karlita

pope's brows crease at the memory. he remembers how well that had worked: his mother had really sold the "frightened lady caught in the crossfire" act. and he knew you were quite the actor, considering how sweet you could be towards smurf despite your disdain for her, and how easily you could fool any wayward cops into thinking you had no knowledge of the goings on inside the cody compound.

"that could work," he mumbles as he works through it in his mind. "you get there early, wait in line to cash a check or two…"

"right," you agree, a soft smile forming on your face. "you bust in all scary, wave a gun around, put me in a chokehold…"

pope listens as your voice turns a little breathy at the idea. he can picture it going off without a hitch now.

"alright," he grits out eventually. "listen carefully, here's what's gonna happen…"

it's just after half past ten in the morning, and you're at the bank. you lingered at the side for a while, pretending to be very interested in a business checking account pamphlet, before it was time to join the queue. your pulse kicks up just a tad. any second now…

the door busts open with a loud thud and you jump, just like everyone else, before you hear sharp yelps and shrieks.

"EVERYONE DOWN, ON THE GROUND, NOW!"

it's pope's voice, muffled slightly behind his ski mask. you almost obey him out of instinct before he grips you by the arm and pulls you to his chest. he smells so comforting, like his favourite lemon verbena detergent, but you remember to struggle convincingly.

"stop!" you cry out.

"you shut up," he hisses back. with a grunt, pope slings the crook of his elbow around your neck, pushing just hard enough to make you gasp.

it's a gasp that convinces everyone else in the bank that you're currently struggling for air, fearing for your life, but pope knows it means you're incredibly turned on.

"mornin'," he mumbles gruffly against your temple, and you can feel the way he hovers for a milisecond, fighting the inclination to press a kiss there.

to really sell it, pope lifts his gun and presses the cold metal of the barrel to the place where he'd just had his lips. you hear multiple people gasp. your panties are soaked.

"any of you move, and she gets it," he bellows, and it echoes through the unnatural stillness of the bank. you whimper, forcing tears to your eyes as you let your knees buckle slightly.

"you okay?" pope whispers almost imperceptibly against your ear.

"harder," you reply through a sniffle.

at that, pope tugs your body upwards, hauling you upright. "stand up," he commands. "hands behind your back."

you obey, your wrists clasping against your lower back. you take the chance to clutch at the edge of his shirt, tugging pope impossibly closer. he exhales, then walks you over to the nearest teller.

"empty it out— quickly," he orders. the teller's gaze momentarily flicks between pope's masked face and yours. your eyes are scrunched shut, your mascara running, your chest heaving with laboured breaths. she empties the register without an argument.

he goes around the rest of the registers the same way, using your innocent, terrified, whimpering face to get the cash he needs. pope drags you out of the bank with his gun still pressed to your head. you make sure to end your performance with a little kicking and screaming and a performatively loud "what are you going to do to me?" before he hauls you into his car.

he peels out of the parking lot, and the drive home is fast, tense with anticipation. pope pulls off his mask and his auburn curls are gloriously messy and damp with sweat. your thighs press together, both from the sight of him, and from the rush of the job.

pope clenches his jaw as he drives, and then when you're finally safe behind the gates of the cody compound, he rumbles out a "… bravo. you did good."

he tells you to go wait in his room while he brings the duffles of money in, and you don't waste a second before stripping yourself bare, the thrill of the heist still thrumming in your veins. besides, it had been a while since the two of you had had sex, and what better occasion to fuck for than a successful heist?

soon enough, you're riding pope into the mattress in broad daylight. it's barely noon, and you're grinding your hips deep into his as you grip his wide shoulders. you have a lot of adrenaline to use up.

"that— was— fucking amazing," you pant as you bounce on his cock.

pope's breathless too. he has one of your nipples in his mouth, the other cupped is in his thick palm. his free hand is squeezing an ass cheek as you roll on top of him.

he pops his lips free of your breast, still glistening with spit, as he gazes up at you, his hazel eyes wide and pleading. it's a wild contrast to the fearsome expression he had plastered on just hours ago.

"not— ah— wasn't too rough?"

"not nearly rough enough," you breathe out in reply, pressing his cheeks together in a hand.

"you shoulda slapped me when i talked back, like i told you to, that would've sold it so much better."

pope grunts in acknowledgement, and his eyes fall shut at the idea. not of slapping you, but of how much more ravenous for him it would make you for him afterwards. his cock twitches where it's nestled deep inside you.

"Hi. How did it go?" you murmur, reaching back to find his nape.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back until you’re flush against his chest. He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"Come to bed," he rasps. "Miss you."

You turn around in the circle of his arms and your heart aches at the sight. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair is pushed back and there’s a tension in his jaw that looks painful.

"Are you okay?" you ask softly, cupping his face. "Hey," you reach up to steady him. "You’re burning up."

"I'm fine," he rasps, though a harsh cough into his sleeve suggested otherwise. He doesn't pull away. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes tightly as if your touch is the only thing keeping the noise in his head at bay. "Too much noise," he mutters. "Too much... Smurf. Just... I'm just... cold."

"You're sick, baby," you say firmly. His skin is flushed and slick with a light sweat. "Maybe you caught a cold. Come."

He let you lead him toward his room, his footsteps heavy and uncoordinated. Usually, Andrew was the one watching over everyone else but right now, he looks like a man who had completely run out of fuel.

When you got him to the bed, he collaps onto the edge of the mattress, his head hanging between his shoulders. You knelt between his knees, unzipping his hoodie and peeling it back.

"Smurf's gonna want a debrief," he mutters.

"Smurf can wait," you counter, pulling a dry shirt over his head. "You can't form a thought in this state."

You stand up to check his temperature again, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. He winces at the contact, but then he reaches out and grabs your wrist, holding your hand against his skin. He closes his eyes, a long breath escaping his lips.

"Hands... cold," he whispers. "Feels good."

"That's the fever, Andrew."

You manage to get him under the blankets. As you turned to go fetch some water and medicine, his hand catches your shirt.

"Don't go," he whispers.

"I'm just getting you some aspirin. I'll be right back."

"No, stay," he insists.

Your heart squeezes.

"Okay," you whisper, softening. "I'll stay."

You climb into the bed beside him. He immediately rolls over, burying his face against your chest, his hot breath soaking through your t-shirt. He lets out a long sigh, his body relaxing.

"You’re staying here until that fever breaks. No jobs, no Smurf, no debrief." you say, running your fingers through his messy hair.

He humms a tired sound of agreement.

"Strict," he mumbles against your chest.

"I know, mh" you lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "Rest, my baby."

He doesn’t respond, his breathing already deepening into a feverish sleep.

Later, as you try to shift to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand, his arms tights around your waist.

He groans, a pathetic sound that vibrates against you and buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

"Andrew, let go for a second," you whisper. "You need to drink something."

"No," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your skin. "Don't move."

He was acting very clingy. Every time you move an inch, he follows, dragging his body across the mattress to close the gap.

He was completely submissive to the sickness, letting you handle him.

"You're being very needy," you tease softly.

"Hurts," he admits, a rare confession of pain that made your chest ache. "Just... keep your body here."

He reaches up, his hand trembling slightly as he guides your palm to his cheek. He nuzzled into it. In this state, he was completely yours to take care of.

"Does a tea sounds okay?" you ask.

"Maybe." He whispers, his arms locking around your back again.

"Okay. I have to go to make the tea—"

"No," he insists, his grip becoming a permanent fixture. "Stay here. Hold my head."

You laugh quietly, finally giving in and curling up against his burning side. The second you settle, he lets out a long breath of relief. He tuckes his head under your chin, his nose pressing into your collarbone, and finally goes still.

"Tea later," he humms, his voice trailing off into sleep. "Don't... don't leave when I'm asleep. Promise."

"I promise, baby. I'm right here."

He doesn’t answer, his body finally going slack as the fever exhaustion takes over. Even in sleep, his arms stays locked firmly in your body.

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚

Work is gruesome, as it usually is. Jack’s outside of your apartment when you get home, t-shirt pulling taut around his shoulders as he leans down to grab the numerous packages sitting on your doorstep. His face lights up when he sees you, sitting up straight so that he can loop his index finger into your beltloop and bring you closer for a welcome home kiss. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth. “How was your day?”

You reach to grab one of the packages, trying to help him from having to hold them all, but he skillfully manuvers away from your reaching hands and opens the front door for you instead. When you stop to give him a stern look, he just nudges the back of your ankle with his foot, gesturing with his head for you to step inside.

