pope cody and his weird girlfriend (match made in heaven)
• no one in the family knows how the two of you met, or when either of you got together, you just kinda showed up one day and didn’t leave…
• you hardly ever smiled, unless it was to pope (who you lovingly called andrew) and even then it was tiny smiles.
• everytime craig or baz would try and mess around with you, all they’d get back was a big eyed stare that would creep them out and they’d back off (pope secretly thinks it’s funny)
• one day craig and deran came home to the two of you taking over the living room. pope was sitting on the couch, nature documentary on, and you were sat on the floor between his feet. a gathering of tools sat neatly around you on the coffee table as you held a dead butterfly, carefully pinning its wings to some styrofoam
“what the fuck is that?” craig furrowed his brow as he came over, looking down over your shoulder at what you were doing. “entomology.” pope muttered, glancing down to see you hyper focused on pinning the orange insect down. craig looked even more confused, looking for deran but not finding him anywhere.
“bug taxidermy.” you said monotonously, taking pins between your fingers and pressing the sharp edge down into the pieces of parchment you had covered the wings with. “found her in the flower bed.”
“uh… nice.” craig rushed out of the living room and went to hide with deran.
• pope and his weird girlfriend that communicate through looks and grunts, no words spoken between them whatsoever some days
• the two of you don’t really sleep… up at odd hours of the night… sometimes just wondering around in the dark… you often scare the other members of the house if they are up only to see you, or pope, or the both of you just standing there (you think it’s funny)
• you also have ocd just like your boyfriend, things have to be a certain way… your way. and sometimes that leads to you and pope having little arguments about how things should be placed/ how things should be done, but your little spats never last long
• craig and deran had stopped by your house exactly one time looking for pope bc they hadn’t seen him in days and wanted to make sure he was still alive…. let’s just say they never came back after seeing creepy taxidermy animals all over the place (it didn’t help that you were brushing your raccoon lamp, its beady little eyes staring right into their souls)
• you often like to scare baz bc he’s an absolute dickhead to women and his own daughter,, so sometimes you just randomly show up at his house (he doesn’t even know how you got his address), creepily sit in the corner of lena’s room while she plays and stare at him, or come up behind him when he’s least expecting it, or just saying some odd shit to weird him out
• craig and deran like you surprisingly, you remind them so much of their older brother in certain aspects and they think the two of you are a match made in… they don’t know where, not heaven or hell, perhaps somewhere in between… baz doesn’t like you too much (and part of it’s bc he can’t charm you like he can with other women) plus he thinks your creepy. j knows to keep his distance, but whenever nicky’s around she thinks you’re odd, but cool
• pope and his weird girlfriend that like to sleep naked sometimes and not for any sexual reasons (well only sometimes lol) but for skin to skin contact, wanting to be as close together as possible (you want to be so close to him that you nearly constrict around him like a snake and your nails dig into his back but he doesn’t mind)
• the other family members often find the two of you just staring at one another. like a silent conversation was flowing between the two of you. then you’d smile, laugh softly like he had said something funny (the others are soooo confused by your dynamic)
• pope and his weird girlfriend that shockingly go crazy in the bedroom since they’re so quiet and monotone everywhere else,,, craig had only found out when he went snooping in their room only to find a pair of black fuzzy handcuffs stuffed in a drawer next to their bed and was like ‘??? what the fuck???’ and ran to tell deran who didn’t want to hear a thing about it
• you have a thing with bugs and other sorts of creepy crawlies. you will catch every single moth that flies into the house, attracted by the light over the island in the kitchen, pope will even lift you so you can grab them and put them back outside. you obviously don’t care to pick up dead bugs. you tease pope sometimes with the worms you pick up from the flower beds.
you once came up behind craig, saying ‘i have something for you’ only for him to nearly jump a hundred feet in the air when he seen the giant wolf spider that took over your whole palm. you gave him a little smirk as he flipped out, finding it hilarious
I’m going to make a fluffy little collection of dabbles centering around reader being neighbors with the Cody’s and the cute childhood crush that follows.
Fluff ☆ no TW.
My brain is too small to figure out the age gaps between all the Cody kids so ages are vague.
Andrew Pope Cody who likes you the second he meets you. You’re both just kids at the time. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets. Trailing after Baz and Julia who are lost in their own little world. Craig is somewhere running around yelling about how cool this new house is. Smurf’s heels click across the tile she adjusts her hold on Deran’s hand as he anxiously looks around. Pope can tell he wants to run off and join Craig but the idea of being in a new place has put him on edge.
Pope hates this. Hates that they’re moving again. Hates that Smurf is acting like nothing is wrong when it’s so clear that everything is going to shit. Julia’s laugh catches his attention causing his head to turn. The pit in his stomach grows as he sees Baz pulling away from her. He immediately looks for Smurf and lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes she’s in the house somewhere. A whispered secret shared between his twin and the boy he’s supposed to call his brother.
He can’t stand it anymore as he turns opening the sliding glass door stomping into the backyard. It’s mainly a stone patio with a big pool in the center there’s a tiny patch of grass near a dividing wall. As Pope stands there he looks at all the windows, doors, open paths leading to and from the backyard into the house. He feels like an animal under observation and he suddenly realizes why Smurf was so interested in this house. He’s staring into the still water of the pool his unblinking frowning reflection staring back at him.
He’s different he knows it. Smurf never fails to point it out. Even when she doesn’t outright say it he can see it in the way she treats him versus Baz. Craig and Deran are different. They’re younger, not quite old enough to really understand what’s going on. Not old enough to truly be useful to Smurf yet. But Baz is her special little boy. Smurf’s project that she finally was able to complete. Baz is everything he isn’t. Charming, outgoing, funny, normal. Baz may as well play the prince in Smurf’s fucked up fairytale. Meanwhile Andrew gets to play the executioner and he fucking hates it.
A rustling of the bushes, scraping of the stone wall, a tiny little huff of exertion pulls him into the present and his head snaps up. At first he doesn’t see anything out of place. But then small fingers grasp the top of the wall and suddenly pink cheeks, a smile with a missing tooth, big wide eyes are looking back at him. “Hi!” Your tiny excited voice reaches his ears. He knows he should say something back but he can’t and you don’t seem to mind as you continue to talk to him.
“Are you going to be my new neighbor?” A grunt is pulled from you as you try to haul yourself up further pulling yourself partway up on the wall. His words stick in his throat and he watches your expression turn to confusion at his lack of response. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” Your voice is full of worry as you pause to look at him. You lift your hand to wave it at him which Pope already knows is a mistake and sure enough you slip. Your surprised yelp causes the corner of his mouth to twitch and he can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in him.
“So you can hear me!” Your voice is full of accusation. Your brows furrowed your lips pressed into a thin frown. “It’s not nice to laugh.” You’ve dropped back behind the wall missing the way Pope is still staring the smile still on his face. You’re somewhere between Craig’s and Deran’s age but that doesn’t stop you from trying to get to know the older boy on the other side of the wall. You’re about to call to him again when the voice of a woman cuts you off. “Andrew where are you?” Smurf’s voice cuts through the air causing Pope to whip around.
His smile dropping immediately as she pulls the sliding glass door open. Her sharp eyes moving from Andrew to the now empty space on the wall. “There you are baby. How do you like the house?” She questions as she approaches him. With Deran’s no longer glued to her side she brings Pope into her side rubbing his arm as she looks from the yard to him. “‘S alright.” That’s all he manages to get out before there’s a crash and Deran’s wail rings out. Smurf lets out a sigh giving Andrew a small squeeze, which he knew ment it was time for them to go and round up everyone, before she stalked off.
Pope hesitated a moment his gaze flickering back to the wall a small sting of disappointment as it remained empty. He turns on his heel walking back across the patio to the kitchen. His hand wraps around the cool handle as he moves to close the door. “Bye bye Andy! I hope you move in soon!” His head snaps up to see your playful smile peeking back over the wall. You give him a final wave before disappearing. Pope feels his face flush at the nickname. Most kids think he’s strange and the majority of the nicknames he’s been given over the years haven’t been ones he’s fond of. But Andy is simple, familiar, casual.
Finally everyone is gathered up and walking down the driveway when he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. “Oh Andrew before I forget who was that in the backyard talking to you?” Smurf asks and while her tone is motherly it causes the hair on the back of Pope’s neck to stand on end. Pope is quick to shrug as he keeps his expression and voice flat despite the warmth bubbling in his chest. “Dunno just the neighbor girl.” The answer seems to satisfy Smurf as she lets go of him with a hum. He climbs into the car sliding into the back taking the window seat when normally he’d sit between Julia and Baz. He can’t help but glance out the window as the car peels away hoping to catch one more glimpse of his soon to be new neighbor.
andrew pope cody who’s worried about you finding his rap sheet vs. reader who’s printed out his mugshot to include in her journal with little hand-drawn hearts around it <3
݁ Ი𐑼⋆ | more bunny!reader but this time wolf!simon
first meetings, first fuckings... oh. (suggestive.) expect pack141 in the future.
simon's had a soft spot for the wicked and wild, and the thrill of such things leads him to wolf hunting. it's a gruesome hobby, but he likes it—he never takes more than he needs, anyways.
he usually heads out to more rural spots—rolling farmlands nestled between wooded areas—it's quite helpful to the farmers there anyways, considering they've been warding the big predators away from their livestock for years.
on his way through the brush, nearest to the farmlands, is when he meets you. a scruffy little bunny, staring at him with a pitiful expression, having gotten yourself tangled in an old wire fence.
