kids with his curlsโฆ him cutting the grass and fixing the kitchen sinkโฆ
You fell asleep eventually. The thoughts of the future coming back to you in a fog as his lips kiss your forehead, his fingers brushing back your hair from your face but then the click of the door shutting brings you back to reality.ย
Heโs going to the Cody house. Probably to confront Smurf. You sigh heavily and pull the pillow he had briefly been on closer to make sure you remember.ย
call it what you want, but don't say it's not love [cody]
synopsis! you just really love your boyfriend, you'd do anything for him [companion piece to Andrew Cody and Obssesed!reader]
narrative! [wc: 2.7k]
now playing! that's my baby โ jae stephens
Pope had been out "handling businessโ when you showed up to the Cody residence. Smurf had invited you in, insisting that you wait for him by the pool. In her own way Smurf had grown to like you. In the way that she liked other women. She deemed you as just a little more than useful than most. That and she didnโt perceive you as a threat to her family. On the contrary, she thought you had your head shoved so far up Andrewโs ass that she, nor anyone whoโs ever met you, could imagine a world where you would turn on him. She thinks youโd sooner kill the both of you before youโd part from Andrew.ย
The kind of devotion you have displayed for him is something sheโs deemed useful. Just as you loved Andrew, he loved you. That love kept him on a bit of a leash. Andrew was her attack dog that she sent out to keep her hands clean. And if Pope was an attack dog, you were more of a guard dog Smurf had used once or twice (or ten).ย
Smurf had once whispered in your ear of a woman who had been getting a little too comfortable and close to Andrew. Was it true? No, but she spoke about it so casually like it was no big deal. Just something that was happening. When she told you, you tried to mirror her casualness, but it was easy for her to see that you were burning with rage. And whatever you did, not that you would admit to doing anything, had been enough to keep that woman away.
Smurf had run into her at the grocery store once, and the woman had left her shopping cart in her haste to get away from Smurf. That had been the last time sheโd seen the woman, hearing rumors that she fled the city. Probably even the state. Did that ordeal end with you screaming at Andrew about โother bitchesโ and threatening to kill him? Yes. But to Smurf, you had to take the good with the bad.ย
By nature of spending a lot of time around you, his brothers had noticed some things Smurf hadnโt. Like for one, you had Andrewโs staring problem. More like a glaring problem. You did it behind peopleโs backs. It was like a sixth sense for you to know when people were going to turn to look at you. And when they did, they were met with a charming smile and a wave. Many thought of you as Popeโs sweet, friendly little girlfriend. They couldnโt fathom that you were with him.
After the parties were over you followed behind Pope picking up trash, wiping down surfaces, making everything spotless. There was one time when you stopped by Craigโs place to pick something up for Andrew. The state of his apartment almost gave you an aneurysm. Every part of your body started to itch as you lectured Craig on the importance of cleanliness. Craig wouldโve found it annoying if had found it so humorous that his brother had found someone just like him.
Your aggression was something that surprised everyone. Unlike your boyfriend you tried to remain in control of your anger. You took deep breaths to curb the impulse of acting out in violence. You had snapped one time, and your unfortunate victim had been J. You generally loved J, when you met him he was just a kid trying his best to deal with the cards he had been dealt. As you grew to know him, you grew fond he was a little bit of a smart ass. Most of the time you found it funny as it wasnโt usually directed at you.
Baz had already begun to work on your nerves J decided it was the time to make a snarky comment. Before you knew it, you had grabbed him by his hoodie pulling him closer to you. You begin to open your mouth to yell at him, you meet his wide eyes. He looked fearful of you for just a moment and it was enough to make you let go. You stepped back, dusting off the imaginary dirt from him, before excusing yourself from the conversation.ย
Baz sure knew where to hit people to make it hurt. Knew how to take someone's insecurities and mix it with projection from his own shitty choices. There was one time when you were helping the guys get ready for a job. The entrance of which required formal attire.
You held Deran tie waiting for him to finish buttoning up his shirt. Deran had worn a tie twice in his life, both times someone else had tied it for him. This time was no different. As it usually goes the boys got into an argument. Any high stress situation with them devolved into screaming matches. Pope would start some of it with his side comments; not that you thought he was necessarily wrong, especially when it came to Baz.
However, Baz fired back. The first time he rolled his eyes and continued getting ready. It shouldโve been left to that, but Baz just kept going. He didnโt know when to stop, he never did. One comment really hit Pope deep. His face didnโt give anything away to his brothers, but you could tell. And maybe that's why you found yourself wrapping Deranโs tie around Bazโs neck and pulling as hard as you could.
It took a second for their minds to catch on to what you were doing. Baz was clawing at his throat trying to pull the tie away, but he couldnโt get a grip. The Pope just stood across the room, never leaving his spot. His face was blank as he watched Baz struggle for air. Deran and Craig rushed to you, grabbing at your hands. You relinquished your girp on the tie. Craig rushed you to another room. Not letting Baz get a word in with you. Not that he could, he didnโt move from the couch as he took long deep breaths.
Baz looked up at Pope who still hadnโt left from his spot. He glared at the man. โWhy did you just stand there? She was going to kill me.โ
He just shrugs. โI just wanted to see if sheโd actually do it.โ
You would. Later Andrew would admit to you just how much that turned him on.