Surrendering on this fact, you sigh, stepping into the apartment. You’re quick to shed your bag and hang it up, kicking off your shoes and abandoning them next to the door. Seeing Jack eye them out of the corner of your eye, you lean down to grab them, setting them down on the shoe rack. “Exhausting,” you admit.

He places the packages on the kitchen counter, stacking them neatly. A palm flattens against the granite as he turns to look at you, the muscle of his bicep just begging to be let out the confines of his shirt. “Want me to run you a bath?” He asks.

You laugh at the pure incredulousity of the moment. Months ago, you had been dating guys your age, worshipping the small things like opening doors or paying for your drinks. You had been fighting about feeling insignificant, about having to pull them away from video games long enough to have an at-home dinner with you, about feeling ignored when you hung out with their friends.

And now there’s Jack Abbot. Older than you, sure, but he was everything you had been asking for on every birthday wish. He spoke about you when you weren’t there, had you plastered upon everything that everyone would see (his home and lockscreen, your initials engraved on the inside of his watch) and chose to hang out with you over everyone else. His phone was abandoned on the kitchen counter from when you got home until the both of you went to bed, the ringer on so he didn’t have to check it just in case anything from the hospital came in.

Everyone who had been with you throughout the trials and tribulations that was dating in the modern age had told you the same thing – the perfect one will come by when you least expect it. Of course, you didn't believe them. It was hard to have hope in the later days when every person you became slightly interested in treated you so horribly, like you were just another person rather than you.

But then Jack came about. A charming smile, a calmness about him, an empathetic soul that you thought only existed in books and movies written by women. He had courted you kindly, although carefully, not wanting to come off as some older creep who wanted you just for your youth. Your first date had been filled with flowers and butterfly feelings, showing off everything Jack Abbot was rather than a facade of everything you wanted him to be.

You smile as you step closer, leaning up to kiss him again. A “thank you” to something he did without knowing he did it. “It’s alright, baby. I’ll probably just quickly shower before dinner.” And then you kiss him once more, just because you want to.

“Alright,” he concedes. He places a final kiss on your forehead, hand playfully swatting your ass as he steps away. “I’ll get dinner started so you don’t have to cook while you’re hungry.

Shaking your head, you laugh as you step into your shared bedroom. You don’t close the door when you strip off your work clothes, a girlish giggle leaving your lips when Jack playfully whistles from the kitchen. After fixing him with a matching glare, you finally disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind you to keep the steam from seeping out.

Once you’re in the shower, you look down at the shower drain, remembering your list from this morning. A task for tomorrow morning, you decide, a good way to spend your day off when Jack is at work. For now, you’d have to deal with a little bit of water pooling around your feet while you washed off the grime of the day.

Except the water never catches. Instead, it flows down the drain easily, never staying in the tub for longer than a moment. Shock flows down your body the same way the shower spray does, your jaw dropping. 

You finish up quickly before hopping out, drying off and wrapping yourself in the fluffy robe Jack had bought you the moment you had complained about not wanting to get dressed as soon as you got out of the shower. After ensuring you won’t drip water all over the apartment, you bombard your way into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is happily cooking while humming some old rock tune to himself.

“Did you unclog the shower drain?” You ask, letting your tone be as accusatory as it wanted to be.

Jack glances over his shoulder at you, the wrinkles around his eyes softening at the look of you all bundled up. He remembers your question and looks up at your face, shrugging. “Yeah. I noticed it wasn’t draining as well, only took about two minutes to do.” His horrible habit of brushing off everything he did comes roaring to a head, his focus turning back to the stove.

“Jack,” you whine. You sidle up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist from behind and placing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His hand grabs yours, lifting them up slightly so you weren’t accidentally burned. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s my hair.”

He laughs softly, the sound rumbling beneath your cheek. “I’m insulted that you think my luscious locks wouldn’t help clog the shower drain,” he deflects. “Oh, I also put away those books in the bedroom. I’m not sure if it’s exactly how you organized them, so let me know if you need me to move them.”

That just pulls another groan out of you, turning your head to press your face fully into his skin. “You’re so annoying. I was going to do both of those things tomorrow.” Your voice turns whiny as you trail off, fingertips pressing into his abdomen.

“But I did them today so now you don’t have to. You can enjoy your day off the way you’re supposed to.” Jack steps away from the stove, grabbing your hands so that he can turn around and pull you into his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your hairline, smiling into your hair. “Sittin’ pretty and spending my money.”

Your brow knits as you look up at him, hands sliding down to his waist. “You’re mean.”

“I love you,” he responds easily. Still grinning like a child on Christmas morning, he tucks a strand of your wet hair away from your face before tilting your chin up, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. “Can’t be mad at me for lovin’ you, sweetheart.”

As he intended, you relax into his touch, chasing his lips when he pulls away. Then, you pout, huffing your indignation. “Fine. But only because I love you, too.”

You walked into the ER waiting room with irritation already stirring in your stomach. You were supposed to be at home, taking a scented bath, drinking wine and reading your new book an hour ago. But one of the night nurses called out and his replacement wouldn’t be there for another two and a half hours. You drew the short straw, having to stay behind. Mainly because the rest of the nursing staff had lives, kids, responsibilities. And you didn’t. You had moved away from your hometown of Oceanside back when you went to nursing school, and all the responsibilities that remained there. You got tired of seeing the same people, hearing about the same couples break up and get back together again. So when you got a scholarship to go to a different nursing school out of state, you took it readily. Too bad when you graduated the only clinic to offer you a job was an ER in Wildomar. Only an hour away from the life you tried to leave behind. You didn’t hate it. It was close enough that you could go home and see your parents’ dog, far enough that you could have your own life. But if it were up to you, you’d be long gone by now. At least you never saw any of the unsavory characters from high school. 

That’s what you thought, anyway, until you looked at the next name on the call list. Your steps faltered. ‘Liam Broker.’ You knew that name. A shiver crawled up the bottom of your spine. Liam didn’t exist. He wasn’t a real person. It was their alias. The Codys. Whenever they needed to fly under the radar, especially when they needed medical care after some dubious activities, they used that name. Sure, it could be a real guy, you really hoped it was, but when you turned around to call the name, all hope was lost. There they were, Deran and Craig, sitting in your ER. Your mouth went dry and you pressed your eyes shut. You took a deep breath before making yourself known to them. Deran was slumped in the shitty ER chair, bouncing his knee and nibbling on the skin of his thumb. Craig’s head was tossed back, counting ceiling tiles and trying not to move his arm. 

“Mr. Broker,” you made a point to emphasize the name. “You can come back now.” Both of their heads snapped to look at you. You stood in front of them, death grip on the clipboard Craig had filled out. 

“No shit.” Deran huffed, raking his gaze across you. Craig furrowed his brow. Like he kinda remembered you, but not from where. You and Deran were friends in high school. You ran in the same circles, smoked on the beach with the same people, and even rode along in the car he stole for his 16th birthday. You weren’t best friends, but you were close enough. He was a formative part of your teen years. You had an argument three days before you left for school. You couldn’t remember exactly what was said, but you remembered feeling so distraught that you never wanted to see him again. You walked them back to a room. 

“Alright, dislocated shoulder?” You murmured, eyes scanning the chart. Craig was perched on the table, swinging his feet absentmindedly. He nodded.

“Yea,” He scratched behind his ear. “I’ve had it dislocated before, but it’s not going back in.”

“That happens,” You acknowledged, washing your hands in the sink before putting on a pair of gloves. “After so many home alignments, you’ve gotta have a professional do it.” Your eyes flicked to Deran. “Do I want to know how this happened?” They both hesitated for a moment and then shook their heads. You sighed. “Alright, take off your shirt, Craig.” The man startled slightly, looking at Deran. Surely confused about how you knew his real name. Deran just gave him a look and a small nod. Maybe easing his nerves, telling him they weren’t about to be arrested. Craig did as he was told. You gently examined the shoulder. “No wonder it didn’t work,” you muttered “It’s a posterior dislocation. You gotta get a different angle.” You readjusted your position and grabbed onto Craig’s bicep. With a quick push, you heard the joint slot back into place. He sucked in a breath, but exhaled in relief after a moment. You peeled off your gloves and tossed them in the bin. “I’ll tell the doctor we were able to get it back in. She’ll prescribe you some pain meds. For your use only.” You quirked an eyebrow and Craig nodded. “She should be in shortly.” You pulled back the door and left. Your heart was hammering against your sternum. The first time you had seen any of the Codys in years. You had survived. But you weren’t done yet. You made it a whole five steps down the hall before you felt a gentle hand pull you back by the wrist. You whirled around, ready to throw a punch, but you were met with Deran’s face. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was parted slightly, like he hadn’t quite decided what he was going to say yet. 