(and a big wolf like him? oh... he'd never seen sweeter prey practically offered to him.)
your pitiful whine brings him to his senses; you're hurt and needy and hungry, and unfortunately, simon is, occasionally, a good man. it takes a good minute of sawing with a hunting knife before he's able to get you free.
the second he's got you free, you try to kick off. but before your little cotton tail disappears, simon is gripping you, his hands around your waist as he knocks you back into the grass. "not so fast, sweet'eart. gotta get'cha nice n'proper, eh? bet y'don't even have a place t'stay. it's okay, bun. i'll keep y'warm."
you stare, wide-eyed into the face of the man who had saved you; big wolfish ears twitching in cocky victory. but he's right. you'd only gotten stuck in the wire because you'd been running from a crop theft gone wrong, and simon had found you, saved you, and was now offering you a place to stay.
you offer a meek nod.
(stupid bunny.)
the walk back is mostly silent, his arm hoisting you up on his hip like a toddler who'd just thrown a big tantrum. his thumb rubs in comforting circles across your thigh, pressing against you every time you squirm in silent warning.
simon's cabin is warm with the crackling fireplace, and more homey than you'd expect of a wolf. he sits you on his couch, fixing the small cuts the wire had made with gauze and antiseptic.
and he'll let you stay the night, of course—he's a gentleman when he wants to be, right? he'll even let you stay in his room, on his bed, curled around his pillow. it's fine, he'll take the couch.
what he doesn't expect is waking up the next morning to mewling and whining. when he moves to investigate—what clothes he had offered you thrown aside, in favour of the blushing heat crawling up your spine and neck. your thighs were clamped tight around his pillow, and your nose buried into it like you could absorb his scent if you inhaled enough of it.
munch!pope cody who comes home from a job, wound tight from stress and simmering anger, crawling into bed with you, looking for a release.
you're half-asleep as he presses soft kisses all along your neck, trailing lower as he wordlessly spreads your legs open. he nips away at your inner thighs, leaving little bruises and bite marks as you groggily squirm under his hold.
he pulls your hips closer, slinging you legs over his shoulders as he dives in. sloppily making out with your cunt, he leaves a string of spit as he pulls away for just a second to see the blissed-out expression on your face. your hand makes its way into his curls, guiding his face back to your centre as you grind up into his mouth.
you let out a soft moan, barely audible, but pope feels it travel all the way to his cock, leaving him pathetically humping the bed for some friction as he eats you out. desperate to hear those sounds again, he slips a thick finger into you, curling upwards just right to hear to moan his name. he laps at your clit more aggressively, needing you to cum all over his mouth.
when you finally finish, wracked with broken moans and shaking legs, you offer to return the favour. but there's no need. pope got all the pleasure he needed making you feel good — the wet spot on his jeans is the proof
hii, congrats on 500 🎉✨ i’d like to claim “only one bed” on the bingo board with pope cody x f!reader! maybe reader is doing a heist of some sort with the codys and pope doesn't trust her (but there's a lot of tension between him and reader)…. they're assigned to a recon mission together or they run together after the heist?? and anyway they end up in a shady motel, very tired… but oh no!! there's only one bed 😔 (i hope this inspires you something, tysm <3)
Only One Bed (No Sleep Edition)
andrew cody x f!reader
black out bingo masterlist | main masterlist
w.c. 3.3 k
Warnings: pope is weird, criminal!reader, robbery gone wrong, a smidge of gun play (not during the sex), only one bed omg, unprotected sex, cum eating, aftercare
A/N: i wrote this while recovering from a biopsy and after a xanax-induced nap so im sorry if it doesnt make sense and it kinda sucks <3
“Why can’t you do it?” You asked as you pushed the eggs around on your plate. You had been driving the 101 for a few days, coming back home to Oceanside after working a few robberies along the coast. You and your sister had a good gig. You were ‘hostages for hire,’ actresses who would be involved with heists to prevent the criminals from getting caught. You’d sob, snotty and ugly, begging and pleading for the bank managers to just do whatever the bad men said so they wouldn’t unload their gun into your head. And you’d leave the bank with them, collateral so that no one would follow you. Then, they’d drop you off on a corner somewhere with a wad of cash and a professional nod. And your mother always said those acting lessons were a waste of money.
“Jerry has a scheduling conflict.” Your sister explained.
“Fucking Jerry.” You scoffed around your bite of breakfast. You watched a car drive past the diner window and switched which hand held the phone to your ear.
“Hey,” She warned, “It’s not a bad job, alright? Simple jewelry store robbery.”
“When has a Cody job ever been simple?” Never.
“Just do it..please? We need to stay in their employment.” You drank from your coffee mug.
“They don’t like me.” You said softly. It wasn’t untrue. You had worked with the Codys once several years prior. The job went fine, you did your duty, but one of the sons just kept looking at you during the planning and the meetings and even during the getaway drive. Pope, you learned, had a staring problem. After that, they only called your sister for their needs. You had conflicting feelings about it. On one hand, you felt a bit jilted. Your sister made good money working for them, and you were cut out because…well, that was the thing- you had no idea what you did wrong. You had asked her once, why they preferred her. She said something about them not trusting you around Pope. Which you took to mean that they didn’t trust you. Pope always made you a little uncomfortable with his intensity, and you were sure he wasn’t exactly fond of you. He always treated you as an outsider. That was the other thing. You weren’t going to force yourself into a space that you clearly were not welcome in. And you didn’t mind not being next to that creep.
“That’s not true.” Your sister countered. But it was weak. You heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Dude, please. I’m asking this as a favor, okay? Officially.” Your eyebrows raised with interest. A favor from your sister was valuable. She was the kind of person who did not offer those lightly. She would literally do anything. So, after draining the rest of your coffee, you sighed.
“Yea, alright. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
---------
“We don’t bring in outsiders.” Pope’s mouth was in a hard line, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. His brow was heavy over his eyes and his nostrils were flared. Craig ran a hand through his hair before leaning closer to his brother. You could tell he was getting irritated.
“They’re our only option, okay?” Craig hissed, jaw clenched. “We need drivers.”
“Why can’t I drive?” Pope tilted his head and Craig took a deep breath.
“You know why.” His voice dropped a few notches. And they exchanged a look, the true meaning of which was lost on you. But you gathered that, the last time Pope had been the getaway driver, something had happened. After a few moments of silence, Craig huffed and pushed himself up from the table. The chair screeched on the concrete patio. “I’ll get them caught up on details.” With that, he stomped away, leaving just you and Pope at the iron outdoor table. You could feel the design of the chair digging into your thighs. When you stood up, you’d have an imprint of flowers splashing across your legs. Pope’s gaze landed heavy on you. Searing. Intrusive.
“Why are you here? Where’s your sister?” He bit out, gravelly voice catching on each syllable. You pushed down the annoyed scoff that threatened to spill from your mouth.
“Scheduling conflict.” You tried to make your tone amicable, but you weren’t sure if you succeeded. Pope just blinked in acknowledgment. “Do you-” But Pope didn’t hear the rest of your question. He was already walking back to the house. You rolled your eyes and shook your head.
---------
The job began as normal. You walked in thirty minutes before the planned time, scanning the jewelry display cases. One of the workers came over after a few moments, asking if he could help you. You told your story, how you were looking to get your mom a necklace for her birthday. A realistic story that was forgettable. He was about to take out a cushion of golden pendants when the door slammed open. Craig, Pope, and Deran stormed into the shop, guns up and shouting demands. You let adrenaline crash over your nerves and your legs began to shake. You gave a scared look to the counter clerk, who looked on the verge of tears. You moved to escape, but a strong arm curled around your stomach. It pulled you back into a broad chest. You flinched with the force of it. His grip was a little tighter than you were expecting and you wriggled against him, but he didn’t budge. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast. Fucking Craig and his handsy-
“You press that panic button, I’ll kill ‘er.” The rough voice was right next to your ear. That…wasn’t Craig. It was Pope. Genuine confusion made your performance more believable. The plan was for Craig to take the lead with you as hostage. They changed it without consulting you. But you didn’t have time to think too hard about it. You had a job. The tears came easily.
“P-Please,” You begged the clerk, whose gaze snapped from the gun Pope held, to your wet eyes. “Please don’t let him hurt me.” The clerk nodded frantically and stepped back from the counter. Pope jerked his head to the side, motioning for the man to join the rest of the people in the store lying on their bellies. Pope watched as he moved, pulling you in a semi-circle so that you could both survey the scene. Craig was circling the pile of patrons on the ground while Deran supervised the manager filling up the bag with the diamonds. Your breathing was uneven. Not just because of the performance you were putting on, but because of Pope’s hand, which was starting to slide further down your stomach. An innocent repositioning. So you hoped, anyway. You shifted against him and he huffed in your ear, just low enough that only you could hear.
“Stop squirmin’.” Just to spite him, you thrashed again. Your ass glided against his thigh and a sound purged from Pope’s throat. An annoyed grunt, perhaps. You couldn’t decipher it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the patrons squirm on the ground. You sneakily dug your fingers into Pope’s arm, gesturing with your eyes to where he was slowly moving his hand to his ankle. And then people started to scream.