Today was one of those days where you didnโt feel like giving Andrew any space. When he made it back to Smurfโs he was clearly irritated with whatever she had him doing, but he tried not to take that out on you. He sits in the chair next to you without saying a word. He just watches you as you bask in the sun. You made the first move. โAndrew! I missed you.โ
You left your seat to get in his. Straddling his thighs, you wrap your arms around his neck pressing your bodies together. He doesnโt move right away, but slowly brings his arms up to hug you back. โSorry, Smurf had me dealing with her bullshit.โ
You didnโt say anything to that. You didnโt like Smurf very much, and by very much you meant at all. He knew that. He also knew you werenโt going to say anything about it. You told him a long time ago, you canโt force him to do anything. He was going to have enough at some point, and all you could was wait. Youโd be there, but he would have to come to that himself.ย
You just continued to lay your head on his chest, not saying a word. He rubs his hand up and down your back. Finding himself relaxing in the rhythm. He eventually moved you off his lap to get up. As he made his way to the kitchen he heard the sound of feet following behind him. He stopped midstride and looked back. You're frozen in your spot right behind him. He slowly turned around and kept walking.ย
Your following didnโt stop when he started to make himself a sandwich. You had followed him from the island to the fridge three times, before he finally made you just sit down while he worked. You watched intently as he ate as you rambled on about your day. He brought half of his sandwich up to your mouth. You took a bite, despite the fact you rejected his offer for him to make your own.ย โI need to pee.โ
โOkay.โ Andrew rose up from his seat and you did the same. He paused for a moment, but kept going about his business. When he went to close the door behind him you stopped it with your foot. He swung the door back open. He began to ask what you were doing, but you had already slunk yourself into the backroom. You made yourself comfortable on the counter waiting for him to relieve himself. โWhat are you doing?โ
โIโm waiting for you.โ He tilted his head to the side.ย
โYou couldโve waited in the kitchen.โ
โBut thatโs too far away from you.โโ If it had been anyone else, they wouldโve thought you were a stage five clinger. I mean, you definitely are, but Andrew didnโt mind. Where anyone else wouldโve kicked you out. Maybe beg you to be normal. Andrew relished in the fact that you were obsessed with him. Youโd live in his skin if you could.ย โCan I hold it?โ
Andrew was known to be restless. The only times he slept was when his body couldnโt physically take it anymore. That started to change once you came around. Not that the problem went away, but you helped him find remedies to his problem. They didnโt work all the time, but when they did work, they really worked. Like tonight. You served him Chamomile tea with a few drops of melatonin in it; he was out like a light.ย
The next morning you awoke first. You didnโt leave bed as you watched him sleep. Admiring your work from last night. It always made you feel good when you were able to take care of Andrew. God knows he spent most of his free time taking care of you.You had no clue how long you had been watching him, but you know it had been awhile. He started to stir, before opening his eyes. You two made direct eye contact. โMorning.โ
It was nothing. It really was nothing, but not to you. She was flirting with your man (she wasnโt). You just knew it. You made quick work of crossing the room, landing at Andrewโs side. He did a quick peek over his shoulder seeing you standing there. He reached his arm behind him grabbing your arm.
He didnโt say anything, just kept his hand there as he continued talking to the woman. He pretended he didnโt feel you glaring at the side of his head. Andrew thought you were crazy, absolutely psychotic. He loved that about you, he really did. However, sometimes that craziness came at inopportune times. He didnโt want you losing it on this poor, innocent woman who just wanted directions.
He quickly wrapped up his conversation with her turning to you. He grabbed onto the side of both your upper arms. He stared into your eyes. It felt like he was trying to hypnothise you with those sad little hazel eyes. It almost worked. Almost. โWho was that?โ
โWho was who?โ You felt yourself becoming just a little irritated.
โAndrew Iโd fucking kill you.โ Deran paused his motions from behind the bar. Daren hated to admit it (no he didnโt). He loved hearing you domestic disputes. He found it quite entertaining. You made, what he thought were, empty threats. Pope, mostly, just stood there nodding, trying to calm you down. Sometimes though he stumbled upon gold; the times when Pop would fight back. It was fun because the arguments were never about anything serious. Something the both of you would get over in a couple hours.ย
โShe was no one,โ he began to rub his hands up and down your arms. โI didnโt even get her name. She just wanted directions.โ
โShe couldโve asked someone else for directions.โ
โI know.โ
โWhy didnโt you tell her to ask someone else.โ In your mind, you knew that you were being ridiculous. That didnโt matter. What mattered was having Andrews' attention on you and no one else.ย
โYouโre right, I shouldโve. Iโm sorry.โ He pulled you into a hug. You nuzzled yourself into his arms with a content smile on your face. Deran shook his head and laughed. Yeah, that was usually how that goes.ย
Some jobs were quick. In and out. Simple and to the point. Money. Other jobs were detailed, intricate. Those could take hours to do. Youโve never complained about the time. You knew Pope was participating in some unlawful activities for his money. His money that you spent on a consistent basis.ย
You worried about him, but you would rather a job take hours than for your man to go back to prison, because they were sloppy. Though when he was out on jobs like this, you couldnโt sleep. You found yourself in the living room of your shared apartment waiting for him to get home.ย
With nothing good on tv you shut it, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. You used to be uncomfortable like this, but being with Pope has truly given you a sort of peace of mind. Being with your thoughts became meditative. The sun had gone down, but you didnโt turn on the lamp that was right beside you. Mostly hoping that the lack of light would help you doze off, or at least produce a yawn.ย
It never did. You sat on the sofa, with only the sound of your breathing, waiting for him to get home. When he finally came home, you sat up straight. โAndy?โ
He still jumped despite knowing that you were going to be there. He fumbled with the light as his hands were full. He dropped his stuff down in front of the door. In the back of his mind lingering the thought of picking it up and putting it where it belonged. He spoke softly, โhey sweetheart.โ
The next morning Andrew awoke to find you gone from your side of the bed. He took a few deep breaths before pulling himself out of bed. His first stop was the bathroom to pee. Once he finished he made his way over to the sink. He began brushing his looking into the mirror making sure he was hitting every spot. His eyes slowly drift up to the top of his head.
