26. irish. professional fanfiction reader for 16 years now :) pope cody truther. delighted i get to exist at the same time as shawn hatosy + his character x reader tags
This one is based on that shower scene in animal kingdom. you guys know the one.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: angst. altered mental state.
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
You didnât mean to be out so long. It justâŚhappened. One street turned into another. The ocean stretching beside you, dark and endless. The tide ebbing in and out like it had somewhere to be. You didnât. You walked until your feet ached, until the buzz in your head dulled into something quieter.Â
You sat in a diner for a while â coffee going cold in your hands, the hum of fluorescent lights above you, the low murmur of strangers that didnât ask anything from you. Looking down at your shirt, you realised there was blood on it. From Andrewâs hands. You shivered.
It was close to two by the time you made it back. The house was silent when you stepped inside. No TV. No voices. Just that heavy, late-night stillness that made everything feel slightly unreal. You kicked your shoes off quietly, moving down the hallway on instinct.
Thatâs when you heard it. The shower. Running steady. Constant. At two in the morning. You frowned slightly, slowing your steps. Every door in the hallway was shut â except one.
Popeâs.
Your breath caught. You moved towards the door, pushing the door open just enough for your voice to carry.
âAndrew?â
No answer. The water kept running. A beat passed. And then another.
You pushed the door open further. Steam curled around the room, thick and warm, like the shower had been running for a while. The bathroom light was on, mirror already fogged over.  The air was heavy, hard to breathe.
âAndrew?â you called again, more urgently this time.
Nothing. Your stomach dropped as you stepped inside and saw him. He was in the shower. Collapsed on the floor, body folded in on itself, knees drawn to his chest, one arm tucked awkwardly under his head. The water was hitting his side and shoulder, running over him in awkward streams, but he wasnât moving.
He didnât react. Didnât even flinch at the sound of you stepping closer.
âAndrew,â your voice sharpened as you quickly dropped to your knees outside the glass.Â
No response. Your heart started to pound.Â
You yanked the door open, the hot spray hitting you immediately, soaking through your clothes as you leaned in.
âHey â HEY, look at me.â
Your hands found his shoulders. His skin was flushed from the heat. There was no resistance from him, no awareness.
âAndrew,â you said again, louder. âCome onâŚplease.â
No answer. Your pulse spiked. You didnât think, just stepped fully into the shower. Water drenched you instantly, denim shorts sticking to your legs, white shirt so soaked it was almost see-through as you crouched in front of him.Â
âAndrew,â you said with a firm voice.
You grabbed his face this time, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were open, but unfocused. Like he wasnât seeing you. Your chest tightened painfully at the sight of him.
âHey,â you said again, softer. âYouâre okay. Look at me. Youâre okay.â
âThere you go,â you murmured. âStay with me.â
His lips parted like he was going to say something. Nothing came out. Instead, his body jolted with a tremor. Then another. Your grip strengthened.Â
âOkay,â you said quickly, trying to ground him. âItâs fine. Youâre fine.â
You could feel it now â his whole body trembling under your hands. Not violent, but constant. Uncontrolled.Â
âCan you sit up?â
No response. You didnât wait. You hooked your arm under his, pulling him upright with great effort. His body was heavy, uncoordinated, like he wasnât fully there.Â
âCome on,â you said, breathing heavy. âHelp me out a little.â
He didnât. But he didnât fight you either. You got him sitting. Barely.
His head slumped forward, water dripping from his auburn hair, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself.Â
You reached past him, turning the water off. The sudden quiet was jarring. All that was left was his uneven, ragged breathing.Â
âHey,â you said, quieter now.Â
Your hand slid to the back of his neck. His whole body reacted. Not pulling away, but tightening. Like his body registered before his mind caught up. You froze for half a second. Youâd never seen that before. Not from him.Â
âItâs okay,â you purred. âItâs okay, Iâve got you.â
Another tremor ran through him. More violent this time. His hand came up suddenly, gripping your wrist. Not hard, but urgent. Like he needed to anchor himself. Your breath hitched.
âI ââ His voice caught.
He swallowed hard, blinking like he was trying to focus on something that wouldnât stay still.
He stopped. His breathing stuttered, whole body shaking.Â
âI donât know whatâs wrong with me.â
His words came out fractured. Like he didnât recognise them. Your heart felt like a jackhammer against your ribs.Â
âNothingâs wrong with you,â you said quickly. âYouâre just ââÂ
You stopped. Because you didnât know what he was. Breaking? Shutting down? Drowning in something you couldnât see?
Your hand slid down his arm, slowly. Carefully. His reaction was immediate. His shoulders tensed. Grip on you squeezed slightly. Breathing hitched again.Â
You blinked. Shocked. He was never like this. Never this reactive. Never thisâŚexposed.
Your gaze dropped to his hands. The skin across his knuckles was split open, dried blood cracked across them. Swelling and bruising already setting in.Â
âJesus,â you whispered. âYour handsâŚâ
You shifted slightly, shivering now as the cold started to seep in through your wet clothes. You reached for a towel, wrapping it loosely around his shoulders first, before taking one of his hands again. Gentle. Slow.
âI need to clean these,â you said.
He didnât respond. But he didnât pull away either.
You guided him out of the shower, steadying him when his legs faltered slightly. Water still dripping from his sodden hair onto your hands as you sat him on the toilet lid. You wrapped the towel tighter around him. His gaze was somewhere far away.
You grabbed the first aid kit with shaking hands, and, kneeling in front of him, you took his hand.  He sharply inhaled. A tremor shaking his arm. Your heart felt heavy in your chest.
âI know,â you sighed. âI know. Iâm sorry.â
You cleaned his wound carefully. He flinched, but it wasnât the pain. It was you. That realisation hit harder than it should have.
You stilled for a second, watching him â really watching him this time. The way his shoulders stayed tight, like he was bracing for something. The way his breathing quickened every time your fingers moved over his skin. Not fear. Something else. Something learned.
âHas she done this for you before?â you asked quietly.
He didnât answer, but his eyes flickered. That was enough.
You swallowed, gaze dropping back to his hands as you worked. âCath.â
The name sat heavy. Not thrown. Placed, carefully.
You let out a slow breath. âYou go like this with her too, donât you?â
Still no answer. But his fingers twitched in yours. Whole body coiling slightly, indicating that you were right.
You nodded faintly. âYeah⌠I thought so.â
A beat passed. Then, softer âÂ
âAnd Smurf.â
That one landed deeper. You felt it in the way he stilled completely. Not reactive this time. Like heâd gone somewhere else for a second.
âYou donât even realise youâre doing it,â you said, voice low and steady. âThe way you justâŚshut down. Like youâre waiting. Bracing for what comes next.â
Your thumb brushed lightly over his knuckles as you wrapped them.
âYou let them decide everything,â you continued. âHow far it goes. When it stops. What youâre allowed to feel about it after.â
His jaw clenched. But he didnât pull away. Didnât argue.Â
âAnd the worst part?â You looked up at him then. âYou donât fight it.â
You let that sit between you. Heavy. Uncomfortable. True.
âBut you donât do that with me.â
That made his eyes lift to yours. There it was again. That line he didnât cross with you. You held his gaze.
âAnd I donât know if thatâs because Iâm not them,â you said, voice barely audible, something breaking just slightly at the edges, âor because Iâm not enough to be.â
The silence stretched. Your throat felt tight.
âBut I do know this,â you added, steadier now. âYou donât choose me.â
He just stared at you. Not defensive. Not angry. JustâŚtrying to catch up. Like your words had landed somewhere he hadnât reached yet.
âYou come to me when you need something. When itâs quiet. When you donât want them to see you.â
Your fingers tightened around his.
âBut you donât choose me when it matters.â
He flinched. Barely, but you saw it. Your chest tightened.
âI donât know why,â you admitted. âI donât know what she has that I donât.â
Seconds passed. Then âÂ
âBut Iâm right here.â
The quiet lingered.Â
Heavy. Thick. Sitting between you like something neither of you knew how to move around.Â
He was still looking at you. Really looking. Not past you. Not through you. At you. Your breathing shallowed under the weight of his gaze. You didnât look away.Â
âIâm here.â
Something shifted in his expression. Jaw flexing slightly. Breathing still uneven, but slower now, less chaotic. Like something in him was starting to settle.Â
Or maybe justâŚfocus. On you.
Your hand was still wrapped around his. You hadnât let go. Neither had he. You became aware of it all at once â the way his fingers had curled around yours. Not gripping. Not desperate. Just present.
You didnât move. Didnât give him a reason to pull away.Â
A beat passed. Then âÂ
His other hand lifted. Slowly. Like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to.
You watched it. Your pulse picking up as it hovered for a second in the space between you.Â
He touched you. Not your face. Not your hand. Your arm, just above your elbow. Like he was testing something.
You stopped breathing. Because that was new. Andrew didnât reach. He took, held, reacted. But this? This was different. This was asking.
Your body went still under his touch. Not pulling away or leaning in. Just letting it happen. His fingers tighten slightly. Not gripping, just making sure you were real.
You felt it everywhere. Your chest. Your throat. Your ribs. It was sending electricity through every part of your body.
âYouâre here,â he said. The words were quiet. Like he was confirming it to himself.
You swallowed, âYeah.â
His hand settled on your arm. Thumb brushing once, absentmindedly. It sent something sharp through your chest.
You sucked in a quiet breath. He noticed. Of course he did. His eyes flicked to your face again, searching. Like he didnât know what he was looking for but had to find it anyway. You held his gaze. Didnât break. Didnât give him an out.Â
âIf you donât want me,â you said softly, repeating it, because it still mattered, âthen you have to mean it.â
His grip tightened slightly. âI ââ He stopped, jaw straining.