It all happened so fast. The man pulled a gun from his boot and jumped to his feet, aiming for Craig. Pope called out to his brother, who whirled around and shot the guy before he could fire. Unfortunately, the man was standing right in front of you and the gunshot splattered blood all over you and Pope. Horrified shrieks cut through the atmosphere. Deran ripped the bag from the manager and called for everyone to go. Pope dragged him along with you, kicking and screaming. He paused for a moment before exiting the building, turning to face the crowd. His thumb pulled back the hammer. The click sent a shiver down your spine that settled in your belly. Not all of it was fear. But you weren’t going to unpack that. “Anyone follows us, you know what happens.” He threatened. And then, the thick back door closed behind him.
Craig should have listened to Pope. He should not have brought in outside drivers. Because the car was already driving away with Craig and Deran in the back seat. You and Pope had to just stand there, watching the van tear away into the street.
“Oh, fuck.” You gasped. Pope still had a grip on you, but he tucked the gun into his waistband. From inside the building, you heard the alarm. Great. You looked to Pope, whose eyes were trained on where the van turned onto a different street. His jaw twitched and his eyes flicked around, calculating the next best move. He huffed and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a jog. “Where are we going?” You asked, struggling to keep up with his pace. Pope didn’t answer, just kept moving.
---------
The motel was run-down. With maybe three cars in the parking lot and leaves floating in the pool. Pope had deposited you on the curb while he went in to talk to the owner. You watched a pair of crows fight over a moldy bagel. The sky was getting darker with each passing moment. The door behind you jingled and Pope emerged, room key closed tightly in their fist.
“He said we could stay the night.” He said plainly, gesturing for you to stand.
“Why do we have to stay? Can’t we just find a way home?”
“I don’t have a phone on me, and it’s best to lie low. We can get home tomorrow. Come on.” You rolled your eyes but followed. You figured he had a better grasp on the necessities of this kind of situation than you did. When Pope unlocked the door to the room, you genuinely let out a laugh.
“You cannot be serious.” The room was dingy, peeling wallpaper and green carpet lit by a half-dead lamp. But the worst part about it was there was a single queen bed in the center. “One bed?” You looked at him with disdain. He just shrugged, but you noticed the vein in his neck pulsing harder.
“It’s all he had.”
“Really?” You sneered, pointing to the empty parking lot. “You believed that?” Pope grumbled and roughly shoved you inside the room before shutting the door and locking it. You stood there for a moment as Pope slid past you, hurrying to the sink to immediately wash his hands. You flopped onto the bed, but Pope snapped his fingers at you.
“Get up.” He ordered. You were on your feet instantly, arms behind you, and looking with horror at the comforter.
“Why?” You gasped, trying to see what the issue was. “What’s wrong?” When you looked back up, Pope had shed his sweatshirt and was pushing his jeans down to the ground. “Uh….” you couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when there was a big, bulky man (that you always found a little attractive) in his underwear standing in front of you.
“Take off your clothes.” He said it clinically, like he was telling you to put away the dishes.
“I’m sorry, what?” You scoffed. “No, I’m…no, Pope, I’m not undressing in front of you.” Pope rolled his eyes as if you were being unreasonably difficult.
“We have to ditch our clothes.” He gestured at you. “They have blood on them.” You looked down at your outfit. Sure enough, the man’s blood was splashed across your abdomen and thighs. Heat rose to your cheeks. Fuck. He was right. You knew he was. “I’ll look away,” he promised, and turned to face the wall. You just stood there for a few moments, staring at his curled head. “Are you done?”
“No!” You almost laughed. “I’m not doing it! I…I don’t have anything to change into.” Your words were soft. Without hesitating, Pope pulled his shirt over his head. You ignored the way your heart kicked when his bare torso was revealed. Freckled skin pulled taught over hard muscle. He held out the shirt to you.
“We’ll get you some new clothes when we get back tomorrow,” He rasped, nodding at you to take the shirt. “You can wear this. It doesn’t have blood on it.” When you tentatively grabbed the fabric, he found a trashbag and shoved his jeans and sweatshirt into it. You sighed in resignation and began to undress. You took off your shoes, unbuckled your pants, and replaced your shirt with Pope’s.
“Alright,” You told him, balling up the clothing and putting it in the bag when he held it out to you. Pope’s eyes flicked down for only a moment. His gaze moved from the sliver of underwear visible by your hips down to your socks. Both articles were covered in little strawberries.
“You’re matching.” Pope said simply. In that stupid monotone voice you could never decipher. Your nose wrinkled in annoyance.
“Shut up,” You bit back, but the heat in your cheeks spread even further with each passing moment. You hurried to one side of the bed and crawled under the covers. Not only because you were ready to sleep, but because you didn’t want to spend another moment under Pope’s assessing gaze.
You patted the side of the bed that was still made, gesturing for Pope to sit. Instead, he looked at the chair in the corner of the room. His fist clenched and unclenched, fingers twitching nervously as his eyes flicked from the torn upholstery to the dark stain that covered half the cushion. He sighed and walked to the wall, pressing his back against it and sliding to sit on the carpet. He pulled his knees tight against his chest. Your gaze lowered.
“Listen,” You sighed, “I know you don’t like me or trust me, or whatever, but-”
“Who said that?” Pope asked, brow furrowed and mouth pinched. You tilted your head in confusion.
“Craig. He said they didn’t trust me around you.” Pope’s nostrils flared with a deep breath and his gaze lifted to look out the window.
“I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I’m dangerous. I would never hurt you.” In fact, you doubted you could hurt him even if you tried. You knew his reputation.
“I know.”
“So will you please just get in the bed? It’s a queen. It’ll be fine. And cleaner than sitting all night on a carpet that hasn’t been cleaned in…who knows how long. At least the sheets are fresh-ish.” Pope’s lips quirked to the side. It took a few heartbeats, but he cautiously climbed into the bed, on top of the covers, and sat with his back straight against the headboard. He pressed his hands together and rested them in his lap. His bare chest rose and fell calmly. He forced his eyes to stare at the wall across the room.
The exhaustion of the day settled over you and it was officially night outside. You shimmied down into the bed further and pulled the covers over your shoulders. You muttered a g’night and closed your eyes. Several minutes passed, filled with the steady hum of the air conditioning and the occasional whoosh of a passing car.
“It’s not that they don’t trust you.” His voice was quiet and you were so close to sleep you almost didn’t hear it.
“What?” You murmured groggily.
“Before,” He continued, watching you as you pushed yourself up to look at him. “You said Craig didn’t trust you around me.” You nodded. “But that’s not true.”
“What are you talking about, Pope?” You were tired, just wanted to sleep. You didn’t have the energy for his little games.
“They don’t trust me around you.” His eyes darkened and it made your throat go dry.
“W…Why not?” You squeaked out. The beginning traces of panic began to pump your heart. Pope remained still, heavy gaze becoming a touch more sinister.
“Because I’d do this.” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours. You inhaled sharply with surprise. The kiss wasn’t rough. In fact, it was little more than his lips simply resting on yours. Pope pulled back after a few heartbeats. He just looked at you. You blinked at him, jaw slack. He worked the muscle in his jaw as he waited for your response, fingers neatly intertwined with each other and resting on his stomach. And just before his face fell with disappointment, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him back to you. The second kiss was sloppier, clashes of teeth and tongue as you tried to find a rhythm. But it wasn’t long before Pope was resting his weight on top of you, licking into your mouth and only parting for breath and to take off your shirt. You shimmied off your underwear and tossed them to the side. You were so lost in the kiss, you didn’t realize he had taken off his boxers until you felt the hot skin of his head poking at your entrance.
“Is this okay?” He breathed, nose slotted beside yours.
“Please,” You nodded eagerly. “So wet for you. Need you so bad.”
The first roll of his hips punched the air out of your lungs with a breathy moan. The thick length of him pressed against each and every one of your nerve endings, flooding your body with searing pleasure. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders as Pope paused to give you time to adjust.
“F-Fuck!” You gasped, eyes wide, “You’re…You’re so big.”
“I know, m’sorry,” He apologized between kisses along your jaw line. “Let me know if it’s too much.” After a few moments and several deep breaths, Pope began to move again. Each thrust sent sparks up your spine. Your toes went numb every time his cock found the most sensitive spot inside you. You were mewling, whimpering, begging for something you couldn't verbalize. And the entire time, Pope held himself up, hands planted on either side of your head, and just stared at you unblinking with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. His abdomen rolled, pulling his cock out of you and then pressing back in with a rhythm that made you see stars. Your arousal matted both of your pubic hair and you saw sweat began to slip down the inside of Pope’s arms from his exertion. One of Pope’s fingers came up to nudge your clit. “Cu…Please cum f’me.” He whispered, rubbing tight circles that had your walls fluttering around him. It didn’t take long for the hot band to snap in your abdomen. You arched into him, cumming with a cry of his name. As you spasmed around him, the lock of his eyes began to falter. His lids fluttered as you gripped him impossibly hard, short breaths pitching upwards into moans. When you rode out your orgasm, he abruptly pulled out, tugging on his dick twice before ropes of cum splashed onto your chest. Pope watched each twitch of his spent cock with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. Your head fell back and your eyes closed, trying to regulate your breathing. But you gasped when you felt Pope’s wet tongue drag across your breasts. Your eyes opened, watching as he lapped his spend from your smooth skin. He paused every now and again to suck on your still-hardened nipples, earning a quiet whimper of overstimulation in return. When you were deemed sufficiently clean, Pope pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead and climbed off you. He tucked one arm beneath the crook of your knees and one around your back. He carried you into the bathroom and started the shower. As the warm water kissed your skin, he murmured in your ear.