He spit the toothpaste out of his mouth, popping back up into the mirror. His eyes are wide. A look of bewilderment on his face. He rubbed the spot of hair that had previously held a clump of curls. He thought for a moment, but then denied it. You werenโt that type of crazy, where you? Andrew leaves your room to find you in the kitchen making breakfast. โGood morning Andy. Howโd you sleep?โ
โSlept fine.โ He mumbled. He stood there in silence. He contemplated asking you. He was sure why he was so nervous all of a sudden. You had done a lot of insane things in the past, he didnโt know why this one was so off-putting. He called your name so soft you almost didnโt hear it. You responded back with a hum. โDid you cut my hair?โ
You didnโt answer right away. Too busy wiggling a spatula under the pancake, getting ready to flip. Once Andrew saw the nice golden brown top of the pancake, you turned to give him your full attention. With your head tilted to the side and eyebrows furrowed you slowly dragged out, โyeahโฆโ
You turned back around pulling the pancake onto the stack with the other ones. Andrew had yet to say anything back as you poured the batter onto the pan to make another one. โDid I do something wrong?โ
Your sound of genuine confusion gave him pause. And maybe for the first time since he was a teenager, Andrew Cody stuttered; โNo, I just. Why? I..What did you do with it?โ
You giggled. โDonโt worry about it Andy. Just know it's going to be of good use.โ
Andrew is not sure he likes the sound of that.ย
no one asked but I just had to expand on my thoughts.
Summary: He's always behind you. Silently watching and protecting you.
Shawn Hatosy Masterlist
You know he's behind you. The air shifts whenever he's near. That and you get a whiff of his cologne.
So without looking behind you, you continue to push the grocery cart down the aisle. You stick your hand out behind you and his hand immediately slips into yours.
You turn to him and softly smile, "Hi," you lean in and press your lips to his in a quick kiss.
"Hi," he lowly murmurs back. Without saying another word, he grabs your hips and moves you to the side, taking the cart from you. You giggle and walk ahead, going down your grocery lists. Pope silently follows behind you.
__________________
The step stool gives you an extra boost. There's a large bowl on the very top shelf that you need so you can Lena can bake cookies. You grab it, but lean too far back. Your heart drops as you brace for impact, but a pair of arms catch you instead.
"Holy crap," you murmur, looking at your savior.
Pope tsks and shakes your head, "You need to be more careful." He helps you stand up right as you hand Lena the mixing bowl.
You give him a sheepish smile, "I know, but you're also always there to catch me, right?"
He silently rolls his eyes and watches as you and Lena start gathering the rest of the ingredients to bake.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He says things here and there, answers a question or two when Lena asks.
"Okay, now we need to get a whisk-oh! Thanks, babe!" Pope is already holding out a whisk to you that he grabbed as you were reading the instructions aloud. You kiss his cheek in appreciation and hand the whisk to Lena.
He comes up behind you, hugging you from behind and resting his head against yours as you watch his niece mix the cookie ingredients all together.
_____________________
You'd just dried yourself off after a shower. You're standing at the bathroom sink, drying out your hair when Pope appears in the threshold. He leans against the wall, watching you. You catch his eyes in the reflection and softly smile at him. You go back to getting ready for bed.
After setting the hair dryer down, you go to grab your brush, but you see Pope standing behind you already, brush in hand. You stand there as he brushes through your hair, careful not to hurt you in anyway.
Once he's done, he sets the brush down and kisses your head. He goes back to being a silent observer.
You grab your skincare and start your routine. You feel his eyes completely focused on you the entire time. You don't feel unsettled. You feel seen, appreciated, loved, and protected.
______________________
"Does he do that all the time?" Your friend, Ella, asks, nodding to Pope who's sitting at the bar counter, watching you.
You glance at him over your shoulder and then turn back to Ella, "He's protective of me."
"It's creepy."
You roll your eyes, having explained this to several people beforehand, "It's how he shows he cares. Besides, he's out DD if we get too fucked up."
"That's what Ubers are for."
You scoff, "Why pay for a ride when Andrew can drive us for free?"
"Okay, but he's been staring at you nonstop," her eyes glance back at Pope in a disgusted way, "He's not controlling or anything, is he?" she looks at you seriously, silently asking a question you've gotten before.
You sigh, "I'm fine. I promise. Andrew's not like that. He just shows his love and care differently than others. It took me some time to understand it too, but he treats me so much better than anyone has."
Ella slowly nods, "Alright, but if he hurts you in anyway-"
You chuckle, "I know, girl. I'll let you know."
_____________________
Pope brought you to The Drop so he can discuss some things with his brothers. You're sitting at the counter, drinking a soda, and scrolling through your phone when a man decides to take up residence right next to you.
You sigh and say, "Not interested," without looking up from your phone.
The man scoffs, "Not even gonna let me say 'hi' or nothing?"
"Nope," you don't give the man any satisfaction of looking at him. Instead you continue drinking your soda and scrolling through your phone.
The man fully faces you, "I can treat you real good."
"I'm taken."
"And where's your guy right now, huh?"
"Right here," you hear Pope speak behind you and you smile into your straw. You completely turn to face Pope, "Everything good?"
His eyes soften when he looks at you, "Yeah. Go start the car," he hands his car keys to you.
You close your hands around his, "I'm fine. Let's go." You see him hesitating but immediately nods. You guide him out of the bar and he's following you, but not before sending a deadly glare back to the man who was bothering you.
_______________________
You're sitting in the sand, back pressed against an eroding wall, alone. You just needed some fresh air and sunshine after a rough few days. You listen to the waves crashing against the shore, the sound of children screaming with laughter, seagulls flying above head.
You hear a jingling of keys paired with the sounds of heavy boots approaching. A shadow looms over you, but you know who it is. You look up and see Pope staring down at you. He's giving you a questioning gaze.
"I'm okay. Just needed to think."
