The Library Is Open.

20+ Reblogging masterpieces one fic at a time

[pnkpill]

just to be clear, a BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN runs this blog.

[cherienymphe]

Hello from work!

[qveendiorsworld]

Yass diva!

[astarlinggirl]

take my hand

odysseus x fem!reader

summary: after months of solitude, odysseus finds you washed up on the shores of his island, and a quiet yearning begins to fester between the two of you.

wc: 1.2k words

warnings: 18+, brief scene of him killing bad men, piv, unprotected, we have a bush, choking, headlock, #biceps

a/n: firstly there’s 1000 of you guys now, i am so gagged and emo lowkey, ily. genuinely need to be put in a headlock by matt damon's arms. and yes this will become a fucking 15k word fully fleshed out fic eventually where i reignite my greek mythology hyperfixation that has lay dormant for years. divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: everytime by ethel cain

Odysseus was living on an island alone, lost, with only the sound of waves and the wind surrounding him for months. 

And you were from a nearby island, taken captive by a conquering king after his army had ravaged your village. But the ship carrying you across the sea was swallowed by a storm, splintered into pieces, and you washed ashore on his island. Odysseus saw you half buried in the sand, the first human after rotting in his own solitude for months, alone in the middle of the ocean, and is enamoured by you immediately. 

He gathered you into his arms, holding you against his chest with desperation. You were warm, real, alive. For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of salt and seawater clinging to you, simply revelling in the press of your skin against his, the touch of another human. A beautiful one at that.

He carried you back to the small hut he'd built with his own hands and nursed you back to health.

You were a shy little thing, shrinking away from his touch at first, horrified and untrusting of men after having trusted the wrong men before.

So he never pushed. Instead, a companionship formed in the quiet spaces between you.

Words spoken in hushed whispers under the shade of trees stabbing at the sky, nights spent lying side by side on the cool sand, watching the moon. He’d always be the one going out to hunt, and cooking it, not letting you lift a finger. 

Occasionally you wake up pressed against him, seeking comfort in his arms. Odysseus would lie perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe, afraid that even the smallest movement would break the beginnings of the trust you'd placed in him.

He did, though, eagerly await the day the thread would snap, the thread that grows precarious with every instance of you tending to his wounds after a bad hunt, every time your fingers brushed his as he handed you food.

Every morning he caught sight of you wading into the shallow water to wash yourself, rubbing the salt and sand off, the thin dress draped over you clinging to your skin. He would look away almost as quickly as he'd looked, ashamed of the longing and the lust growing heavier under his ribs, wondering how much longer that thread could hold before it finally gave way.

It snapped the day another ship washed ashore. A handful of men stumbled onto the beach, their laughter turning vile the moment they saw you. Odysseus was watching you from the corner of his eye as you bathed in the shallows below. The moment he saw them leering, he ran from where he was buried in the trees hunting for food. Grabbed his spear, the only weapon he had carved from wood, and met them before they could reach you. Striked them down with the fury he was certain not even Ares himself would possess, the God of War himself, as he killed them off, one by one, brutally. 

He did not stop until the beach fell silent once more.

When it was over, you stepped out from the water, the hem of your dress dripping seawater onto the blood-soaked sand. You found him standing among the bodies, blood streaking his arms, his chest rising with ragged breaths.

And that’s when you know – he would protect you forever. 

Slowly, almost timidly, you reached a hand out to cradle his face, wiped the splatter of blood on his cheek gently, before leaning in, and pressing your lips against his. For a heartbeat Odysseus stood frozen, unable to believe the warmth against his mouth was real. Then his hand free of the spear found your waist and drew you impossibly closer as he kissed you back with desperation, groaning into your mouth, breaking months of restrained longing.

Now after you carefully washed the blood off his body, Odysseus finally has you. 

You sit on his lap, his chest pressing into your back, impaling you on his cock. His thighs are pressed into the sand, your waist gripped in one massive arm as he moves you up and down, face buried in your neck. His other hand is gripping your neck loosely, holding you upright as he pounds into you.

“Fuck, this what you wanted hm? To be sittin’ on me, milkin’ my cock?” he grits out, feeling you tighten around him, your slick dripping down to his thighs.

You only whine, “fuck-yes, yes,” grip him tighter, one hand coming up to hold his, pressing his palm harder against your neck. You writhe in his grasp, trying to grind your clit against something, anything, before he grips your waist even harder in warning.

He grunts against your neck, moaning your name. His beard rubs against the side of your face as he lifts his head up.

“Yeah, my girl needs to be choked? That’s what she needs to stay. Fuckin’. Still.”

He pounds into you harder between each word. You’re reduced to a mess, can only whine and blubber out soft begs, “please.”

Instead of choking your neck with his hand, Odysseus shifts. Still thrusting into you, the wet sounds of your slick echoing through the island, his arm slides across your chest, gripping your shoulder, one thick bicep pressing against your neck. He traps you in a headlock while he moves his hips faster. You moan, loud, at the weight of him. 

“Try gettin’ out of this now,” he grunts against you. Everything is warm and fuzzy as he brings you closer to the edge, pounding into you with slower, deeper thrusts now. His hand slides down your waist, to your mound, rubbing at the patch of hair there.

“Please- fuck, please touch me,” you whine, desperately.

Then he pulls, hard, and you let out a whimper. 

“You take what I give you, yeah? Don’t be fuckin’ greedy,” he groans against your ear.

You blabber out apologies, gripping his arm tighter. He feels his balls tighten when you claw your nails into his arm, leaving red marks.

“S’okay pretty girl, shush, just let me do all the work yeah?”

You nod, or try to as much as you can while wrapped in a headlock, as he peppers kisses to the side of your face. His beard scrapes you deliciously as he fucks his cock into you deeper, the perfect amount of coarse and rough. 

After a harsh thrust, Odysseus finally takes mercy on you, and brings a finger to your clit, rubbing slow circles. Pleasure sparks up your spine.

“Fuck- yeah, just like that,” you moan softly, closing your eyes as you get closer and closer to your peak.

“That feel good?” He pants against you. You whimper out a yes, writhing in his grip.

“You gonna be my good girl and come now?” 

“Fuck- yes,” You moan, loud, your voice echoing in the island as you finally reach your peak. Your body grows limp in his grip as you close your eyes, pleasure washing over you. 

Odysseus jerks up, once, then twice, before spilling into you, groaning your name. It trickles down your thighs as you lean your weight against him, practically sitting on him. 

You’re still wrapped up in his massive arms as he pants against you, loosening his grip slightly. 

“Stay with me, on this island,” he whispers, tilting your head to the side. 

His eyes bore into yours.

 “Stay, forever. Please.”

You lean in, press the gentlest of kisses against his lips. 

“Forever.”

 And at last, Odysseus had found his way home, not to Ithaca, but to you.

u will not believe the state i wrote most of this in (hungover with five hours of sleep after hallucinating matt damon at the club)

[qveendiorsworld]

[qveendiorsworld]

[qveendiorsworld]

[qveendiorsworld]

[qveendiorsworld]

[epiphanyrogers]

lights, camera, action .ᐟ ── .✦ consider this your ticket stub to the captain americana film festival! this july, we’re rolling out the red carpet for one very beloved birthday boy with a collection of fics that ask one simple question: what if steve rogers got to star in some of hollywood's greatest films? twenty-seven days, eight feature fics, and one leading man.... (oh! and you, of course). so grab your popcorn; the show's about to start!

the captain americana film festival runs july fourth through july thirty-first, and is strictly 18+, adults only entry! each fic will have it's own individual content warnings. full programme below!

⤷ starring spy!steve rogers x spy!f!reader⌇action romance

❝ You and Steve are voluntold you’re married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other. ❞

directed by @blowingbarnes ⧽ now showing .ᐟ

⤷ starring outlaws!stucky x f!reader⌇western romance

❝ As an outlaw, Steve Rogers has exactly two rules: keep moving, and don't go back. But for you he's broken the second one more times than he can count. He comes when he can, leaves before dawn, and you don't ask what he gets up to in between. Until one night it's not just Steve at your door, but his partner, Bucky Barnes, with your outlaw bleeding through his shirt and bounty hunters four days behind them. ❞

directed by @epiphanyrogers ⧽ now showing .ᐟ

⤷ starring 40s!steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama

❝ It's the summer before college and the uncertainty of war looms over your future. Yet Steve Rogers always remains certain about one thing: you. He’s stubborn and sweet and so sure he can love you hard enough to make the rest of the world wait. But time is cruel, and it pulls you away from him over and over until the only thing left is a notebook that tells the story of a love too stubborn to be forgotten. ❞

directed by @buckybsdoll ⧽ showing july 15th .ᐟ

⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom

❝ When Steve is roped into talking about his love for an old flame on a late night radio talk show, among the many women who hear his story and fall in love with him is… you. ❞

directed by @singulartoast ⧽ showing july 16th .ᐟ

⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama

❝ The rules are simple: stay on your side of the street. Until one night you meet a boy. As tensions rise between rival gangs, two lovers dare to ask a simple question. Can happy endings exist in a warzone? ❞

directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 20th .ᐟ

⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom

❝ You’re determined to help Wanda find the perfect boyfriend - but Steve? He is totally wrong for her and it’s not just because you want him for yourself. You, having feelings for Steve? Ugh, as if! ❞

directed by @lunexiax ⧽ showing july 24th .ᐟ

⤷ starring ceo!steve rogers x sex worker!f!reader⌇romcom

❝ Years after paying for your company on one of the loneliest nights of his life, Steve Rogers comes back with a very different request. Tired of endless questions about his love life, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend. It should be an easy arrangement. After all, neither of you is looking for anything real. ❞

directed by @love-stucky ⧽ showing july 27th .ᐟ

⤷ starring bodyguard!steve rogers x popstar!f!reader⌇ romantic thriller

❝ The first time Steve Rogers saves your life, you hate him for it. The second time, you kiss him. As a relentless stalker closes in and your world becomes smaller and smaller, the one person you can rely on is the bodyguard who’s sworn to keep his distance. But the closer the danger gets, the harder it becomes to ignore the growing attraction between protector and protected. ❞

directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 31st .ᐟ

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE ROGERS!

producer notes: what started as a half baked idea with @/love-stucky to do something to celebrate steve's birthday, somehow turned into an entire collab and the best excuse to read steve content all july! i have been so so so excited for this - selfishly perhaps, because i cannot wait to read all these fics, but mostly because of the wonderful writers who said yes and helped make this collab real. a huge thank you to every single one of you, ily guys. steve's best girls, assemble! <33

the stunning marquee sign and VHS spines for the notebook, mr and mrs rogers, west side story and the bodyguard were made by the insanely talented @/pinksplace, birthday steve edit by @/love-stucky, all other graphics by me. we do not give out permission for these to be used elsewhere!

[miasvelvetvoid]

doe-eyed running to my tranquility,

summary: After escaping your abusive boyfriend, you get pulled into the dangerous world of the Cody family and unexpectedly become the center of Pope Cody’s obsessive attention. As dark secrets unravel around you, Pope grows fiercely protective, pulling you deeper into his chaotic life until the line between safety and danger disappears completely. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: DD:DNE, hard warning for smurf, naiveish!reader, she’s naive until she isn’t, not timeline specific, could be season one related but idfk tbh, pope says two words and reader is on her knees (who wouldn’t be), I imagine pope has his curly hair, possessive!pope, obsessive!pope, bestie!deran, deran goes crazy, the brothers really like reader except baz is sneaky with smurf, abusive relationship, damsel trope, reader has doe eyes and is called bambi, maybe ooc characters, drinking, reader is super taken by pope the second she meets him, murder!!!, blood, gore, canon violence, SMUT!! (they shower together it’s steamy, soft!dom pope, voyeurism,pervish!pope (my favorite), mentions of choking, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie), mentioned sexual assault (not on reader), mention of sexual predators. word count: 14.8k amalia’s love note: 1000 followers special!!!! love you all thank you so much for supporting me always. If you hate this don’t say anything i’m extremely sensitive rn. Also i rewatched euphoria last week and totally based her bf off nate lol. credit to: The Deer’s Cry by Isabella Albuquerque NEXT PART!!

The music hit you before the house even came into view. Heavy bass rolled through the humid Oceanside air hard enough to rattle the windows of the massive beachside property perched at the edge of the cliff. The Cody house glowed gold against the dark, crowded wall to wall with people drinking, smoking, laughing too loud. Surfboards leaned crooked against the fence. Expensive cars packed the driveway bumper to bumper. Jetskis and dirt bikes sat scattered across the lawn like abandoned toys. Somewhere in the backyard a girl shrieked with drunken laughter loud enough to cut through the music.

You stumbled through the open gate barefoot, your pink heels dangling from two fingers. Your chest burned from running. Tears blurred your vision, hot and humiliating.

Your knees were scraped raw from slamming against the pavement after Nate shoved you down outside the bar. One side of your face still throbbed where he’d slapped you hard enough to split the inside of your lip maybe fifteen minutes earlier.

You hadn’t thought about where you were going. You’d just run.

And somehow your body dragged you here.

To the one place you’d been specifically told not to come.

Deran had mentioned the party offhandedly two days ago while fixing the walk-in freezer at the bar, half buried in tools and swearing at the wiring. Your shifts there had been sparse lately while finals swallowed your life whole, but somehow the routine of seeing him had become one of the few stable things you had left.

You weren’t even sure why your feet brought you to him.

Maybe because Nate hated him.

Maybe because Deran was one of the only people who ever looked at Nate like he saw exactly what lived underneath his skin.

Or maybe because somewhere along the way Deran Cody had turned into the closest thing you had to family. The older brother neither of you would ever admit out loud you needed. You knew things about him nobody else did. Dark things. Ugly things. And he knew yours too.

Which was exactly why he’d warned you more than once that Smurf’s house was not somewhere he wanted you.

You pushed through the side yard, adrenaline making you dizzy.

Nobody stopped you. Nobody really noticed you at first. You probably looked like every other fucked up girl stumbling through Oceanside at two in the morning. Mascara smeared under your eyes, dress strap hanging broken from one shoulder, blood drying on your knees.

The kind of girl people learned not to look at too hard.

Bodies crowded around the pool. Drunk girls danced in bikinis beside giant speakers while shirtless guys launched beer cans into the water. The whole place smelled like chlorine, weed, sweat, tequila, salt air.

Then Deran saw you.

His face changed instantly.

Not confusion. Not surprise.

Fear.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already crossing the yard toward you. Fast. “What happened?”

Your throat tightened before the words could even come out. “I know you said not to come here, but-”

Deran grabbed your arm carefully, fingers surprisingly gentle as he turned your face toward the pool lights.

The second he saw the bruise blooming across your cheek, something in his expression went cold. “That fucking asshole hit you?”

You looked away automatically.

That was answer enough.

“Craig,” Deran barked sharply.

A guy with long hair sitting on top of a cooler looked over immediately. Beside him, another man with dark hair and calmer eyes straightened from his chair too.

“What happened?” the dark-haired one asked.

Deran didn’t take his eyes off you. “Her boyfriend hit her.”

Craig stood so fast the cooler tipped sideways behind him. “Are you fucking serious?”

“It wasn’t-”

“Don’t,” Deran snapped instantly. The sharpness of it made you flinch. His jaw clenched hard enough you could see the muscle ticking beneath the skin. “Don’t do that shit.”

You’d seen Deran angry before. At customers. At his family. At himself.

This was different. This looked dangerous.

“Where is he?” the dark-haired man asked calmly, already getting to his feet.

Baz, you remembered suddenly. That was his name.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I ran.”

Deran looked like he wanted to tear somebody apart with his bare hands.

Then another voice cut through the tension behind him.

“Well,” she said smoothly. “Who’s this?”

You turned slowly, still clutching the broken strap of your dress against your chest.

Smurf Cody stood near the patio doors with a cigarette balanced elegantly between perfectly manicured fingers.

Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel warm. Sharp blonde hair untouched by the humidity. Gold jewelry glittering beneath the lights. She looked at you the way people looked at horses before buying them. Assessing. Calculating.

Like she could find every weak spot you had in under thirty seconds.

Deran exhaled through his nose. “Smurf.”

She ignored him completely.

Her eyes stayed fixed on you.

“You’re pretty,” she said casually. “Too pretty to be crying over a man.”

Heat crawled into your face immediately.

“This is Bambi,” Deran said tightly. “My best friend.”

“Friend,” Smurf repeated, amused.

And suddenly you understood an alarming amount about Deran’s issues.

Smurf stepped closer, gaze drifting over the ripped strap hanging off your shoulder, the bruise on your cheek, the blood on your knees.

“A boy do this to you?”

You nodded once.

Her expression barely changed.

“Hm.”

Something about the sound chilled you more than if she’d yelled.

Deran snatched his keys off a folding table. “We’re gonna go find him.”

Baz stood slower, calmer. “Deran.”

“I’m not gonna fucking kill him,” Deran snapped.

Craig gave a sharp laugh. “I might.”

Smurf waved her cigarette lazily through the air. “Just don’t bring cops back to my house.”

Then her eyes flicked back toward you.

“You can stay here tonight, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

“Yes, you could,” Smurf interrupted smoothly. “You look half dead.”

Deran turned toward you again, still vibrating with restrained anger.

“You good here?”

You nodded slowly, though you weren’t entirely sure that was true.

His jaw flexed as he looked around the party.

“Stay inside.”

Then the three of them disappeared through the side gate.

And just like that, they were gone.

You stood awkwardly near the pool while the party swallowed the moment whole. Nobody cared. Nobody even really looked twice. Music still blasted. Somebody cannonballed into the pool. A girl stumbled past you laughing with glitter smeared across her chest.

The world kept moving like nothing happened.

Smurf tilted her head toward the house. “Come inside.”

The kitchen felt strangely quiet compared to the chaos outside.

The bass still pulsed faintly through the walls, but softer now. Distant. Smurf moved around the massive kitchen like she owned every atom inside it. Which, honestly, she probably did.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“A little,” you admitted nervously.

She opened the fridge, pulling containers out without ever really stopping watching you.

The house was beautiful in an intimidating sort of way. Expensive without looking staged. Polished wood floors. Massive windows overlooking the black ocean. Family photos lining the walls.

Every room felt lived in.

Claimed.

Smurf moved through it like royalty.

Which, in a deeply fucked up way, she was.

“You and Deran sleeping together?” she asked casually.

You nearly inhaled your own spit. “Oh my God, no. No.”

Not that the idea itself was horrifying. Deran was objectively attractive and you had functioning eyes. But it was also probably one of the least likely scenarios imaginable considering Deran had spent the better half of your friendship pointing out hot men to you with alarming enthusiasm.

“Hm.” Smurf pulled leftover pasta from the fridge. “That’s disappointing. He needs prettier girlfriends.”

You laughed nervously.

“I’m serious.”

The smile fell from your face.

You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was joking.

Smurf handed you a plate before leaning against the counter, cigarette balanced between two fingers as she studied you openly.

“You’re too soft for my boys anyway.”

The statement landed strangely hard. It irritated you more than it should have. She didn’t know you. Not really. The first thing she’d ever seen from you was this version. Crying. Bruised. Shaking.

Weak.

“I’m just his friend,” you said quietly.

“Mm.” She lit another cigarette. “Girls always think they’re just friends with Cody men.”

She pointed at you lightly with the cigarette.

“Especially the pretty ones.”

You looked down at the plate in your hands.

“Does the boy do this often?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. He was angry tonight.”

Smurf’s expression stayed unreadable.

Cold almost.

“You should learn now,” she said quietly. “Men don’t hit women they love.” She took a slow drag from the cigarette. “They hit women they own.”

The bluntness stunned you into silence.

Before you could answer, movement outside the kitchen windows caught your attention.

Someone sat near the fountain in the backyard, half hidden in the shadows.

You hadn’t noticed him before.

Large frame. Broad shoulders curled slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees. Dark curls falling over his forehead. Freckles dusted across skin that disappeared beneath the sleeves of a faded gray t-shirt. Around him the party carried on at full volume, people screaming over music, splashing into the pool, stumbling through clouds of smoke.

But he sat completely still.

Just watching.

His eyes moved slowly across the yard, detached from all of it like he existed outside the noise.

Then his gaze landed on you.

And stayed there.

Something twisted low in your stomach.

Not fear exactly.

Awareness.

Like some instinct deep in your body already knew who he was before anybody said it.

Smurf noticed immediately.

“Oh,” she murmured softly, almost amused. “There’s Pope.”

Pope.

The name alone tightened something in your spine.

Deran had warned you about him enough times.

If you ever meet Pope, avoid him.

Why?

Because he’s fucking weird.

You glanced back toward the window.

Pope was still staring directly at you.

Not smiling. Not moving. Just staring with an intensity that made your skin feel too tight.

“He just got out,” Smurf said casually, like she was discussing the weather. “Prison makes socializing difficult.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

“He’s harmless,” she added after a second.

The way she said it somehow made you feel the exact opposite.

“You should say hi.”

“No, I’m okay-”

“Pope!” Smurf called loudly through the open sliding door.

Your stomach dropped so fast it almost hurt. You shot her a horrified look while she smiled lazily around her cigarette. For a second you genuinely wondered if she was fucking with you. Testing you maybe. You still couldn’t tell when Smurf was being genuine and when she was setting somebody up for entertainment.

Outside, Pope lifted his head immediately.

“Come meet Deran’s friend,” Smurf called.

Your palms started sweating.

A minute later the sliding door opened.

Up close, he was even bigger than you expected.

Not polished like Baz. Not clean-cut like Deran.

Pope looked rough in a way that felt accidental instead of curated. Sharp eyes. Scarred hands. Thick shoulders that made the kitchen suddenly feel smaller. There was something restless underneath his skin even while he stood perfectly still.

And he looked at you like he was trying to figure something out.

“This is Bambi,” Smurf said smoothly.

Pope kept staring.

You shifted awkwardly under the weight of it, suddenly hyperaware of your ripped dress and smeared mascara.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

“Hi,” he echoed.

His voice caught you off guard.

Soft. Almost gentle.

Smurf looked between the two of you with obvious amusement sparkling in her eyes.

“Well,” she said, pushing off the counter. “Try not to scare her, baby.”

Then she disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with him.

Silence settled heavily into the kitchen.

You looked literally anywhere except directly at him.

“I like your dress,” Pope said suddenly.

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear awkwardly.

“It’s ripped.”

Your eyes dropped to the broken strap hanging off your shoulder.

“I guess, yeah.”

Pope leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest, but his eyes never left you.

You tried focusing on the food instead.

“You’re bleeding,” he said after another moment.

You looked down at your scraped knee. Blood had dried in messy streaks down your shin. “Oh.”

Without another word Pope opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack.

When he handed it to you, your fingers brushed accidentally.

He pulled his hand back immediately.

Too fast. Like the contact surprised him.

And maybe you imagined it, but for half a second his entire expression changed when you looked at him directly. Something almost startled flickered across his face before he looked away.

You didn’t know it, but Pope spent most of his life disconnected from people. Numb to them. Detached. But there was something about you standing in his mother’s kitchen bruised and trembling with those wide, wet doe eyes fixed on him that hooked somewhere deep beneath his ribs before he could stop it.

Maybe it was how vulnerable you looked while still trying to pretend you were fine.

Maybe it was the softness in your voice.

Maybe it was the fact that you looked at him without immediately looking afraid.

He didn’t know.

He just knew he liked it.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

He nodded once.

