First ever drabble finished and posted. Be gentle 💕
Summary - Pope finds a new fascination with Deran’s bartender.
Pairing - pope cody X female reader
Word count - 3.7K (she’s just a baby)
Warnings - NSFW, voyeurism, explicit language
It was never his intention to watch you.
He knew you’d be here. Deran had called earlier that morning and given him the heads up that he had offered the pool to your services. Deran had insisted that Pope leave you alone, but the moment he saw you, his plans changed.
It wasn’t the first time he’d ever seen you. He did see you working at the bar on occasion after Deran hired you six months ago. Though Pope hadn’t ever spoken to you directly, he noticed you. He noticed a lot.
And even though he knew you would be here, he hadn’t intended to stay. He planned to meet Craig and scope a potential job. But he didn’t anticipate seeing you in a blue bikini.
He was absolutely fascinated by the sight of you. The way the sun glinted off your skin, highlighted by the water. You swam from one side to the other, dipping into the water with minimal splash. Every movement was easy, relaxed.
He stood at the island in the kitchen, rooted to the floor as you climbed out of the water and walked over to one of the lounge chairs. After a cautious glance around, his heart leapt in his throat as you reached around your back and pulled the knot free. The fact that you didn’t see him standing in the kitchen was baffling.
Now topless, you sat on the lounge chair and nestled into the seat, your eyes closed to the bright sun. His heart was beating so fast, spurred on by the sight of you sprawled out casually.
You were so fucking beautiful. Not that he didn’t notice that before, but seeing you now like this, he couldn’t help the stir in his pants.
He felt wrong watching you, dirty even, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. You, seemingly unaware of his presence under the assumption you had total privacy, were unphased.
Pope watched you for what felt like hours, perched on a stool. He liked the way you gracefully dove into the pool, the way your wet hair cascaded down your back, rivulets of water running down your body. He liked the way you moved so easily through the water, like it was second nature.
But eventually, you grew tired of the water and bundled up with a large towel. Pope watched as you slid inside the house through the sliding glass door, freezing in place once you caught sight of him. But instead of being afraid like he expected, you fucking smiled.
He rose to his feet slowly, moving away from the stool in slight embarrassment. His cheeks felt warm, conscious of the fact that he’d just been caught.
You smiled warmly at him with your extended hand, taking a few steps toward him as you introduced yourself with your towel clutched to your chest. He stared for a moment, unsure of himself, unsure why you’re being so kind. You just caught him watching you.
Pope takes your hand tentatively. It’s small, soft, and tucks perfectly into his. He wants to ask you why you’re here. Deran invited you, but why come here to swim alone? He wants to tell you his name, but his voice is trapped in his throat. However, you don’t seem to mind as you continue speaking.
“I’ve seen you at the bar before. Pope, right? Deran’s brother?” Your voice is so soft, so sweet. It feels positively sinful for that angelic tone to be directed at him.
He nods, because he still can’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain himself. Much to his chagrin, you had to know he was watching you. You saw him sitting in the kitchen facing the pool.
“I’m so sorry if I’m imposing,” you say, tucking your wet hair behind your ear. “I’ve had such a hard time lately, Deran said I could come over and just.. well I just needed some space. From my roommate.”
Imposing, you say, as if you were the one who should be apologizing. He felt sick to his stomach with guilt.
And to make matters worse, or having to ask you himself out loud, you explained yourself. A slew of questions filled his mind and he wanted to know everything; who is making your life miserable enough that you felt the need to come here? Here, where you found some kind of peace and salvation. This place, however, was a special kind of hell for him. He fucking hated this house and all the memories that came with it.
Driven by curiosity and a strange protective need, he finds his voice, “What happened with your roommate?”
You sigh, “She’s such a bitch, for lack of better word. We used to be good friends but ever since she got with this guy, she’s been.. I don’t know. She’s angry all the time, doesn’t help clean, stopped going to work and sleeps all day. I’ve seen bruises on her.”
Pope could care less about your roommate. His only interest is how it’s been affecting you. And if he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t absolutely sure why he cared so much in the first place. But something drew him to you. He felt the pull, like the way flowers reach for the sun.