He nods and sits on the wall, right behind you. You lean against his legs, his hands resting on your shoulders.
i think Pope is a little freak who gets hard at the most mundane things you do. he canโt help himself :((
youโre behind him on the bed, rubbing at his tense shoulders bc heโs been really stressed lately. โyou feelinโ better baby?โ you ask from behind, getting a shaky yeahh from him. when u finally turn to face him heโs opening his eyes to the tent in his sweats. youโve got an amused smile on ur face, โwhatโs got you so excited??โ you say before giving him a lil kiss :3
youโre in your laziest outfit: a hair dye stained shirt, his boxers hanging on u loosely, mismatched patterned socks while making a small lunch. heโs literally just woken up from a nap yet heโs stiff as hell watching u move in your shared kitchen. could it be the morning wood? the way his boxers hang off your body in a way he can tell u have nothing else on under em? you just excite him.
heโs coming behind you and burying his face in your neck, and his dick is the first thing that alerts you. โhi baby,โ you coo as he rubs at your stomach. โyouโฆneed something from me?โ โno..maybe, i think itโs cause i just woke up iโm sorry.โ itโs ok babyboy!!
he watches from the other side of the couch as you fold laundry, eyes locked on whateverโs on the tv. maybe itโs something maternal about it, or the domesticity of you folding his clothes neatly. he sighs shakily, palming himself between his thighs as he watches u with those big needy eyes.
when you feel his gaze you look over, smiling bashfully at the display he doesnโt try to hide. โyou ok honey?โ you donโt stop at your task. โmhmโฆiโm sorry youโre just soโฆpretty.โ โitโs ok. iโll help you when iโm done, okay?โ he just loves his lady so much :((
it goes without saying that you guys have sex probably 3-5 times a week because of this little problem.
Summary: When a job goes off the rails, Craig calls Popeโs wife for help.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of sex, Mentions of robbery (I mean, itโs Animal Kingdom), Heavy makeout, Pope being obsessed with his wife, Please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: This came to me in a vision. I donโt know what to tell you. But, as always, please let me know what you think! I wrote this one quick because Iโve been in a bit of a writing funk, so feedback is always the best kind of inspiration!!
Word Count: 1.6k
-
The steering wheel is cool beneath your fingers. The midday sun is burning through your sunglasses. Anxiety is twisting in your stomach.
You donโt fight with your husband. Ever. Sure, you can bicker sometimes, but even then itโs always more one-sided on your end. Pope Cody would burn the world to the ground for you. He would kill a man without question if you merely asked him to. He loves you so much that it borders on obsession, and it might even be a little bit unhealthy if you werenโt as unbelievably in love with him as he is with you.
When you bicker, itโs usually caused by nothing more intense than one of you being tired and grumpy. And those tiffs more often than not end with you both apologizing, him hiding his smile with a kiss to your forehead, and then dragging you to the bedroom so you can take any lingering frustration out on each other in moreโฆcreative ways.
And so, despite it all, despite the obsessive way he loves you and the stress of his lifestyle and Smurf constantly trying to bring you into it, you donโt fight.
But thisโฆ he is gonna fucking kill you for this.
If you survive it in the first place, that is.
Deep breath. Grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Focus on the parking lot. Bite down the anxiety that feels like itโs ripping your stomach lining apart.
Five.
You shouldnโt be here. You know that. Butโฆ
Four.
You promised him you would never get involved. Not in any of this shit.
Three.
You kind of wish you had a coffee or something. Maybe a shot. The amount of adrenaline coursing through your system is nearly unbearable and you havenโt even started moving yet.
Two.
The passenger door is ripped open, and Craig Cody nearly knocks you into the window with how quickly he barrels into the car.
โDrive!โ
โNope.โ Your voice is steady. Firm.
โWhat?!โ What, indeed. You donโt care how they usually do this, but no one is jumping into a moving car today.
One.
Pope moves into the backseat like a wraith, sliding in with a duffel bag over his shoulder and Deran and Jay right behind him.
He opens his mouth, the word โmoveโ a sharp crack from his lips before his dark eyes land right. The fuck. Onto you.
โNo.โ
โHey, honey.โ Your voice is tight. Too bright. โLong day?โ
Heโs looking at Craig, now. Oh boy, he might kill him before he kills you.
โSheโs obviously gonna get a cut.โ Craig says, like that helps, and you grip the steering wheel a little more tightly. Check the rearview again.
โGet out of the car.โ Heโs speaking to you, and you donโt have time to tell him heโs being overprotective.
โSeatbelts.โ
โAre you serious right-โ
โShut up, Craig. Seatbelts.โ
You hear four clicks. A few grumbles. You feel Popeโs eyes burning into the back of your head.
You slam your foot on the gas.
-
Within about four minutes, the smell of burning rubber is making your eyes water. The flash of blue lights is making them burn. The feeling of your husbandโs eyes locked onto the back of your head is making your skin prickle.
โFucking - stop it!โ You finally shout, whipping around another corner and risking two seconds of releasing the wheel in favor of putting your hand over his face. Itโs a childish move, sure, but the weight of his gaze is too heavy and youโre moving too fast to deal with it right now. He catches your hand, squeezes it once in an almost painfully instinctive way, and releases it just before you whip around another corner.
โJesus Christ! Where did you learn to drive like this?!โ Deran shouts, hands braced on the backseat to keep himself steady and eyes blown wide as he looks at you like you just grew a second head.
โI donโt know! Grand Theft Auto?โ You try, and you sound a little more shrill than you would like to.
Craig is laughing. Jay is silent. You think Pope might have an aneurism.
โWall! Wall!โ He suddenly shouts, and grabs at you like he might shield you from the inevitable crash.
You swerve out of the way with less than a second to spare, feel his arm locked around your chest from behind your seat, and giggle like an absolute lunatic.