Now he was the one avoiding your eyes.

God.

Deran was right.

He was weird.

Not creepy exactly.

Just… off.

Like his brain worked differently from everybody else’s.

You glanced toward the backyard where music still pounded through the walls.

“You don’t like parties?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

Pope’s eyes shifted toward the window again. “Don’t like all these people in my space.”

You made a small oh with your mouth before he continued.

“They always break stuff.”

That felt oddly reasonable coming from him.

“You ran here?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You shrugged awkwardly. “I knew Deran was close.”

Pope considered that for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

“You trust him.”

“I do.”

Another silence stretched between you.

“He said Nate hurts you sometimes.”

Your head snapped up. “Deran told you that?”

The question slipped out sharper than you intended.

Why would Deran tell them about you? About your relationship? About the ugly parts of it?

Had he told all of them?

Or just Pope?

Pope frowned slightly, like he could tell your mood shifted but wasn’t fully sure why.

“He said he doesn’t like him.”

That sounded far more believable.

You relaxed a little, pressing the ice pack carefully against your cheek.

Pope watched the movement intently.

Not flirtatiously.

Not even curiously.

Just intensely.

Like he noticed every little thing your body did.

It made you hyperaware of yourself. Of the way you sat. The way your fingers trembled slightly. The way your dress slipped against your skin.

You cleared your throat quietly.

“So…” you started. “What exactly do you think your brothers are doing right now?”

Pope didn’t answer immediately. You could practically see him debating how honest to be.

“Probably beating the shit out of him.”

Your stomach twisted hard.

“You think?”

Pope looked genuinely confused by the question.

“Yes.”

And somehow the certainty in his voice scared you more than the answer itself.

Nate hit the pavement hard enough to split the skin across his cheekbone.

The crack echoed through the empty marina parking lot like a gunshot.

Before he could even suck in a breath, Craig grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright again like he weighed nothing.

“You like to hit women?” Craig snarled.

His fist slammed into Nate’s ribs hard enough to fold him sideways with a broken wheeze.

Nate choked violently, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

The marina stretched empty around them. Black water crashed against the docks below while Baz’s truck headlights cut harsh white beams across the pavement. Boats rocked slowly in the distance, chains clinking against metal poles in the wind.

Deran paced nearby like something feral trapped in human skin.

He couldn’t stop moving.

Every few seconds his eyes snapped back to Nate, rage crawling visibly beneath his skin like he was seconds away from tearing him apart with his bare hands.

“You touch her again,” Deran snapped, voice low and shaking, “I’ll fucking drown you myself.”

Nate spit blood onto the concrete.

“She’s a lying-”

Craig kicked him hard in the stomach before he could finish.

Nate crumpled with a strangled noise.

“Wrong answer,” Craig muttered.

Baz stayed leaned against the truck, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers while he watched the scene unravel with the exhaustion of someone who already knew this was spiraling too far.

“Enough,” he said finally.

“Enough?” Deran barked. He turned so fast the movement itself looked violent. “He beat the shit out of her.”

Nate groaned weakly on the pavement, curling onto his side.

Deran looked down at him with something far worse than anger.

Hatred. Pure, ugly hatred.

The kind that sharpened every edge of his face until he barely looked human anymore.

“We should tie a fucking cinderblock to him and dump him in the ocean.”

Craig immediately pointed at him. “That’s what I said.”

Baz rubbed a hand down his face slowly. “And then what? We explain a dead body to Smurf?”

Deran ignored him completely. “He put his hands on her.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word. Almost disbelieving. Like his brain still couldn’t process the image of you standing in Smurf’s backyard bruised and crying.

Nate coughed wetly, trying to push himself up onto one elbow.

Huge mistake. Deran crossed the distance so fast Baz barely had time to move.

He grabbed Nate by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the side of the truck hard enough to rock it violently on its suspension.

“You think you get to touch her like that?” Deran hissed.

Nate cried out as the back of his head cracked against metal.

Craig’s expression shifted instantly.

The amusement disappeared. “Hey,” he said carefully now. “Deran.”

But Deran either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.

“You think because she stays with your sorry ass that means you can keep doing it?” he snapped. “You think she belongs to you?”

Nate’s face had gone pale beneath the blood smeared across it. “I didn’t mean-”

Deran slammed him against the truck again.

“Bullshit.”

Baz straightened immediately, cigarette dropping to the pavement.

He pushed off the passenger door and started toward them fast.

“Deran.”

Warning this time. But Deran didn’t back off.

He sidestepped Baz entirely, grabbed Nate by the throat with one hand and yanked him upright again. His other hand caught the open passenger door.

“You feel like a big-”

Deran slammed the truck door into the side of Nate’s head. The sound cracked through the marina.

“-tough-”

Another slam. Nate screamed this time.

“-man?”

The final hit sent Nate collapsing onto the pavement in a limp heap, blood streaking down the side of the truck.

Silence hit for half a second except for the waves crashing below the docks. Even Craig froze.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

Nate lay sprawled on the concrete unmoving for a second too long.

Baz moved immediately, shoving past Deran to crouch beside him.

“You trying to fucking kill him?” Baz snapped.

Deran stood there breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently. But he kept staring at Nate like he still wasn’t done.

Like every instinct in his body was screaming at him to finish it. Craig glanced toward Baz briefly. That look alone said enough. Even Craig was getting nervous now.

Nate finally groaned weakly, curling into himself as blood dripped from his nose onto the pavement.

“She always made me fucking crazy,” he slurred through swollen lips.

The second the words left his mouth, Deran snapped again. He lunged so violently Craig barely caught him in time, grabbing him around the waist before he could get to Nate.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Craig barked, struggling to hold him back now.

Deran fought against his grip anyway. Actually fought him.

“She was crying!” Deran shouted. “Did you see her fucking face?”

“Yes,” Craig snapped back. “I saw it.”

Deran shoved hard against him, chest heaving violently.

“I should kill him.” And the terrifying part was nobody thought he was bluffing anymore.

Baz stepped between them now, calmer than both of them but visibly tense for the first time all night. “We scare him,” Baz said firmly. “That’s it.”

Deran laughed once. “You think this shit scares him?”

Nate stayed curled on the pavement bleeding and shaking, but Deran still looked unsatisfied. Like nothing short of irreversible damage was going to quiet the rage clawing through him.

Three days later the bruise on your cheek had finally started turning yellow around the edges. It still hurt when you touched it.

You stood behind the bar beside Deran, wiping down glasses while music hummed low through the speakers overhead. The lunch rush had died an hour ago, leaving the place quieter than usual. Sunlight spilled through the open windows facing the street, warm salt air drifting inside with the sound of traffic and distant waves.

Craig sat at the far end of the bar half drunk already, arguing with Baz about whether or not a guy outside had stolen his parking spot.

“You can’t just threaten people with a wrench every time you get annoyed,” Baz said flatly.

Craig looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

Deran snorted softly beside you while restocking bottles.

For the first time in days things almost felt normal. Almost. Nate was in a coma.

Nobody said it out loud, but everybody knew Deran had gone way too far at the marina.

You tried not to think about it.

Tried not to think about how part of you felt relieved.

The bell above the front door chimed. Then the entire room changed. You felt it before you even looked up.

Deran froze beside you instantly. A man stood in the doorway.

Older than Nate by maybe twenty years. Thick build. Weathered face. The kind of man who looked mean even standing still. His eyes swept across the bar once before landing directly on you.

Your stomach dropped so hard it made you dizzy.

Because Nate had his father’s eyes.

“Oh,” Craig muttered quietly. “Fuck.”

The man walked inside slowly. Every instinct in your body screamed. You backed up automatically.

Deran moved immediately, stepping in front of you slightly. “What do you want?” he asked coldly.

Nate’s father ignored him completely. His eyes stayed fixed on you. “So,” he said slowly. “This is where the little bitch that ruined my son’s life works.” Your breath caught.

The room suddenly felt too small.

Deran’s expression darkened instantly. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

The older man finally looked at him.

“You’re Deran Cody.” Not a question. “You put my son in the hospital.”

Deran didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it either.

The man laughed once under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it. “You know what Nate told me?” he asked, eyes flicking back toward you. “Said she cries real pretty.”

Your face went cold. You took another step backward unconsciously. And then you felt someone beside you. Solid. Quiet.

Pope.

You hadn’t even seen him come out from the back office. Your fingers wrapped around his arm before you could stop yourself “Andrew,” you said quietly. Nervously.

The name felt strange in your mouth after hearing everybody call him Pope for days.

But his real name fit him more somehow.

Pope looked down at your hand gripping his forearm. Normally he hated being touched. Most people knew better than to try. Craig once joked Pope reacted to physical affection like a feral dog. But he didn’t pull away from you. Didn’t tense. Instead he shifted slightly closer. Enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest.

And instantly, unbelievably, the panic inside you eased. You couldn’t explain it, Pope made you feel calm. Safe. Like if you stayed close enough to him nothing terrible could reach you. The feeling settled through your chest warm and strange and deeply confusing.

Nate’s father noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed. “That your new boyfriend?” he asked cruelly. “You spread your legs for the whole family now?”

Deran lunged forward instantly.

Baz caught him hard across the chest before he could reach him.

“Deran.”

“No,” Deran snapped violently.

But Pope moved first. He stepped fully in front of you now, blocking you from view entirely. The shift was subtle. Terrifyingly subtle. His face stayed calm, but something in his eyes changed.

“You should leave,” Pope said quietly.

Nate’s father laughed. “And what?” he sneered. “You gonna stop me?”

Pope tilted his head slightly. “Yes.”

Silence dropped heavily across the bar.

Nate’s father took another step toward you anyway.

You grabbed the back of Pope’s shirt tighter instinctively. The movement made Pope go completely still.

Then Nate’s father pointed directly at you.

“You think you’re safe now?” he snapped. “Girls like you always go back. You’ll crawl right back to him if he wakes up.”

Something cracked across Deran’s face.

“You need to get him out of here,” Baz said carefully.

But nobody moved. Nate’s father laughed again, uglier this time. “You Codys think you’re untouchable?” He looked around the bar. “Whole family’s fucking rotten.”

Then his eyes landed on you again. “And you.” Your body stiffened instantly. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut.” Pope stepped forward once.

Nate’s father finally seemed to realize something dangerous stood in front of him. Because for the first time since walking in, he hesitated. Then he scoffed and backed toward the door. “This ain’t over.”

The bell chimed again when he left. Silence swallowed the room immediately after.

You were still clutching Pope’s arm. Still half hidden behind him. Nobody pointed it out.

Deran stared at the door long after the man disappeared outside. That same frightening stillness settling over him again.

Baz saw it immediately. “No,” he said firmly.

Deran didn’t look at him.

Craig leaned back slowly against the counter. “He threatened her.”

“No,” Baz repeated harder.

But Deran was already somewhere else mentally. You could see it happen. That cold detached look settling into his face.

Pope glanced back toward you then. His eyes softened slightly when he saw how shaken you still were. “You should go upstairs,” he said quietly.

Deran owned the apartment above the bar. You’d slept there the last two nights because the idea of going home alone suddenly made your skin crawl. You nodded slowly. Your fingers slipped from Pope’s arm reluctantly. The loss of contact felt immediate. Strange, Pope noticed it too.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before he stepped back.

“I’ll lock up,” Deran said flatly.

Baz looked between both brothers and swore under his breath.

Later, long after you finally drifted asleep curled against the arm of Deran’s couch upstairs, the brothers left through the alley behind the bar. The city had gone quiet by then.

Streetlights reflected off damp pavement. The ocean air felt colder at night, heavier somehow, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing somewhere beyond the buildings.

Deran locked the back door without a word.

Pope stood beside the truck waiting calmly, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. His face looked unreadable in the dark.

Deran slid behind the wheel while Pope watched the apartment windows upstairs for one last second. The living room light was off.

Satisfied, he climbed into the passenger seat. The truck rolled silently out of the alley.

They found Nate’s father exactly where they expected. At the same liquor-stained dive bar off the harbor road where guys like him spent every night slowly rotting themselves from the inside out.

Deran parked across the street beneath a dead streetlamp.

The windows of the bar glowed dim yellow against the dark while old motorcycles lined the curb outside. Inside, Nate’s father sat hunched over the counter already half drunk, laughing too loudly at something the bartender said. Pope watched him quietly through the windshield. “You think he hits women too?” he asked.

Deran’s jaw tightened. Neither of them asked how the other knew that he did. Some things were obvious.

An hour passed. Then another. Neither brother spoke much.

Every once in a while Deran drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel before stopping himself again. Too much energy sitting beneath his skin. Too much anger still trying to claw its way out.

But Pope stayed perfectly still.

Around two in the morning Nate’s father finally stumbled out of the bar alone.

The brothers followed. His truck drifted lazily between lanes as he drove through the sleeping streets of Oceanside toward the edge of town. Small houses gave way to emptier roads. Fewer streetlights. Fewer witnesses.

Finally he pulled into a narrow gravel driveway beside a run-down one story house near the marshes. No nearby neighbors. No barking dogs. Perfect.

The porch light flicked on as he staggered toward the front door fumbling with his keys.

Pope watched carefully from the passenger seat.

Deran killed the engine two houses down. The darkness swallowed the truck instantly.

Ten minutes later the kitchen light inside the house flicked on briefly before disappearing again. Then nothing.

Pope checked his watch. “Give him twenty.”

Deran nodded once. The wait almost killed him. He sat leaning forward slightly, jaw clenched hard enough to ache while rage simmered quietly beneath his skin. Every time he closed his eyes he still saw you standing in the bar clutching Pope’s arm with fear written all over your face.

Girls like you always go back.

The memory alone made his hands tighten.

Twenty-three minutes later Pope opened the passenger door. The brothers moved silently through the yard.

Pope picked the back lock in under thirty seconds.

The house smelled stale inside. Beer. Cigarettes. Old grease. A television played quietly somewhere in the living room.

Nate’s father had passed out half reclined on the couch with an empty bottle hanging loose from one hand. Pope closed the back door carefully behind them.

The man woke slightly at the sound. “Huh?”

Deran moved first. He crossed the room in three steps and drove his forearm across the man’s throat hard enough to pin him against the couch before he could fully react.

Confusion flashed across the older man’s face. Then recognition. Then fear.

“What the fu-”

Pope grabbed the bottle before it hit the floor. Quiet. Always quiet.

Nate’s father struggled violently beneath Deran’s grip now, but alcohol slowed him down. Age slowed him down more.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.” Deran said quietly.

The man wheezed against his arm. Pope stepped closer calmly, expression empty. Pope looked at him the same way somebody looked at a broken appliance they needed to get rid of. “You scared her,” Pope added softly.

Nate’s father started fighting harder then. Panic setting in.

Deran slammed him backward against the couch again hard enough to daze him.

“Left her scared in my fucking bar,” Deran hissed.

The older man reached desperately for the side table. Phone. Weapon. Anything.

Pope caught his wrist instantly. Then twisted. A wet crack echoed through the room.

The scream barely had time to leave his mouth before Pope clamped a hand over it.

“You should’ve stayed away from her,” he said.

Afterward, they cleaned everything carefully. Pope wiped surfaces while Deran staged the kitchen. A shattered beer bottle near the counter. Water spilled across the tile.

The body positioned wrong enough to look accidental but believable.

A drunk man falls hard enough onto the corner of a counter and sometimes he doesn’t get back up. Sad. Common. Forgettable.

By the time they left, the house looked untouched.

The brothers washed their hands at a gas station fifteen minutes later. Deran scrubbed blood from beneath his fingernails in silence while Pope leaned against the sink watching the empty parking lot through the window.“You think she’s asleep?” Pope asked quietly.

Deran nodded once. Pope looked back down at the water running pink briefly before turning the faucet off. Then they drove to the hospital.

The city was beginning to pale blue with early morning by the time they parked in the visitor garage.

Nate’s room sat on the fourth floor.

Critical condition. Machines breathing for him. Deran stared through the small window in the door for a long moment before entering. Nate looked smaller like this.

Bruised face swollen beyond recognition.

A machine beeped steadily beside him in the darkened room.

Pope closed the door quietly behind them. Nate’s eyes fluttered weakly at the sound. For one horrifying second he almost looked aware. Then his gaze landed on Deran. Fear flooded his face instantly.

Good, Deran thought.

He should be scared.

“You should’ve left her alone,” Deran said softly.

Nate tried to speak. Nothing came out around the breathing tube.

Pope walked calmly to the door, peeking once through the narrow window toward the empty hallway before looking back at his brother. Deran stepped toward the bed.

And by the time the sun finally rose over Oceanside, Nate’s room had become just another tragedy inside a hospital full of them.

It had been a few weeks. A few strange, chaotic, strangely comfortable weeks where the Cody family somehow became woven into your life before you fully realized what was happening.

You’d officially met everyone now.

J had shown up at the bar one afternoon quiet and observant, watching everybody with the same careful expression Pope wore sometimes. Nicky was sweet in an exhausting sort of way and latched onto you immediately after discovering you owned actual skincare products. Lena adored you after exactly ten minutes because you sat on the floor with her and helped untangle one of her necklaces without getting annoyed.

And Smurf… Smurf had become dangerously fond of you. Not in a normal way either. It felt more like she’d picked you out. Like she was studying you the same way she studied her sons. Watching your reactions. Learning your weak spots. Encouraging certain behaviors while quietly steering you away from others.

You noticed it more lately.

“You apologize too much,” Smurf had told you three nights ago while helping you clean up after dinner.

You blinked. “What?”

“You say sorry before you even speak sometimes.” She handed you a wine glass. “Men smell weakness, sweetheart.”

You laughed awkwardly. “I think that’s a little dramatic.”

“No,” Smurf said calmly. “It isn’t.”

Then she’d taught you how to hold eye contact during confrontation like it was a lesson worth learning.

And weirdly enough Pope started hovering more whenever Smurf was around. At first you thought you imagined it. But then you noticed how he lingered nearby anytime Smurf cornered you into conversations. How his eyes tracked the two of you constantly. How he interrupted more. Redirected you away from her. Like he knew something you didn’t.

Which honestly happened a lot with the Codys.

You were beginning to realize there were entire conversations happening beneath the surface around you. Things you weren’t understanding.

Like the fact that none of them ever talked directly about what they actually did.

You heard rumors, obviously. Everybody in Oceanside heard rumors about the Codys. Crime. Robberies. Violence.

But then Deran would make you coffee exactly how you liked it without asking, or Baz would walk you to your car after work, or Craig would spend twenty minutes teaching Lena how to cannonball properly into the pool while Pope sat nearby staring at you like you hung the fucking moon.

They didn’t feel dangerous around you. Not really. Just damaged.

And Pope… Pope was becoming something else entirely. Possessive wasn’t even the right word anymore. It was quieter than that. More constant. Like gravity. He always knew where you were in a room. Always noticed immediately when another man looked too long at you. Always positioned himself close enough to touch you somehow without making it obvious.

His hand brushing the small of your back. His knee pressed against yours under tables. His fingers curling around your wrist absentmindedly while you talked.

And the eye contact.

Jesus Christ.

Pope looked at you like he physically could not stop.

Sometimes it genuinely made you nervous how intensely he listened whenever you spoke. Like every word mattered. Like every facial expression was something worth memorizing. But you liked it more than you should’ve. Way more.

Which was probably why you found yourself currently squeezed tightly beneath Deran’s arm at one of Smurf’s massive pool parties wearing a bikini that barely qualified as fabric. A bikini Smurf picked out herself.

You should’ve known that alone was dangerous.

“Oh my god,” you muttered earlier that afternoon holding the tiny black swimsuit up between two fingers. “This is insane.”

Smurf looked unimpressed from her closet doorway. “No, sweetheart. It’s expensive.”

“It’s basically underwear.”

“Exactly.”

You laughed nervously. “Nate would’ve had an aneurysm.”

Smurf’s eyes sharpened instantly. “Good.”

And somehow you ended up wearing it anyway.

Now music pounded through the backyard while bodies crowded around the pool beneath strings of warm patio lights. Somebody was doing shots off a surfboard table. Craig had already thrown two people into the water fully clothed.

Deran sat beside you on one of the lounge chairs, arm hooked around your shoulders mostly because he was still paranoid about men approaching you at parties now.

You leaned comfortably against him sipping from a drink while laughing at something Nicky screamed near the pool.

Then you felt it. That familiar feeling. Being watched. Your eyes lifted automatically across the crowded backyard. Pope sat near the outdoor kitchen talking to Baz.

Well. Baz was talking. Pope was staring directly at you. Even from across the yard you could feel the intensity of it.

His eyes moved slowly over you once before locking back onto your face. Heat crept into your chest immediately.

Deran noticed your distraction and followed your gaze. “Oh my fucking god,” he muttered.

“What?”

“He’s doing it again.”

You looked innocent. “Doing what?”

“Looking at you like a psychopath.”

You snorted into your drink. “He’s not that weird.”

Deran turned toward you slowly. “Yes,” he said flatly. “He is.”

“I think you exaggerate.”

“Yeah?” Deran barked out a laugh. “Because you don’t work with him.”

You frowned immediately. “What work?”

The second the question left your mouth, Deran’s expression shifted.

“Nothing,” he said.

“That sounds weird.”

“It’s not.”

“You literally just made it more suspicious.”

Deran rubbed his forehead already irritated.

“You ask too many questions.”

“And yet you avoid all of them.”

“Smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly.

Again. That weird feeling.

Like everybody around you knew something you didn’t. Before you could push further, Craig suddenly cannonballed into the pool hard enough to soak half the patio.

You yelped as cold water splashed across your legs. “CRAIG.”

He surfaced laughing wildly. “That was for saying i’m six foot something with shampoo-commercial hair and I only have exactly three surviving brain cells fighting for fourth place earlier.”

“Was I wrong? You do have shampoo-commercial hair.”

Craig pointed dramatically. “See?”

While everybody argued around the pool, your eyes drifted back toward Pope automatically. Still watching you. Except now his expression looked darker somehow.

You followed his line of sight downward and immediately realized why. Deran’s hand rested against your bare thigh.

Oh. You bit back a smile.

“Your brother looks homicidal,” you murmured.

Deran glanced over again. Then groaned loudly. “For fuck’s sake.”

“What?”

“He’s jealous.”

You nearly choked on your drink laughing “Pope? No.”

Deran stared at you like you were stupid “Bambi. He follows you around like a stray dog.”

“That is so mean. Don’t be mean to him.”

“It’s accurate.” He rolled his eyes.

Your smile widened despite yourself. Because maybe Deran wasn’t entirely wrong. Pope looked at you differently now. Not subtle either. Everybody noticed. Especially Smurf.

You caught her watching the interaction from near the grill with an amused little smile pulling at her mouth.

“You should go sit with him,” Deran muttered.

“What?”

“Before he burns holes through my skull.”

You laughed harder. “You’re being dramatic.”

Deran looked back toward Pope. Then immediately removed his arm from around your shoulders. “Nope. Absolutely not. Go.”

“Deran-”

“I’m serious. He’s freaking me out.”

You looked back across the yard again. Pope hadn’t looked away once. God. It should not have affected you this much. But it did.

Because unlike every other guy who looked at you, Pope never seemed distracted. Never checked his phone mid conversation. Never split his attention elsewhere.

When he looked at you, he looked only at you. Like the entire room disappeared.

You stood slowly from the lounge chair.

Almost immediately Pope straightened slightly where he sat.

Deran watched the reaction happen and muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

You crossed the backyard toward him through the crowd.