“That’s why they didn’t trust me around you.” He said, kissing along the damp ridge of your shoulder. “They know I like you too much.”
a/n: okay i cannot believe my last one did as well as it did! please feel free to send asks and comment! hearing what the people want is super helpful to me for coming up with what to write... otherwise it is completely self indulgent like this one (dividers by @/uzmacchiato !) (btw i used an em dash.) (it was not chatgpt) (i just didnt want anyone to get jumpscared by it ) (ai could neva write this poorly...) (take THAT)
⊹ ࣪ .✦ ݁˖ pope love love loves his girl... one thing he doesn't love is the glitter. everywhere. he sits by the pool so he can keep an eye on you, as always. you swim for a bit and when you return, he's staring at his hands like they personally wronged him.
"what's wrong?" he looks up to meet your worried gaze as he shows you his sparkling palm with a huff and a furrowed brow.
"shit gets everywhere," he grumbles as he walks towards the house. only reason hes not super irritated is because you showed him that tape takes off glitter. needless to say, he spends the next five minutes putting tape on his hands over and over again while wondering what could've possibly required that much glitter.
⊹ ࣪ .✦ ݁˖ he lets you do whatever you want. if you thought you were spoiled rotten before, trust it gets 10x worse around pope. if you want something, don't even mention it! he already bought it for you! and its pink, because of course it is. he lets you bedazzle, paint, and color on anything you want. smurf (being the bitch she is) hates it. she hates that you run wild and pope makes no attempt to stop you. if anything he encourages it.
buying things and customizing things isn't all. he does every silly trend with you, even if he catches shit from his brothers about it. baz usually comes down on him worst about it, though. always "why did you let her do that," or "that looks terrible for you," but pope has never cared. if his girl is happy, he's happy too.
he loves to watch you put sparkles on everything, buy things on his card, and make everything your own. he is perfectly content watching you shape the world so it revolves around you — and even happier to help you.
⊹ ࣪ .✦ ݁˖ he partakes in EVERYTHING you do. i mean, he is a willing participant who takes his role very seriously. specifically, shopping. he loves to watch you try on half the things in the store, with his stoic expression and the occasional mumble. of course, you think hes disinterested, so you stop trying things on.
he stops you as you start to leave the dressing room, four tops you haven't tried on in hand. "where ya going?"
"you dont look like you're having fun."
he rolls his eyes, like whatever hes about to say is glaringly obvious. "i am. who do you think put half the shit in your basket? santa claus? i wouldn't take you here if i didnt want a fashion show," he says, a small smile growing on his face. he quickly levels his expression, as though he was told not to smile. "go. back in the room. and i hung a skirt i wanted to see."
you squeal and head back into the room, leaving a very amused pope eagerly awaiting a fashion show from his girl (which ends in him buy all the clothes and asking for a second fashion show back at the house <3)
thinking about pope cody finally coming to see you when he gets out from prison…
pairings: pope cody x fem! reader
tags: no smut but still 18+ only, stalking, obsessive tendencies, dark! pope cody, longing, breaking and entering, legal age gap (reader is 22, pope is 39)
word count: 1090
summary: pope had been out of prison for 2 weeks, yet you didn’t know it, but he had been watching your every move and finally decides to come pay you a visit.
a/n: who wants to be on the shawn hatosy universe taglist? i may do a google form
two weeks.
that was how long pope had been home from prison, and also how long he had been watching your every move from afar, as he was so good at doing. standing hidden across the street, parked down the block, eyes catching the lights in your room flick on and off, you name it. smurf had caught him a couple of times walking down the street as late as 3 in the morning going or coming from who knows where. baz knew where he was going. where else would pope go?
your house.
well, your father's house. the father who leaves every friday night at approximately 8 pm to go to the bar downtown and wouldn't be back until 11 pm to midnight, drunk.
for the 3 years he was in prison, you got a different job, working at a retail store on the closing shift every other day. on those nights he watched you close the shop, he always brought his gun with him in case he needed to protect you from any nightcrawlers.
you had no idea he was home. when pope went in, your father made you cut all ties with the cody's and made you stop responding to pope's letters and collect calls.
'you need to focus on your college classes.' he would say.
'that andrew is older than you and dangerous.'
but he always had a soft spot for you.
every single night in prison, he thought about you. if you changed your hair, if you got a new wardrobe, if you still wore pink, if you had a new boyfriend. the last thought always angered him to no end, the thought of another boy touching you, caressing you, kissing you, making you smile. pope couldn't handle it.
your father was in the way.
pope didn't like people getting in his way.
you were 19 when he first got locked up, and now you were freshly 22, and even more beautiful than pope remembered when he last saw you. you were walking to your car one morning, pope watching you from behind the corner of your house outside. he decided to try and call you to see if you would answer.
you felt your phone vibrate in your hand, holding it up to look at the caller ID but it says unknown caller. you reluctantly slide it to the right to answer.
"hello?" you were met with silence, as pope's eyes traced your every move as you waited for a response that he would never give. you heard even, calm breaths through the phone speaker before speaking again. "...andy?" you breathe out and he hangs up the call before disappearing, not that he was in your sights anyway.
that was a few days ago.
now, pope was standing in your dark bedroom, watching your peaceful sleeping figure. he slid open your bedroom window with barely a sound before he stepped softly on the carpet and closed the window shut behind him. he tilted his head as he watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. you still slept on your side, facing the wall that was right next to your bed.
you didn't even stir as he walked to the edge of your bed and just stood there. you felt his presence before you saw him and your eyes opened only to be met with a tall, dark figure standing right in front of you. you shot up, sitting upright immediately and pushing yourself back against the headboard in fear.
"a-andy...?" your eyes still adjusting to the dark room and from just waking up.
"why were you avoiding me?" he asks in that tone that always made your breath hitch. your eyes dart all over him.
"i-"
"you knew i was calling you." he calmly spoke again. "you answered." his head moved with his words, never taking his eyes off of you.
"why didn't you come see me?" he asks with a lingering hint of sadness, it broke your heart.
"andy, i wanted to but-"
"i waited every day." he paused. "you weren't there." all those days you could've snuck out of the house to visit him while he was up there all alone came back to you.
baz had told you he was having a hard time. the guards not treating him right, getting into fights, you name it. you knew he had to defend himself. you could see the results of that; he was bigger, stronger. you gathered up the courage to get up out of your bed, stand up, and walk over to him. you looked him in the eyes before bringing your arms up to wrap behind his neck, standing on your tiptoes in a hug. his arms stay at his sides but not for long. when he does embrace you back, it's as if he's holding on to you so that you don't slip through his fingers.
he puts his nose into your neck and breathes you in, pushing that breath back out against the skin there as he reveled in your floral scent that always drove him crazy. "you still smell the same."
he spoke again. "you stopped writing me." his words muffled by the skin of your neck.
"i didn't want to, i promise." you truthfully tell him. your father threatened to stop paying your tuition if he caught you sending another letter or another one from pope being mailed to the house.
"he made you stop." it was more a statement than a question, to which you nodded your head.
"but i never stopped loving you, andy. i missed you so much." you kindly admit to him, knowing that he has doubts about love. he pulled back so you could see his face, as his expression broke. he didn't speak, he just slammed his lips against yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to grip it there possessively. three years of longing and desire put into this one kiss made your knees weak as you kissed him back.
as your lips were still connected, he walked you back to lay on your bed on top of the astray sheets, his hands coming to dig into the mattress on either side of your head.
"were you a good girl while i was gone?" he asked, alluding to did you sleep with anyone else. you violently shook your head no and the ghost of a smirk showed on his face.
"good. now show me how dirty you used to get, hm? just for me."
What about a fluffy by the pool meet cute with Andrew “Pope” Cody
"You should just go talk to her." Julia encouraged, even giving Pope's shoulder a little nudge. Pope dropped his eyes from watching you across the pool to the ground, the emotions stirring up in his stomach too overwhelming for him to handle. You were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, he was sure his heart stopped for a beat when he first saw you. Looking at you was like looking at the sun - dazzling, bright, warm, and dangerous if you stared too long.
"No, she's busy." Pope replied in a mumble, avoiding looking at his sister. Julia rolled her eyes at her brothers shyness.
"C'mon Pope, you think she's cute, take a chance! She's our new neighbour, you have the perfect excuse to introduce yourself." Julia reasoned, trying to get her twin to make a move. Julia glanced back up at you when Pope didn't move a muscle and she saw you holding a sunscreen bottle, looking a little lost. Julia instantly knew what was troubling you and she raised her hand to wave at you through the crowd of teens there for the party.
"Hey neighbour!" You looked across the pool to see Julia already looking at you as she waved you over. Pope's head shot up so fast, his eyes wide as he stared at his sister in a panic while you rounded the pool to the loungers where the twins sat.
"Do you need a hand with your back?" Julia asked and you lit up with appreciation.
