#j cody

[morallygreymmc]

smoker!pope does things to me 👁️🫦👁️

[mabeltanaka]

Animal Kingdom 2.07 "Dig"

[abbotitts]

chapter 4. disneyland! a pope cody smau

@fortjackson @blainesolos @tinka490 @happyendingarentreal @midnight-sun-bright-star @norman1967 @shitface-t @fandomlover2004 @clairebear33sworld @ahoeforfandomsblog @momdancingtomcr @itsoksnoopy @z1ggy-starudustt @honk4emoboyz @cosmosnkaz @iloverodentmen @devilpeqch @true1411 @doridoor @basicasfusername @harhar0777 @diasnohibng @prettylittleviolets @viviannagiorgini @mcvadicrumbs @leia-amidala @di1fluvr @silovicbaird @dumbbandpoetic @tubby23 @interruptedk1ss @xreader1989 @glazedonutlover @leossmoonn @softundermoonlight @mqdism @bition-boyz @manilovewomen1 @uhmmjayla @cassierins @misiolivia @cosmicneptune

[unhoelyplaces]

drop dead ۶ৎ

ANDREW ‘POPE’ CODY

────୨ৎ────

SUMMARY - deran cody’s best friend is a goddamn menace. NOTES - put your seatbelts on divas, we are in for a ride (literally) short little starter course ft deran my longtime close personal friend. more otw !!! mwah <3

۶ৎ

a sweltering heat hung heavy over the packed bar like a blanket, flimsy top clinging to your flesh like a second skin. you’d lost count of how many cocktails you’d slung in the past few hours, draft beer sticky on your hands thanks to an ongoing vendetta the tap seemed to be holding against you and if one more fucking tourist asked for an espresso martini, you feared the aftermath would make game of thrones look like an episode of sesame street.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like your job, which usually carried the tone of a social hour you were getting a paycheck to participate in. you’d just happened to envision your one day off to consist of a lot more rotting into your couch, pinot grigio in one hand and obscenely sticker-plastered kindle in the other.

not to mention, he wasn’t here.

this was all deran’s fault, really.

“can we maybe not look at the customers like we want them to drop dead?” his amused voice did nothing but supply fuel to the already blazing fire of irritation burning in your veins.

“oh, so now you want me to lie?” the lime slice between your fingers mocked you as it found home on the rim of the glass with a little more force than necessary, saccharine smile stretching your face as you passed it over to the belligerent patron across the counter.

“i’m sorry, okay? the rush hit out of nowhere and being short staffed really screwed us,” deran flung the bar towel over one shoulder, apology gruff as it passed between you. “i owe you one.”

the glint in your eyes as you shot him a pointed look had unease settling down his spine. “yeah, i’ll accept reimbursement in a fresh nail set and your brother’s phone number. you have 24 hours.”

deran found himself thankful you were well on your way to the kitchen, a self-satisfied grin dancing over your glossed lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

his best friend was a goddamn menace.

۶ৎ

[sherryflavoured]

A tiny piece of a galaxy

Summary: Pope gets trapped into J's best friend charm.

Warnings: Age gap (Reader is two years older than J), violence, description of blood and injuries, suggestive content, domestic violence, fluff?

Word count: 3k

❥・・┈┈┈༚༅༚˳.୨୧.˳༚༅༚┈┈・・❥

You were Josh childhood best friend, you've known each other since Julia moved to the neighbourhood. You were the kid who lived at the end of the floor, he was the kid with a problematic mom. You and J met each other at the minimarket down the block, He needed to pay something he couldn't afford and you, with some extra money, borrowed him some, (Tho he never paid you back, you don't care either).

Despite your parents complains about his mom and their living way, they always tried to be good with J since they knew it wasn't up to him. So, you spent a lot of time with J, and sometimes you even went to his house. Your parents always preferred him to visit them instead of you visiting, but you always found a way to go. You were there they day J's mom died, unfortunately, when you arrived with help it was too late and She had already passed. You were there when J's grandmother picked him up, too. You didn't meet her though; you just saw her from afar. Your parents had asked you to stay away from that house when they saw the cops and Julia's body.

The months went by, and J and you stopped seeing each other. You were attending a different school, so it had become difficult to keep in touch, even worst when he had changed his phone number too. Your relationship with your parents for some reason started to wear off since Julia's dead. J was no longer there, so they had no reason not to criticise the mother-and-son couple. You defended them everytime you mother said something cruel and consequently you were scold.

Almost three months had passed since her death when you saw J again. You were casually visiting San Onofre Beach when you saw him there, too. He wasn't alone, but with three other men. He saw you first, recognized you instantly and spared you greeting the other three men. "Josh...How are you?" You smiled brightly when you saw him, happy to see him and pleased to see that he was well cared for. The conversation was brief. You exchanged numbers, and he told you that he was now living with his grandmother and his uncles, who were the three men standing a few metres away.

"Are they nice?" You asked, worried.

He just hummed and smiles with embarrassment. "Yeah..."

"Well...I am glad to see you." You started picking up your things you needed to leave. "We should hang out soo..." He nodded and hugged you, promising to schedule soon.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

You had a big fight with your parents over a school thing that lead to another and end up with you out of the house for god know how long. They told you fuck off and seek for a place to sleep because they won't have a stpud navy girl with the, pretty stupid indeed.

You got to hang out in a friend's house for some hours but you still needed to sleep somewhere and the only person you knew your parents won't talk to was J. You called him and one hour later you were arriving his grandmother house. It was big, pretty well adorned and fancy.

J present you to his grandmother first, Smurf, they called her. It was such a weird nickname but you were no one to judge, seemed like everyone called her like that, why shouldn't you?. You were given a little tour through the house, you'll be sleeping with J, and by the time you arrived the backyard, J's uncles were already there. J seemed pretty reluctant to present them to you but it was needed. You couldn't be around the house without knowing them and even if, they will present to you themselves.

You first greeted the one called Baz, he seemed nice tho the way he looked at you first got you nervous, He was trying to place you the same way Smurf did with you earlier. Craig was more friendly like, but flirty; You soon concluded he was the most cocky and messed up. Deran instead, seemed calmer. He greeted you with a stretch of hand and a polite little smile, not caring too much about who are you or where do you come from. You were J's best friend and that was all what he needed to know.

Your curiosity picked up when for some reason, you remembered Julia's voice, talking about an Andrew and the man being her beloved twin brother. She sometimes cried in front of you, total high and calling that name. Anyway, you didn't see any extra faces around and you didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable so you just shut your mouth.

The first day was weird and a little awkward. You slept with J and fortunately you two got to manage it good. The first week was even weirder; You got to know Smurf's relationship with his boys and how messed up they can get. They were suspiciously too secretive, sometimes shutting the whole conversation because you were a few meter close, not even in the same room. Of course you figured out the business, it wasn't that hard to know. property management couldn't afford all of what they have. The tons of food, the luxurious cars, the parties, everything.