Pope tracked every step.

By the time you reached the outdoor kitchen, Baz was already smirking into his beer.

“Well,” Baz drawled. “There’s the reason he hasn’t heard a word I said in ten minutes.”

Pope ignored him completely. His eyes flicked slowly over your bikini again before settling on your face. “You cold?” he asked immediately.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re shivering.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly. “The pool water.”

Pope grabbed the towel beside him without hesitation and held it out. Your chest tightened a little. Always paying attention. Always noticing.

“Thanks, Andrew.”

The second you said his real name, something changed in his expression. Softened. It happened every single time. Pope loved when you called him Andrew. Loved it in that deep quiet way he loved most things concerning you.

Baz noticed too because of course he did “Oh my god,” Baz muttered. “You’re whipped.”

Pope didn’t even deny it.

You smiled trying to hide your embarrassment while taking the towel from him. Pope’s hand settled automatically against your thigh once you sat beside him.

Possessive. Casual. Like it belonged there.

And weirdly enough you let it stay there without thinking twice.

Across the yard, Deran watched the interaction happen before looking deeply exhausted. Smurf appeared beside him sipping wine. “Told you,” she said smugly.

Deran sighed. “This is gonna end in a body. Hopefully not hers.”

Smurf smiled wider. “Probably will be.”

The party got louder the later it got.

Music pounded through the backyard hard enough to shake the deck beneath your feet while bodies crowded shoulder to shoulder around the pool. The entire property glowed gold against the dark ocean behind it, strings of lights hanging from the balcony while drunk strangers danced barefoot across wet concrete.

Craig had somehow started an argument about sharks. “No, listen to me,” he insisted loudly, pointing with a beer bottle while half sprawled across a lounge chair. “If sharks can smell blood from like five miles away then obviously they can smell cocaine.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Deran said flatly.

“It’s literally dissolved in your bloodstream.”

“That’s not how drugs work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I absolutely know that.”

J sat nearby trying unsuccessfully not to laugh while Nicky filmed the entire thing on her phone solely for future blackmail purposes.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” she informed Craig cheerfully.

Craig pointed at her dramatically. “History’s gonna vindicate me.”

Beside you, Pope stayed stretched back against the outdoor couch with one arm hooked lazily along the cushions behind you. Well. Not really behind you anymore.

At some point during the conversation you’d shifted closer without thinking until your shoulder rested fully against his chest, your legs tucked partly beneath his along the couch. And Pope loved it. You could tell.

Not because he said anything. Because every time you touched him he got quieter. More focused. Like his entire body locked onto the feeling immediately.

His hand rested against your thigh now, large fingers spread lazily over sun-warmed skin while everybody argued around you. Every so often his thumb brushed absentminded little circles there.

Every single time it happened, his eyes flicked down toward your face. Checking. Watching your reaction carefully like he still hadn’t fully processed the fact that you let him touch you this much.

You leaned your head back slightly to look up at him. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

Pope’s eyes dropped to yours instantly. The height difference forced you to tilt your chin up slightly from where you rested against him. “I’m listening.”

“To Craig talking about drug-sniffing sharks?”

“Yes.”

You laughed softly.

Pope’s eyes lingered on your mouth a second too long afterward.

Across from you, Baz noticed immediately and smirked into his drink. The man was obsessed with you. Not even subtly anymore.

Smurf sat nearby with a glass of wine watching the entire interaction unfold with careful amusement. Like she was observing a particularly entertaining science experiment in real time.

You were halfway through making fun of Craig’s shark theory when a girl suddenly approached the couch hesitantly.

You recognized her vaguely from high school. Not close friends. Just familiar enough to know her name if somebody said it out loud. She looked relieved when she spotted you.

“Oh my god,” she said softly. “There you are.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to find you.”

Beside you, Pope’s hand engulfed your thigh more firmly instantly. Protective. Alert. His eyes lifted toward the girl carefully now.

Confusion twisted through you. “Why?”

The girl glanced awkwardly around the group before looking back at you. “You didn’t hear?”

Something in her tone made your stomach tighten immediately. You laughed nervously shaking your head. “Hear what?”

“Nate’s dad died.”

Everything around you seemed to go strangely muffled. Like somebody dropped water over your ears. “What?” you whispered.

The girl nodded quickly. “Yeah. Cops are saying he got drunk and slipped in his kitchen or something. Everybody’s freaking out because he was like… such a good guy..”

A good guy. Yeah fucking right.

You felt Pope’s entire body go still behind you.

The girl kept talking nervously. “And Nate…” Your chest tightened instantly. “He died Wednesday morning at the hospital.”

The words hit like ice water. Your body instinctively pressed backward into Pope’s chest before you even realized you were moving. And immediately Pope’s arm wrapped fully around your waist. His fingers slid beneath the tie of your bikini bottoms absentmindedly, anchoring you against him.

The touch made heat crawl up your spine despite the panic suddenly flooding your chest. Around you, every Cody had gone silent.

Especially Smurf. All of them watching your face carefully now. Measuring your reaction. Because you knew what happened at the marina. You looked between them slowly, heartbeat suddenly roaring in your ears “How?” you asked quietly.

The girl shrugged uneasily. “They said his ventilator malfunctioned or something. Like some weird glitch.” You suddenly became hyperaware of Pope’s hand tightening slightly against your waist. The girl laughed awkwardly into the silence. “Crazy, right? Anyway, his mom’s doing a service for both of them next week.”

Nobody answered her. Because now the atmosphere felt wrong. Heavy. You swallowed hard.

Your brain started racing violently. Nate dead. His father dead. The ventilator made no sense. The kitchen accident made too much sense.

And suddenly every rumor you’d ever heard about the Codys stopped sounding like rumors at all.

You looked toward Deran slowly. His expression stayed unreadable. Too unreadable. Like none of this was actually news to him.

Baz somehow looked calmer than everybody else which honestly made him scarier. Craig wouldn’t meet your eyes anymore. Even J looked tense now.

But Pope was only watching you. Like your reaction mattered more than the deaths themselves.

The girl shifted awkwardly under the silence. “I just thought you should know.”

“Yeah,” you said faintly. “Thanks.”

She disappeared back into the crowd quickly after that. But the weirdness stayed.

The party still raged around you. Music blasted through the backyard. Somebody screamed after getting shoved into the pool fully clothed again. Bottles clinked. People laughed too loudly. But around the couch, tension settled heavy and suffocating.

You sat stiffly against Pope’s chest now, barely realizing how tightly you’d pressed yourself into him. His hand stayed firm against your waist, thumb moving slowly against your side like he was trying to soothe you. Or maybe soothe himself. You honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

“Nate died?” you said finally, voice sounding distant even to yourself.

The words felt unreal. Deran exchanged a quick glance with Baz. Craig stared down into his beer bottle. J watched everyone carefully from the edge of the chair, quiet like always.

Smurf leaned back calmly, wine balanced elegantly between her fingers while sharp interest glittered behind her eyes.

The whole thing suddenly felt deeply wrong.

You looked around slowly. “Why is everybody acting weird?”

“No one’s acting weird,” Deran answered way too fast.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah, you are.”

Pope’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly when your voice rose.

You looked up at him instinctively. His eyes were already on your face. Always.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. And somehow that almost made it worse.

Because he sounded genuinely concerned while everybody else looked tense as hell.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” The girl’s words replayed violently in your head.

You suddenly stood up. “I need to leave.”

Pope immediately straightened beside you. “Hey-“

“I just…” You rubbed your forehead shakily. “I need a second.” Your fingers grabbed the nearest sweatshirt off the couch blindly before pulling it over your bikini top. You barely noticed the sleeves swallowed your hands completely.

Pope did. His eyes locked instantly onto the oversized hoodie hanging off your body. His hoodie. Something sharp and possessive flashed across his face so quickly only Smurf caught it.

Interesting.

You pushed through the side gate quickly. The metal slammed behind you. The second you disappeared down the street, Craig exhaled loudly.

“Good job not acting suspicious as fuck, guys,” Baz said sarcastically.

“Shut up,” Deran muttered.

Smurf swirled the wine slowly in her glass. “She knows something.”

J frowned slightly. “About what?”

Smurf’s eyes stayed fixed thoughtfully on the closed gate. “That girl didn’t react like someone upset her ex-boyfriend died.” Her expression sharpened slightly. “She reacted like she’s scared.”

Baz leaned forward now. “You think Nate told her something?”

“I think,” Smurf said carefully, “our sweet little Bambi is smarter than you boys thought.”

Pope stood immediately. “She’s not gonna say anything.”

Smurf’s gaze flicked toward him knowingly. “You sound very sure. You willing to bet your freedom on it?”

“I am.” The certainty in his voice shut everybody up briefly.

Because Pope trusted you completely. And honestly? That made him the most dangerous person in the family right now.

Smurf looked between her sons slowly before nodding once toward the street “Follow her.”

Deran groaned immediately. “Come on. She ran out of here looking terrified. She just found out her ex died.”

“And?” Smurf snapped lightly. “You think that girl’s stupid? She’s putting things together.”

Baz stood first. “Let’s go.”

But Pope was already moving toward the driveway before anybody else.

Because he knew the look on your face when you got overwhelmed. And more importantly, He wasn’t about to let anybody else get to you first.

Your hands shook so badly on the steering wheel you nearly blew through a stop sign.

The tires screeched slightly when you corrected too hard. Everything felt wrong.

Your thoughts kept colliding into each other faster than you could process them. Nate yelling. Nate crying the first time he begged you not to “ruin his family.”

Nate’s father smiling at barbecues while flipping burgers like some suburban dad straight out of a Home Depot commercial. Pretending he wasn’t a lousy drunk behind closed doors.

The hidden files on the computer. Your best friend sobbing in that video. God. Your stomach twisted so violently you thought you might throw up. The apartment complex came into view too fast.

You parked crooked and barely remembered shutting the car off before climbing out. The apartment you once shared with Nate was dark when you stepped inside. And it still smelled like him. Stale beer. Laundry detergent. Old cigarettes soaked into fabric and walls. You hated it instantly.

It hit you all over again why you hadn’t come back since the night he hit you. Why staying with Deran had somehow felt safer than being alone here. Your chest tightened hard.

The silence inside the apartment felt wrong now. Haunted.

You moved quickly toward the entertainment center near the living room wall, panic making your movements jerky. Books hit the floor one after another while you ripped them off the shelves searching.

“Come on,” you whispered shakily under your breath. “Come on, please…”

Your fingers slipped against the wood paneling behind the shelf before finally catching the loose edge. Relief hit so hard it almost made your knees weak. You pulled the hidden disk case free from inside the wall.

“Oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly to yourself. Not happy. Just relieved.

Your grip tightened around the case as you turned and nearly screamed. A solid wall of muscle stood directly in front of you. You stumbled backward violently before realizing it was Pope. A startled sound escaped your throat. His hand shot out immediately, grabbing your forearm gently before you could trip over the books scattered across the floor.

Your eyes snapped upward.

All four brothers stood inside the apartment doorway. The sight of them there made your pulse spike instantly.

“What the fuck?”

Pope stepped closer first. “Hey,” he murmured softly, saying your name like he was trying not to scare you. Too late. You took another step backward anyway.

“How did you even know I was here? Nobody answered immediately.

And for the first time since meeting them, the Cody brothers looked exactly like the stories people whispered about. Craig leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, expression unusually serious. Baz’s eyes moved carefully around the apartment, taking everything in automatically. Deran looked tense enough to snap.

But Pope only looked at you. Or more specifically At the disk case clutched tightly in your hands.

Your heartbeat sped up immediately. “You followed me here?” you asked carefully.

Baz spoke first. “What’s that?”

Your fingers tightened around the disk instinctively. “Nothing.”

You shoved it behind your back too quickly.

The second Deran stepped forward with that cold unreadable look on his face, you regretted it. “Bambi,” he said carefully. “Why’d you come here?”

You looked between all of them uneasily. The atmosphere had shifted. Not violent exactly. But serious. Focused. Like they were trying to solve a problem.

Pope took another slow step closer. “You scared us.”

A nervous laugh escaped you. “So your solution was following me to my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Craig muttered. “Because you looked like you were about to have a fucking breakdown.”

Your eyes lifted back toward Pope automatically.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the disk behind your back. Then back to your face.“What’s on it?” he asked softly. And somehow him asking gently broke you more than if he’d demanded it.

Your throat tightened. “It belonged to Nate’s dad.” You swallowed hard. “It’s why he said I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Every single one of them went still. The memory of that night at the bar flashed visibly across their faces. Deran’s expression darkened immediately.

You stared down at the disk case in your hands. “A few months ago Nate’s dad let me borrow his computer,” you said quietly. “I found videos on it.”

Baz’s face flattened instantly. “What kind of videos?”

You looked sick even trying to say it. “Girls.” Nobody spoke. “High school girls.”

Craig swore quietly under his breath.

“One of them was my best friend.” Your voice cracked instantly. “She was crying and he was hurting her.” Pope’s face changed. You sniffed shakily and kept talking too fast now, words tumbling over themselves. “She went missing our senior year. They found her body all the way out in Point Loma.”

Silence slammed into the apartment. Pope looked genuinely frightening now. Not toward you. Toward the thought of somebody making you cry like this.

Craig sat down hard on the couch suddenly, elbows braced on his knees while he dragged both hands down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

You rushed your words out quicker now through tears. “I wanted to go to the police but Nate kept begging me not to ruin his dad’s life and then we started fighting more and more and…” Your throat closed painfully. “The night he hit me was because I told him I was done protecting them.” Your breathing shook. “It had been seven years since she died and-” You stopped hard, trying to steady yourself. “Her parents invited Nate and me to breakfast every year after they found her body.” Your voice cracked again. “And I had to sit across from them pretending the person I was sharing my life with didn’t know his father murdered their daughter.”

Deran looked disgusted. Actually disgusted.

Pope stepped toward you immediately. His hand lifted carefully, fingers brushing against the side of your face almost hesitantly. “What…” he said softly, eyes searching yours. “What do you mean he knew?”

You swallowed hard. “Nate helped him.”

Even the air in the apartment felt different afterward. “That asshole helped his father?” Deran asked flatly. Not remorseful. Just colder somehow.

You nodded shakily. “He knew the whole time.” Tears slid down your cheeks faster now. “He wasn’t shocked when I told him what I found. He was angry I wouldn’t look the other way anymore.”

Baz rubbed a hand slowly over his mouth processing everything. Then finally he held his hand out toward the disk carefully. “Can I see it?”

You hesitated. And for one awful second, fear curled low in your stomach. Not because you thought they’d hurt you. Because suddenly you realized you didn’t actually know what these men were capable of. Now here they stood in a dead man’s apartment after silently following you across town.

You looked toward Pope carefully. He noticed the hesitation instantly. And it visibly hurt him. Something shifted in his expression almost imperceptibly. “Hey,” he said quietly.

Your eyes lifted toward him. “We’re not gonna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.

You nodded slowly before handing Baz the disk case.

Baz opened it carefully while Craig leaned over trying to see too. Deran cursed quietly under his breath almost immediately. Inside sat a plain burned CD labeled in black marker.

S. DAVIS — 3/18/2009.

“Her name was Sarah,” you whispered.

“Jesus Christ,” Craig muttered again.

You looked away immediately, humiliation mixing violently with grief in your chest. “I know I should’ve gone to the cops sooner.”

You completely misunderstood the look passing between them. You thought they were judging you. Wondering why you stayed quiet so long. You didn’t notice the other realization settling in instead.

That Nate and his father being dead suddenly looked a whole lot less suspicious if this ever surfaced.

“No,” Pope said immediately. Your eyes lifted toward him again. His expression softened instantly the second he saw your face. “You tried.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Because nobody else had ever said that to you. Not Nate. Not yourself. Pope stepped closer carefully now. Close enough that you could smell him mixed with the smoke and beer still clinging faintly to the oversized sweatshirt hanging off your body. His sweatshirt. You suddenly became aware you were still wearing it.

Pope noticed you realizing. His eyes dropped briefly toward the sleeves swallowing your hands. Something possessive flickered low across his face again. Then he looked back at you. “You were trying to protect people,” he said quietly. Your throat tightened painfully “Sarah deserves justice.”

Baz looked up from the disk then. “We can help with that.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

Deran nodded slowly now. “You take this to the cops, they’ll actually listen.”

“Especially now,” Craig muttered darkly. “Perfect dead suburban family man bullshit kinda falls apart once this gets out.”

You stared at all of them. “You’d help me?”

Baz feigned confusion by the question. “Why wouldn’t we?”

You almost laughed at that. Because ten minutes ago these men silently appeared in your apartment like something out of a nightmare and scared the hell out of you without even trying. And now they were calmly offering to help expose a predator.

Nothing about the Codys made sense.

Pope stepped even closer. Close enough that your pulse stumbled slightly. “You don’t gotta do this alone anymore,” he said softly. “I’ll take you to the cops myself.”

And the terrifying thing was you believed him immediately.

The police station took almost two hours.

Two exhausting, emotionally draining hours of sitting beneath fluorescent lights while detectives asked careful questions and copied files from the disk. You felt nauseous the entire time.

Pope never left your side once. Not once.

He sat beside you in stiff silence through every interview, large body angled slightly toward yours the whole time like some unconscious shield. Every time your voice shook answering a question, his eyes lifted immediately to your face.

One detective finally asked if he was your boyfriend.

Pope answered before you could. “Yes.” The word came out flat and immediate. You turned toward him in surprise. Pope didn’t even look at you. Just kept staring at the detective like daring him to question it.

The detective only nodded slowly and moved on. But your stomach had flipped violently anyway. Because Pope didn’t say things casually. Everything with him felt carved in stone.

By the time you finally walked back outside, the sky had gone dark. You stood near the parking lot rubbing your arms tiredly while Pope watched you carefully beside his truck.

“You okay?”

“No,” you admitted honestly.

Pope nodded once like he expected that answer. “You wanna stay alone tonight?”

The thought made your stomach twist immediately. Nate’s apartment suddenly felt unbearable now, and you knew Deran had Adrian over. You looked at him quietly. “Can I stay with you?”

Pope’s entire body went still. You noticed. Because you’d started learning him now. And Pope looked at you like you’d just handed him something precious.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, okay.”

The drive to his apartment was quiet.

Pope drove one-handed, occasionally glancing toward you like he was checking to make sure you were still there. The apartment complex itself surprised you.

Small. Quiet. Nothing flashy.

Inside surprised you even more. Everything was spotless. Painfully spotless. You stepped inside slowly while Pope locked the door behind you. The apartment looked almost untouched. Counters completely clear. Shoes lined up perfectly near the wall. Blankets folded sharply across the couch. Not a single dish in the sink.

“You actually live like this?” you asked softly. Pope shrugged. “It’s cleaner than a hospital in here.”

“I don’t like mess.” You looked around again. The apartment felt exactly like him somehow. Every object carefully placed where it belonged. Even the air smelled clean.

Pope watched your eyes move around the room intently. Like he cared whether or not you approved.

You smiled faintly. “I like it.”

The tension visibly left his shoulders.

God. That should not have affected you as much as it did. You turned toward him fully then. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me today.”

Pope frowned slightly like the answer was obvious. “You needed help.”

“I know but…” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “Nobody’s ever really done something like that for me before.”

Pope stared at you so intensely your chest warmed. “You don’t gotta thank me for taking care of you.” There it was again. That dangerous kind of devotion sitting quietly beneath everything he said.

You swallowed hard. Pope’s eyes immediately dropped to your throat moving. Jesus Christ. The man stared like it physically hurt him not to touch you. “You can shower if you want,” he said suddenly. “I’ll find you clothes.” You nodded quickly mostly because you needed a second to breathe.

The bathroom was just as obsessively clean as the rest of the apartment. White towels folded perfectly. Everything organized. You caught yourself smiling slightly while turning on the shower. Of course Pope folded towels properly.

You stripped slowly, exhaustion finally crashing into your body as steam filled the room. The hot water felt almost painful against your skin at first. You closed your eyes beneath the spray immediately. For the first time all day, your brain quieted.

A soft knock sounded faintly through the bathroom. You barely heard it over the water. “Bambi?” Pope’s voice.

You called back weakly, “Yeah?”

“I got clothes for you.”

You hummed something unintelligible, eyes still closed beneath the water. A second later the bathroom door opened quietly. Pope stepped inside carefully holding a folded shirt and sweatpants. Then he froze. The glass shower door was partially translucent from the steam. Enough to see your silhouette beneath the water. Your head tilted back slightly. Wet hair slicked against your shoulders. Water tracing down your body slowly. Pope stopped breathing for a second.

You didn’t notice him immediately. Eyes still closed while water poured over your face. Pope should’ve left. Instead he stood there completely motionless staring through the steam like a man starving to death. His jaw flexed once hard enough to hurt.

Then you opened your eyes. And saw him.

For one suspended second neither of you moved. Pope looked almost caught.

Your heart started pounding instantly. But you weren’t scared. Not even a little. Because it was Andrew. Obsessive, strange, intense Andrew who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

Slowly, you reached forward and pulled the shower door open wider. Steam curled out into the bathroom. Pope stared at you silently. Water dripped down your skin while his eyes moved over you openly now. No pretending otherwise.

Your voice came out soft. “You gonna just stand there?”

Pope swallowed hard. “You want me to come in there?”

You stepped closer instead of answering. Close enough now that steam dampened the front of his shirt. Then your fingers curled around the front of it gently and pulled. Pope came willingly. The second he stepped beneath the hot water, your mouths crashed together hard.

It wasn’t soft. Weeks of tension snapped all at once.

Pope kissed like he thought about it constantly. Hands immediately gripping your waist hard enough to bruise while yours tangled into his damp hair. A low sound left his throat when you kissed him back harder.

“You sure?” he murmured roughly against your mouth.

You answered by dragging his shirt upward impatiently. That nearly killed him. Pope pulled back just enough to yank the shirt over his head before grabbing your face again immediately. His hands were everywhere now. Like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most.

Your chest. Your waist. Your thighs. Always pulling you closer. Always needing more.

You kissed down his jaw while your fingers worked open his belt beneath the spray of water. Pope’s breathing turned uneven instantly. “Bambi,” he muttered warningly. But his hands tightened against you anyway.

You looked up at him through wet lashes. The eye contact alone almost destroyed him. Because Pope loved your eye contact. Loved seeing exactly what you felt while touching him.

You pushed his jeans down just enough to make him curse softly under his breath before his mouth found yours again harder this time. The steam thickened around both of you while water poured over his shoulders. Everything about him felt overwhelming up close. Big hands. Heavy breathing. The intensity. Even kissing you, Pope watched your face constantly like he needed every reaction. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered suddenly against your mouth.

The sincerity in it made heat rush through you instantly. Pure Andrew.

Your fingers slid across his chest slowly and Pope actually shivered beneath your touch. That realization alone nearly made you dizzy. Because this terrifying man, this obsessive, dangerous Cody, looked completely undone by you touching him back. His hands stayed locked around your waist beneath the spray of hot water while your mouths moved together desperately, steam thickening the air around both of you until breathing felt difficult. Not because of the heat. Because of him. Because every time you touched him, Pope reacted like it meant something.

Your fingers slid through his wet hair and his entire body tensed instantly. A rough sound left his throat before he kissed you harder, backing you slowly against the cool shower wall. “Andrew,” you breathed against his mouth. His forehead dropped briefly against yours while he stared at your face through wet lashes, breathing uneven.

