Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
what about peter parker coming on his pants just from making out with his gf
couldnāt help it - bf!peter parker
the movie had been playing for a few minutes, but neither of you were paying attention. you were too busy sitting in peterās lap. your fingers lazily wandered through his messy curls, brushing against the nape of his neck.
peter had his face buried in the warm curve of your neck. his breath was slow and warm against your skin as he pressed lazy kisses there. one behind your ear, another trailing down your jaw. his hands, which had been resting on your waist, gripped your thighs and pulled you even closer, like he didnāt want a single inch of space between you.
you tilted your head, giving him more room, and a shiver ran down your spine when his lips found that little spot right behind your ear. his hands started to explore, slowly sliding up your back, pulling you into an embrace that was pure want. when he lifted his head, his dark eyes were half-lidded, focused on your mouth. you didnāt wait. you leaned in and kissed him. slowly at first.
without thinking, your hips started to move. a slow, circular motion, a gentle grind in his lap. you felt his body tense beneath his sweats, and a muffled groan escaped peterās throat, swallowed by your mouth.
he matched your rhythm, lifting his hips to meet yours, creating a delicious friction that made you bite down on his lip a little harder. his sweatpants did nothing to hide how hard he was, and the feeling of him pressing against you, even through the fabric, was almost unbearably good.
peterās hands slid up your ribs slowly, then moved to the front. he cupped your breasts, his fingers finding your nipples through the thin fabric of your top. he squeezed, and a gasp escaped your lips.
the room felt hotter. both of you were breathing heavy, more ragged. you could feel your own heart racing as the pace quickened.
suddenly, he stopped.
the kiss just ended. he pulled his face back, panting, his chest rising and falling. his hands, which had been on your breasts, moved quickly to cover his own face. there was something strange in his expression, almost like he was embarrassed.
you frowned, a confused smile tugging at your lips. āwhatās wrong, baby?ā you whispered. he just shook his head, tipping it back like he was exhausted. or trying to hide.
you leaned in and started pressing soft little kisses to his cheek, then along his jaw, trailing down to his neck.
when you got closer to his ear, he finally spoke, his voice coming out in a rough, muffled whisper. āI think⦠I think I just came in my pantsā
you froze for a second. your eyes went wide and a genuine laugh slipped out before you could stop it. āplease donāt laughā he begged. poor peter. but you couldnāt help it.
you moved closer, running your fingers along the back of his neck, making him look at you. you tilted your head and whispered, āaw, babe. next time, just put it in my mouth.ā
Synopsis: He believed the entire world had forgotten Peter Parker, until the girl he never spoke to in class said his name. [Gif Creds: manny-jacinto].
First Peter Parker fic in celebration of the trailer drop āØš
(Edited 3/31: I officially made this into a small little series, so I DEEPLY apologize for the previous mess of formatting šš)
ćā¢ā¢āā¢ā¢ć
His face changed in an instant.
The easy, half-apologetic smile Peter had been wearingāsorry, my bad, let me helpāfroze, then cracked. His brown eyes widened, pupils blowing out like heād been hit with a flashbang. The color drained from his already pale cheeks, leaving the faint acne scars and the sheen of nervous sweat stark against his skin. His mouth parted, lips forming a silent what? before any sound could escape.
You blinked up at him, crouched on the grimy New York sidewalk, one hand steadying your precariously tall stack of books, the other hovering over the scattered ones at your feet. The world kept movingāthe rumble of the subway beneath the pavement, the wail of a distant siren, the shuffle of pedestrians flowing around the two of you like water around stones. But in the sudden, suffocating vacuum between you and him, all of that noise simply dissolved.
"Sorry, sorry, Iām so sorry," heād been saying just a second ago, a familiar, breathless rush. Heād bumped into youāa classic traffic jam on the sidewalkāand your world had tipped sideways. Physics took over. Textbooks on organic chemistry and literary theory splayed out across the concrete like a fan.
He remembered you. He was sure of it. You sat two rows ahead and one to the left in Mr. Harrisonās history class. You never spoke, but he knew you were one of the smartest kids in the room, your hand perpetually in the air while he was usually trying to calculate if he had enough web fluid for patrol later that night. Heād seen you in the hallsāa quiet, focused presence that never seemed to intersect with the chaotic orbit of himself, MJ, and Ned.
You smiled, a small, polite curve of your lips as you both reached for the same copy of The Great Gatsby. Your fingers had brushed.
"Itās okay, happens all the time." You had said, gathering the last book and tucking it into your stack. Then you looked him in the eye, a brief, friendly glance of acknowledgment, and said the words that had just short-circuited his entire nervous system.
"See you around, Peter."
And just like that, the universe tilted on its axis.
Youād pushed yourself to your feet, adjusting your bag, giving him another polite smile before turning to merge back into the river of people on the sidewalk. The moment was overāa simple, forgettable bump with a vague acquaintance from high school.
Except it wasnāt.
Wait.
His lungs seized. The name echoed in the hollow of his chest, a ghost of a sound, but it was the most real thing heād heard in an eternity. Peter. Not "hey, kid" or "that guy" or the frustrated sigh of a landlord who never knew his renterās name. Peter. Said with the casual familiarity of someone who had always known it.
A frantic, desperate energy seized him. He couldnāt let you go. He couldnāt let you walk away and vanish back into the faceless crowd, leaving him to wonder if heād finally, truly lost it.
"Wait!"
He shot forward, a burst of speed that felt more like a spiderās leap than a humanās jog. He caught your arm just above the elbow. It was a gentle touch, barely any pressure, but you stopped instantly, turning back to him with a look of surprise, your brow furrowed. Your books wobbled in your arms.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in a silent room. He leaned in, not caring that he was blocking the flow of foot traffic, that a businessman had to sidestep him with an annoyed grunt. All that mattered was your face, your confused eyes, and the five letters he needed to hear again.
"Wait," he repeated, his voice raspy, thin. "What⦠what did you say?"
Your confusion deepened, a small line creasing between your brows. You glanced from his wild-eyed face down to where he was still touching your sleeve, then back up again.
"Uhā¦" you hesitated, clearly thrown by the intensity of his reaction. "I just said, āsee you aroundā?"
"No, before that. The⦠the last part." He could barely breathe the words out. Please. Please say it again. Let him know he wasnāt hallucinating, that the loneliness hadnāt finally cracked him open.
You blinked, slow and deliberate, as if trying to decipher a foreign language. A flicker of something like concern crossed your features.
"Peter?" you said, his name a soft, questioning thing in the city noise. "Are you okay?"
The world shattered around him.
It wasnāt a question of how. He didnāt care how. Not yet. The sheer, overwhelming fact of it crashed over him like a tidal wave. The weight of a yearās worth of invisibility, of nonexistence, suddenly lifted. Air rushed into lungs that had been starved for so long heād forgotten what it felt like to breathe. A tremor ran through his entire bodyāa violent, shuddering release of tension he hadnāt even realized he was holding.
He didnāt answer your question. He couldnāt. All he could do was stare, his grip on your sleeve slackening until his fingers just brushed the fabric of your jacket. He was looking at you, but he wasnāt seeing a college student with a stack of books anymore. He was seeing an anchor. A lighthouse in a fog that had swallowed him whole.
A shaky, disbelieving laugh escaped his lipsāa broken sound that held the ghost of a sob. He stared at you as if youād just handed him the entire universe, piece by precious piece.
You, completely unaware of the magnitude of the momentāof the dam youād just brokenājust stood there. You took in the dazed look, the trembling hands, the way he was looking at you like you were a miracle.
And you just looked⦠concerned. Worried for the weird guy from your old high school who was currently having some kind of meltdown on a public sidewalk.
"Peter," you said again, a little firmer this time, reaching out a hesitant hand. "Seriously. Are you alright?"
And he was. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was more than alright.
š šā šć ¤ć ¤ peter parker fucking you from behind , your face pressed against his forearm and bicep in a deliciously sweaty headlock. you feel his weight and sweaty chest pressed against your back , feeling all hot and lost in the pleasure. your teeth would bite deep marks into his bicep to hold in your moansāfeeling shy after he praised how pretty you sounded for him, heād let out a desperate mix of a moan and whine at the pleasurable pain in your ear.
panting and whining in your ear , telling you how good you feel and begging for more as if he didnāt have you in a position where he controlled everything and could take what he wanted. he could overpower you in every single way but no , you had him falling to his knees with just a look , peter truly was putty in your hands.
his eyes would roll back as he felt you clenching around him, the way your nails dig into his biceps, feeling a mixture of your drool and tears of pleasure soaking his bicep and the pillow, how his name sounded coming from your lips. the sounds of skin slapping, the bed creaking and the beautiful euphonious melody of your shared sounds of pleasure, filled the bedroom of the safe house.
the feeling of you cumming around him brought him right to the edge, while the feeling of you pushing back against him, using him to fuck yourself through your orgasm, made him cum deep inside you with a choked out moan. sniffling and placing wet kisses along your shoulders as he tried to calm down from the intense and passionate love making, both of you sensitive and twitching with each little after shockā¦whispering shared and desperate āI love yousā
į²š¼ yeah so itās short , just a little thought and concept but I will definitely write a longer fic about this <3 Iām not prepared for the person Iām going to become when the movie is out ⦠Iām already freaking out from the trailer š¤
āā§Ėāā§ down bad! peter parker who fucks like heās mindless !
itās not like heās touch starved for any sort of real connection; everyone who he loves doesnāt know who he is, he doesnāt have anyone to go home to besides that red and blue stupid spider-man suit that mocks him from the hanger. he watches the news as people cheer for him but no one wants him.
truly wants him. peter parker, not spider-man.
peter parker is a man who is starved of touch. he can live with no connectionā it was just him and his aunt for many years⦠but the feeling of another personās hands on him that wasnāt some goon in manhattan trying to put him to early retirement⦠it was foreign to him.
itās been four years since mj, and he hasnāt felt anything on his body⦠except now, his breaking point.
youre not quite sure how you ended up in his vicinity anyway, but you did. you were simply in professor banners class when he came running in at the last minute, completely sloppy looking and out of his mind to talk to the professor. you stayed back to watch him ramble to him, seeing how disgruntled he looked, the bruises on his jaw and his forearm peaking out under the empire state hoodie.
when he left, you left, and you asked for his number.
thatās how you ended up here; in his messy bed, his cock thrusting in and out of you like a piston. heās rough with his thrusts but gentle with his hands, like his fingers are trying to mark every single inch of your body, his lips havenāt left your neck since heās thrusted.
āo-oh god baby.ā he whispers, voice cracking under the pressure of your pussy clenching down on him. your nails rake down his biceps,
you moan around him, listening to his chorus of whimpers and pleads as the wet sound of his cock forcing its way into your puffy folds fills his mundane apartment bedroom. āf-fuck peter! keep going! oh fuck!ā
the apartment walls in this place may not be the thickest, but peterās cock is, so you donāt care that your moans could probably be heard from top floor to basement.
he moans when your fingers create more markings into his body, his senses going haywire with each stroke of his dick. āfeels good baby? pussy needing me sāso much, donāt you?ā he whispers, sucking on his right thumb before bringing it down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. ānever letting you go, swear to god, fucking christā¦ā
each one of his thrusts picks up with the speed and velocity only a man like peter parker could display. you couldn't describe it but you felt so full but so good at the time time. your eyes rolled back as he kisses your cheek, feeling his balls slap against your clit.
he kept thrusting like he had something to lose; his hands touched you like he was trying to keep a reminder to himself what a female body felt like, what another human's body felt like under his own callous palms.
he's never felt like this in four years, and now, he's a selfish man and who could blame him?
peter was a man suffering in silence, currently thrusting into you like he was personally trying to break your cervixā and you didn't mind it, feeling like heaven itself as his forearms cage your head, kissing your face even as the tears flow from overstimulation, his mouth catching each one.
he brings you closer and closer, groaning deep into your ear as you tighten around him. the bed was louder than you at some points but you didn't even try to be quiet.
if anyone truly knew what peter parker was suffering with for four years... they'd understand why he fucks like this. why he fucks like it's his last day on earth. why his cock ruins you like it's never done before... and you didn't quite understand the full extent of it...
you just understood peter parker making you cum, and feeling ropes of his hot and heavy cum filling your pussy.
and in the same night? he tucks you in and sneaks out the fire escape, because peter parker only gets temporary joy when the city needs spiderman all the time.
click here for main masterlist! ššššššš
AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, brand new day is gonna eat so hard. ive never written for peter, but he was so fucking fine in that trailer, so why not write for him. sadie, tom, and zendaya in the same movie + promotion is gonna be so funnnnn, I canāt fucking wait. I do not care; i will somehow get a sadie hot ones episode as well as a sadie vs tom hot ones episode because I said so.
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
synopsis: being deran's childhood friend, you grew up around the cody's. and growing up, you secretly harbored crush on the oldest cody boy. just before pope went to jail, you had a one night stand with him. now that he's back? he won't leave your side. and that has smurf pissed. so now, all he has to choose is whose side he'd rather be on: his mother or the "wild" girl who has always loved him 8.1k wc
warnings: set in s1, reader's nicknamed 'berry', age gap (pope is early 30s, reader is late 20s), no established relationship but there's tension, let's pretend that he's over cath, reader is mentioned to have blue hair but no other physical descriptions, cussing, drinking/drug use, smurf and baz (ew), deran's kind of a dick but he apologizes, pope is only soft and vulnerable w the reader and also a lil bit of a dumbass, but he learns in the end, angst but there's a happy ending promise
a/n: i was lowk confused abt the age gap between deran and pope bc i was finding a bunch of info, so for the sake of my fic, they r eight years apart
thank u to the anon who requested this !! this is genuinely so long im sorry š
you're probably the only 'true' friend that deran has anymore. meeting in kindergarten, you were the only one who offered your paint when the whole class was making christmas cards. and as a sign of gratitude, he bullied the boys who would tug at your hair or talk shit about the clothes that you wore from the thrift store. after that, the two of you became thick as thieves. wherever one went, the other was sure to follow.
this made you a recurring guest in the cody household. that and the fact that you didn't have the most stable home life. which was hard to believe, considering how deran and all his brothers were raised. deran tried letting smurf to give you a room of your own. it's not like they had three extra bedrooms for you to choose from. but no amount convincing would make smurf change her mind. so most of the time you stayed in deran's room, sharing his bed or the floor. sometimes, when you and deran would get into a fight, days like today, you stay on the couch. if the fight was super bad, then you'd go back to the shitty apartment that your dad lives in.
thankfully, this fight is not one of the bad ones. it's honestly really stupid now that you're thinking about it. deran had smoked your last gram of weed. he then proceeded to not even clean out your bong which he smoked it in. but both of you are too proud to apologize first. all morning you've been avoiding each other. even now, as the three boys and you are by the pool, you're not near deran. "come on, can't you just talk to him? he's been a dick all day," craig asks, sitting on the edge of the pool beside you.
"nope," you respond, popping the 'p'. "i didn't do anything wrong. he did."
"is this still about the weed? berry, if weed is what you want, i can get you weed. hell, i can get you coke."
"first, you know i don't do coke. and second, i don't want my weed from you, craig. i want it from deran. and an apology for being an ass."
craig sighs, running his fingers through his tangled hair. "yeah, alright. but don't say i didn't try to help," he says, before diving back into the pool with his brothers. there's the sound of the sliding door opening and closing, and then smurf's voice saying, "jay, there's some people i'd like you to meet." all four of you look towards her and the unfamiliar boy standing beside her. she forces the brothers to awkwardly introduce themselves one by one. "this is jay, i'm sure you remember him. he's julia's son. he's gonna be staying with us now that she's gone."
what? what does smurf mean by gone? "julia's dead?" you ask, finally finding your voice. smurf looks over at you. "nobody told you, honey? she passed away early this morning. jay, you remember-?"
"berry," he cuts in. you're the only one he recognizes. mainly because of your hair. he always had vague memories of a girl with bright colored hair, but could never put a face to the name. standing up, you quickly dry yourself with your towel, and hug him. you pull back to take a look at him. it's been at least ten years since you last saw him, but now that you're closer, you can see that he's almost the spitting image of his mother.
"it's good to see you, kid. i'm sorry about your mom. she was nice," you say softly. and you mean it. you were young when smurf kicked her out, no older than seven. but you remember her braiding your hair and teaching you how to do makeup for the first time.
"thanks, that means a lot. she... she would talk about you sometimes," he says. hearing that makes you smile. wherever she is now, you hope she knows how much you admired her. smurf doesn't like too much talk about the daughter she disowned, because she quickly ends the conversation and drags jay away to his new room. pope's old room.
"so what do we think of the kid?" baz asks once the sliding door clicks shut.
"i think it's a risky move. he's basically an outsider," craig replies.
"yeah, i agree. who knows what shit julia put in his head," deran chimes in. "what about you, berry?"
even now, in the middle of a fight, deran still wants your opinion on family business. to him, you're still family. "he can't be that bad. smurf used to bring him here and we would all babysit him, remember? he's just a kid. i think we should give him a chance."
the day passes by with all of you following smurf's every command in welcoming jay into the cody household. you clean up his room for him and make him lunch, even though he insists you don't have to. "nah, it's alright. your grandma can be a bitch when i don't do what she wants. no offense," you tell him. the boys find an unused, but nice, tv in the garage to give him. baz even gives him a couple hundreds to buy himself some new shoes and clothes.
now, it's night and you're sat on the couch, lazily flipping through tv channels. deran has warmed up a bit more to you throughout the day, but still hasn't apologized. stubborn assholes, that's what you both are. speak of the devil, deran enters the living room, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. even without looking at him, you can tell it's him from your peripheral. he sits down beside you on the couch, tossing a baggie of weed in your lap. "that's should be a gram," is all he says.
you pick it up, holding it between your index and middle finger. it's a little more than a gram based on the weight of it. "next time you take my shit, just let me know. i only got pissed because you lied," you say, finally looking over at him.
"yeah, alright. i will."
a few seconds of silence pass by. "why didn't you tell me about julia?"
he shrugs. "i didn't know if you remembered her. we were so young when she left."
"she didn't leave. she was kicked out," you correct. "either way, i would've preferred to find out from you rather than smurf."
finally, he looks at you. and you can tell he's remorseful. "you can come back to the room if you want."
"promise not to kick me in the shin or hog the blanket?" you ask.
"scout's honor, berry."
"fine, alright. since you're practically begging to hang with me," you tease. deran quickly stands, tugging you into his side and rubbing a noogie on your blue head. "seriously, dude! what are we, ten?" you complain, struggling to shove him off. he just laughs.
by the next morning, it's as if you and deran never fought. there's still some minor tension between jay and the rest of the boys, but you hope that it soon subsides. it can't be that bad anyways, since craig and deran are hosting a party as a sort of initiation for jay. the three of you have been setting it up all day. getting beer and booze, drugs, food, anything that will guarantee a cody rager. baz comes back to the house later, catherine and lena in tow.
you're out by the pool with craig and deran, putting some beers in a cooler when the young girl calls your name. "hey, lena!" you exclaim, kneeling down to catch her running body. "you excited for the party?" she just hums and nods. "guess what? i got you some of that unicorn ice cream you love. is it okay if she has some?" you ask, looking towards cath.
"only a little. i don't want her spoiling her dinner."
the young girl practically drags you away into the house when she hears that it's okay. it makes you laugh. catherine follows, leaving baz behind to talk about whatever with his brothers. she sits down at the kitchen island, saying, "baz told me that julia passed. that jay's now living here."
"uh, yeah, he is. he's staying in pope's old room," you reply, pulling out a bowl and spoon for lena, setting it down on the counter beside her ice cream.
"is she still giving you a hard time?" she asks softly.
you slide the bowl across the island to lena, where she sits beside her mom. she mutters a soft 'thank you'. "when is she not?" you joke weakly. "i'm just trying to stay on her good side. just like i always have since becoming a part of this family. i'm sure you understand."
that makes her laugh. "trust me, i do. listen, if things ever go sideways between you and her, my house is always open. you don't have to go back to your dad's place." you like catherine. just like you, she was an outsider in the cody house. and being the only girl around after julia was kicked out, she understanded you in ways not even deran could.
"i appreciate the offer, really, but i'm okay. half the time i go over there he's too drunk and/or high to even know i'm around."
she nods, understanding. "well, the offer always stands if you change your mind."
the party goes by a lot faster than you expect. you do a couple shots, smoke a joint, talk to some the people you know. which isn't a lot if you're being honest. the boys jump off the roof and into the pool. craig pushes you off the roof and into the pool. the fucking asshole. now the sun is starting to set and all the partygoers are gone. catherine's left with lena to put her to bed, leaving baz to hang around. you wouldn't be surprised if it was because he said some stupid shit.
you hover in the pool, resting your arms along the edge. deran and craig are talking about whatever, while a joint gets passed around between the three of you. meanwhile baz sits on the edge of a pool chair, smurf sitting behind him, rubbing his back. it's weird as fuck, if you're being completely honest. she's been this way with her boys for as long as you can remember. it never gets any less unsettling.
"gotta take a piss, i'll be back," you say to craig, handing him the joint. when you pull yourself out of the pool, he wolf whistles. "always love to watch you leave, berry." you flip him off as you walk away.
water drips off of you and onto the floor. you make a mental note to clean it all up so smurf doesn't get on your ass. quickly you finish up your business and head back in the direction of the pool when you hear something break in jay's room. it's really not any of your business, but a small part of you is concerned. he drank a couple of shots because of peer pressure from craig so you worry that he fell over and busted his head open. you walk over to his room, knocking on the door. "jay? you all good?" he doesn't respond. that worries you even more. "alright, i'm coming in. be decent."
you slowly push open the door, peeking your head in. everything looks fine, minus the knocked over lamp in the corner. that's what must've fell. "you alright, kid?" you step into the room, jay standing on one side. and on the other stands a familiar face. one you haven't seen in three years. "andrew?" you whisper.
"you ruined my surprise," pope deadpans, glancing over at jay. you cross the room in three, maybe even two, strides before pulling pope into a tight hug. his arms wrap around your waist, and he rests his head in your neck, breathing you in. you still smell the same, he thinks to himself. like vanilla and lavender. it's a familiar scent that makes him feel calmer than he has in the past three years.
as if sensing the tension between you two, jay awkwardly says, "i'll, uh, i'll head out. back to the pool." pope pulls his head out of your neck, but doesn't let go of you. "don't tell them i'm here," he commands.
"y-yeah, of course."
"nobody knows you're here? not even smurf?" you question once jay's gone.
he shakes his head. "wanted to surprise you but found the kid in my room. she gave him my room?"
"yeah, she did. did jay tell you about julia?" pope doesn't cry, but you can tell that he's close to it. the whites of his hazel eyes are red, rimmed with tears. that's the only answer you need. "oh, andy. i'm so sorry," you whisper, brushing the sides of his face. "you changed your hair," he remarks, fingers lightly tugging at the wet strands. you pick up on the non direct cue that he wants to change the conversation. so you do.
"i changed it shortly after you went to prison. kinda got sick of the red." that's what you tell him. you don't tell him that you changed it because it reminded you too much of him. of the night you shared together on your birthday.
"i like it. suits you," he croaks.
you smile softly. "yeah? i'm glad you do... c'mon, let's go show everyone who's back in town."
if smurf didn't hate you before, which she definitely did, she sure as shit hates you now. first it was you finding out pope got released before she did. then it was him choosing to sit next to you last night when you were all catching up. and now, two days later, you're the one he chose to take with him to do apartment hunting. not smurf. you.
currently, you two are finished. now eating greasy fast food. "i just don't understand. why isn't she letting you stay in one of the spare rooms at the house?" you ask, picking one of the fries off his tray.
"said she doesn't need my parole officer stopping by for piss tests every week. and apparently baz sold my house. are you still sleeping in deran's room?" you hum. "why don't you just move into one of the spare rooms?"
"and have smurf kick me out onto the street when she finds out? no thanks, andy. i'd rather share a bed with deran." you thumb through the open house flyers that sit on the table. "i think the first place was really nice. it's close to the house. but if you don't want one by the house, there was the fourth one we looked at. this one's by the beach."
"did you like any of them?" he asks.
you swallow down the bite you just took off your burger. "you mean the houses?"
"yeah."
"we're buying for you, andy. it matters whether you like them or not."
"i care about you're opinion. you always wanted a house by the beach, right?"
you're surprised he remembers. you must've been only seventeen when you told him. "you remember that?" you question softly. he shrugs likes it's no big deal. "i remember everything you tell me."
"y-yeah, i always have. still do."
"then it's settled i'll buy the fourth one."
by the time you two get home, dinner is ready and the table's set. everyone was just waiting for you and pope to arrive. "dude, finally, you guys took forever. been starving my ass off," deran groans, digging into his pasta. "shut up, asshole," you say, lightly knocking him in the head. "you two settle down," smurf chides. then she looks at pope. "you find a house, baby?" he nods. "is it close by?"
"it's about thirty minutes away. it came furnished so i'll head over there tonight."
smurf purses her lips, putting on a plastic smile. "i'm happy for you, baby." she's not. not really. because pope is making progress. and he's doing it without her. after dinner, everyone splits off to do their own thing. smurf to bed, jay to do homework, baz back home, and craig... doing whatever the fuck craig does. deran sits in the living room, ripping a bong and watching 'rick and morty'. pope hangs in the kitchen, washing dishes. he won't let you help him, but he likes the company. especially because it's you.
"what do you think of, jay?" he asks, hand drying the last set of utensils.
"he seems like a smart kid. has a good head on his shoulders."
"do you think we can trust him?"
you shrug from where you sit on the counter beside the sink. "i think so, yeah. why do you ask?"
"smurf won't let me do any jobs. baz is driving craig to mexico tomorrow morning so he can see a doctor for his chest. i was thinking we could pull a job while they're away. maybe get the help of jay."
"i don't do jobs, andy, you know that." the most you ever do for them is keeping lookout or playing gateway driver. that was as close pope ever let you to being in their world. "besides, i thought you didn't want me doing them."
done with the dishes, pope dries his hands and moves his body to stand between your swinging legs. he doesn't touch you, but his hands rest on each side of your thighs. close enough that when his fingers twitch, they brush bare skin. "i'm not asking you to join us on the job. all i'll need you to do is stay at the house, make sure smurf doesn't come home. and if she does, feed her whatever bullshit lie you think she'll believe."
"i can do that."
"i know you can. you're a smart girl, i trust you. now all we have to do is convince jay and deran."
convincing deran wasn't hard to do. he's been waiting for any opportunity to prove himself as a grown up. not the kid that baz and smurf still see him as. it takes a little more convincing for jay, however. like you told pope, he's a smart kid. and he's not gonna do anything stupid that might risk him getting kicked out of the cody home. but pope promises money, and a chance to show the family that he's one of them. so he agrees.
now, it's the next day, and the three boys are all dressed in black from head to toe. deran and jay are busy loading up the car with supplies, while you and pope stay back in the garage. polishing out all the final details.
"and if smurf comes home while we're gone, you say...?"
"i say that you all went to the beach to teach jay how to surf. you guys haven't been out long, and i don't know when you'll be back."
"good girl," pope praises.
this job is an easy one. you shouldn't feel as anxious as you do right now. but a small part of you is still worried that something will go wrong. jay is young and what if he makes a rookie mistake? that's normal and acceptable in other jobs, but in the jobs that his uncles do? that means time in jail. and you don't want pope to do another second. "are you sure about this? you don't think vin was just yapping in prison?" you ask, nerves getting the better of you.
"i'm sure. he was only telling me about this job because he wanted to pull it with me. he wouldn't lie if that was the case," pope assures. one of his hands reach out to pull your hands away from each other. oh, you hadn't even realized you were picking at the skin around your nails. nervous habit you never really dropped. "everything is gonna be fine, berry. i promise. i'll be back before you know it." the same hand he used to stop your skin peeling is the one he cups the back of your head with. bringing you closer and kissing your hairline.
"be safe," you whisper, fingers curling against the front of his black zip up.
"always, berry."
near the truck, jay stops loading to look at you and his uncle. "are they, uh, together?" deran follows jay's gaze, a small smile on his face when he sees. "it's complicated with them."
"complicated how?" jay asks, but he doesn't get answer now that pope is walking towards the truck. he bangs on the side, catching their attention. "let's head out. we're wasting daylight."
you spend the rest of the day on the couch, watching tv, and worrying. a whole lot of worrying. every five minutes you check your phone, making sure you don't miss a single phone call or text. it's nothing but radio silence every single time. guess that's a good thing, though. no news is good news. the sun is already starting to set once the boys arrive back. it's not a phone call that lets you know that they're here. no, it's the yelling coming from the garage.
pushing the blanket off you, you stand and start walking towards the voices. the tile floor is cold against your bare feet, making you shiver. jay passes by as you head out there. you grab his arm before he can leave. "everything go okay?" you whisper.
"yeah, they're just fighting in there now." you nod, letting him go and saying a soft thanks. jay was right. pope and deran are in the middle of a screaming match. they haven't even noticed that you're in the room with them. "i just don't understand why we had to take him with us!" deran exclaims.
"what's the big deal, huh? you got your money. we all got our fair share, so quit your whining," pope snaps, shrugging off his jacket.
"it's bullshit. he's barely been in the family for what? a week? now he's doing jobs with us?"
"you know, if you're gonna keep complaining, i'll just take your share and split with jay."
"fuck off!" deran yells, shoving pope. that's when you finally step in. you grab pope by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from deran before he can take a swing at him.
"what has gotten into you two? you were perfectly fine this morning, now you come home and you're acting like a bunch of teenagers!"
"tell your little boyfriend that he's being an asshole!" deran says, pointing at pope.
"oh, real mature. if i remember right, you were the one who wanted to stop sucking smurf's tit and do your own jobs. i chose to bring you along on this job. you got this money because of me."
"like you're any better? i'm not the one who's been stuck at berry's side since getting out of prison. going from sucking one tit to the next, huh, pope?"
if it weren't for the tight hold you had on his shirt, popw definitely would've crossed the room and decked deran right there. "don't you fucking talk about her like that," pope barks.
"andy, it's fine," you whisper. then you look at deran. "can you stop picking a fight with him? he did you a favor, de. he just got out of prison and took a risk by doing this job. i think you can cut him a little slack."
"seriously? you're taking his side? after everything that i've done for you..."
"i'm not trying to take anyone's side. i understand why you're frustrated right now, but the last thing that anyone needs is for us to be fighting with each other," you reason. you're silently pleading with him to understand. the worst part, is he does. he understands completely what you're trying to say. but adrenaline and emotions are still high. and sometimes that makes people say the wrong thing.
"yeah, whatever. go ahead and jump onto the next cody boy dick that'll want you," he scoffs, stomping out of the room. but not before harshly bumping your shoulder with his.
pope doesn't ask you if you're okay. he knows you're not. he's not an idiot. "want me to take you home?" he asks, voice gruff but soft. "i-i don't... i don't have anywhere else to go," you whisper. "that's okay. i'll take you home with me, c'mon."
once at his house, pope gives you an old shirt for you to change into. he gives you prviacy to change in his bedroom, hovering right outside the door. you strip down to your bra and panties, pulling his shirt over your head. "i'm done," you announce. a second passes. he opens the door to see you sitting on the bed, back pressed against the headboard. pope digs in his back pocket, pulling out a wad of cash and holding it out to you. "what's this for?"
"it's for keeping lookout for smurf. that's half of my share so deran won't keep whining," he explains.
"andy, you don't have to. keep your money." you attempt to give it back, but he just closes your fist around the money. "keep the money. get some sleep, we've all had a long day," he orders. he turns on his heel, ready to lend you his bed as he stays on the couch. not like he sleeps much anyways. but your hand catches his wrist before he can leave. "can you stay? please? i don't wanna be alone," you whisper. and he can't deny you when you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.
he swallows down the nerves and nods. you scoot over to make space for him. he slowly sits, back straight and as tight as coil when he leans against the headboard. heart beating even faster when you lay your head on his chest. the bare skin of your knee brushes against his arm when you bring them to your chest. this position is so familiar to him. he remembers sitting in his old room with you like this the night before he did the bank robbery. when it was too cold or lonely in prison, which it was almost every night, he replayed that memory in his head to keep him warm.
"are we ever gonna talk about it?" you ask.
"talk about what?"
"about the night of my birthday."
that night. pope remembers that night too. but he only thought about that night when he committed acts that he is far too ashamed to admit. "what about that night?"
"...do you regret it?" you whisper.
his response is almost immediate. "no. i don't. why would you ask that?"
he feels you shrug. "i don't know. i just thought that's why you never wanted me to visit you in prison."
"that's not why i didn't want you visiting, berry. folsom was a shitty place. and i didn't want you in there, even if it was just to visit me. i didn't want you to see what it turned me into," he admits softly. it breaks your heart. "what was it like in there?" you sit up just enough to look at him. sitting your chin where your head just rested.
it takes him a minute to gather his thoughts. "they used to drug me and keep me locked in my cell. always said it was for my protection but i hated how numb i felt. and there was this guard who would strip me down and tie me to a chair in the middle of the room. he'd keep all the lights on, music blasting so loud i thought my head would burst. then he would take me outside and parade me around. humiliate me while i was covered in drool and shit. when i thought it was done? he'd do it all over again."
once he's done talking he won't look at you. you're not even sure what to say. 'i'm sorry' isn't appropiate. what do you have to be sorry for? you didn't do that shit to him. and sorry won't take away the trauma he experienced. "does anybody else know?" is the best thing you come up with. pope shakes his head. "only you."
"it's safe with me, andy. i promise."
finally, he looks at you again. "i know. i trust you." and coming from him? that means a lot. "i missed you," he says first. "i missed you too," you say without missing a beat. you lay your head back on his chest. his heart beats slower now. "i'm sorry i couldn't be there for you then. but i'm here now. i'll look after you."
"it's nasty work," he retorts.
"not to me. not if it's you." your breath slowly begins to even out. body going slack against his. you've fallen asleep. pope slowly wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you closer. he rests his cheek atop your head, breathing you in. "i'll look after you, too," he whispers into the dark.
you end up staying at pope's house for a lot longer than intended. not that he minded one bit. but you felt bad for free loading. every attempt you would make to pay him with your paycheck from the record store was shot down. every time you would try to help clean or do laundry, he would lightly shove you away from wherever you were trying to work and take over. "just let me take care of you," he would say. pope liked having you around. so much so that he began to fill the fridge with your favorite foods and drinks. even bought you a whole new wardrobe. he started treating this less like a short time arrangement and more like you had moved in permanently.
about a week has gone by, and you still haven't spoken to deran since the fight. even now, as you lounge by the cody pool, with deran only a couple feet away, neither of you will make eye contact with one another. you're attempting to peel the orange you grabbed on your way outside. but with your freshly manicured nails (which pope also paid for), you can't dig your fingernails in deep enough to get a good peel. after your second annoyed sigh, pope looks over his shoulder from where he's crouched by the fountain he's building. "you okay?" he asks.
"i can't peel my stupid orange," you complain, tossing it down in your lap. he dusts his hands off on his pants, moving to sit at the edge of the pool chair you've been lounging on for the past hour. "here, let me do it for you," he says. you drop it in his outstretched hand. his thick fingers dig into the orange, pulling it apart in large chunks. even once it's stripped of its peel, he doesn't stop until the whole thing is separated into individual slices. "there you go."
"thanks, andy." you sit up, grabbing the slices from him. he nods, doing his best to avoid dropping his gaze towards your exposed cleavage in your bikini. "you talk to deran yet?" he asks, looking over at the mentioned man who's yelling in the pool with craig. "no, i haven't. you?" pope shakes his head. "think he'll ever talk to us again?" your words are teasing, but pope can hear the genuine sadness that peeks through. he's ashamed at the bubble of jealousy that grows in the pit of his belly.
he knows that deran is your best friend. and that he was the only one who was there for you when pope got sent to jail. he should be grateful for that. and he is. but still, pope can't help but feel envy at the relationship you have with his brother. it's closer than the one he has with you. maybe that has to do with the age gap, or the fact that he was gone for three fucking years. he prays that that'll change. "everything will be fine," he assures. "deran will come around. he always does."
smurf then comes outside, calling pope's name. "baby, you staying for dinner?" she asks. he doesn't answer her right away, though. he looks at you, tilting his head. a silent way of him asking if you want to stay. when you nod, that's when he replies. "yeah, we're gonna stay." the inclusion of you ruffles smurf's feathers. you can tell it does. "berry, honey? come help me in the kitchen." an order. not a suggestion.
pope's eyes watch you the whole way as you walk into the house until you're out of sight. there's an uneasy feeling that grows in the pit of his stomach. the thought of you and smurf alone doesn't bode well with him. she wouldn't be dumb enough to do anything to you with him or any of the cody boys, in fact, around. but he still keeps his attention on you the whole time. "you and deran talking yet, honey?" smurf asks, setting down food, plates, and silverware in front of you. without argument, you plate up dinner for you and the family. "no, we haven't."
"what happened?" you know you can't tell her about the job that pope just pulled with his brother and nephew, so instead you lie and say, "it was just a bullshit argument. i said some stuff, he said some stuff. the usual." either she believes you, or just doesn't care to pull the truth out of you. which is rare, but it happens. "so hard headed, the both of you. just like siblings. do you remember when the two of you were seven and started going around telling everyone that you were twins?" that pulls an actual smile out of you. of course you remembered. you and deran would wear similar outfits to try and convince people. no one ever believed you, obviously, because neither of you looked alike one bit. but you had twin souls, or whatever the fuck it's called. "yeah, i remember."
she carries half the plates to the table, and you carry the other half. "how's your dad then? i'm assuming you're staying at his place?"
"uh, i wouldn't know. i haven't seen him in about two months. i'm actually staying at pope's for the time being."
smurf falters for just a second. you notice it from the corner of your eye. but she recovers quickly. "well, that's nice of him, honey. go tell the boys that dinner is ready." you nod, going back outside. it silently makes you proud how much you've gotten under her skin recently. maybe she's finally realizing how little control she has on her boys now. that they're not the same kids she once knew. but when you think you have a hold on her, she shows that she's two steps ahead. if only you had realized that sooner.
the next day, pope heads out to smurf's earlier than usual. he says something about the fountain and a few other things that you can't really remember because you were half asleep when he told you. he kisses you on your temple, tucks you under the covers tightly, and leaves. you wake up about an hour later. deciding to clean around the house, do the laundry. there's not much to do since pope has always been someone who keeps their space tidy and neat, but it's the least you can do. he has let you stay at his home for the past two weeks.
you've just finished folding and putting away your clothes when you hear the front door open and shut. but it's not the gentle sound it usually is. it's rough, nearly shaking the whole house. something bad must've happened to have him acting like this. your socked feet pad softly on the tile floor as you head towards the front of the house. "andy?" you call out softly, looking around every corner to find him. he's standing in the kitchen, back turned to you. his body language is tight, but his breathing is erratic. "andy?" you say again. "what happened?"
"did you know?" pope snaps, disregarding your question. he's angry, that much is clear. but he's angry at... you? "did i know what?" you ask, genuinely confused. "about the pills! don't play dumb with me, berry!" finally, he turns to look at you. this isn't the pope you know. you've seen this side of him before, sure. directed at the scumbags who go in and out of the cody household. sometimes at his brothers when they piss him, or at smurf when she pushes him too far. but never at you. "andy, what pills are you talking about? you don't take-"
you don't get the chance to finish your sentence when he throws the pill bottle at the wall behind you. the orange container breaks on impact, causing all the white pills to shoot out in different directions. it doesn't hit you, pope made sure that it wouldn't before throwing it. but the sound is so loud and reminds you of your father's drunken outbursts that you can't help but flinch. there's a flicker of guilt in his eyes at his actions, but it's quickly masked with anger all over again. not just anger. hurt. that someone, maybe the only person he truly trusts, lied to him. or so he believes.