"Yes!" You sighed gratefully. "I wanted to be covered before I get in the pool but I don't know anyone here and I felt bad about bothering them."
"No worries, I'd be happy to help. Oh wait! I forgot I need to help Smurf in the kitchen." Alarm bells started going off in Popes head and he almost grabbed Julia by the arm to keep her where she sat. But she was too quick, getting up and out of Pope's reach in a flash.
"My brother Andrew can help you. He's really nice." Julia left quickly, abandoning her brother to his fate. He stared at her as she went, his stomach doing nauseating somersaults, and once she was out of view he finally let his eyes drift up to you.
"Hi," You said with a cheerful smile. You introduced yourself and gingerly passed him the sunscreen bottle. Pope realized there was no way out but through and he turned towards the empty lounger so he could apply the sunscreen. You sat down facing away from him and Pope wasted no time squeezing some of the lotion into his palm and lathering it over the bare skin of your back. He apologized for how cool it was when you jumped a bit and he nervously asked you after a minute about how you liked living in Oceanside. You launched easily into your opinions and experience moving as Pope focused on getting every spot covered.
Pope found himself smiling a bit at your thoughts on how rude tourists seemed to be and how much you liked being near the ocean. Pope quietly told you about a nice spot on the beach a couple streets South and you gave him a lovely smile over your shoulder, which made all of Popes insides melt from the beauty of it, as you thanked him for the information. Pope finished up and passed you back the sunscreen bottle.
"You're really thorough!" You said, complimenting Pope on a job well done.
"Melanoma is really deadly." Pope said in response, spewing a fact as reasoning for his thoroughness. What he really wanted to say was that sunscreen is a great way to protect yourself from melanoma, and he wanted you to be protected because he liked you.
"Thanks, I'll remember that any time I'm feeling lazy about putting sunscreen on." Your reply was genuine and honest, not mocking or sarcastic like Baz might have responded. It made Pope feel good that you heard what he was saying and not only were you not brushing him off, you were thankful for the tidbit of information.
"It's actually more effective if you put it on 15 minutes before you're out in the sun." Pope added, feeling embolden to continue telling facts.
"Oh," You said a little seriously. "Should I have put it on inside then?"
"That's usually best, but you could sit in the shade for a bit instead." You looked around for some shade and spotted a strip to your right but there wasn't any seating. You made an off hand comment about it and Pope stood immediately to push your lounger, with you on it, into the shade.
"Woah, thanks Andrew!" You gave him a great big smile and he felt so elated he could have jumped over the house in a single leap. "Will you pull your chair over too? So you can keep me company?" Pope could have jumped to the moon in that moment. You wanted to spend more time with him!
Pope lifted his chair over, the feat easy for him thanks to all the weightlifting he did, and he sat down right next to you to keep talking. You sat back in the lounger and the two of you launched into a long discussion about how Pope knew so many facts, which led to him confessing that he watched lots of documentaries and you asked if he'd seen the one about blue whales.
And by the time the pool party was over, you realized you hadn't gone in the water at all, and you didn't mind one bit.
can't stop thinking about season 1 pope and his old cellmate talking about how pope kept referring to cath as his wife but instead of cath he kept telling everyone one that you were the wife waiting for him at home. you, deran's friend who is closer to his younger brother's age but who was always nice to him, not afraid to be alone with him, showed him too much kindness. you who didn't shrink under his intense stare, not thinking it was intimidating. he never made a move on you because he was confident you were dating deran - why else would you be around the house so often, around smurf and put up with craig? you sleep in his bed whenever you stay over.
but on his hardest days inside of folsom, he thinks of the times your thumb ran over his cheek, underneath the raised skin of a new scar from fighting with one of his brothers or the feeling of your hands in his hair whenever he built up the courage to ask you to give him a haircut. he remembers the one time you came out of deran's room at two in the morning, joining him on the couch after fetching yourself a glass of water. he's watching a nature documentary he's watched at least three times already, but he doesn't tell you that when you're sitting so close that your thigh is pressed against him and the heat radiating off you is making the tension he always carries in his shoulders melt. that night you fell asleep with your head against his shoulder, your arms clutching his bicep as you curled into him.
smurf didn't put you on the visitation list, which he won't admit out loud but he's grateful for it. he doesn't want you to come in and see him like this and, selfishly, he doesn't want any of the guys in here to see what you look like. they don't deserve to. but he does call you once a week, just to make sure you're doing okay and nobody's giving you any trouble, though he's sure deran's taking care of you. the thought turns into acid in the back of his mind. even though he's convinced you belong to his brother, he can't help the fantasy from bleeding into his new life in prison, telling anyone who'll listen that he's got a pretty, young thing waiting for him at home. that he's going to propose as soon as he gets out. that you two are planning to have a family. that he can't believe you're out there waiting for him.
so he can't help the surge of panic that surges through his body like a lit match when, a month after he's been out, he's out to lunch with you when he runs into his cellmate, vin.
"so, you must be the missus. huh?" he teases in snarky voice, his eyes raking over you in a slow perusal that makes andrew's blood boil hotter than the flush across his skin, his fist clenching to stop himself from lunging at him.
"the missus?" you ask, laughing a little as you glance at pope. your laugh dies down when you notice the intense look he's giving this guy and the red splotches across his neck. your attention is pulled back to whoever this random guy is when you hear your name come from him. "uh, yeah. that's me. sorry, do i know you?"
"oh, i'm sorry. i guess i ruined the surprise," vin lips his lips, nodding toward your hand. "guess popey here hasn't popped the question. just confused. he wouldn't shut up about you in there, only talked about getting back to his girl. he kept talking about finally cuffing you up when we were inside, just thought he'd do it pretty quickly after getting out. still just the girlfriend, then?"
"o-oh," you stutter out, your face flushing as you glance back at andrew. his face is pinched in that way it does when he's trying to calm himself down, remind himself to breathe. his focus on his cellmate doesn't break until he feels your fingers ghost down his arm. when he finally looks at you, your stomach turns at how quickly his expression softens.
you always thought there was something between you and pope. the first time you came to a cody party, you weren't at all prepared for how overwhelming it'd be. you had been hanging around the cody's for almost two months now after meeting deran at one of adrian's local surf competitions. it was also the day you accidentally walked in on him and adrian being... intimate. you reassured deran that you didn't care, you already knew about adrian being gay and you never told anyone about him so his secret would be safe with you, too.
the night of the party, you made it about an hour before deran completely ditched you to jump off the roof with craig into the pool, the activity quickly becoming competitive between the brothers. you decided you were over it before wandering inside, quickly isolating yourself in the one room you knew no one would find themselves in: andrew "pope" cody. you hadn't expected to find him there already, sitting rigidly on his bed, facing the window. his head snapped over toward his door when you opened it, his posture loosening when he noticed it was just you.
"you okay?" he asked quietly, his voice strained from not using it.
"s'too loud out there, and deran ditched me. i don't know anyone else." you walked further into the room, climbing into pope's bed after toeing your shoes off. "do you mind?" you suppressed your smile when he shook his head with no hesitation. he wordlessly grabbed a shirt and a pair of shorts from his drawer before tossing them at you.
"change." he demanded softly, frowning before adding, "please. outside clothes."
since that moment, you and pope had grown attached to the hip. you came over even without deran just to spend time with pope, which confused him at first considering you two mostly just either sat on the couch in silence of laid in his bed after you changed into his clothes. surely you had more fun with deran. but he never questioned you, afraid you would take it the wrong way and stop coming over.
but you didn't realize pope thought of you as his girlfriend. not that it bothered you.
"popey was a little loopy most days in there. was he talking out of his ass about his pretty, young thing?" vin interrupts the look between you and pope, bringing you back to the present.
"if pope said i'm his girlfriend, then that's what i am," you say easily, giving his hand a squeeze. he squeezes your hand back, tugging you a little closer toward him.
"well, s'nice to meet you, sweetheart," he gives you a wink, his gaze returning to pope. "give me a call sometime, pope. we've got some things to catch up on," he says pointedly, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away, his shoulder brushing past pope's.
"vin was my cellmate," he offers quietly. "told him, everyone about... well, you. i-i'm sorry."
"for what?" you say softly, one of your hands coming up to brush through pope's steadily growing hair, the curls starting to take form again, much to your delight.
"you're not mad?" he frowns, his brows furrowing when you shake your head. "you're not gonna tell deran?"
"why would deran care?" you say, laughing a little.
"he's your actual boyfriend. i would care."
"what!" you shriek, rearing back in disbelief. "deran is not my boyfriend."
"he isn't?"
"pope, if deran was my boyfriend i'd be an awful girlfriend. i used to sleep with you in your bed. i'd sneak out of his room to sit with you on the couch whenever i did pass out in his room. i've thought about you everyday that last three years you've been away." you sidle up closer to him again, reaching over to grab his other hand so you were holding both of them. "if i'm anyone's girlfriend," you shrug, giving him a sheepish smile, "i'm yours."
"yeah?" he mumbles, letting you maneuver his hands to wrap around your waist, fighting the urge to pull you flush against him when your arms come up to wrap around his neck.