His eyes dropped briefly â your mouth, your collarbone, the space between you â before coming back to your eyes. Like he was trying to say something and couldnât.
âThere it is,â you whispered. Not cruel. JustâŚtired. âYou donât even know.â
His expression shifted. Frustration taking over his features.
âThatâs not ââÂ
âThen what is it?â you pressed quietly.
Your hand moved without thinking. Just slightly. Turning in his. Not pulling away. Not holding tighter. Just there. Meeting him.
He went still. Felt it. His fingers tightened instinctively. His breathing changed again. Slower. Heavier.
âYou think I donât want you?â he asked.
Your throat tightened. âThatâs not the same thing.â
âIt is.â
âItâs not,â you said, sharper now. âBecause wanting me isnât the hard part.â
That hit him. Hard. You saw it in the way his shoulders shifted. In the way his grip on you changed â stronger now. Not enough to hurt. But enough to feel.
âItâs everything after,â you said, quieter now. âAnd you donât do that.â
His hand moved. Not away. Closer. Sliding from your arm down to your wrist.
Then to your hand. Deliberately. He took it.
Your breath caught. This wasnât accidental anymore. This wasnât him reacting. This was him choosing.
Your fingers curled slightly against his without thinking. Neither of you spoke. The air felt thinner. Closer.
âYouâre still here,â he said again. Like he couldnât quite believe it.
Your chest tightened. âSo are you,â you said.
Something shifted in his face. Not fixed. Not resolved. But, open. Just enough.
His thumb brushed against yours. Once. Then again. Slow. Absent. But intentional now.
You felt it everywhere. Your pulse jumped. The tension didnât ease. If anything, it got worse. Thicker. Sharper.
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think we're alone now; beating of our heart is the only sound
pairing: sammy bryant x f!reader
warnings: ben's little sister!reader, so like... brother's best friend!au vibe, but it's brother's partner!au... you know what i mean?; smut - oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, soft dom!sammy, unprotected sex, a little bit of choking, praise kink i guess, cum eating; secret relationship, a pinch of angst, and fluffffff
summary: for certain reasons, you have always avoided dating cops. but one time, you make an exception, and this exception so happens to be your brother's partner.
w/c: around 11k
a/n: another love letter from: me, to: sammy bryant.
You moved back to Los Angeles after you got tired of the cool and wet city of Seattle. Not only did you miss the weather, you also missed the things that came with it â the beach, the surfer community, the colors and fewer depressing days, chilling in the car when you were stuck in traffic⌠And you would never admit it to him, but you missed your brother too. Just a little.
You also loved this. Standing in the middle of a coffee shop and studying the new promo drinks, even though you knew you were going to end up getting your usual. Well, you supposed you could do that in Seattle too, but it didnât make you so giddy there.
âI hear their white chocolate mocha is pretty good.â
You jumped a little at the voice before you turned to the source. Your eyes were met with a dark-haired man sporting a police uniform and a drink of his own.
âIs that what you got?â you asked, pointing at the to-go cup.
âNo way,â he said, waving the cup in the air as he chuckled, âIâm too boring for that. Iâm a regular, black coffee kinda guy.â
You nodded with a smile, turning your head back to the menu board. âYou and me both.â
The officerâs brows furrowed, one of his fingers lifting from the surface of his cup and pointing it at you. âYou must be the prettiest regular, black coffee kinda guy, then.â
You bit your cheek, side-eyeing him as you tried to stifle the smile that was creeping up on you. There was no way this guy was making your cheeks flush.
âIâm Sammy,â he introduced himself, passing his coffee from his right hand to the left, offering his palm to you. You shook it and told him your name. âAre you new to the area?â
âNo. Well, yeah.â Sammyâs brows shot up at the contrasting words. âKinda both. I just moved here from Seattle, but I grew up in LA,â you explained and Sammy gave you a nod.
âSo, would it be too bold to ask for your number?â
You bounced on your feet, considering it. He was cute. And he was funny. But he was a police officer, for Godâs sake. You only trusted a handful of those.
âIâm sorry,â you said apologetically, scrunching your face, âI donât date cops. No offence.â
Sammyâs confident smile was replaced by a defeated one, the wrinkles around his eyes staying in place, although the spark disappeared.
âOkay, thatâs fair. May I ask why? If itâs the uniform, I promise I never bring it on a date. Or home. Unless I need to wash it, of course.â
You chuckled, tipping your head down for a split second and Sammy followed your eyes with a tilt of his head.
âMy brother is a cop. So itâs just⌠You know.â
Sammy didnât know, not really, but he nodded anyway. He didnât have any right to pry. You surely had your reasons. ButâŚ
âWell,â Sammy took out his notepad and scribbled down his number, âif thereâs any type of emergency,â he tore the paper out and handed it to you, âor if you change your mind about dating cops, this is where you can reach me. One cop is enough, actually.â
Shit. He was charming. You took the paper and folded it in half, stuffing it in your pocket and thanking him.
âEnjoy your coffee,â he said and then he was on his way.
âNo, Iâm telling you, she liked me,â Sammy attempted to convince Ben, bouncing his thumb against the steering wheel.
âSammy. 'I donât date cops, because my brotherâs one of them'? Thatâs the lamest excuse I have ever heard. She probably just wanted to let you down easily.â
The corner of Sammyâs mouth quirked upwards, frowning as he tried not to let Ben get to him.
âWhatever, man. She took my number, alright? Iâm keeping my hopes up.â
As much as it pained you, you honestly couldnât stop thinking about the police officer you met at the coffee shop.
You hated it when people made you reconsider your values, especially men. You felt like a hypocrite. But Sammy didnât seem cocky, didnât really use his rank to pick you up. Didnât push when you told him no. And he was handsome. The truth is, you'd probably say yes right away if he wasn't wearing the uniform. So maybe you shouldnât be so uptight and pigeonhole him.
You searched your pants for the piece of paper he gave you, taking your phone into your other hand as you held the items side by side, typing in the number. Then you pressed dial.
Beep.
Beep.
âBryant,â sounded from the other side, the voice deeper than you remembered.
âUm, hi. Is this Sammy? We met at the coffee shop the other day,â you said, reminding him of your name.
âOh, yeah! Hi. Did something happen?â
âWell, yes. Iâm in the middle of changing my mind about dating cops. You think you can help with that?â
You heard a soft laugh over the line.
âI donât know. What does it entail?â
âIâm about to go for a stroll along the beach. Maybe get something to drink from one of those beach bars. So, I thought you could join me if youâd like and tell me about the pros and cons.â
Sammy agreed and one and a half hour later, you were walking on the pier with slushies in your hands. To be honest, your preconceptions were building up anticipation inside of you that made you tense almost throughout the whole date. You were just waiting for the moment heâd say something that would repulse you. And with your bias, just a small slip would be enough. But it never really came, or you just missed it and didn't care, because Sammy seemed genuine, confident but humble, and respectful.
He told you about all about him voluntarily stepping down as a detective after his partner had been killed. He didnât try to hide that it still made him sad to this day, and it tugged at your heart.
The conversation felt natural, and you didnât even realize it was so late when you circled back to the spot where you met up.
âLet me walk you to your car,â Sammy offered, figuring that you were parked somewhere close.
âOh, I walked.â
Sammy paused, his eyes meeting yours. âYou live nearby?â
âYeah, like thirty minutes by foot.â
He huffed, his eyes went comically wide as he put a hand on the small of your back and steered you in the direction of his car. âYeah, okay. Iâm driving you home, then.â
âThank you, but thatâs not really necessary.â
âIâm not letting you walk fifteen blocks all by yourself,â Sammy said incredulously.
âDonât worry, I have my pepper spray. Iâm not an amateur.â
âYeah,â he snorted, âIâm not even gonna tell you how well those things work. Please, let me do this. You donât really have a choice, because even if you do talk me into letting you walk, Iâm just gonna drive next to you until you decide to get your butt inside the car.â
âIs that a threat, Officer? I smell some elements of stalking too.â
âYeah, well, we should have that nose checked because it seems to miss the real danger,â he said as he opened the passenger door of his car, rising his eyebrows expectantly.
With a roll of your eyes, you got in the car and Sammy carefully closed the door once you were seated.
The ride was short at this time of night. You caught yourself shamefully admiring Sammyâs face a few times, making him rotate his head in your direction when he felt your gaze. He didnât say anything, though, sparing you any further embarrassment. But you felt the heat in your cheeks, and the butterflies in your stomach were restless too.
âYeah, this is me.â
Sammy put the car in park and unbuckled his seat belt, leaning his head against the headrest.
âThanks. I actually enjoyed spending time with you,â you smiled.
âWell, donât sound too surprised,â he said sarcastically. âSo, did you change your mind?â
Sammyâs head was tilted towards you, enough to be inviting, but not enough to invade your space. You glanced out of the passenger window, smiling to yourself before you turned back to him. His eyes flickered to your lips, so quick youâd almost miss it
God, he made you fuzzy for no apparent reason. You wanted to kiss him, to let yourself be pulled in. His front teeth were poking out of his mouth, and it made him look so imperfectly perfect.
âIâm getting thereâŚâ you said, thanking him again before getting out of the car.
God. You were actually killing him. But Sammy is nothing if not patient, and he definitely wasnât counting on getting this far. But you did make his heart beat a bit faster when you glanced at his lips and bit your lip.
As much as you wanted him, this wasnât you. You didnât want to act impulsively and make any rash decisions. The date felt good, and you chose to leave it at that for the time being.
âYouâre in a good mood today. Dâyou get laid or something?â Ben smirked at Sammy as they entered the briefing room.
âOr something,â Sammy said with a puffed up chest, sending a smile full of pride in Ben's direction.
âYeah? Sooo, did the chick from the coffee shop text you?â
Sammy shot him a glance, his cheeks dimpling as his smile grew wider.