"you knew that she was slipping that shit in my food." not a question. a statement. like he's already decided you're guilty before hearing your case. "i swear to god, i had no idea she was doing that shit to you! you don't think that if i would have known, i wouldn't tell you immediately?" you retort. "you're telling me that you didn't see her mix a crushed up pill in my plate of food?" he questions.
fuck. fuck fuck fuck.
of course that's why she asked you to help her in the kitchen yesterday. panic begins to rise in your chest. consuming you from the inside out. whatever bullshit smurf planted in him this morning while you weren't there has already taken root. the odds truly are stacked up against you in this moment. nothing you say will convince him. so you just stick to the truth. "i didn't see her do it, andy. you gotta believe me. i didn't know that she was doing that to you," you beg. you mover closer to him, attempt to grab his hand, but he pulls away from you. the first time he's ever done that.
"don't touch me. i trusted you. i trusted you," he repeats, slowly backing away from you. "and i shouldn't have." he turns on his heel and locks himself in his bedroom in a matter of seconds. so fast that you don't even have the chance to do anything but watch him walk away. the second you hear that click, your chest caves in. you feel stupid. you should've known that smurf would do something so cruel to you. the walls of the house feel as if they're closing in on you. your breaths are rapid and uneven, making you feel lightheaded.
i can't stay here is the conclusion you come to. thankfully, you're phone is still charging on the counter from where you left it last night. and your purse beside it. you hold the phone in one hand, and the purse in the other. slipping on whatever shoes are by the door, probably your beat up vans from senior year, and hurry out of the house without a second thought. you walk for what feels like hours. by this point, your feet ache and legs burn. you don't even realize where you're now at until you blink away the tears you've been keeping at bay.
your dad's house.
you look down at your phone. it's nearing one pm. you've walked for almost two hours. no missed calls or texts from pope. you open your contacts, hovering on cath's name. if you called, you know she would answer. but the last thing you wanted was to be a burden on her. she practically has to raise lena all by herself, and you know that there's no room for you at her house. not even half a scroll down is deran's contact. you're not even sure if he would pick up if you called. on top of that, you don't think you could calmly live in smurf's house before punching her lights out. beside, deran would probably take pope's side when he inevitably finds out about the falling out between you and his brother.
at this moment, it sinks in that you don't have that many people in your life. you had more until the record store you worked at closed for good, leaving you and all your old coworkers to slowly drift apart. there's no other choice but to dig out that old key and enter back into your childhood home.
three days have passed, and pope's starting to get worried. the second he heard the front door shut he immediately regretted how angry he got with you. he couldn't bring himself to call or text you that same day. so then he waited until the next day. but then you didn't pick up. he called the day after that. still no reply. he stops by smurf's place because obviously if you weren't with him you would be with deran, right? but pope finds the youngest cody brother alone in his room.
"where is she?" pope asks, not even bothering to knock as he barges into the room. "who? berry?" deran questions, setting down his bong. "yes, berry. she hasn't picked up her phone."
"i don't know, man. she hasn't called me. she's been living with you for these past few weeks, not me. why? something happen?"
pope shifts from one foot to the other. fingers twitching at his side. "we got into a fight a few days ago. i found out that she knew about these antipyschotics smurf was putting in my food-"
"hold on, smurf was drugging you up?" deran interrupts.
"you didn't know?"
"fuck no, man. and you think berry knew? who told you that shit?"
"it was smurf-"
deran cuts pope off with a snort. "smurf told you that berry knew about the pills? if i didn't know about the pills, berry sure as shit didn't know. because i would've told her. meaning she would've eventually told you. smurf played you like a fucking fool."
pope can't believe it. he should've known that smurf would pull some manipulative shit like this. and he fell for it like a kid. just like he always has. naively he believed that you broke his trust. only to realize that you were on his side this whole time. you truly had no idea about the pills. you were telling the truth.
you were telling the truth.
"fuck," pope mutters, running his hands over his buzzed hair. "so if she's not with me or you, where else would she go?"
deran sighs, shaking his head. "only one place i can think of: her dad's."
the house is as dirty and rundown as pope remembers. he's been here a handful of times. most of the time it was because you had run away from the house after a fight with deran or craig. he never saw himself returning.
it smells like cigarette smoke and cheap beer. all the blinds are drawn shut, leaving no light in the house. except for the light coming from the tv. it highlights your dad's passed out frame on his recliner. pope doubts that the older man even knows you've been staying in his house for the past three days. he walks past your dad to peek his head into the kitchen. you're not in there. then he stalks down the hall to the room at the end of the hall. your old bedroom.
slowly, pope pushes the door open, a quiet creak echoing in the otherwise quiet house. you're laying on the bed, back turned to the door. he knows that you're not actually sleeping. your body language is too tight. "berry?" he whispers softly, awkwardly standing at the foot of the bed. you stir, but don't respond. "berry?" he says again. "just let me talk to you, please."
finally, you give up the sleeping act and sit up against the bedframe. "what do you want?" you ask. "i just wanna talk," pope repeats. "talk about what? you wanna throw some more accusations at me?" pope drops his head in shame. "deran told me the truth. that you really didn't know about the pills."
"it's almost as if i tried telling you that," you snap. "but you chose not to believe me."
"...are you mad at me?"
"what do you think, pope?"
he flinches. actually flinches at the name that falls from your lips. he can't remember the last time you've called him that name. but all he knows it that he hates it. "andy. don't call me that, berry, please." he sways from side to side, like he's not sure where to go. he wants to move closer to you, but fears the rejection that you will undoubtedly give him. "i know i messed up, okay? i said trusted i you and went back on that statement because i got scared. you were the only person who never seemed scared of me. you treated me like i was normal. you... you made me feel normal." pope watches as you stand up from the bed, slowly walking towards him. he barely moves an inch as you stop right in front of him. from up close, he can see the dark circles you've gained from lack of sleep. but even now, you look as pretty as ever in his eyes.
"i'm not that mad at you, andy. if anything, i'm hurt. i'm hurt that after all this time, you truly believed that i would've done something like that to you. you say that you trust me, and i believe that you do, but you clearly don't trust me enough if you're just ready to believe smurf the second she tells you anything. i'm on your side, andy, and she's trying to ruin that."
you don't hesitate to pull pope into a hug when you notice the tears beginning to well in his eyes. deep down, you knew that this wasn't really his fault. it was just the way he grew up. the way smurf rotted his brain and made it seem like she was a saint no matter what she did. he'd snap out of it eventually. even now, he was slowly pulling himself away from her and the mind games she constantly played.
"i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, berry. it won't happen again, please. i promise. i'll be so good to you," pope whispers into your neck. you pull away just enough to look at him, making him whine. "it's okay. we're okay," you reassure, pressing a kiss on his cheek. "let's just go, yeah? i don't wanna be here anymore." he listens without a second thought, carrying your purse even though you don't ask him to. he keeps a guiding hand on the small of your back towards the front door. you leave just as quietly as you entered, with your dad completely unaware that you were ever there.
you're surprised to see deran leaning against his green jeep, which is parked next to pope's truck. pope looks at you, giving you a silent look that asks, 'are you good with him here?' when you nod, he nods, and heads into his truck. "what are you doing?" you ask softly. "i followed pope here just in case you needed help beating his ass after the stupid shit he said," deran jokes. "but i'm also here to say i'm sorry for how i acted the other day. i was a fucking dick to you when i shouldn't have been. and i was an even shittier friend by pushing you away."
"it's okay, de. i forgive you," you reply. deran opens his arms. "awkward hug?" you laugh softly. "yeah, awkward hug." he pulls you in tight, squeezing you until you have to punch him to let go. "you sure you don't want me to beat pope's ass? the offer still stands if you want."
"i think i'm okay for now, but i'll let you know next time."
"alright, i'll see you later, yeah?" deran asks. you nod, waving goodbye as you walk towards pope's truck, hopping into the truck as he holds the passenger door open for you. once inside, pope walks across the front of the car and into the driver's side. "you hungry? you want me to get you something?" pope questions. "no, i'm okay. i think i'd rather just go home with you."
home with you.
"yeah, let's go home," he agrees, pulling out of the driveway. even after everything, you're still choosing him. and he'll choose you forever.
I knew it was love when I rode home crying thinking of you fucking other girlsss
You and Pope Cody werenāt too close per-say. But the few casual hookups the two of you had made you think there was something more than just āfriends with benefitsā but come to find out that wasnāt true.
You and Pope were good friends. Heād leans you a hand if you needed it, youād lend him a hand if he needed it. Youād show up to the house parties that Deran and Craig would invite you to and youād spend most of the time talking to Pope inside or watching Animal Planet with him. It wasnāt close but it was a good strong bond.
One particular night heād ended up at your doorstep. You donāt know how, or why, but he was there. Of course you let him in and told him to make himself comfortable. He didnāt really say too awful much. Just expressed that he was stressed and you offered him some tea and a shoulder massage. Somehow you got mixed up and gave him a massage that was most definitely not his shoulders.
Youād thought maybe youād messed up. After heād left but come to find out he enjoyed it enough to come back the next night. Then it became a regular occurrence. Sometimes just him coming over, you feeding him something from your fridge, and then him crashing in your bed with you.
Youād kind of given up the whole ādatingā schmuck after the first 2 weeks of this. Stopped texting the guy you were seeing, quietly deleted your dating profiles and just fell into this casual little situation. But you couldnāt say the same for dear olā Pope. Or by what youāve been calling him for almost ages Andrew.
-
It was a quiet afternoon. Youād gotten off work about three hours ago, took a shower, changed clothes, and sat yourself on the couch with a cup of tea and nice book. Thatās about the time you heard your door knob twisting, and Andrew stepping inside.
He kicked his shoes off, then walked over to you on the couch.
āYou should be locking your door.ā He retorts before he sits down onto the spot next to you.
āBut then how would you get in?ā You got him there.
He just takes a deep breath, and melts down into the couch. You look up from your book briefly to go grab him the remote next to you and toss it to him. He turns it on, goes to Disney+, then clicks onto National Geographic and clicks whatever animal documentary pops up first, and heās in a trance.
This is what your evenings have looked like for the past month now, and safe to say neither of you are complaining.
-
Itās a busy morning at Smurfās. Boys going in and out of the house while Smurf is making some snack plates and whatever else to leave out for the boys. Youāve only been there for about three seconds. Youāve hoped out of your car, and trailed yourself in through the back. Delivering Deran an envelope.
Youāre there for about a few more minutes then youāre popping your usual question āwhereās Andrew?ā
Smurf looks over her shoulder smug shit eating grin on her face
āHeās out with Angela right now, baby.ā
Being called ābabyā by Smurf made you want to throw up right then and there. But you canāt, not because youāre physically unable but because your brain is short circuiting. Angela? Youāve never heard that name in all in your entire time living on this earth. You cock a brow.
āAngela?ā
Smurf is ever so smug, sets down the cooking utensil in her hand and turns full to you, one hand braced behind her on the counter.
āHis new girlfriend⦠she was one of Juliaās old friends.ā
Your heart sinks, and it seems like she notices. She just shrugs and turns back around.
āIād figured he Atleast have mentioned her or something. Heās been spending a lot of time with he anyway. Enough to move her into the house and all.ā
Your knees feel like theyāre going to give out. You canāt function. Only let out a
āOh okayā¦ā before you stumble out the back door and somehow make it to your car before breaking down crying.
You take a few minutes to breathe and collect yourself after the little spill. Then pull out of the driveway, your cheeks are flushed, your eyes look all watery and youāre not really paying attention all that well. Just pull out of the driveway as another person pulls in. Probably J in that truck he drives all the time.
Thatās when it hits you like a truck going a million miles per hour. You love him. And not in the friendly, cute way. The butterflyās in the stomach, red in the face when you see him, and longing for his touch after he leaves kind of way.
-
Youāre gone like the wind. Already made the twelve minute-ish drive back to your house and are sitting in the living room, curled up into yourself as you watch whatever animal documentary that got left on by Andrew.
Thatās when heās barging through the door. Loud moments as he doesnāt have time to take his shoes off like usual, he looks visibly frustrated.
Heās bending over you tucking hair behind your ear then dropping down onto the couch.
āwhatād Smurf say? I saw you when you were leavingā¦ā
Shit. It was Andrewās truck, not Jās. You feel so humiliated. You shake your head almost instantly, and heās already got his next statement on his tongue.
āNothingā¦ā you shrug it off
āyouāre crying so itās obviously not nothing, baby girl.ā
How could he just say things like that? Call you these sweet names and this whole time been screwing another girl on the side? God you felt utterly helpless.
āwhoās Angela? Because Smurf says sheās your girlfriend⦠even moved her into the house.ā
Heās clenching his jaw. Heās gonna kill Smurf the next time heās near her. Already having resentment for her thatās taller than the Empire State Building.
He shakes his head and wraps an arm awkwardly around your shoulder. Heās never been good with emotions and things like this but heās a lot better than he used to be.
āSheās just an old friend of Juliaās Iām helping out⦠and itās not like Iāve even been over there in the past month.ā
Heās lifting your chin up very gently with his index finger then smiling softly once you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest.
āIām so sorryā¦ā itās muffled but he can still hear it
ādonāt beā¦ā
this is me coming out as an Ethel Cain stan⦠I also have something sitting in my notes based off of āRomeoās daddyā if you guys would like that⦠anyways!!! Love you guys lots and lots like polka dots!!!!
A/N: short one iām sorry!! iām having the WORST writers block & idk whyyyy. iām trying to just power through but itās obviously not working. i feel so bad!!! </3
you walking over to andrew, whoās awake and watching tv on the couch. itās late, or really early? whatever the time is, you donāt know when he got up but you want him to come back to bed. youāre still so sleepy in your crumpled pajamas, rubbing your eyes as you stand in front of him. andrew looks up at you and you take it as a sign that heās okay with you being out here with him. you silently straddle him, nudging your face in his neck getting comfortable as he settles his arms around you, wordlessly. itās just proof of how comfortable you guys are with each other.
and maybe andrew is a little too comfortable. because you can feel him shifting underneath you and something thick press up against your inner thigh. you try to hold back a smile, knowing he wonāt make the first move. at least, not in this scenario he wouldnāt.
you adjust on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and settling down on the bulge in his shorts. youāre trying to get a rise out of him. andrew realizes what youāre doing. he knows you better than you know yourself. knows all of your little tells and exactly how to rile you up. instead, he mindlessly settles his hands on your back, rubbing up and down.
you shift your hips, moving your lips to his ear as you whine lowly. he lets out a shaky breath when he hears you and you know youāre breaking him. you kiss his behind his ear slowly before making your way down to his neck. andrewās dodging your head when you switch sides so he can pretend heās not turned on by you still watch the show.
āandyyyyā, you whine out as you move to look at him, starting to grind your hips down on him. he lets out a small grunt but covers it with a cough. you bite back a smile.
you start to moan quietly, breath getting faster as pope brings one of his hands down to grip your hips and the other up to grip the back of your neck. heās trying to still your movements. āquit being so needy,ā he grumbles, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. but you see the way his eyes are slightly blown and the flush thatās creeping up his neck to his face and ears. and the most obvious sign of all, his cock rock hard against your thigh. heās turned on.
you lean down to kiss his neck and he sighs at the feeling, rutting into you. his resolve is cracking. you donāt know why he plays these games. surely heād rather just hurry up and get your clothes off? not that youāre really complaining. half the fun is the chase. the clothing barriers between you two means nothing to his growing desperation, hips now unashamedly jerking up to meet your movements. you run your hands all over his body, from his stomach up to his broad shoulders while you look him in his eyes. the eye contact always gets to him. like if he looks away, you might not be there when he looks back. you grind against him particularly hard and watch as he lets out what can only be described as a whimper. his pupils are dilated, his hair is a mess and all you can think to do is pull him in for a messy kiss.
your lips collide harshly, swallowing each otherās spit, teeth clattering against one anotherās and youāre absolutely devouring each other. you move closer so that your chest and his chest are pressed up to each other. andrew uses the hand of his that was resting on the nape of your neck to pull away from your entangled kiss and begin the descent of his lips to your neck.
"my pretty girl, always knows iām the one that can make you feel better,ā he sucks on the skin and you swear you can feel the bruise forming already.
āandyyyy,ā you whine once more. āstop it!ā. it's too hot for turtlenecks and any concealer you put on will surely cake up. not that it matters to andrew, he just keeps marking his territory.
"yeah keep whining like that baby. gonna make me cum in my pants," he utters into your neck.
i'm not thinking, i know pope cody would apologize after a fight by waking you up and begging for a comfy lil prone bone <3
you and your boyfriend's current dynamic is... complicated. you love him so much that you stay with him even when his family ruins your time together. like tonight, when you two were supposed to have a nice dinner and some rare alone time earlier today, but one phone call from Smurf and he had gone running. you had begged him to stay, telling him how you made him a nice dinner, rented out the first ever movie you watched together, and planned on taking a nice romantic bath with each other before falling asleep in his arms.
pope hadn't budged, he left in a hurry of frustration after a fight ensued between the two of you. he had said things he didn't mean- like calling you needy and clingy- and you had told him you regretted ever asking him to stay. once he was gone, and you had blown out all the candles, threw away the 3 course meal you prepared. and you had cried when you realized he left without even kissing you goodbye :(
you ate alone, showered alone, and went to sleep alone. crying the whole way through. pope had called you multiple times, but you didn't answer. you couldn't bear the thought of answering the phone and him still being mad... or maybe even ending things. you sent him one text that read, 'goodnight. be safe. i love you and i'm sorry.' then you settled into the bed he built for you, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts that smelled like him, and tried not to cry yourself to sleep.
when you hear popes boots thud against the floor hours later, you think you might be dreaming. you peel your puffy eyes open and blink into the darkness. you're laying on your stomach, arms crossed underneath your tear soaked face. you vaguely hear the sound of a belt clinking, jeans zipping, and clothes being discarded onto the floor. the feeling of the bed dipping confirms that your boyfriend is finally home. popes heavy body crawls over top of you, settling on you like he always does.
he plants small kisses to your cheeks before he even says anything, laying down so his thighs cage in yours and his bare chest presses to your back. you sniffle when you realize he is in his boxers and you feel the warmth you missed so badly. pope freezes. "hey sweetheart. 'm so sorry about earlier." he brings a palm to rub at your side while he continues to whisper apologies in your ear. "shouldn't 've left you like i did-." his words have you shaking your head into your pillow as your bottom lip wobbles.
he sucks in a sharp breath. "fuck- 'm so so sorry honey. i ruined our night, i know. will you lemme make you feel better? p-please sweetheart?" you're half asleep and so gloomy. and even though you're still hurt, all you want to do is let your boyfriend make love to you.
pope kisses at your damp cheek when you nod. "gonna make it all better. promise." his gentle words and his even more gentle movement to slide your t-shirt up over your butt has more tears spilling from your waterline. you never see him this sweet, only when you fight.
he kisses your shoulder while his hand dips down between your legs. your gasp is watery and you shudder when he carefully circles your clit with two calloused fingers. he whispers sweet words the whole time he gets you ready for him. tracing your weepy hole so softly and sweetly. "yer so perfect for me." he slides one thick finger into you and you buck your hips back. "never leavin' you again honey. promise." you cry out when he adds another. "you're my everything sweetheart. love you so much."
the last sentence has you coming on his fingers when he curls them just right. you whimper and squirm underneath his hold while he kisses your hairline the whole way through. "andy..." you voice cracks on the first word you've said to him since he's been back. he shoves down his boxers and nudges your legs apart. "i know. i know. god 'm so sorry. fuck- can i sweet girl? can i please?" you arch ever so slightly as a yes and he immediately shoves his hard cock inside of you. you moan at the stretch his thickness provides every time no matter how nicely he preps you.
popes forehead falls to the nape of your neck. he slowly starts to thrust into you, still whispering. "missed you. hate when we fight. love you so- hnnhg- love you so much."
you're blinking back tears and nodding at his words. you can't form your own right now due to the mix of pleasure and something much deeper you can't quite name. pope rests all his weight atop you, bringing one strong arm to hook underneath your neck. he lightly tilts your head sideways so he can press his lips to yours. you whimper when he ruts his hips until he bottoms out then pauses, letting both of you feel how deep he is.
"didn't mean what i said." you barley hear his quiet, shaky words over your own sniffles and the pulse of his length stilled against your warm walls. "you're not clingy or needy, honey. thats me. i-i need you. god, i love you so much- need you always. wanna stay just like this forever."
its exactly what you needed to hear. tears threaten to spill due to the fact that he knows you so well. you love him so much. youāre choking through your words. " 'm sorry andy-." he cuts you off with a tender "shh shh- jus breathe sweetheart- mhm jus like that." then starts to grind his hips again. pope's heavy weight above you and his thickness dragging inside you only adds to the warmth you feel from his words.
"was my fault. should've stayed. god honey, 'm so sorry i made you upset." you're full on crying now, whimpering his name over and over while he does the same but with " 'm sorry." he's panting soothing words in your ear, muscular forearm tightening around your throat. you feel his thighs twitch on the backs of yours in restraint. you can tell he is trying to keep the slow and sensual pace to match the apology he's giving you.
but you don't want slow. not when you've missed him all night and just want him to make you feel as good as he always does. you push your ass back to fuck yourself onto him a few times as hard as you can with all 200 plus pounds of him on top of you. he complies, instantly knowing what you want, and pressing his cheek to yours and starting to thrust relentlessly. your wet eyes roll into your head as his hips slap harshly against your butt. you feel his fat tip kiss your cervix while the weight of his chest stays glued to your back. a spark starts in your lower belly and tingles start dancing behind your eyes.
a small bit of liquid drops onto your cheekbone and you blink up enough top see pope crying too. it's the first time you've been able to focus on his face. your eyes trace his freckled face thats laced with devastation and his auburn curls that are all messy as if he'd been running his hands through them all night. "t-tell me y'love me sweetheart. please -mmhf fuck- please 'm so sorry. needa hear it."
his small and pathetic words are a stark contrast to the way he's pounding into you. your big strong boyfriend is now sniffling and whimpering just like you had been all night. you comply because it's truly all you feel in this moment. there is nothing else in your euphoria-blanked brain besides the words. "love you andy- loveyouloveyouloveyou-!" he's moaning unashamedly above you as you flutter around his cock. he uses his free hand thats not balancing him to intertwine his fingers with yours that clutching at the sheets.
the tangible pleasure grows and grows till it locks tight behind where your eyes are pouring tears. pope smashes his damp lips to yours once more before starting to beg you. "hnnhg fuck honey- come for me. please. give itta me- i'll keep it safe. promise. come with me please."
he's taken over all of your senses. his words are in the air you breathe, his body is creating the heat you feel, and his throaty groans are taking over the noises you hear.
you can barely move your lips against his as you cry out when you shatter. you're clenching around him so tightly that you're about to push his hefty cock out, but it's all pope needs to come too. your releases are a mix of tears, moans and repeated "iloveyou"s. it's warm and intimate and has your vision blowing white as your hearing fades in and out due to the intensity. when you come down, your body is still shaky and pope is still moving inside of you, even though he's soft and you feel his come warming your insides.
he hasn't stopped whispering sweet nothings to you. "love you. love you so much. yer perfect. don't deserve you." you shake your head in disagreement, brain too fuzzy and body too tired to use words. when he moves to pull out, all you can manage is a raspy whine in protest. pope settles back instantly as if he never actually wanted to move in the first place.
he stays there all night. resting inside of you and laying above you while gently reminding you how much he loves you <3
og request (anon): Silly idea but imagine this new girl in Oceanside opens a flower shop and Pope becomes obsessed with her. He purchases one flower every time he goes into the store and always asks her the meaning of it. And every day when she gets home after work, the exact flower she sold Pope will be at her doorstep.
pairing: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Fem!Florist!Reader
summary: Pope becomes enamored with you, the new florist in Oceanside, after helping you with some car troubles. He tries to use the language of flowers youāre teaching him to get your attention.
contains: MDNI! no use of y/n, light stalking (this is pope cody after all), fluff, editing of canon
word count: 3.1k
authors note: thank you to my mysterious anon who sent in this request. i'm thinking of making this a little series with each part being a new flower... lmk if that idea excites anyone. i hope i did your idea justice!
The first day of June is boiling. Even as you leave the flower shop in the evening a thin sheen of sweat sticks on your body. You decided earlier in the day to take your work home with you so youāre currently loading the bed of your green Chevy truck with buckets of flowers: charlotte ranunculus, delphiniums, tweedias, blooming willows, larkspurs, rice flowers, poppies, chamomile, and garden roses. The wedding floral arrangements youāre working on need to be done by the afternoon the next day and youād rather work on them at home. The idea seems perfectly sound until youāre halfway back to your house and your car starts making a horrific grinding sound followed by a sharp pop.
āNo, no, no, no, no,ā you whine as you pull your car off to the side of the boulevard. The shoulder is big enough that you can get down and try and look under your car but the diagnosis is pretty easy: your front tire is completely flat.Ā
āFuck, this cannot be happening,ā you say to yourself, looking at the flower in the back of your truck. The twenty minute drive from the flower shop to your house would have been no problem but sitting out here in the heat will destroy some of these flowers. You call AAA and the disaffected operator tells you the soonest someone could be there is two hours.Ā
āTwo hours?ā You yell into your phone, āwhat is even the point of having AAA?āĀ
āWell, you could always try and change the tire yourself maāam,ā the operator drones.
āI know how to change a tire!ā You shout before hanging up. You throw your phone into the front seat and walk to the back of your truck, muttering to yourself as you grab the lug wrench and the car jack. You get the spare tire out from underneath the bed of your truck and roll it alongside your car before removing the hub cap and placing the jack beneath the jack point, raising the car slowly. You get the lug nuts off and are just starting to pull off the flat when another truck slows as it passes you, pulling off the road onto the shoulder in front of you.
Pope is driving down Oceanside Boulevard from a potential job site back to Smurfs when a green truck catches his eye pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Well, not so much the truck, but the young woman yanking the flat tire off the truck all by herself. Pope slows as he passes her, noticing the huge buckets of flowers in the back of the truck. He pulls off the road parking in front of her before stepping out of his own truck and walking back towards her.Ā
As he gets closer he notices the flush of your cheeks, his step stutters briefly the closer he gets to you. Youāre beautiful. Then it dawns on him, he recognizes you, maybe that subconsciously made him pull over. He bought flowers from you for Smurf, for mothers day, after she had thrown a fit about not being appreciated enough by her boys. He tries to slow his heart as he clears his throat, trying to get your attention.
āNeed some help?ā He says, and your head snaps over to him.
āOh,ā you sigh, āthatās so nice of you. I mean⦠if you have a minuteā¦ā
āYeah, no, I do,ā Pope wipes his palms on his jeans, god youāre hot⦠no, he thinks itās hot, thatās what he means, itās hot out and heās just helping someone who needs it. Heās looking at your car and something about the angle that itās sitting on the jack just doesnāt seem right.Ā
āI donāt know if the tire is your only problem,ā he says, crouching down.
āWhat? What do you mean?ā You crouch down next to him.Ā
āItās justā¦ā he rests his palms on the ground, looking underneath your truck.Ā
āYeah,ā he says, pushing back up, resting on his knees, āyour axle is cracked,ā
āFuck,ā you huff, rubbing your hand over your face. āGod, this cannot be happening.ā
āDo you have AAA?ā Pope offers, trying not to be distracted by your flustered state.
āYeah,ā you sigh, āthey canāt get here for two hours but I need to get these flowers inside like ten minutes ago.ā
You stand with your hands on your hips looking back at the bed of your truck.
āThatās, uh, not your problem though,ā you say, sounding resigned, āthank you for stopping, that was really generous,ā
You turn to acknowledge him for the first time really, so focused on your truck that you hadnāt even properly looked at him yet.Ā
āNo worries,ā he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
āWait, I recognize you,ā you say, pointing at him, āyou bought flowers for mothers day⦠oranges lilies, right?ā
āYeah,ā Popeās head recoils back the tiniest bit, surprised that you remember him at all, nevermind so specifically, āthey were orange⦠I donāt remember what kind,ā
āI do⦠yeah⦠youāre orange lilies,ā you smile, āI remember,ā
āThatās⦠impressive,ā Pope bites back a smile.
Ā āSorry, I know itās weird,ā you scrunch your nose, Pope tries to ignore how cute that is, āI have this memory thingā¦ā
āItās ok,ā He says, kneading the toe of his book into the ground.
āBad flower for mothers dayā¦ā you roll your eyes at yourself, āorange lilies symbolize hatred and prideā¦ā
Jesus, Pope thinks, you nailed it.
āTheyāre beautiful though,ā you try and correct yourself, āthatās- thatās not what I had in mind when I made the bouquet,ā
āNo, they were nice,ā Pope bites back a smile, āshe loved them,ā
āOh, Iām glad,ā you smile at him, before glancing towards your truck and then back at him, āwell, I wonāt keep you, um, thank you for stopping, but I gotta figure out how to get all these back to my house before the heat kills them.ā
āI can take you,ā Pope says without thinking.
āSorry?ā You look at in disbelief and he feels a twinge of guilt, did he just freak you out?
āI just,ā Pope scratches the back of his neck trying not to blush, āI have nowhere to be for a while, if you need to move themā¦āĀ
āDidnāt your mother ever teach you not to get in a car with a stranger?ā You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.
āNo- I didnāt mean,ā he starts, fumbling over his words.Ā
āAre you being serious?ā You ask. Pope takes a beat to look over your face. Your cheeks flushed, the glimmer of sweat on your forehead, and the looks in your eye like heās about to save you⦠how could he say anything but-
āYes,ā he says.
āOh my god,ā you clap your hands together, āoh my god, youāre a life saver, I- I can pay you, or you can have free flowers- for life, I- thank you-ā
Pope only smiles at you, trying not to feel too giddy at your reaction.
āIāll, uh, back my truck up a little closer,ā he points over his shoulder with his thumb.
āOk, amazing,ā you say, āI can move all the buckets myself, I donāt- youāre already doing me a huge solid.ā
āNah,ā he says, backing towards his truck, āgive me a minute,ā
Despite his little protest you start moving the buckets of flowers around to the front of your truck as he backs up towards you. When he gets out again you pause to introduce yourself, feeling a little silly for not having done so before.
āIām Andrew,ā he says, grabbing the bucket you just set down and placing it in the bed of his truck. Your eyes wander down his arms, tracing the vein that runs down his bicep before you blink hard, trying to snap yourself out of it. The two of you move the nine buckets and two large crates quickly before climbing into his truck.
āI really- I donāt even know what to say-ā you look at him from the passenger seat.Ā
āI think my mom would be horrified if I left a pretty girl stranded on the side of the road like that-ā he says before his grip tightens on the steering wheel. You see a pink blush spread across his cheeks. You let out a small laugh.
āThat is⦠really sweet,ā you say, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.Ā
The rest of the drive is relatively quiet, the silence interspersed with your directions to your house. Youāre guessing Andrew is feeling shy after his little confession but you try and play it off as no big deal, just a slip of the tongue. In about ten minutes heās pulling into your short driveway. The two of you step out of the car and start unloading the flowers on your front stoop. After he sets the last crate down you speak.
āI- Iād really like to repay you,ā you say, āI have cash inside,ā
āNo,ā Andrew shrugs, āreally, I- I donāt need anything,ā
āAre you sure? Thatās really- thatās too nice,ā you say, twisting your fingers together.Ā Ā
āIām sure,ā he says, trying not to smile.
āWell, if you ever change your mind⦠you know where the shop is,ā you smile. āCome by any time, really, no expiration on- uh- a reward for your heroism,ā
āIāll keep that in mind,ā he says.
āOk,ā you say, slowly backing towards your door, almost kicking over one of the buckets of flowers, āshit, I- uh- thank you again, Andrew. Iāll see you around maybe?āĀ
āYeah, I- uh- yeah,ā he says, opening the door to his truck, sliding inside, and pulling away.Ā
That evening as you sit on your floor making bouquets and center pieces you canāt stop thinking about Andrew. Youāre kicking yourself for not getting his phone number. You could have taken him to get a coffee or a drink as a thank you⦠Ok, so you thought he was gorgeous, that was definitely impacting your thought process but he had done something incredibly generous and got you out of a really tough spot. As you arrange the flowers in the vase you canāt help but hope youāll see him again.
The next day Andrew is driving downtown heading towards the flower shop. He circles the block maybe five times, passing your storefront, wondering if youāll think itās weird that heās showing up out of the blue. You had said he could come by anytime, and isnāt now anytime? He parks across the street and crosses, pushing open the door to your store. A small bell chimes, announcing his arrival but he doesn't see you.
āIāll be with you in a second!ā He hears you call from somewhere in the back. He turns to examine the buckets of flowers lined up on the small risers, the smell is delightful. Heād never really been one to appreciate flowers before but here, standing in your store, he couldnāt help but enjoy being surrounded by them, it was almost as if he was being surrounded by youā¦
āAndrew!ā He hears from behind him. He turns to see you in a dark green florist apron, a pair of sheers in one hand, a bouquet in the other.
āHi,ā you smile at him, walking behind the counter, setting the sheers down.Ā
āHi,ā he smiles at you, you look at him expectantly as if youāre waiting for him to explain why heās there, āI, uh, just wanted to see if your truck is⦠ok,ā
āOh my truck is fucked,ā you roll your eyes but keep a small smile on your face, āgonna cost a small fortune to get it fixed but itās fine. Are you here to cash in your reward?ā
āNo, I- I really just wanted to see if everything was ok,ā He says, looking down at his feet.
āThat is⦠incredibly sweet,ā you say.
āHow did it go with the flowers yesterday?ā He says, eyes flicking up to you.
āGood!ā you smile, seeming delighted that he asked you about it, āthe bride and groom were really happy with how it all turned out, do you want to see?ā
āYeah,ā Andrew says, trying not to get too excited that you want to show him. Youāre probably this nice with everyone who walks into your store. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the counter, and pull up pictures on your phone, swiping through them, making little commentary about the wedding and the venue.Ā
āIt looks really good,ā he says, staring down at the photos, āyouāre really talented,ā
You look up at him with a smile.
āThank you,ā you stand, and slip your phone back in your pocket, ābut you canāt just come here and complement me, Iām still at a huge favor deficit,āĀ
āI really donāt need anything,ā Andrew blushes.
āMmm,ā you hum, squinting your eyes, āIāll figure out how to get you back somehow,ā
He could think of a few ways heād like to be repaid, his eyes trail over your lips which look so soft⦠he tries not to let his mind wander too far.
āAre those for a wedding too?ā He asks, looking down at the bouquet you just set down on the counter, trying to regulate his thoughts.
āNo, these are for a favorite customer of mine,ā you smile, starting to wrap the flowers in thick, brown paper. Favorite customer? Andrew thinks. Heāll have to start coming here more, heāll have to become your favorite⦠just as he starts to internally spiral, your words pull him back, āheās this really sweet old man, he buys a bouquet for his wife at the beginning of every week, itās so precious.ā
āYeah,ā Andrew agrees, feeling relieved that your favorite customer is an old married man, āthatās nice,ā
āHeās gotta be at least eighty but he does it every week,ā you sigh, wrapping twin around the middle of the bouquet, āI wanna be in love like that when Iām old,ā
God, wouldnāt Andrew be a lucky man if he could be the one bringing you flowers when youāre eighty. As if on cue, an old gentleman wearing a houndstooth flat cap walks into the store.
āHarrold!ā You smile as he walks towards the counter slowly. Harrold says your name with just as much enthusiasm. Andrew steps to the side.
āHow is Sybil doing?ā You say, ringing him up.
āOh, sheās a getting better everyday,ā Harrold smiles, āgetting old isnāt for the weak,ā
āWell Iām sure sheāll be up and at āem in no time,ā you tilt your head to the side, handing him the bouquet, and resting your hands on the counter.
āWhat do we have this week?ā Harrold looks down into the bouquet, taking a deep breath.Ā
āThis week we have some daffodils for rebirth, renewal, orange poppies for vitality and health, chamomile for gentle healing, and wax flowers for enduring love,ā you point to each of the flowers in the bouquet as you say the name and meaning. Andrewās heart flutters. āI wrote it down for you just in case,āĀ
You slide a small card across the counter with your slanting handwriting on it, each flower and meaning listed.
āYou are just the loveliest thing,ā Harrold takes your hand in his, squeezing it. Slowly he looks at Andrew then back to you, āis this gentleman with you?āĀ
āThis is Andrew,ā you say taking a slight pause, āheās a friend,ā
āAndrew,ā Harrold turns to him with his hand outstretched to shake, āyouāre not going to meet another young lady like this one,ā
āHarrold,ā you blush and bring your hands up, dropping your head into them.
āLet an old man speak,ā Harrold says to you before turning back to Andrew, āwhen I met my wife, I knew, I just knew it in my bones that I was supposed to be with her. So you have to keep a sharp eye, look out for that feeling,ā
āHarrold,ā you whine, crouching down behind the counter, leaving only your fingers gripping the edge visible. Andrew canāt help but blush at this advice and smile at your reaction.Ā
āSheās very beautiful,ā Harrold points to where youāre hiding, ābut sheās beautiful on the inside too,ā
āGet out of my store!ā You say from behind the counter.Ā
āAlright, alright, lecture over,ā Harrold says, picking up the bouquet and walking towards the door, āIāll see you next week, darling,ā
āYouāre not allowed to come here anymore,ā you say teasingly.
āSheās single!ā Harrold calls as the door swings shut behind him.
āHarrold!ā You stand, hands on your hips. You bury your face in your hands again, āoh my god,ā
āHeās great,ā Andrew grins at you.
āOh you enjoyed that?ā You cross your arms with a smile on your face.
āVery much,ā Andrew says. You shake your head at him. The pair of you just stand looking at each other for a moment.
āDo those flowers really mean all those things you said?ā Andrew rests his hands on the counter. Your eyebrows raise a little.
āYeah, I mean, itās not set in stone or anything, you can kind of interpret them,ā you shrug, āyou know like, daffodils can mean new beginnings but they can also mean good fortune,ā
āWhich one is a daffodil?ā Andrew asks.Ā
āUh, this one,ā you grab a stem out of one of the buckets behind you, twirling the yellow flower in your fingers.Ā
āAlright Iāll take one of those,ā he says.
āYou want just one?ā Your eyebrows knit together.Ā
āJust one,ā he nods, pulling out his wallet.
āOh, come on Iām not gonna make you pay for one flower,ā you say, resting a hand on your hip, ānot after what you did for me,ā
He puts a five dollar bill on the counter sliding it towards you. You slide it back.
āIf you leave this five dollar bill here I will use it as compost,ā you say. He sighs and slides the bill back in his wallet.Ā
āAre you sure you donāt want me to make you something?ā You tilt your head to the side, holding out the flower.
āNah,ā he says, taking it from your hand, fingertips brushing against each other for just a moment, āthis is perfect,āĀ
āWell if you change your mind you know where to find me,ā you smile at him, biting your bottom lips.
āYeah,ā he smiles back at you, backing towards the door.
āBye,ā you say, but it comes out much quieter than you expected.
āBye,ā he nods, and the door closes behind him.