“You keep doing that,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Calling me that.”

You smiled softly. “Well do you like it.”

“Yes.” Always honest. You laughed quietly and Pope’s eyes locked onto your mouth again instantly. Like he couldn’t help himself. The intensity of it made your stomach twist pleasantly. Water ran down his chest while your hands moved lower, tracing slowly across muscle and scar tissue. Pope shivered again beneath your touch and the realization almost drove you insane. This terrifying man who scared half of Oceanside looked completely undone just from you touching him gently. Pope suddenly grabbed your thighs without warning. You gasped softly as he lifted you effortlessly against him. His mouth found yours again immediately. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively while his hands held you securely like he never wanted to put you down again. Which honestly,

he probably didn’t.

Pope kissed down your jaw slowly before pressing his face briefly against your neck. Not even kissing for a second. Just breathing you in. The intimacy of it made your chest ache. Then suddenly he pulled back just enough to look at you again. Really look at you. Water dripped from his dark hair into his eyes but he barely blinked.“You wanna stop?” he asked quietly.

The question caught you off guard. Because despite all the intensity, all the possessiveness simmering beneath his skin Pope had been careful with you from the beginning.

You shook your head immediately. “No.”

Pope stared one second longer like he needed to make absolutely sure. Then he kissed you again and carried you straight out of the shower. You laughed breathlessly against his mouth as water dripped onto the bathroom floor.

“Andrew…”

He barely let you finish speaking before pushing open the bedroom door. The room matched the rest of the apartment perfectly. You didn’t even fully process it before Pope lowered you onto the mattress and climbed over you immediately. The second your back hit the sheets, something in him snapped. Like having you in his bed meant more than it should. His large hands slid beneath your thighs while he kissed you deeper, slower now, finally able to touch you without interruption.

You tugged him closer instantly. Pope practically groaned into your mouth. “You want me close,” he muttered against your lips almost like he was amazed by it.

“Yes.” His eyes flashed dark immediately. Pope loved hearing that. Loved anything that sounded like you choosing him. He kissed you again rougher this time while his hands moved over your body constantly. Your waist. Your hips. Your stomach. Like he couldn’t stop touching you long enough to think straight. Pope kept pulling back just enough to look at you. Watching your face every time you touched him. Every little sound you made. Every reaction. It was almost overwhelming how focused he was on you.

You reached up brushing damp hair back from his forehead gently. Pope froze for half a second. “What?” you whispered.

“You’re…” He swallowed hard. “You’re nice to me.”

The quiet sincerity behind the words hurt your chest unexpectedly. Like he genuinely wasn’t used to tenderness. You touched his face softer this time. “Andrew.”

His eyes shut briefly. You realized suddenly that Pope Cody would probably let you ruin him completely if you asked. The thought hit hard. Because underneath all the danger and obsession and intensity Pope was touch-starved in a way that felt almost painful. Every gentle touch visibly affected him. Every kiss. Every time your fingers dragged through his hair or across his shoulders. He reacted like he’d remember it forever.

Your hands slid down his chest slowly while he kissed along your throat, breathing rough and uneven against your skin.

“You smell good,” he murmured distractedly.

You laughed softly. “That’s a weird thing to say during a makeout.”

“I know.” Again with the honesty.

You smiled into another kiss while Pope’s hand tightened slightly against your waist. Like he physically needed to keep part of you underneath his hand at all times. His mouth moved slower now, deeper, tension simmering heavy between you both while the room stayed quiet except for uneven breathing and the occasional creak of the mattress beneath his weight. His mouth broke from yours only long enough to drag his lips down the line of your jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The sound you made, breathless, broken, pulled a low hum of approval from his chest. Pope's hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you harder against him until there was nothing between you and the heat radiating off his body. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your neck, voice rougher than it had been moments ago, "how long I've been thinking about this."

You tilted your head back, giving him more space, and he took it without hesitation, tongue tracing down your throat, teeth sinking just enough to make you gasp. His other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he could look at you. Those dark eyes, half-lidded and burning, swept over your expression like he was memorizing every detail. “I need you to understand something first.” His thumb traced over your lower lip, tugging it down just slightly. “If we do this-“ He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “You belong to me. Not for tonight. Not for the weekend. You’re mine. You understand?”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver straight through you, pooling heat low in your belly. You nodded, breath catching, and he shook his head slowly.

“Words, sweetheart. I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you whispered, voice steadier than you expected. “I understand. I'm yours.”Something flickered in his gaze, satisfaction, hunger, and a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss that wasn't gentle. It was claiming. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you moaned against him, fingers curling into muscle. He pulled back just enough to look at you again, breath mingling. “Such a good girl.” The words hit you like a live wire.

Pope’s hands cupped your breasts letting his knuckles drag across your skin as he went. His eyes dropped to your chest, and he let out a slow exhale. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You're so gorgeous.”

He didn't rush. His mouth followed the path his hands had taken, kissing down your collarbone, over the swell of your breasts, tongue circling your nipple and your back arched off the mattress. He sucked hard, then softer, then hard again, switching between the two until you were writhing beneath him, fingers tangled in his curly hair. His hand moved to your other breast, thumb rolling over the peak while his tongue worked the first.

“Please,” you gasped.

“Please what?” He lifted his head, dark eyes finding yours. His lips were wet, his jaw tight with restraint.

“Please-I need-“ You didn’t know what you needed.

“I know what you need.” His hand slid down your stomach, fingers circling your hip bone. “But I want to hear you say it.”

You swallowed, heat flooding your cheeks even as your hips bucked into his touch. “I need you inside me, Andy.”

The name, Andy, did something to him. His pupils dilated, his breath caught, and for a second he just stared at you like you'd given him something precious. “Say it again,”he commanded, voice rough.

“Andy.”

His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and desperate, and his hand finally, finally, slipped further fingers sliding through slick heat. He groaned into your mouth when he felt how wet you were. “That's for me,” he muttered against your lips. “All this, just for me.”

You nodded frantically, and he rewarded you by pressing two fingers inside you without warning. A cry tore from your throat, not pain, but pleasure sharp enough to make your vision blur. He curled them, found that spot immediately, and your hips jerked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching your face. “Right there. I know.” He worked you slowly at first, dragging his fingers in and out while his thumb pressed against your clit in tight circles. Your hands gripped the sheets, your moans growing louder, more broken, until you felt that familiar tension coiling in your gut.

“m’close,”you whimpered.

Pope shook his head, pulling his fingers out. “Not yet. I want to feel you come on my cock.” Your whine of protest died in your throat when he sat back on his knees, eyes fixed on you as he stroked his hard cock, and you watched, transfixed, as his head fell back and he let out such a deep groan. He was hard, thick, the tip already glistening. Your mouth went dry. Pope tightened his hand around his shaft, stroking once, twice, moving his head so. he never broke eye contact with you. “You want this?”

“Yes, fuck-yes, Andy.”

He leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other guided his cock to your entrance. He didn't push in, not yet. He just let the head rest against you, teasing, letting you feel the heat and the pressure. “Tell me you're mine.”

“I'm yours.” Your voice cracked, desperate. “I'm yours, Andy. Please-“

He pushed in. Slow. Impossibly slow. Every inch of him stretching you open, filling you until you couldn't breathe. Your eyes rolled back, a strangled moan escaping your lips. He paused when he was fully sheathed, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You feel-fuck.” He started moving. Long, deep strokes that hit exactly where you needed him. His pace was steady, controlled, each thrust a deliberate claim. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned at the angle. “Yeah, just like that.”

One of his hands found yours, fingers interlacing, pinning it to the mattress beside your head. His other hand, you saw it twitch toward your throat, saw the want flash in his eyes, and you tilted your chin up in silent invitation. But he pulled his hand back, gripping your hip instead.

“I can't,” he said, voice strained. “I can't, God, I want to, but I can't stand the idea of hurting you.”

“It wouldn't hurt me,” you breathed. “I want it.”

“I know you do.” His thrusts grew harder, faster, chasing his own edge. “But I won't. I'll give you everything else, every fucking thing, but not that.”

You wanted to argue, but the way he was fucking you made any thoughts impossible. He angled his hips, and suddenly he was hitting a spot that sent electricity through your entire body. Your nails dug into his back, and he hissed in pleasure.

“That's it. Let me feel you.” The pressure built again, faster this time, and your mouth fell open in a cry. Pope watched your face, drinking in every expression, and when your eyes welled with tears, from the intensity, from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, his breath stuttered. “Fuck,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Look at you. Crying on my cock.”

The tears spilled over, tracking down your temples into your hair. He lowered his head and licked one off your cheekbone, the gesture strangely tender in the midst of the brutality of his thrusts.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “So perfect. I want you to come. I want to feel you squeeze me.” His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. That was all it took. The orgasm crashed through you, violent and consuming, your body arching off the bed as a broken scream tore from your throat. Pope kept moving through it, fucking you through the aftershocks, groaning as your walls clenched around him. “That's it,” he panted. “Fuck, that's it.”

He didn't stop, couldn't stop. He flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, pulling your hips up and entering you from behind. The new angle was deeper, harder, and you buried your face in the pillow to muffle your cries as he took you apart. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough so he could lean down and speak against your ear.

“You're taking me so well. You feel that? That's me inside you. No one else. Ever.”

Words failed you. All you could do was moan and push back against him. His pace grew erratic, his grip on your hip bruising. “I'm gonna come inside you. Fill you up. You want that?”

“Yes-yes, Andy, please-“

His hand slid around to your front, fingers pressing against your clit again, and you felt a second orgasm building, impossibly fast.

“Come with me,” he commanded. “Now.”

Your body obeyed. The second wave hit as he drove into you one last time, burying himself deep, his groan long and guttural as he spilled inside you. Hot pulses of release filling you, and you felt every one.

He collapsed forward, chest heaving against your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just breathing, just existing in the aftermath.

Finally, he pulled out slowly, and you felt the warmth of his cum trickling down your thigh. He turned you over gently, gathering you into his arms, his hand stroking your hair with a tenderness that made your eyes well up again. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, voice gone. Pope stayed wrapped around you for a long moment afterward, both of you breathing hard in the dark quiet of his apartment. The room smelled faintly like steam and laundry detergent and him. His forehead rested against the back of your shoulder while one large hand spread slowly across your stomach, almost absentmindedly keeping you pulled tightly against his chest. Like he physically couldn’t let go yet.

Finally, he shifted carefully, easing you up the sheets. His movements slowed immediately the second he saw your face twist slightly from sensitivity. Instant concern. “You hurt?” he asked softly.

“No,” you whispered quickly. “No, I’m okay.”

Pope searched your expression another few seconds anyway. Making sure. Then he leaned down pressing a slow kiss against your forehead before reaching toward the nightstand for a towel. The tenderness of it nearly undid you. He cleaned you up carefully, almost shy despite everything that had happened minutes earlier. Every time you flinched slightly from sensitivity, his hand smoothed automatically over your thigh or stomach in silent apology.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, throat tight. Pope noticed immediately. “You’re crying.”

You touched beneath your eye in surprise.

God. You were.

“I don’t know why,” you admitted quietly.

Pope’s expression softened instantly. He climbed back beside you without hesitation and pulled you into his chest again, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist while the other hand moved slowly through your damp hair. The repetitive motion felt calming immediately. Safe. “Do you regret it?” he asked after a moment.

Your head lifted quickly. “No.” The answer came so fast it visibly affected him. Relief crossed his face so openly it hurt your chest “No,” you repeated softer this time. “Not even a little.”

Pope stared down at you in silence. Then his hand moved gently across your cheek. “You sure?”

You nodded. And maybe it was emotional exhaustion or the intimacy of being held like this, but suddenly your chest ached with it. Nobody had ever touched you like Pope did. Like your comfort mattered more than his own. Like he was constantly paying attention. You curled closer instinctively beneath the blankets. Pope immediately tightened his arm around you. His eyes dropped toward the top of your head where it rested against his chest. “You fit good there,” he murmured quietly.

You laughed softly against his skin. “That’s such an Andrew thing to say.” The second the name left your mouth, his fingers tightened slightly in your hair. He loved that name from you. Loved it in that deep quiet way he loved everything involving you “Y’know you’re the only one who calls me that,” he said.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

You tilted your head up enough to look at him. Pope was already staring back down at you. Of course he was. You smiled sleepily. “You stare a lot after sex too, huh?”

“I stare at you all the time.”

You laughed quietly and his expression softened watching it happen.

For a while neither of you spoke. Pope kept tracing slow patterns against your back beneath the blankets while you listened to his heartbeat under your ear.

© 2026 all rights reserved - miasvelvetvoid. do not modify, plagiarize, feed my work to AI, repost or claim any of my work as your own without permission.

[cherienymphe]

Mo Money, Mo Problems

Carmine Falcone x Reader

Warnings: Domestic violence, implied age gap, power imbalance, toxic/abusive relationship, mentions of organized crime, brat!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @whimsicalrogers

Summary: You're a nightmare to deal with but Carmine wouldn't have it any other way

⭑

The familiar black car pulled up beside you for a fourth time, and you tightened your coat around you. The driver’s side window rolled down again, and you kept your gaze forward as you stomped in your heels. Carmine’s driver simply gave you a look, having already said what he needed to say, and you pretended as if you didn’t see him.

“You know he’s going to kill me if you walk all the way home.”

Your lips trembled at the mention of your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—and you’d be lying if you said your feet weren’t killing and you weren’t wholly tempted to hop right in the fancy car. It was cold and your feet hurt and your throat ached.

You could only imagine the nasty bruise that would be there in the morning.

Your eyes watered again at the memory of his hands around your neck—not a first for either of you—but you hadn’t done anything this time. It was all him, and somehow you bore the brunt of some punishment as if you’d been the one screwing around. Your face crumbled and tears immediately spilled over as you recalled the sight of him and some blonde, and while, no, nothing looked outright wrong, his refusal to be straight with you had only worsened the thoughts already running around in your head.

Your tears made the cold air more biting as it hit your face, and you suddenly stopped, in turn causing the car beside you to stop too. Going over it again in your mind had anger bubbling up inside of you all over again, and before you could remind yourself how deep in shit you were already in, you opened the back door and slid into the backseat. 

You knew his driver felt relieved, and you almost felt bad.

As you reached for the bottle of champagne Carmine always kept in the sedan, you thought about the screaming match that had only occurred an hour earlier. It felt wrong to call it a match per se because it was mostly just you screaming and breaking things.

“I told you, Carmine,” you’d spat. “I told you!”

Another glass hit the floor, and you hadn’t cared to look at his face as you reached for another.

“Do I look like the kind of woman who shares a man? Who sits at home while you’re out God knows where with God knows who like some obedient little dog?”

Another glass narrowly missed his head, and you’d stumbled back when he took a step towards you, the kitchen island in between you.

“You might think there’s a bitch in this relationship, but I can promise you it’s not me–.”

The dark-haired man had started taking long strides before you even finished, and you’d hurriedly turned to escape the kitchen, uncaring of the glass under your bare feet. Your legs were fast, but not fast enough, and Carmine had the back of your dress tangled in his fist in no time. The slap that followed was loud.

You would have been proud of yourself if it hadn’t been for the hand around your throat.

“Control yourself–.”

“No,” you’d screamed, immediately descending into a fit. “I saw you, and all night you’ve done nothing but treat me like I’m stupid!”

His face was blurry from your tears, but that hadn’t stopped you from slapping him over and over. The wall shook from the force in which he’d shoved you against it, and as much as it had hurt, it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Satisfaction filled you when his shades clattered to the floor from the force of your hand.

Unfortunately the force of his hand was harder.

You’d sobbed at the foot of the stairs while Carmine stood over you, and it was the only sound in the house for a while. You suspected that anyone else in the place—a maid, a cook, a bodyguard—had long made themselves scarce from the moment you’d started throwing anything you could get your hands on from the second floor. He’d seemed content to let you cry for a while, and you’d heard him move.

You hadn’t needed to look up to know that he was walking towards those same dark shades you’d slapped off of his face. You’d suspected that he’d put them on before making his way back over to your hunched frame, and when he’d reached for you—the tips of his fingers just barely brushing your arm—you’d slapped them off again.

You were on your feet before he could react, grabbing the first pair of shoes you could find lying around before picking up what turned out to be his coat. You hadn’t spared him another glance as you’d swiped your purse up from where you’d dropped it on the floor, stomping outside into the cold, absolutely determined to walk home.

You had only made it maybe two minutes up the street when that familiar luxury sedan pulled up beside you, his driver begging you to get in. You were so angry that you couldn’t even find it in you to be moved by Carmine sending his driver after you to at least take you home. Normally it would have warmed your heart, but all you’d been able to think about was him and that woman. The other man had circled three more times to convince you to get in before finally succeeding on the fourth.

The whole way home, you alternated between taking a sip of champagne and pouring some out on the nice leather seats. Your face hurt and your neck hurt and your heart heart, and at this point all you wanted was to make Carmine as angry as he’d made you and find comfort in your bed that was thankfully empty of the other man.

When the car finally rolled to a stop outside of your apartment, you emptied out what little was left in the Perignon right onto the floor before leaving the empty bottle right on the seat.

For the fifth day in a row there was an incessant knock at your front door.

For the fifth day in a row, you ignored it.

It wasn’t anyone important, only Kenzie, and you merely stared at the wall as the pounding reached your ears. For five days you were in torment for both the obvious and not so obvious reasons. Your neck—and face—did indeed bruise just as badly as you suspected it would, and it was more of an inconvenience than anything that anytime you left the house you had to be extra meticulous about your makeup. You’d cursed Carmine with every pat of concealer to your skin.

Five days without him felt like a heaven you’d forgotten existed, but five days without him also felt like a hell you knew all too well.

Carmine was so bad for you—in truth you were probably so bad for each other—but you missed him like crazy. You’d gotten into fights before, a few of them much bigger than this, but this one hurt you the most. He hadn’t even been doing anything of consequence with that girl that night, but you had to be honest with yourself and admit that you hadn’t liked the way she looked at him nor stood near him. 

His refusal to reassure you had only made you angrier.

Before you knew it, half of his house was broken at the bottom of the stairs. You recalled how he’d looked at you—like some bratty child—and it had only pissed you off more. Why couldn’t he just give you what you wanted? Why did he insist on letting you stew in your thoughts? You’d come to the conclusion that your suspicions had to be correct then, and considering Carmine was Carmine, he wasn’t going to lie for anyone or placate anyone just for the sake of doing so.

You saw red.

You pulled your cover over your head when Kenzie knocked again, and you had half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but you knew that if you opened that door, you’d just be dragged right back to that stupid mansion. Like the previous days, it became quiet again after a while, and relief filled you as you relaxed. You had no intention of going back to that house nor that man.

You were still so angry at Carmine, and you’d meant it when you resolved yourself to leave him for good. It wasn't the violence but instead the way he made you doubt your place in his life, and you knew how messed up that was, but that was your relationship with Carmine Falcone. Through it all, you knew he would kill for you and never once make a fool out of you.

Now, you’d be content to never see his face again.

Carmine, on the other hand, wasn’t quite done with you.

It was the seventh day without him when you left your bedroom to find none other than the man himself sitting on your couch. You’d stopped short at the sight of the shadowy figure in the dark room—only lit by the light coming from your bedroom—and even before flipping on the switch you knew who it was. You couldn’t even find the strength to be mad at him, only wanting him gone.

He was dressed plainly—plainly for him—and he looked as menacing as ever in your living room dressed in all black with those same infuriating shades covering his eyes. You wanted to knock them off for a third time, but you thought better of it. When you huffed a sigh, he finally spoke.

“I thought I told you to change that lock.”

The lock on your door was faulty, something he nagged you about a million times, and you rolled your eyes.

“For what? You’d just have a key made behind my back, anyway.”

“Any one of these lowlifes in this city could break in,” he deeply commented, still not looking at you as he sat so relaxed on your couch.

“If someone wanted to break in, a brand new lock wouldn’t stop them, believe me,” you scoffed. “Besides, if I’m dead then you can parade your whores around the city as much as you’d like.”

You said it with a shrug, tone sweet and mocking, and Carmine didn’t like that. You swallowed when he stood, narrowing your eyes and keeping your gaze on him. It was only when he slowly moved towards you, finally facing you now, did you take notice of the huge box next to where he was sitting on the couch. Your gaze lingered on it for half a second before you were distracted by the man before you.

“Her name is Svetlana…” you made a noise at that. “...and she’s not a whore.”

There was a brief pause.

“Not mine, anyway.”

You tried to keep your face even, but you couldn’t hold back the slight frown that graced your features. You remained still as he got closer, but you couldn’t lie to yourself and say you weren’t nervous. This was the closest you’d been to him in days, and when he stopped before you, you eyed him.

“She’s moving to California…”

You shrugged at him as if to say ‘so?’.

“...and she knows how much you love that mink coat she has.”

Your lips parted for half a second before you snapped them shut, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning at him. It was deathly silent as the implication behind his words hung in the air, and you could feel your face heating up just as Carmine continued.

“Obviously she’s not going to get much use out of it over there, and we both know I can be persuasive.”

Your throat felt tight, and you briefly glanced away from him. You didn’t know what to think, feeling utterly embarrassed, and you could feel your eyes watering. To keep yourself from embarrassing yourself any further, you lashed out, of course.

“Persusaive,” you snidely repeated. “She wants to fuck you.”

Carmine merely tilted his head at that, gaze boring into you from behind those shades.

“I’m sure she does,” he agreed. “...just as I’m sure you’d love taking her coat from her instead of buying a brand new one for yourself…because she wants to fuck me.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at that, something settling in the pit of your gut that made you feel warm. You and Carmine stared at each other for some time before you finally broke, face crumbling as you looked away.

“Why did you let me think you were fucking her?” you tearfully wondered. 

He didn’t answer right away, opting to move closer until his chest brushed against your arms. You kept your gaze on the wall as he leaned in, and Carmine brushed his lips against your cheek—the bruised one. His facial hair tickled your skin, and when he kissed you, he lingered.

“...you’re beautiful when you’re jealous.”

When you slapped him this time, it was weak, and you both knew it.

“You’re such an asshole,” you cried, shaking your head. “I don’t want your fucking coat.”

Carmine raised an eyebrow at you.

“No?” he wondered, backing up.

“No,” you spat.

You watched him open the box, and despite what you said, you couldn’t take your eyes off of it as he pulled it out of the box. It was just as beautiful and plush as you remembered, possibly even more so now that you’d taken it from that plastic Barbie who’d been looking at Carmine like she wanted to wear him. When Carmine neared you with it, you swallowed.

“Just try it on,” he murmured, and before you could even attempt to protest, one of his hands was pulling at the belt on your robe.

His fingers grazed your skin, and you shuddered, hoping he didn’t notice. You let him slide it off of you, the fabric whispering to the floor, and you gazed at him from beneath your lashes as he swung his arms around you, the thick fur fabric landing gently on your bare skin. He put your arms through it, and you hated how good it felt.

When his hands rested just under your jaw, you closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips on yours.

“It’s perfect on you, beautiful.”

You pulled it closer to your skin, pulling away a bit.

“Really?”

He only hummed in response, leaning in again and pressing kisses to your throat. You tilted your head, letting him, and you softly exhaled when his hand slid inside of the coat. You couldn’t hold back the small smile when his fingers crawled between your thighs.

“You going to fuck me in her coat?”

Carmine made a noise of disapproval, pushing his fingers into you and making you gasp.