"yeah," you mumble back, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "now," you continue, your lip still pressed against his skin, "let's go get some lunch." your lips press against his cheek one more time before moving to hover just above the corner of his mouth. "i'm starving."
warnings . . . curse words, grinding, lewd conversation, kidnapping????? unserious ofc, is reader overreacting? maybe but u know the drill. want to point out that it’s been a two week timeskip from the cabin/cath coming back. it may seem like the plot shifted but it’s coming…… mwahahahaha
authors note . . . okay.. well.. hi… love you. tell me ur thoughts and I love you and did I tell you I love you also wait.. they’re being vague cause they’re gonna do criminal stuff… not drunk LOL I just don’t want to rework this LMAOAOA
pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n )
summary: craig tells you things about his family and you gradually realize how much you don't fit in. how much you don't fit in with pope. so you get drunk and pope's left to deal with the mess craig made of you
content warnings: reader's drunk & dizzy, pope's abandoment issues, reader's very insecure, mention of reader braiding her hair, craig slander, shirtless pope bc i love shirtless pope, pope carries reader for a bit
a/n: hai my lovelies! i am back with another bambi!reader and pope fic that is also sort of a pope cody character study!! also my favorite trope ever!! bc i love it when reader gets so drunk she says and does things she really shouldn't. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3
wc: 5.9k
Pope didn't plan on showing up at Craig's bar.
He wasn't up for it, but he had nothing else to do, and you were nowhere to be found. He tried texting you, just checking on you (or so he told himself; in truth, he really just wanted to talk to you because he felt so inexplicably lonely in Smurfs house), but you didn't respond to any of his messages.
So he decided to pay a visit to his brother and ask him if he had any fresh information on the job they were currently working on. When he stepped in, the bar was packed. Obviously, at 10pm no one would anticipate anything different.
Pope looked around, examining each face. No threat, no threat, no threat.
This is why he disliked going places without you. When you were with him, all he felt the need to was to focus on you, think about you, and hope that you were okay and feeling safe. He didn't have to think about hundreds of people crammed into a tight space, drinking and yelling right in his face.
Pope headed to the bar and waited for Deran to notice him. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the counter, his ears ringing from the loud and drunken sounds around him. It felt like his brain was buzzing from the volume. It almost hurt, and as much as he envied Deran's bright future sometimes, he despised being in here.
He quickly withdrew his hands, noticing how dirty the counter was, a scowl forming between his brows. Disgusted, he looked at his fingertips, briefly considering going to the bathroom to wash them. But the bathroom was much filthier, so Pope just dropped his hands to his sides, fingers twitching with discomfort.
"Pope!" Deran sounded surprised as he finally spotted his older brother. It wasn't too often that Pope showed up around here, especially on busy Friday nights.
"Hey," Pope was still distracted by the filth on the counter and his hands. "You really have to get this cleaned." He grumbled, and Deran just shrugged.
Pope was usually unhappy with the state of his bar when he came in. He was accustomed to it by now.
"Did she call you?" Deran asked, having finally grabbed a small towel to mop off the mess that Pope was pointing at with a frown.
"Did who call me?" now pointing at a different stain, and when Deran said your name, Pope's head shot up, his attention finally on his brother. "She's here?"
Deran's eyebrows furrowed. "Has been. For hours, actually."
Pope's head turned, how did he miss you? He'd practically looked at everyone when he walked in. Deran pointed at a corner, and without missing a beat, Pope was off in that direction.
You were sitting in a booth opposite of Craig, pushing a tiny glass back and forth back and forth across the table, leaving a water stain. Craig had been talking for a while, Pope could already tell from this far. You only acquired that spaced out look, after Craig had spoken to you for more than five minutes. He'd seen it your face several times, as well as on his own.
Pope stepped up to your table, announcing himself simply by standing there, mute. Craig lifted his head from where he'd been staring at you intensely while talking. "What are you doing here?" was the first thing he directed at his brother.
But Pope wasn't even looking at him, eyes locked onto you, worried.
You weren't meeting his eyes. At all. It's like you didn't even hear him. Pope continued to ignore his brother and bent down to your eye line. "Hey."
You turned your head slowly from where you'd been staring at the table. "Andrew!" you sounded surprised, but not unhappy as you finally locked eyes with him.
Craig hit the table with a groan, startling you. "Thanks dude, really." He shot his brother a look that held thousands of insults for ruining his 'game', but Pope didn't even glance at him as he slid in next to you and grabbed your glass, looking into it.
"Beer?" he asked with a frown, setting it back.
You shrugged and lifted your legs, bending them until your kneecaps hit the table. There was sweat at your temple, shining, and your eyes weren't really focusing on him.
"Hey," he said, trying to get your attention back on him. You barely raised your head, vaguely looking into his direction. "Look at me." He felt you startle by the sound of his voice, your eyes lifting to him. "Did Craig do something?"
"No." The way you weren't looking at him, again, exposed your lie.
"I'm taking you home." Pope wanted to storm up to his brother and drag him to a corner, until he finally told him why you were this upset, and why you had seemingly not stopped reaching for more beer since the second you've stepped foot into this bar.
You stared at him for a second, really staring in a way you had never had before. Pope allowed you to, subtly dropping his gaze to check if you had any marks on you, if you were actually okay.
His mind was always believing in the worst case scenarios since they were typically true in his life. In his instance his biggest nightmares always came true, so he learned to anticipate the worst, to give himself time to react rather that to process.
"'S'okay." You turned your head away. "Crag will take me home."
Pope's lips formed a frown, and the rejection settled hard in his heart. This was the first time ever you'd chosen his brother over him. Anytime, Any place, you always chose him. Car ride? You're going with Pope. Couch empty? You were still choosing to sit next to Pope.
His hand twitched against his sides and curled it into a fist, trying to get control of his body back. "Craig won't be out of here for at least a few hours, and you're tired."
"I'm not tired," you mumbled, now drawing a heart in the condensation over and over again.
"Yes, you are," And you wanted to object even though he was right. "Get up."
You stared at him and you seemed taken aback by his insistence. You glanced back down at your glass, considering, and Pope waited, because he'd wait all night. Even if you decided to go with Craig, he'd still wait. You were drunk, too drunk. He'd never seen you like this. You'd never been like this.
Pope was itching to get his hands on Craig, forcing him to spill out the words that had clearly led you to gulp down so many drinks.
You finally stood up, shaky and when Pope reached out his hands, he felt you flinch, and he felt sick. His hands shot back to his sides, straightening by his sides as he stared at you. Craig said something about him.
There was no other explanation for your rapid switch in behavior. You'd never flinched away from his touch. Never.
You supported yourself on the edge of the table, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When you appeared to be okay, you finally glanced at him. He was looking at you patiently and extended his hand, pointing towards the exit. And you stepped ahead of him without another word.
Pope looked back over his shoulder back to where his youngest brother stood, but Craig was already distracted by another girl, and Pope's sole justification for not stomping over there and punching him in the face was you.
He hurriedly opened the door for you and you muttered a brief thank you, still incapable of ignoring etiquette.
Pope led you to his car, which was conveniently parked nearby. He wasn't sure how you'd have walked over there with your unsteady legs.
He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, just barely, still incredibly inebriated. You then sat there with your hands politely in your lap like you usually did. Even your drunken state, you were polite.
Pope was almost irritated by it. You never let your guard down. He wanted you to be comfortable, to just be yourself, let yourself loose, move your hands the way you wanted them to. To just do something…. stupid.
"Buckle up," he mumbled, still holding the car door wide open.
You grabbed the seat belt and attempted to buckle yourself, but you didn't have the strength. Your arms were too weak, so Pope stepped closer, gently removed them from your hand and strapped you in. All while he felt you back away from him as much as you could, your back pressed firmly against the seat, head up right up against the headrest.
He pulled back quickly, not giving you one more look, not wanting to see your facial expression anymore. It hurt him too much. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, why you didn't want to look at him or touch him, and he didn't want to know.
The car ride was quiet. It wasn't until five minutes, at least, had passed that Pope couldn't bear the silence anymore. "What did Craig say to you?"
You turned your head slowly towards him. "A lot." At least you'd changed your answer to something truthful this time.
Pope curled his lips into a straight line, almost angry. But he didn't bother saying anything else, he knew he wasn't getting anything out of you now.
When you arrived, you swiftly unbuckled yourself and sought to exist the car, but he locked the door immediately. "Don't get out. You're drunk. I'll help you," he said quietly, waiting for you to take your hand off the handle.
You withdrew your hand to your lap slowly, still not looking at him. He unlocked the doors, hurrying to your side, before you'd try to get out on your own again. When he opened the door, you locked eyes with him for the first time tonight. You stared at him for a while, as he extended his palm waiting for you to take his hand.
"You're nice to me," you whispered.
Pope furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't sure if he was nice to you, but he knew he treated you differently than he did other people. He was glad to know that you considered it to be nice. But the sentence appeared rather random and anxiety flooded his veins.
"Everyone should be nice to you," he replied quietly, as you gently grabbed his hand, your hands slowly capturing his big one. He helped you out until your feet were on the floor, at which point your other hand came out and held onto his waist. Your finger wrapped tightly around his shirt, nails digging into his waist, and you forced your eyes shut. "Sorry. Dizzy," you whispered.
"You're fine."
It took you a while, but you finally weakened your grip before dropping it altogether, followed by the other. Pope clenched his fist and then opened it again, missing your warmth. He gently grabbed for your waist, moving you away from the door, before swiftly abandoning the contact as he shut the car door.
You were still standing there watching him with your big eyes, when he turned around, pocketing his car keys.