âOh, man,â Ben laughed, patting his partner on the back. âAlright, I stand corrected. Congrats, bro. So, you takin' her out on a date?â
Sammy didnât tell him that youâd already been on a date, because Ben would be busting his chops about not getting you into bed and he was in a too good of a mood to discuss that with him.
He did tell him that you were going to get some coffee later today and then head to the beach again, because apparently, you preferred spending time outside, which he respected.
Sammy liked spending time with you and didn't care where it was, he liked talking to you. You were sweet, but you didnât suck up to him, didnât try to act like you were perfect, didn't hold back, sometimes making his eyes go wide at whatever you said. But in those wide eyes of his, you were kind of flawless.
Actually, he loved going to the beach with you, because your hair shone under the beams and your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him.
Sammy didnât know that you admired his eyes and his freckles just as much.
He made it a habit to drop you off at your apartment at the end of every date, and he let you set the pace. He was down bad and you must have known that he was dying to kiss you, because he felt like his eyes transformed into beating hearts when he looked at you. And he looked at you a lot.
And one night, when he parked his car in front if your building, you finally let yourself be pulled by them.
Reaching for his face, you leaned over the console and pressed your lips against his, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck and pulling him closer to you so you didnât have to lean so far.
Sammy kissed you back immediately, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair and angling your head, his seatbelt digging into his chest.
When you scraped your fingernails against his scalp, he groaned, disconnecting your lips while keeping his forehead pressed against yours.
âDo you wanna come in?â
You pressed him against the door as soon as it closed, pulling his jacket off with you following it, sliding down his body and to your knees, impishly putting the jacket under your shins.
Your hands reached for his belt, clinking sounds echoing through the hallway as you unbuckled it before yanking both his pants and boxers down his legs.
Sammyâs hand reached down to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek when you took his cock into your hands, his thickness stopping your fingers from creating a full circle.
And when you gave the first tug, his head fell against the door with a thud as he exhaled, relishing in the feeling of your soft hands pumping his cock while you let your thumb slide against his slit occasionally.
A moan escaped him when he felt the flat of your tongue drag itself from the base of his cock to the head where you wrapped your lips around him and slid back down as far as you could.
âShit, youâre such a good girl,â he hissed through clenched teeth as he looked down, and then he felt his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag, all teary-eyed.
The praise made you moan around him, sending vibrations through his body as you slid off of him, and when you freed his cock from the warmth of your mouth, strings of mixed saliva and precum connected you to his cock. He bent over and grabbed you under your chin, the need to kiss the fluids away overtaking him.
Sammy kissed you hard, manoeuvring your head as he pleased before he pulled you up, grunting out a deep come here.
He stepped out of the clothes that pooled around his feet and picked you up, his arms flexing with the added weight. Sammy didnât break the kiss, not once, carrying you to your bedroom according to your instructions.
He put you down on your feet in front of your bed, breaking the kiss only to pull his shirt over his head. He smiled at you then, biting his lip when he reached for the hem of your dress and tugged upwards, leaving you in nothing but your black panties.
âSo fucking beautiful,â he praised, cupping your breasts with his hands as he kissed you again, his lips traveling over your jaw, down your neck, until he was bent in an uncomfortable position just to latch his lips around your nipple.
He closed his teeth around you, nipping at the stiffened bud and forcing an abrupt moan from your throat, your fingers pulling on his hair and elicitng a groan from him, too.
Sammy stood to his full height again, one arm wrapping around your waist just to pick you up and lay you on the bed. Falling right over you, his hand reached down blindly, tugging on the band of your underwear for too long as he realized that it was impossible to rid you off it from this position, so he knelt up.
Once your panties were successfully discarded, he stayed on his knees and spread yours gently, his chest rising with shallow breaths.
âAlready out of breath, Officer?â You had the audacity to tease. âI thought stamina was kind of a requirement in your field of work.â
Sammy scoffed, a smug smile playing on his lips as tugged you by your ankles closer to him, the undersides of your thighs pressed against his strong quads. Pressing his body against your front, he slipped an arm between the small of your back and the mattress and you let your hands fall to his wide shoulders, tracing the freckles there as his eyes raked over your face.
âDonât poke the bear, sweetheart.â
Before you could retort, you were being flipped over onto your stomach, a gasp escaping your lungs. Sammy removed the pillows that were clearly in his way and instructed you to hold onto the bars of the headboard, situating you into a kneeling position, your back arched.
âSpread your legs wider,â he ordered as he knelt at your side, and you did as he asked. He shuffled on his knees closer to your body, dragging his fingertips down your spine until he reached your tailbone, goosebumps sizzling all over your skin. Then his fingers detoured to the globe of your ass and gave it a firm squeeze.
Your hips tilted on their own, chasing his hand as it ghosted over your skin. Sammy brought his other hand to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing his thumb against your artery. His nose brushed your temple before he kissed over your cheek, angling your face towards him and kissing your pout away.
He released your lips with a soft smack and shifted on his knees an inch, straightening his posture and adjusting the hold he had on your neck.
Sammyâs other set of fingers finally touched you, lightly brushing over the wetness of your cunt. A shuddering breath released from your mouth when you felt his thumb being pressed into your hole while the rest of his fingers laid flat against your clit, cupping your whole cunt.
âJesus, how long have you been this wet, hm?â
You whimpered at his words and you were glad that Sammy didnât wait for an answer. He slipped his thumb out, circling the pond of slickness that was your entrance before he pushed back in and wiggled the finger against your walls.
The pressure was euphoric, the pad of his finger pushing all the right buttons inside of you to make your whole body buzz. His meaty thumb alone was stretching you out so good, and it made you wonder how you were going to take his cock.
You moaned out loud at the thought and let go of one of the bars, bringing your palm to the wrist at your neck, needing to touch him. To feel him. But Sammy, wasnât having it and as soon as he felt your hand cover his, his movements stopped, his gaze switching from your ass to your face, eyes squinting.
âPut your hand back onto the headboard, or Iâll stop, and you bet your sweet ass that I wonât touch you again.â
Your whole body trembled and you did as he said. He turned your head to him before continuing.
âYou okay?â he asked, his voice becoming softer which only made you wetter.
âYes.â
Sammy gave you a nod and then he shifted again, the hold on your neck disappearing. You felt his palm splayed on your lower back as he pressed down until the back of his other hand hit the softness of your sheets and you were basically sitting on it.
âFuck yourself on my finger.â
Your head snapped to him. Was he serious?
âWhat?â
âWhat? Whatâs not to understand, sweetheart? Ride my hand. Make yourself cum.â
You blinked, swallowing and returning your gaze to the wall in front of you as you started lifting your hips.
âThaatâs it. Fuck, youâre swallowing my finger so fucking good.â
You felt awkward in this position, your hips faltering as you tried to pick up the pace. It didnât help that all that Sammy did was curl his thumb every time you slid all the way down, before lifting your hips again, repeating the motion over and over again.
The next time his thumb was fully sheathed inside of you, you circled your hips, grinding against his fingers and creating a delicious stimulation against your throbbing clit.
âYeaah, just like that. Look at you, a fucking natural.â
His praises spurred you on, but your movements werenât enough to make you come. You didnât have the strength, the speed, nor the leverage to fuck yourself on him, to use him like you really wanted to. You needed more.
âSammy, please,â you whimpered, stopping your hips. Giving up.
âWhat? What do you need?â
âI need to cum,â you mewled, wiggling against his hand to relieve some of the ache from your clit.
âThen why did you stop?â
You were speechless. This was the first time your sexual partner was this communicative during sex. This controlling. You didnât know how to act, and Sammy must have figured it out.
âAww, does my babygirl need some help? Hm?â Sammy cooed, cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb soothing over your flushed skin as you looked at him with wide eyes. âIs that it? Do you want me to make you cum instead?â
âMhm.â You nodded and Sammy smiled, all entitled and condescending.
âUse your words, sweetheart.â
Your heart beat faster as you tried not to feel humiliated.
âI want you to make me cum.â
âGood girl.â He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, pinching your chin before he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear and sending shivers down your spine. âIâll let it slide this time, but next time you have some smart-ass comments, I wonât be so nice. Understood?â
Jesus Christ. You actually wondered for a split second what he was capable of doing. You got the urge to test it, but you chose to fight it down.
âYes.â
And with that, Sammy manhandled you into a position with your ass up, snaking his arm over your back and under your stomach, holding your hips up as he started ramming into your pussy with his thumb, while simultaneously rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the four of his fingers.
You still kept your hold on the bars, only now your face was squished against the mattress. Your moans got louder with every glide of his thumb, occasionally slipping it down to your clit and flicking over it before he buried his finger back into your pussy.
Your walls fluttered around him, each stroke against that spongy spot was making your toes curl and soon, you started bucking your hips against his palm.
Sammy worked you up, and with a few more bumps and wiggles against your G-spot, you fell over the edge, orgasm rippling through you as he fingered you until you were reaching behind you and clasping your hand around his wrist with small no moreâs.
Sammy took mercy on you, pulling his hand away from your sensitive pussy as he admired your shivering body. He dragged his nails softly against your skin, his cock twitching at the purrs leaving your mouth.
You brought your hips down, lying on your stomach, while Sammy positioned his body on his side, using his forearm to prop himself up. He traced his fingers over your back, drawing random patterns on your skin.
âIâm glad I changed my mind.â
Sammy laughed, his smile forming dimples in his cheeks making him look younger than he was.
âYeah. Me too.â
When you finally caught your breath, you lifted yourself up, smashing your lips against Sammyâs and crawling over him. You forced him on his back as you threw your leg over his hips, straddling him and rubbing yourself over his hard cock. His hands ran up your thighs, thumbs creating temporary dents from how they dug into the softness of your skin.