“Your coat,” he corrected. “I’m going to fuck you in your coat.”

You wanted to be in his lap, and Carmine obliged, hands on your hips as you pushed yourself down onto his cock over and over again. The thick winter piece slid off of your shoulder as you gently rode him, lashes fluttering as he kept a firm grip on your waist. You didn’t know if the sweat was from your movements or from the fur on your skin. It was probably a combination of both, but you didn’t care.

When Carmine pressed kisses to the bruises on your neck, you moaned, head thrown back to allow him to do so. His hands were tight on your hips, and his pants were rough against your skin as you pushed yourself down onto him. You could feel the cool metal of his ring against you, and you reached down to place your hand on top of his.

Your other hand was on the back of the couch.

You hadn’t touched Carmine in a week, and as mad as you were, it was also killing you inside. At the time, the thought disgusted you, having convinced yourself he was seeing someone else. Of course, now that you knew he wasn’t, you didn’t want him to take his hands off of you. 

When you leaned in to press your face into his neck, he moved your hips over him for you. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how wet you were, sliding up and down his cock with ease. You could hear it every time you covered the length of him completely, and the jealous and vindictive part of you was turned on even more because of the coat that was now yours, gracing your skin as you fucked your boyfriend, the article of clothing once owned by the same woman who wanted what she couldn’t have.

…because he was yours.

[cherienymphe]

Red Bottom Baby: A Series of Oneshots 💋

Living on the arm of Carmine Falcone comes with a price.

Million Dollar Man

Carmine Falcone only has a few precious things in his life. You’re one of them, and that’s why he kisses every bruise he leaves behind.

Mo Money, Mo Problems

You're a nightmare to deal with but Carmine wouldn't have it any other way.

Blood Money

When you left Carmine this time, you were determined to stay gone, completely forgetting how little of a choice you actually have in this relationship.

𓂇 dividers: @firefly-graphics+ @moonstoneandmoonlight

𓂇 banner by me

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[secondlina]

Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.

[plagued-roses]

MAGIC POTATO GO!🥔

[paranoiafromtheunderground]

I need luck. Oh, dear sweet magical potato, please whisk my problems away faster than the time it takes to perform the costo rotisserie chicken hack.

[heavenlybarnesss]

Fuck it, I’ll take all the help I can get right now. Do your thang magic potato 🙏🏼

[snowbairdd]

LUPITA NYONG'O attending the world premiere of "The Odyssey" (July 06, 2026)

[lovergirlcinema]

I’m A Good Girl, Officer

Sammy Bryant x black!reader

Summary: After Sammy’s divorce from Tammi, he has a whole new outlook on life, which also includes a whole new look. You notice that your cute neighbor has transformed into a total smoke show, but you’re quick to remind him that you wanted to crack him even when he was chubby.

Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), praise kink, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), officer role play, use of a mirror, objectifying Sammy Bryant and his chubby face & body😩, cum licking, unprotected sex, mentions of infidelity. 

Sammy Bryant has always had his eyes on you. I mean, who wouldn’t look at you? You’re an absolute stunner is what he’d say if anyone ever asked. You’d been his and Tammi’s neighbor for about two years before the divorce.

Each morning, when you both were heading to your respective jobs, you’d still be polite enough to yell out a “Mornin’ neighbor!” All while waving your pretty manicured nails at him. 

He’d blush each time, but he’d still offer up his own “Good morning” to you. Sammy liked having you as a neighbor. You were always polite and helpful. 

Whenever you’d have a cookout with your friends and family, you'd invite him and Tammi over. Of course, Tammi never came, but Sammy never let that stop him from going to eat good food. 

“Make yourself at home, Sammy. Come on, I’ll make your plate,” you said, tugging him along with you to the kitchen. As you passed by different members of your family, you would introduce them. 

“Say mane, you ain’t gone arrest us or nothin’ right?” Your uncle asked him. 

“No, sir, m’just here to enjoy some good food and company,” Sammy answers. 

“Uncle Leroy, leave my neighbor alone,” you said, laughing slightly as you pulled Sammy into the kitchen. The man watches quietly as you move around the kitchen and grab one of the long plates. 

You look up at him, “Do you eat potato salad?” 

Sammy nods, “Yeah, I do. Honestly, it all looks great, so load me up with it all.”

You chuckle, “I’ll hook you up. My dad makes the best ribs this side of town.” You navigate around the table as you pack Sammy’s plate with various foods. His mouth waters the more that you put on the plate.

But truly, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that his mouth was watering from the food. In actuality, the man can’t keep his eyes from trailing over your body. He can’t help the way that he notices the way that the shorts cling to your body, or how they rise each time you lean over the table. 

He’s a cop. He’s supposed to pay attention to the details that other people would miss, such as the fact that when your shirt lifts, he can see the faint glint from your belly button piercing. 

Or even the fact that he can tell that you just shaved your legs–as evidenced by the bandage on the side of your leg.

“You hurt yourself?”

“Huh?” 

When you turn to look at him, Sammy points to the bandage on the back of your leg. You look down at it and hum as though you forgot it was there. 

“Yeah, I nicked myself shaving this morning. You know how it is, playing host. You never really get time to yourself,” you explain, before sticking a fork in his plate. 

You pass the plate over to him, and he ignores the way that his skin tingles at the feel of your fingers brushing against his. Sammy follows you back into the party, where you both sit together at one of the tables. He takes the first bite of potato salad and nearly moans. 

The ribs are even better. 

“This is some of the best food I’ve had in a while,” He states, taking another bite of the ribs. 

You smirk, “Your wife not cooking many home meals?”

Sammy wipes his mouth and swallows down the food, “Not really. She does her best, but she’s not much of a cook. But I knew that when I married her.” He winces once the sentence is out and tries to save face, “She makes a great casserole.”

He cringes even harder at that sentence.

You laugh softly, “M’just teasing you, Sammy. Since you like the food so much, I’ll make you some to-go plates.”

Sammy takes his time to stare into your eyes. He analyzes the different shades of color present there and how your eyelashes perfectly complement your eyes. 

“I’d really like that. Thank you.”

“S’no problem.” 

You hold eye contact with him for a beat before breaking it once one of your cousins calls your name. You’re polite enough to include Sammy in the conversation. Actually, you’re great at reassuring him throughout the entire evening. 

Even when you’re teaching him to play Spades, you’re patient and calm with him. He finds himself laughing along with your family as they joke about you bringing a white boy around. 

You laugh loudly, “Y’all are gonna put some respect on my neighbor’s name. I’m not about to let y’all come for him like this.”

“Right, niece! Y’all ain’t coming for my friend. He said he's going to help me get rid of these parking tickets,” your uncle, Delmont, said, all while winking at Sammy. 

Sammy can’t help but admire how joyful and carefree you are when you’re with your family. It only makes him more attracted to you, especially with how welcoming you are. 

He stops the thoughts before they can even begin to manifest into a montage of images. If there’s one thing that Sammy Bryant doesn’t do is cheat. 

He knew his fair share of guys at the station who were messing around on their wives and girlfriends, but that had never been Sammy’s scene. 

He took the sanctity of marriage seriously. When he said those vows to Tammi, he meant every single word. So as much as he liked you, he’d never cross that line and hurt his wife. 

Because his parents raised him to be a lot of things, but a cheater wasn’t one of them. 

Even though he has his suspicions of Tammi, he still wouldn’t allow himself to ever cross that line. 

By the end of the night, as things are winding down, Sammy stands across from you in your yard with his to-go plates stacked together in a plastic bag. 

“Thank you again for inviting me and for the food,” He said, smiling shyly at you. 

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming. You know it was really nice having you here, Sammy. You’re welcome to come to any future cookouts.”

He smiles, “Good, because I don’t think I ever want to miss out on your dad’s ribs.” Before he knows it, you’re stepping closer to him. He can practically feel the warmth of your body with how close you are. 

“Have a good night, Sammy.” He expects that to be the end of the conversation. What he doesn’t expect is for you to pull him into a hug. He can feel the increasing thumping of his heart beating against his chest at the feel of your body pressed to his. 

He tries to take a deep breath to calm his nerves, but that only worsens the situation because then he gets a big waft of your perfume. He circles his arm around your waist and pulls you more to him. 

You happen to move your head back to stare at him, and for a moment, he’s trapped within your gaze. He clears his throat and moves back. For a second, he allowed himself to visualize what it’d be like to have your lips pressed against his. 

He swallows roughly as the guilt starts to creep up into his body. He smiles awkwardly at you, “G’night.” 

You spare him one last smile before turning to walk back inside your house. Sammy follows suit and walks back to his house. When he gets inside, he spots Tammi sitting on the couch, watching TV and texting on her phone. 

“You’ve been gone all day. Thought I might have to file a missing person’s report,” She said, eyes flickering over his form and the bag in his hand. 

“No need for that. The neighbor and her family invited me to stay and eat with them. They were really nice,” Sammy responds.

Tammi hums. She’s not blind. She can see how pretty you are and the occasional glances that you spare Sammy’s way. Even just the fact that he was so excited to go to your house has her raising her eyebrows.

Sure, she’s already having an affair of her own, but something about the thought of you and Sammy together just makes her stomach queasy. However, it would absolve her of some guilt about her affair if Sammy were sleeping with you. 

Maybe he’d even be willing to look past what she’s doing in favor of his affair with you. 

The next day, Sammy’s on edge. 

He suspects more and more that Tammi is cheating on him. But it’s fully confirmed for him in that moment when he checks his to-go plates and sees that someone had eaten his ribs. 

Tammi doesn’t even like ribs. 

So who did she have in his house?

You’d noticed the change in Sammy since his divorce. At first, he was more withdrawn and isolated. You’d grown worried when you started to notice the usual softness and joy present in his face fading away. 

You were there for Sammy even when he started to push you away. You’d send over meals to his house, and he’d give you a soft smile, but you could always tell that the light had left his eyes.

It only got worse when he found out that the baby that he was so excited for wasn’t his. 

In that moment, Sammy Bryant decides to become a brand new man. As he looks in the mirror, he takes in his chubby cheeks and the slight curve of his stomach. He figures that he’ll start there.

He starts going to the gym more and being more mindful about what he eats. Soon, the weight practically falls off, and his face becomes slimmer. His jawline’s sharper, and the man that stares at him in the mirror is him…but not him at the same time. 

He likes it. And he’s not the only one. Sammy starts to garner a lot more attention from women on the regular patrols. They’d usually keep their eyes on Nate and disregard Sammy. 

But now, they flash heated looks and sugary smiles in his direction. It puts a certain pep in his step. Even as he goes to the bar with the guys, more women are pulling him to the side and suggesting that they come back to his place. 

He smiles politely and declines. 

He sips from his beer after he’d rejected yet another woman. Ben turns to him, “Jeez, Bryant, she was a real smoke show. I bet she would’ve been open to showing you a good time.” 

Sammy shrugs, “Nah, not my type.” 

Nate scoffs, “Not your type? What’s your type then? Oh, let me guess, your fine ass neighbor next door?” 

Sammy shoots him a warning look. Nate chuckles, “So, I’m right. Why don’t you just ask her out, man? She seems like she’s into you.”

“I don’t know. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Well, you’d better get a move on it. Pretty girl like that. Some guy’s bound to scoop her up soon.”

Sammy knows that he’s right. You’re a beautiful woman, and not too many men would miss their opportunity to have you on their arm. Since the divorce, he’s been watching you a lot more. 

He finally feels like it’s not a sin to look at you and imagine what it’d be like to be with you. 

Which just happens to be the case now as he watches you head out to your car. You glance up, feeling his eyes on you, “Mornin’ neighbor.”

“Morning,” Sammy replies before he starts to walk over in your direction. 

You lean against your car and give him another one of those dazzling smiles, “Long time no see, Sammy. You get a brand new look and dump me.” 

You don’t hide the fact that you’re checking him out, which he really likes. 

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t you, I swear. It’s just been a lot with the divorce and then the baby…” He trails off at the end of the sentence and swallows roughly. 

It still hurts him to talk about the fact that the baby isn’t his. A cute, chubby-faced baby that Sammy was prepared to give the world to. Even after the DNA test came back negative, he tried to make it work. It was always his dream to be a father. But as all things are with Tammi, they eventually become complicated. Her affair partner was still a constant in her life, and he obviously wanted to be a part of the kid’s life. 

So Sammy did the mature thing. 

He bowed out and left. There was no point in fighting for something that would only hurt him in the end. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that, Sammy. Really. You’re a great guy,” You said, your expression softening. 

“Thanks, and thanks for being there. Those home-cooked meals meant more than you know.”

“You’re welcome. You know you’re always welcome over anytime,” You said.

Sammy smiles shyly. Even with his new look, he still found himself nervous around you. 

“I should go, but I’ll see you around, Sammy. Be careful.” With one last parting smile, you get into your car and drive away. Sammy watches you drive away and mentally scolds himself for not being brave enough to ask you out. 

It’s a random Friday night, and Sammy finds himself on patrol with Nate and Ben. There’s nothing too crazy besides them having to get a few sloppy drunks in line. Sammy’s eyes scan to the entrance of the club, and he stops once he spots you walking out with your friends. He lets his eye run down your figure in the way that the front of the dress dips dangerously to show the outline of your breasts. 

You look beautiful, and you’re practically glowing as you laugh loudly at something that one of your friends says. Your eyes scan your surroundings, and they automatically land on Sammy leaning against the patrol car. 

Sammy sees you say something to your friends before you start to walk in his direction. By this point, Nate and Ben have noticed you approaching them. Nate nudges Sammy, “Aye, Bryant, there goes your lady.”

Sammy rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the smile that covers his face. 

“Evening officers. Hi, neighbor,” You say, looking in Sammy’s direction. 

“Hi, uh..you look really nice. Girls’ night out?”

“Bachelorette Party, actually. My best friend’s getting married next week,” You reply, briefly glancing back at the group of women, who wave at you before making obscene gestures. Sammy chuckles at their antics. Your friends use his laughter as an excuse to come over and antagonize you finally. 

A woman with long faux locs and a sasha labelled “Bride” smirks while looking between you and Sammy. “Oh, so you must be the sexy neighbor that she won’t stop talking about.”

Your eyes widen, “Kamari!”

“Ooops, my bad. I’m a little tipsy officer, forget I said anything,” Kamari states before turning her gaze to Ben and Nate. “Hey, is it possible for you guys to handcuff me and put me in the back of the cop car?”

Your other friends laugh at Kamari’s suggestion, but truthfully, Ben and Nate are down to make her wish come true. You watch in amusement as Ben puts the cuffs around her wrists loosely as your other friend, Shay, takes pictures and videos of the moment.

You find that Sammy’s already looking at you, “Aren’t you gonna frisk me, Officer?”

Sammy smirks at the insinuation, “I don’t know, ma’am. Have you been a good girl or a bad girl tonight? I have to have reasonable cause for a search.”

You step closer and pretend to think it over, “I don’t know, Officer Bryant. I think I’ve been pretty bad tonight. I think you should cuff me and make sure that I’m not in possession of anything. You know, for the safety of the public and all?” You peer at him from beneath your lashes as you flash one of those dazzling smiles in his direction. 

“How much have you had to drink tonight, sweetheart?” He figures that it must be some sort of liquid courage if you’re openly flirting with him like this. 

“Not a lot. I’m playing designated driver tonight, so that means that I’m completely sober and in my right mind to flirt with you,” You mutter as you reach out to lightly touch his shirt. Your fingers play with the buttons of his shirt, and Sammy feels flush at having your hands on him.

From the side, Kamari stumbles, and you take a step back from Sammy. “I should get her home. It was nice seeing you, Sammy. Stay safe tonight.”

“Drive safely, sweetheart.” 

He watches you walk away, the dress clinging to each curve of your body. You throw a fleeting glance over your shoulder and wink at him before turning around. 

“She’s so into you, man. You gotta get in on that,” Ben suggests. 

For the first time in a while, Sammy figures that it’s time to make his move.

12:20 AM. 

That’s the precise time that Sammy makes it to his house. He briefly glances over to your house and clocks the fact that the lights are still on. 

He walks into his house, which is silent except for the sounds of his dog, Cooper, snoring from the couch. 

As Sammy showers, he’s suddenly hyper aware of his body and all of the different changes there. The slight pudge that used to sit over his pants is nonexistent. Even as he stands in the mirror and observes his jaw, which one lady stated “could cut through glass,” he just stares.

He starts to wonder if maybe Tammi wouldn’t have cheated on him if he looked like this. Was she turned off by his chubby cheeks or the feel of his stomach against hers when they had sex? 

Then he thinks about you. 

Never once during the times when he’d talked with you did you ever make him feel like he was disgusting. In fact, the only time that he ever felt wanted was when he was with you. 

The realization is what gives him the confidence to finally walk across the pathway as he stands in front of your door nervously. 

He readjusts his grip on the wine bottle as he raises his hand to knock. 

He lowers his hand, “What are you doing, Bryant? She’s probably asleep. What? You bring wine and then what?”

He jumps as the door opens. You stand in front of him with a wide grin on your face, “Are my eyes deceiving me, or are you talking to yourself at my front door, Sammy?”

Sammy blushes under your gaze. He awkwardly rubs his hand through his hair, “How’d you know I was at your door?” 

You take a small step forward and point to the side of the door, where a ring camera sits. 

“I saw you on my camera. The motion detector went off, and then I just kind of watched you psych yourself up at the door,” You respond, laughing. 

Sammy laughs right along with you. 

“I’m sorry. That was weird. I should probably go.” 

“Don’t be. It’s cute. Plus, you walked all this way, you might as well come in,” you states, leaning on the door. Frankly, it’s not like he walked far. Your house is literally only a few steps away, but implication is just far too sexy to resist. 

Sammy follows behind you into your house, and he takes the chance to look around. You’ve changed things around since the last time that he’s been here. It’s warm, cozy, and completely you. 

You navigate him towards the kitchen where you go to the cabinet to grab two glasses. 

He removes the cork from the wine glass, and you blatantly stare at the flex of his muscles. 

“Sorry if it’s not the good stuff,” He said, as he pours you both a glass. 

“It’s fine. I’ve become all too familiar with cheap wine, and truthfully, I kind of like it,” you reply. You usher him into the living with as you both sit side by side. You pull your feet up to rest on the couch as you stare at Sammy. 

“What brings you by this time of night, Officer Bryant?” You ask teasingly.

“ I wanted to see you.”

You smile, “I wanted to see you, too. I was hoping that you’d stop by.”

“You looked really beautiful tonight,” Sammy announces, eyes briefly flickering down to your bare legs.

“Thank you. You looked pretty hot in your uniform.”

He smiles bashfully, “Yeah? That’s seems to be the consensus among everyone these days. Guess they didn’t really like the way that I looked in the uniform back then. Nobody likes a chubby guy, you know?”

He tries to laugh at the end of the joke to take the sting away, but it still hurts. The insecurity of it all stillhurts. 

You set your glass down the table before turning to look at him. He wants to smooth the frown out of your pretty face. 

“Is that really what you think of yourself, Sammy? Don’t get me wrong, you’re hot like this, but I liked you when you had a little weight on you, too. You were fluffy.” 

Sammy chuckles, “Fluffy? Like a bunny?”

“Yeah, like a bunny. You always looked like you were good at cuddling and like you could keep a girl warm on a cold night,” you explain, your expression darkening. 

You scoot closer to him on the couch until your legs are touching his. You trail yours eyes across his form and suddenly, he just feels so naked under your gaze. 

He finds himself leaning in closer to your face, but you stop him. You stand from the couch and hold your hand out to him, “Come on, I wanna try something.” 

Sammy’s like a little puppy with how he willingly lets you lead him throughout your house. He eyes the various pictures frames that have you and your family in them. His heart is hammering against his chest as you both get closer to what he presumes is your bedroom. 

It also doesn’t help that he can feel himself hardening in the grey sweatpants. You push the door open lightly as he finally catches a full view of your room. 

The big bed sits neatly in the middle of the room, but what catches his eye more is the huge mirror that sits in front of the bed. Sammy’s mind goes to less innocent scenarios, such as you pleasuring yourself in front of the mirror. 

You turn to face his as you both stand in front of the bed. “Is it okay if I touch you, Sammy?”

He nods, wide eyes seeking your approval.

You click your tongue, “No, baby, you’re an officer, you know how important consent is.”

He swallows the saliva that fills his mouth, “Yes, you can touch me. You can do whatever you want to me, doll.”

“Good because I wanna make you feel good tonight.” Your fingers reach out to lightly squeeze the bulge that peeks through the sweatpants. He jumps in anticipation. 

Your hands grasp the edge of his shirt before you lift it above his head. The fabric falls carelessly to the floor. Sammy suddenly feels very shy under your gaze. 

You pull his body to yours with the drawstring of his sweats. You peer up at him, “I want you to kiss me, Sammy.”

He doesn’t need much else after that as he lips descend upon yours. Sammy’s lips move across yours, and it feels like he’d devouring you. But truthfully, you don’t know how much, he’s been waiting to finally touch you. 

You moan softly at the feel of his tongue sliding into your mouth. You can taste the faint hint of mint on Sammy’s tastebuds. You move your hands up to cup his face, “You know how many hours I spent thinking about this face? Sammy, I’d literally cum to the thought of sitting on your face.” 

You move your lips to the side and press a kiss to his cheek, “I was always happy whenever I’d get to see your sweet face in the morning.” 

As expected, he blushes. You slide your hands from his face down to his stomach, which is now lean with abs and a visible v-line running down. Your hands grasp the side of his waist.

“I really liked your stomach.” Sammy’s mouth goes dry as he watches you to come to stand behind him. You turn his face to the mirror, “Eyes on the mirror, baby. I want you to watch every single thing I’m doing to you.”

He watches you bite your lip through the mirror, “You wanna know what I fantasized about when it came to your stomach?”

“Tell me,” Sammy orders gruffly. 

 Your manicured hands slide down the length of his body before you dig your nails into his stomach. 

“I used to think about you and me together. I thought about you laying your body atop of mine, and you thrusting away. But you wanna know what really turned me on? I couldn’t stop thinking about your belly rubbing up against mine. It didn’t turn me off at all. Means that you’re eating good. Can I make you feel good?”

“Please,” he whimpers, as he leans back in your hold. 

You gently usher him to sit in the middle of the bed. Grasping the sides of his sweatpants, you pull them down as his dick slaps against his stomach. 

You kneeling between Sammy’s legs, staring up at him all pretty. 

“I wanna see you too,” Sammy said, softly. 

You lean back to toss your shirt over your head. Sammy’s greeted with the sight of your beautiful breasts as the air starts to harden your nipples.

“You look beautiful,” Sammy states. 

“Thank you, baby. So do you. Now let me make you feel good,” you tell him, to which he nods.

You take his length in your hands and slide your tongue across his tip to collect the precum dripping there. 

Sammy shudders in your hold. Licking up the underside of his dick, you allow your glossed lips to cover his tip. Lifting up, you swirl your tongue around like you’re licking a lollipop. 

“You taste so good, baby. Just like I knew you would.” Sammy jumps and moans loudly at the feel of you enveloping his full length into your mouth. He pulls your curly hair out of your face so that he can stare at you. 

You look at the Sammy the entire time as you move your head up and down. When you move up again, you allow a large amount of saliva to trail over Sammy’s tip before slurping it back into your mouth.

“Baby…fuck…that feels so good,” Sammy moans, his face scrunching up in pleasure. 