Yet, you couldn't figure out who Andrew was or where he was. You knew the bedroom where you and J sleep is Andrew's but, far from that, you haven't seen his face. All you heard was that he was out of prison for a while now since Julia's dead and that he needed space.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

The first time you saw him, you were alone at the house. Skipped school and decided to stay to be lazy and rest. Smurf had been out for shopping, J at school and the boys each one minding their own business. So, you were relaxed, laying on a lounge chair in front of the pool while trying to understand your homework when you heard a car arriving. You thought it was smurf since she wasn't supposed to take too long but the heavy footsteps of boots and the sudden angry voice made you jolt. That wasn't Baz nor Craig, even less J or Deran, their voices are too soft.

You sit up, turning to look at the voice owner, nowhere to be seen until he stepped further in. He saw you, You saw him. Broady, thick, big and scowling. You knew it automatically, Andrew cody, or how they call him, Pope (You hate the nickname since the second you heard it). He was as surprised as you, an unknown face so confidently in the house; It was a thought for both perspectives.

"Who the fuck are you?" He mumbled, stopping his track and staring blankly at you.

You said your name automatically before reasoning he obviously won't recognize it. "Ah, Joshua's best friend...I am staying over." You tried to explain, stuttering and trying to make yourself small sat on the lounge.

"Joshua? You mean J?" You nodded effusively, feeling a tingly sensation in your stomach when he softened his expression. "Where's smurf?...Are you alone here? Where's J?" You fought the urge of joking about him asking a lot of questions, it was the reasonable thing to do before a stranger. "Smurf's shopping...J's at school...I am alone in here, as I said, I am staying over...until I don't know." You added the last part, hopping he doesn't ask more questions.

Instead, you heard him sigh and walk back to inside the house. You had no idea what to do so you just took your book back and focused on it. You could feel a stare on you, from the inside of the house, from the kitchen, from him. God, you could swear you'd be dead if stares could kill. But Andrew's stare wasn't one of threatening, he was somehow admiring and analyzing you, You just couldn't know because you weren't staring back.

"What are you doing?" The sudden sound of his raspy voice got you startled again, earning a swear from you.

"Fucking hell" You muttered, sighing and turning to look at him. "Can you just...Idk, stop startling me?" you tried not to sound rude and just joking, but you doubted if he knows what a joke is.

"Sorry." He said quietly, making you press your lips in a thin line. "How long are you here?" he stood there, awkwardly but seemed like only for you.

"Uh...Over a week an half?" You tilted your head, closing the books on your hands and leaving it behind. "They never talked about you, tho...Well, J did it but nothing significant."

"What is significant for you?" He took a chair and sit, in front of you but way far. "Well...I heard you got out of prison a while ago and that you needed space."

You heard him hum, interrupted only by smurf arriving the house and getting surprised of seeing andrew so suddenly. She caught his attention and soon you weren't talking to him or being stared. He was a complete new person around Smurf, more guarded and tense, barely speaking or looking at you.

The dinner was tense, J was back home and seemed like Pope doesn't trust him much yet. Anyway, Smurf was talkative as alway, Deran and Craig being the only ones answering to her animatedly. The dinner was finished pretty soon, Pope shutting the mood down after a bad comment from Smurf.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

You've slowly grown accustomed to the Cody's way of living, they still try to hide their dirty business but J was already in and it was hard not to know. You've seen Andrew from afar, not getting to interact with him deeply. You've been sleeping in your parents house for a while but not much before you had to return back to the streets because they didn't like the way you chewed.

You were staying at Smurf's house again, skipping school and so on. J was dealing with some errands, and yeah, basically everyone was busy with their own things.The four of them met at the garage for dinner and spoke about God knows what. You just get catch between them when smurf asks you to bring them back to the dinner table and when you step right into the garage they all look at you like their lifeline.

J was the first one to speak "You're a photographer aren't you?" That made you narrow your eyes, nodding slowly but still not being able to talk, again interrupted. "We need you to take us some photos" This time by Baz.

"When?" You mumbled, crossing your arms above your chest. "Tomorrow...morning." You frowned, shaking your head and huffing. "No...I have classes."

"You've been skipping classes since tuesday, sweetheart, don't be whimsy, we'll pay you." Andrew attacked instantly, making your snort and offended.

"How you even know that?" You bite back. "You sleep very loud every morning, sweetie."

"You don't live in here, are you spying me?"

"I take breakfast here, you know better than that...Now shut up and listen" He wasn't rude; he was just bossy. His words made the whole room go silent and entertaining. "As you wish boss...But if you want me to help you, first tell me what are they for." That made him snort. "No fucking way...You're smarter than that, no need to tell you...We don't need you to have information to give." You shut, nodding and challenging him with a stare. But, come on, you're challenging pope, not any mad man. He makes you weak just by existing.

"Okay...but you have to wake me up, I can't do it alone, is late already." you say to J, who just nods and mocks of you. "Smurf is calling for all of you, come one."

-

The morning arrived and J woke you up as promised. You were still all sleepy and clothe rumpled when he dragged you to Pope's house, they needed discretion and hide it from Smurf. A cup of coffee and a camera was given to you just when you arrived the eldest brother house. "You look like shit...Here, take this." He handled you a Hoodie, which you took embarrassed and shy, making him smirk faintly. He was getting comfortable with you.

You took everyone's profile photo, each one of them leaving you alone with pope who was the last one. He promised J to take you back home so He left for school and now you and pope were all alone in his house.

"Sit...let's do this quickly, I'm too sleepy." You mumbled, taking the lasts sips of coffee. He just hummed gruffly, trying to fix his hair which was looking just perfect. "Your hair is fine, Andrew, leave it like that." You slapped his hand off of his hair, earning a stare from him but you just ignored it. "Fine." He sat heavily on the chair, all straight up as always.

"Smile...we don't need your killer face in this one." I joke, my eyes focused on the lens but drifting away when I notice his awkward smile, making me giggle softly. "DON'T!...you look so fucking cute and awkward." Andrew's smile was just too fucking adorable. It was small and didn't reveal much; you could only make out the tips of her crooked teeth, which could easily be mistaken for the prominent fangs of a boy with a dangerous set of teeth.

"If you're gonna mock of me just fuck off." The way he sounded so hurted and annoyed made you laugh harder, you knew he wasn't serious. "Come on...It's just a joke...I think your smile is pretty adorable." You say softly, quickly taking a picture of him when you notice the soft look on his face. "See...wasn't that hard."

-

They pulled the job, they came back to the house and all you could see was Andrew's bleeding face. It made you panic for a second but you knew better than to show that in front of everyone. It wasn't until he was alone at Deran's bedroom that you got to talk to him. "Are you okay?" You asked, leaning against the doorframe. He looked up, lost in thought and tired. He was clearly not okay. "I see...you're not okay...want me to help with those wounds?" He didn't answered but you were already moving towards him.

Your touch made him flinch, but he never made a movement to stop it. You cleaned everything, all the blood and debris from his face. "What happened?" You knew it wasn't an accident or a fail in the plan. "I had a fight with craig..." You hummed, his raspy voice making your stomach flutter. "Uhm...was he an asshole again?" He looked at you for a moment before smile tiredly. Your hands were already working with the band aids and cold cream. "You're all done...don't worry, your face still pretty.