“You can come here whenever you want,” he offers, hearing the gravel in his own voice. “No one really swims anymore.”
He doesn’t really know what he’s saying, except that any excuse to see you here in that blue bikini again, or anything for that matter, was good enough for him.
“Oh, well thanks.” You’re smiling, showing your teeth and Pope thinks you have the perfect smile.
After that, he decides that he should visit his brother more often. Maybe help out at the bar. God knows the place was an absolute nightmare. Pope purposely avoided it simply for the fact that Deran didn’t take good care of it. He had seen the condition of the kitchen and was less than impressed.
But maybe if he helped Deran with the bar, it would give him a chance to see you.
So he does. He comes up to the bar three times a week, only on the days that you’re working, and he cleans the bar. It wasn’t hard to figure out your schedule since his brother owned the place, but the rest he had to figure out on his own.
Internally, it was a struggle. He wanted to know you, so he watched you when you didn’t work together. To avoid that guilty feeling niggling at his brain, he told himself it was like a job, not much different than ones where they got paid.
It would be so much easier just to talk to you, to get to know you the way everyone else does, but Pope was never good at that. He tends to scare people away and his brothers always tell him that he’s weird.
When he wasn’t at the bar with you, he followed you. He learned your schedule, your roommates name and the guy she’s been dating. He learns where you were born and where your parents live.
He learns that your car is a piece of shit and on its last leg. That you have a second job just to make ends meet and he absolutely hates the fact that you bartend at a sleazy strip club every night you’re not working at the bar.
Every single night is spent in service of others, leaving very little space or time in your life for yourself.
So he tries to make up for it in ways that he can. When he has you at The Drop, he’s at your every beck and call. You need the keg replaced? He’s on it. Washing and drying the glasses? Consider it done. Ice bin needs to be refilled? You don’t need to ask twice.
Pope is not a very social man. He doesn’t know the right thing to say most of the time and he’s better at demands than he is anything else. He can be more harsh than he means to and he’s not very good at communicating, but he tries. With you, he really tries.
He makes it a point to try and make you laugh once every shift, just so he can hear the sweet sound. Sometimes he can make you laugh without even trying and it confuses him to his core, but he’s glad for it anyway.
When you’re working away from the bar, he sits in a dark corner of the strip club to watch you. He wants to make sure you’re safe. The Sailor’s Moon is a dank and dark place, run down for the most part and frequently visited by questionable looking individuals. But to his surprise, no one ever dares to get out of line with you.
He admires the way you hold yourself. But he despises the slightly revealing, tight outfits you always wear. Not because you don’t look good in them, you look absolutely fucking delectable. But because he doesn’t want anyone else looking at you the way he looks at you.
Pope wants more time with you, more than what he already has. Selfishly, he wants it all, your full attention. To protect you and provide for you so that you don’t have to work two jobs, and only work at The Drop if you want to.
So while he’s still trying to get to know you, he decides that perhaps if he tried to do more, you would have to do less.
On a night you’re working at the strip club, he fixes your car. It needed a new spark plug and the battery cables were shit. One of the tires had wire showing, so he changed it too. When you mentioned it the next evening at the bar, he was honest with you. Not that he had been watching you, but that he helped with your car without asking.
He didn’t want you thinking that anyone else helped you but him. You were clearly surprised and confused, judging by the look on your face and he thought for sure he completely fucked up, but you gave him a hug and a thank you.
A week later, you mentioned to him that your roommate’s questionable boyfriend broke into the apartment and trashed the place. It took everything in him not to react immediately, he didn’t want to scare you.
He handled it, because of course he did, and repaired the damaged door frame and lock. The apartment complex would have taken way too long, and probably would have done a half assed job of fixing it, so he took care of it himself. He also helped clean up the apartment and put it back into order, despite your pushback. But he insisted.
As for the boyfriend, Pope made sure he wouldn’t come back. Ever.
Day after day, week after week, he grew more confident and comfortable with you. He asked all the right questions, getting to know you properly. And he convinced Deran to pay you more money and give you extra shifts so that you would spend less time at the strip club.