"Do you have your keys?" he asked, trying to stop you from staring at him this intensely. It was scaring him, almost like you were staring right into his soul.
"No," you mumbled, shaking your head with genuine sadness. "I lost them."
Pope glanced down at your bag. "They're in your front pocket."
You looked down, eyebrows furrowing. "How do you know?"
Pope didn't respond, allowing you to search through the bag yourself, until you finally heard the clinking of your keys and lightened up. "Oh! Not lost."
"Not lost," Pope repeated, as he slowly stepped towards you, palm on your back, and led you towards your apartment door. You followed without another word.
Pope wasn't sure if this was your typical drunk self; you'd never been drunk around him, so he didn't know if your lack of words and smile were normal.
It took you a bit to get the keys into your lock, but Pope was patient, spending the wait, just watching you.
You looked pretty; You were more dressed up than normal. Your hair was in two braids on either side, and you were wearing a white dress. You looked beautiful.
He wished he'd arrived earlier, hung out with you, spent time with you and mustered up the courage to tell you how pretty you looked. He knew Craig had gotten the privilege of that first, Deran may have as well. He would've given anything to see your shy smile.
When you managed the door open, you glanced back. "Thank you for driving me."
It sounded like a goodbye, so Pope shoved his foot into the door. "You're drunk," he said, and a guilty expression immediately formed on your face.
"I know," you whispered, ashamed.
"You shouldn't be alone."
You opened the door further without another word. It appeared like you opened the door to avoid arguing with him rather than to actually welcome him into your apartment as you usually did.
Pope hesitated, it felt almost like he was trespassing, despite the fact that your apartment had always seemed more like a home than his own ever had.
He stepped in, locking the door behind him before looking at you. "You should change." He walked past you towards your kitchen. "I'll get you water."
You walked past him without a word, wobbly and slow, heading towards your bedroom, leaving the door open. Pope remained in the kitchen, hands twitching nervously. He could still feel your warmth lingering on his fingers and he felt jittery and uncomfortable in his own flesh. He had never felt this way about you before; you soothed him like no one else. His head only quieted down when you were around. The buzzing in his brain ceased as soon as your vanilla scent struck his nose.
But tonight, something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't you simply being drunk. Something was seriously wrong.
He filled your favorite cup, a small blue one with seashells all over it, with water and carefully headed towards your bedroom. "Are you dressed?" he called out, halting just before he could see inside.
You hummed, and he came in to see you seated on the side of your bed. This time in a tank top and some shorts, your dress from earlier on the floor. He stared down at it, before setting the water on your nightstand. He bent down and retrieved the dress, before placing it in your laundry basket, which was already beginning to pile up. He frowned; perhaps he should do your laundry, but out of the corner of his eye he saw you rub your eyes tiredly, smudging whatever makeup you'd been wearing.
You rubbed again and again, until Pope finally turned to you, bending down lightly, and gently encircled his fingers around your wrist. "Don't do that," he muttered, and you looked down at him. Eyes shining brightly despite the dim nightlight on your nightstand. It was silent as you stared at him, not uttering a single word.
"Why are you here?" you finally whispered after a while.
Pope stared back, lips still curled into a frown. He just wanted to take care of you. "You're drunk."
"I know that," you retorted, almost angrily, but still in a quiet voice. "Why are you here?" Your eyes were filled with desperation, like there was a right answer to the question.
Pope didn't know it. He didn't know what the right answer was, and he felt panic creep up on him.
"I—I'm making sure you're okay." He decided on the safest answer. It sounded like the most reasonable to him. It sounded better than I don't like being away from you. I don't want you with with Craig. I'm scared you'll leave me for him. I'm scared he'll tell you about the things I've done. I'm scared you'll leave.
You stared down at him for a long time, before your eyes fell back into your lap, staring there for a while, fingers twitching nervously. "Craig said stuff."
Popes ears perked up. Finally. "What did he say?" He had to bite down hard on his tongue to not let the angry tone escape him, but you noticed it anyway.
You waited, almost doing it on purpose, like you knew this was what he needed, and you wanted to take it and keep it from him. This was your version of cruelty. This is the worst thing you'd ever do to him, and he hated to tell you that this was nothing. That he considered this to be grace, because at least he was in your home. At least you were letting him touch your knees gently. At least he was allowed to look at you. That whatever you considered to be his punishment was mercy to him.
"He told me about—" you pinched your eyes tight as if recalling something awful, like it hurt you. And Pope couldn't wait to get his hands on Craig. "Just—" you couldn't get the words out and your lips were pressed so tight together that Pope was terrified you were going to start crying.
"Come on," he said, making you finally look up, and he was right, your eyes were wet. "We have to get your make up off," he muttered, and you seemed grateful for the escape, nodding, as you stood up and headed to the bathroom.
You immediately reached for one of your drawers, grabbing the wipes, but Pope gently took them from your hand. "You're shaking."
You lowered your hands to your side, turning to face him, and he motioned towards the counter. You turned your back on it, and Pope placed the wipes on the counter, before placing his hands on your waist, helping you up. You could hardly stand let alone get on your bathroom counter, so you were grateful for his warm hands assisting you. The moment you were seated, he let go as if burned.
Opening the box, he hesitantly grabbed the first wipe. But you were already scooting farther on the counter, opening your legs, and he carefully stepped between them before slowly reaching for your face. One hand rested on your while while the other began cleaning your face. You stared at him and with your bathroom light, his hazel eyes were nearly green, and he looked so pretty, your chest ached.
"I don't know why we're friends," you whispered, and Pope froze, his brain just catching on to the word friends. His hands dropped from your face as he stared at you.
"What's that supposed to mean?" was all he managed, almost breathless with hurt. His voice cracked. He didn't even bother to hide how much that question hurt.
"I just—" you realized, even in your drunken state, that you might've phrased this in the most horrible way possible. "Craig told me so much. "
You leaned forward slightly, causing his hand to travel to your hips and push you back on the counter so you wouldn't fall off. He held it there, desperate to know that you didn't despise him, and you wouldn't push him away.
You didn't. Instead, you reached down, gently grasping it and turning it over in your hand, as if you needed to hold onto him as well.
You stared down at his palm. "He said a lot," you repeated. "And I just—I don't know why you're here."
It sounded like a rejection of him, of who he was, and Pope felt cold and warm all over his body. Nauseous too.
Here it was. Of course, he couldn't have you. Of course, you'd be taken away from him. He didn't expect it to be Craig to take away the most precious thing in his life. He'd thought it would be Smurf, crawling her way into your life, gripping you with her demon like nails, hurting you like she hurt everyone he's ever cared about before damaging you in a way that made you never want to look at him again. He figured in a way it was her fault anyway. She made him like this. He could've been a guy you liked.
Pope stared down at your soft hand that was brushing his with gentle fingertips.
"We're so different," you whispered, and Pope squeezed his eyes shut. Right, like he didn't think about that every day. It hurt him to have you say it out loud.
Pope brushed a thumb over the back of your hand and then closed his hand around yours, almost desperate to hold on. Please don't leave me. Please. Please. Please. He wanted to beg so badly, the panic curling in his chest, making him sick with desperation for you to keep holding on.
"I don't want to get hurt," you whispered, and Pope looked up finally, to see you biting your lip hard. You were close to bleeding.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered back, practically pleading. He really wouldn't. He needed you to know that.
"You can't know that," you said quietly, now watching his big hand engulf yours. "Craig said so many things. You like— you like so much stuff that I'm not." you whispered, hurt making your voice crack.
"You're not what?" he asked, confusion replacing the sadness in his face. "Not what?" he asked again, face tilting until he caught your eyes.
You allowed his eyes to meet yours and you waited. Once again, torturing him with the wait, and this time he did think of it as cruel.
"Craig talked about the girls he liked, told me about every girl he's ever hooked up with," you replied slowly. "And he told me about your parties, the strip clubs, the bars. He wouldn't stop talking, it was like I—I was there." Frustration crept into your voice.
You went quiet again, looking down at your lap. "Talked about you too," and it was as if a bomb went off.
Pope couldn't be sure what his youngest brother had said, but based on your reaction, he knew Craig had opted to go with the crudest version imaginable, perhaps even in the hopes that would deter you from liking Pope and instead go for him.
There'd been lots of times in the past, before he met you, where he did what his brothers wanted him to. He followed them around, prayed that they'd stop calling him strange and weird, and hoped that if he acted the way they wanted him to, they would stop paying so much attention to him and his behavior. That perhaps he might convince himself too, that he enjoyed these things. That drinking beer, getting high and picking up a girl at the bar, was what he wanted. Reminding himself that this was what he should want. That he certainly didn't dream about a girl choosing him, liking him, and sticking around.
None of his brothers did that and neither should he. He needed to be like them, so he wouldn't feel like he was going out of his mind half of the time.
Pope stayed silent, and you huffed a weak laugh, now removing your hand from his, making it lay in your lap empty and cold. "I just— I guess I'm too drunk, but i just figured—" you shook your head. "I don't know."
You stared over his shoulder at the wall. "I know I don't exactly fit in. I mean—" you gave him a weak smile. "I don't even know why Craig approached me in the first place." Pope knew why, but he didn't want to tell you, hoping you'd never really ask. "I just— i thought maybe— you'd—" and then you stopped talking.