You knew andrew doesn't have apprehension for his own self-looking, so it kills you the disbelief face made. "You're very funny you know?...You better watch that mouth...you gonna get killed." His words made you shudder, "I just like to tease you...It's not that I go around mocking of everyone, but thank you for your concerns" The bitter in your words get him and forces him to apologize, "I'm sorry...Just forget I said that." You nodded, placing the empty bags and wraps in the trash. "Have a good night, Andrew." You don't wait for him to answer, you know he won't. You just turn around and leave him alone, he doesn't need you bothering him

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

Pope knows you're a good girl, young and with future.He couldn't let you stay by his side, but you seemed to be drawn to him like the Earth is drawn to the Sun. And he knows he can't run away from you when one night you arrive to his house with a reed check and crying. "What the fuck happened?" He mumbled, cupping your face with his hands and examining your cheek. You sobbed, grabbing his wrist and shaking your head. "No...No...I am fine." You cried, feeling weak in front of him. You had already stopped crying by the time you knocked on his door but seeing him made you tear up again.

"Who did this, Angel?...Don't lie to me, who did this!?" He dragged you in, his face contorting in anger and worry. "I… I had a fight with my dad." He hummed, shaking his head with frustration because he knew he couldn't do anything against it. "Good girl...coming here to me and not to Josh." He hugged you, whispering in your ear and making you shudder and whine. "I'll take care of you, baby...I promise...I won't let anyone hurt you again, y'hear me?" You felt dizzy, just nodding and letting him handle you. You knew him, not deeply but you knew he for sure won't let you down never again.

Andrew took you to his room, you had stopped crying, just hiccuping from time to time, stealing smirks from him. All you needed to calm down was a bath and some of Andrew's perfume, He even cooked some food to you. "Why did the fight start?" He asked softly, caressing your hair. You were laying against his chest, his hands all over your body. "Somehow, they discovered I was staying with J and your mom...The were told about how dangerous Smurf is so when I arrived from school he confronted me and I got all frustrated and started yelling some stupid shit and he slapped me." You could feel Pope stiffening beneath you, it was clear that the situation makes him uncomfortable. "It's okay, Andrew...I acted like a real brat."

"He shouldn't have slapped you..."

"Yeah, well...I insulted him pretty bad, so...I'll just take it." You shrugged, looking up at him with a soft look, he has been pressing ice to you face so your cheek wouldn't be swollen. "Promise me you won't let that happen again." You nodded, taking his hand boldly to kiss his knuckles. "I'll let you hit him if he does it again." He huffed, making you giggle, It was hard to make Andrew laugh. "You better be conscious of what are you saying, angel...I won't be easy on him if this happens again. You shouldn't be hurt like this." You went silent, your eyes tearing up a little. You knew your parents loved you but, it never felt like that. With andrew you feel important despite how little he knows you or you know him.

"Don't cry, please...I am very bad at comforting people." That makes it for you, taking a long laugh from you. "Well...Seems like you just became a master on it." When you adjust your position against him, you don't actually calculate how close you are to his face, so when you look up, your lips almost touch his. He goes silent, doubting whether risk for it or no. It just took him a roll of eyes to decide it, "You've earn it." He mumbled before cupping your face roughly and kiss you softly.

It escalated pretty fast from there, your hands clutching to his perfect ironed shirt and his gripping your hips with need. You two needed this kind of relief, you needed to stop pretending and just let it flow. "You don't have idea of how long I've been wanting you to do that." you trail kisses along his cheek and neck, making him shudder. "Yeah, well...I am not exactly good at catching love indirects." you hummed. "I know."

"From now on I'll be extremely direct with my feelings...And that includes me wanting you to fuck me...please." Pope was sure about to die in your arms, good thing Andrew's still up for you.

❥・・┈┈┈༚༅༚˳.୨୧.˳༚༅༚┈┈・・❥

[letshearitforthespacedads]

Holdfast: Chapter Two

Best friend. Fake girlfriend. Secret keeper. You knew your role In Deran Cody’s life. Everything was perfect until Andrew Cody showed back up and made you forget it. Now everything is unraveling, and there’s no one left on your side.

CW: Pope Cody x Reader, F! Reader, Deran Cody x Reader (friendship), Cody Family Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Secret Relationship, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Codependency, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, They Should Not Be Doing This, But They Do Anyway, Betrayal, Guilt Complex, Pope Cody Needs Therapy, Deran Cody Needs a Hug, Reader is Going Through It™, Everyone is a Little Bit Toxic, SMUT, Minors Do Not Interact, This Started as Smut and Became Feelings, No One Is Making Good Choices Here, I Blacked Out Writing This, Mentions of OCD, Homophobia, No Use of YN, No Physical Description of Reader

gif not mine credit goes to creator

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

AN: Wow, I love you sluts (affectionate). I hope you like this part just as much as chapter one. I wrote almost 5,000 words purely to indulge myself and think about having sex with a fictional criminal. I will not be taking questions at this time.

This party wasn’t like the last one.

No chaos. No strangers spilling through the house like a flood. This one stayed contained. Family and close friends, the kind of night where people got comfortable enough to forget what they were pretending to be.

Music hummed low from inside. The air was thick with weed smoke and ocean damp, the backyard lit by string lights that flickered every time the wind shifted.

You were curled into the corner of the outdoor couch, one leg tucked under you, joint between your fingers as you laughed at something Craig said. Deran sat close, close enough that it read as intimacy from any angle that mattered.

His knee pressed against yours, his arm slung lazily along the back of the couch behind your shoulders. Every now and then, his fingers would brush your arm, your neck, your hair.

Easy touches. Natural. Convincing.

He passed the joint to you. You took a long drag, then leaned in, cupping his jaw lightly. “C’mere.”

His lips parted as you exhaled, smoke spilling warm into his mouth, familiar and practiced and just intimate enough to sell the illusion. A few whistles rose from across the yard. You rolled your eyes as you pulled back. “Children.”

Craig whooped louder just to be annoying.

You took another pull from the joint, shaking your head, already turning to pass it on, and that’s when you saw him.

Pope sat across from you, not sprawled out like the others, not relaxed, just still. Back ridged. Watching.

His gaze flicked from your mouth the back to you eyes. You felt it. That shift. That pull.

“Anyone else want one?” you asked lightly, lifting the joint.

Craig waved you off, already mid-story again. Baz shook his head.

Then, “Yeah.”

Your eyes snapped back to Pope. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t looked away.

“Yeah,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I want one.”

Something in your chest fluttered. Wrong. Very wrong. You leaned forward anyway.

The space between you felt different than it had with the other Cody brothers. Closer. Sharper. Like stepping into something you couldn’t quite see.

You brought the joint to your lips and took a slow drag. Held it.

When you looked up, Pope was already leaning in. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just inevitable.

Your free hand came up without thinking, hovering near his jaw like you needed somewhere to put it, like you needed to steady something. You didn’t touch him. Not quite.