This time, when he looks at you in the rearview mirror, you can barely read his expression. His eyes are wide, filled with panic and surprise, and you giggle again, the fear and adrenaline overflowing from you in what might be the worst form possible.
Yeah, heโs definitely gonna kill you.
-
The moment the car stops, Pope launches out of the back, and you know whatโs about to happen before he even makes it to your door.
โYou think heโs gonna kill me?โ Craig asks, still grinning, still riding the same adrenaline high thatโs making your blood hum in your veins.
You look at him, and grin right back. โOh yeah. Youโre dead, dude.โ
Your car door rips open, and Craig even reaches forward to unbuckle your seatbelt for you before Pope Cody lifts you right out of the fucking car.
He carries you around to the other side of the building like you weigh less than a paperweight, placing you on your feet in the alley and caging you against the brick wall. His eyes are burning into yours, so intense you can feel the weight of his gaze like a fucking anvil on your shoulders.
โI know youโre mad, but-โ
To your surprise, he kisses you. He kisses you so hard that, if it werenโt for his hand flying up to protect the back of your head, the force of it might slam you back against the wall hard enough to concuss you.
His body envelops yours. His hands slide over your cheeks to cradle your face in a way thatโs almost more possessive than adoring, lips moving against your own with a desperation that has your knees shaking.
โIโฆโ It is painfully difficult to think when his teeth are scraping over your lower lip, when his tongue is tracing the sting of it like itโs second nature. โMm, I thought you were mad.โ
His hands skate down your body, wrapping around the backs of your thighs and lifting you against him so he can press you more tightly against the wall and kiss you even harder.
โFurious.โ He growls, pulling back to brush his nose over the hollow of your throat. โIโm fucking furious.โ
โYouโre sending some very mixed signals about it.โ
His hips grind against yours, and he swallows your gasp of pleasure with another kiss. Itโs all tongues and teeth, like heโs trying to taste the lingering adrenaline on your tongue while still trying to cling to his anger that you were driving the car in the first place.
โIf Craig calls you on a job,โ his hand is sliding up beneath your shirt, supporting you with one arm and still kissing you like youโre the only source of oxygen heโs ever tasted, โdonโt fucking answer.โ
โHe said it was an emergency.โ
โI donโt care.โ
He hikes you up a little higher, hips grinding against yours, and cuts off your gasp with another rough kiss.
You smile against his lips, and his hands grip your thighs a little more tightly.
โI did good, though.โ
He growls at that, pressing you tighter against the wall.
โI could have lost you.โ
โBut I did good.โ
He kisses you again, like heโs trying to change the subject, and you catch his chin to keep him in place.
Because you know damn well why youโre up against this wall, and it isnโt just because he was worried about your safety. You can feel it in the quickness of his breath. In the tight grip on your thighs.
He likes to take care of you, but he knows youโre not delicate. Not breakable. And as protective as he can be, he fucking loves it.
โSay it.โ You murmur, a smile still tugging on the corners of your lips. โI kicked ass.โ
His eyes burn into yours, pushing forward to press his forehead against your own.
โYou didโฆโ oh, he doesnโt want to say it. He doesnโt want to encourage this, but he knows youโre right and he doesnโt want to admit how much itโs turning him the fuck on, โโฆyou did good.โ
โI kicked ass.โ Your lips brush over his. His hands tighten even more on your body.
โDonโt push it.โ
You grin, and when you kiss him again he groans so low that you can feel it in your bones.
And he really might take you right there in the alley, if it werenโt for Craig.
โYo, put your dick away for five minutes. We gotta get this shit packed up.โ
You both turn your heads, both breathless, and whatever look Pope gives his brother has the larger man raising his hands in mock surrender.
โJust sayinโ, a public indecency charge isnโt gonna make the rest of this shit look good.โ
โCockblock.โ You grumble.
โAdrenaline junkie.โ He quips back, smile widening.
Your husband makes a frustrated noise, lowering you to your feet and pressing his nose into your temple in that odd affectionate way he has. You smile, turn your head to kiss cheek, and feel him brush his fingers over your waist one last time before he reluctantly pulls back.
As you walk with him back into the alley, Craig throws his arm over your shoulder, squeezing you hard enough to make you nearly stumble. โYou kicked ass.โ
You laugh, and lean into his side as Pope turns to glare at him. โDo not encourage her.โ
Craig ignores him. Squeezes your shoulders again. โWanna help load up the car?โ
โWhatโs my cut?โ
โAtta girl.โ
And, though Pope doesnโt turn around again, still emanating pure rage, you can see the corners of his lips twitch in the smallest hint of a smile.
Well, he may not have killed you, but youโre definitely in for it later, and youโre pretty confident you wonโt be complaining.
And if Craig calls you on another jobโฆyou just might answer.
Popeโs sitting at the table in the kitchen and youโre standing near the counter, trying to open up a jar by yourself. If heโd noticed, he wouldโve helped immediately, but your backโs turned to him and his gazeโs fixated on the floor.
Getting frustrated, you click your tongue before speaking. โAndrew, love, come here a sec?โ
Heโs right behind you in a flash.ย
โI got it, sweetheart.โ itโs all he says, effortlessly opening the jar youโd been struggling with for at least five minutes. You smile mindlessly, shoulder resting against his chest.ย Looking up to him, your palms find his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. โThank you, love.โ
The second time you do it, itโs a completely different situation yet still unintentional.ย
Itโs late at night and in a sleepy haze, you hear the front door open and light footsteps heading towards the bathroom. Reluctantly, you get up to follow them. You find your boyfriend sitting on the edge of the tub, trying to self medicate a wound. Pope doesnโt acknowledge your presence, too focused on how bad the cuts sting. Or at least not until youโre clicking your tongue, head shaking in disapproval.