“Hey,” was what he settled on. You shook your head in amusement. 

“Really?” You scoffed, but you felt a smile dawning “That’s what you’re going with? Hey, Deran.” 

“I, uh, didn’t know you worked here.”

“Clearly.”

“How was school?” Deran’s arm fell from yours and he shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders rising slightly. 

“It was good,” you answered honestly. Your voice didn’t hold any anger or resentment. “I’m a nurse now, so…y’know, I’d consider that a success.”

“That’s awesome.” Deran grinned.

“What about you?” You asked “How’s surfing? I know you wanted to go pro. You were really good.” Deran’s face fell slightly. A momentary lapse in his facade before the mask was up again.

“Yea, I, uh. I just do it for fun now. It got too stressful.” His words didn’t convince you. You sensed there was a lot more to that story, but you didn’t ask. Didn’t really want to. It wasn’t your business. “I’m working in, um…I work for…” He gestured to the air around him. You understood.

“Family business?” 

“Yea.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You knew that Deran and his brothers were doing some shady shit in high school. Sometimes their mother would pull them from school for a few days. The next time you would see Deran, he would have bruises on his arm. He always said he was surfing and a rogue wave caught him. But after the third time, you had a hard time believing him. After you saw Smurf tucking a gun into Deran’s waistband in the school parking lot, it made you question if they were involved in gang activities. You brought up your concerns to your father, who had some connections to a few of the neighborhoods, but the moment the Cody name was said, he clammed up, made you promise you wouldn’t get yourself too involved with them. The night of prom, when you and Deran had snuck away from the main afterparty to smoke a joint, he had confided in you that he was scared he’d be stuck in Oceanside forever, working for his mom (he never elaborated what that meant, but you guessed). You assured him that he was talented, and he was. He was by far the best surfer you’d ever seen. But it seemed that his fears had come true and you truly felt sympathy for him. You had been lucky, getting out when you did. Of course, you had ended up back where you started, but you technically could leave whenever you wanted. You sensed that Deran didn’t have that luxury. 

Deran nibbled on the inside of his cheek. “Listen,” He inhaled, setting his gaze anywhere but your face “I’ve…I’ve missed having you around. You’re, like, one of the only normal people in this place. I’m sorry for, uh, our fight before you left. I really am. I actually own a bar down in Oceanside. If you’re ever in the area, I still owe you that drink from when you stole that handle of Tito’s for me.” A smile twitched onto your lips.

“Yea,” you said softly, “Yea, I’ll stop by when I’m in town next.” Deran let out a laugh of relief. 

“Yea?” He seemed genuinely happy “Okay, cool. Yea, sick I’ll, um, I’ll see you around then. I should probably make sure Craig doesn’t raid the cabinets.” He gave you a nod and slipped back into the room. You stayed put until the latch of the door clicked. You took a few deep breaths. Your mind swirled with thoughts. Did you really want to get yourself re-involved with them? You shook away the existential crisis that crept into the edges of your mind. You still had three hours left of your shift, and you heard elevated voices from the waiting room. You had other things to think about.

Sure enough, as the weeks went by, the encounter with the Codys drifted to the back of your brain. You hadn’t been back to Oceanside since their visit. You weren’t exactly avoiding Deran, you just really didn’t have the time between shifts to make the drive only to sit at a bar. So the sun rose and fell and you didn’t pay any attention to the tug in your heart that you couldn’t put a name to. It was an emotion you were familiar with, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. It felt like a pulling sensation, like there was a string connected to your soul urging you down a path. You’d felt it frequently when you were in school. You had once considered it homesickness, a feeling that you didn’t belong in your current position in life. But a trip back home never quelled it for long. The feeling had been tamed for months, but Deran’s visit stirred it up again. You needed something different. You were pretending to be normal, with a normal job, a normal apartment, a normal life. But it just wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

Some nights it was all you could think about. You were cuddled up on your couch with a beer sweating untouched on your side table. You stared out your window at the streetlamps flickering. You remembered that night, a few days before you left for school, when you had called Deran to hang out one last time. He pulled up to your house with a car you knew didn’t belong to him. You had rode down the highway for hours, picking up some shitty burger and talking about anything you could think of. When he dropped you back at your house, you had said what was lingering between you. You vaguely remembered how the fight started. You had told him you found an apartment just off campus and that he had a spot on your couch whenever he needed it. He was confused and you said you knew his family was…different. If he ever decided it wasn’t for him, he could call whenever and you’d pick him up. Deran had gotten defensive. He took your words as saying he didn’t belong in his family. You tried to soothe the flames but it was too late. He exploded. You couldn’t remember what exactly he said, what you had said in retaliation, but you did remember slamming the door of the car and running to your room, crying until your throat and eyes were raw. You hadn’t seen him since. The truth was you always missed Deran. He was kind. He was real, unafraid to talk about the realities of growing up in a town like Oceanside- whereas everyone else you knew tried to wave off any criticisms saying it was a ‘unique’ place to live. You needed his friendship in nursing school. During the long nights and even longer mornings. You missed the way he could make you laugh in any situation. He was the one who got you through your first breakup by baking you (burnt) brownies and only half-joking to beat the kid up. When your ex walked into school the next day with a black eye, you gave Deran a hug, even though he denied knowing anything about it.

The internal battle of whether or not to let him back into your life was raging in your mind. You wanted your friend back, but you had decidedly left Oceanside for a reason. Your skin crawled when you were there for too long. Like you were trying too hard to fit into a sweater two sizes too small. Reaching out to Deran felt like a betrayal to yourself. You had worked so hard to get out, just to go back. But then again, you weren’t the same person you were as a teenager. You had grown in inexplicable ways and just because you wanted to reconnect with a friend did not mean you were throwing everything away. You tossed your head back onto your couch and took a swig of the room-temperature beer. You watched as a cat trotted down the sidewalk, dipping into the bushes. If only the universe would give you a sign or some-

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

Your brow furrowed. Was your…phone…ringing? When was the last time that happened? You scrambled to find it, flipping your blanket onto the floor and searching the couch. You heard your phone clatter out of the blanket and you tentatively grabbed it. An unknown number. Maybe it was one of the new night shift nurses needing something again. You pressed the accept button and raised it to your ear.

“Hello?” You heard your name gasped out on the other side. Your body stiffened. “Deran? How..How did you get this number?” He ignored your question. He just said your name again.

“I really need your help,” his voice was shaky “I…fuck, something happened, something went wrong. Craig he’s, he was shot, I don’t know if… I can’t help him. He needs help.” “Okay, take a deep breath,” You tell him, already scrambling to get your shoes on. “Send me your address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Deran sent you an address and you plugged it into your GPS. “I’ll be there in forty minutes, okay? Keep pressure on the wound and do not let him fall asleep. Can you do that?” 

“Y-Yea I can do that. Please hurry.” 

“I’m leaving now. I’ll see you there, it’s okay, I’m on my way.” You hung up and rushed to your bathroom, throwing open one of the cabinets and grabbing the make-shift triage kit your mom made you buy when she learned you’d be living by yourself. You had thought it was stupid at the time, but it seemed that mothers really did know best. You were in your car in less than a minute, tearing down the streets as fast as you could.

You pulled into the Codys’ driveway thirty-two minutes later. You were thankful no cops were out because you were going at least twenty over the speed limit the entire time. You had never actually been to the Cody house. You had heard about the intense parties they threw, but you were never invited (as if your parents would even let you go if you were). It was a gorgeous house, but you decided you would admire the architecture after Craig was stable. You turned off your car and grabbed your kit. A young man you didn’t recognize was waiting for you. Nervous energy rolled off him in waves. 

“He’s in the kitchen,” The kid said, bringing you through the front door and into the house. You took a sharp inhale when you walked into the kitchen. There were bloodied rags scattered around the floor. Craig was sprawled across the island, his jeans in a pile on the ground. Deran was pressing a fast-saturating kitchen towel against the side of Craig’s thigh. Deran’s eyes were panicked. Craig was taking short breaths. Deran seemed to relax slightly when he caught sight of you. You blinked at the scene. You didn’t know if your skills were that good.