“Ready?” you murmured.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up.

“Yeah.”

Soft. Almost careful, you leaned in, closer, closer, and then you exhaled. The moment stretched. Longer than it should have. Closer than it needed to be.

His breath hitched, barely there, but you felt it anyway. Noticed it. Felt it echo somewhere low in your chest. Felt like it had nothing to do with the smoke.

Your noses nearly brushed. Your hand did land this time, light against his jaw, your thumb barely grazing his cheek as you finished the exhale.

neither of you pulled away. Not right away. The world around you blurred. Craig’s voice, the music, the crash of waves. All of it faded into background noise.

It was just this.

His eyes were darker up close. Not empty like you expected. Not wild. Just full. Too full. Like he was holding something back with both hands.

Your thumb moved. A mistake. A small, soft stroke against his skin. His breath caught again, and this time you heard it.

He pulled back fast enough to feel like something snapping. Your hand dropped. The space between you rushed back all at once, cold and sudden.

You blinked, a little dazed.

Across from you, Pope was already leaning away, jaw tight, eyes somewhere else now, anywhere but you. Like it hadn’t just happened. Like he needed it not to have happened.

Deran’s hand landed on your knee again, grounding, familiar. Across the couch, his gaze flicked back to you for half a second, before it was gone again.

You leaned back, forcing yourself to relax, forcing yourself to fall back into the rhythm of the night, but something had shifted. Irreversibly.

Because now you knew the stories weren’t wrong. Pope was dangerous. Just not in the way you thought.

And he sat there, silent and rigid, staring out at nothing, trying very hard not to want something he already couldn’t stop wanting.

⸻

Days later and Pope didn’t look at you anymore, not when you walked into the kitchen, not when you laughed at something Craig said, not even when you brushed past him in the hallway close enough that your shoulder almost touched his.

He moved first. Every time. It was subtle. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice. But you were.

At the bar, it was worse.

“Beer?” you asked, already reaching for one.

Craig nodded. Baz tossed you a grin. Pope didn’t answer. You set the bottle in front of him anyway. Your fingers hovered for half a second longer than necessary, just to see.

Nothing.

“Thanks,” he said.

Eyes not meeting yours Like you were a stranger.

You smiled anyway. “Yeah.”

Because what else were you supposed to do? Call him on it in front of everyone? Ask him why he looked at you like you’d done something wrong? Asks him why he made your heart feel like it was about to burst out of your chest one moment and then pretend like you didn’t exist the next?

No. You played your part. You always did.

You leaned into Deran a little more a few nights later, let your hand linger on his chest, let him pull you into his side, let your laughter come brighter, easier, just a touch louder than it needed to be.

Convincing. Effortless. A truly Untouchable performance. You didn’t look at Pope again. Not directly. But you felt him and the absence of him. The way he avoided you like you burned. And that stung more than you expected, because you hadn’t imagined it, that moment, that closeness. Right?

“Hey,” Deran said low.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring at nothing.

“You good?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Why?”

He studied you for a second, then shrugged. “You’re quiet.”

You forced a smile, bumping your shoulder into his. “Craig’s loud enough for both of us.”

He huffed a small laugh. Didn’t push. He never did. That was the thing about Deran. He let you have your space, even when you didn’t realize you needed it.

Later, after the noise died down, after Craig disappeared with someone and Baz took a call outside, after the house settled into that late-night lull, you found yourself on the back steps with Deran.

The ocean was louder out here. The air cooler. Cleaner. He handed you a beer. You took it, bumping your knee against his.

“You’re still cool doing this,” he said after a minute.

You glanced at him. “Doing what?”

He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “This.”

You snorted softly. “Wow. Super specific.”

He didn’t smile.

“You want out?” you asked, quieter now.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You watched him for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

Silence settled between you. You took a sip of your beer, looking up at the sky before turning back to him. Your knee pushed his.

“Do you ever think you’ll tell them?” you asked finally.

His jaw flexed. Deran stared out at the water, shoulders tight. “I don’t know.” He paused before taking a sip of his own beer.

“They wouldn’t get it,” he added after a moment.

You tilted your head slightly. “Maybe not. But maybe they would,” you said gently. “Or maybe they wouldn’t and you’d survive it anyway. I heard Bali is nice.”

He let out a dry laugh. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” you said. “It’s just… I hate seeing you unhappy. I hate seeing you not be able to be yourself, but I would never want you to do something you’re not ready for.”

He looked at you then, really looked.

“You’ll stick around? I think I need just a little more time. I’m just not ready to tell Smurf, yet.” he asked.

The question was softer than you’d ever heard him.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Im here As long as you need me.”

Something in his expression shifted, relief and gratitude and something quieter. He nodded once.

“Thanks.”

You bumped your knee into his again. “Don’t get all sappy on me.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there now.

You leaned back on your hands, looking out at the sky again, and for a second it felt simple. Until you felt it. That same pull.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to.

Pope was standing in the doorway behind you. Watching. You could feel it, the weight of it, the restraint of it.

And when you finally glanced back, just for a second, he was already looking away, like he hadn’t been, like he didn’t care, like none of it mattered.

But his jaw was tight. His hands clenched at his sides.

And for the briefest moment before he turned and disappeared back into the house, you saw it. Not anger or indifference. Something worse. Regret.

⸻

The house was quiet the next morning, not silent, never that, but dulled, like everything had been turned down a notch. Muted voices somewhere upstairs, pipes groaning, the low hum of the ocean drifting in through cracked windows.

You’d slipped out of Deran’s room early, woken up half-tangled in the sheets, him turned away far on the other side of the bed, one arm thrown over his face, snoring softly. No touching. No lingering. Just two people sharing space the same way you always did, comfortable and easy and untouched, having a sleepover, playing a part.

Now you stood in the kitchen barefoot, one of his shirts hanging loose on your frame, hair a mess, sleep still clinging to your bones. You reached up on your toes, sliding a cereal box back onto the shelf.

“Wrong spot.”

Your breath caught and you turned. Pope stood in the doorway like he’d always been there. Shirtless. Your brain didn’t process it right. Didn’t process anything right. Just outlined his broad shoulders, scattered freckles, defined lines, skin faintly marked from sleep, hair a little wild like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

You stared. Too long. Way too long. His eyes didn’t leave your face.

“Top shelf,” he said again, quieter this time. “Left side.”

You blinked. “Right,” you murmured, but you didn’t move.

Because he was already moving.

He crossed the kitchen slowly, not looming, not aggressive, but there was something about the way he moved that made your pulse spike anyway. You didn’t step back. Didn’t know if you could.

He stopped close. Closer than he should. You could feel the heat coming off him.

“I got it,” he said.

And then he reached past you. His arm brushed yours. Chest close enough that if you leaned even a fraction your body would do something your brain couldn’t undo.

Your breath hitched as The cereal box shifted behind you, his hand placing it one spot over, exactly where it belonged.