That evening youāre taking the bus home. Your car is still in the shop but youāre happy to be able to just sit and daydream for a while. Andrew hadnāt left your head since he left the store. Everything about him intrigued you. The fact that he went so out of his way to help you, a stranger, when it would have been one hundred percent easier to just drive by you. The fact that he came by to check on you after the fact. The fact that he was extremely handsome⦠his dark curls, the curve of his cupidās bow, his intense eyes, his freckles, his arms⦠You almost miss your stop letting your mind wander to him for so long. You hop off the bus and walk the rest of the way to your house. Maybe Harrold had been pushing the two of you in the right direction. Andrew is handsome and caring and engaged⦠but you donāt even know if he thinks of you in that way. You turn up your driveway, pulling your keys out of your bag, and your heart nearly stops when you get to your front door. A single daffodil is resting across the top of your mailbox with a small white card tucked underneath. You pick the card up turning it over, it simply reads:
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
pairing ā underground fighter!andrew āpopeā cody x fem!reader
summary ā pope codyās got himself a girl heās sweet on who works on him between rounds, and thereās no part of him that can imagine the thought of leaving you.
warnings ā ( 14.5k words ) 18+ MINORS DNI !! explicit sexual content ( p in v, m!receiving oral, popeās got a size kink, marking, scratching, praise kink, softdom!pope, slightly needy!pope? heās also rly awkward during sex) slow burn-ish, no physical appearance described of reader (small hands + general size difference noted in relation to pope, no other physical descriptors) obsessive!pope, guns and threat at gunpoint, financial exploitation of reader - sheās paying off a debt by working, brief harassment scene, hurt/comfort and hurt/no comfort, violence, blood + injuries, emotional ending, incarceration, brief mentions of drug use, absent parent, protective!pope, readerās guarded / slow to trust, unwanted touching (not from pope), pope has a heavy savior complex in this, no use of y/n, popeās pov, canon-compliant (ish) but itās pre-season one.
notes ā this one got a little away from me and iām already Sorry itās a shawn hatosy summer!!! also iām laughing to myself ab this fic bc the original plot was gonna be so different but this is just the way the cookie crumbled while writing + experimented with a different writing style bc i just think popeās pov would feel like a lot at once
Craig had made some pretty stupid decisions in his life. He blew his money on blow and bikes most of the time, but once in a blue moon, he made decisions that really cut it, like putting in over three grand into Pope across a single night. Money Craig didnāt even have, money heād borrowed off a man people didnāt borrow off, because he watched Pope punch a bag by the pool and put a body on the concrete in a parking lot behind a bar and decided his older brother was an investment.Ā
It was, as it turned out. Pope won. Craig got his three grand back and then some, and that was how the basement off Atlantic became a regular thing, because Craig had a taste for it now and Pope had a use for cash that didnāt run through Smurfās shady fingers first.Ā
The crowd there was the worst heād stood in front of, and heād grown up in Smurfās living room, so that was a measurement that meant something. Men who bet money they needed and meant to take the loss of someoneās skin. The air thick enough to chew, smoke and sweat and the bitterness of a room full of people whoād collectively decided this was the night their luck was going to turn.Ā
Pope wanted to lose just so theyād fuck off.Ā
It was run by a guy named Leo whoād met Craig at a party, late, both of them lit and certain they were about to make each other rich. Leo had the basement, the crowd, the connections that made cops uninterested, and a way of talking that made one-track-minded guys like Craig feel like they were cut in on something even as he was lifting your wallet. Pope didnāt trust him. Pope didnāt trust anybody, but he distrusted Leo with a specificity that felt like respect.Ā
Leo ran the place like a man whoād thought about every cent in a dollar twice. Nothing in that basement was there by accident, which was how Pope knew, eventually, that you werenāt either.Ā
The first night he didnāt put it together. He came up out of the third round with his ears ringing and his knuckles screaming and somebody pressed a wet rag to the back of his neck, and his body did what it always did. He came around with his elbow up and the words already out of his mouth. āGet the fuck off me.āĀ
You went still. You were crouched down close enough that he could see youād done your eyes earlier in the night and theyād worn through, smudged soft at the corners, and that should have made you look tired and instead made you look like youād been left out in the weather, gentled by it. There was a smear of someone elseās blood drying brown along your jawānot yours, you didnāt have a mark on you, you were the only clean thing in a room built for ruining peopleāand you hadnāt wiped it off because your hands had been busy all night being careful with men who were far from deserving it.Ā
āOkay,ā you said, and that was all. You stayed crouched in front of him, an armās length back now, holding the rag out where he could take it himself if he wanted it.Ā
He felt like garbage. It all arrived once, the way it did with him, fine one second and then sick with it. You couldnāt have been much more than a bucket and tape to anybody else in that room, just the girl who patched them up, and heād snapped at you like you were one of the men in the room baying for his blood.Ā
He took the rag off your hands.Ā
And you just went back to it. You pulled his hand into both of yours like nothing had happened, like he hadnāt just shown you the worst of himself in the first ten seconds of knowing you, and started cleaning the wreck of his knuckles with a little furrow between your brows. Devotional, almost. Like his hand had been lent to you and you were supposed to return it in good condition.Ā
It was then he realized Leo had gotten way too lucky with you. He was sure you were used as nothing but a front. You were something soft to put at the edge of all that ugliness so men had a reason to keep their money in the room a little longer. A girl who patched up fighters, sure, but mostly a thing for them to look at, to crowd, to reach for between rounds.Ā
Pope wouldnāt admit it to Craig, or any of his brothers, ever, that the only reason he came back the next time was to see you again. He knew his words and then his sudden muteness probably made you read him as one more man to be careful around. Heād handed you that impression himself, and now he had to live inside it.Ā
The second night, you didnāt tend to him. There was another girl near the bucketāolder, harder, a cigarette tucked behind her ear and no softness in her hands at allāand she did his corner between rounds like she was wiping off a dusty counter. Pope sat there and let her and looked for you over her shoulder the whole time, which was how he found you across the room, working the cash, the cigar box against your chest as your lips moved over the count.Ā
Pope hardly believed in coincidences. He was sure heād snapped and youād adjusted by putting a body between yourself and the man whoād shown his teeth. It was the smart thing. It was exactly what heād have told you to do if he were anyone other than the man it was being done to. It sat in his chest all night like a swallowed stone, the understanding that heād gotten precisely what he deserved and hated every second of it.Ā
He won. He always did; that was the whole problem with him, the thing that made his Craig rich now and him useful to Smurf and left Pope standing in basements full of people who wanted to watch him hurt somebody. The crowd howled, money changed hands, and Pope barely heard whatever Leo was saying because he was watching you seal the nightās take into a zip bag and press the air out of it with the flat of your hand carefully.Ā
He found you after, by the stairs, when the room had thinned to the stragglers and the smell of it had gone stale. He came up slow, hands where you could see them.Ā
āYou drew the short straw last week,ā he said, the words coming out of him too rehearsed, because thatās what heād been doing since he noticed you and while getting his guts punched. āPatching me up.ā
You looked up at him. Up close, your worn-soft eyes were tired. āI just asked Kate to take your corner tonight.ā
So, not a coincidence. Heād already known, yet it did something ugly to him. He already had people who heād known his entire life scared of himābrothers who were career criminalsāand heād made peace with it, like he had to with everything he couldnāt change. But it landed differently from you, because you didnāt have the years to back the wariness up.Ā
āRight,ā he said, because what else was there to say?
You tilted your head, just slightly, and scanned his face like you were checking it for swelling. He knew there was none, not today. He still held still. He realized heād have held still for anything you wanted to do to his face.
Whatever you were looking for, it seemed like you hadnāt found it. Or maybe you had. Your gaze caught on his mouth, under his jaw, and you clicked your tongue.Ā
āYouāre notĀ āā You shook your head faintly. āItās easier,ā you said finally, āto not get in the way of guys like you. Thatās all. Itās nothing personal.āĀ
Guys like you. Jesus. He wanted to ask you what that meant, even though he knew. He was guys like him. Heād spent thirty-some years being exactly that. But he wanted, with an intensity that made no sense, to be not that to you.Ā
Any other guy would have let it go. A smarter man, a less stupid one, wouldāve said that was a fair enough explanation and left you to your transparent zip bags and never come back to you unless you did to him.Ā
āIt is though,ā Pope said, voice too rough. āPersonal. I wasnātāright, after the third round.ā The words, his voice, everything came out clumsy, and he briefly wondered if his eyes had dropped down his face and his nose had turned upside down. āYou donāt have to put Kateāor whoever there. Iām not gonnaāā He wasnāt sure how he wanted to end the sentence. āIād rather it was you.āĀ
He suddenly felt like a complete idiot all over again when he watched your brows furrow slightly and your lips press together as you looked at him almost sadly. Then you let out a disbelieving chuckle as you shook your head as you twisted your neck slightly to look around.Ā
āIs this gonna be a problem?ā you said, lowering your voice, glancing off to the side. Checking, he realized, who was still on the stairs, who might be close enough to hear.Ā
That was its own answer to a question he hadnāt been able to ask yet. It told him there were people you didnāt want knowing this, even though there was hardly a āthis.ā
āWhat?ā Pope asked, playing dumb just so he could hear the words from you.
āYou.ā You brought your eyes back to him, and he felt slightly shaken as you pinned him with a glare that seemed almost gentle. āSaying things like that.ā Your voice stayed even, but there was an edge working into it now. āI do my job here. I keep my head downāthatās better for me, okay?ā
He didnāt get that. Not really. But he heard the need in it.Ā
āNobodyās gonna bother you,ā he said roughly. It came out flat and certain, it always did when he was truly sure of himself. āNot while Iām here.āĀ
You just looked at him like that again. āGo home, Popeāā
āAndrew,ā he said, and he didnāt even know why he did.Ā
He hated that name just as much as Pope. It was just another thing Smurf had handed him that never fit anywhere in his growing life. To the room he was Pope. On the cards he counted, he was Pope. Heād been Pope so long he sometimes forgot there was anything under it. But he didnāt want to be Pope to you. Pope was guys like him. Pope was the thing on the cards coked-up wishful men put their money on. He had no clean self to offer youāGod knew he didnātābut he had the name hardly anybody used often, and so he gave you that, stupidly, like itād be worth something to you.Ā
His pulse climbed into his throat. He had the sick, racing feeling he got right before things went sideways, the one that had been wrong about as often as it was right and that he'd never once been able to switch off.Ā
āAndrew,ā you said, testing it quietly in your mouth, where Pope felt everything landed differently for some reason. And then you looked at him again, and said, āGo home, Andrew.āĀ
Thankfully, by some grace of God, Pope realized he may not have done it all wrong when you came to patch him up after the first round the following week. You dropped down onto the concrete in front of him with the bucket and the brown bottle and a roll of tape gone soft at the edges from your thumb.Ā
You took his hand like nothing had been said, as though the conversation on the stairs had been filed somewhere and this was the conclusion youād come to on your own time, and Pope felt that he should let that be, instead of pointing it out. Heād learned that much, and tamped down the feeling like his entire week had paid off.Ā
āYou lead with right too much,ā you said, looking at his hands. āWhen youāre tired. You drop the left and lead with the right. Thatās how they got your eyebrow.āĀ
Pope parted his lips and blinked. āYou watch me?āĀ
āI watch the cash.ā You pressed the tape down over his knuckle. āFights are what make them move, but yeah.ā You shrugged, and it was stiff. āYou drop your left.ā
Pope stayed silent for a moment, then asked, dumbly, āYou a fighter?āĀ
It was meant to land as dry, a joke, but it never quite did with him.Ā
You let out the smallest of chuckles. āI watch men get hit everyday.āĀ
Pope swallowed, not sure how to respond to that. So he watched the top of your head instead, the part in your hair, the concentration you put into doing a job that probably paid no extra if you did it well. You wrapped him efficiently, all business now, and Pope felt that youād closed a door he hadnāt realized youād opened.Ā
It should have frustrated him. Instead, it made him want to earn that inch back slow, the way youād coax anything that didnāt trust easy. He knew that wanting. He had it about a dog once, a half-feral thing that lived in the corners of the Cody Compound for a summer, that heād fed in silence for weeks before it let him near. Heād never told anyone about that dog. He thought about it now, crouched-down you and careful tape, and didnāt enjoy what it told him about himself.Ā
āYouāre done,ā you said, and stood briskly.Ā
āHey,ā he said, the word coming out before he could think it. āThanks.āĀ
You looked at him a second, and whatever you found in him, it earned him the corner of a smile. You must not have been used to being thanked very often. Pope flexed his wrapped hand, feeling something close to proudness. He wasnāt sure for what, exactly, but it felt good for the moment.
For three weeks, you rationed out small jokes that he was almost sure you didnāt realize were jokes, taped him up, and left Pope driving home with whatever youād given him that night turning over in his chest.Ā
His fight hadnāt started yet. He leaned up against the support post by the stairs, hood up, trying to do everything he could to make himself look very still and very boring so the crowd would forget to look at him. From there, he had a clean line of the cash table, which meant he had a clean line on you, which was the actual reason heād stood there.Ā
There was a man at your table. Big, going soft in the middle, a Lakers cap on backward and loose, oozing the sleazy confidence of someone past four beers and good judgement. Heād been talking to you a while, Pope noticed. You were wearing a smile aimed past his shoulderāa small, pleasant, and all around absent thingāand Pope watched you do it with a protective switch under his thumb.Ā
The man reached over and tucked a bill into your bra, slowly, like it was funny. Two fingers folded the bill below your collarbone, and you went rigid, smile staying in place while everything behind it moving.
You went somewhere way back behind your own eyes the way Pope had watched you go a dozen times, and the man laughed at his own joke and left his hand there a beat too long.Ā
The trouble with Pope was that most of the time, he never decided. One second he was against the post and the next he had the manās wrist in his hand and he was bending it back off you, almost politely.
āWrong,ā Pope drawled, plucking the bill out of your collar with his free hand and pressed it to the manās palm. He closed the manās fingers over them. āCash goes in the box.ā
āThe hellāre youĀ āā The man turned to get a real look at him, and got the whole of him. The hood and the wrapped hands and Popeās uncanny stillness, and Pope watched the recognition arrive, and the bluster went out of him like the air on your sealed bags. āPopeāhey, man. No harm. No harm.ā
āSure.ā Pope let go of the wrist and the guy immediately melted back into the crowd. The whole thing had taken maybe nine seconds and Popeās pulse hadnāt even climbed, which it shouldāve, but some animal thing under him had considered this easy.Ā
āWhy would you do that?ā you said, voice quieting.Ā
āHe had his hands on you.ā His voice came out defensive, which he hated, because it made him understand that heād done something wrong before he could even process it. āIām not standing here watching some creepāā
āThat was Reyes,ā you said, like it meant something. It didnāt, not to Pope, and your face did something between fury and despair as he realized this. āHe runs paper for Leo. You justāā You pressed your lips together and looked around quickly, the same way youād done on the stairs except this time he could see real fear attached in it. āI donātāI donāt need people thinking a Codyās got a thing for me,ā you finished, quieter. āYou donāt.āĀ
āWhat if Iāā
āYou donāt, okay?ā It came out sharper than youād intended, and he saw how you caught it. āItās fine. Itās no big deal.ā You were already looking away, gathering the cash box against your chest, busying yourself. āI really am better when people donāt worry about me, Andrew.āĀ
You tucked a piece of hair back, gave him a quick, tired ghost of a smile that didn't reach anything, and stepped back into the crowd with your box like the last nine seconds could be put away with everything else you put away.
There was that horrible feeling tightening in his stomach again. He knew heād done the right thing, but there was a frustration in him of being right about the wrong thing. The thing heād done to help you had immediately become another thing for you to be frightened of, clean up, another manās decision landing on your plate.
Youād probably spent your entire life cleaning up after other peopleās choices and heād just handed you one more.
He fought ugly and won ugly, which was somehow worse than losing altogether. The crowd got what it paid for and then some, and Pope walked out with a rib that clicked when he breathed and a cut over the eye heād earned by leading with the right all night like the idiot youād warned him not to be.Ā
He collected off Leo without a word. Pope wasnāt even sure why the guy even bothered to grin and laugh and talk to him while he counted the money; Pope had said around two words to him and won him more than two grand.
He didnāt bother hearing the complimentsāthe fake, complimenting bit to make sure he came backāand took his roll of cash and shoved it inside his pocket and left out the back.Ā
He went up the concrete steps, into the lot behind the building where the air was at least air instead of four hundred people breathing the same lungful.Ā
He leaned against the cinderblock wall in the dark, in the orange wash of one working lot light, and pressed the heel of his hand under the bad rib and breathed shallow and concentrated on not being anywhere, on going behind his own eyes the way he'd watched you do it, somewhere the night couldn't reach him.
The door opened and shut carefully, and the latter action made him not need to look to know.Ā
āYou walked out without letting anybody look at that,ā you said.Ā
āIām fine.ā
āNo, I can tell,ā you said drily, almost amused. Your footsteps came across the lot and stopped a few feet off, not crowding himāyou never crowded himāand giving him the room he hadnāt asked for and needed anyway. āI basically heard your ribs.ā
He huffed something close to a laugh. It pulled at the rib and he stopped.Ā
Your hands hovered around his body, like you were asking for permission to take a look without saying the words.
āAre you okay?ā he asked, forcing the words out roughly. Because he needed to, itād been gnawing at him for too long. āIs he hurting you?ā
Your hands when still where they hovered. You took the rag instead, wet it from the bottle, and reached up to the cut over his eye as though heād never asked the question.Ā
āHold still,ā you said.Ā
āThatās notāā He caught your wrist, palm loose around it, but he caught it. āI asked you something.āĀ
In the orange light, Pope could see the smudge of your makeup, dark and worn through around your eyes, and the rings on your fingers catching the light each time your hand moved. You let him hold your wrist without pulling away, your eyes dropping to his chest like youād decided against looking at his face.
He could feel your pulse under his thumb, thrumming. He let go of your wrist with a sigh, and you stepped back into the work, dabbing at the cut, close enough he could feel the warmth coming off you.Ā
You said, after a moment, evenly, āDonāt try to help me.ā
āDonāt try to help me.āĀ
āI didnāt sayāā
āItās written all over your face.āĀ
You pressed the rag a little harder than the cut needed and let you, kept his face still, watching yours. You narrowed your eyes at him when he didnāt react to the pressure, as though his stillness annoyed you. Pope didnāt know how you hadnāt realized heād let you do anything. Heād let you press the rag as hard as you wanted and heād sit there and take it. Heād stopped having a choice about it a while ago.
That, and the fact that your hands, so small compared to the enormity of him, were the furthest things from the worst heād taken.Ā
āAre you trying to hurt me?ā he asked, amused despite it all.Ā
āIf I were, youād know.ā But the corner of your mouth tugged, just barely, before you caught it and put it away. You eased up on the rag. āSorry.āĀ
āDonāt be.ā
For a second, it felt easier between you two again. Then, you remembered yourself, and he watched as your lips pursed.Ā
āI mean it, though,ā you said. āDonāt. Whatever youāre sitting there cooking up.ā
āYou donāt know what Iām cooking up.āĀ
āAndrew,ā you said his name flatly, and he felt like a dog at how quickly it got his neck to tilt up to meet your eyes. You hadnāt even spoke and he was looking at you like youād asked him a question he wanted to get correct.Ā
āYouāre not the first one to try this,ā you said softly. āIt always goes the same way.āĀ
āYeah?ā A muscle ticked in his jaw. āTell me, then.āĀ
āEither he gets in over his head and screws up.ā You wiped the last streak of blood from his brow, your hand coming to rest light against his face to hold him still. He leaned into your palm, the warmth of your hand and him moving into it like it was the most natural thing heād ever done.Ā
One of your rings sat cool against his cheekbone and he felt that, too, the small contrast of it, cool metal and warm palm, and he was very aware you were still talking and he was having trouble with that.Ā
āĀ āor he sticks around for long enough to figure out itās too much trouble, gets bored, and quits. He leaves, and either way Iām standing here worse than before,ā you said, conversationally, and he did believe it was a tale as old as time for you.Ā
āI wonāt get bored,ā he managed to say. āIām good at what I do.āĀ
āThey all say that, too.ā You smiled that sad, soft smile again.Ā
You took your hand back off his face and he felt the loss of it like air. He was already thinking about how to get you to put it back, which was probably the most pathetic thought heād ever had, and heād had some bad ones.
āWhen do you fight next? You shouldnāt, for a while. For your ribs.āĀ
He let you change the topic. He noticed you did that often.
āNext week, probably,ā he said. āMy brotherās already running his mouth about it.ā
āTell your brother your ribs are hurt.ā You crouched to gather the bottle, the rag, the soft-edged tape, packing them back into the bucket.
āWhere do you go? After this,ā he asked.
He watched the careful machinery turnāwatched you weigh whether it was a real question or a way ināand then something in you must've been too tired to keep the door shut, because you let it swing.
āHome. My momās,ā you said. āSheās around, justānot a lot.ā You gathered the bucket against your hip. āSo itās me and my brother mostly. Heās eleven.ā
The whole shape of you tilted and resettled in the space of the word. Why you watched every dollar like it held something up. You weren't just keeping your own head down. You had a kid behind you, in the blind spot, where the room couldn't reach him.
āHe know youāre here?ā Pope asked.
āHe thinks I wait tables.ā The corner of your mouth went up, rueful. āThinks Iām terrible at it. The tips are all over the place, so.ā You shrugged.Ā
Pope cleared his throat. āAre they?āĀ
āThis week, yeah,ā you said.Ā
āDo you want to?ā Pope found himself asking, āWait tables.āĀ
You looked at him for a long moment that he almost thought you wouldnāt answer. āItād be nice, I guess. To have steady cashflow and all that.āĀ
āLeo pays you enough?ā
You shifted the bucket against your hips. āHe doesnāt reallyāā You stopped yourself, then started again. āThe tips are what they are.ā
Pope hummed. āThat cover everything?ā
You looked at him sideways, catching what he was doing. āMost weeks,ā you said hesitantly.
āThis week?ā
You looked off past him, and he watched you decide whether to say it. āMy brotherās shoes split,ā you said finally, and itād come out in a small voice. āBottomās gone right through it, so.ā You shrugged, making a small face as you pinched your eyes shut, like you hated saying it.Ā Ā
Pope took the roll out of the jacket, thumbed off a fold of it without counting and held it out.
You looked at it, then at him. āNo.āĀ
āFor the kid.ā
āAndrew.āĀ
āTake it.ā He kept his hand out. āItās shoes.āĀ
āThatās notāā You stopped. Your jaw worked. He could see all of it going on behind your face, the pride and the rule and the thing you'd spent the last few minutes telling him. āThatās just what I told you not to do.āĀ
āYou said not to help you.ā He pushed his hand further toward you. āThis is shoes for a kid I never met.ā
He watched your eyes rise to look at the sky and you shook your head. āYouāre making this really hard.āĀ
He tipped his chin down. āJust take it. I donāt need it.ā
You took it slow, your fingers closing over his for a second before they took the bills, and you didn't say thank youāhe was glad, thanking him wouldāve made it a transactionāyou just held on to his hand a beat longer than you needed to, and breathed out, shaky, and let it go.
āPlease donāt make this a thing,ā you said, voice thick. āI canātāI canāt say no to the money. I wish I could.ā You looked at the bills in your hand. āI donāt wanna take things from you.āĀ
He felt himself shrug, eyeing the top of your head as you looked down. āIād let you.āĀ
Heād meant to keep that to himself. Or he hadnāt. He didnāt really care, though. The money itself was nothing; what heād just handed you was a rounding error, less than what his brothers dropped in a single night without blinking. It was the kind of number that moved in the Cody household without anyone thinking to count it; money theyād find between the cushions from five years ago.Ā
He had more coming in than he knew what to do with and nowhere clean to put it. You had a kid to help out with and yourself to take care of, and the situation was so simple it almost made him angry.Ā
It became a thing without either of you calling it one. It was a thing, in Popeās mind, obviously, but he was sure that telling you wouldāve spooked you and he wasnāt ready for that.Ā
Youād started taping him differently. Early on youād wrapped him all brisk and businesslike, done before heād thought of anything to say. He had to watch his words in general, but he had to try even harder with you, for he never wanted to say the wrong thing. Somewhere in those weeks, you slowed. You took longer than the wrap neededāsmoothing the tape down twice when once wouldāve held just fine, turning his hand over in both of yours to check the knuckles youād already checkedāand Pope started to pretend he didnāt notice.Ā
Heād sit on the folding chair with his hand lent out to you and watch the top of your head and feel his pulse come down out of his throat, slow, the dog talked off the thing. One night, he let his thumb find the inside of your wrist while you worked, resting there against the thrum of you.
He started taking on more fights and ending them earlier. He told himself it was because of his ribs, the cash, any of the reasons a man might want a thing over with. All of it when the reason was that when the basement emptied after, it was just the two of you, and Pope had started living for the after the same way men lived for the fight.
You started watching the fights nowānot the cash, himāand he knew because one night he had a bad one, a hook he missed that snapped his head around. He looked for your face before he looked for anything else, and found you already wincing.Ā
Your hand had come up halfway to your mouth. You caught yourself and dropped it. But heād seen it and carried it home for a week, a proof of what, he didnāt know.
Pope really, really hated asking Craig anything. He knew that heād make him pay the toll one way or another. Sometimes by talking for forty minutes about something nobody asked about, or remembering the question to bring it up at the worst possible time. So Pope sat on it for a week; he iced the rib, didnāt fight, and drove past the ring twice without going in. He knew it was fucking pathetic.
Pope found Craig by the pool, sunburnt and shirtless and rolling something on a paper plate.Ā
āYou know the girl,ā Pope started, āat the ring, the one who does the cash?āĀ
He found that he wanted to keep your name to himself, in case Craig hadnāt already caught onto it.Ā
āWhich one?ā Craig asked without looking up.
āThe one that does the cash, man.ā
āThereās like three girls.ā He licked the paper and twisted the end. āYou gotta be more specific. Thereās the older chick, the meanāā
āYounger. Quiet.ā Pope forced his voice to stay even. āPatches people up.ā
Craig looked up at him then, a slow grin spreading. āOhhhh.āĀ
āDonāt.ā
āNo. No.ā Craig held his hands up, waving them slightly, delighted. āCanāt believe youāre asking me about a girl, man.āĀ
āForget it.ā Pope turned to go.
āHeyāhey,ā Craig said, standing from the lounger. āIām messinā with you. Cāmon. What do you wanna know about her?āĀ
āWhyās she there?āĀ
Craig shrugged. āPretty sure she owes Leo.ā
āShe owes Leo?ā Pope asked, letting the surprise show in his voice. āFor what?ā
āPretty sure sheās collateral.ā Craig lit the thing, talking around it. āSome guy that was around. Dad. Stepdad. Who knows?ā He waved the smoke out of his face. āPretty sure sheās just workinā the square until it pays itself off.ā
āHow much?ā Pope asked immediately.
Craig rolled his eyes, shaking his head. āDonāt be stupid, man.ā
āJust say it.ā
āIām not his accountant,ā Craig said. āAnd sheās not worth it. It wonāt work, and Iām pretty sure sheās been working there longer than she hasnāt.āĀ
Pope ignored that. āItās not even hers,ā he said, quietly, almost to himself. āSheās down there holding it for a guy who took off. Kid at home, no money, and sheāsāā
He stopped talking once he noticed the amused and incredulous expression on Craigās face.Ā
Craigās hand moved to the side, waving vaguely in confusion. āSheās got a kid?ā
āItās her brother.ā
āJesusāhow much have you talked to this chick?ā Craig dragged a hand down his face. āReal talk. You go pay the guy offāsay you even can, say he gives you a number and itās a real one, which it wonāt beāyou know what happens? He realizes Pope Cody just dropped twenty grand on a girl who pours drinks and puts bandages on people.ā He spread his hands. āBest case. Best case, man. We donāt know what else the guyās got her doing. Sheās been there a long time. Girls donāt stay in places like that just counting cash.āĀ
Pope felt his teeth grind. āShe counts cash and she patches people up,ā he said, tipping his chin down slightly to pin Craig with a glare. āThatās what she does.āĀ
Craig looked at him for a moment and shrugged. āAlright, man.āĀ
āAnd even if sheāshe doesnāt just do that. It doesnātāāĀ
Popeās jaw worked, and he had to look away from Craig. He had no words for it. It didnāt matter what you did in the basement, what Leo had you doing or what Craig was implying. You were still you, and Pope knew that.Ā
If the situation was larger, then Pope saw it as more of a reason to get you out, not less. That was the thing Craig wouldnāt understand.Ā
āIt doesnāt change anything. For me,ā Pope said flatly. āShe shouldnāt be there, thatās all.āĀ
Craigās lips opened like he wanted to say something, then caught the look on Popeās face, and said, āYeah, man. She probably shouldnāt.ā
Heād hoped that Craig would never have to meet you, at least not in the way he did.Ā
It happened on a night Craig hadnāt wanted him there at all. Craig had come for the first few of Popeās fight, and realized he actually didnāt have to see his older brother take down a man twice to know the money was good. He could simply hand over the bet and go do anything else with his night. So most weeks, he dropped his cash with people and disappeared upstairs and reappeared only to collect.Ā
This week, he hung around the edge of the ring, three beers in, restless, and that was how he was standing right there when Pope took a cut over the cheekbone bad enough you came down to the corner with your supplies before the round was properly called.
Craig noticed it. The dumb piece of shit. One second Pope had your hands on his face, turned away from the crowd so nobody would notice your closeness, and the next he could feel the exact attention of his brother sharpening as he moved down to catch the interaction.
You were too deep in the work to notice Craig, lips pressed flat, that furrow between your brows, going fast because the round was coming. āThis oneās gonna scar if you keep splitting it open,ā you murmured, tipping his head toward the light. āYouāre doing it on purpose at this point. Youāre gonna ruin this face.āĀ
āWhat do you think about this face?ā Pope said before he could think the words through.Ā
You rolled your eyes, lifting a hand off his face just to smack his shoulder lightly before it went right back to the cut.
āYou talk too much when youāre losing blood,ā you lied, but the corner of your mouth had gone soft. āHold still.ā
āYou didnāt answer.ā
āYouāre fishing.ā You pressed the butterfly closed over his cheekbone, your thumb lingering there a half-second past the job, warm against his face, and you dropped your voice even though there was nobody close enough to hear. āAsk me again when youāre not bleeding on me and Iāll think about it.āĀ
He felt his mouth want to move closer to yours then, and he tamped down the urge. But he mustāve let something through because when his eyes flicked up over your shoulder, there was Craig, beer halfway to his mouth, forgotten.Ā
You followed his eyes, found Craig, and Craig found you. Your hand came off his face and your spine went straight. āYou know him?ā you asked, quietly, gathering your bottle and tape as you stepped back to a safe distance.Ā
Pope caught your wrist. āMy brother. Heās nobody. Heās dumb.ā
Your eyes went over the crowd that was distracted. āYou tell him anything?ā
āThere somethinā to say?ā he asked, raising a brow that made him wince.Ā
You gave him a flat look, unimpressed by the deflection. āDonāt try to be cute.ā
Pope generally blamed his anger on a rage that had been planted in him from a tender age. Smurf had put it there the way you put a seed in dirtāpatient, deliberate, knowing exactly what itād grow intoāand then spent thirty years acting surprised at the sheer size of it. He never thought about it. Thinking about it wouldnāt beat it away. It was just thereālow and perpetualālike a pilot light heād learned to turn down because the alternative was what happened in the ring when he forgot to.Ā
He forgot to that night. It had nothing to do with the guy across from him. The guy was a nobodyāsome gym rat Leo had matched him with, all shoulders and bad footworkāand Pope would, on any other day, put him down clean in two rounds because there was no reason to make it ugly. But Pope had spent a week with a number he didnāt own and a plan he couldnāt run with yours and Craigās voice saying ādonāt.ā The whole impossibility of you had stacked up in his sternum with nowhere to go, and when the guy clipped him, caught him good across the mouth first, something in Pope just opened the valve.Ā
He didnāt remember most of it after, and that was how he knew it was bad. The parts that came back later were wrong-angled and too bright (the kidās head snapping, the wet sound, the way the crowdās noise changed, going from hungry to something quieter, pulled back). Crowds like this roared throughout all of it unless they were watching a man go somewhere they wanted to stay back from.Ā
Somebody got between them. There were hands on his chest and a referee he had no idea even existed shouting something and the guy on the concrete not getting up the way he was supposed to. Pope was standing over it with his chest heaving and knuckles split open through the wrap and no memory of the ninety seconds at all.
The crowd parted for him when he started walking and that shouldāve told him something, the way grown men stepped out of his way. He'd looked for you on the way through.
He'd looked for you the way he always did, automatically, and he'd found you at the edge of the cash table with the box held up against your chest, and you'd been looking right back at him.
Pope was distantly and too closelyāboth at the same time, two things too large for himāable to register you hadnāt looked at him the way you usually did.
You'd looked at him the way the crowd had. Youād gone still and careful, your eyes wide and fixed on him like he was the thing in the room, the dangerous thing, and you'd held that box to your chest like it could go between you and him. Just for a second. Just one. Then you'd caught yourself and your face had closed over it, gone professional.Ā
He went upstairs, and into the gap behind the stairs where there was a cot and a mop sink. It smelled like bleach. He put his head against the cinderblock and slid down it to the floor and tried to get his breathing under whatever was happening in his chest.Ā
Pope let himself sit on the floor with his hands ruined, the pilot light still guttering too high, and he let the worst story about himself tell itself all the way through. Youād finally seen the actual thing. Youād patched him up and made jokes and told him things about yourself, and then you had to watch him nearly kill somebody over nothing, and now you knew. Now you looked at him the way everybody did, just the way his mother had intended.Ā
He heard the door open, and he had to shake his head even though he wasnāt sure you could see it.Ā
āDonāt,ā he said, and his voice came out wrecked. āYou donāt have to help me or anything. Go help the guy.ā
āAndrewāā
āI mean it.ā His hands hung between his knees, split and shaking, and he kept his eyes on them. āGo check on him. I donātāI donāt need it.ā
He heard the door shut behind you, and then your footsteps came across the little room. āHeās up,ā you said. āHeās fine. Heās got people. Concussed, probably, but heāll be fine.ā You paused, then added, āI came back here for you.āĀ
That made his chest pull tighter. āShouldnāt have.āĀ
You set the bucket down by his feet, and then you were crouching in front of him, and he could see the toes of those wrong gray shoes in the edge of his vision and still couldn't make himself look higher. āCan I have your hands?āĀ
āNo.ā
āTheyāre split to the bone. Andrew, give āem here.āĀ
He didnāt. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he sat there, and before he could stop himself, he asked, āAre you scared of me?ā
You stayed silent for a second, and he felt his chest seize. Then, he felt your handācold to the touchāagainst his face, turning it gently so heād look at you. He kept his eyes trained to the ground.Ā
āLook at me,ā you said quietly. When he refused again, your thumb slid against his cheekbone. āIām not.ā
When he said nothing, you continued, āYou scared me a little out there. But look at you, youāre hiding behind the stairs. Cāmon. Scariest man alive.āĀ
He huffed and let his eyes come up anyway, finally, and you were just looking at him. āYou mean that?āĀ
Your bottom lip pushed the top, and you looked at him as you tilted your head. āYeah. I mean it.āĀ
The plainness of the words got him. You said that as though it cost you nothing to mean it when it was the most expensive thing anyone had handed him in years. You had no idea the things heād done so many times they stopped feeling like anything at all. Youād seen one bad night. And he wanted to tell you that maybe you should have been scared.
He kept his mouth shut. He looked at you looking at him and decided, quietly and completely, that he was going to spend whatever time he had making sure you never had a reason to find out you were wrong.
You were close. Youād been close the entire time, crouched between his knees with your hand cold on his face, and heād been waiting for you to flinch that he hadnāt realized how close you were.
He felt it now. Like always, he didnāt decide. The same broken wiring in him was pointing somewhere new, because one second he was looking at your mouth and the next his hand had come up, ruined knuckles and all, and curved around the back of your neck.Ā
He stopped a breath short to give you an inch, some last careful piece left in him left it up to you, hung there close enough that he could feel your breath go uneven, waiting to see if youād close it.Ā
You did, soft, slower than heād expected. Heād always been waiting for quickness and hardness, things that got over with, and instead your mouth settled against his and stayed. Your hand came up light along his jaw, and the split in his lip stung but he didnāt move away from it. He was sure he couldnāt have this without paying for it.Ā
His hand was still at the back of your neck, knuckles wrecked, and he held you there carefully, just keeping you close. His thumb moved once behind your ear. You made a small sound against his mouth and he felt it more than heard it, felt it go down through his chest.
Your fingers curling at the collar of his shirt, your breath warm and uneven against his cheek between kisses.
His rib ached when he leaned into you. He leaned in anyway. He could feel the warmth of you all down his front, your weight tipped against his knees, your other hand finding his ruined one where it sat between you and holding it.Ā
It felt like such a stark difference to how you usually held his hand, to clean it, Pope distantly thought.
You broke off to breathe, but neither of you went far. Your forehead hovered over his, and your breath stayed uneven against his mouth. He let his hands hesitantly drift down to your waist, letting his palms run over the shape of you.Ā
You let them, your waist, the dip of it, the warmth coming up through your shirt, and you watched him do it with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.
āDo you like this?ā Pope asked, hesitance creeping into his voice despite how hard he tried to push it out. He hated how it came out, like he had no trust in himself. But he had to knowāhad to hear itābecause heād just spent too long thinking youād seen the worst of him, and now you were warm in his hands and he couldnāt quite square the two.
Your mouth curved, soft, and you tipped your forehead down against his.Ā
āYeah, Andrew,ā you said, like it was obvious. āI like it.āĀ
Your thumb moved along his cheekbone, and he let his lashes flutter slightly at the feel of your skin against so many parts of him all at once.Ā
āBeen liking you a while,ā you added, lower, a little dry, a little shy. āIf you wanna know.ā
Popeās hand tightened at your waist. āHow long?āĀ
āNot saying,ā you said, smiling when you kissed him again, and he felt it against his mouth, and that was better than the answer would've been anyway.
He kissed you slow at first and then not slow, his hand sliding up your spine to press you closer, the other still spread wide and certain at your hip.Ā
You shifted down into him and he broke off with a rough breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his grip going tight to hold you still.
āHang on,ā he managed to say, low against your collarbone. All the wanting you stacked up behind his ribs with nowhere left to go, and you were so warm and so real on his lap, and he was trying not to be what he always was, too much, too fast.Ā
āWe donāt have toāā you started.
āI know,ā he said, voice rough. He lifted his head to look at you. āI wanna. I justāā He pushed his lips around, trying to find the right words. āI donāt want you doing anything back here. In this building.ā His thumb moved at your hip. āYouāre better than this place.āĀ
Your hands pressed against his chest, and he registered the smallness of them against his broad frame, and you pulled yourself back slightly and let out a staggered breath. For a second, you looked at him. Stunned, almost, like the words hadnāt landed anywhere familiar, like nobodyād ever told you that before. He watched it cross your face quickly.
One of your hands left his chest and slid up, slid back, fingers pushing slow into the short hair at the nape of his neck, your nails digging light against his scalp. Your fingers worked through his hair and curled at the base of it, and the newness of the touchāthe pure uselessness of it, a touch that wasnāt for anythingāwent through him like a current.Ā
It got a low and rough sound out of him and his eyes slid shut. His face went hot at the helplessness of it, a man his size coming apart under fingers in his hair, but he couldn't stop it and he didn't pull away. He pressed back into your hand instead, into the slow drag of your nails, chasing it.
āSo are you,ā you said quietly after a moment.