“Well, baby, aren’t you going to do something?” Your eyes shot up from Craig to the woman who was leaning against the stove. You recognized her. Smurf, dressed in a floral silk robe, hair perfectly pressed, leaning with her hands crossed over her chest. The woman’s voice was smooth and unhurried, like her dying son was more of an inconvenience than a tragedy. You snapped yourself out of your daze and gave a curt nod. You placed your kit on the kitchen island, next to where Craig was laid out. 

“Hey, Craig,” You said, voice a touch louder than it needed to be, but Craig’s eyes were glassed over. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, man.” A small smile cracked his ashy lips. Okay, that was good, he could hear you. “I’m going to look at the wound, alright? Might be a bit uncomfortable.” He gave a weak nod. You shifted down to where Deran was pressing against his brother’s leg with all his might. “Good job,” You told him, quiet enough just for him to hear “I’m going to lift the towel, okay?” Deran nodded, but didn’t move his hands. You gently loosened his fingers and lifted the towel in a way that would shield Craig’s view. You saw one entry wound on the outside of Craig’s thigh, about six inches above the knee. You rolled his leg slightly and let out a breath when you saw an exit wound. “Okay,” you sighed, giving a nervous smile “Good news is that it’s through and through. And it missed the bone. So no surgery for you tonight. You’re still bleeding, but it doesn’t look like the femoral was nicked, so we’re going to do a tourniquet before I start doing anything, okay? S’not going to feel nice.” You felt Smurf’s burning gaze on you. You ignored it. You asked Deran to get Craig’s belt from his jeans on the floor. You wrapped the leather around Craig’s upper thigh, tightening it until the bleeding slowed. Craig spat out in pain and Deran rushed to his side, grabbing his hand and mumbling something into his ear. Thankfully, the tourniquet worked. The blood slowed to a trickle. You wiped the sweat off your brow with the sleeve of your shirt. You muttered to yourself, forming a treatment plan. You wiped your hands free from blood on the kitchen towel. You opened the triage kit and got the saline solution. You worked quickly, flushing the wound before dressing it. You noticed that Craig’s face was starting to regain some color. When the wound was properly wrapped, you loosened the tourniquet. When blood didn’t soak through the bandages, you let out a sigh of relief. You turned to the sink, washing your hands and watching the red water swirl down the drain.

“Okay,” you said, hands only shaking a little bit. “That dressing should be good for the next few days. Lots of rest, obviously, and keep your leg elevated when you’re sitting. Don’t get it wet until it’s scabbed on both sides. Showers only when it does.” You turned to Deran. “Come by the hospital tomorrow, I’ll get you some antibiotics. If he gets a fever or you notice a lot of swelling or he bleeds through the bandage, hospital. Immediately. Got it?” Deran mumbled his agreement. You stood there for a moment. You noticed a man standing on the other side of the kitchen. His jaw was set, eyes locked on you. Assessing you. Sizing you up. You suddenly felt very self-conscious. Your gaze met his and a spark tingled your lower spine. Had he been standing there the entire time, just staring at you? You felt your chest tighten, but you forced yourself to remember your patient. You placed a calming touch on Craig’s non-injured knee. “I don’t want to be your nurse again, okay? Stay safe. And drink some water.” Craig laughed and relaxed his head against the island.

“No promises.” He croaked out. Deran laughed airily, like it was more of a stress reliever than actual amusement. The kid who had let you in clapped Craig on the shoulder and Smurf hummed before leaving the kitchen, the kid following her. The man at the other end of the kitchen tilted his head. 

“Drive safe,” he said. His voice was gruff but pleasant, like gravel crushing under tires. He blinked at you once more before pushing himself off the wall and walking away. You looked at Deran but he shook his head. Don’t ask. You collected your things into the triage kit and clipped it back closed. Deran walked you back to your car. You shivered in the night air, but you couldn’t tell if it was because it was chilly or because of the high-adrenaline situation you had just handled.

“I really appreciate you coming tonight.” Deran said, opening the door to your car. 

“Does this happen often?” You asked. There wasn’t any judgement in your voice, just strict curiosity. Deran lifted his gaze behind you, bouncing slightly on his feet. 

“Sometimes,” he allowed, “Usually if it’s bad we go down to Mexico.” You nodded, chewing the inside of your lip.

“Next time, call me,” You told him. “I’ll be here.” Deran looked as surprised as you felt. Did you really say that? 

“You sure?”

“I don’t want you to die. Not after I just got you back.” Your eyes found your sneakers. You noticed then that you had mismatching shoes. You put them on too quickly to care. Deran put a hand on your shoulder.

“Okay,” he smiled. “I will.” 

“Goodnight, Deran. Keep an eye on him.” You climbed into your car and closed the door. You pulled out of the driveway and began the drive home, riding in silence with nothing but your thoughts. A very dangerous feeling was swirling in your body. You loved that he called you of all people. It was something dangerous, almost (definitely) illegal, but you were the correct choice for the job. You noticed that the tugging feeling in your chest had vanished. You had never felt so alive. You wanted to do it again. That also happened to be the night you first met Pope Cody.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═ 

A year passed. True to his word, Deran called you about a month later. The kid, who you learned was his nephew J, got into a fight with some gangbangers and needed stitches. So you were on their step an hour later, suture kit in hand. That was the dance. They called, you showed up. You treated all of the boys, except one. You heard Pope was, well, an ‘interesting’ guy. More animalistic. He preferred to slink off by himself when he was hurt than have someone help him. Which was odd considering he was the one who got hurt the most. At first, it hurt your feelings. You had felt like they didn’t trust you. You noticed a truck following you a few weeks after the night Craig got shot. It lingered outside your apartment building a few intersections down. You saw it in the parking lot of the ER when you worked late. A grey Ram with the same license plate. You had seen it in the driveway that night. You knew they were doing recon on you, but you didn’t mind. You knew you were clean. The tail lasted a few weeks and then you didn’t see the truck again.

Most of your calls weren’t necessary, checkups after alley fights or disinfecting small cuts. You could tell the guys enjoyed having you around. The more you were there, the more you let your personality show and over the course of a year, you considered yourself friends with the Cody boys. One night at Deran’s bar, he slipped you a wad of cash. He told you to find a new apartment. One closer to them. They didn’t always have an hour to wait for your services. You scoffed, rejecting the money. But you moved into a new apartment anyway, halfway between the Cody house and the hospital. You had been adamant that you would not be accepting monetary exchange for your triage skills. That was too illegal for you. You preferred to say it was like doing a friend a favor. Craig always insisted on finding a way to pay you back for your work on his leg, so you had settled on an agreement. Weed. High quality, too. And when you smoked the premium bud on your porch overlooking the ocean, the thought of patching up criminals under the table felt a lot less stressful. Your social life improved, too. You finally received your first invitation to a Cody party in the form of a text from Craig, followed by a cat picture with its thumbs up. You laughed and immediately accepted.

You sat on one of the loungers by the pool. The music echoed through the yard, bass vibrating your bones in an enjoyable way. Deran flopped onto the wicker couch beside you. The arm candy on Craig’s left scoffed slightly and nestled closer to him. You took the last sip from your beer and relaxed against the chair. The party had a good turnout, people splashing around in the pool and dancing by the speakers. But you weren’t looking at them. Your eyes only had one target: Pope. He fascinated you. The way he would linger at the edge of gatherings, much like he was at that moment, eyes scanning the crowd. He was always alert, twitchy in the most adorable way. You had gained a fondness for Pope. The way he held his arms tight against him. The way his mouth twitched when one of his brothers said something stupid. And especially the way he would clench his fists when he caught Craig running his eyes over your body. 

You knew Craig found you attractive, but you had made it clear that it would never result in anything. Craig respected it, but you still caught him looking at your ass when you walked past from time to time. You didn’t mind it. You considered it a confidence booster. But Pope, for some reason, wasn’t exactly thrilled with his brother ogling you. And you thought it was endearing. You figured it was probably just some code of honor. Pope seemed like a man who stuck to his own moral code, and maybe the objectification of women was something he strongly opposed. Deep down, though, you hoped it was something more. At first, you cared for him the way you might care for an abandoned dog. You wanted to clean him up and give him a warm meal. And you still did, but your increasingly frequent encounters with him turned your pitiful admiration into something more akin to a crush. Pope was a handsome man. You had caught him in the bathroom trying to stick a bandaid on the back of his shoulder a few months ago. It wasn’t going well. His beautifully plump biceps got in the way. You clicked your tongue at him and applied the bandage. He just blinked at you before giving a gruff ‘thank you’ and pushing past you into the hall. The sight of him with his shirt off was enough for the physical attraction to settle in your abdomen, but you really wanted to get to know him more. You could sense there was a lot more to him than met the eye. He was the muscle of the family operation, you knew that. Of all his brothers, he was always the one with the most bruises, the bloody knuckles. It should have scared you, but it didn’t- it only made you more curious because you saw the gentleness in him. You had gone surfing with the brothers one morning (technically they were surfing and you were watching them on the beach) when Pope saw a kitten stuck in a tidepool. He ran from his brothers and scooped up the tiny scrap of fur, only putting it down when the people he called from the ASPCA showed up to collect it. That showed you he wasn’t an evil man, just misunderstood. You were determined to understand him. 