But he didn’t pull away. Not right away. His arm stayed there, not trapping you, not forcing, just… there, a line of heat and presence boxing you in on accident or on purpose, you couldn’t tell.

You were suddenly very aware of everything: the sound of his breathing, the way your own had gone shallow, the space between your mouths that felt too small.

You looked up. Big mistake. His gaze dropped instantly to your lips and Your stomach flipped.

“You—uh—” you started, then stopped, because what were you even going to say?

His jaw tightened. You saw it. Felt it. He was breathing through his nose now, slow and controlled, like he was holding something back with everything he had.

“I don’t think you like him, like that.” he said quietly. Not accusing. Not angry. Just certain.

You swallowed. “You don’t know that.”

A beat passed. His hand shifted, still braced behind you, but closer now.

“I do,” he said.

Then his hand dropped, fingers brushing lightly against the hem of your shirt. It was barely a touch but It felt like too much.

Your chest rose sharply, your skin flushing hot, breath coming faster before you could stop it. You hated that he could hear it. Hated that he could see it.

He stepped in—not aggressive, not forceful—but enough. Enough that his chest pressed into yours. Your hands curled tight against the edge, fingers gripping hard enough to ache, grounding yourself in something solid so you didn’t reach for him. Didn’t drag your hands up his chest. Didn’t thread your fingers into his hair.

You looked up at him, lips parted.

He dipped his head slowly, giving you time. Giving you space to move, to stop it, to end it before it began. You didn’t.

Your eyes flutter closed as you tipped your chin up, meeting him halfway, your body already leaning into something you knew you shouldn’t want. A shiver ran through you at the closeness, your breath catching as you felt the heat of him, the awareness of every inch of space between you suddenly too small to hide in.

His jaw flexed, and his gaze dragged away from your mouth like it cost him something real. Because he couldn’t. Because he wouldn’t. Because he had done this before, and it had broken him.

Your hand lifted without your permission, without thought, hovering near his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him but not touching.

“Andrew…”

His name slipped out softer than you meant it to. His eyes snapped back to yours. And for a second, everything in him surged forward. You felt it—that pull, that inevitability, like if either of you moved even a centimeter, it would be over. The restraint. The pretending. All of it.

His hand twitched. And then he stepped back. Fast. The space rushed in cold. Your hand dropped.

“Shit,” he said.

The word came out rough.

You stood there, breath uneven, heart racing, staring at him like you didn’t recognize the distance he’d just put between you. He dragged a hand through his hair, wouldn’t look at you now.

“You need to stay away from me,” he muttered.

It hit harder than it should have, because you knew it wasn’t what he wanted. It was what he thought he had to do.

Deran padded into the kitchen a moment later, dragging himself in like sleep was still clinging to him, like the hangover hadn’t quite decided to let go yet.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

He didn’t feel it. The tension. Didn’t see it sitting thick in the air between you and Pope. He gave you a small, sleepy smile as he reached past you, pulling the cereal box down and pouring himself a bowl like this was just another morning. Like everything was normal.

Like nothing had shifted.

Neither you or Pope said anything. He just stood there Watching you. And you just stared at the floor.

Deran moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets a little too hard, letting drawers slam a little too loud. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe it just felt that way.

Because everything, right now, felt too loud. The scrape of the spoon against the bowl. The rustle of the cereal bag. Your own heartbeat.

Deran leaned back against the counter beside you, eating like nothing was wrong, like nothing ever was.

Then, like he remembered—He leaned in and pressed a quick, easy kiss to your cheek. Casual. Performative. He gave Pope a small nod before passing back out of the kitchen, a moment later you could hear the Tv flick on in the living room.

You stilled at the contact before he left, but not because of him. Because of the way Pope didn’t move. Didn’t look away. Just flexed one finger before coiling his hand into a tight fist.

You glanced down at the cereal box still sitting crooked on the counter. Slowly You reached out and adjusted it. Placed it back exactly where Pope had put it before.

A small thing. Meaningless. Except it wasn’t. You dared one more look. He hadn’t stopped staring. Hadn’t stopped watching you like he was trying to figure something out. Or confirm something.

Your breath caught.

Because now—Now you knew. He wasn’t guessing anymore. And whatever line you’d been standing on? You had already stepped over it.

______

The door to the bar slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame, the sound cracking like a gunshot. You barely had time to look up before they were already inside, Deran first, moving fast, eyes sharp and lit with something dangerous that made your stomach drop instantly. Something had gone wrong, and whatever it was, it was bad.

Craig stumbled in behind them, swearing under his breath, one hand clamped tight to his side while blood seeped steadily through his fingers, dripping onto the floor in uneven drops. J was at his side, helping keep him upright, his face pale but focused, looking too young and too out of place among the chaos of his uncles. The sight of him, trying to hold it together in a world he was still learning, made something in your chest tighten.

“Jesus—” you breathed, already moving before anyone could tell you to.

Pope came in next, quiet and controlled in a way that felt almost more alarming than Craig’s pain. There was blood on him too, smeared across his hands and shirt, not as much, not like Craig, but enough to make your pulse spike.

Baz stepped in last, and the second he crossed the threshold, everything shifted. The panic didn’t disappear, but it sharpened, focused, turned into something purposeful.

“Lock it,” Baz snapped.

J didn’t hesitate, flipping the sign and sliding the bolt into place in one smooth motion. The click echoed too loudly in the room, sealing you all inside.

“Back room,” Baz ordered, calm and firm, already assessing Craig’s condition. “Now.”

No one argued. You moved.

The back room filled too fast, the air turning thick and metallic, heavy with the smell of blood and something else you didn’t want to name. Craig dropped into the chair with a hiss as Baz guided him down, already peeling his hand away from the wound. The second the pressure lifted, fresh blood welled up, dark and steady.

“Pressure,” Baz said.

You were already there, pressing a clean bar towel into Craig’s side, firm and steady even as your pulse raced. He tensed under your hands but didn’t pull away, his breathing sharp and uneven as you leaned in closer, focusing on the task in front of you.

“Hold that.”

Deran hovered nearby, pacing tight, restless energy radiating off him like he needed something to hit and nowhere to put it. J stayed near the door, quiet and watchful, his eyes flicking between everyone like he was trying to memorize how this worked.

And then Pope stepped in beside you. Close enough that your shoulder brushed his. Close enough that you felt it immediately. That same pull. Stronger now. Sharper now.

“Here,” you said, adjusting your grip as his hand brushed yours for half a second when he moved to help, the contact brief but electric in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Hold him steady,” Baz instructed.

Pope’s hand came down on Craig’s shoulder, firm and grounding, unshakable. You worked without looking up, cleaning, pressing, listening as Baz moved through it with calm precision, his voice steady as he gave instructions. He worked like this was routine, like this was just another night, and for them, it probably was.

“Need to move him,” Baz said after a minute. “He can’t stay here.”

Deran nodded immediately. “Truck’s out back.”

“Good. Get him up.”

Everything shifted at once, movement snapping into place as they lifted Craig, urgency contained but unmistakable. You stepped back just enough to give them room, your hands lingering a second longer than necessary before letting go.