He fluttered his eyes open halfway.Ā
āBetter than this place,ā you clarified.
Popeās mouth twitched, wanting to tell you he wasnāt. He wanted to tell you every single bad thing heād ever done. He wanted to lay all of it down between you so you'd see he didn't belong anywhere clean, least of all up against you, you who had never chosen to work in this shithole, you whoād probably never hurt a goddamn fly.Ā
The words stayed sealed, because he had a feeling youād hand them all back if he tried.Ā
āCome on,ā he said instead. He shifted under you, wanting to ease into the position while having to force himself to move. āGet your stuff and clock out. Iāll drive you.ā
You blinked. āWhere?āĀ
He let out a short-lived laugh. āWherever you want to go.ā
You looked at him like heād just done a trick. āI have to be home,ā you said slowly. āMy brother waits up.āĀ
āAlright.ā Pope eased you off his lap, and got a hand against the cinderblock. āSo Iāll take you home.ā
āYou donāt have toāā You were saying from the ground.
āCāmon.āĀ
He held a hand out to you, then you took it and let him pull you up.
Pope was uncomfortable about everything. His entire life, heād been uncomfortable, whether it was in his own skin, in his house, in rooms full of people. So it came as no surprise when he had no fucking clue what to do with you. He hadnāt thought this far; heād wanted to get you the hell out, not get you. And now you were hereāor as here as you couldāve beenāand he didnāt have the next part. Nobody had ever handed him a good thing and let him keep it. He kept waiting for the catch, turning his pockets out for the cost of it, and the cost wasnāt coming. And that was uncomfortable, waiting for a hit that never landed.Ā
So he did the only thing he thought he couldāve done, which was keep it quiet and keep it close.Ā
The cab of his truck. The back room after the basement emptied. Your mouth on his, his hands learning you slow, because he wanted toāPope wanted to learn you the way other men wanted to win. It was the only ambition heād ever had that belonged all to him. He wanted the map of you. He wanted to remember the exact spot in your ear that made your breath catch, that heād found once on accident and gone back to like a man returning to the one warm room in a house that was freezing. The way you said his name, the real oneāAndrewāthat fit in nobody elseās mouth but yours.Ā
Pope had to be clear with himself about the fact that it was nothing like a life, even in his own head, because hoping for more than the thing in front of him was how you got hurt.Ā
When the basement ran late and your house was a long quiet drive, sometimes youād let him take you back to his place instead, and youād sleep there. You would actually sleep, hard and deep, in a way youād once told him you couldnāt at your own home.Ā
He watched you sleep. He knew it was a strange thing to do but he did it anyway; propped on an elbow in the gray lights off the blinds, because it was the only time your face went all soft. Awake, even with him, you kept some of it back, the watching, the careful, the part of you thatālike himāwas always waiting for the next bad thing.Ā
Asleep, you let it all go. You looked younger, and Pope thought this was how you wouldāve looked all the time had the world dealt you a different house.Ā
He mustāve shifted, or his breathing mustāve changed, because your eyes cracked open. You found him in the dark, found him watching you, and your mouth curved, slow and sleep-heavy.
āCreep,ā you mumbled into the pillow.Ā
āYeah,ā Pope said in a whisper.Ā
You shifted toward him, unhurried, still half in sleep, and your hand came up to his jaw as your fingers traced the line of it.Ā
āYou donāt sleep,ā you murmured. Youād noticed it weeks ago.
āNo.ā
āCāmere, then,ā you said, rough, tugging lightly at his jaw, and he came.Ā
He kissed you slow.
He always started slowāit was the only speed he trusted himself atāand you let him have it slow for a minute, warm and half-asleep against his mouth. Then you werenāt half-asleep anymore, he felt the change in you as your hand slid back into his hair and curled and pulled. The sound that the pull had dragged out of him was embarrassing.
āQuiet,ā you breathed against his mouth, throwing his own word back at himāI can be quiet, heād said onceāand he huffed a rough laugh into the crook of your neck and got a hand spread wide and certain against the small of your back to pull you flush against him.Ā
Your leg hooked over his and your breath went uneven against his ear, and Pope allowed himself to stop thinking.
He dragged his mouth down your throat, slow, to the soft place that made your breath catch, the spot he'd mapped weeks ago and gone back to since like the one warm room in a freezing house. Got there. He felt you go boneless and then not boneless, your fingers tightening in his hair, your hips shifting against his, and he made a low sound into your skin and pressed you down into the mattress with the careful weight of him.
āAndrew,ā you said, rough against his collarbone.Ā
āYes?ā He lifted his head to look at you, and found you already looking at him.Ā
Your hair was loose around your face and your lips were swollen and your eyes were dark. Pope felt a sort of satisfaction heād never felt before knowing heād done that, that youād come to his bed neat and composed and heād taken you apart this much already.
Your hand still in his hair tugged him down to your ear. āTake my shirt off.āĀ
He went still for a second, eyes closing at the words, then he regained himself and pulled back enough to look at you.Ā
You lifted your arms. He got it over your head and dropped it somewhere and then he just stopped, brain short-circuiting as his body immediately reacted, shifting underneath you. His hand came up and hovered over your bare waist, not quite touching, just close. Deciding where to start.
His hand settled finally, warm and certain against your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breasts. He let out a shaky breath. āYouāre so pretty,ā he murmured.Ā
You let out a soft breath, and he let his thumb move, again, slow, up and he rubbed over the swell of your breasts through the bra, watching your face with his whole attention.
He pushed himself up onto one elbow to get a better look at you and you let him, lying there with your hair spread out and your eyes on his face. He took his time, and he could tell it made you want to squirm, and his free hand settled on your hip, holding you still.Ā
āCome here,ā you said softly, reaching for him.Ā
āIn a minute.ā His thumb traced the underwire of your bra, following the curve of it. His eyes followed his own hand and his jaw was tight the way it got when he was concentrating.Ā
āAndrew.āĀ
āGive me a minute.ā His mouth came down on your sternum and pressed there, warm, just breathing for a second, his hand still moving over your ribs, your waist, the dip of it. His lips moved to the curve of your breast, the soft skin at the edge of the fabric, and you felt his breath go unsteady against you.
āCan Iāā he started.
āYes.ā
He reached around you, unclipped it with one handāslightly clumsy, which was so unlike himāand drew it off you slowly, and then he just stopped again, forgetting how to move when he looked at you.
His mouth found you properly then, warm and slow, and you let your head tip back and your hand tighten in his hair and he made a low sound against you.
He worked his way back up to your throat, your jaw, found your mouth again, and kissed you slow until your hands were pulling at him and your hips were shifting and youād stopped being patient entirely.Ā
You pressed at his chest. He went, rolling onto his back and taking you with him, and you sat up over him in the gray light and watched his face as you settled your weight down against him, and his hands went to your thighs and gripped and his eyes went briefly shut.
You leaned down and kissed him once, soft. Then his jaw, his throat, the way he'd done to you, finding the places that changed his breathing.
His hands moved up your back, down again, restless, unable to settle. You felt him swallow when your mouth reached his collarbone.
You moved lower. His stomach tightened under your mouth and his hand came up to your hair, resting there, heavy and warm, the way he did everything when he was trying to hold himself back. You looked up at him from where you were and found him already looking down at you, jaw tight, throat working.
āAre youāā
āMhm.āĀ
You got his briefs off and he lifted his hips to help you without being asked, which made you press your lips together against a smile. You settled between his thighs and took him inside your hand first, and he let out a shaky, breathless sound as your fingers tightened around his length, small fingers tugging slightly.Ā
You shifted down, and pressed your lips to the inside of his thigh first, just to feel him react, Pope understood. His whole leg went rigid under your lips. You stayed there a moment, and his fingers curled in your hair out of impatience he wasnāt proud of at all.
āCāmon, heyāā
You did it again, the other side, taking your time, and heard him exhale hard through his nose.
Then, you started from the bottom, tongue gliding over him, base to tip, and Popeās jaw dropped open and stopped pretending he wanted any sort of control in this situation.Ā
His hands fisted in your hair. Not pushingāhe wasnāt going to do thatābut holding on, because he really, really needed something to hold onto and you were it, you were all of it, had been all of it for months, and now you had your mouth on him and your small hand wrapped around the base of him while looking through your lashes at him like you knew exactly what you were doing to himāyou absolutely didāand he wanted to do nothing about it except lie there and take it.
You took him into your mouth properly and his hips came off the mattress before he caught them, hand pressing down against his own stomach, jaw locked.
āChristāā It came out mangled, just sound.
You set a pace that was sure to kill him, so deliberate with everything and focused attention on him entirely, and he had the distant thought that heād never been on the receiving end of attention like this. His thighs tensed around you and his free hand found the sheets.
You pulled off just enough to say ādonātā when his forearm moved toward his face, and he dropped it back, exposed, staring at the ceiling, throat working. Your hand worked what your mouth couldnāt, and he felt his vision go slightly sideways, hand in your hair tightening involuntarily, fingers curling against your scalp.Ā
āLet meāā He stopped when he noticed how wrecked he sounded, barely his own voice. His grip tugged you up. āCan youāCan Iāā
He stumbled over the words, but you still moved up.Ā
You settled over him, knees either sides of his hips, and he got his hands on your waist immediately. His chest was heaving and he was sure he looked completely undone.
āCan Iāā he tried again. His thumb moved against your hip, pleadingly. āI need toāā He tried again. āWill youāā
You looked down at him. āAre you asking me something?āĀ
āYeah.ā His jaw tightened. āTrying to.āĀ
āSo ask.āĀ
He took in a sharp breath, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. āCan I be inside you?āĀ
You held his eyes a second. āYeah,ā you said. āYeah.ā
The sound he let out at that was quiet and involuntary and you felt it in your sternum. His eyes closed for just a second, like he needed that, you saying it had done something to him before anything had even happened yet.
You reached between you and his breath caught audibly, hands tightening on your hips, feeling it happen, needing to feel it happen somewhere in his palms.
You sank down onto him slow and his head went back and his throat worked and his hands on your hips pulled you down the last inch with a low, helpless sound that he clearly hadn't planned on making.
Heād never felt this way before, so all-encompassed. You were so warm and close in way the months of wanting had never prepared him for, your hands braced on his chest, your weight settled on his lap, and he could feel your pulse where you were joined and his own pulse and everywhere else.
He stayed there a second, both hands spread wide on your hips, breathing.Ā
āYou okay?ā you asked, quiet.
āOne second.ā
You gave him the second. He sat up after that, and his arm banded around your waist and pulled you flush against him and that made you gasp, hands grabbing at his shoulders, his neck.
He was so much bigger than you like this, your knees hardly finding the mattress either side of him, and he held you there, mouth finding your throat.
āDo you like this?ā he asked into your skin.
āYesāyeah,ā you said, slightly breathless.Ā
He bit down lightly at your pulse point, just enough, and your nails raked down his back in response, and the sound that got out of him was dark and satisfied, his hips rolling up into you slow and deliberate.
His hips set a pace after that, one hand spread flat against your lower back holding you exactly where he wanted you, the other gripping your hip, guiding you down to meet each roll of his hips. You could feel everything. He made sure of it, and he knew by the way your walls clamped down on him.
āAndrewāā
āFeels so good,ā he said through a groan, mouth set on your throat. āYou feel so good.āĀ
Your nails found his back again and he groaned into your neck and his hips stuttered, losing the rhythm for just a second before he found it again, deeper this time, and you made a sound against his shoulder that you felt him collect, felt him file away, his arm tightening around you in response.
āThat good?ā he murmured.
āItāsāā you started, breath catching.Ā
āYeah?ā His hand moved from your hip to the small of your back, adjusting the angle, pressing you down onto him, and whatever you'd been trying to say dissolved entirely into something that wasn't words at all. āThere?āĀ
āJesus, Andrewāā you said, a punch in your words as he pushed you down onto him. āWhereād you learn this?ā
He pulled back to look at your face, and the look on his was almost amused, almost, underneath all the want. āJust wanna make you feel good,ā he said, āwith me.āĀ
Your hands coming up to his face without deciding to, cupping his jaw, and he turned into it immediately, that same helpless lean he always did when you put your hands on his face, like he couldn't help it, like you'd found the one soft spot in him nobody else had ever found.
You kissed him then, different from the others ā slower, more deliberate, saying something you didn't have words for yet, and he kissed you back the same way, his pace going slow and deep and unhurried, like the night had gotten longer suddenly, like neither of you were going anywhere.
His forehead dropped to yours when you broke off, both of you breathing uneven, his hand moving up your spine, vertebra by vertebra, just feeling you.
āYou with me?ā he murmured.
āYeah,ā you said. āI am.ā
His hand pressed you further into him, like there was any space. āPromise me.āĀ
It came out rougher than he meant, needier than he'd have liked, and he felt it land between you in the dark and couldn't take it back and didn't try.
You looked up at him. Whatever you found in his face made yours go soft. āPromise,ā you said.
He exhaled against your mouth and his hips rolled forward and you made a small sound and your hands slid up into his hair, pulling, and whatever had gone tender between you tipped back into heat, his pace picking up, deeper now, one hand gripping the headboard above you and the other finding your hip, holding you where he wanted you.
Pope had come to the basement earlier, before his fight. He had no good reason for itāthe fight was in an hour, the place was half-empty, the crowd still trickling inābut heād gotten restless at the apartment and figured heād find you early, steal a few minutes before the room filled up.Ā
He came down the concrete stairs and heard Leoās voice before he saw anything, and the sound of it stopped Pope three steps from the bottom. Pope had never once in his life heard the guy yell, lose control, and the voice coming up was low and almost patient, like youād talk to a child or a dog.Ā
ā ācount it again,ā Leo was saying. āāCause I counted it, and Iām coming up short. Thatās a problem, you know that, right?ā
āI counted it three times,ā you said, your voice flat and so, so careful it gnawed at him. āItās all here. I swear, itās allāā
āDonāt swear to me, sweetheart. Count.āĀ
Pope came down the last steps quiet. You were at the cash table with the box open in front of you and your hands unsteady on the bills. Leo was standing close to you, like that was the pointālooming, using the size of himselfāas he crowded you back against the table. He was making you do the math all out in a flat, dead voice, your shoulders up around your ears, and Pope watched you flinch when Leo shifted his weight even though the guy hadnāt done anything.
āYouāre light,ā Leo said, soft. āYouāre light and youāre trying to swear. You know what happens to my count when one of my girls gets light.ā He let his words hang, tilting his head. āIt comes out of the square. Adds to it. Youāre going backwards, sweetheart, after all this time. Going the wrong direction.ā
Leo reached and took your jaw in his handāalmost gently, tipping your face up out of the countāand your body went still, and that was the second you saw Pope behind Leoās shoulder.Ā
āDonāt touch her,ā Pope said, without thinking about it.Ā
Leo turned, unhurried, his hand still loose at your jaw before he let it drop, on his own time. He was making a point of it, Pope realized. āItās off.ā He spread the hand, easy, showing him. āSee? Weāre just talking. Business.āĀ
Then, he turned to look at you, chin tipping down. āYou really messing around with this guy? I thought it was just people making shit up.āĀ
āPeople talkāā you started to say.
āYou were just waitinā around for some rich guy to come along?ā He looked at you, shaking his head. āThat it?ā Then, he turned to Pope. āShe couldāve gotten out a lot earlierāyou know that right?ā He shook his head, like he was disappointed. āCouldāve taken the back room, cut the number down to nothing in a couple months. Easy. Plenty of guys asking. But no, she just wanted to do it the long way.ā He tipped his chin at Pope, lazy. āāAnd then go and give it away to you. For free.ā
Popeās pulse shouldāve been climbing. It had gone flat and slow and cold. āWatch your mouth.ā
āOr what?ā He asked, almost fond. āYou gonnaāā
The gun was out before he decided to pull it. His hand went to the small of his back and came around and then the thing was there, level, steady, muzzle a few inches off Leoās forehead.Ā
The guy stopped smiling. He didnāt flinchāPope gave him thatābut he went very slow, very careful, his hands drifting up off his sides. His palms were loose and open.
āOkay,ā Leo said, quiet now. āOkay. Easy.ā
āAre you kidding me?ā Pope muttered, shaking his head. āYou donāt have a damn gun on you?āĀ
āI donāt need a gun in my own place,ā he said through gritted teeth. His eyes flicked to the stairs, then back to the muzzle. āYou wanna put that down before you get stupid over nothing?ā
Heād half-hoped that Leo wouldāve been carrying, show any sign that he felt afraid. āHer number. Say it.ā
āThatās notāā He huffed, almost a laugh, disbelieving. āThatās not howāthereās a process to this, thereās people I gotta answer to.ā
Popeās lips flattened, eyes flicking to the ceiling, annoyed. āYou know Iāll do it, man. I donāt care enough not to.āĀ
Leoās smile dropped then. āHalf the roomās had their hands on her, you know that? Sheās not somebodyās girlfriend, man. The second she doesnāt need either of us, sheās not looking back at you any more than sheās looking back at me.āĀ
Pope let out a short chuckle. āNow youāre getting whatever Iāve got in my pocket or Iām shooting. Your call.āĀ
āYouāre making a mistake,ā the guy said, his last call, Pope realized. āYou canāt pull a gun on me andĀ āā
āThatās tomorrowās problem.ā Popeās hand stayed still. āRight now, you take the money, sheās square, she walks.ā His head tipped, slight. āSay yes, man. Youāre a smart guy. Say yes.ā Pope nudged the gun slightly further into his head. He leaned his head closer to the guyās ear, voice dropping into a register that wouldāve been too low for you to hear. āIāve put people down for less than this. You know that.ā
Leo took a beat. āFine.ā The word came out flat, bitten-off. āFine. The money. Sheās square. Get it out slow, I donāt want your fucking hand movinā fast near me.ā
Pope reached into his jacket with his off handāthe gun never leaving Leo's faceāand pulled the roll, the whole fight roll, thick and rubber-banded, and tossed it onto the table by the box. It landed heavy. Leo didn't look at it. He kept his eyes on Pope, and his hands stayed up, and the deal sat there in the dead air between them, made.
Leo looked at it, and a long moment passed. He let out a short, disbelieving breath through his nose. āThatās it?āĀ
āYou shouldāve said yes the first time. You knew I was good for it,ā Pope said. āSay it,ā he added. āSheās good. Tell her so she hears it.āĀ
āYouāre square,ā he said to you, the words ugly. āYou donāt owe me shit. Donāt come back.ā A muscle jumped in his cheek. āEither of you.āĀ
Pope held the gun where it was a beat longer than he had toālong enough to make it clear the leaving was his idea, not Leo's permissionāand then he lowered it, slow, and stepped back, and reached out without looking and found your wrist.
āLetās go,ā Pope said roughly to you.Ā
You didnāt move at first. He had to tug your forearm once, and then you came, stumbling off the spot youād been rooted to, and he put himself between you and Leo and walked you up the concrete stairs and out the side door into the lot, into the air that was finally air, with the gun cooling against his back and your pulse hammering under his fingers where he still had your wrist.
Pope let out a shaky breath as he tipped his neck back to look at the sky. Heād assumed that one day, he wouldāve figured it out, how to help youāit would have been cleaner, probably, and wouldnāt have happened right in front of youāand he hadnāt thought itād be fucking today.Ā
He still had your wrist. He made himself let it go, and turned to look at you. You were looking at nothing, at the chain-link past the lot, your arms coming to wrap around yourself, holding your elbows.
āGet in the car,ā he said to you.Ā
You stayed still.
Pope shook his head once, pressing his lips together. He nodded at the truck. āCāmon. Just get in the truck.ā
You stayed rooted there in the orange light, arms folded over yourself, shaking your head faintlyānot at him, not a no exactly, just somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't reach you. He felt the impatience climb in him, the adrenaline still draining, the gun still warm against his back and the tomorrow-problem already stacking up behind his ribs, and it came out rougher than he meant.
āJustāget in the damn car.ā He dragged his palm down his face and exhaled.Ā
You went around to the passenger side and shut the door. He got in beside you, and for a second, neither of you said anything. He pulled out the lot and drove the way he always did with you, to his apartment. You sat against the window with your knees pulled up and your arms still around yourself, and he kept glancing over, waiting for it, the thing he could feel build up.
āYou mad at me?ā he asked, the words coming out choked, almost like he was forcing them out.Ā
You took in a breath and looked out the window. āAre you gonna be fine?ā
He snorted. āYeah. Donāt worry ābout me. Iām safe.āĀ
You nodded, even though he could tell you didnāt believe it. He wanted to tell you that he was probably the most safe guy in Oceanside, part of a family that would make sure nothing happened to anyone in it, even if they all may hate each other deep down.Ā
āI didnāt want it to happen like this,ā you said a moment later. āI wanted to do it myself.āĀ
Pope knew what you meant, but he wanted you to talk more, just so he could justify it. āYeah?ā
āI was gonna work it down to nothing,ā you continued. āAnd one day itād just be done, and Iādāwalk out. And itād be cause I did it. Me. The one thing that was gonna be mine.āĀ
āYou werenāt getting out.ā When you snapped your head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed, he forced to keep himself looking at the road. āIām sorry, but you were never getting out. Donāt be dumb. I know you wanted to.āĀ
āDonāt call me dumb.ā
āThen donāt be.ā He shook his head. āYouāre paying off a debt thatās not even yours when you could beāwhat? Working anywhere that gives you an actual paycheck. He wasnāt gonna let you have that. Thereās no fucking contract making sure he lets you out.āĀ
You looked back at the window, jaw tight. āI didnāt want you buying me,ā you said quietly. āThatās exactly the thing I didnāt want. Now IāmāI donāt want to owe you, Andrew. I like you.ā
āYou donāt owe me,ā he said, voice rough, trying to ignore what the words did to his chest.
āThatās not howāā
āItās how it works with me,ā he said flatly. āI didnāt buy you. Donāt say shit like that. I bought you out.ā His hands tightened on the wheel. āThereās nothing you owe me.ā
āI wanted it to be clean,ā you said, and Pope almost wanted to shut you up. āUs. I wanted to get out and just beāsomeone you liked. Not somebody you had to save or something like that.ā
āWell, thatās too bad, then,ā he rasped. āYou can come with me. You can go wherever you want. Youāre out, you can choose.ā He killed the engine as the car reached his apartment. āYou are someone I like already. I never liked who you had to be, but I like youāthis, whatever it is. Alright?ā
A part of Pope knew he shouldnāt have taken the job. Robberies were always a mess, but Baz had a fondness for them. And Baz had a kid and a whole life balanced on not going inside, and Pope had a girl who he wasnāt even sure was his girl, and no good reason in the world to be holding the bag when it went wrong.
So now there was a phone bolted to a cinderblock wall and a line of men behind him and a number heād memorized. Thank God heād memorized.Ā
It rang twice.Ā
āHello?āĀ
The sound of your voice did something itchy to his sternum. Heād last heard it three weeks ago, before the job, when youād been half-asleep against his shoulder in the truck outside your place. Youād told him to call you when he got home.Ā
āAndrew?ā you asked immediately, like just an exhalation of his breath, you could recognize. āYouāre in jail?āĀ
He forced out a dry chuckle, because the opposite wouldāve gotten him kicked. āFolsom County.āĀ
āJesusāwhy?ā
āRobbery. It was aāa family thingāā He kept it short. The line was recorded; half of what he wanted to say, he couldnāt, and the other half, he wouldnāt. Especially not to you, not like this, with a guard at his back and a clock ticking somewhere.Ā
āCan I visit you?ā you asked immediately. The hope in your words tightened something in his chest so hard he had to close his eyes to loosen it even a fraction. āHow long are you in there for?āĀ
āNoādonāt. Hey, listen,ā he said, voice shaking and he hated it. āYouāyou gotta be safe, okay? If anything happens, I need you to look forāā
āWhat are you talking about?ā
āI canāt take care of you from here,ā he said through gritted teeth. āI need to make sure youāll be okay.ā
āHow long are you in for?ā you asked, weary, like youād read somewhere between the lines and realized that you were going to hate the answer.
āSix years,ā he said, letting out another sigh. Then, because he couldnāt help himself when he heard you go silent on the other end, he said, āIām sorry.ā He pressed the phone harder against his ear, as if that did anything.Ā
āFuckāfuck, Andrew. Six yearsā?ā you said, voice so sharp he could feel it cut through him. He heard you breath, trying to collect yourself. āOkay. OkayāI can come there, to you. Visit you and stuff, alright?ā
āYouāre not living the next six years meeting me behind a glass, alright?āĀ
āI donāt care about that.āĀ
āI do.ā It came out rougher than heād intended. He pressed his forehead to the cold block, eyes shut as his free hand came up to tug at his hair. The line of men and the guards and the whole gray space fell away from him for a second, and it was just your voice in his ear and him trying, failing, to do one right thing for you. āYou just got outāIām not putting you back in. You got out, and youāyou can do whatever you want.ā
āI donāt want it without you,ā you said, voice breaking clean down the middle, and it about took him out at the knees, standing there in his county blues with a telephone crushed to his ear.Ā
āYouāre not thinking right,ā he said, trying to get the words out slowly, like saying it that way would make you believe them. āYouāre not waiting for me for six years. You know how long that is?āĀ
Pope was at a loss in this; heād never had to push someone away before. Every person heād needed gone, before he even knew he did, heād made himself ugly enough to push it out. He didnāt have the ugly to use on you; heād used up every bad thing in front of you already and youād stayed anyway, and now he had nothing left to drive you away with except the truth, which was that Pope loved you too much to let you do this to yourself.
He couldnāt say that either because maybe then youād really never leave.
You only breathed on the other end, and he could hear the hitch of your voice when you started to try saying something, then stopped.Ā
āI wonāt like it,ā he said, quieter now, āif you wait for me.ā
It was a lie and you both heard it. He didnāt try to sell it harder and let it sit there, all wrong, and moved on before you could call him out from it, because he had something he needed you to have more than he needed to win the argument.
āListen,ā he said, forcing his voice to steady. āYou got something to write with? Or open something on your phone to get it.āĀ
āAndrewāā
āPlease.āĀ
Something in his voice mustāve reached you, because he heard you shift.Ā
āOkay,ā you said, voice thick. āOkay.ā
He recited the number, slow and twice, so youād have it right. āThatās Baz. Alright? Barry Blackwellāwrite that down, too. My brother.ā His teeth gritted. āYou donāt ever have to call it, but you keep it. And if anything everāā His jaw worked, and he pinched his eyes shut at the horrible thoughts. āIf money gets tight or if people come sniffing around even though they shouldnāt. If you get caught up in anythingāsomebody gives you trouble, or anything, the car dies, whatever it is. You call him. You say youāre mine, say Pope said to call. Heāll help.āĀ
āI donāt want your brother toāā
He didnāt want his brother to, either. Baz had a bad track record with people Pope considered his, people Pope loved. He pressed his molars together at the thought of Baz with you, of all people. Despite how much love he held for his brother, he didnāt like the thought. Six years was a long, long time.Ā
Six years was long enough to forget a voice, long enough for the thing youād been holding in your hands to shift without noticing, long enough for a warm and present man to become more real than a memory behind a glass. Baz wouldnāt. But he canāt imagine Baz ever meeting you and not seeing what Pope loved about you, what everyone could love about you.Ā
āItās the only way I can do anything for you,ā he said quickly, making sure youād understand. āItāll make me happy.ā
He heard you choke slightly on the other end. āCan you call me, then? If I canāt visit you.āĀ
He wanted to say yes. It would've cost him nothing in the moment and it would've ruined you slow, six years of you living from phone call to phone call, your whole life arranged around fifteen minutes of a recorded line, waiting on a man in a cage. And he knew heād rightfully deserved to be caged. Heād seen what waiting did to you. Heād pulled a gun to get you out from under exactly that.
āNo,ā he said. āYou stay out. You got out. Stay out of all of it, including me.ā
And a part of him believed he was doing you a favor, despite it all. Heād never quite gotten you all the way like heād wantedāmerged your life into his and his yoursāand maybe that was for the better. As long as you were wrapped up with him, you wouldāve been wrapped up with his family, the jobs, the heists, the next county lockup waiting for him somewhere down the line.Ā
Your little brother deserved a sister who could come home clean, someone who didnāt have a Cody-shaped problem following her through the door. Heād been told he was the worst of them; he was built up for a purpose and it wasnāt the kind of thing you brought home. Pope cared about you enough to know that; it was hard not to realize it, standing in prison.Ā
He heard you say a jumble of words in one breath, and he couldnāt quite catch any over the ringing in his own ears. The guard said he had sixty seconds left.
āIād do it again, I swear,ā he said, fast, before your voice cut off. āIām sorry I couldnātāit was short.ā
Your breath stopped for a second, then you asked, forcing an even voice, āHow will I know youāre okay?āĀ
āIāll be fine. I got people watching my back, I swear.āĀ
āPlease, justāā
āBye,ā he said, forcing his voice gentle. āTake care of yourself, okay? And the kid.āĀ
The sound you madeāwet and broken, landing like a wound heād probably carry for six yearsāwas the last of you he let himself take. He set the receiver down slow, like slow made it kinder, before you could say his name again. Because he never would've managed it if you'd said his name again.
Summary: You start distancing yourself from Andrew for the sake of your heart, but itās driving Andrew insane.
Shawn Hatosy Masterlist
Youāre avoiding Pope. That much is clear to him.
Youāve steered clear of his place, Smurfās place, the bar. Itās like you disappeared.
But you didnāt.
He knows because heās been watching you.
You still go about your day. You go to the farmerās market every Wednesday morning. You still work at the hospital.
But you havenāt texted, called, or stopped by.
Youāve āghosted himā as Deran had put it.
He tries to rack through his brain, thinking back to the last interaction he had with you. He doesnāt think he did anything wrong.
He just had you meet his new girlfriend, Amy. He thinks it went well. You and Amy seemed to get along, and yetā¦youāve completely slipped from his fingers.
He thought that spending all of his time with Amy would fill the void you left, but he was wrong. He just wants to know why you leftā¦
________________
Meeting Amy was a complete shock to you. You didnāt even know that Andrew was dating someone. So for him to show up at your usual meeting place with a woman beside him was a shock to your system.
Your heart dropped when he introduced her to you as his girlfriend and you as just his best friend.
You mentally scolded yourself for ever thinking things could be more.
But you remained friendly with Amy. You asked her how she and Andrew met, what she does for work, her family.
She was actually a really sweet and kind person. You couldnāt hate her, but you still wished it was you in her place.
This you began to distance yourself from Andrew.
No more random calls or texts. You started making up excuses as to why you couldnāt meet up at your usual spot anymore.
You just simply slipped out of his life.
Then received a call from Craig.
Deran got a bullet graze to his side and you, being an emergency department nurse, were ordered to patch him up.
He was dragged into your home, Craig holding him up. Andrew and Baz stomping in after them.
Craig brought him into your office where he plopped Deran onto your office couch.
You paid no mind to the three concerned men, only to your patient before you.
āLooks like you made it out by the skin of your teeth. Literally,ā you murmured to Deran who snorted and then hissed as you began to clean the room.
Baz and Craig stood in one corner, mumbling about the aftermath of their latest heist. Andrew stood in another corner, the one closest to you. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes completely focused on you.
āYouāve been avoiding me.ā
You let out a deep breath, āI havenāt. Iāve been busy. Thereās been a staff shortage so Iāve been working more shifts.ā
āYou could at least call or text me. Let me know youāre alive.ā
āAgain, Iāve been busy and, again, this isnāt the time!ā
āPope, just let her fucking work!ā Deran berates his older brother.
Baz and Craig turn back to their brother. Baz walks over to Andrew, āCāmon, man,ā he grabs Andrewās arm, but he shoves him away.
He storms out of the room and you pay him no mind.
Patching up Deran is the priority right now.
_______________
As soon as Deran is bandaged up, you exit your office to find Andrew sitting on your couch, drinking one of the beers you kept in the fridge for him.
His eyes are focused on the tv thatās playing some nature documentary.
You stand in front of it, arms defensively crossed over your chest, āYou wanna talk. So talk.ā
He glares at you as he takes another sip from his beer. His brothers exit the office with curious eyes and Andrew immediately stands.
āWeāll talk outside.ā
āFine,ā you grit and turn to the remaining men, āThereās beers and leftover pizza in the fridge,ā you donāt say anything else as you follow Andrew out into your small backyard.
Once youāre outside, Andrew lets it all out.
āI donāt know what I did wrong. I donāt know why youāre mad at me. Just-Just tell what I did so I can fix it!ā
āItās nothing.ā
āOh fuck off with that bullshit excuse! You donāt reach out, you keep cancelling on me.ā He lets out a frustrated sigh, āAre you in trouble or something? Is that why-ā
You run a hand down your face, āAndrew, please. I promise Iām telling you the truth that I havenāt been avoiding you.ā Lie. āNothing is wrong.ā Lie. āIām fine.ā Big lie. āIāve just been exhausted from work. Havenāt had the energy to do much.ā
āBut I still see you at the farmerās market.ā
Your brows raise in confusion, āYouāve been watching me?ā
āI was worried.ā
You give out a slow deep breath, āAndrew, Iām sorry Iāve beenā¦distant. Thereās just a it going on and Iām sorry I havenāt been checking in. I didnāt think itād matter.ā
Andrewās brows furrow, āOf course it matters. You matter to me.ā
You mentally berate yourself for the fluttering you feel when he says that. He only means it as friends.
āI know. Iām sorry. Iām sure Amy managed to fill the void though. Howās that going?ā
āFine, butā¦itās different with you.ā
Youāre sure he doesnāt mean it in the way you interpret it, but you canāt help but feel some sort of pride.
āThings will go back to normal soon, just-just give it some time.ā
āSure, just no more disappearing on me. Please. I need to know youāre okay.ā
āIāll check in. Promise.ā
Andrew pulls you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you. You relish in his warmth, his scent.
He takes in the smell of your shampoo and how more at ease he feels in your presence.
And yet, thereās still an unspoken feeling surrounding you two. One you donāt want to acknowledge.
andrew 'pope' cody x f!reader
Word Count: 6.5K
Rating: E
Summary: Andrew confesses to you that years ago, when Lena was just a babyāhe and Catherine slept together when they were drunk. You try to play it cool, but realize it bothers you way more than you want to admit.
Warning: slow burn-ish?, friends to lovers (recent friends), mentions of infidelity, yearning, language, alcohol use, reader gets drunk, idiots in love crushing on one another, jealousy (both andrew and reader), mutual pining, miscommunication, sexual tension, feelings, angst-ish (its liteee), it is implied reader has a smaller chest (self-depreciating humor), consent king andrew (we love men like this in this house), pet names, smut 18+ sexual touching, grinding/dry humping, fingering, praise, possessiveness?, i think thatās all
A/N: It's okay if nobody reads this, but my obsession with Pope has been so bad. I havenāt finished the show yet (at season 3), but I hope I have gotten his characterization down right. I've been writing this for two weeks or so, and I cannot tell how much dialogue is appropriate with this man since I feel like he yaps way more with family vs. his romantic partners in the show. Hope yāall enjoy! Letās also thank @wesandresons for all the GIFs being produced on dat blog. It inspired this one-shot just with the amount of Andrew and Amy GIFs I've been seeing. Those lip biting GIFs? SOMEBODY SEDATE ME. Also, one scene in this fic was inspired by one of @stellamarieluās neighbor!pope drabbles
You were ignoring Andrew.
You knew it was wrong.
But you were confused as hellā¦
You met Andrew six months ago.
It was just another long shift at the bar. The kind where you were pouring drinks, keeping an eye on the chaos, trying not to lose your patience.
Then some guy at the end of the bar, loud and drunk, started throwing insults your way when you cut him off. You didnāt take kindly to that shit, so you told him to shut up and leave, but he kept going.
Called you a fucking cunt.
Thatās when a man stepped in. Without a word, he grabbed the guy by the collar, dragged him out of the bar, and you could hear the scuffle outside. When the man came back, you noticed his handsāthey were bruised, and he dropped a crumpled twenty-dollar bill on the table, which was an outrageous tip for a $7 beer, and then he left the bar.
He started coming back, more and more. You would see him sit at the same corner, watching, listening. Every time your eyes met, you found yourself offering a smile. Yet, he would simply nod or look away. One night, you finally decided to break the silence. You walked over to his booth, your heart pounding a little in your chest. As you approached, you saw him look up from his drink, eyes cautious but curious. You introduced yourself and thanked him for his help the other night. He nodded back, and simply replied, "No problem."
From that moment, things started to change. You learned that his name was Andrew, and you began to exchange words more oftenāsmall talk that gradually grew into something more. You let him know you were a marine biologist, explaining how you had taken up bartending on the side a couple nights a week because, honestly, marine biology paid shit, and you needed the extra cash to keep your head above water.
He told you he was a property manager. One night, you were venting to the other bartender about your apartmentās AC acting up and your landlord dragging his feet to fix it. You were frustrated, and you guess he overheard because he offered to help. The next day, he showed up at your placeānot alone. He brought his niece along, a beautiful little girl with a toothy smile. He was picking her up from school, but he swung by to fix your AC before dropping her off home since you didnāt live too far from his brotherās place.
It was unexpected, but honestly, it meant a lotāsomeone willing to go out of their way just to help you.
The more you got to know him and Lena, the more you felt drawn to him.
However, Andrew was still guarded. He was quick to listen but slow to share. He had a knack for asking questions that drew you in, making you feel seen and heard, but he rarely reciprocated.
So, you were shocked when last week he admitted to you that he had slept with his brotherās wife, a little after Lena had been born.
The words had hung in the air like smokeāthick, choking, impossible to ignore.
Andrew hadnāt sugarcoated it. He just said it. One of those quiet, matter-of-fact truths.
He and Cath.
They were drunk.
It was stupid.
It was a mistake.
Baz didnāt know.
Blah-fucking-blah.
You didnāt even fucking like Baz, but that wasnāt the point. You wanted to probe, to ask questions, but you didnāt.
You couldnāt.
You just managed a cool nod, struggling to keep your reaction measured.
Why the fuck was he telling you this?
Was he in love with her or something?
Andā¦why did you care so much?
Your phone chirped, breaking your thoughts.
Andrew: Are you still coming tomorrow?
Fuck.
You had ignored his last text and his last phone call, so you realized you couldnāt ignore this. Usually, you were the one who double texted. He rarely called, never really initiated texts either. Most of the time, you would have to start the conversation, and you didnāt mind. You knew he was shy.
You had been avoiding him all week, picking up shifts at the bar that clashed with his schedule, trying to dodge him. You told yourself you would skip Lenaās birthday party. But now, you couldnāt ignore it.
Without overthinking, you replied: Yeah, Iāll be there.
Later, as you tried to distract yourself, youscrolled through Instagram, Catherineās page catching your eye. Pictures of her and Baz, Lenaās tiny face smiling in a few, her little giggles frozen in time. You paused on a birthday post with just her and Andrewāa throwback from a few years ago. Catherineās caption read: "Canāt believe just yesterday we were in high school."
It all hit you unexpectedly.
How comfortable they seemed together.
How fucking beautiful she was.
How Andrew was fucking smiling in this picture.
You dragged yourself to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You caught a glimpse of your face in the mirror. You reminded yourself over and over: Andrew is your friend. Just your friend.
Yet, here you were, obsessing over him and Catherine.
You shouldnāt care.
And yet, you did.
Pope leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyeing the chaos of Lenaās birthday. As usual, Smurfās idea of celebration was a marathon of loud music, overflowing bottles, and an endless stream of people spilling into the house. There were more strangers than Lenaās friends, and the air reeked of booze and something sharper that Pope didnāt want to think about. The kids, at least, were mostly kept in check, but it was clear this wasnāt a party for them. It was Smurfās way of playing the 'doting grandmother' and all that bullshit.