Pope was no different at the party, gaze flicking from the people in the pool to the people by the gate. He gripped the throat of his beer bottle tightly enough that you could see his knuckles begin to whiten. He sat on a low line of stones belonging to a fountain. A small stream of water trickled behind him. You tilted your head in curiosity. Pope hadn’t blinked in over a minute.

“Does he always do that?” You asked to no one in particular, but Craig followed your gaze. “The staring, I mean.” Craig just chuckled and took another drag of his joint. 

“Yea,” He confirmed “Pope’s got a bit of a staring problem. I can tell him to knock it off if you want.” You shook your head. Part of you wanted to laugh. Craig tell Pope to do something? Unlikely.

“No, it doesn’t bother me, I was just curious.” Your eyes flicked to the beer bottle in his hand. It was empty, and had been for a while. You rose to your feet and went to the cooler on the other side of the couch. You dropped into a squat as you dug around and pulled out 2 beers. Deran watched you closely. He leaned over the arm of the furniture to talk to you under the noise of the party. 

“Careful,” he warned. You looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. Deran bounced his leg. He had a serious look on his face. “He can be…unpredictable.” You didn’t need to ask who he was talking about.

“I thought he liked me.” 

Deran chuckled and looked out to the party. “Especially if he likes you.” You let out a noise of amusement.

“I’ll be safe. Promise.” You held out your pinky to him. You made several pinky promises in high school. Only some of which you broke. The man smirked and reached out his hand, linking his finger to yours. You stood up and grabbed the two beers, giving Deran a nod and weaving your way through the party. It was packed, bodies swayed and fused together, neon necklaces blinking in the night. You genuinely didn't know how Smurf had so many connections with the younger people of Oceanside. She had a lot of issues, but damn did she know how to throw a good party. 

You emerged on the other side of the mass of people. Pope was still sitting on the rocks, eyes glazed over. “Mind if I sit?” Pope’s eyes snapped up to you. He looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected the question to come from your mouth. He blinked at you and shook his head. You plopped yourself beside him. You handed him one of the beers. “That thing’s been empty for, like, an hour. Figured I’d get you another one.” Pope looked at the bottle. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. His eyes went back to the party. With a purse of your lips, you set the fresh beer on the stones between the two of you. You took a sip of your drink. “Who are these people?” You asked him.

“Fuck if I know.” He scoffed. “They always just…show up whenever Smurf has a party. Word moves fast in a town like this.” You hummed in agreement and looked over your shoulder to take in a better view of the fountain you were sitting on. A little stream of bubbles caught your eye. You gasped and whirled around fully to face the water. The movement made Pope jump slightly. He clutched his beer closer to his chest and looked at you with wide, startled eyes.

“There’s a turtle!” You cooed, smiling widely at him. “Look!” Without thinking, you grabbed his bicep to get his attention. You pointed at the corner of the fountain, where a little pointed nose poked from the water. You watched as it ducked back under the surface. You turned to see if Pope had seen it, but his eyes were locked on you. Or rather, your hand, where it was still gripping the meat of his arm. It was hard to tell in the dark lighting, but you could’ve sworn you saw a twinge of red blush creeping up his neck. You realized your mistake at once. Pope had a thing about personal space. You removed your touch quickly. “I’m sorry,” You tucked your hands into your lap. “I got excited. There was this pond in my backyard growing up. I loved seeing what kinds of critters would show up.”

“S’alright.” He murmured, voice annoyingly monotone, blinking away whatever he had been thinking. A beat passed. “Do you like it? The fountain?”

“Oh, yea!” You grinned “I like the whole ‘overgrown’ vibe it gives.” The fountain was made of mossy stone bricks, with algae and a few water flowers skimming the surface. You knew it had to be a curated look. The Codys were never sloppy. 

“I made it.” Pope said. “When I got out of prison. I took a sledgehammer to the old one and built this one from scratch.” You sensed pride in his words. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was trying to impress you. He set his empty bottle down in the grass and picked up the one that had been waiting for him. 

“It’s nice to have a project,” You agreed. “Sometimes you just need to forget the real world and dedicate yourself to a task.”

“Is that why you patch up felons for fun?” Pope took a sip of his beer.

“Yea, sure.” You giggled “Something like that.” But it was exactly like that. Your work with the Codys gave you a purpose outside of work. You had something to do now besides just trudging through work and collapsing face first on your bed, just to repeat it all again the next day. A weird hobby, but a hobby nonetheless. “I just like having patients who don’t complain about every little thing I do. It’s not like you have much of a choice. ” You had meant it as a lighthearted comment, but Pope’s brow furrowed. 

“People complain?” His face was a picture of confusion. “About you?” You shrugged.

“Sometimes.” “Why?” He huffed “You’re a great nurse. You’re smart and capable and…nice.” His voice got quieter at the end and his fingernails scraped at the label on the sweaty bottle. 

“Well,” You sighed, “when people are in pain, they don’t always think before they speak. It’s not personal.” You bumped your knee lightly against his. “It’s nice to know I’m appreciated here, though.” 

“We’d be dead without you,” Pope continued. “And that’s not even flattery, that's just fact.” You held out your beer.

“Cheers to that.” You clinked your bottle against his and the two of you drank. You could feel him relaxing a bit next to you. Still looking out into the crowd, but not as jumpy. “Deran says you’re usually in your room during these things.”

“I don’t like parties.” Pope confirmed. 

“Why are you out here then? What’s so special about tonight?” His eyes briefly moved from the party to your face. His lips moved a bit, like he was thinking of an answer.

Pope couldn’t tell you it was because of you. He knew you’d be here and he had hoped to talk to you. He wanted to make sure you were doing okay, that none of his brother’s asshole friends bothered you. Because he liked you. More than liked you. You were all he thought about while he stayed up at night, sometimes looking at the ceiling, sometimes with his hand down his pants. Pope wanted to get to know you, learn if he consumed your thoughts the way you consumed his. But he couldn’t tell you that. So, instead, he said, “The weather’s nice.”

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═ 

You had been dead asleep when your phone’s ringtone tore through the haze of your dreams. You scrambled to groggily accept the call and when you heard Deran’s voice, you were instantly awake. The job had gone bad. Well, technically, the job itself was fine. The boys had cosplayed EMTs in order to rob soundboards from a music festival. One their drive home, the ambulance was hit. And they were hurt. Bad.

You got to the Cody house the same time as they pulled into the driveway. Deran opened the driver’s side door and practically fell out of the truck.

“What the fuck happened?” You hissed, wrapping Deran’s arm around your shoulder to help him up. 

“Semi truck ran a stop sign,” His voice was wet and bloody. His lip was split down the middle and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Must’ve bit his tongue. 

“A semi truck hit you?” Your eyes were wild. You deposited Deran on one of the pool chairs. You helped him sit back and looked up to see Pope and Craig helping each other follow behind you. You shook your head in disbelief and took a deep breath. Your eyes immediately went to Pope. He had deep gashes on his arm and neck. Blood darkened the hair at his temple and you could tell it hurt to walk. He looked so disheveled, so raw. So hot. The uniform clung to his body and you felt desire curl in your belly. You shook it off immediately, shame burning in your veins. You were objectifying a man who needed medical attention. Your medical attention. Pope and Craig sat together on another lounger next to Deran’s. You wiped your forehead of the sweat that was already beginning to gather there. “Okay,” You huffed, mainly to yourself “Okay.” You did a quick inventory. Craig looked superficially fine, but he had that dazed look in his eyes that told you he probably had a concussion. Deran got the worse of it, glass stuck in his nose and several lacerations all over his body. You assumed he was driving. 