He drew in a sharp breath as you kissed him, his eyes half open because he simply couldnât stop looking at you. You snuck your tongue into his mouth, your fingers grasping his hair when he deepened the kiss by lifting his head from the pillow, trying to assert dominance. But then you angled your lips just right, the head of his cock barely slipping into the warmth of your cunt, but still causing him to moan and throw his head back into the mattress.
âFuck,â he cursed and then you reached down, straightening your back and positioning him against your entrance properly. Sammy couldnât tear his eyes off you as you struggled to take him all at once, hissing at the way your tight walls squeezed the shit out of the head of his cock. âShit, I should have stretched you out first. Youâre so fucking tight.â Yeah, his thumb definitely wasnât enough.
You didnât respond, too focused on sliding down his cock as painlessly as possible. You were so sexy like this, all desperate to fuck him, with that small crease between your brows and bitten lip. And as much as he was enjoying the view, he didnât want to hurt you.
âLie on your back, sweetheart,â he said, ready to flip you over, but you stopped him.
âNo! I can do it. I just need a second.â
God, he would slam right up into you if he werenât scared that heâd break you.
âChrist, youâre being such a good girl for me, arenât you?â
Sammy at least brought his thumb to your clit, massaging it in small circles.
âYeah,â you agreed mindlessly, making Sammyâs eyes snap to your face. You were so gone already. Only air in your head.
âYeah,â he sighed, and sucked in his lips as you slid down another inch down, splitting yourself on his cock.
Sammy swore he couldnât control it when his hips lifted themselves off the bed, just about a millimetre, but it made you mewl anyway.
Your palms braced themselves against his chest, your nails digging into his muscles. He had to remind you to breathe, and the stinging pressure only amplified when you finally slid all the way down, seating yourself against his hips.
Sammy moaned at the feeling, his eyes rolling back as he suppressed the need to buck up into you.
âGood job,â he commended and it was enough for you to lift your hips up, albeit painfully slow. It was easier for you to slide back down this time, your arousal combining with Sammyâs precum and creating a sticky mixture at the base of his cock. âYou feel so fucking good. So hot.â
You finally looked away from where you were joined, locking eyes with Sammyâs. They were dark, blown out and full of lust. You lowered your upper body, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kissed him. You circled your hips, and this time, Sammy didnât hold back, squeezing your hips before gently pressing upwards.
It made you hum into the kiss and he took it as a permission to do it again. Grabbing the flesh of your ass, he bent his knees and planted his feet against the mattress to give himself some leverage. Then he bucked up more forcefully, your body jolting against his and causing your lips to disconnect as you moaned.
He watched your face as he did it again, biting his lip when he saw your eyes roll back. He set a gradual pace, each thrust of his hips sharper than the last, your clit bumping against his pubic bone and applying dizzying pressure against the nub.
The lewd sounds of the slapping skin echoed through the room, combined with the gasps escaping your mouth. Sammy wrapped his arms around the small of your back, keeping you in place as he sped up his movements.
Your cheeks bounced against his snapping hips, and you had to brace yourself on your hands next to his ear, your fingers clutching the sheets.
This position left your breasts hanging close to his face and Sammy took the opportunity to lift his head, catching your nipple into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled as he drove into you, the bedsprings creaking under your bouncing bodies. He felt you spasm around him, your pussy sucking him in with every drag of his cock against your walls. Your cries got louder and his name was falling from your lips like prayer. It almost made him feel like a god.
You arched your back, your belly pressing against the firm muscles of his stomach and with three more thrusts, the coil in your stomach snapped, sending you over the edge.
Sammy started chasing his own orgasm as you shattered around him, riding you through your high with stammering hips. Once he was close, he flipped you on your back and let his cock slip out of your sensitive center, kneeling between your thighs while he pumped himself until he spilled over your stomach. He couldât hold in the moans that escaped him as he watched you getting covered in his cum.
Once his breaths went from shallow to deep again and his cock softened, he lowered himself on his heels.
âShit, sorry.â
His words made you giggle, partly because of the oxytocin running through your body. A lazy grin appeared on your face. âWhat are you apologizing for?â
He jerked his head to the side, a knowing look on his face, because it was kind of obvious.
âWhereâs your bathroom? Do you have something I can clean you up with?â
âOut the door to the left, thereâs a washcloth hanging in the shower.â
Nodding, Sammy got to his feet with an exaggerated groan and it made you giggle again. He glanced at you over his shoulder with a what are you laughing at? look. You couldnât wipe the smile off your face when you watched him trot butt-naked to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the birthmark on his cheek.
When he came back, he was already in his boxers, washcloth in one hand and his pants in the other which he threw on the armchair you had in your bedroom. He also returned the pillows to where they belonged under your head, before he wiped away his spent, warmth spreading through you at the gentle touch.
When he came back again, after returning the towel into the bathroom, he threw himself on the bed, his body bouncing next to you.
âAre you alright?â he asked, bringing his hand to cup your face, his fingers playing with the hair by your ear and thumb swiping over your nose.
âBetter than,â you smiled and he returned it, looking down in almost a bashful way, before he pecked your lips, releasing them with a gentle pop.
Gazing at each other then, you admired the color of his eyes and the small nose adorned by freckles. He truly was beautiful.
âI gotta go,â he said in a low voice, slurring the words out.
âYou gotta?â
âWellâŚ,â he began, the teasing tone returning, but still soft and a little high-pitched. âIt really depends on the woman of the house. She has this rule about copsâŚâ he rasped out with a playful roll of his eyes.
âI think she can make an exception.â
âYeah?â He smiled, moving his face closer to yours and you nodded, repeating the word before he kissed you again. Sammy just couldnât get enough of you.
Your dates became more frequent and eventually, you started seeing each other on daily basis. Sometimes you went to your place, sometimes you ended up at his. You started going on runs together and planned other activities if you both had free weekends.
Sammy was great, sweet and good-hearted, funny and sometimes fucking annoying. But you ate it all up.
Not to mention that the sex was amazing.
One morning, he had to borrow your brotherâs old shirt, because he used his to wipe his cum off your ass and didnât bring any change of clothes. It was a little tight, but it would suffice for the drive to work.
âI see you finally got style. Your coffee shop girl have something to do with it?â Ben teased when Sammy met him in the locker room, confusion flooding his face. âThe shirt, bro. I think I even had the same one. A little out of fashion, but for youââ Ben clicked his tongue and winked, making an OK sign with his fingers. âKudos for the tighter fit, too. Whatâs next? Your hair?â
Normally, Sammy would come up with his own remarks, but all he could do this time was to watch Ben with careful eyes as he put on the white Underarmor shirt, wheels turning in Sammyâs head.
Thereâs no way.
Sammy changed quickly, throwing the borrowed shirt into his locker with more force than he intended. They did their usual routine, equipping the car with firearms and ammunition and searching for any leftover items from previous shift.
As they rolled out into the streets, Sammy couldnât stop thinking about it. He should probably text you as soon as he had some time, otherwise his mind wouldnât give him any rest. On the other hand, what if he found something he didnât really wish to find out? Would that really help his case? Fuck.
Well, Sammy was restless, too impatient to wait as they cruised through the neighbourhood after responding to a help call.
âSo⌠My sister is still on my ass about basically demoting myself from detective to patrol. Itâs been years, and sheâs driving me nuts,â Sammy set the bait, and Ben took it immediately.
âYeah, sisters, man. As if managing their own life wasnât enough.â
âYou have a sister?â
Ben snorted.
âYeah, man. Three,â he specified. And before Sammy could prod any further, Ben continued. âActually, one of them just moved back from Seattle. Getting to re-know the city as we speak.â
Sammyâs head snapped to Ben, something close to a scowl pulling the muscles of his face as he stared at his partner over his shades
He forgot he was driving for a secondâ well, for more than a second, because the next thing he knew, Ben was yelling out his name and reaching for the wheel, steering the car around a cyclist.
âWhat the fuck, man? You alright?â
Sammy recovered quickly then.
âYeah. Sorry.â
Ben made a note to keep a close eye on his partner for the rest of the shift, but brushed it off for now, going on a rant about wanting to become a detective too and asking Sammy for advice.
Sammy could not wait for the shift to be over. He was panicking and he needed someone to panic with. Except, he doubted that his partner would provide that service since Sammy was sleeping with his little sister. Oh, he was going to dramatically storm into your apartment, he knew it. He should probably give you a heads up.
Well, he didnât have to.
You were perched on the bench in front of the police station, and when you saw Ben, followed by Sammy, your epiglottis closed up. No way.
When Sammy spotted you, you saw him tip his head back and roll his eyes towards the sky, as if asking some higher power to give him the strength, before he met your gaze again and shook his head subtly.
You didnât even know what he meant by that, but instead of dwelling on that, you smiled at your brother as he greeted you with a half-hug.
âAlright, Ben, see you tomorrow,â Sammy said, trying to make his escape, but Ben stopped him.
âSammy, wait.â
Sammy stopped reluctantly, the tip of his tongue prodding at his molars as his eyes flickered to you for a split second. âThis is my sister I was telling you about. And this is Sammy Bryant, my partner.â
Sammy stuck out his hand and you took it, his lips quirked up and brows pinched together at the ridiculousness of the situation.
âNice to meet you, Officer Bryant.â
âLikewise.â
Sammy had to give it to you, you definitely looked calmer than he felt. His hand lingered on yours, and Ben was the one to break you up with a nervous laugh.
Sammy was quick to say goodbye, desperate to get out of there, and while you went out for a coffee with your brother, Sammy decided to drive to your place, parking far enough so Ben wouldnât see his car in case he was taking you home.