Like me.
That's what you wanted to say. You hoped one day he'd like you. But you'd said too much, and you weren't ready to expose yourself this much, just yet.
Pope stared at you. "I'd what?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head, regretting having started the sentence.
When you didn't say anything else, he lifted his hand again and started wiping your make up off. He brushed gently across your eyes, whispering for you to close them. He was gentle, too gentle, making the cleaning take longer than it should have.
"I like that you're not like—" he wanted to say me but he wasn't sure if that would be just too much. "Us."
You opened your eyes slowly, face finally bare, and you looked prettier than ever, making Pope just want to stand here forever and look at you. "Craig is friends with you because you're not like us." he said, throwing the wipe he was using away and setting the box away. He went back to standing between your legs, staring at you. "You're—nice. That's why he likes you."
You huffed a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's not all," you said quietly, and Pope made a small grimace, lips frowning, eyebrows raising.
"Never is with Craig," he mumbled, and you giggled, and he felt his shoulder fall with relief. He can still make you laugh. That's good.
When your giggles subsided, you glanced back down at your hands, seemingly the most interesting thing today. To be quite honest Pope did think your nail polish was interesting. It was pink today with brown dots.
"What about you?"
Pope furrowed his eyebrows. "What about me?"
You stayed quiet and it's like the question was forced out of you, like you didn't mean to ask it, but your drunken state forced you to. "Do you like me?"
Pope froze. The moment he allowed you to know how much he truly cared about you was the moment you'd be in danger. Whether that was because of him or Smurf.
Despite all of it Pope couldn't help but give in. You were looking at him with such big and trusting eyes, like deep in your heart you knew he'd say yes. So he did.
"'Course i do," he responded, watching your face light up, like you'd still had doubts. Like you hadn't known the answer before.
He hated that. He thought he'd shown you enough how much he adored you.
"Good," you whispered, and before he knew it your arms were around his neck, and you were pulling him in hard, in a way you'd never done before.
You'd never hugged him before and his hand hovered above your waist in fear. He stared at himself in the mirror behind you, but as he felt you pulling him even more, he finally wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed his cheek against your shoulder, refusing to look in the mirror anymore and see how soft you had made him. Your arms were soft. You were soft. And warm. And you smelled really nice and Pope turned his head to the other side to drown himself in your scent. The vanilla in your hair was the only thing he could smell as his nose pressed against your shoulder and his lips touched your collarbone.
Pope worried you'd let go, because he really needed this. So badly it almost hurt. But you didn't.
You just stayed there, and Pope tightened his hold around your waist. Eventually, you gradually shifted closer, until one palm was just barely in his hair, and he hummed the moment your fingers got entangled with one of his curls. Even in your intoxicated state, he could feel your senses come alive, the senses that knew everything about him. You entwined all of your fingers in his curls and scratched once to see how he'd react. When he pressed closer, you repeated the movement again and again, until Pope practically melted like butter in your arms.
Pope wasn't sure how long he stood there holding you and letting you hold him, but eventually he loosened his hold and only then did you let go, your hands removing themselves from his hair. Your hands went to his face and you gently brushed a thumb across his cheekbone.
Whatever beer did to you, he didn't dislike it, and he felt awful for thinking it. He knew there was a reason you didn't enjoy drinking. But you touched his face so lovingly he fought the urge to cry.
He wasn't sure when, or if ever, he'd received such a tender touch from someone. He wanted to be in your arms forever; it made him feel like nothing could reach him there. Not his mother, not his nightmares, not his jobs, nothing. Everything was so far away when he was close to you. There was only ever you and he always wanted there to only be you.
When you pulled back, you looked tired, really tired. You rubbed your eyes again, letting a yawn escape you before looking up at him and asking quietly. "Will you stay?"
Pope didn't hesitate. He just wanted to be close to you.
"I'll take the couch," he mumbled, reaching for your waist and helping you off the counter.
When you were on the floor again, you looked up, frowning. "No," you said. "Can't you sleep in my bed?"
Pope's teeth ached from how hard he gritted them against each other. He guessed drinking also made you want to make decisions. He was certain he didn't dislike that either, just the contrary.
He looked down at himself. "I don't have clean clothes," and he most certainly wasn't getting into your bed with these dirty ones, the ones that have lived and experienced the filth that was Deran's bar.
" 'S'okay." you mumbled. "You sleep in your boxers, don't you?"
You reached for his hand, pulling him back to your bedroom. He followed without another word, watching you slip under the covers and, almost immediately, turn to your side, exhausted, but well aware of how a drunk person should sleep.
Pope watched you, and for a second, just for a second, he thought you might've turned around for him, knowing well the privacy he'd been stripped of by his mother all his life. That you were turning, to let him know that he didn't have to ask you for privacy, that you'd always be here to give it to him. But then he shook his head, getting rid of the thought. He couldn't handle this much kindness in one night.
He slowly lifted the bedcovers and, without a word, you scooted further, not turning around until he was under the covers and only then did you turn around.
You didn't turn around on purpose.
"Hi," you mumbled, eyes barely open.
"Hey," he mumbled back, feeling you entangle your legs with his.
"You're not cold, are you?" you mumbled, glancing down at his collarbone peeking out from under the bed sheets.
He shook his head. "No." You're here to keep me warm. I can't feel any cold when I'm with you.
You nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Hold me?"
Another request you would've never dared to ask had you been sober.
And Pope was terrified of doing it. Even in your drunken state, you saw the hesitation. "'It's okay," you mumbled, but Pope let out a startled "No," making you flinch.
"I just—" he hesitated, looking at you. "Yes. I can hold you," he said in such a detached tone it almost made you smile.
You slid closer, til your head met his bare chest, and you let out a relieved sigh. "You're warm," you whispered, and Pope wanted to tell you how he was never warm, always cold, how everyone complained about it. How he had never felt genuine warmth until you.
His arm slowly went down to your back, pulling you closer, palm resting on your hip.
Your hand lifted to his chest, resting it there. "Okay?" you whispered, and he slowly nodded.
He could feel your eyes watching him, but he didn't dare meet your gaze, afraid you'd see something in his eyes, like too much love, too much emotion that was allowed for a moment like this, and move.
Maybe this was nothing for you, maybe he was making a bigger deal of this than it actually was. He hoped he wasn't.
Pope stared at the ceiling before he spoke, fingers tightening around your hip like announcing that he was going to speak, and you tiredly opened your eyes, waiting.
"I—" he started, before starting over. "Don't listen to Craig's stories," he said quietly, still staring at the white canvas above him, while your fingers curled at his chest, fingernails now grazing his chest. He could feel you getting nervous and he rushed his next words, hoping to get rid of that emotion. "Those things they—they did happen, but not the way he told you."
He stared upward, before carefully letting his eyes drift back down to you. You were watching him with such patient eyes, it almost hurt. He wasn't sure he'd ever had someone wait for him so patiently to get his words out. Never had anyone wait for him to explain himself and his behavior. Everyone just ran with whatever they wanted to believe he'd said, not even bothering for him to start explaining.
"I didn't—" he thought about it. He wasn't sure he should actually tell you, but your fingers softly traced his collarbone, and he thought, why not? He'd already given you everything he had. His soul and his heart.
"I didn't want to do those things," he finally admitted. "I did them because I thought I had to."
It was his way of telling you he liked you a lot, and that whatever you heard and made you insecure was nothing to worry about. That he only ever wanted to be with you, and that you didn't fit in with the Codys, but you fit in with him and he fit in with you.
You looked back down at his chest, staring right where his heart was. "I wished you didn't have to," you mumbled quietly. "Do things you didn't want to," you explained quietly, and Pope's heart ached.
He couldn't believe that the stranger Craig had introduced oh so long ago, was seemingly the only person in the world who had put in the effort to hear him out and understand him. He stared up at the ceiling, trying hard not to just let tears spill.
"It's fine," he managed out in a rough voice, but you shook your head, against his chest.
"'S'really not." you whispered. You stayed quiet for a while and Pope thought he'd lost you to sleep. "I hope you know you never have to do anything you don't want to with me."
Pope looked down at you, watching you tap your fingers nervously on his chest, and he gathered the courage to squeeze your hip lightly, watching you smile to yourself.
sammy bryant thinks you're an angel, sent from god specifically to reward him for the gruelling years he spent in his broken marriage. you just make everything easy, and he notices it in the smallest of ways.
god knows tammi was a menace when she was on her period, but you? you just get clingy and weepy. he's never met with a cold shoulder, or a snide remark for "doing the dishes wrong". god, he knew tammi was in pain, periods sucked, but did she really have to take it out on him? the years of being his ex-wife's metaphorical punching bag seem to fade away at the sight of your sweet, teary face.
sammy doesn't even need to do anything ridiculous: he stops over at the store to bring home your favourite chocolates and you're sobbing into his shoulder, swearing he's the most doting, attentive boyfriend you've ever had.
all sammy has to do is scoop you up onto his broad chest when he gets home from work. you practically use him as a human hot water bottle when you're really cramping. wrapping your arms and legs around him, tummy to tummy, hearing his strong heartbeat under your cheek :(
he's stroking your hair so softly as you lay on his warm belly, whispering to soothe you, "i know, baby, sucks, don't it? wish i could take the pain away for you..."
snowghoul
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
titsay
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stormborns