Suddenly, Pope wasn’t on the chair anymore. You looked around for him. He was limping toward the house. “Pope!” You called after him “You-”

“I’m fine!” He growled, teeth bared. “I’ve gotta make a call.” His voice was deep, almost sinister, and final. He tore the sliding door open and practically fell into the kitchen, disappearing from view. You pressed your eyes together and let out a frustrated grumble, but returned your focus back to Deran. You worked quickly, picking the glass from both Deran and Craig’s wounds. You had to give Deran a few stitches in his lip and several bandages across his face, but he was a good sport about it. Craig just needed a sling for his arm, which was broken and would need a cast from urgent care in the morning. He hadn’t vomited and was generally aware, so you weren’t too worried about the concussion, but you still made him talk to you while you worked on cleaning the scrapes on Deran’s shoulder. 

Headlights pulled you from your conversation. You looked at Deran, silently asking if they were expecting someone. From the way he tensed beneath you, you assumed they were not. Before Craig could get up, the sliding door opened. Pope emerged from the house, bandages on his arm and neck. A fine enough job, but the bleeding hadn’t been contained. He walked towards the gate, steps uneven and face furious. J appeared from the driveway. His brows shot up as he saw the state of his uncles.

“Holy shit.” He whispered. 

“Nice of you to join us,” Pope bit out, words laced with venom. “Have a nice drive back?” 

“I couldn’t just leave,” J reasoned, shrugging with his hands in his pockets “It would have looked suspicious.” Pope let out a humorless laugh.

“Suspicious.” He echoed, slinking into J’s personal space.  “You know what looks suspicious, J? The fact that the driver of the semi knew who you were.” He pressed an accusing finger into J’s chest. “Told me to ‘say hi to my nephew.’ You know anything about that?” To J’s credit, the boy looked genuinely taken aback. 

“No.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Pope hissed, shoving J away from him. “I told you what happens when you lie to me.” After the push, Pope swayed slightly, staggering before catching himself. You were on your feet in an instant, approaching him from behind in case you had to stabilize him. He shot you a look over his shoulder that told you to back off. You didn’t. 

“You’re still bleeding,” You said calmly, pointing at his back, where a dark patch had begun to seep through the clean shirt he’d put on. 

“M’not.” He grumbled, but he seemed less sure. More dazed. Pope took another step. And almost fell to the ground. You were able to tuck your arm under his armpit, hand splayed on his chest, and hold him up long enough until J got his other side. The two of you pulled him to the nearest chair. J gave you room and you began tugging at his shirt. “Get off f’me,” He barked at you, starting to get up. You put your hands on his chest and pushed him back into the chair.

“Andrew. Sit. Down.” Your voice was firm, commanding. Your jaw was set and you held his gaze steadily. Pope blinked up at you in surprise. You had used his name. His real name. He swallowed and nodded. Pope straightened his spine, flinching as he slid one of his hands across his lower back. When he pulled his hand away, blood coated his fingers. Suddenly, the earth shifted beneath him and he gripped the table beside him, breath coming out in short huffs.

“I think there’s some broken glass,” He rasped out. “I didn’t feel it before.” J got the triage kit while you helped Pope get his shirt off. 

“Next time,” You growled at him, eyes still harsh, “let me take a look at you before you go sulk in the bathroom.” Pope’s gaze fell from you and he gave a little nod. You scoffed and shook your head, directing him on how to get the best angle and removing the tiny shards of glass that were embedded in his skin.

By the time you finished making sure everyone was cared for, you were exhausted. You were standing in the kitchen, washing your tools and hands of the blood that stained them. The overhead lights were too bright, your vision was a little fuzzy, and the entire night felt like a strange dream. But that was okay, because all three men were stable. Craig and Deran had left to fake a car accident that gave them plausible reason to go to the hospital in the morning. J had slipped out a few minutes after Pope’s attention was no longer on him. And Pope was sitting at the dining table outside, staring at the reflections that danced across the pool. You let your eyes follow the curve of his shirtless torso. You had told him to keep it off for the night, to let his wounds breathe. His bandages were fresh (you had replaced the shoddy ones he’d put on) and you didn’t see any blood blooming across the gauze. A good sign. If only he had let you do it in the first place. Your nose twitched with irritation. Stupid, stubborn man. You scrubbed harder at the skin of your hands, only stopping when they were rubbed raw and the blood was washed from under your fingernails. You sighed and turned off the faucet. The embrace of sleep called to you and you felt your eyelids droop. You leaned back against the counter and rubbed at your eyes. When you brought your hands down, Pope was standing inside, giving you one of his looks. You hadn’t heard him come in. You really tried to grasp what emotion he was trying to convey, but it was lost on you.

“What?” You asked, harsher than you meant to. He flinched. Barely, but enough to notice. Pope just stood there, wringing his hands and looking at you with those large, sad eyes. You exhaled through your nose. “I should go home.” You pushed yourself off the counter and grabbed your keys. Pope moved to block your exit.

“No.” His voice was soft, almost intimately so.

“No?” Your eyes crinkled in confusion. “What do you mean, no?” “It’s late,” he said simply “You can stay here. If you want.” You looked behind you to see the time on the microwave. It was 4 am. You rubbed a hand over your face. Pope had a point. You were falling asleep washing your hands. You probably shouldn’t drive. He seemed like he had his mind made up and, honestly, you really didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. You gave him a small nod. Pope’s eyes lit up, half expecting you to refuse him, and gestured for you to follow him. You did. He took you down an unfamiliar hallway and turned into a room you instantly recognized as his. You’d never seen it before, but it was so unmistakable Pope’s. No clutter, not even a wall decoration. Just a bed with neatly tucked in sheets and a dresser that had a picture frame laying face-down on it. You were too busy taking in the space to notice that Pope had begun striping the bed. A new pair of sheets rested on the bedside table. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” You protested weakly. You could hear the exhaustion fraying the edges of your voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, everyone needs clean sheets.” He tucked in the corners of the fresh white linens before standing back and admiring his work. You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t want clean sheets. You wanted to be able to smell him as you fell asleep. Having your skin against the same fabric as his made your legs tingle. But that was probably just the sleep deprivation talking.

“Thank you.” you said instead. He gave an acknowledging noise and gathered the old sheets in his arms. He began to walk out, but you brushed your hand against his shoulder. “Hey, I’m…I’m sorry I was so rude earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. It was unprofessional.” You took a deep breath, debating if you should continue. “I just don’t enjoy seeing you hurt. I hate watching you suffer. Knowing I can help you but not being able to. I hate it. I get it if you have a hard time asking for help. But it’s what I’m here for. I want to help you, Pope.” I want to take care of you. That was what you wanted to say. I want to be there for you. Please let me be there for you. A tense moment of silence expanded between the two of you. Pope’s bottom lip disappeared under his teeth. 

“Don’t be sorry, I…” He trailed off. You could tell he had a lot he wanted to say, but didn’t quite know how to string the words together. He shook his head. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Pope walked out of the room. You realized then that you had taken his bed. You were about to follow him and ask where he planned on sleeping that night, but the hall lights turned off, plunging the room into darkness, and you took that as a sign that Pope was done with you for the night.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═ 

Several weeks passed and you didn’t hear anything from the Codys. Based on Pope’s interaction with J that night, you assumed there was some family tension. And you were happy with staying away from that. You had texted Craig and Deran to check up on their healing progress and it was going well. But outside of that, life had been normal. The California summer was in full swing, and you were sprawled out on your bed, comforter kicked to the floor and starfishing under your ceiling fan to keep as cool as possible. A task that was working fine enough until you heard a knock at your door. Your head snapped up and adrenaline shot through your body. You checked the time on your phone. It was only 9 pm, but it was still an odd hour for visitors- especially considering you never got any. Pope had warned you about this, that enemies of his family and other dangerous people might come seeking you out in the dead of night. But would they knock? You swallowed your anxiety and crawled out of bed. Quietly, you tiptoed across the floor of your apartment to look out the peephole of the door. You relaxed instantly when you saw the familiar face. You unlocked the door and gently swung it open. The warm night air brushed against your thighs and you could smell the dew beginning to collect on the grass. 

“Pope?” You said groggily, rubbing at your eyes. “What are you doing here?” You noticed that his car wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “How’d you get here?” You lived at least three miles from the nearest bus stop. Pope didn’t say anything and you were able to get a look at him as awareness started to sweep sleep from your brain. His cuts on his neck and arm were almost healed, but he had a new gash above his eyebrow. Blood painted the side of his face. A face that was contorted in despair. His eyes were massive dark spots and they were fixated on you. You were suddenly hyper aware that you were only wearing a large t-shirt and sleep shorts that barely covered your ass. You shifted self-consciously. Pope’s chest was rising and falling with quick, panicked breaths. One of his hands was pressed to his abdomen and the other was clenching and unclenching rapidly. He looked beaten, physically and emotionally.