With Ben living in Castaic now, too, Sammy didnât want to risk the chance of him appearing at his doorstep with you on his couch. He was proven today that fate had funny plans for him. Or for you, he wasnât sure.
He sent you a text of course, informing you he was waiting for you near your apartment. And while stakeouts werenât his favorite thing about his job, this made them seem like a piece of cake.
âSo, now you see why I donât date cops?â you asked him when you finally arrived home, and all Sammy could do was shrug.
âSo, what do we do?â
âWell⌠We should tell him. I mean, the sooner the better. Like ripping off a band-aid,â you said, studying his face as Sammy chewed on his lips, seemingly on the fence about it. âUnless you want to end itâŚ?â
Sammy met your eyes then, scowling at the idea.
âNo, of course not." You felt relief wash over you. "Itâs just⌠God, how did we not figure it out sooner? Where did my detective skills go?â
âMaybe the sex had something to do with it.â
Well, it was all easier said than done. It had been weeks since you discussed the ways of how to tell your brother. Should you speak to him together? Probably. But then it would seem like you were ganging up on him. Maybe you should tell him, you could calm him down in case he freaked. But that would seem like Sammy was just purposefully going behind his back, like he wasât even willing to face him. So maybe Sammy should tell him. He knew how to communicate worse things than this, so he could sit Ben down in his favorite restaurant, butter him up a bit and just get it out.
Shit. There was no good way to go about this.
You mentioned to Ben that you were seeing someone but didnât give him any more details. And that was it, the conversation kind of ended there. You knew then that you werenât able to tell him on your own. So, together it was.
However, both you and Sammy were stalling, and you often forgot about this whole mess of a situation when you were together, losing yourselves in each otherâs presence. It was probably also because it was kind of exciting. To have this kind of secret, to be in this shared bubble with Sammy.
But it was harder on him, because he had to look Ben in the eye every single day and lie. Well, not lie per se, because the topic never really came up, but he still wasnât truthful.
âMy sister is actually seeing some guy. Wouldnât even tell me his name or what he does,â Ben said one day, and it instantly made Sammy squirm in his seat, paranoia taking over him and making him think that Ben had found out somehow. I mean, he wasnât stupid.
âYeah?â
âYeah. And I mean, itâs her life, she knows what sheâs doing. But Iâm a little worried for her,â Ben said, causing Sammy to frown. âShe never really had a serious relationship, you know. No doubt our deadbeat father had something to do with that, but...â
âSo, you mean sheâs like you? Changing her men like she changes her socks? Runs in the family?â Sammy tried to sound nonchalant, but Ben only put him on edge.
Ben chuckled at that.
âNo, not like that. I think she just got so used to being on her own that she doesnât want to put the energy into a relationship. To share her space. Or, she gets bored. I donât know, man.â The car was now quiet, with Ben still pondering on his sisterâs life choices while Sammy felt a lump in his throat. And to make it worse, Ben continued. âI mean, look at her, she couldnât even settle down in a city for once. Iâm just waiting for her to move back to Seattle or wherever the hell she chooses.â
Sammy was going to be sick.
âRight.â
Ben managed to numb Sammyâs head with all the crap he'd said and it made him feel scared all of a sudden. Was that what he was to you? Just a toy youâd throw away once you'd had your fill? After Tammi, he didnât know what to think. He trusted her so many times and she let him down over and over again, and he wasnât going to let you do the same.
âSo, Ben told me an interesting thing today,â Sammy said, seated in your kitchen chair.
âYeah? Whatâs that?â you asked, munching on a cookie as you came over to him and sat yourself sideways on his thigh, hooking your arm around his neck.
âHe told me youâd never had a serious relationship,â Sammy said bluntly, watching your expression change to confusion.
âAnd? I never wouldâve thought that would be a problem for you.â You took another bite, fully believing that Sammy wasn't going to make a scene about you never having a serious relationship.
âWell, he said that you either get bored or you donât want to put up with the guys. Eventually. So I would like to know which group Iâll fall into.â
You clenched your jaw, studying his face with squinted eyes, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.
âRight now, youâre falling into a group of jerks, Sam. Are you serious?â
He chewed on his cheek, lifting an eyebrow as he shrugged. That expression finally made you get off his lap, turning away from him as you crossed your arms over your chest, thinking about what to say. Should you explain yourself? Wouldnât that come across as defensive? What exactly would you be explaining anyway? Should you yell at him and kick him out? What were you supposed to do?
âIâve never had a serious relationship, because the guys were either assholes or we just didnât click.â
âAnd how do you decide that exactly?â Sammy stood up, stepping towards you in a swift motion. âIs every guy an asshole when it comes to you, then? You think you're too good for them?â
Your body span around, scoffing as you faced him. Unbelievable.
âApparently, yeah. Look at yourself. Sammy, what the fuck did Ben tell you?â You tried to stop the tears from welling up in the corners of your eyes. âWeâve been seeing each other for months, because I actually like you. And whatâ would you expect me to settle for the first guy that throws me a smile and calls me kitten?â The tears slipped down, tickling your cheeks and it made you press the heels of your palms against your eye sockets. âFuck!â you cursed through clenched teeth, frustrated. You seriously had no idea what he wanted from you.
Shaking your head, you turned away, wiping at your face on your walk to the bathroom. Once there, you sat down on the plush rug and leaned your back against the shower door, letting yourself weep.
In the kitchen, Sammy closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He needed to chill out. Needed to relax his fists.
All he wanted to do was to settle down, to finally meet the love of his life and spend the rest of his life with her. He had thought Tammi was it. And maybe you were right when you said that he expected you to settle for the first guy youâd dated, because thatâs exactly what Sammy did with Tammi. And it was the stupidest thing he could have done, he had realized that a while ago, so he didnât really know why his perspective changed back all of a sudden. You just made him fucking crazy.
A few minutes passed and Sammy headed to the bathroom, hoping you didn't lock yourself. He was greeted by the sight of you chewing on your lip and your jaw clenching, probably holding yourself from punching the fuck out of him. Your foot jumped up and down and your eyes rolled when you saw him. Yeah. You definitely wanted to deck him.
âIâm sorry,â Sammy said as he kneeled in front of you, but you avoided his gaze. âCan you look at me? Please?"
You only shook your head, another wave of tears rolling out. Sammy sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to make you.
âIâm sorry,â he said again, âI screwed up. I shouldnât have jumped to conclusions. But Ben said you couldnât settle down, because of your father. That youâd move away again. And my ego just plummeted, while my insecurities skyrocketed.â Sammy watched another tear escape your eye, and his hand itched to swipe it away, but you were faster. âBecause I want to be enough for you. I want to make you happy and I donât want you to leave.â
Your eyes finally darted towards him and you sniffled, pinching the collar of your shirt and using the material to wipe your eyes.
âNext time, donât listen to my fucking brother. Especially when he mentions our father,â you said, your tone weak as you still fought the lump in your throat, but it still had a warning bite to it. âAnd donât you come fucking accusing me like that ever again. I know youâre not an asshole, but you sure were acting like one.â
âI know, Iâm sorry.â
You shook your head, closing your eyes as you huffed. Swallowing, you shifted to your knees and extended your arms, wrapping them around his neck. He welcomed your hug with a relieved sigh, burying his nose into your neck and taking in your smell. Your cheek was squished against his shoulder, creating a wet spot on the soft material of his tactical, long-sleeve shirt, soaking it through. He rocked your body back and forth as he kissed the skin of your neck before pulling away and taking in your puffy face.
Sammy wiped the remaining wetness from your cheeks with his sleeve, even getting the snot under your nose which made you jerk away and a smile creep up on your face. âYouâre disgusting.â
âWhat?â he watched you get up and stop in front of the mirror. âJust cleaning my mess.â
âYou donât have to kiss my ass. I forgave you.â You splashed your face with cold water before wiping it with your towel.
Normally, Sammy would make a lewd comment about kissing your ass, but now was really not the time. So he just settled for, âCan I stay?â
You rolled your eyes, a small smile still playing on your lips as they breathed out a quiet of course. You turned away from him then and exited the bathroom without another word.
Sammy knew you were trying to act indifferent. Pretending like this hadnât somehow altered your relationship, and to be fair, you probably did want to sweep it under the rug. But he knew heâd hurt you, and just because youâd forgiven him didnât mean he would act like nothing happened.
So, he cooked you dinner. Put on your favorite show with that actor that made you giggle and kick your feet. Let you think that the the attack you made with your piece during a chess game wasnât against the rules. Traced shapes on your back for you to guess until you fell asleep. And the next morning, he made your favorite breakfast for you. Right after he made love to you.
Sammy realized soon that he shouldnât have gotten pissed at what Ben said. He should have gotten selfishly proud about the fact that he was in your life unlike the assholes that couldnât keep you, but instead, he almost fucked it up like them, letting his failed marriage with Tammi get the better of him.
But he couldnât even compare his previous relationship to this one. Tammi had more than one screw loose, making their relationship doomed from the start. He just hadnât realized it then, since his mind had been fogged by all the weed they smoked together.
Either way, Sammy was sure his mom would smack his head for the way heâd acted. She taught him better than this, not to mention she wouldâve been pissed if heâd screwed it up before she got to meet the girl her son was always gushing about.
âWe need to tell him,â you said after you cleaned the kitchen, your tone definitive, making Sammy pause as he rinsed his mouth with the mouthwash. He saw your reflection in the mirror, your arms crossed over your chest. He spat out the liquid and you continued, âIâm not really interested in letting any more misunderstandings ruin this relationship.â
âOkay,â Sammy agreed, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he turned towards you, studying your face. âAre we good?â
Rolling your eyes, you came closer to him as he leaned against the sink, bracing himself with his palms against the edge. You circled both of his wrists with your fingers before sliding them up his forerarms, feeling the veins through his skin. You stood on your tiptoes to peck his lip. âNo. Weâre not good. Thatâs why I want to tell Ben, so he can kick your ass.â
âHa. Youâre so fucking funny,â Sammy mumbled, a teasing smile spreading on his face as he bobbed his head, catching your wrists and tugging, making you crash against his chest. âYou know that? Know how hilarious you are? I should sell you to a fucking circus.â
You grinned at him and before you knew it, he was pinching your sides, making you cackle as you tried to escape his hold, but his forearm against your stomach trapped you to his body, and you fell victim to his torture.