You moan around him at the praise and Sammy finds his hips lifting each time to meet your mouth. Quite frankly, you’re happy to see him prioritizing his own pleasure and wants. You know he deserves it after everything that Tammi put him through. 

Sammy feels the creeping of the orgasm rising in his body before he can fully comprehend it. His mind feels frazzled as he moans unabashedly in the room. He tries to push you back a little, “Baby…”

But you already know what that means, and you’re not letting your man miss out having his pleasure. Hallowing your cheeks more, Sammy moans increase as you fully submerge yourself to the base of his length, pushing your nose into the ginger hairs at the base of his dick. 

Stars burst beneath his eyes as his orgasm starts. He moans and whimpers as the ropes of cum leave him. You obediently drink him down and move up at the sheer amount of cum that floods your mouth. 

With him now out of your mouth, you point his leaking dick at your chest as the white liquid paints your breasts like a canvas. 

The last bit of Sammy’s white release trails lazily down the side of his dick. You catch the liquid before it can drop on the bed and bring it to your mouth. Sammy’s dick jumps at the sight of your wet mouth, along with your bare chest painted with him cum. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” He orders. 

You stand in front of him, bare and waiting. Sammy surprises you when he moves his face closer to your body and his tongue flicks out to swipe the cum away from your nipple. The ginger-haired man fully wraps his lips around your nipples as he sucks gently. Sammy repeats the action on your other breast before moving to lick the remaining remnants of his cum from your chest.

Once you’re cleaned up to his satisfaction, he connects his mouth to yours. You both kiss messily as the faint trace of him remains on your tongues. 

Gently laying you down on the bed, Sammy hovers above you. He presses light kisses down the length of your body. He grabs your hips in his hands as he slides your sleep shorts down your legs and discard them on your floor. 

“M’gonna make you feel good too, baby. For the next couple of days, all I want is the taste of you in my mouth,” He explains, laying down between your legs. 

Kissing up your thighs, Sammy nips at your thighs before soothing the bites over with his tongue. Truthfully, he wants to mark you. He wants to leave this bedroom knowing that some part of him is still imprinted on your body. 

Sammy pushes your legs back and is greeted with the sight of your glistening folds. Leaning down, he collects the slick that gathers at your entrance on his tongue and licks a long stripe towards your clit. 

It seems like just from that small taste, it incites Sammy to fully bury his face into your pussy. You lean up on your elbows as you watch his head move back and forth. 

Stuffing your hand into his curls, your jaw drops at the feel of the man eating you out like you were his last meal on Earth. 

“Sammy…”You moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. How could Tammi be this stupid and give an eater like Sammy up? 

Admittedly, this is the first time that a man’s been able to bring you the edge so quickly just off of head alone. Sammy’s Bryant a dangerous man, and you’d definitely be willing to fight anyone before you gave up your best eater. 

With one last suck to your clit, you’re exploding on Sammy’s tongue. He watches as your back arches from the bed. It brings a huge sense of pride to his chest at the fact that he’s making you feel so good. 

You breathe heavily and laugh, “If I knew you were this good, I would have came to your house sooner.” 

Sammy licks his lips, tasting the remaining juices on his face. “I think we both have a lot to make up for baby.”

Leaning up, you pull his lips to yours, “Well, we can start now.” You grasp his hardened dick in his hand, “I’d love to feel you inside me.”

Reaching over to the bedside drawer, Sammy pulls out a condom and slides it over his length. 

“Yeah, baby, we got a lot to make up for.”

From that moment, you instantly become Sammy’s girl and there isn’t a thing that he won’t do for you. Sammy feels good about his relationship with you. For the first time in a while, he feels valued and less like a burden. 

Knowing that you found him attractive in every single state sent a wave of flutters throughout his chest each time. 

Naturally, the guys at the station teased him for getting a woman as beautiful as you. He’d heard his fair share of “You sure you can handle all that, Bryant?” But truthfully, Sammy had excelled at proving that he could handle you. 

The man was practically manhandling you all throughout his house. He got off on seeing just how much he could make you cum. He always kept a perceptive eye on you as he liked watching you cum, and seeing how overwhelmed you got by the orgasm. 

He liked knowing that he was the only one making you feel good. 

Even the first time that you’d let him go raw inside you, Sammy Bryant had literally turned you every way but loose. 

You still didn’t see how Tammi could ever cheat on the man when he was putting it down like this. 

Speaking of Sammy’s ex-wife, she’d started to become a rather bothersome nuisance. She’d heard around town that Sammy had started seeing a new woman. So imagine her surprise when she spots you and Sammy walking hand-in-hand in the grocery store with love sick smiles on your faces.

It’s also not lost on Tammi how good he looks. This wasn’t the same Sammy Bryant who’d divorced her months ago. 

No, he actually looked happy with you. 

She swallows down the sting of bitterness. As the saying goes, you never know what you have until it’s gone. And Tammi was surely recognizing that now. 

Sammy gets off on Friday and heads home to take off his uniform. He’d already since logged his body cam back in at the station. He parks in front of his house and walks in, just as he smells food wafting through the home. 

He smiles at the realization that you’re here and you’re cooking for him. He’d given you a key to his house pretty early on the relationship, and he didn’t regret it. As far as Sammy was concerned, he was serious about his relationship with you. 

Sure, the sex was great, but there wasn’t a moment that he didn’t enjoy spending with you. He loved the fact that he was able to get to know you on a more deeper and intimate level. 

He spots you stirring away at the stove. His eyes zero in on the pretty dress your wearing and how it rides up when you move. 

Gently walking up behind you, Sammy wraps his arms around your waist. 

“Evenin’ ma’am. I’m Officer Bryant with the LAPD. I’m here to discuss something serious with you, you might if I search your person for anything?” Sammy questions.

You smirk, you already know this is about to end with you cumming around Sammy. You turn the stove off as you turn your head slightly to the side, “Of course, Officer. May I ask what’s this about?”

“Well, ma’am, I have reasonable cause to suspect that you’re harboring something deadly on you. Now, do I have your consent to frisk you?”

You laugh lowly, which Sammy catches as he chuckles.

“I don’t know, Officer Bryant. Do you have a search warrant.?”

Sammy raises his eyebrows in amusement, “M’afraid I don’t ma’am. But I could take you down to the station and it’d be a lot longer. I think it’d be easier if you just consented here.” He trails his fingers down to the edges of your dress. 

“Okay, Officer Bryant, you have my permission,” you respond. 

Sammy navigates you away from the stove and to the the nearby counter. “Hands in front of you where I can see them, ma’am. Spread your legs for me.” 

You follow Sammy’s orders as you spread your legs more. You can already feel the panties between your legs becoming wet with freakiness of it all. 

Starting at your chest, Sammy gently pats his hands along your body. He gets to your breasts and cups them in his hands. You lean into his touch. Patting along your waist, Sammy moves his mouth close to your ear, “Have you been a good girl, sweetheart?”

“Mhmm..I’m always a good girl for you, Officer.” Sammy hums before kneeling behind you. 

He trails his hands up your legs as he reaches the hem of your dress. He pushes the fabric over your hips and whistles at the sight of your panties clinging to your wet pussy. 

“Now what do we have here, sweetheart? Is this getting you all hot and bothered?” Sammy asks, as he swipes his fingers along the damp center of your panties. 

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll make a deal with you. I got a little situation going on if you catch my drift. You help me out and I’ll let you go scot free,” Sammy suggests. 

“Okay, Officer Bryant. We can do that,” You state, subtly waving your hips in his face. In response, Sammy pulls the wet material down your legs as he stuff it in the back of his pocket. 

He practically salivates at seeing how wet you are. 

Standing up behind you, Sammy unbuttons his pants and pulls them down just enough before guiding his tip to your entrance. 

You bend over more as you arch your back. You and Sammy moan in unison as he slides into you. 

“God baby, you feel so good,” he mutters against your shoulder. He has to pause due to how your warm walls encircle around him. 

Pulling back lightly, Sammy thrusts forward, which makes you let out a soft moan. He starts a steady pace as he rocks in and out of you. The man looks down at his your pussy stretches around him, and at the white creaminess that coats the base of his dick. 

You know Sammy’s watching. He’s always been a fan of looking at your bodies being connected. You start to thrust back as your ass bounces against his thrusts.

Sammy reaches around to close his hand around your throat as his movements increase. The loud sound of skin slapping fills the kitchen space. You and Sammy are so utterly lost in the moment that neither of you pays attention to the woman, who stands gobsmacked in the kitchen. 

Tammi doesn’t know what she expected to find when she came back to her former house. All day, she’d talked herself up to come back to the house. She had said that she would tell Sammy that she’d forgotten something, then being the nice guy that he is, he’d let her in. 

She expected that they talk, reminisce on the good old days before they’d talk about how much they missed each other. Them missing each other would lead to them kissing and then they’d go at each other like rabbits.

At least, that’s the scenario that Tammi planned in her head. However her plan was severely flawed from the jump. As soon as she had gotten to the house, she’d knocked and knocked. Not that you and Sammy would be able to hear over the sounds of your lovemaking. 

So Tammi got desperate and used her old key, which has led her to the current moment. Having to watch her ex-husband fuck you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do. Her eyes zero in on Sammy’s hand wrapped around your throat, and how much pleasure you seem to be in. 

Tammi has to admit it to herself, Sammy’s always been a phenomenal lay and even better when it came to giving head. But as she watches him here with you, a large flare of envy creeps into her mind. 

Here you were reaping all of the good benefits of Sammy. The parts of him that she had neglected.

With one last thrust, you and Sammy moan loudly as your mutual climaxes erupt. Sammy holds your body flush to his as you can feel the white spurts of cum shooting against your womb. 

You laugh softly, “You keep cumming in me like this, Sammy, we’re gonna be picking out baby names.”

“Wouldn’t bother me, one bit, honey.”

You’re both startled at the sound of keys hitting the floor. You both look at the former Mrs. Bryant as she stands awkwardly in the doorway. 

Sammy pulls his pants up as he smooths your dress down, “Tammi, what are you doing here? How’d you even get in?”

The blonde woman blushes in embarrassment, “I was coming by to talk and I knocked, but you weren’t answering.” 

Her eyes flicker over to you, “I can see why now. You know, I always knew that you liked him. You’d look at him whenever he came out of the house. I guess you were just waiting on your chance to swoop in and steal him from me.” 

Sammy scoffs, “Oh, come off of it, Tammi. Last I checked, you cheated on me, and we’re divorced so you can stop with the whole ‘woe is me’ bullshit.”

“I just wanted to talk, Sammy. You remember when we used to do that?”

“Yeah, I do. I always remember that you used to not cheat on me either, or maybe the fact that you got pregnant with his kid. God, Tammi, nothing that I ever did was ever gonna be enough for you,” Sammy states, running a hand through his hair. You place a reassuring hand on his back. 

Tammi sees it. She also sees the way that Sammy’s body visibly relaxes in your hold. She isn’t dumb. She sees what’s going on here, and she swallows down the acidity as it crawls up her throat. 

Sammy is in love with you. 

It’s just as clear cut as it needs to be. There’s no chance of reconciliation for her and Sammy because she’d already lost his love to you. 

Even with the way that she can see Sammy grasping your fingers between his, it solidifies the moment.

“I shouldn’t have came. I’m sorry, Sammy.” 

She turns to leave the house until Sammy calls her name. She’s honestly expecting him to make some grand speech in front of you about how he would always love her and how he wants them to be friend. 

But that doesn’t come. 

Sammy holds his hand out, “I need my key back to my house.” Tammi’s eyes widen as she fishes the key from the key chain. She slides into Sammy’s hand and watches as he hands it over to you. 

“Aren’t you at least gonna walk me out, Sammy?”

You roll your eyes as Sammy huffs in annoyance. He’s about to take a step forward until you stop him, “I’ll walk her out, baby.” 

Sammy watches as you usher Tammi to the door. You both disappear around the corner. She turns to face you, “It won’t last with you two. Sammy and I have history together. He isn’t gonna throw it all away for some fling.”

You laugh, like actually downright laugh in her face. “Honey, was that for you or me? I seem to recall you threw all of your history with Sammy away for some fling. You even let him knock you up. You never deserved Sammy. He’s a great man, who you took for granted. But hey, I should be thanking you. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to go fuck my man again.” 

Before she can respond, you close the door in her face. You walk back into the kitchen where Sammy is standing. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even know she still had a key. And for the record, you’re not just a fling to me. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.” He takes a second to pause, “I love you, sweetheart. I know it may be too soon to say this but I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

That pretty smile that made Sammy fall for you covers your face. You step forward to cup his face in your hands, “I love you too, Sammy. And for the record, I like the idea of spending the rest of my life with you.” 

Sammy leans down to press his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, “Thank you for being here and loving me at every stage. There hasn’t been a moment where I had to wonder if I was worthy enough to be with you.”

Your eyes soften, “Sammy, I’ll always spend every moment reminding you of why you deserve the world.”

He smiles, “And I’ll make sure that I spend every moment making sure that I’m giving it to you.” 

“Good. Now, are we eating or going for another round?”

Sammy laughs loudly, “Let’s eat, then I can show you all the ways that I love you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

End.

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[mauvecherie-writes]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 … 𝐃𝐑 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓

ru’s letters💌: there are some embellished truths about Jack in my version of him, do not take them as canon, this is fanfiction after all. Forgive any mistakes, not edited 💕

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Jack Abbot who lived a life of solitude after the divorce from his wife, Shannon. Work, gym, sleep. The occasional outing with friends and colleagues. The occasional date that sometimes ended with something more. And he was content with that, at least that’s what he told himself.

Jack Abbot who two and a half years as a single man has not had a connection that lasted longer than four dates. He was a man focused on his work and his patients and that gave him fulfilment but even he could admit to himself that he was lonely.

Jack Abbot who after a session with his therapist went out and adopted a cat. A black kitten who was about to be euthanised because of her health issues. Her little golden-yellow eyes looked at him through the cage and he just knew that she had to be his. By the time he arrived back at his home, Jack had everything that he would need be a ‘cat dad’ as they called it. A name for the kitten however, that was to be determined.

Jack Abbot who never flaunted his wealth. He was a smart man who, from a young age, invested his money wisely. He knew that he would need something to cushion him after his service and unfortunately his pre-planning saved him a great headache after losing his lower limb. Jack who if you didn’t know him personally would take him for what he is at a simple appearance. A simple man who worked more than he enjoyed living life.

Jack Abbot who after a typical night shift was already calculating how to spend his day off. Grocery shopping, buy breakfast and then home. He didn’t want to do anything else with his two days off but be in his house with his kitten.

However … that all changed when he saw the flashing hazards of a Mercedes coupe and a woman dressed in pink from head to toe pacing back and forth. Her beautiful face pulled into a deep frown as she furiously typed on her phone. The feeling he got when he first saw his kitten, he was feeling it now. So he slowed down his truck.

Jack Abbot who asked “You alright darlin’?” And your tears following after you trembled out a “no” pulled something out of him that had been dormant for a while. He never wanted to see you cry ever again. So he asked questions as he changed your tyre - pretty surprised that a modern Mercedes like this even had one in the back.

Jack Abbot who tried not to blush but failed as he felt your eyes on him as he worked, ignoring the pinch in his stub from the position he was in. He was going to fix your tyre and not complain about his aching body.

Jack Abbot who asked for your name and when you gave it to him, he locked it in his memory. A name he would never forget even if this moment would be fleeting. He was kind of annoyed that changing your tyre was quick, he wanted to bask in your scent for a little longer.

Jack Abbot who tried not to wince as he stood to his full height only to be nearly knocked off his feet when you dove into his arms and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He chuckled at your gratitude as his arms naturally closed around your back and held you. God you felt good in his arms and that should have frightened him.

Jack Abbot who looked into your brown eyes and took in your wide smile. “God, you’re beautiful.” He murmured which caused your smile to be wider.

“Thank you.” You giggled and then you pulled away which Jack tried to not show his disappointment. “I have to show my gratitude somehow. You literally saved my life.”

“There’s no need for that darlin’. I was just helping out a stranger.”

“You just told me you were coming from a night shift, I can pay for your breakfast or something.”

“What you can do for me is get back in your car, get home and rest your pretty head.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out and he had to bite his own to stop from doing what he was thinking of doing but he picked up on the fact that you don’t like being told no.

“I feel bad, there’s gotta be something more that I can do for taking your time.”

Jack Abbot who in that moment, feeling bold did something he hadn’t done in a very long time, he made the first move. “Why don’t we switch numbers and we can discuss later how you can thank me.” The flirtation undertone could not be missed and you picked up on it.

Jack Abbot who savoured the kiss you left on his cheek after you swapped numbers and got back into your car. “I’ll be seeing you Dr Jack Abbot.”

“Yes, you will darlin’. Yes you will.” He mumbled as he watched you drive away. He stood there for a moment letting his feelings settle as they registered. He felt giddy and that excited him.

Jack Abbot who as he drove away, smiled to himself as he knew that his life was about to change.

I WILL BE WORKING ON A LONGER TAGLIST.

@queenshikongo3 @lovergirlcinema @plan3tch1ld @beas-mind @opiaiumz @darqchilddaydreamz @btstrash100 @supernovatardis @smellydano @sixtybread @marijoooo @5st4rde @wh0s0s0s @littlewolfbird @viewtifulkey @areader-whoused-towrite @cocobutterqwueen @cherry2stems @blkgirlsneedlove2 @loreofsarai @krissy455 @shawnyhats-girlwhatever @punani-san @gragrace @hxneyclouds

[blowingbarnes]

Mr. and Mrs.... Rogers?!

Pairing: Spy!Steve x Spy!Reader WC: 10.5k Warnings: enemies to lovers, loosely inspired by mr. and mrs. smith, the avengers are not super mainstream in this, sexual tension, shower scene, makeout, jealousy, mean!steve at times, brat!reader, eventual smut (dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v, edging, creampie, steve eating you out within an inch of your life (munch steve come homeeeeeeee), doggy style, tonguefucking), mentions of voyeurism, surveillance, size kink, miscommunication, angst-ish with comfort. Summary: You and Steve are voluntold you're married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other. +fran: this is the opening showing of the Captain Americana Film Festival and my humble contribution to Steve's birthday!!! I cannot tell you how much it filled me with joy that I sat down to write this on the 4th and actually spat out 10k words. WE ARE SO BACK!!! Happy 108th to the man who will always have my heart, has been the gold standard against which I measure every man, (this is blond man propaganda) and also my astrological twin <3 no one gets me like he does fr. ⤷ you should go listen to the incredible playlist named "mr and mrs smith [john and jane]" by marybatz on spotify

"Absolutely not!"

Fury had the timing of a tax audit to a billionaire CEO. Of course, of course, you'd be stuck playing this mission with fucking Steve. 

One second you were minding your business, enjoying what was left of your coffee and your relatively peaceful morning, and the next Nick Fury was informing you that you would be spending the foreseeable future pretending to be happily married to Steve Rogers.

"You're going." Fury didn't even break stride. He rolled his eye and kept walking down the hallway toward the conference room, clearly done entertaining your complaints before you'd even finished making them, with you hot on his heel. 

Your footsteps echoed in the wide hallway as you walked backwards, facing Fury. "Can't I marry someone else for this?" You pondered. "What about Barnes?"

Fury stopped so suddenly you nearly tripped. "You want to pretend to be married to Barnes?"

You opened your mouth, immediately closed it, thought for a second and shrugged, squeezing your eyes shut. "That's not the point."

"That's what I thought."

The polished floors reflected the overhead lights as the two of you moved through the hallway. “Nat, maybe? Some of those married dudes would eat up girl-on-girl and spill the beans right away. Mission would be so quick!”

Fury walked with the patience of a man who'd dealt with far worse than you. The fact that he hadn't strangled you after years of working together was honestly kind of impressive, a little endearing almost.

Both of you quickly arrived at the conference room door, Fury stopping with his hand on the handle, turning his face to you and letting our a frustrated sigh. "Do you like working here?"

You rolled your eyes, "Yes, sir." What kind of question was that?

"And what's your title?" His brow quirked up.

A confused look plastered all over your face. "Agent."

He leaned down to talk to you closer, almost like explaining rules to a petulant child, "Then be an agent." and proceeded to push the door open and hold it for you, giving you full view of Steve Rogers sitting at the head of the table with a sour expression on his face, just as displeased to have to pretend to love you for the mission. 

The training room should've been empty half an hour ago, and technically, everyone was done for the day. 

It should’ve been quiet—mats wiped down, lights dimmed, everyone gone for the night.

Instead, the air was thick.

Heavy with sweat, heat, and something sharp enough to make the back of your neck prickle. The entire team and a couple recruits were watching you.

Well, you and Steve. 

At first not openly—no one was stupid enough to make it obvious—but they lingered. Leaned against walls, sat on benches, hovered just close enough to pretend they had somewhere else to be.

It started as any other training session did, you rotated partners, almost like shark bait: in and out, partner after partner cycling through you while you stayed planted on the mat, pushing your stamina, your endurance, your patience.

Until you ended up on the other side of the mat from Steve. 

Barefoot, sleeves rolled, skin already lightly sheened with the littlest bit of sweat that somehow made him look betterinstead of worse—which was deeply, personally offensive.

Here's the thing: he was a super soldier. He had endless stamina, super strength, reflexes that outmatched 99% of the population, and he had it all with perfect blond hair and barely breaking a sweat on his sculpted body.

It infuriated the hell out of you. 

He blocked every kick, every punch, and when he didn't he wasn't even phased. 

It made you go harder, to the point where you found yourselves now: almost trying to hurt each other. 

By then, no one was even preteding to be occupied by anything else, shamelessly staring at the two of you at the center of the mat like Oppenheimer waiting for a bomb to go off. 

Steve had stopped treating you with the same careful restraint he used with newer recruits. He'd throw you harder into the mats, knock the wind from your lungs, shove you back with enough force to remind you exactly how much stronger he was, and you'd borderline play dirty.

Every hit had a little more weight behind it. Neither willing to back down. Neither willing to lose.

Sam was sitting backwards in a chair, chin propped on his arms, watching like he had front row seats to the best show of his life; Natasha looked delighted; Bucky looked concerned, brows drawn, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was trying to decide whether to step in or let you both learn your lesson the hard way.

Steve stood opposite of you, his feet staggered and his arms up, making a "come at me" motion with his fingers. His hair was slightly mussed, a damp strand falling forward over his forehead.

"Come to daddy."

The entire room held their breaths, and you saw red. 

In hindsight, you should've planned a better move than to just charge at him, the strength in your muscles and bones not being able to match his. You should've thought of something tactical, something smart. 

But also… you fucking hated his guts. 

Which is exactly how you ended up with your cheek and stomach pressed to the sweaty mat, with Steve's whole weight on your back, your wrists pinned between the two of you and his right arm laced under yours and up your back, hand holding your neck down. 

His hands caught you mid-motion, grip iron-tight as he twisted, using your momentum against you with terrifying ease, his grip locking your body in place, the angle just shy of painful.

"You need to work on your psyche. Mind over matter." His stupid voice right in your ear made goosebumps bloom up your spine, so you did what any reasonable person would do.

You flexed the knee that was between his spread legs hard enough that you hit him square in the balls, giving you the out you needed. 

You straightened on your feet, pushing damp hair back from your face, a breathless, borderline feral grin breaking across your lips as he winced on the mat in pain. 

"Who's your daddy now?" 