And then they were moving.

Baz paused at the back door, glancing at you with a look that left no room for misunderstanding. “Clean everything. No trace.”

Your stomach tightened, but you nodded.

“Pope stays,” he added, already turning away. “Helps you finish.”

The door shut behind them, and just like that, it was quiet.

You stood there for a second, staring down at the blood on your hands, watching it smear across your skin like something you couldn’t wash off fast enough, your ears ringing from the spike of adrenaline. Then you moved, because you had to, because standing still felt worse.

You ran to the sink, cranking the water as hot as you could stand. Steam rose instantly as you shoved your hands beneath the stream, scrubbing them together frantically, like speed alone could erase what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, eyes tracking the tremor in your hands.

“I’m fine.” It came out thinner than you meant it to.

You shut off the water harder than necessary and grabbed a towel, drying your hands briskly like friction alone could steady you. You tossed a bar towel at him without looking, slinging another over your shoulder as you stepped back out onto the floor.

“Get the floor,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I’ll take the bar.” You were already moving toward the wreckage the Cody’s had left behind.

He didn’t answer, but he moved.

You worked in parallel again, like you had before. Just the two of you and what had been left behind. You grabbed another clean cloth and turned, and that’s when you saw it, the small cut just above his eyebrow, half-hidden but unmistakable.

You stilled.

“Hold on,” you said, stepping closer before you could think better of it. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you replied, softer now, already reaching for the alcohol. He didn’t move when you stepped in, didn’t pull back, didn’t stop you.

“Stay still.”

“I am.”

Your breath caught, because he was. Completely still as you lifted your hand, fingers brushing just beneath the cut while you tilted his head slightly. His skin was warm, too warm, and the heat of him this close made it hard to focus.

You dabbed the alcohol against the cut, careful and slow. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, didn’t do anything except watch you.

You felt it, that gaze, heavy and focused, like it was pressing into you.

“Stop staring at me like that,” you muttered, trying for something lighter and missing it completely.

“Like what?”

Your hand faltered slightly. “You know how.”

A quiet beat passed between you before he spoke again, his voice lower now. “I don’t think I can. This is my usual setting.”

Your stomach flipped. You kept working, slower than before, dragging it out without meaning to. His hand found your waist, not sudden, not rough, just there, resting like it belonged.

Your breath stuttered.

“You should focus,” he said, his voice low and close.

“I am,” you shot back, softer than you meant to.

His thumb shifted slightly against your hip, barely there, but enough to make your breath catch.

“Pope—”

“Don’t call me that.”

It wasn’t sharp, wasn’t angry, something in it more warning than request. His hand didn’t move, and neither did you.

The cloth in your hand stilled as the room seemed to narrow around you, shrinking down to heat and breath and the space between your bodies that suddenly felt too small.

Your fingers tightened slightly against his skin as you finished cleaning the cut, but you didn’t step back, didn’t break the space between you. His other hand came up slowly, deliberately, settling on the other side of your hip, boxing you in without force, without pressure, just there.

Your knees brushed his as you shifted closer without meaning to, your breath coming faster, and you knew he could feel it.

“Andrew…” you whispered.

Something in him gave.

It wasn’t loud or sudden, just a crack in the control he’d been holding onto. His grip tightened for a brief second before he pulled you closer, not rough, not gentle, just inevitable, like something that had been building too long to stop now.

Your hands came up without thinking, gripping his sides, holding on like you needed something solid. His forehead hovered just shy of yours, his breath uneven now, controlled only by effort.

But he didn’t let go, didn’t move away, and neither did you.

“I can stay away,” you whispered, the words catching slightly as they left you. “If you still want me to.”

The offer hung between you, fragile and dangerous, something that could fix everything or ruin it completely.

He made a low sound in his throat, something rough and unsteady, and his hands tightened on your hips before he pulled you in closer.

“You make it sound like it’ll be easy,” he muttered, his voice low as his breath brushed warm against your neck. “Don’t make it sound like it’ll be easy.”

It wasn’t, and you both knew it.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, grounding yourself as you leaned into him instead of away. “I mean-” you said quietly, the words faltering as you tried to find the rest of the sentence and couldn’t.

His breath shifted against your skin, closer now.

“I meant it when I said you should stay away.” he said, but the words didn’t match the way he held you. “People get hurt when they get too close to me. People die.”

Your breath caught, not from fear, but from the weight of it, from the way he said it like something already decided.

“I’m already too close,” you said, steady despite the way your heart raced.

His grip shifted slightly.

You glanced down at your hands, at the dried blood smeared into your skin and clothes, then back up at him. “I’m covered in your brother’s blood. You’re gonna have to try harder than that to scare me off.”

You felt it in the way his breath stuttered, in the way his hands tightened, not pushing you away but holding you there. His forehead finally brushed yours, not quite a kiss, just contact, just enough to feel it.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured.

But his voice had lost something. Certainty.

“Maybe, but I know what I want,” you said, your hands lifting to cup his face, holding him there, forcing him to hear you.

Something in him snapped. A low sound broke from him as his hands slid down and lifted you in one decisive motion, setting you onto the bar behind you. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but you barely felt it before he stepped in, closing the space between you completely.

Your knees parted without thinking as he moved between them, one hand braced beside you, the other gripping your hip like he didn’t trust himself to let go. He leaned in close, close enough that your lips almost brushed, his breath uneven against yours.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice rough, strained.

“You,” you breathed, your voice breaking around the words. “Andrew—I want you. I want you so bad—”

That was it.

His control gave way completely as his mouth crashed into yours, not soft or careful, but full of everything he’d been holding back. Heat and tension and something desperate surged all at once as you pulled him closer, your hands sliding into his hair, holding on as your body leaned into him without hesitation.

It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t slow, and it wasn’t something either of you could pretend away anymore. His hand tightened at your hip while the other came up to your jaw, holding you there like he needed to be sure you were real, that this was happening, that you weren’t pulling away.

You weren’t. you couldn’t. And for a moment, everything else disappeared. There was no Deran, no rules, no consequences waiting on the other side of this.

Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer, your body pressing into his without hesitation now, no space left to pretend this wasn’t happening.

A low sound tore from his throat when you did that. “We should Stop,” he muttered against your mouth.

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. And neither did you.

“Then stop.” you breathed back, your lips barely leaving his.

You felt it in the way he froze for half a second, the way his hands stilled like something in him had slammed hard into a wall.

But then you kissed him again. And whatever restraint he had left cracked. His hands moved, rough and certain, dragging you closer to the edge of the bar until there was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to retreat to.

Your breath hitched as his mouth dropped from yours, trailing down your jaw, your neck, each press of his lips slower now but no less intense, like he was forcing himself to take it in instead of devouring it all at once.

Your fingers fisted in his hair, pulling him back and kissing him again, slower this time, deliberate, your hands sliding from his face down to his chest, feeling the tension there, the way he was holding himself together by threads.

His hands tightened, pulling you flush against him, the space between you disappearing completely as the kiss deepened, shifted, turned into something heavier, something harder to come back from.