Later that morning, you headed to work, leaving Sammy in your apartment since he had the day off anyway. You gave him your spare key and told him to lock the door once he left.
You agreed to drive to his place right after work, because you planned to spend the rest of the week at his house since Sammy actually had the whole weekend off, and you didnât want to cramp up at your apartment.
Besides that, it was a great hiking area, and you already mapped out some trails which you were looking forward to, as well as getting some fresh air and spending time with Sammy.
You were balancing a bowl of ice-cream topped by a few M&Mâs in your lap, your legs stretched over Sammyâs thighs as you lounged on his couch.
âMaybe we should like⌠pretend that we all bumped into each other at some cafĂŠ. That way it wonât feel like an intervention or something,â you proposed but before Sammy could reply, you interrupted by a knock on the door.
You both frowned, Sammy's tongue poking into his cheek as he lifted your legs off his lap before gently putting them down on the cushions. He headed to the door and when he opened it, he immediately braced his arm against the doorframe to block the view inside as he saw Ben standing on his porch.
âHey, man. What are you doing here?â Sammy laughed nervously.
âWell, you were supposed to help with the detective exam questions, right?â
âŚ
Shit. He was right. Sammy promised Ben to go over it with him and he totally fucking forgot.
âBut seeing my sisterâs car in your driveway, Iâm here to ask, what the fuck is she doing here?â
Ben didnât wait for an answer, shoving past Sammy and storming right into the living room.
âBen, wait,â Sammy tried to stop him, but he wasnât hearing it. You were, though, your eyes widening at the sound of your brotherâs name followed by heavy stomps, and it made you straighten up as you prepared for the worst. Ben only scoffed when he came into view, pacing behind the couch.
âWhat the fuck is this?â he asked, dragging his hands down his face before extending them in front of him with palms up. âI mean, what the fuck, Sammy?â
âBen, calm down,â you said, standing up and coming closer to him.
âAre you screwing my sister?â
âBen!â you tried to get him to talk to you instead, but his focus was solely on Sammy.
âWeâre dating,â Sammy corrected, but that really didnât help anything.
âOh! Oh, youâre dating. Well then, that explains everything, doesnât it?â Ben fake-laughed, his hands on his hips now as he faced Sammy. âHow long have you been dating?â
âA few months.â
Ben shook his head, sneering at his supposed friend. âSo, youâve been lying to my face for a few months?â Ben closed up on Sammy, their noses inches apart as if they were having a face-off. âYouâre so full of shit, Sammy. All that bullshit about trusting your partner? Youâre such a fucking hypocrite.â
âBen, we didnât know thatââ you tried to reason, but Ben just hissed a save it at you. And you did.
âListen to her, man,â Sammy continued, as calmly as possible. âI didnât know you were her brother until recently.â
Ben shook his head again, snorting at the poor explanation, the sound followed by a painful silence. It was when Sammy met your gaze over Benâs shoulder that your bortherâs fingers grasped the front of Sammyâs shirt, and his fist connected with Sammyâs face, making him groan at the impact and his body twist away as his hand shot up to his face.
âWhat the fuck, Ben?â you screamed, but your brother was already storming out of the house. You didnât follow him. Letting him cool off was the best choice for now.
Your feet carried you to Sammy, your hand coming to his back as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one arm.
âLet me see,â you said gently, willing his hand away with yours. You already saw his palm stained with blood, some of it even dripping on the floor. âWait, you know what, letâs go to the bathroom, come on.â
âIâm fine,â he rasped out.
âYeah, well, your couch wonât be if you stay here, and itâs not gonna be easy to get the bloody stains out. But you know that, donât you? So, come on.â
Sammy groaned again, and you let him go ahead, getting some tissues first because you werenât sure if he had any in the first-aid kit right now.
Meanwhile, Sammy washed his face only to have it covered in blood again as it trickled out of his nose. As soon as you brought the tissues, he used one to give his nose a good pinch, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent over the sink.
You were frowning next to him, gently petting his hair and tracing your fingers along his ear.
âShould I bring you an ice-pack?â
Sammy shook his head, his voice congested when he spoke. âNah, Iâm good.â
After a while, he sniffled, removing the bloody tissues before looking at his reflection. It seemed that the bleeding had stopped, but his nose was a dark shade of pink, a little swollen. Not broken though, hopefully. Some of the discoloration reached the skin under his eye too. He splashed some water on his face once again, cleaning himself up.
âIâm sorry,â you said from your place next to him, guilt washing over you. âI never thought he would react like this.â
âYeah, well,â Sammy stood to his full height, facing you. âI deserved it. And itâs not your fault. He was right, anyway. Iâm always saying that your partner is supposed to have your back, not go behind.â
âBut you do have his back. He was never going to get killed because we were seeing each other.â
âItâs not just about getting killed⌠I just shouldnât have lied,â Sammy bit his cheek, his eyes darting sideways.
You wrapped your arms around his ribcage, slotting yourself against him. You were relieved when you felt his arms wrap around you, his cheek landing itself on the crown of your head. You felt his chest expand as he took in a deep inhale.
You explained that it was probably Benâs general overprotectiveness of women that made him lash out. That it wasnât just them hiding their relationship. Several things came together at once.
âHeâll get over it. He looks up to you, Sam. He knows youâre a good man and this was just a lapse in judgement. From both of us.â
âYeah. I think weâll have to change our Sunday plans, though. I should pay him a visit before we go to work on Monday.â
âOf course. Iâll come with you.â
âOkay.â
Sammy proved to you again and again that he truly had his heart in the right place. And while he had his flaws, he was always trying to do good by people.
Ben was still angry when you arrived at his place. Or maybe more like annoyed. But he did let you both in, which you supposed was a good sign.
He was still throwing daggers in Sammyâs direction, but as you explained the whole situation, swearing that you had never meant to lie, Benâs stares softened and his fists eventually unclenched. He even asked Sammy about his nose.
When you got up to leave, the two men shook hands, patting each other on their shoulders before Ben walked you out.
âGo ahead, Iâll catch up,â Sammy said, pushing you softly with his fingers as he handed you the keys to his car.
Once you were out of earshot, Sammy faced Ben.
âIâm sorry you found out this way, Ben. But I promise you that Iâm not going to hurt her. You can⌠shoot me in the leg if I do,â Sammy said, only half-joking.
Ben huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. âI know. Now, get out of my face. Donât keep my sister waiting.â
Sammy gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. âSee ya tomorrow.â
Ben watched your smile grow when Sammy got inside the car. The only reason he got over it so soon was because he knew Sammy was a good guy and if anyone could treat you right, it was him.
âSo, now weâre like.. official.â
Sammy caged you against his kitchen counter, pressing himself to your front while you clasped your wrist with your hand behind his neck.
âI guess so.â
âLike, girlfriend-boyfriend official.â
You snorted at how ridiculous he sounded, but nodded anyway.
âI donât know what youâre laughing at.â
âYou sound like a thirteen-year-old.â
Sammy leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a slow kiss, sucking on your lower lip before giving it a small nip, pulling a soft moan out of you.
âThat felt like a thirteen-year-old to you?â
âAre you trying to get me to incriminate myself?â
Sammy tipped his head back, inhaling with an open mouth as he pretended to think about it, his eyes darting between random objects.
âMaybe I should bring the cuffs home sometime. See if youâre still runnin' your mouth when I have you tied to the bed. All helpless. Nowhere to run.â
âOr, I should tie you up. Torture you until youâre screaming for mercy.â
Sammy nearly burst out laughing, wrinkles appearing around his eyes, and you bit your cheek as he laughed at you.
âIâm sorry, sweetheart.â He flicked at your chin with his index finger, still smiling from ear to ear. âItâs just cute when you say it like that. I almost called my lawyer.â
âYouâre an asshole,â you said, ready to pass around him, but he stopped by grabbing your hands and pressing you back into the counter with his hips, the edge digging into your ass.
âWait, wait. Iâll let you cuff me up. Whatever you want.â
He brought your hands back behind his head and you played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed you again.
He snaked his tongue between your lips, and without breaking the kiss, Sammy bent in his knees, grabbing you by the undersides of your thighs and lifting you up on the counter.
He spread your legs, situating himself between them as he leaned into you, your head gently thudding against the kitchen cabinet behind you.
Sammyâs fingers skimmed against your bare knees and up your thighs, teasingly slipping under the hem of your shorts until they reached for the band and started tugging.
âWait.â You broke the kiss and his hands paused. âI donât want to make a mess in your kitchen.â
âWhy?â
âWell⌠I donât know. Youâre okay with it?â
He huffed out a laugh.
âYeah,â he yanked on your shorts with all the strength he had, making your body jerk forward a little. âI want to fuck you right here, so I have something to reminisce about every time I make us dinner.â He tugged again and this time your shorts came free along with your panties.
Sammy got down on his knees, and as soon as his face was in front of your center, he inhaled, taking in your scent. You still couldnât get used to how shameless he was about it. And not only that, but sex in general.
He kissed along your thigh first, opening his mouth wide and sinking his teeth into the flesh. It made you yelp, and all he could do was unlatch himself from you and admire the dents in your skin. He brought his head closer to your center then, letting his forehead rest against your abdomen and his curls tickle your skin as he stuck his tongue out, licking you from your hole all the way up to your clit.