Pope was happy, or at least what he thought happy looked like. Happier than he had been, well.. ever.
You were so sweet, so kind and friendly with everyone. But especially with Pope. He may not be good at these things, but one thing he was sure of, you were flirting with him too.
On a night that you close at the bar, Pope had just finished cleaning out the defrosted freezer when you poked your head into the kitchen.
“Night, Popey.” You told him with a small wave. The nickname you picked up from Craig sounds so much better coming from your lips. Normally, he would wait a minute after you leave to follow you, just to make sure you made it home safe. But tonight he was feeling brave.
“I can take you,” he offers, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I don’t mind.”
He watched you move into the doorway, shuffling your feet nervously. A small smile played on your lips. “Actually, I’m glad you offered because I really don’t want to walk home this late.”
“Walk?” He asked, surprise and anger blooming in his chest. “What happened to your car?”
He wanted to ask you what the hell you were thinking, walking home at this time of night. Or ever.
“My roommate. You know, the bitchy one. Anyway, she’s actually been working. I told her she could borrow the car.” You make a face.
Pope can feel his nostrils flare as his lips press into a tight line. He’s pissed, but he maintains his composure. “I’ll take you home. Don’t ever walk again.”
You don’t ask any questions, just follow him willingly to his car. He drives you home, tense silence filling the void. With the window down and the soft evening breeze on his face, it calms him.
He pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building, his fingers finally relaxing on the wheel. Flexing them to relieve the stiffness, he risks a glance at you. You’re already smiling at him.
“Do you.. want to come inside?” You ask, so sweetly, so softly.
Pope really isn’t sure what to make of it. You’re smiling at him in a way that says it’s okay and he wants so badly to believe that’s true.
“Okay.” He says lamely, because he doesn’t want to ask you why or if you’re sure, in fear you’ll change your mind.
He follows you up the stairs and into the small apartment. It’s mostly tidy, save for random clutter here and there. It smells sweet, slightly floral, and a lot like you.
You place your things on the counter and kick off your shoes, making yourself comfortable right away. Pope stands there awkwardly in the doorway, watching you.
“Come in.” You tell him, gently grabbing him by the wrist to pull him into the kitchen. He feels out of place and silly, unsure what to do with his hands. Should he take off his shoes?
He watches you flit about the kitchen, pulling out something from the fridge and a couple of plates. Within a few minutes, you’ve warmed up leftovers, dished food to two plates, and set the small table just on the other side of the kitchen. You smile at him and wave him over, pulling out a chair.
“Eat, please. It’s the least I could do.”
It looks delicious, what he assumes is alfredo. He eats like a man nearly starved, having been without a good home cooked meal in a long time. You gently remind him to slow down, to enjoy his meal with a promise to cook for him again.
After you’ve both eaten, he helps clear the table and rinse the dishes.
“Thank you for the ride home. And for keeping me company.” He flinches softly when you lean in to kiss his cheek. It elicits a soft giggle from you and his heart thumps wildly beneath his rib cage.
For the next three weeks, you come over to the house every Saturday to swim. Pope makes you a sandwich and the two of you have lunch together. On the second Saturday, you convince him to start swimming with you.
On the third Saturday, you corner him in the pool and press him against the wall, wrapping your legs around his waist as you kiss him with a soft hunger. He can’t remember the last time he made out with someone. You don’t seem to mind when he plays with your hair, or the fact that he’s hard as a fucking rock and pressing into your thigh.
And when your bitchy roommate kicks you out, Pope is all too eager to offer a room to you at the house. He even helps you move. Normally he would have just handled the roommate himself. And he would have a long time ago, but he didn’t want to fuck up your living arrangements.
But selfishly, this works out better for him. He can take care of you properly and instead of him watching you at the strip club, or following you home every night, he would have you right under his nose.
At first you declined. Always so humble and too kind for your own good. Pope had to really lay the tracks in order for you to say yes.
You wouldn’t have to work every night. You could work at The Drop, pick up more shifts only if you wanted and save your money. He can drive you to and from work to save gas. You could swim any time you want. Move out when you’re ready. Though he didn’t tell you that he would make sure you never wanted to.