โHere, let me do itโ you offer, taking the bandages and alcohol from his bloody hands.ย
Andrewโs static, gaze sorrowful. Iโm sorry, he wants to say. Kneeling between his parted legs, you deal with the injury. Once youโre done, you plant a kiss on his cracked lips, โitโs okay loveโ.ย
It happens accidentally another couple of times, at least, before you slowly start to notice that whenever you click your tongue, Pope draws closer to you, lingering around like heโs excepting something.
So thatโs when you start doing it on purpose, kind of playing into seeing how far you can take it before he notices; clicking your tongue every time you need something from Pope and then kissing him after as a thank you.ย
You try bringing it inside the bedroom as well, once for now: Andrewโs been eating you out for what felt like hours, lapping at your cunt like man starved. You truly are grateful how much he values your pleasure but christ you need him inside you yesterday. Thus, you grab a fist full of curls and force his mug up, causing a whine to escape his throat.ย
Pope looks completely out of it, blindsided by how puffy your pussy has become due to all his sucking and biting. Heโs not even trying to look you in the eyes. Thatโs when you click your tongue and his gaze snaps up immediately. Thereโs your Andrew.ย
โCome up here, โneed you..โ You moan into the open-mouth kiss as soon as he finally sinks into you.ย
So you keep doing it on purpose. And everything goes great, youโve successfully pavloved Andrew Cody.
A small click of your tongue and your boyfriendโs hanging around you, waiting to be helpful to you and hopefully getting a kiss in return.ย You canโt be sure whether heโs figured it out and is simply indulging you or he genuinely has no clue about what youโve done to him.ย
However, an answer comes unexpectedly when one day, youโre all at Smurfs. Setting up the table for dinner, you stand outside with Craig talking bullshit as usual, courtesy of being coked out half the time. Deran and Pope are inside, cooking.ย
Absentmindedly, you click your tongue at something unbelievably idiotic Craig says.
You donโt even realise what you did until Andrew comes up behind you, strong arm wrapping around your hips, placing a sweet kiss on your temple.
โNeed something, sweetheart?โ His voice is so raspy in your ear that your head feels dizzy for a second. You mightโve clicker trained the man, but the way heโs always so willing to give you anything is a hazard to your self control.
Craigโs gaze flickers between you and Andrew, eyes so wide they might pop out. Youโre so lost in your own bubble, that you barely register him laughing at the two of you.ย
โGod damn it brother, sheโs got you trained like a fuckinโ dog!โ He jokes.ย And for being on drugs all the time, heโs perceptive, youโll give him that.
Andrewโs expression goes from soft to confused fast. His back straightens. He hates being the unaware one, being laughed at and you know it.ย
โWhat?โ He barks, his grip around you getting firmer. As if heโs looking for some grounding within you.
โDonโt worry about itโ you donโt mean to sound dismissive, itโs just not the time nor place. Not with his brother teasing. After all, what you two do inside the walls of your own home is no one elseโs business.ย
But Popeโs relentless. Looking at you in search of answers, eyes downright almost begging.ย
โWhatโs he talkin about?โ
You hate not giving into him, but you truly donโt feel like dealing with his brothers teasing. So you turn to him, palming the back of his neck, โIโll explain it later, โkay love?โ
His muscles relax at your touch. Eventually, Andrew nods, slightly hesitant.
โGood boy.โ Itโs merely a whisper in his ear, barely audible. Only for him.
But you swear under the hand youโre sliding up his forearm, you feel goosebumps spreading over his skin.ย
You are driving your boyfriend Jack's truck, he lets you borrow it anytime you need. Just whispering the words 'drive safe' before he hands you the keys every time.
You need to go run an errand in the city, and Jack got called into work earlier due to an emergency. So he just hands you the keys and lets you go.
Your favourite music is blasting through the speakers as you enjoy the sunny weather and nice ride. Jack would probably scold you for ruining your ear drums with the high volume, but you just grin to yourself. He's not here, so why not enjoy it.
You are about to pull out from the intersection, the red finally turning green, when a car slams into the side of the truck and everything goes black.
-
".....young woman, terrible car crash. Suspected concussion, broken ribs. Responding erratically, stats look normal, but the oxygen was a little low. Presumably from the shock and pain." The paramedics quickly ramble off to whoever doctor just took your case.
Despite your spotty vision and unbearable pain, you recognise the Pitt almost immediately. Your stomach lurches.
"H-How...the car?" You try to ask, pulling away the breathing mask.
"Keep the mask on, ma'am." The paramedic speaks, and you finally make out the face in front of you.
Dr. Robby is helping them push the gurney as you reach out towards your head with your hand. It feels sticky and when you look at your fingers all you see is blood.
"Oh my god," you whisper into the mask, panic slowly setting in.
"It's okay, you are in great hands now. Can you tell me your name?" Another voice says from the other side of the gurney as you finally arrive at the trauma room, you recognise the voice as Mel's.
"Y/N." You croak out weakly, the pain in your chest getting too much. "T-the car...okay?" You ask again, adamant on knowing.
"Shit, y/n? Is that you?" Mel catches up. Neither she nor Robby recognised you with all the blood covering your face and the breathing mask on.
"Y/N?" Robby asks without much interest, snapping the gloves on, he thinks you are some kind of friend of Mel's. Not that you are his best friend's girlfriend. What the hell could you be doing here?
"Dr. Robby, that's Abbot's y/n!" She quickly clarifies, and his head turns around so, so quickly to get a better look on you.
"Shit!" He curses loudly and starts moving with even more urgency. "Somebody page Dr. Abbot immediately!"
The words seem to slowly fade away around you, just like the room. They try to get your attention to keep you alert.
"Y/N, can you tell us what happened?"
"Come on, keep your eyes open, sweetheart." You hear them say before everything goes black once again.
-
You wake up to the sound of machines and busy ER. It takes you a few seconds to realise where you are. But the surroundings, the gown, the slight pulsing pain in your chest and head quickly remind you.