Your legs snapped close around his head, but he was quick to spread them apart with his hands circling your ankles and keeping you from closing them again, all while sucking on your throbbing clit.
Your hand came down to the back of his head, grasping his hairr and trying not to tug too hard as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive nub.
Sammy was watching you as you threw your head back, revelling in the was his tongue massaged your slit, kissing and slurping sloppily at your cunt. You moaned above him and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.
Your nails scraped against the nape of his neck when his tongue plunged into you, and he had to flex his arms as your legs threatened to close once again.
He fucked you with the wet muscle, and when he felt you spasm around him, he withdrew it, returning his focus to your puffy clit. He sucked on you while drawing figure eights against the bundle, making your hips twitch against him as you neared the end.
It all came crashing down when he freed one of your legs and pushed two of his fingers into your cunt, hooking them inside and massaging the spongy spot.
Your hand tightened behind his neck, nails digging into his skin and creating small crescents, while your other arm shot up, palm slamming against the cupboard as your orgasm rippled through you.
He fingered you through it, and usually, he would stop once you started shoving at his head or his hand, but this time, he was glued to you, sucking on you like a leech.
You cried out a few stop's, and no more's, but to no avail.
You felt like you were on a roller coaster, coming down the railway track only to ascend again.
You were panting above him, and he quickened the pace of his fingers, slamming them into you as he kept his lips clasped around your sensitive clit, shaking his head from side to side, making you scream his name.
You hit him with your free knee as you came for the second time, trying to escape his working mouth and fingers in any way you could, but Sammy didnât care. He let your heel dig into his back, to scrunch up his shirt as your thigh slapped itself against his ear.
When Sammy finally removed himself, he grabbed your leg again and you felt your wetness against your calf. He stayed on his knees watching your stomach move up and down, before his eyes drifted to your twitching cunt.
Sammy watched your cum dribble down onto the countertop, and he couldât help but ghost his fingers over the length of your pussy, making your hips jerk, before dipping them in the pool of your wetness decorating the marble surface. He brought his fingers to your mouth, and you licked at them, cleaning them with your tongue as you tasted yourself.
Sammy took you off the counter then, turning you around and bending you over as he unbuckled the belt of his jeans.
The clasps bit into your skin as he fucked you against the counter, your brains dissolving to the extent that you didnât even think twice when he asked you to clean the mess you made. You licked it off with your tongue, some of it getting onto your nose before he grabbed you by your neck and yanked you upwards, your body arching against him. He kissed your cum-covered lips, tasting you one last time, before he made you cum around in cock, with Sammy following shortly after.
Your legs almost gave up on you, and if it wasnât for Sammy holding you up, you would have probably toppled to the ground.
When you were able to stand on your own, you went to take a shower while Sammy really cleaned the countertop, only because you shot him a look when he half-joked that he wouldnât mind to let it get dry and you know⌠'leave it like that'.
He took a shower right after you before joining you on the couch only in his shorts. You snuggled into his bare chest, your cheek against his collar bone as you looked up at him, letting yourself admire him again, his cheeks still a little pink, his lips curled into a soft smile while his eyes looked so warm and loving.
Your eyelashes fluttered as you glanced down before looking back up.
âI love you,â you said, and Sammy leaned down to kiss your nose.
âAre you saying that because of the sex?â
You knew he was teasing, your cheeks cramping from the widened smile as you slowly swung your from side to side.
âYouâre horrible. You canât be serious for even just one second.â
âYeah, because you wouldnât even like me if I tried to play out a rom-com scene with you.â
And he was right. It was his loud, annoying ass that you loved about him. Among other things.
âBut,â he said as he pinched your chin between his thumb and index, making you look at him, âI love you, too.â
This one is based on that shower scene in animal kingdom. you guys know the one.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: angst. altered mental state.
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
You didnât mean to be out so long. It justâŚhappened. One street turned into another. The ocean stretching beside you, dark and endless. The tide ebbing in and out like it had somewhere to be. You didnât. You walked until your feet ached, until the buzz in your head dulled into something quieter.Â
You sat in a diner for a while â coffee going cold in your hands, the hum of fluorescent lights above you, the low murmur of strangers that didnât ask anything from you. Looking down at your shirt, you realised there was blood on it. From Andrewâs hands. You shivered.
It was close to two by the time you made it back. The house was silent when you stepped inside. No TV. No voices. Just that heavy, late-night stillness that made everything feel slightly unreal. You kicked your shoes off quietly, moving down the hallway on instinct.
Thatâs when you heard it. The shower. Running steady. Constant. At two in the morning. You frowned slightly, slowing your steps. Every door in the hallway was shut â except one.
Popeâs.
Your breath caught. You moved towards the door, pushing the door open just enough for your voice to carry.
âAndrew?â
No answer. The water kept running. A beat passed. And then another.
You pushed the door open further. Steam curled around the room, thick and warm, like the shower had been running for a while. The bathroom light was on, mirror already fogged over.  The air was heavy, hard to breathe.
âAndrew?â you called again, more urgently this time.
Nothing. Your stomach dropped as you stepped inside and saw him. He was in the shower. Collapsed on the floor, body folded in on itself, knees drawn to his chest, one arm tucked awkwardly under his head. The water was hitting his side and shoulder, running over him in awkward streams, but he wasnât moving.
He didnât react. Didnât even flinch at the sound of you stepping closer.
âAndrew,â your voice sharpened as you quickly dropped to your knees outside the glass.Â
No response. Your heart started to pound.Â
You yanked the door open, the hot spray hitting you immediately, soaking through your clothes as you leaned in.
âHey â HEY, look at me.â
Your hands found his shoulders. His skin was flushed from the heat. There was no resistance from him, no awareness.
âAndrew,â you said again, louder. âCome onâŚplease.â
No answer. Your pulse spiked. You didnât think, just stepped fully into the shower. Water drenched you instantly, denim shorts sticking to your legs, white shirt so soaked it was almost see-through as you crouched in front of him.Â
âAndrew,â you said with a firm voice.
You grabbed his face this time, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were open, but unfocused. Like he wasnât seeing you. Your chest tightened painfully at the sight of him.
âHey,â you said again, softer. âYouâre okay. Look at me. Youâre okay.â
âThere you go,â you murmured. âStay with me.â
His lips parted like he was going to say something. Nothing came out. Instead, his body jolted with a tremor. Then another. Your grip strengthened.Â
âOkay,â you said quickly, trying to ground him. âItâs fine. Youâre fine.â
You could feel it now â his whole body trembling under your hands. Not violent, but constant. Uncontrolled.Â
âCan you sit up?â
No response. You didnât wait. You hooked your arm under his, pulling him upright with great effort. His body was heavy, uncoordinated, like he wasnât fully there.Â
âCome on,â you said, breathing heavy. âHelp me out a little.â
He didnât. But he didnât fight you either. You got him sitting. Barely.
His head slumped forward, water dripping from his auburn hair, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself.Â
You reached past him, turning the water off. The sudden quiet was jarring. All that was left was his uneven, ragged breathing.Â
âHey,â you said, quieter now.Â
Your hand slid to the back of his neck. His whole body reacted. Not pulling away, but tightening. Like his body registered before his mind caught up. You froze for half a second. Youâd never seen that before. Not from him.Â
âItâs okay,â you purred. âItâs okay, Iâve got you.â
Another tremor ran through him. More violent this time. His hand came up suddenly, gripping your wrist. Not hard, but urgent. Like he needed to anchor himself. Your breath hitched.
âI ââ His voice caught.
He swallowed hard, blinking like he was trying to focus on something that wouldnât stay still.
He stopped. His breathing stuttered, whole body shaking.Â
âI donât know whatâs wrong with me.â
His words came out fractured. Like he didnât recognise them. Your heart felt like a jackhammer against your ribs.Â
âNothingâs wrong with you,â you said quickly. âYouâre just ââÂ
You stopped. Because you didnât know what he was. Breaking? Shutting down? Drowning in something you couldnât see?
Your hand slid down his arm, slowly. Carefully. His reaction was immediate. His shoulders tensed. Grip on you squeezed slightly. Breathing hitched again.Â
You blinked. Shocked. He was never like this. Never this reactive. Never thisâŚexposed.
Your gaze dropped to his hands. The skin across his knuckles was split open, dried blood cracked across them. Swelling and bruising already setting in.Â
âJesus,â you whispered. âYour handsâŚâ
You shifted slightly, shivering now as the cold started to seep in through your wet clothes. You reached for a towel, wrapping it loosely around his shoulders first, before taking one of his hands again. Gentle. Slow.
âI need to clean these,â you said.
He didnât respond. But he didnât pull away either.
You guided him out of the shower, steadying him when his legs faltered slightly. Water still dripping from his sodden hair onto your hands as you sat him on the toilet lid. You wrapped the towel tighter around him. His gaze was somewhere far away.
You grabbed the first aid kit with shaking hands, and, kneeling in front of him, you took his hand.  He sharply inhaled. A tremor shaking his arm. Your heart felt heavy in your chest.
âI know,â you sighed. âI know. Iâm sorry.â
You cleaned his wound carefully. He flinched, but it wasnât the pain. It was you. That realisation hit harder than it should have.
You stilled for a second, watching him â really watching him this time. The way his shoulders stayed tight, like he was bracing for something. The way his breathing quickened every time your fingers moved over his skin. Not fear. Something else. Something learned.
âHas she done this for you before?â you asked quietly.
He didnât answer, but his eyes flickered. That was enough.
You swallowed, gaze dropping back to his hands as you worked. âCath.â
The name sat heavy. Not thrown. Placed, carefully.