The first couple of nights with you sleeping under the same roof with him, he struggled greatly to sleep. Not that he had a great track record with sleep as it was, but he was really struggling.
He was no stranger to nightmares. Always violent and replaying some of his worst memories. More often than not, he would wake up tangled in his own sheets, fist flying in the air at some unseen figure.
But on one particular evening, he awoke to you in his room, whispering soothing words with your hands held up in defense. He instantly panicked, worried that he may have hurt you. You climbed into bed with him and he cradled you to his chest. The two of you didn’t speak on it, but he enjoyed it way more than he should waking up to you in his arms.
You fell into a perfect rhythm; working together, late night dinner when you both got off, laundry together during the day, lunch by the pool.
After a week of you staying at the house, and your first night off, Pope found himself unable to sleep. He sat on the edge of his bed, legs spread slightly with his hands resting atop his knees, staring at the wall.
It was late and you had already turned in for the night. He didn’t want to bother you, he wanted you to rest. So he sat there, reliving his nightmares in his conscious state, battling his inner demons as they tell him what an awful person he is.
Around midnight, his door opened softly and you appeared in the door frame, bare feet padding softly on the floor. His bedside lamp was on, illuminating your face and bare legs as you entered the room.
If you were surprised at his current state, how he was focused on the wall, you didn’t show it. He watched as you closed the door behind you, then padded over to the bed.
He swallowed hard as he looked up at you, feeling the warmth from your hands as they caressed his shoulders. His name spilled from your lips in a soft whisper as you bent down, pressing your lips to his brow.
His hands splayed over your hips as his eyes slid shut, a tingling warmth settling over him. Your hands smooth upwards, up the sides of his neck and into his curls. Goosebumps covered his flesh, instantly reacting to your touch.
Pope tried to maintain his composure, just wanting to enjoy your touch. His fingertips dig into the silky fabric of your night gown, restraint slipping as he watches you fall to your knees in front of him.
“No,” you tell him firmly when he attempts to pull you back to him. He wants to take care of you, touch you and make you feel good. “Let me.”
He obeys in that way that is so very Andrew, watching with dark hazel eyes as your hands glide up the expanse of his thick thighs. Your fingers slip into the waistband of his briefs and help him shimmy out of them, freeing his hard cock.
His cock twitches as he watches you admire him, wrapping your small hand around the base of his thick length. He breathes through his slightly gaped mouth, thick fingers gripping the sheets until his knuckles turn white.
As his heart pounds in his ears, he watches as you take the tip of his cock into your warm mouth. He nearly comes right then and there. A rough huff of air passes his lips as he reaches up, tangling his thick digits into your soft hair.
You hum around him as your mouth slides down the length of his cock, slowly taking in as much of him as you can until the tip hits the back of your throat. He chokes on air.
His head tilts back as his eyes slide shut, keeping his ass firmly planted on the bed as you suck, slowly bobbing your head up and down. You’re testing how he fits in your mouth and learning what he likes by licking, squeezing, and hollowing your cheeks.
He’s embarrassed to admit that he’s not going to last long with how good your mouth feels. And combined with your small hand stroking the base, he’s having a hard time holding back.
But the moment you dig your fingers into his bare thigh and bury his cock deep into your throat, he’s done for. He whimpers before he groans, his entire body tensing as he shoots his cum into the back of your throat. His cock twitches as he listens to you gag lightly, swallowing every bit of it that you can.
Pope struggles to catch his breath as his heart thumps wildly, hands searching for you. He wants to kiss you, take care of you and make you feel as good as you made him.
“You need sleep.” You tell him once you finish cleaning him up. Your cheeks and lips are flushed, swollen as you motion toward the bed.
He wants to protest, but he’s too far gone to try and fight with you. With his head swimming, he climbs under the covers and pulls you to him, into his arms.
As he slides his arms around you and presses his lips to your hair, you settle into his embrace. He tells himself he’ll give you five minutes before he pushes your gown up and buries his face in your pussy.
And for the first time in a really long time, perhaps ever, Pope thinks he could be happy.
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