There's a weight on top of your hand and when you follow it, you find your favourite person there. Both of his big hands grasping yours with his head laid on top of them.
Your eyes instantly fill with tears, and quickly a heartbreaking sob follows.
Jack's head immediately snaps up, expression full of worry and pain. "Are you in pain?"
You try to get the words out. That yes, you are in pain. But not enough to cry like that. That you aren't crying because of that.
"Angel, it's okay, you are okay. We are okay." He reassures you, eyes glossy, too. He stands up from the chair, leaning over you to calmly stroke the side of your face. The one that didn't get slammed against the windows.
"I-I..." You try again, words failing as the sobs shake you.
"Shhh, it's okay, angel." He whispers sweetly again, wiping away the tears soaking your cheeks. Jack feels like breaking down too when he sees you like this.
But he holds strong because you need him. He soothes you, holding off the pain relievers, until your wrecking sobs turn into a soft cry and then into a slow stream of tears.
So you try to voice your heavy thoughts again. "I-I'm sorry."
Jack shakes his head, relieved to hear your sweet voice. His hands settle against the sides of your neck, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. "You're going to be okay, doll. Nothing to be sorry for."
"The car." You uttered huskily, eyes filling with tears again. Shit. Your mind can't stop thinking about that damned car. You know it was so fucking expensive.
"You are sorry about the car?" Jack asks in disbelief. And his heart breaks a little when you nod. Fuck, he must be doing something wrong if you think he cares about that stupid piece of metal.
"Listen to me, angel. I don't care about the car. You are the only thing on my mind, always. I was so scared when I heard that they wheeled you in. I was terrified actually, I haven't even thought about the car at all." He assures you, eyes never leaving yours to drive his point home.
"Okay?" He asks-...no, he needs to hear you say yes. Needs to know that you understand.
"Okay." You whisper, voice all hoarse and broken. Jack wipes away the new set of tears.
"Fuck, I'm so glad you are okay, angel." He breathes out, his hands never letting go of you. You don't think he's gonna let you go any time soon.
"Me too. I'm sorry for scaring you." You say, apologising for something that was out of your control again.
"Stop with the sorrys, baby. There was nothing you could have done. I knew it wasn't your fault and the dashcam showed the same." Jack could not be more glad for buying that piece of equipment. "The other car ran the red light. They got injured pretty badly, much worse than you, but they are stable now."
You nod, your hazy memory aligning with his words, and it brings you a big relief. "What about me?" You question silently, hoping for nothing serious.
"Concussion, three broken ribs and two broken fingers on your left hand." Jack says as you blink at him. No wonder that everything hurts like a bitch. He can't resist anymore and leans down to slowly connect his lips with yours.
It's a quick peck, one to just reassure him that you really are well and safe. "I'm taking you home tomorrow."
"One more." Is your response to his statement as you wait for him to lean down and kiss you again.
"Anything for you, angel." He couldn't resist you even if he tried. So Jack kisses you again, staying a second longer this time, and you hiss.
He quickly pulls back, already worried he hurt you. You shake your head at him. " I tried to move my hand."
"Yeah, don't do that. I'll get you anything you want. How's the pain? More morphine?" Jack tsks at you. He doesn't want anybody to hurt you and that includes you. So he's not letting you move even a muscle as long as you are recovering.
"Please." You tell him, giving him a sheepish, tired smile.
"Okay, baby. I'm going to tell everyone you are awake. They've been worried sick." Jack gives you more pain meds, and tries to peel himself away from you.
"Stay." You ask him, eyes wide. You don't want him to leave you just yet, and you don't want to see the others yet, too.
"Of course." He sits down immediately, sliding your hand in between his.
"I love you." You say in a hushed tone, the reality of how lucky you are that you get to tell him that settling in.
"I love you more, angel. Now sleep some more, please." You close your eyes before you can see Jack wipe away at his eyes. He breaks his strong mask just for a second.
my home is at your doorstep - @thatcorporategirlie
valkyries and betting pools - @nocapesdahling
babydaddy!jack - @robbysreaders
wrong name (2) - @randompiecesofwriting
no talking, please - @mustbotherstebe
toxic - @writingliv
too be loved is to be changed - @somanyideassolittletime
crumbs - @somanyideassolittletime
possessive - @midnghtprentiss
this yummy blurb - @somanyideassolittletime
little luxuries - @hashtagsupershitt
ask me again - @bitters-n-sweets
in the morning - @hauntedhowlett-writes
donโt be a stranger (2)- @randompiecesofwriting
part one
this oneโs a little shorter because iโve had a the week from hellโฆ i hope itโs still appreciated ๐ญ๐ญ. I also have a pope cody list ready whenever if anyone wants it!! itโs just half horny blurbs though I canโt lie.
You're on a date. It is not going well.
You message Mateo to come rescue you from under the table. Or at least you think you do, because not even 15 minutes later, Jack Abbot is pushing into the restaurant, walking over to you, taking your hand and walking you out with him, without saying a word.
The date is bad in a way thatโs almost impressive.
Not catastrophically badโno spilled drinks, no shouting, no dramatic exitโbut the slow, grinding kind of bad that makes every second feel longer than it should. He talks too much about himself, laughs at his own jokes, keeps leaning in just a little too close like proximity might fix whatever is clearly not working.
Youโve smiled so much your face actually hurts.
Youโve checked the time three times.
Youโve run out of polite ways to redirect the conversation.
And now heโs talking about his โfive-year planโ like youโre already part of it.
You angle your phone under the table.
Open your messages.
Scroll.
Mateo.
please come rescue me this is actually painful
You hesitate for half a second, then addโ
bad date. emergency level bad
You hit send without double-checking.
Because you donโt need to.
You know Mateo will understand.
