pope runs away with his girlfriend and leaves his family behind. Years later he reconnects with deran bc that's his baby brother, he's shocked to see a little army of kids when pope invites him to visit
GIRL the way i could not stop thinking about this… i was just going to write a lil’ paragraph and then suddenly it got way too long so i put everything under a read more.
warnings: mdni, pure domestic fluff, pregnant afab reader, silver fox pope cody.
word count: 1.2k.
you’re the one that convinces andrew to track down his brother. he tells you a lot of stories — both the good and the bad ones — about their childhood and you think it’s a shame that deran isn’t around to meet his nephew and niece; you understand why they broke contact, of course you do, but you really believe that now that they’re both out from underneath smurf’s thumb, things will be different. so, because andrew would do literally anything you ask, he tracks down deran and gives him a call. deran is in bali with adrian and it takes them a while to set up a proper meeting but the two of them talk every week after that initial call— it’s stilted and awkward, both of them wanting to reconnect but unsure how to go about it; they were never close, pope tells you one evening after a particularly uncomfortable call. no. deran and craig were close. pope was just… their big brother. the one they ran to when they needed someone beat up, not the one they would go to for small talk and human connection.
deran flies home three days before christmas. you don’t live in oceanside anymore, but you’re still in california: up north, where the beaches aren’t as crowded and twice as beautiful; deran comes by himself and he makes a joke about not wanting to spend the holidays with adrian’s parents but you’re fairly certain he was just looking for an excuse to be with his own family for the first time in years.
to say he is surprised when he steps through the airport lounge to find three little kids waiting there with a WELCOME UNCLE DERAN sign is an understatement. The sign is big and messy, much like your home life— there are hand prints in red and green adorned around the words, crudely drawn christmas trees adorned in glitter and the ‘e’ in deran is written backwards because each kid wrote one of the words and julia is still learning her letters.
you’ve never met deran before. pope kept you away from his family when the two of you first started dating and, while you’d been offended at first, it was easy to see the level of damage that his childhood had done to his psyche, so you stayed away. it’s been almost a decade since then though and, apart from andrew, deran is the only one alive— so you pull him into a hug as if you’ve known each other for decades before introducing each of the kids: the twins, theo and ethan, who are both six and absolute menaces and then julia, at just four years old, that looks so much like your andrew as she shies away from deran’s greetings.
“andy told us so much about you.” you say, unable to hide your smile when andrew himself pulls deran into a long hug; you know how hard it is for him to initiate contact and, although it has mellowed out with the children, it still takes a lot for him to stiffly wrap his arms around his younger brother’s shoulders.
“three kids, huh?” deran asks that evening, long after the children have gone to bed. the three of you sit on the back porch of your home, pope and deran side by side while you sit perched on pope’s lap. deran is on his second beer while you and pope share a glass of iced tea— andrew stopped drinking years ago, before the twins, after he finally managed to find a psychiatrist he could trust.
“four.” pope says, big hands sprawling over your stomach. “her due date’s in may.”
“holy shit.” deran shakes his head, but the smile that curls around the bottle is a fond one. “pope cody, family man. who would’ve guessed.”
“i knew from the day we met.” you say, then, turning a little from your spot so you could look down at your husband. andrew’s head tilts back against the beach chair and you bring a hand up, tucking a stray curl — more grey than ginger, now — behind his ear. “knew it from the moment i saw how good he was with lena.”
andrew’s face blushes hard, bright red as it always does whenever you compliment him. he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and whatever he’s about to say is drowned out by a loud, whiny ‘daddyyyyyy’ coming from the living room. pope is out of the chair before you can even register julia’s voice, his hands gently cradling your hips to guide you back into his seat before he disappears into the house.
“he’s happy.” deran breaks the silence the two of you fall into. you bite your bottom lip, watching through the window as andrew throws julia over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen pope unclench his asshole before.”
you giggle, finishing your tea, knees to your chest— as much as your hardening belly allows you to, anyway. the night sky is bright with silver stars above you, the ocean breeze just enough to make it chilly. you know what deran means, you’ve met the uptight, overvigilant version of andrew, but it’s so far in the past you can barely remember what he was like before.