He knew Cath hated these gatherings too. She was standing on the sidelines, exchanging polite nods with Smurf and others while desperately wishing she was anywhere else. Baz, on the other hand, seemed indifferentāeither oblivious or he simply didnāt fucking care. Pope watched him laugh at something. Baz was clearly unworried.
Then, out of nowhere, Cath came over, her brow furrowed as she glanced around the patio and pool. "Is your girlfriend coming?"
The question made him flinch.
"Sheās not my girlfriend," he said.
"Oh," she said softly. "I just thought⦠you know, with her being around so much lately. That maybe you two wereā¦"
That was all it took. Craig and Deran, nearby, overheard the exchange and immediately turned their teasing smirks toward him.
"Who is Cath talking about?" Craig drawled, nudging Deran with a grin.
Popeās jaw tightened at the teasing, and he shot a quick glare toward Craig and Deran, the kind that told them to back off without words. "No one," he muttered, voice low and edged with a hint of warning. His eyes flicked away from his brothers.
Suddenly, his attention snapped to the sound of Lenaās voice. "Y-youāre here," she said softly, her small face lighting up when he saw her sprinting across the patio, her little legs pumping fast. And then, amidst the noise and chaos, Andrewās gaze found you.
You were standing trying to keep your focus on Lena, wearing a form-fitting striped maxi dress. The soft fabric hugged your curves, and the dress flowed effortlessly around your legs, swaying gently as you moved.
You were looking so stunning, he almost couldnāt breathe.
Popeās eyes lingered on you longer than they should haveāhis mind racing with the fact that he hadnāt seen you in a full week. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. Not that he was counting or anything. But it felt like forever.
His heart clenchedāthis was the longest heād gone without seeing you since he met you. Usually, he saw you on Tuesdays and Thursdays during your shifts at the bar, sometimes more when you hung out at your place.
In your hands, you clutched a giant sea lion stuffed animalāits plush body nearly as big as Lena herself.
As Lena reached you, her tiny face lit up, and she squealed softly. You knelt down, opening your arms wide, and she rushed into your embrace with a giggle. You bent down to meet her at her level, wrapping her up in a big, warm hug. Her little arms squeezed around your neck, and her giggles bubbled up as she clung to you, her tiny face pressed into your shoulder.
Deran leaned casually against his chair, as he watched you with Lena. His lips curled into a low whistle. Without missing a beat, Craig blurted. "Damn, sheās fucking hot, Pope. Where did you find this one?"
"Donāt talk about her like that. Just shut the fuck up, alright?" Pope growled. His tone was cold enough to make Craig and Deran pause, their smirks fading into surprised silence. The brothers instinctively knew better than to push further.
Lenaās tiny face lit up with pride as she tugged gently on your hand, leading you toward Cath, Pope, and his brothers. "Look what I got, Mommy!" she squealed, clutching the enormous plush sea lion. Her eyes shimmered with excitement, and she beamed up at you as she proudly presented her gift. Cath thanked you.
You waved your hand at her to show her that it wasnāt a big deal.
His gaze lingered on you and Cath as you exchanged words, the small smile Cath offered trying to be friendly. You, on the other hand, looked tense and stiff. Your shoulders were squared, your jaw tight, and your eyes kept flicking away from Cathās, as if you were counting down the seconds until you could leave.
Pope had memorized every single thing about you. So, he could tell the difference between your real smile and the one you would put on to be polite.
He could tell something was off. But before he could say anything, Baz called out loudly, breaking the moment. "Hey, Cath! Lena! Come over here!" he shouted, gesturing toward the other side of the backyard. They headed off together.
Pope was about to say something, but then his brothers stepped in, their annoying fucking smirks in place. Without hesitation, they introduced themselves and then asked if you wanted a beer. You nodded, and they grinned mischievously as they headed toward the cooler to fetch drinks. Behind your back, they made obscene gestures and dry humped the airāit made Popeās blood boil.
Fucking assholes.
He watched them walk away, fists clenched at his sides.
"Are you okay?" you asked, concern evident in your voice.
He ignored your question.
"Where have you been all week?" His tone was rough but not unkind.
You offered a small shrug. "Itās been a busier week at the aquarium. Lots of new arrivals."
He studied you for a moment, the tension easing just slightly from his shoulders. "Yeah. I figured. I uhā¦missed you," the words slipped out before he could catch himself.
You blinked at him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
Fuck. He had said too much.
Craig and Deran made their way back toward you two, holding a tray of shot glasses. Craigās grin was wide as he handed one to you, while Deran set his down next to Pope with a smirk.
"Shots," Craig announced
"What happened to her beer?" Popeās eyes narrowed as he looked down at the shot in Craigās hand.
"Donāt worry, Pope. Sheāll get her beer. Just relax."
"Itās fine." You replied, lifting the shot to your lips, and looked at Deran. "What is it?"
"Tequila," he replied plainly.
You cringed at the word. "Ugh," you muttered, scrunching your nose.
Deran handed Pope his shot.
Pope shook his head. "Nah, Iām not feeling it,"
Craig chuckled. "Come on, man. Live a little."
Popeās eyes flicked back to the shot glass in Deranās hand. For a moment, he hesitated, then let out a sigh. "Not tonight." He crossed his arms, watching as Craig and Deran exchanged amused glances.
Craigās grin grew even wider. "No worries, more for us," he paused. "To new friends." He winked at you, then nodded to Deran, who lifted his glass in a silent toast.
Without further hesitation, the three of you tipped back your shots. Craig and Deran both let out exaggerated whoops. Your face twisted into a grimace, eyes watering slightly as you swallowed. The painful expression lingered, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide it. But, Pope caught your reaction.
He knew how much you hated liquor.
It was ironic considering you were a part-time bartender, but you were more of a wine drinker.
White wine. Chilled.
Popeās eyes narrowed as he watched you then reach for his untouched shot glass, your hand trembling just slightly. You hesitated for a split second, then brought it to your lips and downed it in one swift motion. As you forced the shot down, a hush fell over the small group.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint 'clink' of the glass as you set it down.
Then, with a rough breath and a slight shake of your head, you finally spoke.
"It's been a fucking week."
You were drunk.
He could tell. You were talking to some fucking asshole. One of Craig's friends.
He didnāt fucking like it.
The guyāCraigās friendāwas leaning closer, looking down your dress, but you were too drunk to notice.
"So, how do you know the birthday girl?" he overheard the pest ask you.
"I met her through Popeā"
All he could do was stand there, frozen, as your voice drifted on.
His stomach clenched at the way you saidĀ Pope.
Youād always called himĀ Andrew. To everyone else, sure⦠he was Pope. But to you? Heād never heard you say that before. Always, he wasĀ Andrew. That was what youād called him, what heād called himself in his head when he thought of you.
Something sharp twist inside him. Or maybe it was just the ache of realizing how much he cared about what you called him.
What you thought of him.
He felt a strange heat rising. It was as if hearing you sayĀ Pope touched on something he hadnāt wanted to admit to himselfāthat he cared more about how you saw him than heād ever let on. It made him aware of how far he was from being the person he wanted to be for you.
His eyes darted between you and Craigās friend, who was leaning in way too close, his hand sneaking behind your back. Popeās jaw clenched hard as he caught the moment when the guyās hand slid lower, fingers brushing against your ass despite your stiffening posture. You jerked away from his touch. The manās grin widened, obliviousāor maybe just fucking uncaringāabout your discomfort.
Popeās instinct was immediate. His muscles tensed as he crossed the patio, his voice dropping low and dangerous. "Hey," he said sharply, voice like a whip crack. The guyās hand froze, eyes flicking up to meet Popeās icy stare.
"You wanna back the fuck off?" Popeās eyes darkened further, warning clear as hell. A silent threat. He put his arm around your waist and pulled you in close, protectively.
The man hesitated, then finally took a step back, raising his hands in a half-hearted shrug. But Pope knew the damage was done. The man then swallowed hard and looked between you both before walking away.
"You know I could have handled that guy myself," you slurred.
He rolled his eyes.
"You always know how to stand up for me when someone crosses the line," you looked at him with a faint, teasing smile, eyes a little glassy from the alcohol. Then, with a playful grin, you added, "my protector, huh?"
The words hung in the air for a moment, and you giggled softly, swaying slightly on your feet.
An unexpected flush creeped up his neck and spread across his cheeks.
He said your name with a sigh. "I think youāve had enough for tonight."
"What are you talking about? Iām fine," you hiccupped, almost losing your balance.
Pope caught you by the arm and glared at you. "Sure you are."
"Andrew, Iām fineāIāmā" you sounded riled up and angry. "Iām fine," you repeated.
"You can barely stand right," he huffed out.
You opened your mouth to argue, but Pope was already reaching for your hand. Before you could resist much, he gently but firmly grabbed your wrist, guiding you away from the chaos of the party, his eyes focused and concerned. You tried to pull away, protesting with slurred words and half-hearted pushes, but he was insistent, not letting you go.
He gently steered you toward his car, opening the passenger door and easing you into the seat with care. Once you were settled, he reached over to buckle your seatbelt, his fingers brushing your shoulder briefly as he secured it.
Pope then hopped in the car on his side and carefully started the engine. The drive was quiet, the only sounds were the hum of the car and your uneven breathing. He kept a close eye on you, occasionally glancing over to check on you, his brow furrowing with concern.
When he finally arrived at your apartment complex, Pope gently slowed the car and pulled into a parking spot. He stepped out and opened your door, offering you his hand to help steady yourself as you stepped out.
You paused, a flicker of panic crossing your face. "My carā¦" you mumbled, eyes wide with worry.
"Itās fine. Donāt worry about it. Iāll bring it back for you in the morning," he said calmly, his tone soothing. He gently closed the car door behind you, and kept a careful eye on your unsteady movements. "Give me your keys."
You noddedātoo tired and drunk to argue and handed them to him. He kept a steady hand on your waist to prevent you from stumbling.
Once inside your place, Andrew immediately went to the kitchen. He grabbed a clean glass, filled it with cold water from your Brita filter in your fridge, and brought it over to you, holding it as you took a few sips. He forced you to finish the glass.
"Alright," Pope said softly, voice commanding but gentle. "Go take a shower. Now."
Ā "Come on, Iā" you tried to protest, raising a hand.
āNo,ā he interrupted. āShower, wash off, and sober up.ā
"Youāre bossy," you muttered, attempting a smirk, despite your wobbling stance.
Ā "Go."
Without waiting for another word, you leaned in and pressed a quick, tipsy kiss to his cheek. "Okay," you mumbled, voice thick with alcohol, then turned toward the bathroom.
Pope watched you go, then hesitated for a moment. As you disappeared behind the door, he reached out and gently placed his hand on the spot where youād just kissed himāhis fingers resting lightly on his cheek, feeling the warmth of your lips.Ā
After 15 minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom, and Pope was sitting on your couch, eyes fixed on his phone. He then looked up sharply, his eyes widening in surprise. For a split second, he was sputtering, caught off guard. You stood there, topless, only in your underwear.
"Jesus," he managed, voice cracking, eyes darting away quickly. His cheeks colored as he fumbled, trying to look anywhere but at you.
You couldnāt help but giggle. "Relax. My tits are practically non-existent. Itās not like these," you pointed at your chest, "are the reason Iām getting any tips at the bar."
Your words made him stare at the ground, and he caught sight of a T-shirt draped over your dining table. Without a word, he stood up, walked over, and reached out to hand it to you.
You shook your head and slipped inside your bedroom. A few moments later, you sank into your bed, pulling the covers over yourself. You let out a soft whine, voice muffled by the blankets.
"Ugh, itās so fucking hot," you muttered, kicking the covers aside just a little.
Pope flicked the switch on your AC unit to lower the temperature. He paused for a moment, before stepping into your bedroom and watching you settle into the bed.
"Better?" he mumbled.
You nodded into your pillow, a small, tired smile curling your lips. "Much. Thanks, Andrew."
"I should probably head out," he murmured. "Itās getting late."
Your eyes widened in panic. Without thinking, you pushed yourself up from the bed, the blanket slipping down, exposing your chest.
Your perfect fucking breasts on display for him again.
He was painfully hard.
His eyes lingered on your breasts, then your face, watching the way your eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. Ā
It was clear you were still drunk.
He reminded himself sharply:Ā Youāre not yourself right now.Ā
Andrewās gaze flicked away instinctively.
He suppressed the urge to let his gaze drift lower again.
You were vulnerable, intoxicated, and not fully aware.
His instincts were to protect you.
To keep you safe.
He carefully avoided looking at your chest again, instead focusing on your face, the soft rise and fall of your breath.Ā So, he gently, almost instinctively, pulled the blanket back up to your shoulders, covering you up again.
But you didnāt seem to noticeāor maybe you didnāt care. "Youāre not actually leaving, right?" you pouted. "Please stay,"
"You want me to stay?"
You nodded.
He hesitated, torn between what he knew was right and the pull he felt toward you. "I can stay if you want," he finally said quietly, his voice low and cautious.
"I do."
Youāre not sober,Ā he kept telling himself.Ā You donāt actually want that.
"Get into bed," you instructed.
Pope paused, hesitation flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he moved toward the edge of the bed.
"Please," you begged, your voice sounding so fucking small.
He looked at you for a moment longer, then carefully, and respectfully, slipped next to you, staying on top of the blanket to give you space. His eyes lingered on you, searching your face for any sign of discomfort.
You reached out, your hand brushing his arm reassuringly. "Goodnight," you whispered. "I like having you here," you said, before closing your beautiful eyes and dozing off.
He sighed.
"I like being here," he replied to the ceiling.
You woke up with a pretty big hangover.
The clock made no noise, but it felt like it was screaming 8:12 AM at you with the red digits. It wasnāt the worst hangover of your life, but it was one that would make working today feel impossible. You remembered that Andrew had brought you back home last night.
You noticed he had set two Advils near the bed, on the nightstand, with a glass of water and a note that said, "Take me ASAP." You ran your hands over the note and smiled, seeing his terrible scribble. You did as told and took the pills with the water.
You immediately took your phone out and set your work email with an "Out of Office" message and texted your boss at the aquarium, saying that you had a terrible case of food poisoning. He seemed to believe you.
Standing up, you almost tripped over your own two feet. You took in your appearance in the mirror near the dresser, realizing you looked like something out of a horror movieāyour mascara was smudged everywhere, and your foundation was beginning to look flaky on your skin. You were developing a zit on your neck.
Ugh.
You quickly went into the bathroom to wash your face, and quickly threw on a T-shirt and sleep shorts on. It wasnāt like you to sleep practically naked, but you realized you must have just been fucking smashed last night.
This was why Tequila was your fucking enemy.
Your brain was still catching up, fragments of last night slowly started piecing themselves together. Had Andrew stayed the night? You could have sworn you had felt him settle into bed after you passed the fuck out. The memory was hazy, like a half-remembered dream, but it felt so real.
Your mind was clearly playing tricks on you. It was probably the lingering alcohol still messing with your head.
Still, you wondered if heād gotten home safely, if heād made it back okay after dropping you off.Ā
You pushed open your bedroom door and made your way toward the kitchen to reach for the coffee pot, fumbling for the switch, flicking it on with a dull click. The familiar gurgling sound signaled it was beginning to brew. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the residual tiredness, and reached into the cabinet for the filter. As you set it up, your fingers brushed against the familiar weight of the jar of coffee grounds, and you hesitated for a moment before scooping a generous amount into the filter.
While the coffee brewed, you leaned against the counter, rubbing your temples and trying to clear your foggy mind.
"Good morning", a male voice said from your couch, scaring the living shit out of you.
You screeched into a total panic, your heart racing a mile a minute.
"Itās just me," Andrew said, standing up.
You let out a sharp gasp, clutching at your chest as your heart hammered against your ribs, and your hand trembled as you pressed it over your pounding heart, trying to steady your breathing.
Andrew stepped forward slowly, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture.
"I didnāt mean to startle you,"
"No, itās okay. I just wasnāt expecting anybody else in here."
"I'm sorry. You asked me to stay last night⦠so I did."
You felt your jaw go slack.
"I⦠I did?" you managed to whisper with mortification.
He bit his lip softly, a hint of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. You asked me to stay. I stayed in bed with you for a bit, but then I just moved to the couch."
A flood of images burst into your mindāhazy pieces of last night rushing back in a jumbled, humiliating rush. You remembered the way you had been so drunk you couldnāt stand straight, how you flopped onto the bed shirtless, and thenāoh my Godāyouād flashed him. Your tits, fully exposed, in your drunken state, without even realizing it. The sheer mortification made your cheeks burn hotter.
"Oh my God," you whispered, voice cracking. "Iāfuck, Iām so sorry. I didnāt mean toā"
"Itās okay. Really. Weāve all had those nights."
"I canāt believe I did that," you muttered, covering your face with your hands for a moment. "God, Iām such a fucking idiot."
"No big deal."
"I owe you breakfast," you finally said, lowering your hands from your face. "And coffee."
"You donāt owe me anything."
His hazel eyes locked onto your eyes.
Looking at Andrew in your living room this morning made you forget about everything.
How you made an ass of yourself last night.
How terrible you probably looked right now.
You were even starting to forget that you had a headache.
He stayed because you had asked.
"Take a seat," you said, turning around to open a drawer. You grabbed a pan and placed it on the stove, then glanced over your shoulder.
"How do you like your eggs?" you asked.
He tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Sunny side up,"
You nodded, a little smile tugging at your own lips.
"Me too," you said softly.
You two finished breakfast, and you started clearing up the table. As you set the dishes in the sink, he stood up slowly, reaching out to help you, but you shook your head gently.
"Relax," you said softly, rubbing the back of your neck. "Just sit down on the couch. I got this."
He hesitated for a moment, but then did as told. You took a couple minutes before joining him, settling next to him.
Your headache was going away.
Thank fuck.
He looked over at you, eyes searching.
"Are you mad at me?"
You took a deep breath, considering how honest you wanted to be.
"Not mad. Just⦠confused."
He didnāt respond immediately. You could tell he was waiting, almost expecting you to say more. So, you pushed yourself to speak honestly.
"This whole Cath situation. Look, I wonāt lie, it really threw me off. I guess, Iām shocked that it happened. That you hooked up with her. If youāre looking for advice or whatever⦠I donāt really have any advice on how you can get with her. Honestly, even if I donāt like Baz, sheās still his wife. This whole thing feels messy, and I donāt know whatā"
"Get with Cath?" he cut you off, running a hand through his hair before he continued. "Thatās not why I told you about what happened with her. Thatās not what it was about."
You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to clarify.
"So then,ā you pressed softly, āwhy did you tell me?"
Andrew's face tightened, and he sighed heavily. His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he finally spoke.
"Thereās this really good Thai place in Chula Vista. Iāve a made a dinner reservation there three times. And each time, Iāve cancelled after about an hour."
You looked at him confused.
Andrew took a deep breath, his gaze drifting downward for a moment as if gathering his thoughts.
"Iāve canceled because Iāve been too scared to actually ask you out. Every time I think about it, I freeze up.... because Iāve been to jail before. Iāve done bad things. I've made mistakes I canāt take back. And I slept with someone I shouldnāt have. Iām not a good man."
He paused, as if the words tasted bitter on his tongue. "Maybe I told you all that because I wanted to see your reaction. I donāt know. Iām probably selfish. I guess I was hoping that if I told you the truth, youād see me for what I really amāand maybe decide to stay anyway. Or maybe youād run the other way, I donāt know. But I wanted to be honest. I donāt want to lie to you. Not about this, not about anything."
He looked up finally, his eyes meeting yoursāa vulnerability there youād never seen before. It was the longest he had ever spoken. Silence stretched between you both for a moment before he added softly, "I just⦠I want you to know all the facts. And if youāre still interested in that Thai place, or anything elseā¦" he trailed off. "Iāll be there. If you want."
Andrew didnāt let himself want things.
But he wanted this.
He wanted you.
You took a slow breath, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. The tears in Andrewās eyes made your heart ache. It was a lot to process, but it also showed a level of honesty that was rare. After a moment, you reached out gently, placing your hand over his.Ā
"Iāve been thinking about it, and I realize⦠we've already been on a ton of dates together. Like that night we went out for dinner at that little Mexican place downtown. Or the time we went hiking up near the cliffs, and Lena was so excited to find those tiny crabs by the tide pools. You remember how she kept trying to catch them, and we ended up getting soaked trying to help her? That trip a couple weeks ago to the beach, too. Standing there on the shore, letting the waves wash over our feet, talking about random shit."
You looked away for a moment.
"Honestly, the idea of you with Cathāmade me sick to my stomach. Not because of who she is, but because⦠because the thought of you with anybody else makes me so fucking crazy."
His head jerked forward. "It does?"
"It does," you admitted.
"I donāt care about her like that anymore. I swearā"
"I know. I know that now. And Iām not going to pretend that I understand why you slept with her, but I do believe people can change. And I believe in giving people a chance, especially when theyāre willing to be open about their past. So, yesāI still want to go to that Thai place with you. I like you, Andrew. I think Iāve liked you for longer than I would like to admit."
"I like you too. Youāre all I think about."
Andrewās hand circled yours, bringing it so that it pressed against his heart.
You wanted to cry at the gesture.
It was sweet.
He was sweet.
Without thinking, you leaned forward, and he flinched.
You could see the hesitation in himāhis breath was slow, almost trembling.
Your heart pounded louder in your ears, the silence stretching longer than you'd expected.
He was watching you intently.
You leaned in again, and slowly placed a delicate kiss on the right corner of his mouth. Then another on the left corner. Then finally, you placed a tender, kiss on his lips.
He pulled back enough to look at you.
Andrew then propped up your chin, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. His lips brushed against yours softly at first, tentatively, and you could tell he was still testing the waters with you. You pressed a little more, deepening the kiss, your hand reaching to gently cradle his cheek. His hesitation melted away as he responded, savoring how you chased his mouth with yours. His hand instinctively found your waist, pulling you just a little closer.
He kept kissing you.
All he could focus on was you.
The way you tasted.
The softness of your lips.
The way your body melted against his.
How right this all felt.
Suddenly, he grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you with even more hunger. His kiss was demanding, like a man possessed, as he shoved his tongue in your mouth with urgency and need. His body felt impossibly hard, and you pulled your mouth off of his for a moment. You stared at him, panting and wide-eyed.
You desperately climbed into his lap, your clothed cunt resting perfectly on top of his erection.
Andrew gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, trying to find a way to string together a coherent sentence. Since he couldnāt speak, he brought his lips back on yours, his tongue invading your mouth for another searing kiss. You gasped for air when he finally tore his lips away to start placing butterfly kisses on your neck. His hands dug into your ass, and he pulled you closer towards him, while you grinded yourself against him.
He groaned, when you continued to shove yourself against him, sinking yourself deeper and deeper into his lap.Ā You felt the bulge in his pants even more firmly, and he let out an absolutely wrecked moan, slumping his head into your shoulder.
You grabbed his hand and put it under your sleep shorts so that he could feel how wet your panties were. "I want you to touch me," you said boldly.
His eyes became intense.
"Fuckā¦" he whispered, silently cursing himself over his shallow breathing.
You whimpered when you felt him touch you over your panties.
Finally, his fingers slid between your legs, deftly hooking the material of your panties aside as he plunged two fingers inside you. Your head fell back, and you struggled to keep quiet with all your panting and moaning.
"Fuck, A-Andrew," your voice cracked. He pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, inhaling your scent greedily. You buried your face into his shoulder, dragging your fingernails around the back of his neck.
He wanted to hear you scream his name, to know that you were completely his in this moment. He continued to bring you mindless pleasure as his fingers worked inside of you. His thumb brushed against your clit and your hips bucked against his seeking fingers.
"Oh, god yes!" you gasped breathlessly.
He brought his lips to your ear and nipped on your earlobe. "Yeah? That feel good?"
You desperately nodded.
Scrunching his face in concentration, he curled his fingers upward hitting a spot so deep inside of you while he used his thumb to rub circles on your clit. Maybe it was the fact that you had been waiting for this moment for a long time, or the fact that you hadnāt been with someone in a long time, but you realized your body was responding faster than you had anticipated when you felt the pressure building in your belly.
"Andrew, Iām so fucking close," you cried out tangling your fingers in his hair and twisting his curls as you desperately moved against him. You tried to stifle out the embarrassing moans that were coming out of you, but you couldnāt.
Andrew watched you, the way your body responded to his touch, every gasp and moan escaping your lips making him feel like a fucking man. He loved the way your face was contorting in pleasure, how your eyes were fluttering shut because of him. Each sigh⦠each whimper was like music to his ears. He wanted to etch this moment into his memory, to brand himself into your very essence.
"Youāre doing so good. Such a good fucking girl," he coaxed as you continued to sob.
He was never one for saying much in bed, but he could tell it was doing something for you.
So, he would say and do anything to make you feel good.
Your pleasure was his pleasure.
"Andrewā¦" was all you were able to say, and you were shaking feeling your orgasm coming.
He was getting worked up at the sight of how needy you were for him, every thrust of his fingers making you let out high-pitched whines. He felt like his cock was going to break through his pants. "Cāmon beautiful. Let me fucking hear you. Give it to me,"
Then, suddenly, you were there, clenching around his fingers so tightly, your head thrown back and fingers clutching at his shoulders, the sound of his name on your tongue.
"Look at that, thatās it, take it. Youāre so fucking perfect," he marveled as you came hard for him, his praise sending you into a wave of aftershocks.
The pleasure was so intense, and he continued to work you through it, too a point where you felt overstimulated, so you grabbed his hand to stop him. He pulled his fingers out of you, glistening with your slick, and you watched him lift them to his mouth to clean them off, while he groaned at the taste.
"That felt so good," you mumbled, completely blissed out. "My headache is definitely gone now."
Andrew chuckled softly, his lips trailing up to your ear, where he planted a teasing kiss. "Iāll make the reservation for 8 PM tomorrow at the Thai place."
graphics by @saradika-graphics
I'm really convinced this man would just tell someone he fucked his brother's wife with no fucking filter....
when the codys plan a heist for a luxury gentlemenās club in los angeles, the last thing pope expects is to connect with the clubās most coveted and profitable dancer. right away, he feels thereās something different about you. little does he know, you arenāt working there of your own free will. your father is indebted to the clubās owner, and his life and yours are on the line if you donāt keep bringing in money until the debt is paid.
warnings/tags: canon level violence, strip club/nightclub setting, shitty and abusive men (not pope duh), death (not reader or anyone in the cody family), reader knows how to pole dance, reader is afab and goes by she/her pronouns, love at first sight vibes, reader is kinda a man-hater but itās justified, some angst and some fluff, pov switches, reader goes by a stage name but her real name is never stated, no use of y/n, possible strip club inaccuracies, kissing, not explicit smut but mdni, pope is protective af, no baz or smurf, takes place after lena gets adopted but pope is still living in bazās old beach house. flashbacks are italicized!
authorās note: woooo-weeeeee. my longest fic ever. holy shit. i cannot believe it is finally done. thank you endlessly to @fru1t4fr0gs and @thethyri for reading over this for me and letting me talk about it for weeks and weeks. this is by far the most challenging fic i have ever written and at times i wondered if i should just give up on it, but iām very glad that i kept going and can share it with you all. i hope you love it as much as i do.
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Tonight was supposed to be your first Friday night off in years.
In hindsight, you had been an idiot to not realize thatās too good to be true. Friday and Saturday nights are always Solsticeās busiest nights, and you arenāt exactly in a position to pick and choose your shifts. Weekends are mandatory for anyone who brings in decent money, and youāre no exception.
You shouldāve known it was a simple scheduling error, an oversight from whichever manager had been responsible for this weekās schedule, but the thought of getting take-out and spending your Friday night catching up on a few of your favorite shows that youāve neglected the newest episodes of had been too tempting for you to think about questioning why your name wasnāt listed under Friday, as it usually is.
Then, at 9:15 pm, precisely fifteen minutes after your shift's typical start time, your phone rang. Right away, a ball of nausea wound tight in your stomach. You didnāt even have to look at the screen to know whose name was displayed across it.
You also knew better than to risk not answering.
āYes?ā
āWhere the fuck are you?ā
Silas is pissed. Thatās nothing new. Silas has been in a perpetual state of pissed off since the day you had the misfortune of meeting him. Pissed is his default.
āNot at work.ā
A loud, sarcastic guffaw sounds from your speaker. āYeah, I fuckinā see that. Why the hell do you think Iām calling you? To ask about your overall wellbeing?ā
āOh, Iād never think that,ā you mutter under your breath, too low and quick for him to make out over the roar of R&B music that blares in the background. āI wasnāt on the schedule tonight,ā you say more clearly, digging your nails into your palm in an effort to keep your voice level.
āYeah, and your buddy Trevor is getting his ass chewed out for that, too,ā Silas spits. āYou always work Friday nights. The only exception was the time you got food poisoning because I didnāt want you shitting on a customer during a dance. You know that.ā
Damn it. Trevor is your favorite of all of the floor managers - the only one who talks to you like a human being. Why couldnāt it have been Gregory? That pervert getting in trouble would almost be worth this phone call and whatever punishment Silas has in mind for you not being at work right now.
āItās not my fault that Trevor fucked up the schedule,ā you say, voice still lethally calm. āI show up when Iām told to. Nothing more.ā
āI donāt give a ratās fat ass whose fault it is,ā Silas hisses. āAnd Iām telling you to show up now, so you better get here before ten oāclock orāā
You donāt want to hear whatever heās about to threaten you with. It could be anything from not letting you perform a solo routine on center stage tonight to taking a bigger cut of the money you make from private roomsā¦to even worse.
āOkay, okay. Jesus fuck. Iām on my way.ā
You hang up before his voice can give you a migraine before you even arrive at the club.
Forty minutes later, after doing your hair and makeup in record time, throwing on the first cute lingerie set you can find thatās clean, and speeding at least ten over the speed limit the entire drive to the club, you show up with less than five minutes to spare.
Luckily, Silas is nowhere to be found when you enter through the back door. You know that heāll bitch at you some more whenever you see him, but right now, youāre relieved to start your normal rounds while heās otherwise occupied. Likely smoking himself to death with a hotdog-sized cigar in his office.
You walk the main floor, making small talk with a few regulars that arenāt complete pieces of shit as far as men who frequent strip clubs go. You book your first private room of the night, and Gregory is a little too happy to inform you that Silas will be taking sixty percent of your earnings tonight as opposed to the standard fifty.
As annoying as that is, you canāt help but feel a little relieved. As far as punishments go, a ten percent increase in his cut is mild. Last time you were reprimanded (for not fucking smiling enough), Silas added an additional five grand to the already exorbitant amount of money that your father owes him.
The exorbitant amount of money that just so happens to be the very reason you are working in this shithole in the first place.
Not even two hours into your shift, and youāre already over it. So over it that you offer to take out a bag of trash for the bartenders just as an excuse to get some fresh air for two fucking minutes.
This part of Los Angeles isnāt exactly quaint - thereās a near constant stream of car horns blaring and police sirens wailing but itās white noise to you at this point. At least the night air is a nice reprieve from the stench of cheap weed and cheaper cologne even for only a moment.
It says a lot that you consider hanging out by literal dumpsters more appealing than being inside.
You shouldāve been out of here a long time ago. It wasnāt supposed to take more than a year to clear the debt that isnāt even your debt to clear.
You didnāt even know that your dad was sick. Not until you came home from college on a random weekend, hoping to surprise him, and found him far thinner and more frail than you had ever seen him, hooked up to a dialysis machine to keep himself from dying of kidney failure.
Heād tried his hardest to keep it all from you. He didnāt want you to worry, didnāt want you to drop out of school to take care of him. He tried to handle the medical bills that accumulated rapidly on his own for as long as he could.
And when he accepted that he couldnāt, he got desperate.
He thought Silas was just a lender. Someone who would help him stay afloat long enough to get a transplant, recover, and get back to work. He didnāt realize exactly what kind of man he had borrowed from until Silas showed up at his house, uninvited and unannounced, waltzing right in like he owned the place.
So vividly you can remember the look of shame on your fatherās face when Silas revealed the truth, and the panic that quickly bloomed when he looked directly at you and said the words that changed the trajectory of your life.
āYou failed to mention that you have a daughter,ā Silas purrs. āShe sure is pretty. You know, I think sheād do real well working in one of my clubs. Yeah, sheād be popular. Make me a lot of money. How does that sound? You wanna help your poor, sick daddy out?ā
Your dad had instantly refused, pleading with Silas to just give him a little more time, but you could tell that Silas wasnāt really asking. He was telling you what you were going to do. And because you were scared, for your own life and your fatherās, you agreed.
Here you are, three years later, with no true end in sight.
The clubās back door screeches open, and you know that your ninety seconds of the closest thing you can get to peace around here has come to an end.
āThe hell are you doing out here?ā Silas booms, interrupting the relative quiet of the alleyway. āItās almost time for you to go on center stage. Youāre lucky that Iām even letting you go on at all tonight. I wasnāt planning on it, but thereās a group of guys in there requesting you.ā
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. The last thing you want is for him to change his mind at the last second and give your solo slot to one of the other girls. āIām coming. I was just taking out the trash.ā
You take a step to walk past him, but he blocks the doorway, his clammy hand shooting out to catch you by the elbow. His grip isnāt quite hard enough to bruise, but still makes bile churn in your gut.
āDonāt get cute with me,ā he spits. āYouāre already on thin ice tonight.ā
You donāt say anything, biting your lip to hold back the overwhelming desire to spit in his face. Silas leans in, his breath foul with the stench of whiskey and cigar smoke.
āMaybe youāve forgotten whatās at stake here.ā His fingers tighten just a fraction around your arm. Just enough to make you wince. āMaybe your dad needs a reminder.ā
You taste iron from where your teeth break the skin of your lip. āI said Iām coming.ā
Silas snorts, satisfied for now. He lets go of your arm with a shove that is more dismissive than violent and turns back toward the door.
āAnd try not to fuck up your set,ā he snaps over his shoulder. āThose guys in there are blowing their money on you. Donāt make me regret doing you any favors.ā
And then heās gone, letting the metal door slam closed behind him before you can follow him inside.
You stand there for a moment, breathing in and then slowly exhaling when movement from your peripheral vision catches your eye.
Great. Just what you fucking need right now. An audience. Men, of course. Two of them. Just close enough to have heard every word.
āWhat are you looking at, boys?ā You call, voice void of emotion as you make direct eye contact with the stocky, curly-haired one.
Heād be cute, you think, if he wasnāt the kind of guy to spend his Friday night outside of a strip club. The sandy blond looks slightly surprised that youāre acknowledging them, but his buddy remains stoic.
You jerk your chin towards the door Silas slammed behind him.
āThe showās inside.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Pope all but forced Deran to switch tasks with him at the last second.
Originally, he was supposed to be the one keeping a close eye on Silas Leary, Solsticeās owner, while Deran scopes out the clubās main floor for the heist that Craig, of all people, is orchestrating.
He shouldnāt be surprised. A luxury gentlemanās club based heist is quite possibly the most Craig heist possible.
But now, instead of watching the balding, sweaty jackass who had berated you in the alleyway not even ten minutes ago, heās watching you on stage.
Youāre more pleasant to look at, at least.
Heās never really seen anything quite like it - the way you dance. This isnāt his first time at a strip club. His brothers have coerced him into going to strip clubs before, though every time prior to tonight was for pleasure, not business. Still, he isnāt unfamiliar with the scene. Heās watched women pole dance before, but not like this.
Youāre the only thing in the room that he can concentrate on. For the entirety of the five minutes and some change that your set lasts, he forgets that heās technically here for recon. He and his brothers made this trip to Los Angeles to get a feel for the buildingās layout, to see how operations work, to check out the security systemsā¦not watch the strippers.
He tells himself heās keeping up appearances. It would be weird to not watch you. Everyone in the room is - even the other dancers, though they watch with less enchantment and more disdain than the patrons.
The song comes to an end all too soon, and Pope continues to watch as you make quick work of collecting all of the bills that had been thrown onto the stage. He stands just a few feet away, close enough that he can see the body glitter dusted across your chest sparkle in the glow of the neon stage lights.
When you stand up, thick stack of cash in hand, your gaze locks with his for one tense but fleeting moment. The look in your eyes is the same as when you had made direct eye contact with him outside the club.
Just as fast as you had appeared on the stage, you then disappear, leaving Pope staring after you.
He thinks back to what he and Deran had witnessed in the alley. He had instantly recognized Silas Leary from pictures heād seen online, so he and Deran hung around to witness the brief interaction, hoping to get some idea as to what Silas is like in person before entering the club.
It came as no shock to Pope that his reputation precedes him. Harsh, volatile, cruel seemingly for the sake of being cruel. That isnāt what made Pope freeze in place in the alley. Itās what Silas had said to you.
āMaybe youāve forgotten whatās at stake here. Maybe your dad needs a reminder.ā
And your response. You didnāt agree or disagree. Didnāt fight him on it. You looked Silas dead in the eyes, expression unreadable, and barely flinched. Like you had heard the threat a thousand times before, like you were used to the way he grabbed you by the arm. Like it hardly even phased you.
Popeās first instinct had been to intervene, but he knew doing so would have tanked the job before it began. He couldnāt risk drawing attention to himself and Deran, and deep down, he also knew that stepping in would have likely made things worse on you, too, in the long run.
So he watched from the sidelines, feeling more at peace than ever at the prospect of stealing loads of money from someone, knowing Silas Leary deserves whatās coming for him.
Deran knew it, too, playing it off with a joke that sparked an idea in Popeās head.
āShit. You think she hates the fucker enough to help us rob him?ā
Pope had said nothing at the time, but he was unable to shake the thought. The entire time that he watched you on stage, the look of unadulterated hatred on your face kept replaying in his mind.
But for just a few minutes, as you danced on the center stage, you seemed different than you did in the alley. Different than you did when you were collecting the dozens of tens, twenties, and hundred dollar bills off of the stage floor. For a few moments, Pope saw himself in you. The way you seemed to completely dissociate while you performed, like there was no one else in the room but you and nothing else mattered. In his own way, heās been there. With skateboarding, and with boxing. For him, those things are escapes.
He canāt help but wonder if thatās what dancing is for you. An escape from this place.
He supposes thereās really only one way to find out - if heās right, and if Deran could possibly be right, too.
Good thing Craig had suggested they all bring plenty of cash with them. To keep up appearances, he had said. If youāre going to a strip club, you should always have cash on you. This is just recon, but you never know.
Heād smirked when he said it, as if he already had plans to spend said cash in ways that werenāt relevant to recon, but he still made a fair point.
Popeās eyes scan the crowded room, searching through all of the dancers and customers in hopes of finding someone who might be of some help. He notices a short, pudgy, middle-aged man who appears to be scolding another dancer.
Gregory, Pope sees that his name tag reads once he approaches him.
āThe dancer that just finished up on stage,ā Pope asks him, āWhatās her name?ā
A creepy, almost unsettling smile grows on Gregoryās face. āOh, that would be Soleil. Why? You want a room with her?ā
What Pope wants is to wipe that perverted look off of his face, but rationally he knows that would be counterproductive right now, so he settles for a curt nod. āYeah, I do.ā
āHalf hour? Or a full hour?ā
Pope knows that heās supposed to meet his brothers and nephew where they parked a couple blocks away in less than an hour, so he isnāt really sure why he lets the next words come out of his mouth, but for whatever reason, he does.
āFull hour.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Gregory barges into the locker room without so much as knocking.