“I’m sorry,” He choked out. His voice was shaky and wet. His eyes darted around and his body was tense. “I…I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t go back to that house. You’re the only one I…You’re the only one I trust to help me.”

“What happened?” Pope didn’t reply. His lip quivered and a sob shook through him. His free hand rose to his face to cover his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes and he let out another sobbing breath. “Oh, Andrew.” Your face fell and your heart swelled. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you. His face fell to the crook of your neck and he cried against you. You felt the wetness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, running comforting strokes over his back and his hand gripped onto the fabric of your shirt. “It’s okay,” You soothed. “It’s okay.” You stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, in the doorway of your apartment, just holding him. The only sounds were his sniffles and the occasional car driving past. When he was ready, Pope pulled back, but his hand still fisted the back of your shirt. Shiny streaks of tears stained his cheeks and his breathing was still hiccuping. Your hand gently disentangled him from your back and you walked him inside your apartment. You closed the door and locked it. You led him by the hand to your couch, where you told him to sit while you got your medical supplies. After you deposited him, he sat there for a moment, blinking and arm still outstretched. He flexed his hand, confused that your warmth was no longer in his palm. 

When you returned, you were holding your kit. You unpacked it on the coffee table. Nylon threads, a hooked stitching needle, disinfectant, water, a washcloth, bandages, and a dose of lidocaine that had been too easy to snatch from the medicine cart at the hospital. After mixing some water and disinfectant solution, you sat back on your knees, looking up at him from your position on the ground. Pope was pressing his hand to his side and you could see the deep red that was beginning to slip through his fingers. You laced your fingers around his and gently removed his palm. 

“Gonna take a look, okay?” You told him and he nodded. Sweat was beginning to bead at his temples. You lifted the side of his shirt with care and sucked in a breath when you saw the slash that cut through the side of his abdomen. Likely a knife wound of some kind. You put on your gloves and disinfected the cut, running your fingers along the edge of the wound to assess its depth. Pope shivered beneath you. “Okay,” you breathed “Looks pretty straightforward. You’ll need stitches, but it didn’t cut deep enough for more than one layer.” You gave him a tight smile “Doable.” Pope’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at you and his jaw was slackened slightly. He really was beautiful, even with the bruises and blood and despair splashed across his face. You took the dose of lidocaine and took the cap off the syringe. You offered him one of your hands to hold. He took it without hesitation. “Squeeze if you need to. You won’t hurt me. It’s gonna sting a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” his voice was breathy, ragged, and he squeezed your hand tighter. You pressed the needle below the wound and plunged the syringe down. Once he was sufficiently numbed, you prepared the sutures. It took some convincing to have Pope let go of your hand, but after assuring him that, yes, both hands were needed for the stitches, he grumbled and released you. 

You stitched him up quickly and efficiently, looping the thread over the gash and pulling tight. At the half-way point, Pope’s legs were shaking from the shock. You squeezed his knee reassuringly. “We’re about halfway done, alright? You’re doing so well for me.” Pope froze beneath you and his breath hitched. He blinked hard and turned his face from you. You noticed he was holding his breath. “Breathe for me, Pope. In and out. I’m almost done, I promise.” His neck reddened and his jaw clenched, but he did as you said. 

“Good.” You soothed. Pope looked at you. He had the same look in his eyes as he did when he was on alert, like he was trying to read you. You ignored it. After another line of stitches, you tied off the thread and shucked off your gloves. “All done!” You tossed your gloves and the needle into a red biohazard bag. You pulled yourself up onto the couch and grabbed the washcloth from the coffee table, wetting it with the water and disinfectant solution. You gently turned his face to get a better look at his temple. “You gonna tell me what happened?” You used your pointer finger to dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

“Smurf’s usin’ me as her little…attack dog again.” His voice was shaky, coming down from his adrenaline high caused by the stitches. “That’s all I am to her. I mean just look at me.” His gaze settled heavy on his knuckles and he flexed them. They were bruised purple and scabbed over. “Everything I touch gets mangled and bloody. And the worst part is I don’t even know why I do it. At some point I did but…the more I think about it, I can never remember a reason. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s just…who I am. That's all I am.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is.” he bit back “And if you keep…if you keep getting close to me you’re gonna realize that one day. You’re gonna realize what I am. I…I hurt people. She sent me after this guy ‘nd I beat him in front of…in front of his kid. Who does that? I’m a monster!” His voice was gravelly, growing louder with each word. Pope’s lip quivered and his anger morphed into a kind of despair.

“You’re not a monster.” Your voice was unwavering. “You don’t scare me, Pope,” You told him. And you meant it. Your free hand went to rest on his forearm and he flinched slightly. But he didn't pull away. “You could never scare me. You’re so much more than that and it kills me that you don’t see it.” His lips pressed together and his brow twitched. The muscles at the corners of his mouth pulled upward and then relaxed, and you saw him swallow. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. He took a few deep breaths.

“Please,” Pope choked out, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze moved from where it was burning a hole in your carpet to capture your eyes in an equally blazing way. His eyes were wide, pleading, dark, and wet. His eyebrows tilted up ever so slightly, the way a dog would when begging for scraps at a table. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, pressing his palms together tighter. As if it was the only way to stay grounded in the moment. “Call me Andrew.” You tilted your head, lowering your hand from his face. 

“Andrew,” Your voice was equally as soft. You raised the washcloth again, gesturing for him to turn his head so you could regain your angle. But he didn’t move, keeping your eyes locked with his. You could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. Maybe caused by the adrenaline crash after fighting for his life. Maybe caused by the way the air had shifted slightly between you two. Not too intense, just enough to notice. It shifted from the simple relationship of patient and nurse to something more charged. Something more intimate. You swallowed. He stared into your soul, searching for something with his eyes. Those eyes. Big and wet and dark as ink. You knew Pope- Andrew- had a staring problem. And from a distance, you didn’t mind it, but up close, it was intimidating. His face was blank and you couldn’t tell what was churning in that mind of his. Andrew’s gaze held the normal edge that you were used to, like an animal unsure of its next move. But underneath it, there was something softer. Squishier. A hesitance that was so unlike the man you knew. Like he was waging a war with himself and he wasn’t sure what outcome he preferred, whether he won or lost. 

Suddenly, his lips were on yours. It was a cautious kiss, slow pecks testing the waters. You inhaled sharply. Surprise jolted through you, but soon melted into bliss as you pressed your face against his. You dropped the washcloth to the ground and brought your hands to his face, holding his cheeks. They were still sticky with dried tears. You felt the stubble against his skin. You hadn’t really noticed that it was there until just now. He was usually so clean-shaven, neatly kept like the rest of his appearance. But he must not have shaved that morning and the thought of seeing him disheveled, seeing him broken down to his most intimate forms, made your heart tumble with yearning. Andrew slowly raised his hand and traced his fingers down yours, as if he was checking to make sure you were real. Like you were actually touching him like that. 

You poked your tongue out, testing the waters even further, giving him a chance to back out if all he needed was something gentle. Andrew exhaled sharply as he opened his lips and let your tongue into his mouth, breath fanning across your nose. You felt his fingers dance across your waist and settle on your upper thigh. Your kisses became more open and less controlled. Your lips worked against his and he nipped at your mouth before soothing the bite with his own tongue. The kiss got sloppy fast, both of your breathing becoming shallow and more needy. His tongue ran against yours and Andrew whimpered slightly as he sucked on your bottom lip. His grip became harsher, digging into the meat of your thigh and pulling you closer to him. You ignored the burning in your lungs for as long as you could, but you eventually had to pull away from him, gasping for breath and feeling a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. Your eyes fluttered open. Andrew was looking at you, hungry, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen and red. Pants were coming through his parted lips and his nose twitched. The sight sent a shock of arousal down your spine before pooling as heat in your lower abdomen. You needed him. Your hands slid down his face and neck before settling on his chest. Andrew sucked in a breath at your touch. He tensed slightly under your fingers, and something told you it had been a long time since he felt a touch like this. Gentle. Nonthreatening. Needy.

Andrew held your gaze as he slid off the couch and onto the floor, kneeling between your legs. His fingers slid up your thighs and hooked into the waistband of your shorts. You could see the painfully hard outline of his cock pressing against the fabric of his jeans. He looked up at you with reverence, lips parted and eyes wide. Like he was about to start praying at an altar. You wiggled your hips forward and felt the wetness beginning to collect between your folds. All you wanted was to feel his tongue in you. Feel his lips suckle on your clit and watch his face as he tongue-fucked you to your release. But you reigned yourself in. Your hands rested on his. 