“he’s loved.” you say, eventually. “i think that’s the main difference.”
“thank you.” deran tells you. you take your eyes from the stars to look at him, blinking in confusion. “for loving him.”
you don’t know how to answer that. it doesn’t seem like the sort of action that requires a thank you, it’s not the sort of thing you could ever stop and it surely isn’t labor; but you think you understand, deep down, what deran means. pope hasn’t had people love him — truly love him — before.
“pope didn’t even tell me he has kids.” deran groans when you don’t say anything, rubbing his forehead. “i’m gon’ have to run around the mall on christmas’ eve to get gifts for the damn brady bunch because the motherfucker didn’t warn me.”
you bark out a laugh. “it’s alright, deran.”
“no, it isn’t— i can’t have these kids thinking i’m a shit uncle on our first christmas together.”
“i’m sure you’ll find a way to get him back for it.”
“oh, i will.” deran turns his head to you, a small grin on his lips. “did he ever tell you about the permanent marker incident?”
“he did.” you point a finger at him. “and you will not ruin my christmas pictures, sir. go sow all of his leg pants shut or something like a normal brother.”
“what’re we talking about?” andrew says, coming back through the sliding glass door.
“julia alright?” you ask, getting up just so you can crawl back onto his lap.
“blankie went awol, she dropped him in her sleep. ‘s all good now.”
“we were talking about how much of an asshole my big brother is for not telling me there would be kids in the house on christmas. do you have any idea how much cheaper it would’ve been if i bought their presents from home?”
“deran’s going to get revenge on you for making him fist fight all the other deadbeat uncles that are buying kids toys on christmas eve.”
andrew snorts, a hand running up and down your thigh. “i know where all the permanent markers are in this house.”
“absolutely not.” you waggle a finger at the both of them. “no permanent markers anywhere visible on photos.”
i keep thinking about that one scene in s1 where pope cuddles with smurf and just… urgh.
andrew 'pope' cody who doesn’t sleep very well but goes to bed at the same time as you, and doesn’t get up until you do. it’s his favorite part of the day, really, getting to hold you while you sleep, your warm body pressed to his side or his chest or his back.
andrew 'pope' cody who wouldn’t touch you the first few times you share a bed, afraid of overstepping — afraid you’d go rigid at his touch like smurf does — and it always feels like nothing short of a miracle when you grab his hand and pull it to you: his palm between the valley of your breasts, his chest pressed to your back, your hair tickling his nose. it’s comfortable and not at the same time, half of his body going numb but he wouldn’t change it for the world.
andrew 'pope' cody who doesn’t get this sort of quiet and softness anywhere else other than your bedroom. he fights off sleep as long as he can to keep watch over you and, even though he always wakes up at the crack of dawn, he keeps his body incredibly still until your alarm goes off, just feeling your body on top of his, your head on his chest or your nose pressed to his bicep.
andrew 'pope' cody who whines and clutches to you when you try to get up in the middle of the night. you chuckle when you push him away, telling him you’re about to pee yourself— he relents and lets you go, eventually. he almost wants to ask to tag along, but he doesn’t voice those feelings, always afraid you’ll finally see him as the creep everyone else does.
andrew 'pope' cody who always loved summer but now resents it because heatwaves make you crabby and you don’t let him crowd you in his sleep anymore. so he buys an ac and blasts it in your room every night so you’re cold enough to cling to him again.
andrew 'pope' cody who will sometimes shimmy down the bed and put his head on your chest to feel your heartbeat, who wraps his legs around yours like an octopus and who counts your breathing instead of sheep when he has trouble sleeping.
and then you, who doesn’t sleep all that well afterall. who wakes up in the middle of the night when pope is fast asleep and traces his face with your fingers, memorizing the way he looks so carefree, how his lips don’t purse and his brows don’t frown while he’s unconscious.