Youāre dressed (as dressed as you possibly can be in a place like this), just counting the money you made from your solo set, but his sudden presence still unnerves you.
āYouāve got a private room,ā he barks, not bothering to be subtle with the way his beady little eyes trail up your legs. āRoom two. Full hour. This guy asked for you after watching your solo performance, so you better not disappoint him.ā
You cram the rest of your money into the locker and snap it shut, trying not to give Gregory the satisfaction of seeing how irritated you are - at the way he thinks he owns this place and can enter a changing room without knocking, and especially at hearing you have to do another private room. For a full hour.
You donāt bother asking who the private room is with. Youāre confident itās one of the men who had convinced Silas to let you go on center stage tonight. A group of four or five sat as close as possible to the front, several familiar faces throwing bills at you every few seconds. Any given one of them looks like the type to drop six hundred dollars on an hour-long private room.
āOh, Iāll try my hardest,ā you breathe sarcastically. āNow can I have a second to freshen up? Alone?ā
āHurry,ā Gregory snaps. āHeās waiting for you.ā
You wait until the door clicks shut behind him to curse under your breath. Sometimes, you think you might hate Gregory as much as you hate Silas - if thatās even possible.
After reapplying your lipgloss and spritzing on a little more perfume, you reluctantly make your way to the private room where youāll spend the next hour of your life.
At least once itās over, itāll be after midnight, which means the rest of the shift likely wonāt be quite as busy, and youāll be able to go home soonā
āHi,ā you chirp, slipping into the room with a forced smile and your best customer service voice. āIām Soleil. Thanks so much for booking a room with me tonight. And whatās your naāā
You freeze as soon as you turn around from shutting the door behind you, the question dying on your tongue.
Not one of the men from the eager group that sat right next to the stage. You do recognize him, though. He too had stood close to the stage, by himself.
One of the men from the alley.
āOh,ā you quip, voice rising an octave. āYouāreāā
āPope,ā he interrupts, and youāre thankful for it, because you didnāt really even know where you were going with that sentence. āMy name is Pope.ā
āItās nice to meet you, Pope,ā you smile, taking a tentative step closer to where he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. āWould you like to sit down?ā You ask, gesturing towards the couch behind him.
He nods. You hover for a moment, giving him space as he lowers himself stiffly onto the couch. He looks around with uncertainty, like this entire process is completely unfamiliar to him and he isnāt sure what exactly he is supposed to say or do.
āLet me guess,ā he starts, settling into the velvet couch. He runs his palms over jean fabric that conceals his bulky thighs. āYour name isnāt actually Soleil?ā
You snort a laugh as you take a seat in the empty space beside him. You tuck your legs beneath you, one arm relaxing across the top of the couch, your hand coming to rest just behind his head. Instinctively, your fingers inch towards the base of his skull to toy with the reddish brown curls there, but you stop yourself at the last second, instead smoothing your fingertips over the soft, velvet material of the couch.
Normally, you wouldnāt hesitate to show physical affection for such high-paying clientele - that is what at least 95% of them are here for, anyway - but something about the way he stiffens at your sudden closeness makes you think twice before touching him.
āThat depends,ā you counter. āIs Pope actually your name?ā
He turns his neck to look you in the eye - now close enough that youāre able to see his hazel irises and the light dusting of freckles across his skin.
Pretty, you think - even if he is the kind of man to spend an asinine amount of money on a nearly naked and complete strangerās attention, you canāt deny that heās pretty.
āNo,ā he says lowly. He pauses, swallowing. āPopeās just a childhood nickname. My real name is Andrew.ā
āAndrew,ā you repeat with a slow nod. āAnd which would you prefer that I call you?ā
A slight blush appears on the apples of his cheeks. āYou can call me whatever you want to.ā
It doesnāt really make a difference to you, considering youāll likely never see him again after the hour he paid for comes to an end, but you canāt help but think the way he blushed when you said Andrew was oddly endearing.
āWell, Andrew,ā you hum, āyou are correct in assuming that my name is not really Soleil. Thatās just the stage name I chose to go by.ā You nod towards the sign on the opposite wall that spells Solstice in neon, cursive lettering. You give a small shrug. āI thought it pairs well with the name of the club. Soleil at Solstice.ā
Thereās something close to a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. āIām sure youāre already aware that soleil means sun in French.ā
Yes, you are aware of that, but youāre slightly surprised that he knows that. Most men that come here donāt know their left from their right.
āThat it does,ā you agree. āKind of ironic, actually.ā
His eyebrows pinch together a bit. āHow so?ā
Because there isnāt actually any sun in a place like this. A dark, dystopian fucking hellscape.
But you canāt say that, of course. God forbid you say anything even slightly negative about this place and word somehow gets back to Silas. That would be your third strike of the night, and heād likely tack on an additional twenty grand to your fatherās outstanding balance for the hell of it.
You instantly regret saying anything at all.
āOh, nothing.ā You shake your head in dismissal. āJust meant the only thing thatās bright here is the strobe lights.ā
He stares at you for an extended moment before responding, his gaze heavy on you. āI wouldnāt say the only thing.ā
You exhale a breathy laugh, your cheeks warming more than they should at the sentiment. It fills you with a bit of shame, really - the fact that youād feel even slightly flustered over a vague compliment from a stranger paying for your company.
āSo, Andrewā¦ā you say, breaking the brief but loaded silence that had settled between you. āYou paid for this room. What would you like to do in it?ā
You dread what comes next. You always do. The kind of ādancingā that you hardly even consider dancing. The stripping, the touching. Thereās supposed to be boundaries, of course, but most men think that if theyāre paying then that gives them a right to cross them.
But private rooms are part of the job. Silas has made that clear from day one. He lets you perform your solo routines because they generate too much revenue to deny you the one part of the night that you donāt absolutely despise - but your sets last five, maybe ten minutes at most. Your shifts run about six hours. That leaves five hours and fifty minutes to keep the money flowing if you want to keep Silas appeased, which means doing every soul-sucking part of the job you hate: the floor dances, the private rooms, the mandatory mingling and endless flirting.
Every now and then, though, someone will book a private room and pleasantly surprise you.
āI just wanna talk,ā Andrew says simply. āIf thatās alright with you.ā
You have to hold back the urge to sigh in relief. Talking you can do. And the fact that Andrew doesnāt reek of body odor and stout liquor like the majority of your customers makes the thought of conversing with him for the remainder of the next hour even less painful.
Six hundred dollars (well, significantly less once Silas takes his sixty percent cutā¦) and all you have to do is sit and talk to a decent looking man who isnāt belligerently drunk? Youāve had far worse nights.
āOf course,ā you smile, and for once it isnāt completely forced. āYouāre paying. If you want to talk, then we talk.ā
Andrew is silent for a moment, as if heās considering what to say next. His stare is unyielding, but not in the way that would normally make you cringe so hard that you risk breaking a tooth. Instead, it feels like heās really looking at you. Not Soleil, but you.
āI watched your set earlier,ā he says when he finally speaks. āThat was very impressive. How long have you been dancing?ā
Ah. Yes, you had noticed him towards the very front of the crowd when you finished your routine. Heād looked every bit as serious and solemn as he had when you first saw him in the alleyway earlier tonight.
āDancing? Since I was four. Ballet, tap, jazz, lyricalā¦ā You list off all of the weekly classes you remember taking throughout your childhood. āPole dancing, though? About three years.ā
Andrew looks surprised by the answer, his brows lifting slightly and hazel eyes widening. āOnly three years? I wouldāve thought a lot longer than that. Is that how long youāve worked here, then?ā
You nod, retracting your arm from where it had been resting behind his head now that itās clear that - for whatever reason - Andrew is only interested in conversation. You let yourself relax a bit, relieved that you donāt have to put up the usual facade that makes most men swoon.
āYeah, right at three years now. I practice a lot at home, though. I even got a pole for my apartment. If you work here, youāve really gotta know your way around a pole, soā¦Iāve put in the hours.ā
He looks impressed at that - or maybe surprised. Or maybe something else entirely. You arenāt sure. You canāt read his facial expressions or his body language nearly as easily as most of the men that enter this room.
āWow,ā Andrew hums with what appears to be a nod of approval. āThatās dedication. You must have really wanted to work here to put so much effort into learning such a specific skill.ā
You barely manage to hold back a cackle at that. If he only fucking knew.
You give a half shrug, playing it off. āWhat can I say?ā You sigh. āGuess I really needed the money.ā
Itās the truth. Not the whole, disgusting, gritty truth, but it is accurate. As accurate as you can be without trauma dumping and jeopardizing your lifeā¦and your fatherās.
Andrew nods, looking down at his hands splayed across the tops of his thighs. āYeah. I get that. Iād be lying if I said that I havenāt made money in some unconventional ways.ā
That piques your interest. āOh? Anything youād like to share with the class?ā
He exhales a small laugh before bringing his eyes back to yours again. āAs long as you promise not to tell anyone. If I tell you, it canāt leave this room.ā
You make a motion with a hand across your mouth as if youāre zipping your lips and throwing away the key. āMy lips are sealed. Pinky promise.ā Then, for good measure, you hold out your pinky finger to him in offering.
He stares at your littlest finger for a long moment, the slightest hint of a smirk beginning to tug at the corners of his lips again before he finally lifts a hand of his own, pinky finger upright. He wraps the digit around yours, giving it a firm squeeze before slowly pulling away.
āYears ago,ā Andrew starts, āI robbed a bank. It didnāt go as planned, and I spent a few years in prison for it.ā
You blink, and wait for him to laugh, or say that heās kidding. But then five, ten, fifteen seconds pass, and heās still looking at you with the exact same unreadable expression.
āYou robbed a bank?ā You ask incredulously. āJesus, I thought you were going to say that you sold pictures of your feet online or something.ā
He doesnāt smile or flinch, just holds your gaze for a second longer. āYeah,ā he says simply. āI wouldnāt say that Iām proud of it, but I did.ā
You know that your face must give away your surprise. His revelation should freak you out - if heās capable of bank robbery, what else is this stranger capable of?
Maybe youāve become somewhat desensitized to the concept of people going to extremes for money. Your dad. Silas. Even you. A few years ago, you never would have imagined that youād be here right now. But you have your reasons, and you are. Even though it isnāt your first choice, you wouldnāt want anyone to judge you too harshly for doing what you feel you have to do.
You donāt know Andrewās past. You have no idea what happened in his life that led him to make the decision to rob a bank. It probably wasnāt because he woke up bored one morning and decided that it sounded like a fun thing to do. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you know that all too well.
āWell,ā you huff a laugh, āI canāt say that I really blame you. I mean, Iād never be able to execute something like that, but itās fun to fantasize about on occasion.ā
āOn occasion?ā Andrew repeats in a low, curious tone. His brows lift in question. āLike when youāre here?ā
You snort, shaking your head. āPlease, if I was planning a bank robbery every time that Iām here, I wouldāve been locked up years ago. But this placeā¦ā You trail off, searching for the right words for what you want to say but know you shouldnāt, āthis place can get to you sometimes. Makes stupid ideas sound less stupid. No offense.ā
Andrew makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a hum. āNo offense taken.ā
The rest of the hour drifts by far easier than you expect. Andrew tells you some stories from his time in prison, and about how he grew up not too far from here, in Oceanside. He talks about his siblings, looking down at his lap when he reveals that heās a twin, but his twin sister, Julia, passed away somewhat recently. You try not to talk too much about yourself, but when he asks you questions, you answer as honestly as you can - telling him that you had been in your third year of college when you started working here, and that one day, when the time is right, youād like to finish your degree.
By the time a knock sounds at the door signaling that the hour is up, youāre almost startled. It barely feels as if sixty minutes have passed.
āHuh,ā you muse, rising from the couch as he does. āThat went by a lot quicker than time usually does here.ā
Andrew is silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, still as serious as when you had first made eye contact with him in the alley. Then, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small envelope.
āHere,ā he says quietly, holding out the envelope for you to take. āThis is for you.ā He pauses. āJust you. Not your boss.ā
Your eyes shoot up to his in surprise. Not at the fact that heās offering what you presume to be a tip, but at the last three words. Not your boss.
When your brain catches up, you accept the envelope, clutching it in both hands. āThank you,ā you murmur, trying to keep an even, neutral tone, though youāre sure your face betrays you. āIt was, uhā¦it was nice to meet you, Andrew.ā
He gives a small, polite smile as he takes a step towards the door. āIt was nice to meet you, Soleil.ā
Only when he reaches for the doorknob do you stop him by uttering a single word. He looks back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised.
You repeat yourself once more. āThatās my name,ā you clarify. āMy real name.ā
He says your name softly. Barely audible. As if just testing how it feels to say it. Then, with a slow nod, he turns the doorknob and exits the room without another word, leaving you staring after him.
Only after his footsteps fade down the hallway do you open the envelope and find that he has given you a thousand dollars.
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
āYouāre joking, right?ā
Jayās voice fills the silence that had settled over Smurfās living room following Popeās suggestion.
āNo,ā Pope says, trying not to let impatience slip into his tone. āIām not joking. I really think she would be willing to help us.ā
The three men take turns looking at each other before turning their stares back to Pope.
āThe stripper?ā Craig snorts. āThatās your big idea? I mean, I love strippers as much as the next guy, but you canāt be serious right now.ā
āIt was technically Deranās idea.ā
āWhat the hell are you talking about?ā Deran pipes up.
āWhen we saw her in the alley,ā Pope says, like itās obvious. āYou asked me if I think she hates her boss enough to help us rob him. The answer is yes. I think she does hate him that much. I think she hates that whole place that much.ā
No, you hadnāt blatantly said so, but you didnāt need to. He could see it in your eyes, and hear it in your tone. It may as well have been written across your forehead.
āJesus Christ, man, I wasnāt being serious.ā
āStill,ā Pope implores, āI spent an hour talking to her. Itās clear she doesnāt want to be there. And after what we witnessed in the alley? It wouldnāt surprise me if she doesnāt really have a choice in the matter.ā
His brothers and nephew are silent again, exchanging glances amongst each other.
āSheās been there for three years,ā Pope continues. āShe knows the layout. She knows when Silas comes and goes. And Iām willing to bet she knows exactly where that safe is and how to get to it, too.ā
āSo she hates her job,ā Craig shrugs. āDoesnāt mean sheās cool with risking a felony charge.ā
Pope shakes his head. āShe didnāt seem too put off when I told her that Iāve done time for armed robbery.ā
All three voices erupt at once.
āYou told her what?ā
āWhy the hell would you do that?ā
āDude, are you insane?ā
āI wanted her to know that she can trust me,ā Pope says simply. āAnd she reacted fine. More than fine. She seemed to understand.ā
Jay clears his throat. āLook, if we do this, she canāt be a liability. She needs to know what sheās doing, and she needs to keep her mouth shut.ā
āShe will,ā Pope says instantly. āI know she will.ā
Deran squints. āHow? You spent one hour with her. You donāt actually know her.ā
Pope meets his eyes with an unblinking stare. āYou think Iād risk all of our asses if I wasnāt sure? I know enough to know that Iām not wrong.ā
Popeās stare is locked on Craig. Itās his operation and therefore he gets the final say. If it were solely up to Jay, or even Deran, he wouldnāt think thereās a chance of getting them to agree. But Craigās a little riskier than they are. If he thinks thereās even a slight chance that itāll increase the odds of the job being a success, heās likely to agree.
āFuck it,ā Craig finally mutters, shaking his head. āFine. Weāll try it your way. But we arenāt sharing our cut with her. If she gets anything, itās coming out of your share. Iām not sacrificing my payday because you have a crush on the stripper.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Pope knows a guy who knows a guy who somehow knows everything about everyone. And if that guy doesnāt know, he has ways of finding out.
Well, technically Smurf knew him, but Pope uses that connection to his advantage.
The information doesnāt come cheap, but Pope needed to know with absolute certainty before waltzing back into Solstice and asking you to help him rob your boss.
Except now he isnāt just asking for help pulling off the heist. Heās going to ask for help pulling off an execution, because he doesnāt just want Silas Learyās money, he wants him dead.
It may have cost him three grand, but Pope now has confirmation that his suspicions were correct and somehow worse than he had thought. Not only are you essentially being trafficked, but youāre doing so because your life and your fatherās are on the line.
Now he knows, without a doubt, just how desperate you must be for a way out. And even though heās only met you one time, Pope wants to give you that way out.
If only youāll be willing to take it.
Pope makes the hour and a half long drive from Oceanside to Los Angeles again the very next night without any confirmation that you would even be working, but itās a chance heās willing to take. Craig and the others want to get on with the job, and Pope wants to get you away from the likes of Silas Leary as quickly as possible.
He goes over it all in his head the entire drive to the club. Everything he knows about you, from what he had witnessed the moment he first saw you in the alley, to every word you said to him in the private room, to what the private investigator informed him of.
But thatās not all he thinks about. He also thinks about the way your pinky finger felt wrapped around his when you offered the symbolic gesture to keep his secret, and the intoxicating smell of your perfume that he had to fight the urge to inhale the entire hour that you sat beside him on that tiny couch. He thinks about how sweet it sounded to hear you say his name, his real name, and how it sounded even sweeter when you told him your real name.
Maybe Craig is right. Maybe he does have a crush. Thatās the most logical explanation for why Pope suddenly no longer cares how much money he pulls from this job. There will always be another job - if he wanted to, he could rob another bank by himself next week. He cares more about getting you out of the unfortunate predicament youāre in, and ensuring that Silas can never bring harm to you or anyone else ever again.
When he arrives, itās close to midnight and the club is packed. He can barely get through the dense crowd of dancers and patrons that occupy the main floor, his eyes carefully scanning the crowd as he makes his way to the bar, where he orders a beer to keep up appearances until heās able to spot you.
He waits for over half an hour. He doesnāt move from his seat at the bar, where he has the perfect view of center stage, the main floor, and the doorway to the hallway that leads to the private room he shared with you last night.
Just observing it all is overstimulating. From the loud music that pulsates through Popeās barstool, to the neon strobe lights that make his eyes throb, to the smell of bodies and liquor that hangs heavy in hot club air, he doesnāt know how you have done it for three years without losing your sanity. Even just sitting here, all Pope can think about are all of the germs on every surface of this place.
When you finally appear at the mouth of the small hallway that leads to the private rooms wearing a pale pink, ruffled bodysuit that looks like it was custom made for you, Pope momentarily forgets why heās here.
He watches as your eyes flicker around the main floor of the club, as if youāre dreading stepping back into the chaos of it all. When you finally glance towards the bar, your gaze locks with his and Popeās skin warms at the way your face lights up with surprise. He offers you a small smile and wave of his hand, and thatās all you need to walk the short distance to where he sits.
āAndrew,ā you breathe, coming to stand next to where he sits. āI didnāt expect to see you again so soon.ā
āSoleil,ā he greets, a teasing edge to his tone. He almost lets your real name slip out, but thinks better of it at the last second. He isnāt sure why you trusted him enough to let him know your real name after only an hour together, but he gets the feeling that isnāt something that you tell just anyone.
āI didnāt expect to be back so soon, butā¦ā He trails off momentarily, glancing around the crowded room. Thereās too many people. He has to speak too loudly in order for you to hear him over all of the voices and loud music, and he doesnāt want to risk anyone overhearing. āAre you busy right now?ā
You shake your head. āNo. I just finished up a private room. Iāve already done my solo set for the night. I was just going to walk around, make conversation with some regulars. Why? Are youā¦wanting a room?ā
Pope canāt help but think you sound a little hopeful. But maybe thatās wishful thinking on his part. You are doing your job, after all.
āYeah, I am,ā he says, standing up beside you. āIf you have time.ā
You nod with a smile that reaches your eyes. āOf course.ā
He follows as you lead him down the hallway, straight to the exact room that the two of you occupied last night. As he does, a terrifying thought occurs: you might say no. You might get scared, and deny everything, and refuse to help. You might tell him to get lost, and he doesnāt know where the hell that would leave him. But as he walks into the room after you, he swallows that thought down, and focuses on what he does know: you want to be here even less than he does.
āIām really glad to see you,ā you say as you shut the door behind him. āAnd Iām not just saying that because you tipped me a thousand dollars. Thank you, by the way. That was very generous of you.ā
Pope takes a seat on the couch, the exact same spot he sat twenty-four hours ago, though he feels significantly more nervous now than he did then. āNo need to thank me,ā he murmurs. āI really enjoyed talking to you.ā
You take a seat beside him, relaxing against the couch. āIs that why you came back? To talk more?ā
He nods. āIt is. If thatās okay with you.ā
āMore than okay with me. Is there anything in particular that youād like to talk about tonight, Andrew?ā
He hesitates for a second. He spent half the drive here rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to you to ensure that this would go as smoothly as possible, but now that heās sitting beside you, he has forgotten how to string two words together.
He clears his throat slightly. āCan I ask you something?ā
Your eyebrows twitch in curiosity. āSure.ā
āIf you could walk out of this place tonight and never come back, would you?ā
A small laugh escapes you, and you instantly drop his gaze, looking down at your hands in your lap instead. āThatās a hell of a question. You know, most people that get me alone in this room just ask me if I have a boyfriend or what my favorite position is.ā
Pope watches you for a moment. āWell, Iām not most people.ā
You look back up, your lips pursed. āNo,ā you agree quietly. āYouāre definitely not.ā You pause just long enough to make Pope wonder if youāre going to say anything else at all. āYeah. I would. What makes you ask?ā
He exhales slowly, only mildly surprised by your honesty. āI heard what happened in the alley yesterday.ā
Youāre visibly taken aback, your body going rigid and your eyes going wide, and he can understand why. In the entire hour you spent together last night, he didnāt bring up the incident in the alley. You probably assumed he hadnāt been able to hear what Silas had said, or that he at least hadnāt thought anything of it, but now here he is, bringing it up unprompted.
āOh,ā you start, your voice unnaturally high, āthat was justāā
He cuts you off by shaking his head. āIām not asking you to explain anything to me,ā says lowly. āBut I know who Silas is. Thatās why me and my brothers came here last night. We were supposed to come here, get information, and leave.ā
You donāt move as you stare at him in silence, either too stunned or too scared to speak. He continues so you donāt have to.
āBut then I met you. And now I canāt just pretend I didnāt see that.ā
You study him for a long moment. āWhat kind of information?ā
āRemember when I told you that I did time in prison?ā
Your eyebrows scrunch together before realization blooms across your face a fraction of a second later. Instinctively, you change your position on the small sofa, putting more space between the two of you. āJesus,ā you hiss. āYou were going to robāā
You donāt finish your sentence, looking from Pope, to the door just a few feet away, to a security camera in the corner of the room.
āYouāre lucky that thing doesnāt have audio,ā you spit under your breath.
Pope holds back a laugh. āI know it doesnāt have audio. I know what Iām doing.ā He pauses, then offers a small, almost shy smile. āMost of the time.ā
āOh, most of the time?ā
Pope shrugs. āMost of the time.ā
You sigh, running a hand down your face as you look around the room again.
āLook,ā you whisper, āI donāt care what you and your brothers do to Silas, but I canāt get involved.ā
Pope doesnāt respond right away. He was expecting you to say something along those lines. But you arenāt screaming at him to get out, or running away to find a security guard, so he still feels hope.
He murmurs your real name for the first time since you had first told him what it is last night. It causes your expression to soften the tiniest bit, a glimpse of vulnerability appearing in your eyes.
āI know that heās got something over you. And I swear I can help you, if youāll let me.ā
You purse your lips as you stare at him, as if searching for any sign that he could be lying to you.
āI know you donāt know me,ā Pope adds delicately. āI wouldnāt blame you for not trusting me. Iām just asking you to hear me out.ā
Another beat of loaded silence. āOkay,ā you say, barely audible. āBut we canāt talk about this here. Itās too risky.ā You nod towards the door. āI donāt get off until three.ā
āThatās okay,ā Pope says, and he hopes that his relief isnāt too evident in his tone. āI can wait.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
When you first noticed Andrew sitting at the bar, grinning as if just waiting for you to walk in the room, you wouldāve assumed that would be the most surprising thing to happen to you tonight.
That assumption proved to be dead wrong, because five minutes later, he revealed that heās planning to rob your boss.
(Correction: heās planning to rob him, and knows that heās a huge piece of shit who is blackmailing you).
The surprises donāt stop there, though. Next, you surprise yourself by inviting a practical stranger into your home.
Your self-preservation skills have always been lacking. That was evident the day that you willingly agreed to work for Silas to help pay off your dadās debt instead of fleeing the state of California and never looking back.
But this might just break the record for most reckless and foolhardy thing youāve ever done.
Andrew waits for you in the parking garage down the block from the club until you get off just after three oāclock in the morning. Your body is exhausted, but your mind has never been more awake as you drive back to your apartment with him tailing you in his truck.
Your thoughts reel with all of the ways that this could go disastrously wrong.
You do not actually know this man. Youāve spent less than a collective two hours with him. Your gut tells you that heās being honest, but is it worth the risk? Heās a bank robber. A convicted felon, who apparently comes from a crime family. Is it possible that you could just be trading one Silas for another? Andrew claims he can help you, but how? And at what cost?
Moments after you arrive at your apartment, Andrew pulls into the parking spot directly next to yours and then follows you wordlessly to your unit.
You have every intention of telling him to make himself comfortable on your couch and offering him fresh coffee. It is well after three oāclock in the morning - most people who donāt work the nightshift would be asleep at this time. But as soon as your front door clicks shut, you suddenly forget all pleasantries.
āYou said that you know heās got something over me.ā You stand before Andrew in your small kitchen, looking him dead in the eye. āHow much do you know, exactly?ā
He meets your gaze with an equally level stare. It isnāt harsh, but it is hard for you to read. Youāre quickly learning that to be the norm with Andrew. Difficult to read.
āI know enough,ā Andrew says calmly. āI know Silas is a loan shark. I know youāre working for him to pay back money that you didnāt borrow.ā
You nod slowly, dropping your gaze to the floor as you lean against your kitchen counter. āAnd how do you think you can help me with that, exactly?ā You glance back up. āDonāt get me wrong, I would love to believe you, but I just donāt see how you and your brothers robbing the guy magically frees me of him. I mean, if he were to find out that it was you, and that Iāve even talked you outside of the club, he wouldāā
āHe wouldnāt find out,ā Andrew cuts you off, voice even and low. āI would make sure of that.ā
āHow?ā You take a step towards him without thinking, your hands clasped in front of you. āHow would you make sure of that? If you know why Iām working for Silas, then Iām assuming you know about my father. It isnāt just my life on the line here, Andrew.ā
His hazel eyes soften at that. āI do know about your father. I also know thereās a lot of people stuck in situations like you and your father, because of Silas. A lot of people who would all be better off if Silasā¦wasnāt around anymore.ā
Your eyebrows lift halfway up your forehead. āWasnāt around anymore?ā You echo. As soon as they leave your lips, the implication becomes clear.
Wasnāt around anymore. Gone. Deleted. Erased.
Andrew doesnāt verbalize a response. He just watches you from where he stands an armās length away and waits for you to process what heās telling you.
That heās offering to kill Silas. Or have him killed. You donāt really know. Thereās a shrill, high-pitched ringing in your ears thatās making it impossible to think clearly.
You finally manage to get two words out. āYouāre serious.ā
It isnāt posed as a question.
āI am,ā Andrew says simply. āIf you want me to be.ā
You snort at that, because what the fuck are you supposed to say? āYeah, off with his head!ā and āoh no, please donāt hurt him!ā somehow feel equally wrong.
You look to the floor again. And then around the room. To your houseplants that need watered, and then to last nightās dishes that still need to be put in the dishwasher. Anywhere but Andrewās intense, unyielding honey colored stare that you could probably get lost in if it werenāt for the bizarre circumstances for which he is in your apartment right now.
Finally, you exhale. āI thinkā¦I want some coffee.ā You turn to the espresso machine behind you, and then glance at Andrew over your shoulder. āWhat about you?ā
He looks surprised for a split-second, then nods. āYeah. Coffee sounds good.ā
Upon your invitation, Andrew takes a stiff seat on your couch while you use the few minutes that it takes you to brew and prepare the drinks to attempt to process what the fuck has transpired since the two of you entered your apartment.
It does little good. You still have just as many questions as you did on the drive home. Even more now. Andrew is offering to kill for you? Has he killed before? Was he really in prison for bank robbery? Or was it something else? Should you be trying to secretly dial 911 on your watch right now?
Probably. If you were smart. But youāre not smart. Youāre desperate, and Andrew might just be offering you a way out on a silver platter.
Although it could come back to bite you in the ass, right now, youāre willing to be an open book. You meant what you had said to Andrew at the club tonight - you donāt care what he and his brothers do to Silas. Rob him, or worseā¦he deserves it. And after the hell he has put you, and your father, through these last three years, you have very little hesitation helping Silas get his karma.
āHypothetically,ā you start, sitting down on your small loveseat directly across the table from him. āLetās say I agree to thisā¦walk me through it. How would you and your brothersā¦go about this? What would you need from me? And what aboutā¦afterwards? What would I owe you?ā
The questions pour out of you faster than you can stop them.
Andrewās brows scrunch together. āYou wouldnāt owe me anything,ā he says, like itās obvious. āIām not Silas. I just want to help you. And if you have any information that could potentially help us, then that would be great, but if notā¦I still want to do whatever I can to get you out of this mess.ā
He says every word so sincerely that it makes you feel silly for even thinking otherwise.
Of course he isnāt Silas. You might not know Andrew very well, but you know that he isnāt Silas. Silas takes what he wants with zero regard for anyone but himself. Andrew has given you every opportunity to express discomfort, to change your mind, to tell him to fuck off. Even now, if you told him to get lost and never contact you again, you donāt doubt that heād honor your wishes.
Andrew stares so heavy that you swear he can see right through you. His voice is low and steady when he speaks again. āYou donāt deserve what Silas is doing to you. But he does deserve whatās coming to him.ā
You donāt know if the next words out of your mouth mean that youāre crazy, or just desperate.
āWhat kind of information do you need?ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Pope didnāt want to leave you in Los Angeles, but he had to come back home to Oceanside to work out all of the details of the heist with his brothers.
He knows youāre capable of taking care of yourself. Youāve been doing it for years. You donāt need a man that you met two days ago playing bodyguard. But heād be lying if he said that the thought of you working even one more shift at Solstice, or the thought of you being in close proximity to Silas, or the thought of a random sleazebag laying so much as a finger on you in that place doesnāt make his blood burn white-hot.
He takes comfort in knowing that after tonight, you only have to step foot into that place one more time. And that time, he will be there, too.
Still, he hates knowing that as he sits on his couch in Oceanside, youāre at the club in LA. Pope had suggested that you call out tonight, but you had shot that idea down quickly. You explained that you always work Sunday nights, and you didnāt want to risk drawing any negative attention to yourself before the heist that is now planned for this upcoming Friday night.
Currently, it is 3:46 in the morning, and Pope is wide awake, even though he shouldnāt be, and thinking of you, even though he probably shouldnāt be doing that, either. He wonders if youāve made it home from work yet, and if your shift went okay or if Silas was there tonightā¦and he subconsciously grits his teeth at the thought of that.
He manages to hold out until 3:58 before he finds your name in the recently added section of his contacts and presses call.
You answer just after the first ring.
āAndrew,ā Your voice pours from his speaker softly, slightly hoarse. āIs everything okay?ā
Right away, heās relieved at the lack of background noise. No music blasting and no drunk frat guys yelling over it. No car horns honking or sirens wailing. Itās safe to assume that you have made it home already.
āEverythingās fine,ā he answers. āI just wanted to make sure you got home safely. See how your shift went.ā
You exhale a hum of soft laughter. āJust walked through the door a few minutes ago. Work was busy. Really busy for a Sunday night. Iām glad itās over. Almost.ā
āAlmost,ā he agrees. āAt least youāre off for the next few days. The next time you step foot in that place, itāll be the last.ā
Thereās a brief pause before you speak. āAs long as everything goes according to plan,ā you murmur, and Pope can hear the nerves in your voice.
āIt will,ā he assures you. āLet us worry about that, alright? You just try to relax in the meantime.ā
You snort. āEasier said than done.ā
āKeep yourself busy so you donāt think about it too much,ā Pope suggests lightly. āDo you have any plans this week?ā
āNot really,ā you grumble. āLos Angeles isnāt really my scene. I wouldnāt be here at all if it werenāt forā¦ā You trail off momentarily. You donāt have to finish the sentence. āAnyway. I go to work, I go home, and sometimes I go to the beach. Thatās about it.ā
āYou like the beach?ā
āI do,ā you hum. āItās one of the very few things I like about living here. My apartment is only about a twenty minute drive from Venice Beach. Well, really more like forty with all of the trafficā¦ā
Pope is silent for a moment. During those few seconds of silence, he can hear waves crash against the shore just beyond the front door of the small beachfront house. If he were to step outside and walk mere yards, his feet would touch sand. He can glance out of the window in front of him and see moonlight dance across the water. Thereās nothing separating him from the ocean but the walls of the house.
āI live right on the beach, you know,ā Pope says, going for casual but probably failing. āThe beach is my front yard.ā
āReally?ā You chirp. āGod, that must be nice. I mean, you saw where I live in LA. Just about anywhere beats this shitty apartment, and the shitty traffic, and all of the endless noise, but living on the beach? I can only imagine how peaceful that is.ā
Thereās an idea forming in Popeās mind, and he knows itās irrational and naive, but he has already offered to kill for you after knowing you for one day, so how crazy could anything else really be?
āYou ever been to Oceanside?ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Against your better judgment, later that day you drive to Oceanside with the address Andrew sent you typed into your GPS.
You almost turn around at least a dozen times.
You donāt want to turn around, but what little common sense you possess nearly convinces you to do so. What would you say if one of your coworkers told you that they have packed a bag and are going to stay with a mysterious man who booked a private room with them only forty-eight hours ago, tipped them a thousand dollars, came back the very next night, and revealed that heās planning to both rob and kill your boss?
You would tell them that the next time you see them, itās going to be on a missing personās poster or a Dateline episode.
Yet here you are. Doing exactly that. Because for reasons you do not fully understand, Andrew makes you feel safe. Maybe youāre just so used to feeling unsafe that true safety has become a foreign concept to you. Maybe your judgment is clouded. But when he told you that he has a spare room and offered it to you for the days leading up to the heist, it hardly took any convincing for you to say yes.
Now, less than twelve hours later, with only a duffel bag in your passenger seat stuffed full of beach attire and toiletries, youāre driving to him.
Andrew had offered to come get you, too. And even though you ultimately insisted that you were fine with driving yourself to Oceanside, you canāt deny that the offer made your whole body feel irrationally warm and fuzzy - the fact that heād be willing to make a third trip to Los Angeles in the last three days because you had made an off handed comment about your distaste for LA traffic.
Youāre excited. Not only to get away from the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles for a few days, but also to see Andrew again. This time not inside a private room at Solstice or in your tiny apartment at four oāclock in the morning. Youāre eager to get a feel for who he really is outside of the club environment, to see how he is when heās somewhere that heās comfortable, to learn about the man who has done nothing but surprise you time and time again since you met him only days ago.
When your carās GPS announces your arrival, you donāt have to question whether or not youāre at the right place. Heās waiting for you on the front porch.
Like every time that you have seen him so far, he wears a short sleeve button-up shirt and a grave expression that would make you question if heās actually glad to see you if it werenāt for the fact that he wastes no time trotting down the porch steps to greet you at your car.
He opens your door for you before you have the chance.
āYou werenāt exaggerating when you said that the beach is your front yard,ā you laugh, grabbing your duffel bag from your passenger seat that Andrew immediately reaches to take from you. āIf you were any closer, youād be in the water.ā
When you stand up, Andrew shuts your door behind you and then rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, his cheeks flushing slightly. It dawns on you that this is the first time that youāve seen him in the daylight. Before now, youāve only seen him in the neon fluorescents of the club and the low lighting of your apartment in the middle of the night. But now, in broad daylight without so much as a cloud in the sky, you feel like youāre really seeing him for the first time.
You already knew he has freckles, but now you could count every single one, if you wanted to. You knew that his eyes were hazel, but now you can see the tiny flecks of gold around his irises. And you thought that he was pretty the very first time you saw him in the alley, but you canāt help but think heās even prettier in the sunlight.
āI may have said that to make you want to come,ā he admits sheepishly. āBut it wasnāt a lie.ā
Your own face warms at the admission. āWell, clearly it worked. I came.ā
Andrewās mouth upturns slightly at the corners, his eyes crinkling around them. āCome on,ā he nods towards the house. āIāll show you around.ā
The place is relatively small - a single story two bedroom, but in comparison to your studio apartment, it feels like a castle. And itās clean. Spotless, actually. You hadnāt been expecting a pigsty by any means, but the exceptional tidiness is still a pleasant surprise. Thereās not a decorative pillow out of place or so much as a dirty dish in the sink.
He carries your bag to the doorway of the first bedroom and lets you enter before him.
āThis is the, uhā¦ā Andrew trails off for a fraction of a second, searching for words, āThis is the guest room. All yours while youāre here.ā
You take in the appearance of the small room. Like the common areas of the house, itās clean, but thereās certain characteristics that stand out to you. A pastel pink, floral comforter. A stack of childrenās books on the dresser. A handful of small clothes hangers in an otherwise empty closet, and a ladder of pencil markings on the wall right beside it. At first, they look like random scratches in the paint, but as you take a step closer, you realize that they are height measurements. Each spaced a few inches apart, with dates scribbled next to each line. Some of the handwriting appears more feminine, whereas the more recent markings seem childlike.
You glance at Andrew over your shoulder, where he still stands in the doorway, watching you. āDo youā¦have children?ā You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.
His gaze shifts past you, to the pencil markings in the far corner of the room. āNo, I donāt,ā he answers, a hint of melancholy in the words. āThis room was my nieceās, but she doesnāt live here anymore. I justā¦canāt bring myself to erase it.ā
Judging by his tone and dejected expression, he doesnāt seem particularly eager to talk about the subject, so you donāt press it any further, instead locking the information away with everything else youāve learned about him in the last few days.
His childhood nickname is Pope. He had a twin sister named Julia. He drinks his coffee black. He has a niece, and as of last summer, she was approximately 45 inches tall. He did time in prison for armed robbery, and heās prepared to kill someone for a woman he barely knows.
You offer a small nod. āWell, itās a really nice place. Thank you, again. For inviting me. You have no idea how glad I am to be away from LA, even for a few days.ā
Andrewās expression softens. āYou donāt have to thank me,ā he says, voice calm in a way that youāre quickly growing to find very comforting. āIām happy that youāre here.ā
You plop down on the edge of the mattress and grin up at him. āSo, whatās the plan for today? You gonna show me around Oceanside?ā
āI was planning on it.ā He leans against the doorframe, his thumbs in his pockets as he smirks at you. āWe can do whatever you want. Go to the beach, the pier, just ride around. We do need to go to the grocery store at some point so I can grab some things for dinner.ā
Your eyebrows lift in surprise. āWe can do whatever I want and youāre going to make me dinner? Youāre quite the host, Andrew.ā
He blushes at that, the apples of his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. The thought crosses your mind right then and there - you would never in a million years guess that heās capable of doing what he plans to do later this week just by looking at him. This blushing, thoughtful man who has been nothing but respectful and considerate of you since the moment you met. Heās going to put a permanent end to the problem that has plagued you for years?
Thereās more than one side to people, clearly. But that doesnāt bother you. Not in the slightest. In fact, youāre interested in getting to know every side of Andrew Cody. The soft-spoken version of him standing before you, and the version of him capable of the kind of violence youāve only ever let yourself fantasize about.