“Wait,” You whisper. Andrew let out a frustrated whimper. How could you deny him this? When it was so clearly the only thing he wanted? “Andrew, we don’t have to. You had a rough day a-and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. We can just talk if that’s what you want.”

“Won’t regret it,” He insisted, gripping the fabric of your shorts in his fingers “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Needed you for such a long time.”

“But your stitches. I-” “Shut up.” He sighed, tugging on your shorts. “Please. Let me taste you.” You opened your mouth before closing it. You had run out of excuses. You lifted your hips and let him pull your shorts down. Andrew lifted your ankle and pulled the garment off you. His eyes darkened when he saw you weren’t wearing underwear. They felt too constraining in the heat of the night. You shimmied forward on the couch so that your pussy was level with his face. He licked his lips and you felt like you were about to die from how badly you needed him. He pulled you down closer to him, burying his face between your folds and taking a deep inhale. The first swipe of his tongue against you made you toss your head back against the couch with a sigh. Andrew flattened his tongue and dragged his jaw upwards, licking a broad stripe up your entire sex. He wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a harsh suck, making your thighs clasp against his ears. His hands pressed your legs closer to him, urging you to squeeze his head between your legs- a position he would die in if you’d let him. He teased you, swirling the point of his tongue around your bundle of nerves until you were gasping before swiping the muscle down the length of your cunt, dipping into your hole just enough for you to feel a pleasant burn then letting it slip out and flatting it against you. The cycle was brutal. The band in your belly tightened and loosened. It was like he knew exactly how to work your body right up to the edge and how to let you down gently while still sending bursts of pleasure through your body. You were completely lost in the pure bliss Andrew blessed you with. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging lightly on his curls and pressing your thighs tighter against him as he moaned into your wetness. You could see a wet spot forming on the tent in his pants and he bucked against the air. And yet Andrew was so lost in you, too- your taste, your feel, your smell- that he really didn’t notice his own discomfort. 

When he finally slipped two of his fingers into your hole, curling up against the spongy spot, while also furiously licking at your clit, your moans grew louder. Your juices ran down his knuckles and he pressed a third finger into your heat. Your breathing was more ruined, eyes screwed shut as you chased your release. You didn’t notice, but Andrew’s gaze was locked on you, memorizing every little twitch of your mouth, every little noise that fell from your lips. A moment he’d like to relive every night for the rest of his life, if you’d let him. Even if you didn’t, he’d be jerking himself off to it for eternity, only imagining how you looked in that moment. You were glowing, a light sheen of sweat shining on your face and a mix of spit and slick coating your inner thighs. He curled his fingers again and reveled in the way you clenched against him. You rutted against his face. It wasn’t intentional, really, just a primal need. You used his face to get yourself off, and Andrew’s eyes drifted closed, immersed in the sensation of being reduced to an object for your own pleasure. It wasn’t long before you felt your abdomen tighten. You pressed your legs even tighter against him. The feeling of his fingers, his tongue, and his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh was too overwhelming. You came with a cry, throwing your head back and pulling Andrew’s face deeper into you. You felt a wetness rip from your pussy, squirt coating Andrew’s face. You were too lost in your pleasure to care. You shook against him, riding out the last traces of your orgasm on his tongue. You breathed heavily, eyes slowly opening to look at him. Andrew sat back and looked at you, swiping a finger through the squirt that coated his chin. Embarrassment rose in your chest, and you shifted so that you were sitting up.

“I’m…so sorry,” You gasp, still slightly out of breath. “I didn’t mean to…do…that.” Andrew made sure you watched as he sucked his fingers clean. His eyes were dark with lust, lips puffy and slicked. You could see the curls at the back of his head plastered against the column of his neck by sweat. He didn’t say a word, just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled up on top of you, laying you down on the couch. One of his arms braced himself next to your head and the other fiddled with the button on his pants. You helped him pop it and tug the zipper down. Andrew kicked off his jeans and pulled his boxers down just enough for his cock to jump out. You licked your lips hungrily as he guided his length to your entrance. He slid his dick through your folds, coating his tip in your juices before slowly pushing into you. The burn was instant and you sucked in a breath, grabbing his biceps to steady yourself as he pushed deeper into you. You both groaned in unison as Andrew bottomed out and his other arm came down, caging your head beneath him. He kissed you again as he rolled his hips slowly, swallowing your moans. 

“You okay?” He asked, drawing your bottom lip between his teeth. You nodded.

“You’re just…” You gasped “You’re so big.” He kissed up your jaw and behind your ear.

“M’sorry,” He whispered, “Jus’tell me if it’s too much.” 

Andrew set a slow pace at first, like he was scared that releasing his full strength would hurt you. The slow drag of him against you was sinful. Addictive. Dangerous. You wanted- no, you needed more. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels into his ass, urging him to fuck you harder. He obliged, shifting from rolling his hips to snapping in and out, forcing moans from deep in your chest. Andrew’s breaths were coming out in short puffs, sweat dripping down his face as he put all of his energy into fucking you into the cusions of your couch. After a particularly loud moan spilled from your lips, he shoved two of his fingers in your mouth. You realized instantly that they were the same two fingers that had curled inside of you only moments before. 

“Shhh,” Andrew grumbled “Don’t wanna wake the neighbors. You gonna be a good girl f’me and keep quiet?” You nodded emphatically and Andrew swirled his fingers against your tongue, gathering your spit before withdrawing and immediately rubbing circles around your clit with the wettened digits. Your core tightened around him at the feeling and your nails clawed down his back. He shuttered and groaned at the sensation, humping harder against you. His hip bone was grinding into yours, and your shoulder was beginning to ache from the awkward position, but you felt so full and so content that you didn’t dare complain. You would rather die than lose the sensation of Andrew inside of you. Andrew looked down at you with pure awe. You were his Goddess beneath him, allowing him the highest honor of being able to not only touch you, but to bring you to the verge of inexplicable pleasure for the second time. Each one of his thrusts purged a small, high-pitched moan from him.

“Feels so good,” You whine, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder. Your second orgasm was building fast. You could tell Andrew was getting close, rhythm becoming uneven. 

“Yea?” He whined. The sound was heartbreaking, high pitched and broken and small.  “I make you feel good? ‘M I doin’ a good job fucking you?” It wasn’t dirty talk, but a genuine question. He needed to hear it, the sounds coming from you weren’t enough.

“So good. You fuck me so good Andrew.” He mewled at your words, burying his face in your neck and moaning into your skin. 

“Gonna fill you up. Wanna have you squirting on my face every day for the rest of my life,” He rambled “Wanna feel you come around me over and over again. Squeezing me so tight. S’like you were made for me. Only me.”

“Fuck, please, Andrew!” You moaned, words coming out breathy with every thrust into you “Only you!” Your words spurred him on. He pulled your shirt up just high enough where one of your breasts was on display. Andrew bit his lip at the sight, eyes locked on the smooth curves of your tit. His mouth captured your nipple, tongue swirling and lips sucking as he snapped his hips into you. Andrew’s teeth grazed the bud and the band in your belly snapped, causing a squelching sound to fill your living room as you came on his cock. Andrew wasn’t far behind, small whimpers and moans mixed in with short pants as he emptied himself into you while still latched onto your nipple, gasping out small ‘thank you’s as he did. He pushed as far into you as physically possible, emptying his seed right against your cervix. 

Andrew collapsed on top of you, face nuzzled into your neck and peppering kisses against your sweaty skin. Your fingers scratched at his scalp, grounding both of you as you came down from your high. Your legs were shaking and your walls were still fluttering. Andrew began to pull out but you let out a needy whine and squeezed your heels into his rear, begging him to stay put. He let out a little huff of amusement and lifted his head, pressing kisses to your forehead, eyelids, nose, and eventually mouth. He swiped an eyelash from your cheek and looked down at you with a glowing smile. The two of you stayed there for a few moments before he broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he croaked out, voice raw from his moans. “For letting me in tonight.” You smiled at him, pressing your lips to his in a series of short kisses.

“Any time.” You hum. “Seriously, though, no strenuous activity for a few days. I don’t want to redo your stitches. I’m pretty proud of them.”

“No promises,” He mumbled. “Might just have to pop one so I can come back and see my favorite nurse.”

 “Y’know,” you drawl “I do offer a bedside service. If you're interested.”

“Yea?” He laughed airily, “What’s that gonna cost me?”