Your breathless laughter was cut short, Fury's booming voice breaking through any pain or enjoyment present in the room. "You do know domestic violence is not part of your cover story, no?"

Both of your heads whipped in the direction of his voice. 

He continued to walk in your direction, dropping two folders in front of your feet, and Steve, who was still kneeling down on the mat. "Shower this off. You leave in the morning, lovebirds."

The neighborhood looked like the kind of place where people complained to the HOA because their neighbor's hydrangeas were the wrong shade of blue.

Every lawn was trimmed within an inch of its life, sharp lines cutting through impossibly green grass like someone came out with a ruler every morning. 

The mailboxes all matched—sleek, black, expensive-looking—and every driveway held something polished and obscene:luxury SUV or a car that definitely cost more than your first apartment.

The houses themselves were enormous. White trim, brick facades, wraparound porches, massive windows that left little room for privacy on a street that looked like it loved to mind every business but its own. 

You sat in the passenger seat while Steve drove to your home, the undercover file open across your lap like a book while your bare feet rested on the dash. 

Because annyong Steve was free, and your favorite past time. "No feet on the dash."

You turned a page, ignoring him. "They're staying." You read more of the file. "It's more comfortable that way." Your light blue summer dress was bunched up higher across your thighs, and he did a double take before taking a right turn to your house block.

He sighed. "If we crash—"

"Just look at the road instead of me and we'll be fine." That made him shift in the driver's seat, straightening his posture and looking ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing in annoyance.

What irritated Steve about you was the fact that these comebacks never even seemed to make sense or be thought of, it just rolled off your tongue, almost just for the plot. And you didn't even care. 

He didn't even know why you hated him so much in the first place, but he reciprocated the feeling as soon as he saw how insubordinate and bratty you were. 

Steve sighed the long suffering sigh of a man questioning every life decision that had brought him to this moment. "You're impossible." Muttered under his breath. 

"You're a Senior Project Manager at your own company, honey!" Fake admiration and praise filled your voice. "Oh, you proposed quick! Only a year after our first date." You turned to him, your first real smile plastered on your face. "You're so down bad."

The car came to a stop in your driveway, and Steve turned it off, unclipping his seatbelt. "Put your shoes on, we're here and I feel eyes already." 

"Bossy." You muttered, doing exactly as he said. As you got out of the car, your voice went up an octave, carrying through the humid summer weather. 

“Ready, honey?” you asked, slipping the word out effortlessly, like you’d been saying it for years.

He opened the front door for you, making sure whoever was watching heard him just as well, possessive in a way that made your breath hitch before you could stop it.

“After you, sweetheart.”

You'd barely had enough time to figure out which bedroom closet was yours before the doorbell rang.

ding-dong. ding-dong.

You froze in the middle of the bedroom, one hand still gripping a hanger, Steve somewhere down the hall filling a modified cabinet with all sorts of concealed weapons.

You dropped the hanger onto the bed without another thought, smoothing your hands down your dress as you moved. Steve stepped out of the kitchen at the same time, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he’d been doing something domestic instead of checking sightlines and exits.

Ben and Julie Poindexter stood in your porch like they had been plucked straight out of a catalog. They were ones you hoped to make the acquaintance of quickly, as he was the right hand of the big druglord you and Steve were tasked with making an airtight case on.

Years of field work had taught you that monsters were rarely obvious, still, some primitive part of your brain always expected criminals to look like criminals.

Instead, Ben Poindexter looked like somebody who coached Little League and had multiple PTA moms undoing extra buttons in their cardigans to get his attention. Beside him, Julie beamed, already leaning slightly forward like she couldn’t wait to know everything about you.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed, eyes lighting up. “You must be the Adlers!” You felt Steve shift beside you, his hand coming to rest warm on your back with an ease that shouldn't be there in the best of actors. 

He smiled, and it was a good one. The kind that made people relax immediately. The kind that five years ago made you—

“Guilty,” he said easily. “Frank.” Right. Frank Adler. 

He extended his hand and Ben took it immediately, introducing you then. “I’m Dex,” the shorter blond said in return, just as easy. “This is my wife, Julie.”

“Hi,” you said, stepping forward like you hadn’t been mentally preparing to dismantle her entire social circle for intel. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She lit up.

“Oh, you are just adorable,” she gushed, reaching out to squeeze your arm like you were already best friends. “We saw the moving truck this morning and I told Ben, I said, ‘We have to go introduce ourselves before everyone else gets to them first.’”

You faked confusion. "Ben…?"

He chuckled lightly in response. "That's me, I… uh… Ben's really only for her and my parents. Friends call me Dex."

You smiled back in understanding. “We appreciate that,” he said smoothly. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind getting settled.”

“So,” Dex cut in, tone casual but eyes observant, “what brings you two here?” There it was. The first test.

You felt Steve’s thumb twitch slightly against your back. A cue , or maybe just instinct. “Work, mostly,” he said, not missing a beat. “I just transferred to oversee a new branch out here.”

Julie gasped softly. “Oh! That’s right, you’re the project manager, right? We heard something about that—”

Of course they did.

You tilted your head toward Steve, letting your smile soften just a touch as you looked at him. Pride, affection… Just enough to sell it.

“He won’t say it, but he’s very good at what he does.” You interjected, turning your sweet smile to your nosy neighbors again. 

His hand pressed a little more firmly into your back before easing again. “Someone has to pay the bills,” he joked lightly, glancing down at you.

"It's a 50/50 relationship," you shot back, nudging his side with your elbow just enough to look playful. "You earn money, and I look pretty in the things it buys." Your hand reached up to scratch the freshly shaven skin of his chin.

“Wow,” Julie breathed, practically vibrating with delight. “You two are so cute.”

You laughed, soft, a little embarassed… and completely fake. Dex watched that exchange carefully. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes sharpened just a fraction.

“New couples usually take a while to settle in around here,” he said, tone still easy. “But I think you two will fit right in.”

“Well,” you said lightly, leaning just a little closer into Steve without thinking about it, “we’re counting on our neighbors to help with that.”

Julie clasped her hands together. “Oh, you have to come to dinner this weekend! Everyone’s going to be there—it’s kind of our thing.”

“We’d love to,” Steve said, lightly nodding.

Both of them smiled in satisfaction, briefly saying their goodbyes and we'll let you get settled. As they started to step back, Julie waved enthusiastically. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

Integration happened faster and easier than either of you expected. Almost like… bait. 

It started with waves.

Small, polite acknowledgments from across driveways—neighbors watering already-perfect lawns, women in linen sets pausing mid-walk with their equally curated dogs. At first it was just smiles, quick introductions repeated twice because no one actually listened the first time, or maybe they expected you to slip up. 

Names, occupations, how long you planned to stay.

Somehow, without either of you saying much at all, your lives had already been filled in for you. Steve—Frank—was “the project manager from the city.” You were “so sweet” and “adjusting beautifully.”

It was unsettling.

Steve got pulled in first.

Dex made it look casual—leaning over the fence one late afternoon while Steve pretended to struggle with a hose attachment he absolutely knew how to fix.

“Couple of us head out to the club on Saturdays,” Dex had said, like it wasn’t a test. Like it wasn’t an invitation into something much bigger. “You golf?”

Steve had shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel like the answer didn’t matter. “Enough not to embarrass myself.”

Dex chuckled. “Good. Fisk hates losing.”

That was how Steve Rogers found himself in pressed polos and quiet greens, standing under the sun with a man who ran half the city from behind clean hands and cleaner money.

Wilson Fisk didn’t look like a monster either. They never did.

From the sidelines, it would’ve looked normal—three men talking shop, trading easy laughs, the soft crack of a golf ball slicing through the air.

But Steve came home with tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and eyes that thought too much.

You were integrated differently. Faster, deeper in a sense. If you wanna know a man, you need to know the woman in his life first. Julie took one look at you and decided you were hers.

Brunch turned into wine nights, which turned into yoga classes and impromptu shopping trips where you learned which women talked too much, which ones listened too closely, and which ones pretended not to notice everything while noticing everything.

You laughed when you were supposed to, touched arms at the right moments, let yourself be pulled into conversations about renovations and charity events and who was “having trouble in their marriage” this week.

You played the part. Perfectly.

But you also listened. And Julie talked, about Dex, about their marriage, about his schedule, the men he worked with, his "job".

About Fisk in a careful, vague way that told you she knew just enough to be useful and not enough to be dangerous.

Inside the house, however, nothing really changed. You were in bliss whenever Steve was anywhere outside of the five thousand square feet of the house. And in hell when you could hear his footsteps through the hallways. 

“Why are your shoes in the middle of the hallway?” “Because I took them off.”

“You put a gun in the cereal cabinet.” “It was concealed.”

And yet, somewhere in between the arguing and the slammed cabinets and the pointed silences, you moved around each other.

Steve adjusted the cuff of his polo as he stepped out onto the green, the sun warm against the back of his neck, the grass trimmed so perfectly it almost didn’t look real. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softly—controlled, decorative, intentional.

Everything here was curated, including the people. Dex stood a few feet ahead, already mid-conversation with a Fisk, Steve immediately recognizing his big frame.

“Frank,” Dex called easily, turning just enough to wave him over. “Glad you made it.” 

Steve walked up at an even pace, shoulders loose, posture relaxed, every movement deliberate in its lack of tension. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Dex clapped his hands lightly. “Let’s see if you actually know how to swing that thing.”

The game itself was uneventful on the surface, small talk, a couple of drinks over a few holes, business talk, the kind of conversation that never said anything directly but still managed to reveal everything if you knew how to listen.

Steve pretending to be worse than Fisk at golf remembering what Dex said about him not liking losing. 

Well, who does? He thought.

He missed a shot he could’ve made here and there, fake grimace on his face to help sell the lie, burrow himself deeper in the web.

Dex talked the most—easy laughter, casual stories, the kind of man who filled silence before it could become uncomfortable.

Fisk didn’t, he was quieter, more measured. Almost amused. 

By the ninth hole, Steve could feel the shift, the attention settling more fully onto him. He was past the evaluation phase and onto something else. 

Fisk set his club aside after a clean shot, stepping back as one of the attendants moved to retrieve it. He didn’t look at Steve immediately, instead adjusting his cufflinks with slow, precise movements.

“Beautiful house you’ve got,” Fisk said finally.

Steve shrugged lightly, taking a swing of his beer. “Got lucky to swoop in right when it went on the market.”

Fisk hummed. “I find luck tends to favor the well-prepared.” Steve didn’t respond, Fisk’s gaze lifted then. “You and your wife settling in well?”

For some reason, hearing such a dangerous man mention you made him uneasy. And it shouldn't, because he hated you. Steve forced his expression to remain easy. “Yeah. She likes it here.” He paused for a second. “She’s… adjusting.”

Fisk’s lips curved slightly. “Is she?” Steve’s grip on the club in his hand tightened just a fraction.

Dex shifted beside them, glancing between the two, something quieter settling over his usual ease.

“You know,” Fisk continued, tone almost conversational, “I take a great interest in the people who choose to live in the neighborhood.”

Steve tilted his head slightly. “Seems like a lot of effort.”

Fisk chuckled softly. “It is if you don't have the… resources.”

Steve didn’t like the way he said that, didn’t like the weight behind it.

The back nine loosened things.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like.

Dex got louder, a little more relaxed with each hole, his posture easing into something casual as the game stretched on. Drinks appeared somewhere around the seventh—cold, expensive, handed off by staff who moved like ghosts—and by the tenth, the conversation had shifted.

Way less about business. 

Dex snorted at something one of the other men—some hedge fund name Steve hadn’t bothered to remember—had said, shaking his head as he lined up his shot.

“I’m telling you,” the man continued, grinning like he thought he was hilarious, “if you’re doing it right, she’s not walking straight the next morning.”

One of the others chimed in with something worse, cruder. The kind of joke that got easy agreement and knowing looks passed around like currency.

Steve didn’t react, just stood there, one hand resting loosely on his club, gaze fixed somewhere out over the green like he wasn’t listening.

“C’mon, Adler,” Dex called, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”

Steve glanced over, trying to seem unbothered. Like he didn't want to roll his eyes at everything coming out of that prick's mouth. “Just listening.”

“That’s not how this works,” the hedge fund guy said with a smirk. “You gotta contribute. You’re married, right?”

“Familiarity,” Fisk continued, almost thoughtfully, like he was discussing market trends instead of people, “breeds a certain ease.”

“Guess some guys are just more private.” Steve chimed, moving as to redirect the conversation, walking a couple steps to the next hole. "I don’t feel the need to talk about my wife like that."

Silence fell upon the group for a second, Dex interjected to change the subject quickly, but the way Fisk looked at Steve the rest of the time made he hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Steve unlocked the kitchen door, toeing his shoes off as soon as he stepped inside. The house was clean, marble countertops reflecting the golden light coming through the curtains.

A candle burned on the center island that made the house smell like a bouquet of fresh flowers, blooming in deepest winter.

The door clocked shit behind him with a soft, controlled click, as he called out "Babe?" while letting his keys rattle against the marble.

He stepped further into the kitchen, eyes sweeping automatically—back door locked, blinds angled just enough, nothing out of place. The cabinet he’d modified earlier sat closed, unassuming, hiding everything it needed to.

He called out for you again, "Sweetheart?", feet padding into the house and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard the shower running on. 

Steve's mind kept replaying the interactions he'd had that day, how Fisk seemed to have too much knowledge of his dynamic with you to not have—

Of course.

A man like Fisk wouldn't just intentionally have a blind side. 

The motherfucker had surveillance on your house. 

In your house. 

The sound got clearer and clearer as he moved up the stairs. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and sun-dimmed, and then right outside of the bathroom door, steam curling underneath it. Steve paused just outside it, his hand hovering near the frame, his head tilting slightly as he listened.

You were humming, soft and absentminded.

Like you weren’t in the middle of a mission that had just taken a very sharp turn.

He exhaled softly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching briefly on the tension sitting heavy there.

He should wait, he knew he should. Whatever he had to say could wait ten minutes.

Five.

Hell, two.

But the words Fisk had said—had implied—sat in his chest like a weight that refused to settle. So if Fisk had creepily put surveillance in your home like Steve was 98% sure he had, you were gonna have to roll with the punches.

Steam hit him immediately, warm and thick, fogging the edges of his vision for half a second before it cleared. 

Stripping his shirt, kicking off the rest of his clothes in a blur of motion that would’ve felt ridiculous under any other circumstance.

He walked into the shower, watching you let the water trickle over you, over your face, your neck, your chest, and he thanked every God he could think of that his body was cooperating and he did not have more than a half-hard on right then and there.

Which meant that you finished rinsing your shampoo off and opened your eyes to find a very, very naked Steve Rogers encapsulated by the shower stall glass around you. 

With you.

All naked, and very wet, and very naked, and—

"Ahh!" You shrieked in surprise, stumbling back half a step, water splashing over him as your hands came up instinctively. "What the f—" Steve put his index finger on his lips with one hand, the other motioning to his ear and out.

We're being listened to.

"Honey," You immediately switched into your undercover tone, "you scared the crap out of me!"

Steve stepped closer, couldn't risk his voice being any louder than absolutely necessary to get you the information right then and there. 

His frame in comparison to yours felt even bigger now, steam curling around him like vines. You'd blame the way your nipples hardened at the sight on the water. 

“Fisk,” he whispered, barely audible over the spray. “He knows something’s off. Pretty sure we’re wired. The house is.”

Your breath hitched.

Absolutely having nothing to do with the fact that you were trying very hard not to stare at his— "Where?"

"Everywhere." He confirmed. 

Water ran down both of you in steady streams, heat curling between your bodies, steam thickening the air until everything felt too close.

“Well,” you murmured, louder now, just enough for anyone listening to catch it, your tone dipping into something softer, more playful, “next time, maybe knock?”

Steve huffed out a quiet breath that could almost pass for a laugh, his forehead dipping closer to yours, but not touching, droplets of water falling from his hair onto you.

“Didn’t think you’d mind.” One of your hands braced lightly against his chest, the other gripping his arm as if for balance.

Your hand slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling the hair there enough to make him hiss. “Oh, I mind,” you said lightly, your fingers threading just a little deeper into the short hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You were pretty good at… faking it. 

Night settled over the house smoothly, the sun bleeding into deep indigo slowly and surely until stars littered the sky and you all you could hear was the fair sound of nature beyond the glass.

The neighborhood dimmed in stages—porch lights flicking on one by one, warm squares of yellow glowing through wide, uncovered windows. Somewhere down the street, laughter carried faintly. A dog barked once, then twice, then went quiet again.

As your brain processed the information Steve had given you, you moved through the motions anyway. 

Teeth brushed. Face washed. Lights turned off and on in the right order. The kind of routine that would look normal from the outside, mundane and unremarkable to anyone paying attention.

The thought sat in the back of your mind, somewhat panicked and loud, but also a constant, steady pressure. 

You dried your hands slowly on a towel, eyes flicking briefly to the mirror. Your reflection stared back—hair dried and silky, skin still warm from the shower, expression carefully neutral.

Steve stood near the dresser, back half-turned to you, pulling a t-shirt over his head. The fabric stretched sinf— normallyacross his shoulders before falling into place, softening the sharp lines of him into something more… domestic.

You watched him through the mirror without meaning to, picking up a book, turning on his bedside lamp, and crawling under the covers of your bed, letting the light comforter rest on his legs and hips while he flipped through the pages with his back resting against his pillows and the headboard.

You bit your lip, thoughts blooming fast and messy under your skull, and flicked the lights in the bathroom off, walking towards your side of the bed. 

Your short camisole shifted through the air as you moved, light and soft, brushing against your thighs. Steve's eyes immediately clocking your bare legs before he forced them onto the words in front of him. 

You laid onto your side and closed the distance between you in one smooth motion, your body fitting against his side like that's where it was always supposed to be. 

Your arm slid across his waist, your cheek pressed lightly against the plane of his pecs, and you felt the very warm, solid, real muscle of him under your face go completely still. 

Not in any subtle way, you could feel the exact moment his brain short-circuited.

He turned his face just enough to look down and meet your gaze. His expression screamed an unfiltered "what the hell?"while yours softly said "we have to sell it."

He shifted, turning just enough so he wasn’t facing away from you anymore, his arm coming up—hesitant for half a second—before settling around you, his hand resting on your forearm, thumb tracing soothing patterns on the soft, moisturized skin. 

As you laid there, the cogs in your brain turned. You bit the inside of your cheek lightly, the more he believes it, the quicker we get out. 

You moved forward, your hand pressed against his chest, using him for leverage as you pushed yourself up, swinging one leg over his hips in a smooth, deliberate motion until you were straddling him.

The poor book slid uselessly to rest on the mattress on the other side of his body. You nuzzled your face into his neck, pretending to pepper kisses on the skin there, and Steve stiffened up.

His hands instinctively came up, not grabbing or even stopping you, just hovering at your waist like he didn’t know where they were allowed to go.

Your mouth lingered by his pulse point just long enough to make it convincing before you spoke, your breath hot against his skin. "Play along." You whispered.

You felt the tension in him—every muscle coiled, controlled, restrained in a way that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the position you’d just put him in.

“Sweetheart,” he said, louder now, his tone shifting seamlessly, to something warmer, rougher, like it belonged to someone else. “You trying to kill me?”

From the outside, it sounded like a joke. A husband amused by his wife.

You tilted your head, letting your lips ghost just below his ear. “You just been working so much lately,” you murmured, just loud enough to carry.

His grip on you flexed, and he leaned into it. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he said, voice dropping, threading something you hadn’t heard from him since he had your face pressed into a sparring mat through it as his hands settled more firmly at your hips, anchoring you there. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flipped, shameful heat pooling low in your core even though you tried to ignore it and call it by a different name. 

His fingers pressed just slightly, grounding, guiding, selling the illusion with an ease that made your pulse stutter.

Steve moved, fast as always, one second you were on top of him, the next your back hit the mattress, making it dip hard beneath you as he flipped you with practiced ease, your breath catching as his weight settled above you, caging you in without quite touching.

His face dipped toward yours, close enough that your noses almost brushed.

“What you’re doing,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm, controlled, “is reckless.”

Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt, heart beating too fast, and you tilted your head just enough to whisper back, your tone soft and teasing, so low he almost didn't hear it. “So is getting caught.”

You tilted your neck up, and your lips connected with his.

It had been weeks of little pecks, prim and proper kisses in front of your neighbors, just enough to sell it on the outside. 

Holding his face in your hands and actually kissing Steve Rogers felt like a completely different experience. 

His tongue licked into your mouth with an intention you never really expected from Steve. Specially a Steve that was faking it. Your hands roamed the plane of his shoulders, trying to make it seem like the actual rustling of sheets one would expect of a couple who was going to—

He should really take this shirt off. 

And so your hands went to the hem of his white cotton shirt, pulling it up. Steve reluctantly let you take it off of him, leaving him only in the grey boxers that let you see he wasn't faking that much. 

"Oh my God," You whispered. "Are you serious?" That was more of a hiss. Was he seriously getting hard right now?

"I know," He whispered back, annoyed, frustrated, "I know. Just shut up about it."

Oh.

He wanted you to shut up about it. He wanted you to—

The petty part of your brain took over, and before you couldn't think of a less reckless thing to do, you squeezed your legs tighter around him, bringing his bulge flush against your clothed pussy. 

"O-oh—" Steve was surprised, not about the pettiness, but at the action itself. You bit your lip, almost proud of yourself, and tilted your hips up.

That earned you a scolding look. 

"Mmm," you breathed, just loud enough to carry, your voice shifting instantly to a soft, breathy, higher pitched version of yourself. "Fuck, baby, right there."

Steve's ears were ringing. Mostly because he didn't know what to do with his hard cock rubbing up and down against you. “Relax,” you murmured against his jaw, barely moving your lips. “You sound like you’re filing paperwork.”

He huffed softly, turning it into something that passed. “Maybe I like paperwork,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “You do not.”

“You don’t know that.” He whined softly against you. 

"You need to actually move your hips, Steve. Video needs to look like you're fucking your wife." You whispered in his ear. 

It's not like he couldn't feel how wet you were, slick pressing through the cotton of your panties and onto his underwear, darkening a spot there. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he breathed low, close to your ear.

“Say it louder,” you shot back quietly.

“You’re unbelievable,” he repeated, louder, tone shifting, like it meant something entirely different now.

Your heels dug into his ass cheeks, pulling him closer and closer to you, and closer and closer to the edge. 

You could feel the length of him twitch with each pass of his hips, and you pictured the leaking head of him making a mess out of the inside of his boxers, precum slicking him all over. 

“Okay—” he muttered quickly under his breath, breaking the moment before it could stretch too far. “We need a time frame. We can’t just—keep going forever.”

“Two minutes,” you whispered. “Make it believable.”

“Two minutes?” he echoed, actually offended. “That’s insulting.”

The thought of it sent heat down your core. His face was buried in your neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hands threaded through his hair. "Talk about me." Another perfectly placed thrust that nudged your clit. "'bout how I feel."

Steve grinded his teeth like he was fighting a mental battle between letting himself be consumed by this moment, and being proper. 

You nudged him again with your heel. 

"Nice and tight, sweetheart." He let his voice carry, surprisingly unwavering for how close he was. "Never get enough of your pussy."

What in the fuckity fuck?

Steve?

He almost said your name, your very real name, too lost in himself, letting his rhythm build up much too realistically, his thrusts deeper, the bulge now rubbing and nudging your clothed entrance as well. 