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Oceanside is - quite literally - a breath of fresh air compared to Los Angeles.
It isnāt exactly a small town, but it feels like one by comparison. Thereās less people, less noise, less traffic, less smells. The ocean is five minutes away no matter where you go.
Los Angeles may be less than a two hour drive from Oceanside, but it feels like itās worlds away. You feel like you can actually fucking breathe here.
By the end of your very first day here, you dread ever returning to LA. To Solstice (even for just one more shift). To your cramped, overpriced studio apartment that youāve tried your hardest to make feel like home but never really has.
But here? Oceanside? Even just a few hours after your arrival, you can tell that this is a place that could easily start to feel like home to you. Partially due to the relaxed nature of the beach town, and partially due to the curly-haired man who is currently cooking you dinner as you watch from across the kitchen bar.
āWhatcha gonna make for dinner?ā You ask as Andrew pulls into the grocery store parking lot.
He puts the truck in park and unbuckles his seatbelt before turning slightly to face you. āThat depends entirely on what youād like to eat.ā
You had tried to insist that you were fine with whatever, but Andrew is quite convincing when he wants to be. He had refused to leave the grocery store until you told him what to make for dinner. Not wanting to be an inconvenience, or high maintenance, or too picky, you suggested the first relatively simple and inexpensive meal that you could think of on the spot.
Now, you sit across the counter from him, watching as he cooks fettuccine alfredo for the both of you.
As hard as you try not to let your eyes wander, you canāt stop yourself. Andrew seems oblivious, and if he notices he doesnāt say anything, but your eyes are drawn to his broad shoulders, thick arms, and bulky chest. His curls are wind-blown and skin sun-kissed from an afternoon spent walking on the beach near his house, making his freckles more visible than ever.
He catches you smirking at him as heās plating up the food. A bashful grin appears on his face. āWhat is it?ā
You shake your head with a small shrug. āNothing. Youāre justā¦not at all what I thought youād be when we first met.ā
Andrewās eyebrows arch slightly. āYou mean the kind of guy that normally books private rooms with you at the club?ā
You snort a laugh. āYeah, something like that.ā You pause, grinning. āI mean, obviously most of them donāt recruit me to help them rob my bossā¦ā Andrew chuckles lowly at that. āBut they also donāt cook me Italian food and let me stay at their beach house.ā
āWhat can I say?ā Andrew slides your plate across the counter. āIām full of surprises.ā
You canāt disagree with that.
Andrew takes a seat beside you and the meal is eaten in companionable silence for the most part, giving your thoughts time to stray to all of the things that you have tried your hardest not to dwell on too much since you arrived here today.
Youāve tried not to think about whatās to come at the end of the week, and all of the ways that it could go disastrously wrong. As hard as you try to think positively, you canāt help but worry about someone getting hurt. Andrew, or one of his brothers, or a random dancer at the club who somehow gets caught in the crosshairs, or even yourself. Your brain conjures worst case scenarios, causing visions of anyone other than Silas dying to replay on a loop until you snap yourself out of it.
But with Andrew sitting next to you, itās a little easier to silence those scary thoughts and replace them with better ones. Like maybe, just maybe, if this whole operation doesnāt go to shit, there could be more moments like this.
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
Pope isnāt particularly eager for you to meet his family, but he knows itās bound to happen sooner or later. Especially if he hopes to maintain a regular presence in your life once this week is over.
He doesnāt expect you to want the same, but he does hope.
So, on your second day in Oceanside, he bites the bullet and drives you both to the family home after asking his brothers and nephew to meet there to go over everything for the heist a final time.
You assure him you donāt mind, but youāve never met his family before. Heās slightly comforted by the fact that he never has to worry about you meeting Smurf, but thereās still Deran and Craig, who act like teenagers more than half the time.
āLook,ā Pope stops you with a gentle hand on your arm before he reaches for the front door, āIf they say anything inappropriate, or weird, just ignore them. Theyāre children. Weāre just here to go over the plan and then weāll leave, I promise.ā
You exhale a laugh. āI can assure you that Iām used to inappropriate and weird, Andrew. They cannot possibly be any worse than the men that I have dealt with on a regular basis the last three years.ā
He hesitates a moment, his hand still on your arm as he watches for any sign of reluctance, but you give none. Grudgingly, Pope opens the door and lets you enter before him.
Inside, thereās less noise than Pope expects, and it gives him the tiniest bit of hope that everyone will be on their best behavior. He leads you through the house, where the two of you find Craig, Deran, and Jay already gathered in the living room.
All three pairs of eyes immediately land on you as soon as you and Pope enter the room.
āStill,ā Craig shrugs. āI didnāt believe that she would actually be willing to hear Pope out and not immediately run screaming to the cops.ā He stands then, walking the short distance to where you stand beside Pope, extending a hand to you in offering. āCraig, by the way.ā
āAh,ā you sigh, briefly shaking his hand. āThe mastermind behind this operation, I hear.ā
Craig winks, clicking his tongue. āYouāve heard correctly.ā
Jay and Deran then introduce themselves, clarity blooming on your face as you recognize Deran from the brief encounter in the alley. Youāre perfectly friendly, but the tension in your shoulders and the way that you clasp your hands in front of you doesnāt go unnoticed by Pope.
He canāt blame you for being nervous. You are in a room full of criminals, all of whom are strangers to you - himself included - to plot not only the financial but also physical demise of the man who has made your life hell for years.
Anyone sane would be nervous. But it speaks volume to Pope how much trust youāre putting in him (and how desperate you must be for any chance at freedom, no matter how risky it may be).
With a featherlight hand on the small of your back, Pope nods to an empty section on the couch for you to take a seat. He sits directly beside you, just close enough for the side of your thigh to brush against his.
Craig immediately launches into the logistics of the plan for Friday night. Jay is to disable all security cameras inside and around the perimeter of the club, and then waits with the getaway car. After the cameras have been disabled, Craig, Deran, and Pope will all enter through the basement. Once they are in the safe room, Pope is to signal to you through a discreet communication device that youāll wear in your ear.
āā¦and then youāll tell your creepy floor managerā¦ā
āGregory.ā
āGregory,ā Craig repeats, āthat you saw a customer open the basement door and go downstairs. But only if you know that Silas is distracted at the time. We donāt want Silas coming down before we make Gregory open the safe.ā
āRight,ā you nod. āSo then Gregory opens the safe, Deran takes the money and leaves, you and Andrew make Gregory call for Silas to come downstairs, and thenā¦?ā
āAnd then Craig and I take care of the rest,ā Pope answers simply. He doesnāt want you worrying about the specifics as to what happens once Silas enters the basement. The less you know at that point, the better. āWhatever you do, you stay upstairs. Finish your shift just like you would any other night. By the time you get off, itāll all be finished.ā
Youāre silent for a moment, glancing around at each of the men in the room before you turn your head just enough to look Pope in the eyes. āAre you sure thereās nothing else I can do to help? Kinda feel like Iām not really pulling my weight here.ā
āWeāre sure,ā Pope says before any of the others have a chance to speak up, his tone final, leaving no room for objection. āBetween the information youāve given us and what youāll say to Gregory, youāve done more than enough.ā
You glance down to where your hands are interlocked in your lap. Then, in a smaller voice with a humorless laugh, āEnough for you to kill a man for me? To risk going back to prison?ā
The question makes him forget that the two of you are in a room with three other men. He instinctively reaches out, placing a hand on top of both of yours. Your eyes dart down in surprise to where his hand rests on yours and a thick silence settles over the room before Pope slowly retracts his hand before answering you with absolute resolution.
āYes,ā he implores. āIāve told you once, and Iāll tell you again. You donāt have to do anything to earn this. Iām offering. Because I want to.ā
He wants to for you. Since the moment he first saw you in that alley and he stood and watched as Silas grabbed you by the arm, a part of him has wanted to ensure that Silas never touches you again. That desire has only grown stronger since meeting you, talking to you, and getting to know you these last few days. The only thing that could possibly stop him from sending Silas to an early grave is if you personally begged him not to, and even then, Pope would still want to with every fiber of his being.
You stare at Pope, pursing your lips, and he halfway expects you to argue. But he doesnāt drop your gaze, doesnāt even blink, and eventually you exhale a shaky breath.
āLetās do this, then.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
āYou nervous about tomorrow?ā
Youāre hardly able to make out the words over the crashing of waves against the shore and the squawking of a seagull just a few yards away from where you and Andrew sit on the beach.
You turn your gaze away from the sun that has started to set over the Pacific Ocean to find that Andrew is already looking at you.
āOf course,ā you admit with a breathy laugh. āAre you nervous?ā
Andrew lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, looking back out to the water. āWeāve pulled off more complicated jobs than this before. Not too long ago we infiltrated a military base. A strip club is nothing compared to that.ā
Your eyes widen in surprise, as they tend to do anytime youāre learning new information about the man sitting beside you. āA military base?ā You echo in disbelief. āJesus. How exactly did you guys even get into this kind of thing, anyway?ā
Robbing banks. Offering to kill a man for a woman heās only just met. And apparently, infiltrating military bases. That kind of thing. The kind of thing that should send you running in the opposite direction but for some reason makes you want to lean in closer.
Andrew shakes his head, a quick snort of laughter escaping him. āOur mother,ā he answers. āShe taught us everything we know. Iāve been doing this since Craig and Deran were still in diapers.ā
āJesus,ā you mumble. You donāt know the exact age difference between Andrew and his brothers, but he canāt possibly be all that much older than them. He was just a kid. āAnd youā¦enjoy it?ā
Andrew thinks about it for a moment, leaning back with his palms pressed into the sand. āI wouldnāt say that enjoy is the right word. Itās just all that Iāve ever known.ā
You nod slowly, contemplating the words. This lifestyle is his baseline for normal. If you struggle to remember what life was like before you got dragged into working at Solstice only a few years ago, you can only imagine the complex feelings that come with being groomed into an entire lifetime of crime.
āHave you ever thought about what else you would do?ā You ask hesitantly. āIf you werenāt doing this?ā
Again, he doesnāt answer right away. You watch as his eyes narrow in thought, his stare locked on the pink and orange horizon ahead of you. āIāve thought about it,ā he murmurs, a hint of restrained emotion in his tone. āNever for long enough to act on it, butā¦maybe Iād open a skatepark. Eventually settle down, start a family of my own.ā
āReally?ā You canāt hide the surprise from your voice. You arenāt quite sure why the answer surprises you as much as it does - you did literally just meet this man less than a week ago, but you didnāt exactly peg him to be the chasing toddlers, Pee-wee soccer game on a Saturday morning kind of guy. āYou want to have kids?ā
āMaybe one or two,ā he shrugs. āI probably wonāt, though. Itās just something I like to think about sometimes.ā He pauses. āWhat about you? What are you gonna do when this is all over?ā
Thatās a question that youāve been asking yourself for years. Up until now, it has only felt like a distant fantasy. Even now, youāre trying not to get your hopes up too high for fear that it wonāt work out. That things will take a turn for the worst. That someone will get hurt, that Silas will somehow get away and find out what youāve tried to do. Even with freedom almost close enough to touch, you wonāt let yourself believe itās yours until youāre actually holding it in your handā¦and until you are, itās difficult to imagine what life could possibly look like.
You exhale. āIāll probably start by visiting my dad. I havenāt seen him in a while. I wanna let him know that me and him are gonna be okay. And thenā¦ā You trail off momentarily, āand then Iām gonna get the fuck out of LA. Maybe go back to school eventually,ā you shrug. āI guess I havenāt let myself think about it too much either.ā
Andrew hums in thought at the response. Then, he sits up straight, pulling his knees awkwardly to his chest and looking at you with the same serious expression that youāre no closer to being able to read than you were the night you first met him.
āYouāre always welcome here. If you need a place to stay while you figure out what you wanna do.ā
The offer warms you more than the evening California sun. Not only the words, but the way you canāt help but think he sounds nervous, and maybe a little hopeful, when he speaks them.
And because you donāt know how to express your gratitude in words, you place your head on his shoulder, instead. He tenses in surprise for a fraction of a second, then relaxes into the embrace, nuzzling the side of his cheek against the top of your head.
āI do like it here,ā you hum. I like you, too, you think to yourself. āI might have to take you up on that.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
āCameras are officially offline. Soleil, if you can hear me, cough two times.ā
Jayās voice pours through the tiny communication device that Andrew had helped place in your ear only an hour ago. Youāre able to make out Jayās words, but theyāre muffled, as the club is already extremely busy tonight - which youāre far more grateful for than you usually would be. Tonight, the more noise, the better. Boisterous laughs and obnoxiously loud music means that patrons and dancers are less likely to hear anything out of the ordinary.
As inconspicuously as possible, you raise your arm and cough twice into your elbow.
āGood,ā Jay replies. āEveryone keep to the plan. Pope, let us know when you guys are in.ā
The line then goes silent, leaving you to attempt to act calm, cool and collected for however long it takes Andrew, Craig and Deran to get into the basement and then the safe room without being caught.
You havenāt even been here for an hour yet, and you already feel the need to reapply deodorant due to the intense nervous sweats that youāre currently experiencing. Youāve already been to the bathroom twice because your stomach is so tied in knots that you are convinced youāre going to get sick.
Maybe you should have listened to Andrew and called out tonight. He had tried to assure that they would find a way to make everything work without you there, but you stubbornly insisted on helping.
What if your anxiety gets the best of you and you get sick on center stage tonight? What if someone notices how antsy you are? What if your earpiece falls out while dancing?
Oh, thatās just a hearing aid. I somehow went partially deaf in the last few days.
It doesnāt help that Silas is exceptionally irritable tonight, barking at every dancer and employee for every little thing. You spend the first part of the night maintaining as much distance between yourself and him as you possibly can while also keeping a careful eye on him. Itās sheer dumb luck that no one requests a private room with you during the first hour of the night so youāre able to monitor both Silas and Gregory from a reasonable distance while simultaneously conversing with customers.
And, if you were having any second thoughts about playing a part in Silasā demise, those go out the window the minute that he approaches you that night.
Youāre standing at the bar, waiting on some drinks for a table you have been entertaining, when he eases up beside you. Call it a sixth sense, but the way that your skin crawls at the sudden presence tells you itās him before you even glance over.
āEnjoy your days off?ā Silas asks, voice low enough for only you to hear. You cut your eyes in his direction to find him smirking at you, the look in his eyes making it clear that he isnāt just making friendly conversation.
āI did,ā you answer shortly, eyeing the bartender to see where sheās at with the Jack and cokes. Not that itās any of your concern, you bite back.
Silas hums, swirling the ice in his glass. āIām glad to see you tonight, you know. I was starting to worry that maybe you skipped town.ā
Your hands clutch the edge of the bar to steady yourself, your stomach sinking. He doesnāt know. Thereās no way that he knows. How would he know?
āAm I not allowed to go out of town for a few days when Iām not working?ā You snort, trying to play it off, hoping your horror isnāt displayed across your face. You donāt deny it, because if heās bringing it up, then he already knows. You just donāt know how much he knows. āI have to run my vacation plans by you now?ā
A low chuckle escapes him as he takes a slow sip of his drink. āWhatās in Oceanside, anyway?ā
Fucking hell.
Just as the last word leaves his lips, and the room around you seems to freeze, the bartender slides the tray of drinks across the counter to you. Your hands are shaking, but you force yourself to pick it up. Youāre vaguely aware of Andrew whispering your name in your ear, his voice panicked, but you canāt respond yet.
āThe ocean,ā you spit, turning around and walking away with the drinks before Silas can say another word.
When youāre halfway across the room, Andrewās voice pours through the communication device again.
āAre you okay? What the hell was that?ā
You still donāt risk responding. You drop the drinks off at the table with exaggerated pleasantries and quickly excuse yourself before the men have a chance to drag you into whatever it is theyāre now animatedly conversing about. A fleeting glance in the direction of the bar lets you know that Silas is now occupied by a customer, and only after confirming that his attention is no longer on you, do you take off in the direction of the employee bathroom and lock the door behind you.
āAndrew?ā You hiss under your breath. āHow much of that did you hear?ā
āAll of it,ā Andrew answers right away. āHow the hell does he know?ā
āI have no idea,ā you whisper, sitting down on the closed toilet. Now that youāre alone and can begin to process what the hell just happened, your heart is racing and your body is shaking and youāll be lucky to walk back out of this room without collapsing. āI havenāt told anyone about my trip to Oceanside. He must have someone keeping tabs on me when Iām not here.ā
The realization makes bile churn in your gut. Heās watching you. Even when youāre not here, heās watching. He knows when you come and when you go, and he knows where you go. Who fucking knows how many times heās had someone spying on you when you were just buying groceries or getting your nails done orā
āBreathe,ā Andrew says, somehow able to detect your panic without even seeing you. āHeās just trying to scare you. He might know that you went to Oceanside, but he doesnāt know our plan. This doesnāt change anything, okay? Weāre already in. Weāre doing this. And you wonāt have to worry about him anymore after tonight.ā
You inhale, then exhale, then repeat, trying your hardest to convince yourself that what heās saying is true. You know he believes it, and you trust that he wouldnāt lie to you, but right now the small amount of self-preservation that you possess is screaming at you to abandon ship.
But then you think of Andrew, in the basement, only one floor separating you from him. You think of all heās risking by what heāll do for you tonight. You think of your time spent together in Oceanside, and how you long for more, and how that isnāt a possibility unless you leave this bathroom and do what you came here to do.
One more deep breath. āOkay,ā you exhale. āOkay, Iām okay.ā It sounds like youāre trying to assure yourself as much as you are him.
āGood,ā Andrew encourages softly. āWeāre in the safe room now. No sign of anyone down here. I need you to get Gregory to come downstairs now, okay? Remember the plan?ā
Even though he canāt see you, you nod. āI remember.ā
Just in case someone is standing outside the door, you flush the toilet and turn the sink on momentarily for the sake of keeping up appearances as you take in your own appearance. Your makeup is slightly patchy from beads of sweat that have gathered on your forehead, but all things considered, you look normal enough.
You pause with your hand on the bathroom doorknob, taking one last, steadying breath before reentering the main floor of the club. A large group of men are huddled around center stage as another popular dancer performs her solo set, and sensuous music blasts loudly through the room.
Silas has moved from his seat at the bar, relocating to a far corner where he sits conversing with a table of regulars with his back to you. Good. And as for Gregoryā¦.
Gregory stands next to one of the newest dancers, who currently looks as if sheās being held hostage by whatever Gregory is saying to her.
Now or never, you suppose, forcing one foot in front of the other as you walk across the room.
āHey, Angel,ā you greet her with a cheerful voice and smile, hoping it sounds genuine. āThereās a guy at the bar asking for a private dance with you. I told him Iād send you over.ā
Right away, she looks relieved to be freed from her conversation with Gregory. āThanks,ā she breathes before heading in the direction of the bar.
Gregory starts to walk off - knowing that you wonāt engage in casual conversation with him like the newer hires who feel obligated to - when you speak up.
āHey, I saw a guy trying to open the basement door just a minute ago,ā you tell him, relieved when the words come out with just the right amount of faux concern. Gregory immediately looks in that general direction, beady eyes narrowing as he tries to find who you could be referring to.
āHe was jiggling the handle,ā you continue, hoping it prompts him in that direction.
āA guy?ā He repeats. āWhat guy? What did he look like?ā
You shrug. āNever seen him before. He was about your height, middle aged, short black hair.ā
Gregoryās eyes dart between you and the hallway behind you. āOkay,ā he huffs, taking a step away from you. āIāll tell Silasāā
āI already told him,ā you blurt without thinking. āHeās busy. He told me to tell you to check it out.ā
To both your surprise and relief, he doesnāt question you further. He just huffs in annoyance, muttering something under his breath about having to do fucking everything around here and storms in the direction of the basement stairway.
For the briefest of moments, you almost feel bad for him. Then, you remember all of the times he has walked in on you and other dancers in the changing room, or tattled on you to Silas for not smiling enough, or stared directly at your tits with zero shame, and then your guilt disappears just as quickly as it had appeared.
You arenāt quite sure what Andrew and his brothers plan to do with Gregory. You didnāt ask, and you arenāt going to. You figured that Andrew would likely give you the same answer he has to the majority of questions youāve asked over the last few days: the less you know, the better.
You do your best to appear subtle as you watch Gregory approach the door that leads to the basement of the club. He glances around, seemingly looking for the mystery man that you had made up a description of on the spot. When he sees no one that looks as you had described (because of course he doesnāt), he jiggles the handle to find it still locked. Your stomach sinks as you worry that Gregory will chalk that up to good enough and turn around to report to Silas, but then he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a set of keys, still visibly muttering under his breath and shaking his head.
You breathe an audible sigh of relief when he opens the door and he slips into the stairwell without drawing any attention from Silas, who still has his back to the entire incident on the other side of the room.
āHeās coming,ā you murmur under your breath, āGregory is coming downstairs now.ā
Thereās a quick whisper of confirmation, so fast and low that you arenāt even sure whose voice it was, and then the line goes silent. Your part of the job is over, and youāre left to wait. Wait until you see Silas walk to the stairs when Andrew makes Gregory call for him. Wait as you hope that he never walks back up those stairs. Wait until you hear from Andrew, wait until your shift is over.
And waiting might just be the hardest part of it all.
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
āIām gonna ask you one more time to open this fucking safe.ā
Like a rat after a piece of cheese, Gregory had walked right into the trap. He clearly had not actually expected anyone to be down here, because he walked right inside the safe room, muttering to himself about not getting paid enough, where Craig and Deran snuck up behind him, overpowering him within seconds. He didnāt even have a chance to yell before a handkerchief was crammed into his mouth.
Popes gotta hand it to Gregory, though. He fully expected the cowering, sniveling little shit to open the safe the very first time the three masked men demand he do so. But so far, he has yet to cave. Even with the barrel of Popeās gun pressed to his temple.
Heās trembling, and whimpering, and he has definitely pissed himself, but he is also refusing to put the code in the fucking vault. Heās loyal to Silas, even if heās nothing else, and that makes Pope feel the slightest bit better about what he plans to do with Gregory whenever they no longer have any use for him.
Pope and his brothers like to avoid casualties if at all possible. But after all youāve told him about Gregory and now how stubborn heās being? Pope has a hard time feeling bad.
āI donāt fucking have time for this,ā Pope grunts, pulling the Glock away from Gregoryās forehead and instead aiming it towards the lower half of his body. He tries to shout, tries to protest, but the cloth crammed inside his mouth makes it all sound like muffled gibberish.
Pope doesnāt hesitate to pull the trigger, sending Gregory crumpling to the floor with a shot to the thigh that has him screeching around the gag; a high-pitched, animalistic sound. Upstairs, the music continues to blast, the bass vibrating through the floor. Even if Popeās gun didnāt have a suppressor, he doubts anyone would have heard the shot over all the noise in the club.
Craig and Deran yank Gregory back upright despite his cries of pain. āThe next shot wonāt be to your leg. You think weāre bluffing?ā Craig bellows. āYouāre gonna find out if you donāt open that fucking safe right now.ā
Gregory frantically nods. Craig and Deran haul him forward, and he raises his bound wrists to the safeās keypad and begins typing with shaking hands. After a few seconds, the safe door clicks open. Deran pulls Gregory out of the way, allowing Pope to open the door.
āOh, fuck yes,ā Craig laughs in relief at the sight inside. āThis has gotta be even more than I thought.ā
It is a lot - too much for Pope to take an accurate guess as to exactly how much, but it has to be in the hundreds of thousands. He canāt get too excited yet, though. Not when Gregory here is bleeding through his pants and youāre still upstairs with Silas.
Pope and Craig make quick work of emptying the safe, shoving the stacks of cash into backpacks that Deran and a soon to be masked Gregory will wear out of here to where Jay awaits with the getaway car while Pope and Craig deal with Silas. But firstā¦
āYou got your phone on you?ā Pope asks Gregory.
Gregory nods with an unintelligible noise of confirmation through the handkerchief still in his mouth.
āGood,ā Pope lifts a hand to remove the gag, pausing before pulling it out. āIām gonna take this out now. You scream, you die. Understand?ā
Gregory nods, eyes wide with fear. Pope then yanks the cloth out of Gregoryās mouth, and he immediately begins to hyperventilate.
āWhereās your phone?ā Craig demands.
āBack - back pocket,ā Gregory pants.
Deran reaches into the back pocket of Gregoryās pants, retrieving the cell phone and tosses it to Pope. Pope holds the phone up to Gregoryās face, letting Face ID unlock the screen. He goes through Gregory's call history and quickly finds Silasā name.
āHereās whatās going to happen,ā Pope says coolly, looking Gregory dead in the eye. āYouāre going to give your boss upstairs a call. Youāre gonna stay calm, and tell him that you need him to come down here right now. When he asks why, you tell him thereās an issue with the safe. If he tries to question you, you pretend you canāt hear him over the music and reiterate for him to come down here. Am I clear?ā
Craig speaks up before Gregory has a chance to agree or disagree. āIf you try to warn him, youāll be bleeding from your other leg, too. Or worse. Got it?ā
Gregory nods with a panicked sound of agreement, and Pope presses Silasā name. He answers after the second ring, pop music pouring through the phoneās speaker.
āWhat?ā Silas barks.
Gregory doesnāt speak right away. He opens his mouth like heās going to, but then closes it, his eyes darting between Pope, Craig, and Deran. Pope wiggles the phone in his face, giving Gregory a look that dares him to test his luck.
āHey,ā he squeaks. āI - uh - I need you to come downstairs for a minute.ā
āWhat?ā Silas snaps. āWhy? What are you doing downstairs right now?ā
āIā¦Iā¦uhmāā Gregory stutters, his voice unnaturally shrill and shaky. He looks between Pope and his brothers again in hesitation, unable to force the next words out. Deran nudges Gregoryās ribcage with his gun in a reminder of whatās at stake.
Thereās one last, loaded second of silence before Gregory opens his mouth and seals his fateā¦and yours.
āSoleil told me she saw a man going to the basement, Iām sorry Silas, they made me do itāā
ļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”
You watch Silas from across the room the moment that he raises his cell phone to his ear.
It could be someone else calling him. Maybe it isnāt Gregory, yet. But it only takes about ten seconds for any doubt to fade away, because Silas looks over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the room until they lock with yours.
You try to look away, to play it off, to pretend you werenāt just watching him like a hawk, but itās too late. He noticed. He definitely fucking noticed. And whatever was said to him during that short phone call, makes him stand up and head directly towards you.
āWhy donāt we take a little walk?ā Silas says, low enough for only you to hear. āThereās some things that we need to talk about.ā
Your knees buckle and the room around you begins to spin. āIā¦have a private room in a few minutes. Canāt it wait?ā
Thatās a lie, but youāre trying to do whatever it takes to do what Andrew had asked of you. Stay upstairs.
āNah, it canāt.ā Silas glances around briefly before sliding a hand into his coat pocket. The movement looks innocent enough but then the unmistakable outline of a gun straining against the material catches your eye. You look back up, your blood running cold, and heās smirking at you. āAnd Iām not asking.ā
He doesnāt give you the chance to object before he grabs you by the arm and starts hauling you across the overcrowded dance floor, everyone too drunk and distracted to pay any mind to either of you.
āWhere are we going?ā You ask, trying to play dumb. You say the words loudly enough that Andrew, or anyone listening downstairs, will be able to hear.
He vibrates with low, chesty laughter. āI think you already know the answer to that.ā
It takes every ounce of concentration just to put one foot in front of the other and keep yourself upright. Your thoughts are reeling with worst case scenarios. What will you find when you enter the basement? Did Andrew and the others get caught? Did Gregory have a gun on him? Is someone hurt? Once you walk down these stairs, will you ever walk back up?
Neither of you speak again until Silas opens the stairwell door, pushes you inside, and pulls it closed behind him.
āIāve always known that youāre a flight risk,ā Silas grumbles, steering you down the stairs with one hand gripping you by the shoulder and the barrel of his gun now pressed to the small of your back. You couldnāt escape even if you tried. āYou really think I wouldnāt notice if you left town for four days? To fuck off to Oceanside?ā
You donāt answer. His grip on your shoulder tightens enough that youāll still feel the imprint of his hand hours later.
āThe tracker that I put on your car sure came in handy,ā he chuckles low, the sound sending chills down your spine. āLed me right to the Cody residence. I had to do a little digging after that, but imagine my surprise to learn that the Codys have quite the reputation.ā
You reach the bottom of the stairs, and he shoves you up against the concrete wall and brings the gun to the side of your temple. You canāt stop the whimper that escapes your lips.
āI just didnāt think you would risk your dadās life trying to pull some bullshit like this. Clearly I underestimated just how stupid and naive you really fuckinā are.ā Heās close enough that spit sprays across your face with nearly every word that he says.
āSo this is what you are going to do if you want your sweet old daddy to live to see another day,ā he murmurs, voice lethally calm in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.
Your dadās face the night Silas first showed up at his house to collect flashes through your mind. The night that would eventually butterfly effect into you standing right here, right now.
āWeāre going to walk in there exactly like this.ā He presses the gun harder against your temple for emphasis. āAnd youāre going to tell whoever is in that room to put my money back where they found it. After theyāve done that, youāre going to tell them to get the fuck out of here unless they want to clean your brains off of my floor. And then Iāll deal with you after.ā
He pulls the gun away, and the small device in your left ear suddenly feels impossibly loud despite the silence on the other end.
You can only hope that Andrew has heard every word and knows what is coming.
ļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”
The door to the safe room is wide open, and you see Gregoryās motionless body crumpled on the floor before you even step foot inside, a bullet wound dead-center of his forehead.
The second thing you notice is that Craig and Deran begin to lower their weapons as soon as you, and Silas directly behind you with his gun still aimed at your head, come into view.
The third, and most concerning thing? Andrew is nowhere to be seen.
After you get over the initial shock of realizing that Gregory is dead, presumably killed by one of the boys after saying whatever the hell he said that made it click in Silasā head that you have very much played a part in all of this, the realization that you have no idea where Andrew is and that Craig and Deran are surrendering their weapons hits you like a brick.
You were so, so stupid to have ever thought this would work. To have actually believed that things wouldnāt go to shit, that everything would go according to plan, that this would end in your freedom. Now itāll be a miracle if you and every member of the Cody family makes it out of this building alive.
Where the hell is Andrew?
He wouldnāt leave his brothers behind. He wouldnāt leave you behind. Youāre sure enough of that. Not if there were any other way.
āWell?ā Silas barks, pressing the muzzle of the gun into your temple. āTell them.ā
But your mouth has gone bone dry. Andrew. Andrew. Where is Andrewā
Craig and Deran exchange a look that lasts a mere second before Craig opens his mouth to speak. āLook, man, we donāt want anyone else to get hurt. Let her go and weāll leave. Just take it easy.ā
āEasy?ā Silas repeats incredulously. āYou conspire against me, break into my club, kill one of my employeesā¦ā He tips his head in the direction of Gregoryās lifeless body. āā¦and you want me to take it easy?ā
Craig and Deran are both silent.
āKick the bags over,ā Silas sighs, his patience already wearing thin.
āDo what he asks, guys,ā you manage to force out. āHeāll let you go. Just give back the money.ā
Another second of hesitation, another glance between themselves, and then they nudge the backpacks across the floor.
Silas laughs quietly from behind you. āSmart choice.ā
Itās then that you notice Craigās eyes shift past Silas, the movement too quick and minute for Silas to even register as he starts to reach down for one of the backpacks.
Then all hell breaks loose, and the following thirty seconds feel like something out of a fever dream.
One second, Silasā gun is pressed against your head, and the next, itās flying across the room with a shot that goes right through the wall. Your body gets propelled forward by a blunt force from behind you, and you go tumbling to the floor with a sharp cry.
When you look up, thereās chaos all around you, but most importantly, thereās Andrew.
The door to the safe room, which had been wide open just seconds ago, is now nearly shut. He had been here the whole damn time, just waiting for the perfect moment to pop out and strike Silas from behind.
Andrew drives into him like a freight train, wrapping both arms around Silasā torso and carrying him into a metal shelving unit. The entire thing rattles violently on impact, random boxes and loose paperwork falling from the shelves and scattering across the floor. Silas lets out a startled, animalistic grunt, but he recovers surprisingly fast for a man pushing sixty.
Then Craig and Deran jump in, and the four men crash together in an aggressive tangle of limbs and curses. It all happens so fast that itās impossible to tell who throws which punch and whose blood is dripping onto the concrete.
All you know is that youāre the reason that they called Silas down here in the first place, and you see someoneās gun on the ground, no more than an armās length away from you.
Before you can give it a second thought, you grab the gun and force yourself to your feet.
Your hands are shaking so hard that it looks as if you have Parkinsonās disease, and youāre terrified to take the shot for fear that youāll hit anyone other than Silas, but every horrible thing he has said and done in the last three years is suddenly replaying in your mind as your finger dances over the trigger and you know without a doubt that you have to do what youāre most scared to do.
You yell. A deep, guttural sound that tears through you, loud enough to get the attention of all four men in front of you. Deran, whoās positioned slightly in front of a beaten and bloodied Silas, instantly moves out of the way, giving you a clear shot.
You hear Andrew say your name, you see Silas start to attempt to lunge towards you, but you donāt let either of those things stop you from squeezing the trigger.
Time slows down. Despite the fact that the gunshot hadnāt been very loud thanks to the suppressor attached to it, thereās still a shrill, high-pitched ringing in your ears.
For only a fraction of a second, you wonder if you hit him at all. Then, your question is answered when dark crimson begins blooming across the fabric of his cream colored button-down, just over his heart.
Silas opens his mouth to speak, but only blood comes out, and then he falls forward, collapsing on the ground beside Gregory.
Youāre still aiming the gun right where Silas had been standing with shaking hands when Andrew takes a tentative step towards you.
āI killed him,ā you whisper, voice trembling. āI killed him.ā
Andrew slowly and carefully peels your hands away from the gun and takes it from you. Youāre still glued to the spot, both your mind and body in shock from what just happened. From what you just did.
You killed him. You killed Silas. You killed someone. Murdered them. And yes, they deserved it, but you still fucking pulled the trigger and shot them in the chest.
āNo, you didnāt,ā Andrew murmurs, giving Silas a kick to the shoulder with his foot. Silas lets out a weak groan that makes you instinctively jump back. āHeās still alive.ā Then, before you can spiral any further, Andrew aims the gun directly at the man lying on the floor and fires it again, hitting Silas in the head.
He turns to face you, holstering the gun. āSee? You didnāt kill him. I killed him.ā
āSo much for not shooting him in front of her,ā Deran grumbles as he picks up one of the backpacks and slides it on. Him and Craig begin to move around the room, but you arenāt paying attention to what they are doing, because your eyes are locked on the body on the floor in front of you.
Bodies. Plural. Two of them. Silas, and Gregory. And blood. A lot of it.
Andrew steps in front of you, blocking your view of it all.
āWe need to clean all of this up now,ā Andrew tells you gently. He raises his hands as if heās going to place them on your shoulders, but stops himself at the last second, his hands hovering awkwardly for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. āI need you to do one last thing for me, and then this will all be okay. Okay?ā
His voice is steady and calm, but his hazel eyes are serious and pleading, like itās taking every ounce of his willpower to maintain composure for your sake.
You give him a shaky nod to confirm that you heard him.
āI need you to go back upstairs. I need you to keep watch and make sure that no one tries to come down here, and warn us if they do.ā
Youāre shaking your head before he finishes speaking. āWhat? No, no. I canāt go back up there. I canāt. I wonāt be able to keep it together. I canāt pretend likeāā
āYou can,ā Andrew interjects, voice firm. āItās for your own safety, too. People will be suspicious if you disappear at the same time as Silas. You need an alibi. Go upstairs, show your face, book a private room or two, and pretend like everything is normal. Just for a few more hours.ā
You swallow, inhaling and exhaling. What he says makes sense. All of the individual words make sense. But how the fuck are you supposed to walk back upstairs and act like everything is normal when you just killed a man?
Okay, Andrew technically killed him. But you still shot him in the lung. He would have eventually died from that alone even if Andrew hadnāt taken the gun from you and put a bullet in his brain.
āJust stay until the end of your shift to cover your own ass. Do you know if anyone noticed you come down here?ā
āUhāā you stutter, trying to remember everything that led up to this moment. āUh, no. I donāt think so. The clubās really crowded tonight, everyone seemed busy and distracted.ā
āGood,ā Andrew nods. āYou were never down here, okay? The cameras are offline, so you were never here.ā
You nod, still unsure of how youāre going to will your legs to carry you back up those stairs, or how youāre going to keep the utter shock of what has transpired in this basement off of your face for the next few hours.
āWhat - what about you guys?ā You ask him. āHow are you going to get rid of all of this?ā
Andrew shakes his head in dismissal. āYou donāt need to worry about any of that. Weāll handle it. The bodies, the blood, the money, weāll take care of all of it. Just go upstairs and keep an eye out for us.ā He pauses, his eyes scanning your face. āYouāve trusted me so far, yeah? I just need you to trust me again for a few more hours.ā
You have. You do. You donāt know if you trust yourself to not have a full blown panic attack in the middle of the club, but you do know that you trust Andrew.
You canāt quite bring yourself to verbally agree, but you nod.
Andrew takes a step closer and raises a tentative hand to your face, gently tilting your head to the side. āEarpiece is still in place,ā he murmurs.
You expect him to pull away once heās satisfied with his inspection, but he doesnāt. Instead, the soft pad of his thumb sweeps beneath your eye, wiping away a streak of smudged mascara. The touch is so tender that under different circumstances, you might have leaned into it. Might have closed the distance between you entirely. But right now, with blood still drying on the floor, all you can do is stand there and let him.
It gives you the much needed inspiration to get through the next few hours without completely falling apart, at least.
ļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”
It takes every single last ounce of Popeās self-restraint to not abandon Craig, Deran, and Jay to deal with the aftermath of the heist by themselves while he whisks you far the hell away from the city of Los Angeles in the middle of the night.
Truthfully, the only reason he doesn't do just that is because he doesnāt want it to come back to bite you in the ass.
He has to make sure everything is cleaned up. Everything. Every last drop of blood, every fingerprint, every strand of hair that could have fallen from your person to the floor of that safe room has to be eradicated before he feels comfortable leaving the clubās premises, and he sure as fuck doesnāt trust Craig or Deran to be as thorough as him. Deran lets his dish sponges get filthy and he doesnāt trust Craig to properly wash his own ass.
Finally, in the early hours of morning just before dawn, Pope can confidently say that the job is finished. Through the combined efforts of Craig, Deran, Jay, and himself, the safe room is cleaned spotless, the bodies of Silas and Gregory are disposed of, and the haul of cash makes it back to Oceanside.
Getting both bodies out wasnāt exactly easy, but Pope had planned for shit to go sideways. Jay was on standby in the getaway truck with an appliance dolly in case they were unable to retrieve the money from the safe while inside the club.
It was Craigās idea, actually, to cram both bodies inside the safe and haul the entire thing offsiteā¦to the middle of the fucking desert where all four men spent several hours digging a hole big enough for a six hundred pound safe.
No, things didnāt go according to plan, but they rarely do. It all proved to be worth it when the cash count ended up being just shy of half a million.
And if Popeās share of more than a hundred grand wasn't enough to make the entire ordeal feel worthwhile, the relief on your face and the way you fling your arms around his neck when he shows up at your apartment later that day sure as hell does.