Just fifteen minutes. Mateoโs good for that. Heโll come in, make up some excuse, drag you outโ
You can survive fifteen more minutes.
Probably.
Itโs maybe ten minutes laterโ
Maybe lessโ
When the energy in the room shifts.
Youโre mid-nod, mid-thatโs crazy, mid-I would rather be literally anywhere else, when something shifts.
You donโt notice it at first.
Not consciously.
Just the way the noise dips slightly, the way a couple of people glance toward the entrance.
Then your date pauses mid-sentence.
Frowns slightly.
Looks past you.
You turn.
And your stomach drops.
Jack Abbot.
Heโs standing just inside the restaurant, eyes scanning the room onceโ
Then landing on you.
Thereโs no hesitation.
No uncertainty.
He moves.
Your heart starts pounding.
Because thisโ
This was not who you texted.
He doesnโt look at your date.
Doesnโt acknowledge him at all.
Doesnโt acknowledge the confusion, the interruption, the fact that this is objectively insane behavior in a normal context.
Just walks straight up to the table, stopping right beside you.
Close.
Solid.
Certain.
โCโmon,โ he says, low, like itโs already decided.
Your brain short-circuits for half a second.
โJackโ?โ
His hand finds yours.
Warm. Firm.
Not roughโbut not asking either.
โWeโre goinโ,โ he adds.
Your date blinks, clearly thrown. โUhโexcuse me? Weโre kind of in the middle ofโโ
Jack doesnโt even look at him.
Doesnโt give him the courtesy of a response.
His attention stays on you.
Waiting.
And something in your chestโ
Something relievedโ
answers before your brain can catch up.
โYeah,โ you say, already pushing your chair back.
Your date scoffs. โSeriously? Youโre just gonnaโwhat, leave?โ
Jack finally glances at him.
Just once.
And something in his expressionโsomething flat, something finalโthat shuts the other man up immediately.
You stand immediately, your hand still in his, letting him pull you up like this is the most natural thing in the world.
Like youโve done this before.
Like you belong there.
He doesnโt let go of your hand as he leads you out of the restaurant, weaving through tables like heโs done it a hundred times before.
Like this was always how it was going to end.
Past curious glances and quiet murmurs and whatever the hell just happenedโ
And then the door opens.
Cool air hits your face.
And suddenlyโ
You can breathe again.
Neither of you speak until youโre in the car.
The door shuts.
The world goes quiet.
You sit there for a second, staring straight ahead, your hand still tingling faintly where his had been.
Thenโ
โOh my God,โ you say, turning to him. โJack, I am so sorry, I didnโt mean toโโ
โYou texted me.โ
You blink.
โโฆWhat?โ
He starts the car, expression calm in that way that usually means something else is happening underneath it.
โYou texted me,โ he repeats.
โIโno, I texted Mateoโโ
Jack reaches over, taps your phone where itโs sitting in your lap.
โCheck.โ
You frown slightly, unlocking it.
And there it is.
Your last message.
Sent toโ
Jack.
You stare at it.
Then at him.
Then back at it.
โOh my God.โ
Silence.
Thenโ
โI am so sorry,โ you say again, faster now, heat rushing to your face. โI didnโt mean to send that to you, I was trying to text Mateo and I mustโve justโhit the wrongโโ
โStop.โ
You blink.
Because his tone isnโt sharp.
Itโs justโ
Firm.
Final.
You go quiet.
Jack glances at you briefly before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shift like heโs completely unaffected by the fact that he just walked into a restaurant and stole you from a date.
โDonโt apologise,โ he says.
You stare at him.
โโฆI literally made you come rescue me from a date.โ
โYes.โ
โThat is something I should apologise for.โ
โNo.โ
You huff out a quiet, disbelieving breath. โJackโโ
He cuts you off.
โAlways text me.โ
You go still.
Thereโs a pause.
Then he adds, quieterโ
โI want you to.โ
Your chest tightens slightly.
โโฆEven if itโs not an emergency?โ you ask.
He doesnโt hesitate.
โEspecially then.โ
You donโt know what to do with that.
With the weight of it.
With the way he says it like itโs obvious, like itโs been sitting there waiting for you to notice.
โI thought youโd be annoyed,โ you admit.
Jack glances at you again.
Thereโs something in his expression now.
Softer.
Still controlled.
But not distant.
โWhy.โ
โBecause I interrupted your night? Because I dragged you into something that wasnโt your problem?โ
He exhales quietly.
Thenโ
โYou think youโre not my problem?โ he asks.
The words land heavier than they should.
Not harsh.
Justโ
Honest.
You swallow.
โI didnโt mean it like that.โ
โI know.โ
A beat.
Thenโ
โBut youโre wrong.โ
You look at him.
Really look this time.
At the set of his jaw, the steady focus, the way his grip tightens just slightly on the wheel like heโs choosing his words more carefully than usual.
โYou call,โ he says, voice low now. โI answer.โ
Something shifts in your chest.
Warm.
Unsettling.
Real.
โJackโฆโ
He shakes his head slightly.
Like heโs not done.
โDoesnโt matter what itโs for,โ he continues. โBad date, long shift, canโt sleepโdoesnโt matter.โ
Your breath catches slightly.
โYou donโt deal with things alone if you donโt have to.โ
Thereโs a pause.
Thenโ
โYou donโt have to.โ
Silence fills the car.
Not uncomfortable.
Justโฆ full.
You look down at your phone.
At the message that wasnโt meant for him.
That somehowโ
Ended up exactly where it needed to.
โโฆOkay,โ you say softly.
Jack nods once.
Like thatโs enough.
But thenโ
His hand shifts slightly on the console.
Closer.
Not touching.
Justโ
There.
โYou hungry?โ he asks after a second.
You blink. โWhat?โ
โThat didnโt look like dinner,โ he says. โWe can get something else.โ