Your breath came faster. His did too. Everything narrowed. Heat. Pressure. Him.

“Andrew…” you said again, softer this time.

His name on your lips did something to him. You felt it. In the way his grip tightened like he didn’t want to let you go but didn’t trust himself not to. In the way he finally pulled back just enough to look at you.

His expression wasn’t soft. Wasn’t calm. It was wrecked. Like he already knew this was going to cost him.

“Say it again,” he said quietly.

You swallowed.

“Andrew.”

His eyes closed for half a second like it hurt.

He exhaled hard against your mouth, something unsteady slipping through as his hands finally pushed higher, dragging fabric with them, his touch warm and deliberate, like he was memorizing you as he went.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, then slipped down to his shoulders, then lower, exploring in return, grounding yourself in him the same way he seemed to be grounding himself in you.

Hands and fabric and heat, your bodies shifting closer, closer, until there was nothing left between you but the weight of what you were doing. His grip tightened when you moved, like he didn’t trust the moment not to slip away if he loosened even slightly.

You felt it in everything, in the way he touched you like it mattered too much, like he was trying to hold onto something he already believed he was going to lose.

His hand slid between your thighs, pushing your panties aside as he found you, his breath catching at the heat of you, at how ready you already were.

You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as your body reacted instantly, sharply, like he’d struck something deep and electric.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice low and rough, the sound of it sending another wave through you.

It took effort, real effort, to keep your eyes open, but you did, locking onto his as he moved against you, slow and deliberate, like he was learning you, like he wanted to see every reaction.

Your breath stuttered, chest rising faster, the tension building low and tight as his touch sharpened, sending heat curling through you.

You resisted the urge to throw your head back, forcing yourself to stay with him, to hold his gaze as everything inside you started to unravel.

When he pulled his hand away, the sudden absence made your breath hitch, A soft, helpless sound caught in your throat before you could stop it, your body already missing the warmth, the pressure, the way he’d been holding you right at the edge.

His gaze didn’t leave yours as he lifted his hand, slow, deliberate, like he knew exactly what it would do to you to watch.

Your stomach flipped, heat pooling low as he dragged his tongue over his fingers, tasting you like it meant something, like you meant something.

The look in his eyes after—darker now, heavier—made your pulse spike all over again, like whatever line you’d already crossed had just disappeared completely.

You both reached for his belt at the same time, hands colliding in a clumsy rush that made something breathless and desperate twist between you. You didn’t hesitate, your fingers moving quickly, urgency overtaking any lingering restraint as you helped free him, your touch unsteady in the way that came from wanting too much, too fast.

A low sound slipped from you at the sight of him, at the reality of this, your hands finding him instinctively, learning the shape of him in a way that made your head spin. It only lasted a second before he caught your wrists, not rough, but firm, pulling you back just enough to take control again.

His forehead dipped toward yours as he shifted closer, his breath uneven, his body pressing into you in a way that made it impossible to think straight. You felt him there, felt the heat and the tension of it, the slow, deliberate way he moved that made your breath stutter and your body react before your mind could catch up.

He paused, just for a second, his eyes searching yours like he needed to hear it again, like he needed you to choose this one more time.

You didn’t say anything just kissed him Hard and Fierce. And that was all the answer he needed.

He pulled you closer and finally closed the distance, pushing deep inside of you. The both of you breaking on the same breath, the sound raw and unguarded as the last line between you disappeared.

He stilled for a second, like he needed it, like he had to collect himself before everything tipped too far to come back from. His forehead pressed briefly to yours, breath uneven, hands tightening at your hips as he grounded himself in the moment.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, like he was testing it, like he was making sure this was real, that you were real, before letting himself go any further. Your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively, pulling him closer, holding him there as he found a rhythm that made your breath catch.

It didn’t stay slow for long.

The pace shifted, building, his movements turning more certain, more urgent, like he’d stopped trying to hold himself back. Each motion pulled something sharper from you, your breath breaking into soft, uneven sounds you couldn’t quite control anymore.

You clung to him, your fingers tightening at the back of his neck as your head tipped slightly, your body responding without hesitation, without thought. The rhythm pulled you under, steady and overwhelming, until all you could focus on was him, the way he moved, the way he held you there like he didn’t want to lose it.

Your breath came faster, turning into broken gasps as you struggled to keep up, to stay grounded, to hold onto anything that wasn’t the way everything inside you was starting to unravel.

It built faster than you expected, sharper than you could hold onto, your body tightening around him as the feeling crested all at once. Your breath broke completely, a helpless sound leaving you as your legs locked around his hips, pulling him closer, holding him there as the wave hit hard and sudden.

You clung to him, shaking through it, your grip tightening at his shoulders as everything inside you unraveled at once, leaving you breathless, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but feel it.

He followed close behind urged on by your own release. You felt it in the way his movement faltered, then drove deeper, a low, rough sound breaking from him as he pressed into you, his control slipping completely as he gave in to it.

Your mouths met again, messy and desperate, swallowing the sounds between you as you both rode it out, clinging to each other like neither of you knew how to stop now that you’d started.

His hand came up into your hair, fingers tangling at the roots as he pulled you closer, his breath breaking against your mouth as the last of his control slipped away. A rough, unguarded sound left him, pressed into your lips as he held you there, like he needed the closeness as much as the release.

You felt it in the way his body tensed, in the way his grip tightened, in the way he stayed close instead of pulling away, like he didn’t trust the moment not to disappear if he did.

Your hands slid up his shoulders, holding onto him just as tightly, both of you caught in the aftermath, breathless and unsteady, neither quite ready to let go.

The air around you felt thick, heavy with heat and something deeper, something harder to name, the sharp tang of blood still lingering beneath everything else.

He let out a low groan as he pulled back, his breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as he forced himself to move, to come back to the room, to reality. His hands dropped from you slowly, like it took effort, like he didn’t quite want to break the contact.

You stayed where you were for a second, your body still catching up, legs trembling, your breath unsteady as everything settled in waves instead of all at once. The air felt heavy, thick with heat and the lingering sharpness of everything that had just happened.

He dragged a hand through his hair, stepping back just enough to steady himself, still breathing hard, still not looking away from you completely even as he tried to put space between you.

You weren’t ready for that space. Your hand reached for him without thinking, quiet and wordless, just a need.

He understood immediately.

His hands came back to you, firm but careful this time as he helped you down from the bar, steadying you when your legs didn’t quite cooperate, holding you there for a second longer than necessary.

Neither of you said anything. But you both knew—this hadn’t just been a moment.

He stayed close even after you’d both steadied, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the distance settle in, like the idea of walking away from you now felt worse than anything waiting outside that door.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked, voice rough, still catching slightly from everything that had just passed between you.

You hesitated for half a second. You hadn’t planned on staying at the compound, hadn’t planned on any of this. Your tiny bed, your quiet place, your normal, that had been the plan.

“My house,” you said finally, softer now.

Something in his expression shifted. Not guarded. Not distant. Vulnerable.