Maybe itās a combination of everything that has happened in the last twelve hours and sleep deprivation, but it takes Pope a moment to register that youāre hugging him in your doorway. When he does, he wraps his arms around your torso and hugs you back, pulling you tight against his chest without a word.
āSorry,ā you breathe when you pull back, just far enough to look up at him. āIām sorry, Iā¦Iāve been so worried.ā
He instantly feels guilty. He had sent you a singular text to let you know that they had left the city when they were on their way to the desert, but after that, he had been so preoccupied with disposing of Silas and Gregoryās corpses that he hadnāt provided you any further updates. He had been operating on autopilot, going through the motions of shoveling dirt, driving his brothers and nephew back to Oceanside, and then driving all the way back to Los Angeles after only a shower and two shots of espresso.
āNo, Iām sorry,ā Pope murmurs, reluctantly dropping his arms back down to his sides. āI shouldāve texted, or called, I justā¦ā He glances around to make sure that none of your neighbors are lingering around outside. You notice his hesitation and move to motion him into your apartment. He steps inside, only continuing once you pull the door closed behind him. āJust wanted to make sure everything was taken care of.ā
āAnd?ā You ask, biting your bottom lip in the way Pope has noticed that you tend to do when you are especially nervous about something. āIs it? Taken care of?ā You add in a smaller voice.
Pope nods. āYeah. Everything has been taken care of. Thereās nothing that you need to worry about now. No one will ever find them.ā
You audibly exhale in relief, your shoulders visibly relaxing as you lean against your kitchen counter and cross your arms over your chest. āAndrew, Iā¦I donāt even know how to say thank you.ā
āYou donāt have to thank me at all,ā he says simply.
Heās told you already, but heāll tell you again, he did this because he wanted to.
He saw you in that alleyway and knew you didnāt belong in that place. He saw you dance on that stage and knew that he had to talk to you. He had one conversation with you and knew that he would be willing to kill for you.
And he would do it all over again, even if he didnāt gain a penny from it all.
Which reminds himā¦
He pulls out a large, thick envelope tucked beneath the waistband of his jeans and holds it out to you. āActually,ā he clears his throat, āyou can thank me by taking this.ā
Your eyebrows scrunch together as you accept it from him. āWhatās this?ā
āItās your cut.ā
You pause before starting to open it. āMy cut?ā
āYeah,ā Pope shrugs. āYour cut from the money we pulled last night.ā
You donāt even look inside before youāre trying to hand it back to him. āAndrew, no. I canāt take this. You killed a man - two men - for me, and then cleaned up the mess and dumped their bodies in the middle of the oceanāā
āDesert, actually,ā he corrects softly, and your mouth snaps shut into a tight line, but he can tell by your eyes that youāre fighting a smirk.
āStill,ā you implore. āYou have done more than enough for me. Taking your money wouldnāt feel right. Not when youāve already given me a second chance at life. Thatās worth more than any amount of money ever could be, Andrew.ā
God, he needs to go to sleep, because the last thing he should be thinking about right now is how much he likes to hear you call him by his name.
He hums a laugh, reluctantly accepting the envelope that youāre practically shoving against his chest, then takes a slow step towards you that leaves very little space between you. Youāre slotted between him in front of you and your kitchen counter behind you, but you donāt appear the least bit put off by the tight space.
āThought you said that you wanna get out of LA?ā He murmurs. He reaches beside you, placing the envelope on the counter behind you. Then, instead of dropping his hand back to his side, it hovers for an awkward moment before falling to the edge of the counter, right next to your hip. He isnāt quite touching you, but if he moved his hand over a quarter of an inch, he would be. āGo back to school eventually? Start a new life?ā
Youāre smirking up at him now. āI did say that.ā
He quirks a brow. āThen youāll need money to do that.ā
Youāre silent for a moment, your eyes trailing over his face. You raise a tentative hand to his jaw, the soft pad of your thumb brushing a featherlight touch over a bruise that he had sustained in the brief but intense scuffle with Silas. Without thinking, he leans into the touch. The bruise is tender, but the feeling of your skin against his outweighs any discomfort.
āI thought you said that Iām always welcome at yours,ā you hum. He opens his eyes to find you grinning slyly. It makes the back of his neck warm.
āYou are,ā he answers automatically. āAlways. Is thatā¦something you think you would want?ā
You donāt answer with a yes, or a no, or even a nonchalant shrug. You just stare at him with that same soft, teasing expression as your eyes flicker between his eyes and his mouth, your hand still caressing his face.
Thereās barely enough time for him to wonder if youāre thinking of doing what he has wanted but held back from doing since you pulled into his driveway in Oceanside before you lift onto your toes and press your lips to his.
His breath catches in his chest as your lips, tentative and impossibly soft, brush over his and every coherent thought leaves his mind at once. One moment, heās standing in your kitchen trying to convince you to take sixty thousand dollars in cash, and the next he canāt remember how to breathe because the feel and smell and taste of you is overtaking his senses.
You linger just long enough for him to pull away if he wants to.
He does not. Of course he doesnāt.
His hand moves from the counter to your waist, and yours still resting on his jaw shifts to the back of his neck where your fingertips toy with the hair at the base of his skull. He leans down into the kiss, angling himself closer until thereās barely any space left between the two of you.
Itās soft, and hesitant, as if youāre both worried that if you move too fast, the moment will end all too soon. Warm lips move tenderly against his, your tongue sweeping lightly against his in permission that he eagerly grants.
Itās probably the last thing he should be thinking about in this particular moment, but heās glad that he didnāt talk Craig out of his idea for a gentlemanās club based heist. Really, really fucking glad.
When you pull away, you release a small, breathless laugh that ghosts across his lips.
āDonāt worry,ā you breathe, āthat wasnāt me trying to say thank you or anything. I just wanted to do that.ā
āYeah?ā He murmurs, brushing his lips over yours a final time. It isnāt quite a kiss, but it sends goosebumps down his spine nonetheless. āI take that as a yes, then? Youāll come to Oceanside with me?ā
You nod, the tip of your nose nudging his. āI think Oceanside with you is exactly where I need to be.ā
ļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½” three months later ļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”
āAre you sure you canāt see anything?ā
Your eyes are wide open, and all you see is pitch darkness. Andrew is apparently as meticulous at securing bandannas around a personās forehead as he is everything else he does in life.
No surprise there.
āHoney, Iām positive,ā you laugh, repeating yourself for the third time since you got home from class no more than five minutes ago. Andrew had been waiting to greet you, as he usually is, with a blindfold in hand. That part was unexpected, but you have quickly learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to Andrew. He never disappoints.
He had asked if you trust him (he knows that you do) and proceeded to secure the black cloth around your eyes before guiding you down the hallway to the spare room of yours and his new place, which he recently set up as a study room for you.
āReady?ā He murmurs, one hand on your lower back as the door creaks open.
You step into the room. āI donāt know. Am I?ā
He chuckles softly, bringing his hands to where the cloth is tied behind your head and then pauses. āIf you donāt like it, Iāll take it down.ā
āTake it down?ā You echo, brows scrunching beneath the fabric.
He answers by letting the cloth fall away from eyes.
What you see is the very last thing you expect.
Right in the very center of the room, directly in front of where you stand, is a dance pole. Damn near identical to the one you had in your Los Angeles apartment. The one you hadnāt bothered to bring with you to Oceanside, because you had been so eager to leave everything about your life there behind. Everything.
Or so you had thought, until very recently when you began to find yourself missing one, and only one, thing. Dancing.
Not dancing for money, not dancing for men, but just dancing. By yourself, for yourself.
You had mentioned it to Andrew in passing only yesterday, that you wish you had kept your dance pole when you packed your entire life into your car and happily drove from Los Angeles to Oceanside to be with him.
Now, not even a full twenty-four hours later, he has both acquired and installed one since you left for class this morning.
You donāt even realize that youāre just staring at the pole, wordlessly, until Andrew clears his throat.
āLike I said, I can take it back down. It isnāt a big deal.ā
āWhat?ā Your gaze snaps to him. āNo, itās notā¦itās perfect. I was just thinking,ā you murmur.
His eyebrows lift slightly. āWhat are you thinking about?ā
Since you came to Oceanside three months ago, you and Andrew have taken things relatively slow in your relationship, aside from the obvious of living under the same roof.
Things started in such an unexpected and unconventional way, but once you got here, your newfound dynamic was able to settle with a sense of normalcy. You may have met in a strip club, killed your boss together, and had your first kiss all in a weekās time, but Andrew still took you out on a proper first date and has been nothing but patient with letting the relationship progress at a pace that youāre comfortable with - physically, mentally, and emotionally - while processing everything that youāve been through in the last few years and starting your life over at the same time.
Never, in a million years, would you have expected such beauty to come from such trauma, but it did. Because of him, it did. He was the light waiting for you on the other side of the darkness.
You shrug, grinning softly. āAbout how much I love you.ā
Andrewās hazel eyes widen in surprise. Itās the first time you have said those three words aloud. Itās not the first time you have thought them, but it is the first time you have verbalized them.
After the initial shock fades from his face, itās replaced with the grin that youāve fallen in love with waking up to every morning. He takes a step toward you, closing the distance between you by taking your face in his hands and slotting his lips against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around his thick torso, melting into his embrace as he kisses you in a way that is both familiar and takes your breath away.
He murmurs the next words out of his mouth against yours in between kisses, his voice low and sincere.
āI love you very much.ā
āļ½”ā§ĖŹā”ÉĖā§ļ½”ā
thank you SOOOO much if you read to the end of this!!! as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated and will make me love you forever.
also, if anyone reading has watched season 2 of the punisher, iām sure you caught the reference in the heist scene š
virgin!katsuki with his shaky hands and gasps as he fucks you for the first time, trying so hard not to show it but his face his scrunched up so cute and his lips are parted letting you hear just how good he feels. who whimpers when he fully bottoms out and has to bury his head in your neck and sit there for a couple minutes so he doesnāt cum right away. heās still learning what to do with his big dick and gets so blushy when you tell him how much you love it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Summary: In the final war you aided Edgeshot in bringing Bakugo back to life with your healing quirk. However the damage done to your body from the backlash was irreversible. You could no longer be the hero you dreamed of being. You still tried to live life and even moved away for a bit. But now youāre back and Bakugo has been your aggressive nurse, but when he finds out things you havenāt told him he feels like he hadnāt paid you back at all. So when he finds out Mina is moving out, he feels like he finally has the opportunity to.
tags: slowburn, fluff, angst
a/n: this is truly a self indulgent fic/series for sure. Again thank you for the comments š„¹. Also I know itās been WEEKS but somehow the Ao3 curse got me, but tumblr version bc wtf has life even been rn š
"Chin up just a fraction, please. Perfect. Now look toward the balcony," the photographer called out, the sharp click clack of the shutter echoing through your living room.
Your apartment had been completely hijacked. What was usually a quiet space was now packed with softboxes, reflector umbrellas, and a crew of people you didnāt know.
"Sorry, just a quick touch up!" a stylist mumbled, rushing forward with a powder brush to dab at your forehead. Another set of hands darted in to smooth down your dress, which perfectly matched the deep, muted tones of the tailored blazer Katsuki had been practically forced into.
He let out a low growl. "If one more person touches my collar, Iām blasting this entire room to hell," he muttered, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.
"Behave," you whispered back, keeping your face perfectly still for the makeup artist. "Itās one interview. We agreed to this, remember?"
"I agreed to the interview, not a three hour fashion show in my own damn house," he grumbled.
The stylist stepped back, and the photographer beamed. "Excellent! Now, letās get something a little more loving. Bakugo, slide your hand around her waist. Pull her in closer. Look like you actually enjoy being near each other."
Katsuki scoffed but did as he was told, his large, hand settling firmly against your waist. But as he pulled you close, his hand found the sensitive spot right above your ass. He gave it a sharp, deliberate squeeze.
You gasped, your posture going rigid as you shot him a warning glare. āKatsuki,ā you hissed under your breath.
An infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What? Just doing what the guy said," he whispered down to you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Look nice for the camera."
"Oh, so I donāt look good for the camera?" You leaned into him,your eyebrow raising as your head tilted up as if leaning in for a sweet, romantic whisper.
āYou moron you-ā
"Okay, let's try something different," the photographer called out, adjusting his lens.
"Miss, put your hand on his chest. Give me 'comfortable, intimate, at home.' Let's see that connection."
You shifted even closer, stepping into his space, your hand coming to his chest. Katsukiās arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer against his side. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit, but as soon as his lips were near your ear, his facade dropped into a low, aggressive mutter.
"This is bullshit. I don't want to be here," he grumbled. He leaned down a fraction more, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Fake a seizure or faint or some shit. Get us out of this."
A muffled snort escaped you, and you forced your face to stay camera ready. "Right, itās all fun and games until people want to call the ambulance while you start laughing at your disabled girlfriend on the floor."
"Iād laugh at you either way," he shot back without a second of hesitation, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He mocked an announcement to the room in a dry undertone "Sheās fine y'all, perfectly fine."
You huffed out a laugh, matching his energy instantly. "Don't call Paw Patrol."
Oddly enough that did it, the stupid inside joke you both got from TikTok. A sudden, sharp puff of air escaped katsukiās nose, his shoulders shaking as he tried and failed to keep a straight face.
Right at that moment, one of the fashion assistants in the background stepped forward, holding up a bizarre props option.
"Um, Dynamight? For the 'at home' vibe, do you think you should be holding your cat? The photographer thinks- ."
Katsuki cut him off and just stared at the assistant, his eye twitching. āWhat the fuck is Smoke going to do?ā
The assistant scrambled back into the crew, looking terrified.
Katsuki leaned back down to you, his voice dripping with pure disbelief. "If that extra shakes his head, heād hear rocks."
You didn't even blink. "Nah, youād just hear one large rock rumbling around inside."
A loud, unfiltered genuine laugh broke from his chest. His head tilted back, his entire body shaking as the image of a single, lonely boulder rattling around in the assistant's skull totally shattered his tough guy composure.
Seeing him completely fall apart cracked you up just as hard. A bright, breathless laugh came out of you, your hand on his chest helped you leaned into him for support, both of you absolutely dying of laughter.
Click. Click. Click.
"Yes! Gorgeous! Hold that exact energy!" the photographer yelled, snapping away in rapid succession.
Neither of you were paying attention to the crew anymore. Katsukiās laughter died down into a soft, breathless grin, his eyes fixed entirely on your face, crinkling at the corners with that rare, brilliant warmth he only ever showed you.
"You're an idiot," he whispered, his hand squeezing your hips as your chest finally stopped heaving from the laughter.
"But I'm your idiot," you replied, your smile softening as you looked up at him.
"Yeah, the only idiot I want," he murmured, his voice low, completely tuning out the chaotic world around your apartment.
"And that's a wrap! Thank you both so much, that was incredible!" the photographer called out, finally signaling the end of the torment.
As the crew immediately began bustling around the living room to pack up the heavy lights and cables, you let out a massive sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping. "Oh, thank god. My joints hurt!ā
āToo bad now we have the interviewā. Katsuki quickly reminded you, earning an annoyed groan from you.
The atmosphere in your living room was hushed. Across from you sat a seasoned pro-hero interviewer, a recorder in hand and a carefully curated expression of professional empathy on her face.
"We appreciate you both sitting down with us for this exclusive," the interviewer began, her voice smooth. "The media has been in a frenzy since the incident last week involving Dynamight and Uraraka. Itās a relief to finally hear the truth. So, to clarify for the public:
Dynamight, you werenāt dating Uraraka but instead using it as a cover to protect your private life?ā
"You think you're entitled to know everything just because I wear a costume? Itās called a private life for a reason. Keep your nose out of it. Round face and I did a job. End of story.ā
Katsuki jaw clenched, already annoyed as he stared down the reporter. Before he could say anything else, you placed a gentle, grounding hand on his forearm. You let out a nervous, airy laugh to cut through the tension in the room.
"Okay, okay, let me take this one, yeah?" You whispered to him, he was never good with interviews and you had known this since UA.
Katsuki let out a sharp "Tch," crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He didn't step away, remaining planted right next to you like an angry, blonde gargoyle, but he went quiet glaring daggers at the crew.
You smiled warmly at the cameras, though your shoulders were a little tense. Katsukis aggressive tangents were legendary, and the editors already knew this part would be chopped.
"To answer your question: yes, the relationship with Uraraka was a PR strategy, and we appreciate her helping us keep our privacy for as long as she did.
As many of you know, I retired from hero work after the war, due to my health complications. Dealing with that and adjusting itās been a lot to handle. It fluctuates day to day.ā
You look over to katsuki, smiling lovingly at him, moving your hand from his forearm to his hands.
āKatsuki knew that putting me in the spotlight would add an exhausting amount of stress to my daily life, and his priority was, and always has been, my health and safety. He wasn't hiding me because I'm a secret. He was protecting my peace while I navigate this new chapter of my life. Heās just being a good partner."
The interviewer made the exact āaweā face that you expected, she fully turned her attention towards you as she realized you were much better at this than katsuki.
āThat is the sweetest thing Iāve ever heard. Truly true love between you two. Itās hard to believe that you two werenāt together during your time at UA?"
You smiled gently, shaking your head. "No, not at all. Back then, we were just classmates. After the final war, I actually left Japan entirely to return to my home country and be with my family. I needed time to heal and adjust to my new life."
Katsuki let out a sharp, quiet huff. "We didn't reconnect until she came back to Japan a little over a year ago. It took a few months of seeing each other again before things turned romantic. It wasn't some dramatic, hidden romance. Itās just our life."
The interviewer nodded. "And speaking of adjusting... many people remember you as a brilliant support healer during the war. It was a tragedy when it was announced you had to retire. How is life treating you now?"
"It has its challenges," you said honestly, your voice steady. "But Iām doing well. Iāve adapted." You paused, a small, proud smile touching your lips. "In fact, I actually just accepted an offer to return to UA next term as the new Recovery Girl."
The interviewerās eyes widened with genuine delight. "Oh, that is wonderful news! A full-circle moment. But if I may ask... a lot of medical analysts at the time wondered how a quirk like yours could cause such severe, permanent nervous system damage. Was it just a freak reaction to the stress of the war?"
Katsuki went entirely still beside you. You could feel the sudden, icy spike in his posture.
You kept your composure, looking directly into the camera lens. "In the words a very good friend of mine, āMy body just moved on its ownā. My quirk was meant for stabilization and healing. So when someoneās life is completely fading... you don't stop, you push past the threshold because the alternative is unacceptable."
To the interviewer and the crew, it sounded like a beautiful, heroic platitude about the sacrifices made by the wartime generation. The interviewer even offered a sympathetic, misty eyed nod.
They didn't know the mechanics of your quirk. They didn't know that "the threshold" meant the exact point where biological backlash began.
But Katsuki knew.
His breath hitched. His crimson eyes darting over to you, wide and suddenly raw with a realization that hit him. You knew. All these years, he thought it was a tragic accident, an unforeseen consequence of a desperate moment. But you had just admitted, in front of everyone without them even realizing it, that you had looked at your own health, looked at his dying body, and consciously chose to trade your nervous system for his heartbeat.
His fist clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. The guilt, awe, and overwhelming fury of how much he loved you fought for dominance behind his eyes.
The interviewer, completely oblivious to the silent earthquake happening next to her, smiled. "Well, Japan is incredibly grateful for your sacrifice. Dynamight, do you have anything to add about how you feel regarding her new role at UA?"
He didn't look at the interviewer. He kept his eyes locked on the side of your face, his jaw working furiously as he tried to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice was a rough, gravelly growl.
"Sheās going to be the best damn nurse that school has ever seen."
The interviewer as a few more basic questions before ending h the interview.
"And that is all the time we have for today!" the interviewer cut in smoothly, giving a practiced smile to the camera as the production crew moved to cut the feed.
As the crew started to pack up, you reached over and slid your fingers back into hand. He immediately gripped your hand back not with his usual explosive force, but with a trembling, fierce tightness, anchoring himself to you.
He didn't say a word. He just stood up, his grip on your hand tightening almost to the point of bruising, and hauled you out of the living room. He dragged you past the PR reps, past the managers, and straight into your bedroom, slamming the heavy door shut behind you.
"Katsukiā"
"What the hell was that, y/n?!" he demanded, spinning around to face you. His voice wasnāt his usual loud, explosive yell. It was low, cracked, and trembling with a terrifying mixture of fury and pain. "What the hell did you just say?"
You sighed, rubbing the space between your eyebrows where a stress headache was already forming. "I just told the truth."
"You willingly crossed your threshold," he spat, stepping into your space. His eyes were blown wide, searching your face, desperately begging you to tell him he misheard. "You told me it was a quirk accident. You told me you were caught off guard because of the chaos of the war. You never told me you chose to fry your own damn nervous system!"
"Because I knew you would react exactly like this!" you snapped back, your own exhaustion bubbling to the surface.
"How else am I supposed to react?!" Katsuki roared, the sparks finally snapping at his palms, though he pulled away as soon as it happened. "You permanently crippled yourself for me! Back then, we weren't even close! We barely talked at UA, you didn't love me, you didn't even like me half the time! So why? Why would you throw your entire future, your entire life away for someone who was already dead?!"
"Because you wanted it more than I did!"
The confession left your throat before you could stop it, echoing sharply against the walls of your bedroom.
Katsuki froze. The sparks in his hands died instantly. You let out a shaky, trembling breath, the weight of a decadeās worth of hidden trauma finally fracturing.
"You think being a support healer is a gift, Katsuki? I was forced into the hero track the second my quirk manifested as a child. I didn't get a choice. By the time the final war hit, I had spent years watching people die. I watched heroes and civilians bleed out, I felt their skin grow cold under my hands, I heard them cry for their mothers. All the pain and death and the guilt I would carry. It was leaching something out of my soul."
You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very cold. Your stress was making your heart race, a familiar tremor starting in your fingers.
"I was exhausted," you whispered, looking down at the floor. "..emotionally and mentally I was hollowed out. I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't know I would end up with epilepsy. I didn't know I'd have to live with a broken body. But when I looked at you lying there, dying... I knew one thing for certain. You had the drive. You had the determination. You actually wanted the hero life. I didn't. I wanted out."
You looked up, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I gave you my heartbeat because you actually had a use for it. I just... I had nothing left to give."
"No, fuck that! No that is the stupidest, most messed up thing I've ever heard! Thatās not true! You don't throw your entire life away just because you're tired! You donāt get to- You don't let yourself get broken like this! If you felt that way you shouldāve-I donāt- no!"
"You're screaming because you don't know what to do with yourself! You never needed to feel guilty, Katsuki. You never owed me anything!"
The word guilt had become somewhat of a trigger word in your relationship. The atmosphere suffocates you, and the sheer weight of that word drags you both backward into the past...
8 years ago. A hospital room in Japan. Suitcases packed.
"You're only doing this for yourself! Youāre trying to force me to get better, yelling at me to try harder in rehab, just so you don't have to feel guilty anymore!" You groaned trying your best to pack.
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! Youāre just running away because itās easier for you. Youāre giving up! You havenāt even tried half of the shit I told you to do! Exercise, water, anything than giving up! I never asked you to save me!"
"Iām not giving up! Iām listening to my body. You've been drowning in guilt and now you want me magically cured so your conscience is clean! But if i hadnāt done what i did then youād be dead!ā
The truth cut too deep. Katsukiās eyes flash with a toxic mix of panic and rage. Defenseless and hurting, he strikes back with the cruelest thing he can think of.
"Fine. You want to quit? Go ahead. Run away and enjoy the rest of your life being a pathetic victim. I didnāt ask you to ruin your own life for me! You think I want to look at you and be reminded every day of what you lost? Just go. Leave. Iām done. Don't ever call me again."
āWow. Really?ā You couldnāt believe he just said those things, and the worst part was how casually and calmly he sounded.
He didnāt answer you, he didnāt even turn around, he walked out and slammed the door. The next day at the airport, he doesn't show up. He doesn't text. He leaves you to board the plane without any chance to talk one last time.
-END OF FLASH BACK-
Neither of you say another word. A staff member knocks on the door, trembling slightly as they announce they are almost done with cleaning up.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
For his entire life, victory meant pushing through, winning, and being the strongest hero. He had viewed your sacrifice as a tragic consequence of his own weakness. But hearing that you had used your own bodily destruction as an escape hatch from a world that was eating you alive? It broke something inside him.
He hated it. He hated that he was the reason you were broken, and he hated even more that your brokenness had been a relief to you.
Slowly, the anger drained out of him, leaving a raw ache. He closed the distance between you. He didn't grab you roughly this time. Instead, his hands reached out to cup your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his forehead coming down to rest against yours.
"You stupid, exhausting idiot," he choked out, with a vulnerability he never showed the world. "You should've let me die. If the cost of me being a hero was you carrying a broken body for the rest of your life... it wasn't a fair trade."
"It was to me," you whispered, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, letting his warmth stabilize the tremors in your hands.
"Well, it's not to me," Katsuki muttered, his grip tightening protectively around your head, as if he could shield you from the past eight years just by holding on. "You're done sacrificing things. You hear me? You're going to take that UA job, you're going to heal those brats, and if you feel even a fraction of that exhaustion again, you walk away. I'll always back you and murder anyone before I let them take anything else from you."
You couldnāt help but laugh slightly and his declaration of killing anyone who overworked you, but you were also genuinely grateful that he had your back. Katsuki just looked at you, as he swallowed down the bitter, heavy truth of what youād carried all these years.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms completely around you. He pulled you against him firmly, letting you bury your face into the crook of his neck. His hand came up to rest on the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair.
He didn't yell. He didn't argue. He just held you, breathing you in, letting the steady, powerful rhythm of his own heart, the one you gave him,beat against your chest.
"Have you talked to your therapist about this?" he asked quietly. His voice was completely calm as he pressed a soft kiss against your temple. "About...all of it?"
You pressed your face deeper into his shoulder, "Yeah," you murmured, your voice muffled. "I have. I'm still talking about it."
Katsuki didn't push for details. He didn't ask what the therapist said or try to lecture you on your worth. He just gave a slow, single nod against your hair, understanding that healing from a fractured soul took a hell of a lot longer than a couple of months.
He just squeezed you tighter, his arms locking around you like an unbreakable vice, as if his sheer willpower alone could keep you safe from the ghosts of your childhood. He held you until your breathing finally leveled out, until the tension in your shoulders relaxed into his touch.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to look down at you. His eyes were still dark with a heavy, stormy kind of pain, but the explosive fury was gone. He leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss directly to your forehead.
"Okay," he muttered, his thumb brushing one last time over your cheek. "Okay."
He let his hands drop to his sides. He needed space. You could see it in the way his jaw was clenched, the way his mind was clearly racing, trying to completely rewrite his understanding of the last eight years of his life. He needed to go pace a room, or punch a heavy bag, or just sit in the dark and process the fact that the girl he loved had broken herself to save him, not out of a heroās duty, but out of a desperate plea for peace.
"I'm gonna go check that the idiots are leaving," he said, his voice steady again. "Wait here. Don't let any of those media extras talk to you."
He turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders squared, carrying the weight of your confession with him as he stepped out into the hall.
Usually, you showered together, a routine born from comfort, but tonight, he didnāt ask. He just grabbed his clothes and walked into the guest bathroom, leaving you to the master suite.
By the time you both finished, the air in the apartment felt thin. Katsuki stood by the kitchen counter, staring down at a glass of water, his shoulders tense, his mind clearly spinning out.
"Katsuki," you sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Use your words. I can practically hear your teeth grinding from here. You're still thinking about what I said at the interview."
He didn't look up. He didn't say a word, his jaw just tightened further.
Realizing he wasn't ready or willing to talk yet, you let out a tired breath. "Fine. I'm going to bed."
It was hours later when the mattress dipped.
You hadn't fallen asleep, the lingering tension between you kept your mind awake. You blinked open your eyes in the dim light of the bedroom to find Katsuki sitting at the foot of the bed. His back was to you, his head bowed, hunched over as if carrying a weight too heavy for his shoulders.
"I hated that you left," he said suddenly. His voice was rough, scraping through the quiet room. "At the time... I told myself that it felt like you were leaving because I couldn't support you the way you needed. Because I wasn't enough to keep you here."
You shifted, sitting up against the headboard. "Katsuki, Iā"
"Iām not done talking," he cut in, his tone sharp but malicious. He swallowed hard, his fists gripping the edge of the blanket. "I pushed you. Back in that hospital, I yelled at you to get better, to try harder... because I wanted to feel better about myself. I thought if I could force you to get better, maybe you wouldn't feel the need to leave Japan. I thought if you were healed, then I wouldn't have to feel so goddamn selfish for wanting you."
Your heart ached, a lump forming in your throat as the missing pieces of that awful fight finally fell into place.
"Katsuki, I didn't leave because of you," you said softly, reaching toward him. "I left because I needed to be around my loved ones. I was exhausted, and I needed to get out of the public eye. I needed to hide away and figure out who I was if I couldn't be a hero anymore. It was never because of you."
"You're not understanding," he said, and this time, his voice cracked. He turned his head just enough for you to see the raw pain in his profile. He wasn't yelling. He sounded entirely defeated. "Iām saying I didn't listen to you. Everything I did back then... it was all selfish. And the worst part is, Iām still being selfish."
He let out a shaky breath, looking down at his hands.
"I moved you in here. I want to spend every damn second with you. Even when you're just out with your friends, I sit here and I get pissed off because I just miss you. I want you home. I want you next to me. It's always about what I want."
The raw honesty of his words stripped away the last of your defenses. You crawled across the mattress, closing the distance between you, and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders from behind. You pressed your face into the warm space between his shoulder blades, holding him as tight.
"Shut up," you whispered, your voice breaking as the tears finally spilled over. "Just shut up, Katsuki."
As your tears soaked into the back of his shirt, the tension melted out of him. His hands came up, gripping your forearms where they were crossed over his chest, holding you back just as tightly. He didn't say anything else, just let you hold him, letting his own shaky breaths align with yours.
A soft, demanding meow broke the heavy silence.
From the foot of the bed, a small grey shape scrambled up the blankets. Smoke padded over, entirely indifferent to the emotional storm happening around him. He sniffed at Katsukiās knee, gave a loud rumbling purr, and then flopped directly across Katsuki's lap, rolling onto his back to expose his fluffy stomach.
The sheer absurdity of the cat choosing this exact, devastating moment to demand belly rubs made you let out a wet, breathless laugh against Katsuki's back.
Katsuki looked down at the cat, a reluctant, huffing chuckle escaping his chest. He turned his head, finally looking at you over his shoulder. Your eyes met both of your faces stained with tears, but the heavy, suffocating wall that had been between you all day was completely gone.
As Katsuki reached down to lazily scratch Smoke behind the ears, a soft smile tugged at his lips, mirrored perfectly on yours.
Katsuki stared down at Smoke, his thumb mindlessly stroking the catās soft fur, but his chest was heaving with a weight he couldnāt seem to shake.
"I didn't listen to you," he muttered, his voice dropping into that gruff, rough register he used when he was stripping away his own armor. "Back then... I was trying to force your body past its damn limits again. You were telling at me to stop, telling me what you needed, and I just... I didn't fucking listen. I'm sorry."
Hearing those words, hearing him say them in his own stubborn, quiet way snapped the last thread of restraint holding you back.
You launched yourself forward again, wrapping your arms securely around his neck, hugging him so tightly it stole the air from his lungs.
"Itās okay," you sobbed into his shoulder. "It was a confusing time for both of us, Katsuki. I was so angry. I was angry that my life wasn't really my life anymore, and it felt like there was absolutely no one who could understand what I was going through. When you tried to push me to get better... it just made me feel so insecure. It made me hate everything I couldn't do anymore."
Frustration and grief rolled off Katsuki in waves. You could feel the rigid tension in his frame snapping. Tears finally welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he shifted, pulling you fully into his lap. He held you like you might disappear if he let go.
"I didn't know how to help you," he choked out, the admission tearing through him, raw and laced with anger at his own past helplessness. "I didn't know what to do, and it made me so goddamn mad."
"I know," you whispered, burying your face against his neck. "If I had just looked at your actions back then, instead of your words... I would have seen how much you really did try to care for me. How much you did listen. But we were just so wrapped up in our own complicated feelings. We didn't take the time to actually understand each other."
You pulled back just enough to look at him. With tears pooling in both of your eyes, the absolute vulnerability between you was staggering. There were no masks left. The truth of it finally settled over you both, eight years ago, you weren't invincible heroes. You were just teenagers trying to figure out how to survive the wreckage of your new lives.
Katsuki sniffled, his gaze dropping to your lips before rising back to your eyes. The unresolved ache from the interview still lingered in his jaw. "You knew, y/n, what it would do to you, and you stillā"
You didn't let him finish. You leaned in and kissed him a deep, grounding kiss that silenced the remaining guilt in his head.
When you pulled away, you kept your hands cupping his face, your thumbs wiping away the tears escaping down his cheeks. "And Iād do it again," you said softly, "I'd do it a thousand times over, Katsuki. Because I am so incredibly proud of who youāve become. Look at what youāve done with the life force I gave you. You're saving the world. It was worth it."
You validating him and telling him that youāre proud of him despite everything, was the breaking point.
Katsuki let out a broken, ragged sob. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling as the dam finally burst. A pro hero, the man the world saw as an unstoppable force, was completely undone in your arms, weeping out eight years of carrying a burden he was never meant to bear alone.
You held him tightly against you, rocking him slightly as you ran your fingers through his soft, blonde hair.
"I love you," you whispered into the quiet room, over and over, anchoring him to the present. "I love you so much, Katsuki."
"I love you," Katsuki choked out against your skin. It was a quiet, raw admission, followed by a fractured, "I'm so sorry, y/n."
"Thereās nothing to be sorry about," you whispered, holding him closer. You stroked his hair, waiting a beat before asking, "Do you understand why thereās nothing to be sorry about, Katsuki?"
He didnāt lift his head. Even though you already knew he was crying, he stubbornly refused to let you see him sobbing like this. Instead, he just tightened his arms around you, his voice a muffled murmur against your neck. "Just let me hold you."
dry humping, eating pussy, eraserhead has a huge dick n cums alot, bdsm dynamics
overprotective husband!aizawa senses when you're ovulating and needy, clinging to him like a lifeline in hopes for some attention. some cock. he's since learned your body and exactly how to touch you, far before the two of you tied the knot. "i love it when you're like this, darling." his grip on your hips is firm, stabilizing your spread legs and shaky thighs. the sizeable bulge in his boxers pokes against your inner thigh, nudging near your clit. "fuckin' feel that?" he's so desperately hard for you, his tip escaping from beneath the fabric dripping precum. "i know how bad you need this cock, just let me do my job. yeah?"
overprotective husband!aizawa has to constantly remind you that you're deserving of pleasure. as your loving husband, he aims to eliminate any insecurities of yours, especially ones that pertain to past relationships. "just because your ex was incompetent doesn't mean your body is failing you." shouta had spent long, generous hours worshipping your body to establish trust and comfort. for so long, you resented your body and had difficulties being vulnerable in the bedroom. "your body is mine now, babygirl. it's mine to tease, mine to love. mine to fuck." his patience is astounding as he reassures you that sexual pleasure is a neccessity. a way of taking care of you, nurturing you and protecting you from your own insecurities.
overprotective husband!aizawa is a provider through and through, never letting you pay for a single thing. he's covered rent, food and bills and spoils you rotten with high end cosmetics, luxury sex toys, fine dining experiences and virtually everything under the sun. "sho, there's this really cute lingerie set online." you show the $250 set to your husband, who's half asleep on the bed beside you. "you have my credit card number," he murmurs with a sly grin. "but are you sure? it's kind of-" he interrupts you immediately, snatching the phone out of your hand. "babe, you have my credit card number. you want it? you buy it. you know this."
overprotective husband!aizawa genuinely hates it when you mention any of your exes, regardless of the context. he's well aware that they're are significantly below him, but it offends him that they once had the luxury of being with you and fucked it up. "i ate here once with my ex," you point out the italian restaurant he suggested. "alright, well now we aren't going." he grumbles and grabs your wrist, turning onto another street. "there's other pasta places around here." if you need a reminder that you're married to him, best believe he'll wine and dine you every single night. after the meal? he's still hungry, and he'll devour your pussy (his dessert) the moment you're behind closed doors.
overprotective husband!aizawa becomes your full time caretaker the minute you get your period. it's comical how quickly he rushes to the store for pads, tampons, chocolates and any other item of comfort you asked for. in truth, he did so in preparation for when he'd finally get you pregnant. spoiling his knocked up wife was a dream of his, especially when he has the honor of becoming a father. "let me get you a hot pad," he moves from underneath the bedsheets. "no, stay with me sho. i'm okay, just some sharp pains." the stubborn man is torn between easing your physical state and suffocating you with his body heat. "alright, a few more minutes of cuddling. then, you're getting the heating pad."
overprotective husband!aizawa buys you the most glorious lingerie that compliments your figure. there's a fancy lingerie shop downtown that you always love to visit, especially if shouta is at work. he'll toss you his credit card without hesitation, "buy yourself something pretty, angel." one time, you purchased a white silk babydoll that left nothing to the imagination. the piece of clothing exposed your body in the most flattering and sultry ways, leaving shouta speechless. "fuck, babygirl. you knew what this would do to me." he made a valiant effort not to tear the expensive fabric, but pounding into your wet cunt in that skimpy outfit stripped him of his self control.
overprotective husband!aizawa learns you accidentally cut yourself shaving down there. "oh no, angel. want me to kiss it better?" it's barely even a knick, let alone a superficial cut. but shouta will take any excuse he can get to bury his tongue in your pussy. "where is it? is it here?" he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, drinking the essence as it pours from you. "or, maybe on your lips?" his fingers spread your folds, revealing how they glisten with arousal. "let's find out shall we." the overstimulation of his mouth ultimately distracts you from any twinge of pain caused by that dull razor. going forward, he advised you to purchase a high quality electric one.
overprotective husband!aizawa hates sleeping alone, though wouldn't admit it. it puts him at peace to know where you are at all times, not in a toxic way but for your own safety. late nights with your girlfriends trigger his anxiety, so it's expected to get more than one concerned voicemail, text or facetime audio request. "you're overthinking it, sho. you're off patrol. i'm fine, just out with the girls." shouta knew you'd never be unfaithful, but danger lurked around every corner. he knew and understood the underground criminal routes, which were adjacent to the main downtown area. "just get home. it's like, 10pm." your husband hangs up, one of the girls redirecting your attention. [text from sho: i mean it]
overprotective husband!aizawa knows his cock is the only one who could satisfy you. your sexual compatibility was off the charts from day one, and he could never forget the pride that swelled within him the moment you saw his cock. "ha, yeah. i'm pretty well endowed." you thought he was hard even when it was soft. now, his huge cock was standing tall and proud before you. "you're more than well endowed, sho." a part of him felt nervous, since past partners had trouble with his impressive size. you were so determined to please him, wanting to see how big of a load he'd produce for you. "i cum a lot, by the way." the first night you slept together, shouta emptied himself until he was shooting blanks. his cum painted your face, dribbled between your thighs, leaked from your pussy and the corners of your mouth. "you... weren't lying."
overprotective husband!aizawa introduced bdsm dynamics into your relationship once he felt comfortable. his desire to take care of all aspects of you in exchange for your submission had reached a tipping point. your obedience in the bedroom was excellent, but a problem of yours was staying out too late. or, not texting/calling him back after extended periods of time. shouta devised a system of rules for you to follow outside the bedroom. your actions could inspire consequences, or punishments he would dole out inside the bedroom. the dual satisfaction of asserting dominance over your body while keeping that cute little attitude under control? count him in.