Your could hear the sound of wet fabric shifting, your panties getting caught and letting one lip slip out of safety and closer to Steve's leaking cock. 

"Frank," You said loudly, trying to catch his attention without success. "Frank." You tried again, more stern, being met with the same squeezed-shut eyes you tried to get an answer from. You dropped your voice low, hushed like a secret. "Steve."

That made him open his eyes, powder blue irises staring at you as his thursts hit a spot that had him moaning, stuttering over his own breath.

And spilling all inside his boxers, looking right into your eyes. 

His hips stuttered, almost as if his body wanted to milk itself dry, and his breathing slowed. 

You were speechless, big wide eyes looking up at him, genuinely not knowing what to say.

Both of you stared at each other in shock, horror, confusion as to why it felt so good to do that without someone who managed to get under your skin without even trying. 

You stayed like that until you felt the warm trickle of his seed seep through the cotton of his boxers and onto the front of your panties.

Steve dropped back to his side of the bed, and both of you avoided each other's gaze, just staring at the ceiling. 

"Are we—"

“…go to sleep,” you muttered.

Whatever Fisk needed proof of, seemingly he got it, since both you and Steve got invited the the biggest 4th of July bash of the neighborhood. 

Right at the belly of the beast. 

The whole backyard looked like something out of a magazine. 

String lights draped across the perimeter, glowing warm against the deep navy of the night sky, fireworks already starting to crackle faintly in the distance. 

The lawn stretched wide and immaculate, dotted with clusters of people holding drinks in delicate glasses, laughter spilling easily between them like nothing in the world could touch this place.

It was loud, busy, perfect, and underneath it all— wrong.

Steve had light wash jeans and a light blue polo on, you had a strapless summer dress and one of his linen shirts on, the shirt unbuttoned to give the air of a casual outing. 

You stood near one of the long tables, fingers loosely wrapped around a Moscow Mule you hadn’t touched, your eyes scanning without looking like you were scanning. Steve was across the yard, pulled into a circle of men near the grill, one of them mid-story, the others laughing at something you couldn’t quite hear from this distance.

And there she was.

Blonde, tall, and much too interested in your— Steve.

Her hand landed on his arm like she’d been waiting for an excuse, your eyes narrowed at her as you shoved a piece of salami and cheese into your mouth.

“That's Sharon.” Julie’s voice chimed in beside you, far too cheerful for how observant she actually was. “She's new. Came to stay with her aunt a bit, they live a few strees back. Divorced. Which means she’s—”

“—looking,” you finished lightly, before finally taking a sip of your drink like you hadn’t already clocked every detail.

Julie laughed. “Exactly.”

Your eyes flicked back to Steve. He hadn’t moved away, hadn’t stepped back, hadn’t even noticed.

Of course he hadn’t.

He was listening—really listening—to whatever the man next to him was saying, nodding slightly, relaxed in that effortless way that made people lean in closer without thinking about it.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to feel conspiratorial. “If he's anything like Dex, he's clueless. They don’t even realize when they’re being flirted with.”

You hummed softly. "He is clueless, alright."

“He’s very charming,” Julie added, watching you now instead of them. “Frank, I mean.”

Your lips curved. “He has his moments.”

Julie giggled, and you finished downing your drink, making your way to him, wrapping a hand around his perfectly sculped bicep and turning on your smile to the sweetest setting possible. 

His body reacted immediately, adjusting to your touch like it always belonged there. His gaze dropped to you, surprise flickering for half a second before smoothing into something softer.

“Hey,” he said, one hand coming up to rest at your hip without thinking about it.

“Hi,” you replied, tilting your head up toward him, your smile warm in a way that felt almost too real. “Sorry,” you said sweetly, not sounding sorry at all. “Am I interrupting?”

She blinked, then smiled tightly back at you. “Not at all.” Steve’s hand pressed slightly into your hip, a silent question that you answered it by leaning just a fraction closer into him.

“We were just talking about the neighborhood,” she continued.

“Were you?” you asked, your tone light, but your grip on Steve tightening just enough to be felt.

“Oh—yes,” she said, glancing briefly at him. “Frank was just telling us about his work.”

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes flicking up to his. “He works too much.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly. “Oh, I do?”

“You do,” you said simply, sighing longingly, your fingers sliding absently against his side like it was second nature. “I barely see you anymore.”

Sharon laughed softly. “That’s a shame.” Steve lifted the beer up to his lips and took a swing.

“It is,” you agreed, smiling again. “But I make sure he makes up for it.”

Steve choked on his drink. Actually choked. Coughed once, quickly covering it with a laugh that didn’t quite hide the surprise.

His hand flexed at your hip. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping just slightly as he looked down at you, something new threading through it. “I do.”

For a moment it didn't feel like pretending, but it also didn't feel real. It felt like a limbo much too similar to five years ago, when he first recruited you into SHIELD by accident. 

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

Colombia had been too hot. The humid, muggy weather made your skin sticky, a sheen coat of sweat all over your arms and legs, even though you were only wearing a white tanktop and a flowy, maxi floral skirt. 

Music was bleeding from open windows, people crowding narrow streets, making it the kind of place where mistakes didn’t just cost you the mission.

They cost you everything.

You’d been handling it just fine, up until you weren’t. The intel had been wrong. Or incomplete. Or leaked.

You didn’t know which yet—only that the second you stepped into that dim, crowded cantina, something in your gut twisted. Too many eyes, too many men pretending to drink, too many sharp ears and even sharper looks. 

You were planning an exit strategy, a way to get out of here with as few scratches and as many of these men killed. Mid counting how many thing you could use as a weapon, in walked a picture perfect specimen. 

Muscles everywhere, blond hair lightened even more by the sun, the faintest sunburn across his nose and cheeks making his blue eyes stand out more. 

You turned slightly, lifting your drink to your lips like you were just another woman trying to cool off, not someone seconds away from deciding how many people she might have to kill.

He clocked the men immediately. 

And then he clocked you. His broad frame faked a smile at you and stepped quickly to stand beside you at the bar, hand resting on your hip.

“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, pretending to try to get the bartender's attention.

“Don’t what?” you shot back just as quietly, adjusting your sunglasses on your head like you were annoyed at them and happy to see him, not seconds away from being cornered.

“They’re looking for someone,” he said.

“I know.” A beat where he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“They’re closing exits.”

And you responded through gritted teeth and a smile. “I noticed.” You let your body rest closer to his, feeling the heat radiating off of him.

Outside, thunder and lightning started, and a summer storm came pouring down. 

“Babe,” you said, loud enough to carry, tilting your head up at him like you were teasing. “You said one drink.”

He leaned into you, his hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer in a way that felt practiced.

“Yeah?” he shot back easily. “Thought you wanted to see more of the place.”

“Oh, I do,” you laughed lightly, fingers curling into his shirt. “Just… from inside a bedroom window right now." You leaned in closer, lowering your voice just enough to make it look intimate, like you were sharing something private instead of tracking his every movement.

“Relax your shoulders,” you murmured.

He huffed softly—almost a laugh, almost something else—and adjusted just slightly, his grip tightening at your lower back like he was settling into the role instead of fighting it.

A beat passed between you—quick, sharp, charged—and then he leaned in closer, his mouth ghosting just along your temple.

“Storm’s our out,” he whispered. “We gotta go.”

“Come on,” you said, tugging gently at his shirt, turning your body into his as thunder cracked loud enough to rattle the windows. “I am not ruining my hair for this.”

“Tragic,” he murmured, letting you pull him toward the back hallway.

The rain hit hard the second you stepped out of the main room—heavy, sudden, loud enough to drown out most of the noise behind you. The narrow corridor smelled like damp wood and cheap liquor, dimly lit and barely used.

Perfect.

Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt as you stumbled slightly—just enough to sell it—as he caught you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist.

“Careful, sweetheart.” he said, louder now, for anyone who might still be listening. “You’re gonna slip.”

The back door burst open under his hand.

Rain poured down in sheets, warm and relentless, soaking the edges of your skirt instantly as you both stepped out into the alley behind the cantina.

Steve looked around to make sure no one followed, he kept you closer than necessary as you moved, your bodies angled into each other like you were shielding yourselves from the storm instead of disappearing into it.

One block, then another, until you were far away and safe in the back alley of the Sofitel. Your clothes were soaked, as were his, your shirt basically see through, you kept moving, pulling him down the short hallway and into the first unlocked door you found—some storage room or unused guest space, it didn’t matter.

The door shut behind you with a soft click. Steve walked in last, and you didn't put distance between you two, though right now looking at him through wet lashes you wish you did.

His eyes reflected the gloomy sky outside, his lips were pink and plump, and you felt yourself being drawn closer and closer to him, as did he. 

The storm outside cracked again, lightning flashing briefly through the thin curtains, illuminating the space in stark white for half a second, loud thunder taking you out of your trance, Steve jerking away like he was burned. 

"I, uh… I think we lost them." Your voice was shaky and unsure. 

“Not bad,” he added, quieter now, his eyes flicking over your face like he was reassessing something.

You scoffed lightly. “High praise.”

PRESENT

“Fireworks are about to start,” someone called from across the yard.

And just like that, the moment broke, and your attentions turned to the mission at hand: while everyone is distracted, get into Fisk's office and copy all of his intel. 

Steve leaned down slightly as people shifted away in the direction of the fireworks, his lips brushing near your ear, voice low. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Am I?” you murmured back, sly smirk playing on your lips.

“A little.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "You should go for the office. I'll keep watch."

Steve looked at you like he wanted to say something, but nodded and snuck away, your eyes immediately making sure all persons of interest were accounted for and not in the office. 

The party swelled around you.

Fireworks cracked overhead in bursts of red and gold, laughter spilling across Fisk’s perfectly manicured lawn, glasses clinking, music humming low beneath it all.

Steve had been gone for about five minutes when you noticed Dex was gone mid conversation with Claire and her husband Matthew. You saw the little flop of blonde hair make its way into the house and your blood ran cold. 

Steve.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you said lightly, lifting your empty glass as proof, bee-lining up the stairs on the porch and to the kitchen. 

You moved like you weren’t tracking footsteps that weren’t yours, counting seconds, mapping distance in your head.

You slipped inside through the side door, heels soft against polished floors, your breath steady even as your pulse kicked harder.

You moved faster, turning the corner just in time to see the office door slightly ajar, light spilling out onto the hallway, and footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.

You pushed the door open and slipped inside, Steve standing by the big mahogany table with a thumbdrive pluggesd into the desktop, downloading everything.

“What—”

“Dex,” you cut him off, already crossing the room. “Coming.” His expression shifted instantly, worry, anxiety, combat. 

A shadow passed the crack of the door and you closed the distance between you, pushing yourself to sit on top of the table and pulled Steve to stand between your legs. Your hands grabbed his shirt, yanking him down toward you hard enough to make him stumble.

He exhaled harshly the second your lips touched, tasting the vanilla macadamia flavor of your lipgloss. Your tongue licked into his mouth and one of his hands found the plane of your back, the other bracing against the desk behind you as he backed you further into it, the impact soft but enough to sell it.

“Mm—” you exhaled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

Your fingers thread through his hair as you sighed against him, losing yourself in the cedarwood of his cologne, the taste of beer on his tongue, and— 

The door creaked open lgithly with someone's breathy "oh." coming through at the sight.

You didn't pull away, didn't even flinch. If anything, you leaned in more, your body pressing fully into his, your mouth lingering just long enough to make the moment undeniable.

You heard a the sound of someone clearing their throat, and that made both of you break apart. Your lips brushed his once more before you turned your head, like you’d just noticed her. “Oh—” you said, a little breathless, but smiling.

“Sharon,” your eyes widened slightly when you looked behind you, a flush creeping into your expression like you’d been caught.

Her gaze drifted from his hands on you to the hem of your summer dress, pulled up and draped high on your thighs, then up to your hands in his hair and Steve's face — his expression a mix of very confused, flustered, and fucked out. 

Steve cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly, like he was trying to recover something that had already slipped.

“We were just—”

“—busy,” you finished easily, sliding off the desk but not moving far from him.

“…right,” she said after a second, her lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Well, enjoy the, uh… the party."

You stifled a laugh, biting your lip, as she walked away leaving the door open behind her. You hopped off the desk as Steve got his brain working again. 

“What the hell was that?” His voice cut through it, low and sharp.

You shrugged. "Saved your ass, you're welcome." You smoothed the hem of your dress against your thighs and walked around the desk, making your way out the door as Steve hushedly called out for you, swiming the thumb drive into his pocket before following you out of the house. 

Your heels hit the pavement in sharp, even beats, your jaw locked, your eyes fixed straight ahead like if you didn’t look back, he wouldn’t follow.

Fuck him and his long legs that caught up to you as soon as you reached your lawn. 

You stormed into your kitchen, pushing the door closed quicky to slam it behind you, but making it hit Steve on the shoulder as he crowded the space behind you. “Hey—” he pushed still, stepping closer. “No, seriously. What was that?”

You still gave him nothing, your jaw tightened. You stood with your back to the kitchen island, fingers gripping the marble, biting your own cheek. Your gaze stayed anywhere but him.

“That wasn’t about getting caught,” he said. “You knew she—” Then it seemed to dawn on him.  “You kissed me to make her jealous.” His voice was incredulous, almost like he solved a decade long mystery right then and there. "You were jealous."

You scoffed, still not meeting his eye. "Jealous? Over you? Plea—"

He crowded you even more now, bending down to look for your gaze and force you to meet his, sly smile playing on his lips. "You were jealous."

You huffed, finally looking into his eyes, sunlight playing on his face making the blue just a tad lighter. Steve had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, almost waiting for a response from you. 

For what it felt like a second and a day all at once, your brain went numb. 

And then your hands were on each side of his face, bringing his lips to crash into yours. 

Steve's lips were warm against your mouth in the same way they were minutes ago. He stepped forward, towering over you making you tilt your head up to keep the kiss going, his hands grabbing your hips as he pressed you against the counter. 

He licked into your mouth and your hands fell to the nape of his neck, his shoulders, and finally his arms.

Steve leaned over, pushing you back further, until you had no more oxygen to burn in your lungs and you broke the kiss, making him kiss your jaw, below your ear, and down your neck. "You had no reason to be jealous, you know."

He grinded his hips against yours, letting you feel the length of him hardening by the minute. "'M not jealous." You felt underwater, dizzy, borderline having fuzzies in your vision. 

Steve chuckled against your neck, the warm breath making shivers run down your spine, his hands dropping to graze outside of your thighs. "Mmhmm." His right hand brushed over your thigh and made it way to your core, tickling the skin of your inner thigh. 

His fingers quickly found the wet spot on the front of your underwear, kissing his way back towards your lips. When he pressed deep circled into it, he felt you sigh into his mouth.

"Steve… People might see…"

"Don't care" he pressed his fingers harder, until your hips were bucking to get more friction, and you were whining against him. Words came muffled against your mouth. "Not jealous, huh? Didn't want me a single bit, right?"

You scoffed despite youself, "You're the one that came into your pants the other day." 

That did it. 

Skin to skin. His rough fingers sliding through your soaked slit, dragging your arousal across your folds, teasing you right at the entrance. You broke off mid-sentence, a soft whimper catching in your throat.

His thumb easily found your clit, and one of your hands squeezed around his bicep while the other pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck, your moans getting breathier and breathier by the minute.

His fingers thrusted in and out of you bringing you to an edge so close you could taste it, letting out little pants by the crook of his neck, inflating Steve's ego, making more blood rush south. "Wanna try that again?"

He curled them just right, your slick coating his knuckles as your hips twitched against his hand.

Your head fell back, lips parting on a desperate moan. "N-not jealous…" through gritted teeth, making him click his tongue. 

"Suit yourself." And just like that, his fingers were gone, slick mess on your thighs and an unsatisfied beast inside of you.

"Steve, what the—"

He pulled away the slightest bit and bent down, lacing his arm around your legs and throwing you over his shoulder, walking away in the direction of the stairs.

Steve nudged your bedroom door open once you got upstairs and flopped you down on the bed, making you bounce on the mattress.

He hovered over you, settling between your legs and rubbing the heat of him against you, while one if his hands snuck to the back of your dress and pulled the zipper down. He pulled the clothing item down your body as he kissed the same path, and soon you were only in his shirt and a thong.

Your legs opened to accommodate him further, thighs falling to your sides, and he slotted himself chest to mattress, lips barely an inch away from your pussy. Steve kissed your inner thigh once, then again, and your fingers threaded through his hair. 

"She's wetter than that night," He spoke softly, but his voice had a dark tone to it, blue eyes staring up at you. "Can't blame me from coming in my boxers when," and a bite to your flesh. "you were grinding a wet spot onto me, honey."

Fuck him and that nickname. 

His middle finger came to curl beyond the hem, pulling the sticky wet fabric down your thighs, and both of his thumbs spread your lips, watching your hole clench around nothing. 

His gaze once again reached yours, almost asking for permission. 

You didn't seem to be able to find it in you to say anything, not a single word but a quiet "Please." leaving your lips. 

The second his tongue touched your slit, you were all the way back in that mission in Colombia. Wet, horny, and almost begging him.

At the first taste of you, one would think Steve got possessed, quickly settling further into the mattress and wrapping his arms around your thighs, holding them open. "F-fuck, Steve—"

He groaned against you, the vibration going through you like electricity through water. His tongue traced your entrance, nose nudging your clit, and your back arched off the bed slightly, pushing your hips closer to his face.

Steve's fingers pressed against the tops of your thighs with bruising strength, not that you minded. 

Not at all. 

He licked zigzag patterens up and down your slit, and then would circle your clit with his tongue, sucking the nerves into his mouth and flicking it. "O-oh my God."

He chuckled into you, "Stop squirming." 

Like you could help it. Like it was your damn fault he let Sharon touch him and flirt with him and all but forced you to make sure everyone bought this sham of a marriage. 

"Easier— fuck me, easier said than done, Rogers." Your nails scratched deeper into his scalp.

Steve angled his head differently so he could tense his tongue and fuck you while his thumb moved from your thigh to rub quick circles onto your clit. 

Your thighs closed around his head, eyes squeezing shut as you heard him breathe heavy against you. Steve's other hand landed on your breast, kneading the skin there, pinching and pulling a nipple drawing a mewl out of you. 

"Steve, Steve, I'm— fuck, I'm gonna—"

You really shouldn't have told him, though he'd know you were close judging by the little flutters of your walls around his tongue. 

He pulled away harshly, chin slick and lips swollen, his hair a mess from you running your fingers through it. 

He stood by the foot of the bed, stripping down to nothing watching your dumbfounded fucked out expression. Your hair was matted, your nipples were hard, and there was a wet spot on the white comforter under you. 

In front of you, though, stood 230lbs of pure, unadultered, perfectly sculped by God, blond 100% American Prime Steve Rogers. 

Standing naked, tall, thick and proud.

And hard.

Your mouth salivated at the sight, looking at the leaking head of him appear and disappear inside his fist with each slick stroke he gave himself. Steve caught your ankle with his other hand, and pulled you to the edge of the bed, your toes touching the soft carpet of the bedroom.

He turned you around, fingers gripping the linen of his shirt you had on, dragging it down your arms but not over your wrists, twisting the fabric around his own fist. 

And just like that, you were face and shoulders down on the mattress with your wrists tied behind you, feeling him rub the head of his cock up and down your puffy slit, coating himself in your wetness. 

Steve heard a muffled whine from you, any words being impacted by the fabric of the bedding, "What was that, sweetheart?" He leaned over you, the tip of him notching just a smidge further. 

You turned your head to the side. "Steve, please…"

He clicked his tongue again. "No, you didn't want me, remember? Think I shouldn't even be doing this to you."

He motioned to pull out and you whined louder. "She— she was all o-over you…" Tears pricked your eyes from the pressure in your chest, from the ache between your legs, from the desperation of being kept at the edge. 

“Steve, please put it in…”

"Yeah?" He gave you the cue to keep going, pushing in unbearably slow and barely any. 

You nodded against the mattress. "Pissed me off." You gulped. "Please, please don't leave me like this…"

"All you had to do was stop being such a brat about it."

And then he thrust in enough to knock the air out of your lungs. The squelch of his cock pushing into you was obscene. And in your mind every inch he pushed after that thrust had one though going through your head:

There's more?!

"Oh God…"

That made Steve chuckle. "Just me, baby."

"Is— is it all in?" Your voice trembled, and if you had a mirror you'd see Steve's evil smirk as he dragged your wrists down to where your bodies connected, arching your back and hurting you with the stretch, only to wrap your delicate hands around what was left of him.

"Barely half." He grunted.

You whimpered, both in fear and anticipation, and Steve took the queue to push the rest of the way through, until your hand was flat on his pelvis, and then he let you rest against the mattress again. 

"So fucking good." He gave a couple tentative thrusts. "Can feel you gripping me like you don't wanna let me go."

You moaned at the feel of him hitting that sweet spot inside of you, making your eyes roll. "So— hah! Good, Steve…"

After he felt your pussy get used to the size of him, that when he really stopped playing nice. 

You could feel every ridge of him, every vein, the length of him pulsing and pulsing inside of you, throbbing against the spongy spot that made you see stars.

“Steve, please, please let me—“

Another harsh thrust interrupted you. “Tell me the truth then.”

You whimpered. The bastard was really going to make you admit it.

As you tried to think through it, brainless as you were, he slowed down, and down, until you could feel the pulse of his cock inside of you just as he could feel your walls flutter around him.

You whimpered, cheeks blushing at the thought. “I was jealous! I was jealous, okay?!” You pushed your hips into him, chasing friction harder, deeper.

“She thought she could have you and— and—“ He picked up the pace, your brain mush as your neck strained to keep your voice from being muffled. “And you’re my— Oh— oh my God!”

“Yeah?” Steve leaned over you, fingers finding your clit with ease. “I’m your what?”

You could cry. You could cry right no— oh you had tears streaming from your eyes onto the bedding. “Steve…”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“That’s right, I’m your Steve.” His fingers picked up speed as did his hips, lips kissing your shoulder blade. “Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock.”

“Mmmmngghhh—“ your vision went white, your body clenching tight around him and pulsing, as your moans got drowned out outside by the fireworks still going.

Steve slammed his hips deeper into you, to the point of almost painful, muttering curse words in sequence of “fuck, fuck, fuck.” until you felt him spill thick ropes of cum inside of you, filling you up until it dripped onto the floor.

As you both caught your breaths, you heard the wet schlick of him pulling out, dropping himself on the bed with a bounce.

After a minute, you spoke. "There's gonna be so much paperwork to explain all this..."

He looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist, turning to you with that boyish smile of his, sheen coat of sweat on his chest and hairline. “Got time for a couple more rounds before all that. You tapped out?”

You smirked at him, using your arms to push yourself up, hands on his chest for leverage as you straddled him, slick pussy on top of his hardening cock.

“I could do this all day, Cap.”

final thoughts: this started as me and Maddie just thirsting over the shower scene, and then... yeah... heh

🥯 glazed donut taglist: @earthsmightiestbenders @love-stucky @epiphanyrogers @pinksplace @chateaubarnes @tw1sters @avgdestitute @allthingswickedpodcast @supercoolswagicornxd

[p0tat0nug]

Dang, y’all really just do this for FREE? And it’s just SOOOOOO good and people just come up with it off the top of their domes?!?! Ugh, so talented

[blowingbarnes]

THE SHEMAR GIF LMAOOOO

thank you, lovely 🥰 I’m glad you like it