you, who pretends to sleep in even in the mornings you wake up before your alarm just to feel andrew’s body pressed against yours, his nose on your shoulder and his arms caging around you.
you, who can tell pope is having a nightmare by the way his muscles tense, who will pull him out of it and then hold him for the rest of the night, peppering kisses between his shoulderblades as he clings to this new, happy reality with blood-soaked fingers.
thinking about pope with a newborn and how scared he'd be of accidentally hurting them, they just seem so fragile that he's scared to burp them to hard or that he's gonna drop them. You have to reassure him time and time again that he won't accidentally hurt them
yupppp oh my god!!! i feel like pope has some experience with babies (since he delivered his own brother i think he probably took care of him too) but this just feels different?? the baby is so much tinier than deran was and it's his and yours and he never thought he'd ever get to have this (baz certainly made it seem like he never would). he'd hold the baby with trembling fingers and always wash + sanitize his hands before coming close and it's always such a reverent moment when he tucks his baby — his baby — against the crook of his shoulder.
you're the only mom in the world that gets to sleep through the night with a new born because pope doesn't ever sleep anymore; he sits next to the crib all night long and stares, making sure the baby isn't going to choke on the blankies and he frowns at the plushies you put inside the crib — they're unhygienic and a choking risk, in pope's opinion — but the baby is learning how to grab things and only settles when the bear plushie is within reach so pope accepts it with a twist of his mouth and enough disinfectant to keep the toys as clean as he can.
and his love for you changes, too, but it only intensifies: he can’t believe you made such a perfect little creature, a mixture of your smile and pope’s curls, and the fact that you are the reason pope gets to be a dad is something he can never put into words. so he puts into action: he’s always on top of the house chores, always making sure to buy the brands you like when grocery shopping, vacuuming whenever you’re out with the baby so the loud noise doesn’t become a problem and running you a bath as soon as the baby is down for the night. he touches you with the same reverence as he does the kid, his puppy dog eyes staring at you with wonder, getting truly, genuinely upset whenever you make a depreciative remark about the changes your body has gone through.
he loves you, and he loves your baby, and for the first time ever, he loves his life.
how fast can I make Andrew cum if I stick a finger up his butt while blowing him
i got carried away SORRY but........ i have a pegging fic for pope in my drafts right now so this has been on the back of my mind for so long lol
oh, instantly. at first he'd be so shy about it, entire body tensing when he feels your finger dipping so low— partly out of shyness but also some residuals from teenagehood where he probably heard baz and craig and their friends making fun of men who ‘like to take it up the ass’. but he doesn’t tell you to stop; he tells himself that it’s just because he wants to make you happy, that it’s simply because he’s willing to do anything and everything for you but, truth is, he’s curious about it. probably ran into some rimming/pegging porn when he was younger and filed it away somewhere deep in his brain, embarrassed by how hard he’d gotten to it. his eyes would flit down to you just once, just to make sure this isn’t some kind of joke, and then immediately look away when he sees the desire written all over your face, his face and chest burning bright red but his legs would still spread a little more at the feeling of your spit soaked finger circling him, trying to swallow down his moans before you pull back entirely, gently chastising him for going silent— you like to hear him, he knows you do, but this still feels a little too forbidden for him to let go entirely.
he comes with just the first knuckle in his ass, his hands fisting the sheets and a collection of whimpers falling out of his lips in tandem with how deep you take his cock into your mouth. and he’d be so needy afterwards too, pulling you on top of him and kissing you deeply — pope is a kisser, he likes making out even more than sex itself, especially when you’re still tasting of his come — and holding you so tight it leaves you breathless.
on his part he’s more than willing to leave it unspoken, to pretend he hadn’t had one of the hardest orgasms of his life because you’d put just the tip of your finger inside of him but you don’t— you like to talk things through, like to talk him through, and he blushes even more when you pepper kisses on his face, asking him oh-so-kindly if he liked it.