“Can I stay with you,” he asked, the words coming out quieter than you’d ever heard from him, almost careful. “Please.”

It hit you harder than anything else had. Not the heat. Not the tension. That.

Your hand lifted without thinking, brushing gently through his hair, softer than anything that had come before, grounding him, grounding yourself.

“Of course,” you said.

And for the first time since all of this started, something in him finally eased.

____

You woke slowly, like your body didn’t quite belong to you yet.

Everything ached in that deep, heavy way that came from being pushed too far, too long, your muscles loose and spent, your skin still warm, still sensitive. There wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t feel used, claimed, worn down to something softer than you were yesterday.

Fragments came back in pieces. Hands. Heat. The way he didn’t stop once he started once the door to your house had been locked, the way he was on you again. The way you hadn’t wanted him to.

You let out a quiet breath, eyes still closed, sinking deeper into the mattress for a second before you became aware of something else.

Him.

Pope was already awake.

Wrapped around you from behind, arm heavy across your waist, his body pressed close like he hadn’t moved all night, like even in sleep he hadn’t let himself drift too far. His breathing was slower now, steadier than it had been, but not quite relaxed.

Aware.

You shifted slightly, testing your body, and immediately felt it, the soreness, the reminder of everything that had happened between you, everywhere you’d been, everywhere he’d had you—the living room, the kitchen, bathroom, kitchen again, before finally your bed where he had fucked you deep into your mattress.

A quiet, almost embarrassed huff left you.

His arm tightened instantly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to let you know he was there.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. His eyes were already on you. Watching but Not the same way as before. Not sharp. Not assessing. it was Something quieter and heavier.

“You good?” he asked.

You swallowed, then nodded, even though he could probably feel the hesitation in it. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Just… sore.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close.

“Doesn’t seem like my baby brother’s taking good care of you.”

“Oh my goddddd,” you groaned, dragging the pillow over your head like you could smother yourself with it.

A quiet huff left him at that. His hand shifted slightly against your stomach, slower now, more careful than anything he’d done the night before, like he was recalibrating, like he didn’t trust himself to handle you the same way in the daylight.

You lay there for a moment, neither of you moving, the quiet stretching in a way that felt different from before. Not tense But not simple either. Because the night before hadn’t stayed in the night. It followed you here Into your bed. Into the space between your breaths.

His fingers flexed lightly against you, like he wanted to say something and didn’t know how.

He didn’t leave right away.

You thought maybe he would. That he’d get up, get dressed, pull himself back together and disappear before the morning could settle in, before anything from the night before had time to mean something different in the light.

But he didn’t.

The first time he had you again was slow, like he was still half in it, still caught somewhere between early morning and whatever had snapped open in him the night before. You barely had time to wake fully before he was there again, hands grounding, steadying, like he needed to feel you before anything else.

The second wasn’t.

Faster. Hungrier. Like the restraint he’d found earlier had burned off completely, leaving something sharper in its place. You didn’t protest. Didn’t even think to. By then, your body already knew him, already answered without hesitation.

By the time it was over, you were wrecked in a way that felt almost unreal, limbs heavy, breath uneven, your body loose and spent against the sheets.

You weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed. Just that it had and he hadn’t let you go.

His phone started buzzing somewhere on the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

He ignored it the first few times, like it didn’t exist, like whatever was waiting on the other end of that call didn’t matter as much as this did. As you did.

But the buzzing didn’t stop. The sound cut through the quiet, sharp and insistent, dragging reality back in piece by piece.

You felt the shift before he moved.

The way his body went still. The way his arm tightened around you for a second longer than necessary.

Then he exhaled, low and quiet, like he already knew what he was about to walk back into. He reached for the phone without letting go of you completely, glancing at the screen.

His jaw tightened.

“Yeah,” he muttered into it, voice already different. Colder. Focused. Pulled back into something that didn’t belong to this room.

You stayed still, watching him, watching the way he changed. The Cody world creeping back in. Whatever this was shrinking around the edges.

He ended the call quickly, tossing the phone back down, but the moment had already shifted.

“I gotta go,” he said.

You nodded, even though something in your chest tightened at the words.

Suddenly you felt shy.

You didn’t know why. He’d seen every inch of you over the last however many hours. There wasn’t a part of you he hadn’t touched, hadn’t memorized, hadn’t kissed or tasted. But this—this was different. This was quieter. Daylight soft. No urgency to hide inside.

This felt more intimate than sex ever had.

“Will you call me later?” you asked, the words coming out smaller than you meant them to. You hated how vulnerable they sounded. Like you were asking for something you weren’t sure you were allowed to have.

He didn’t move right away. Just looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize something. Then he leaned in, pressing a slower, quieter kiss to your mouth, nothing like the night before, nothing like the morning. And then he pulled away not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low but certain. “I’ll call.”

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t poetic. But it was steady and you believed him.

taglist: @starlitflora @sydney-m

[idyllicchaos]

Writing on the Wall

Andrew "Pope" Cody x female!oc

summary: Pope wondered if she was an angel sent down to relieve him of his suffering, even if he didn't deserve it. It was the only explanation for the woman who appeared when he needed her most. Unknowingly, he dragged an angel into the dark with no plan on how to get her out on the other side. All Pope knew was, she had to survive. One way or another, she had to survive. Whatever the cost. Amina was never supposed to fall head first into another life of chaos. She was never supposed to get involved. Never supposed to fall in love. Now, she'd do anything to make sure she wasn't alone when she came out the other side. cw: MDNI 18+ (not super explicit, more waxing poetic, but I don't want minors interacting with my stories regardless), suicide ideation/thoughts, canon-typical violence & gore & manipulation (i mean, this is AK after all), canon-divergence, domestic violence, slow-ish burn, hurt & comfort, angst, trauma, ptsd, ocd, neurodivergent!pope (no one can convince me otherwise), protective!pope, obsessive!pope, season two!pope, sensitive!oc, bamf!oc, forger!oc, age difference (late twenties oc), original female character, entire cody clan, chosen family trope, third person POV, more tags added per chapter, eventual smut

a/n: This is my first time writing Andrew/Animal Kingdom, but also my first fic on tumblr. I've been over on archiveofourown, but I thought it would be fun to actually try posting on here. I've been unable to get this man out of my head and I'm incapable of writing a one shot, so here we are. This story starts during 2x12 and will diverge from there. If you want to be tagged when I upload the first chapter, please let me know!

♡ Any comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

chapters

prologue - imitation, caricature, & good business (i)

to catch a firefly (ii)

the wedge, the shield, the confidant (iii)

ophelia (iv)

bonny belle & altar wine (v)

on a random tuesday in september (vi)

more than you know and somehow never enough (vii) - 7/23

[khloekittysworld]

♡ ∩_∩ ╭ („• ֊ •„)♡ ୨୧ ┈┈ • ┈╮ U U hiiiii!! i saw soo many people making pope cody smaus n i wanted to be included :))

~ khloe ♡ ╰┈ • ┈ ┈ ୨୧ ┈┈ • ┈╯