You let out a slow breath. âYou go like this with her too, donât you?â
Still no answer. But his fingers twitched in yours. Whole body coiling slightly, indicating that you were right.
You nodded faintly. âYeah⌠I thought so.â
A beat passed. Then, softer âÂ
âAnd Smurf.â
That one landed deeper. You felt it in the way he stilled completely. Not reactive this time. Like heâd gone somewhere else for a second.
âYou donât even realise youâre doing it,â you said, voice low and steady. âThe way you justâŚshut down. Like youâre waiting. Bracing for what comes next.â
Your thumb brushed lightly over his knuckles as you wrapped them.
âYou let them decide everything,â you continued. âHow far it goes. When it stops. What youâre allowed to feel about it after.â
His jaw clenched. But he didnât pull away. Didnât argue.Â
âAnd the worst part?â You looked up at him then. âYou donât fight it.â
You let that sit between you. Heavy. Uncomfortable. True.
âBut you donât do that with me.â
That made his eyes lift to yours. There it was again. That line he didnât cross with you. You held his gaze.
âAnd I donât know if thatâs because Iâm not them,â you said, voice barely audible, something breaking just slightly at the edges, âor because Iâm not enough to be.â
The silence stretched. Your throat felt tight.
âBut I do know this,â you added, steadier now. âYou donât choose me.â
He just stared at you. Not defensive. Not angry. JustâŚtrying to catch up. Like your words had landed somewhere he hadnât reached yet.
âYou come to me when you need something. When itâs quiet. When you donât want them to see you.â
Your fingers tightened around his.
âBut you donât choose me when it matters.â
He flinched. Barely, but you saw it. Your chest tightened.
âI donât know why,â you admitted. âI donât know what she has that I donât.â
Seconds passed. Then âÂ
âBut Iâm right here.â
The quiet lingered.Â
Heavy. Thick. Sitting between you like something neither of you knew how to move around.Â
He was still looking at you. Really looking. Not past you. Not through you. At you. Your breathing shallowed under the weight of his gaze. You didnât look away.Â
âIâm here.â
Something shifted in his expression. Jaw flexing slightly. Breathing still uneven, but slower now, less chaotic. Like something in him was starting to settle.Â
Or maybe justâŚfocus. On you.
Your hand was still wrapped around his. You hadnât let go. Neither had he. You became aware of it all at once â the way his fingers had curled around yours. Not gripping. Not desperate. Just present.
You didnât move. Didnât give him a reason to pull away.Â
A beat passed. Then âÂ
His other hand lifted. Slowly. Like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to.
You watched it. Your pulse picking up as it hovered for a second in the space between you.Â
He touched you. Not your face. Not your hand. Your arm, just above your elbow. Like he was testing something.
You stopped breathing. Because that was new. Andrew didnât reach. He took, held, reacted. But this? This was different. This was asking.
Your body went still under his touch. Not pulling away or leaning in. Just letting it happen. His fingers tighten slightly. Not gripping, just making sure you were real.
You felt it everywhere. Your chest. Your throat. Your ribs. It was sending electricity through every part of your body.
âYouâre here,â he said. The words were quiet. Like he was confirming it to himself.
You swallowed, âYeah.â
His hand settled on your arm. Thumb brushing once, absentmindedly. It sent something sharp through your chest.
You sucked in a quiet breath. He noticed. Of course he did. His eyes flicked to your face again, searching. Like he didnât know what he was looking for but had to find it anyway. You held his gaze. Didnât break. Didnât give him an out.Â
âIf you donât want me,â you said softly, repeating it, because it still mattered, âthen you have to mean it.â
His grip tightened slightly. âI ââ He stopped, jaw straining.
His eyes dropped briefly â your mouth, your collarbone, the space between you â before coming back to your eyes. Like he was trying to say something and couldnât.
âThere it is,â you whispered. Not cruel. JustâŚtired. âYou donât even know.â
His expression shifted. Frustration taking over his features.
âThatâs not ââÂ
âThen what is it?â you pressed quietly.
Your hand moved without thinking. Just slightly. Turning in his. Not pulling away. Not holding tighter. Just there. Meeting him.
He went still. Felt it. His fingers tightened instinctively. His breathing changed again. Slower. Heavier.
âYou think I donât want you?â he asked.
Your throat tightened. âThatâs not the same thing.â
âIt is.â
âItâs not,â you said, sharper now. âBecause wanting me isnât the hard part.â
That hit him. Hard. You saw it in the way his shoulders shifted. In the way his grip on you changed â stronger now. Not enough to hurt. But enough to feel.
âItâs everything after,â you said, quieter now. âAnd you donât do that.â
His hand moved. Not away. Closer. Sliding from your arm down to your wrist.
Then to your hand. Deliberately. He took it.
Your breath caught. This wasnât accidental anymore. This wasnât him reacting. This was him choosing.
Your fingers curled slightly against his without thinking. Neither of you spoke. The air felt thinner. Closer.
âYouâre still here,â he said again. Like he couldnât quite believe it.
Your chest tightened. âSo are you,â you said.
Something shifted in his face. Not fixed. Not resolved. But, open. Just enough.
His thumb brushed against yours. Once. Then again. Slow. Absent. But intentional now.
You felt it everywhere. Your pulse jumped. The tension didnât ease. If anything, it got worse. Thicker. Sharper.
đŻď¸ âą in the source link, you will find #146 medium sized gifs (268x150) of shawn hatosy in the faculty (1998). he was born in 1975 and around 21 years old at the time of filming. all of these gifs were made from scratch by yours truly. please do not redistribute or claim as your own. read my rules for further info!
People commenting on the Animal Kingdom scene where Pope and Amy were masturbating together saying it was weird and uncomfortableâŚ
EXCUSE ME? That was one of the hottest scenes Iâve ever seen. His little âmâsorryâ when she reminded him not to touch? His breathy âyeahâ?? His whimpers?????? The way he bent down to smell her????????????? That scene is ingrained into my brain. That was lobotomized into my brain. Like Jesus Shawn Hatosy stop ruining other men we canât all be your wife
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other than the men he brings home on occasion, youâre the only person who knows that deran cody is gay. when your best friend becomes anxious that people are growing suspicious of his sexuality, you suggest telling people that the two of you are dating. everything is going perfectlyâŚuntil his brother is released from prison and you start feeling things that you havenât felt in years.
warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, smut, oral (f receiving), reader is afab, no use of y/n, cheating but not really bc itâs a fake relationship, male masturbation, mentions of an abusive ex, mentions of alcohol, deran struggling with his sexuality, deran buys the bar a little earlier than he does in the show in this fic, description of canon level injuries, fluff, baz and smurf erasure, hurt/comfort, pov switches but mostly readerâs pov, happily ever afters for everyone!
memories are in italics!!
{ 3 months before Popeâs release from prison }
âI think Craig is onto me.â
Blue eyes meet yours in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Deran stands in the doorway behind you, leaning against the frame with his hands shoved in his pockets.
âOnto you?â You repeat, voice garbled around the head of your toothbrush.
âYeah,â he huffs, looking down at the floor. âYou knowâŚonto me.â
You freeze for a moment before you resume brushing, your eyes still glued to him. He doesnât need to elaborate. Thereâs only one thing he could be talking about - only one thing that Deran doesnât want his brother to know. Something that only you know about him.
Well, you and the men he brings home on occasion.
You spit a mouthful of foamy toothpaste into the sink and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. âWhat makes you think that?â
Deran shrugs and shakes his head. âI donât know. I was just talking to Adrian on the beach this afternoon and I noticed Craig looking at us likeâŚI donât even know. Just feel like he suspects something.â
You sigh, turning around to lean against the bathroom counter and crossing your arms over your chest. âWere you giving Adrian a handjob on the beach?â
âWhat the fuck?â He exclaims, face distorting in indignant horror. âNo. Of course not. We were just talking.â
âThen Craig doesnât know shit.â You shrug, bumping him with your shoulder as you move past him out of the small bathroom. âYouâre being paranoid. Again.â
This is the third time heâs claimed that Craig is growing suspicious of his sexuality in the last month. Normally, you would have realized what he meant by Craig is onto me right away, but youâre practically brain dead after working back to back double shifts at the bar.
Thatâs the only logical explanation for why the following words leave your mouth.
âYou should just tell Craig that weâre dating.â
You hear footsteps and laughter follow you down the hallway. âUs? Dating?â Deran snorts. âYeah, right. Like heâd believe that.â
âWhy not?â You shrug, plopping down on the couch in the living room of your shared house to turn on the television. âWe live together. Spend the vast majority of our free time together. We even work together, since you bought the bar. Youâre single. Iâm single. A lot of people already assume weâre together. It makes sense.â
âWell, yeah, butââ He comes to an abrupt pause, like heâs racking his brain for a reason why your idea might not work. He sits down on the ottoman in front of you, forearms braced on his thighs. âHuh,â he hums, clarity blooming across his face. âMaybe it isnât the worst idea youâve ever had.â
âThanks.â
You definitely had not given it any real thought before making the suggestion, but heâs right - maybe it isnât the worst idea. At least now youâll have a somewhat kinda true excuse when rejecting the advances of all of your bar regulars that just canât get the hint that you arenât interested in them.
Deran clasps his hands together in front of him. âOkay, but seriously. How would this even work? What are the rules or whatever?â
You stare at him and try not to laugh. âYouâre overthinking it. There doesnât need to be rules. We just keep doing what weâre already doing. We go out to eat sometimes, yeah? Go to the beach and the movies? Run errands together? Friends do those things, but so do couples.â You shrug. âSo we just keep doing those things, and when anyone asks, we call it dating.â
âBoyfriend and girlfriend,â he clarifies.
You nod. âBoyfriend and girlfriend.â
He squints, shaking his head. âWe donât really act like boyfriend and girlfriend, though. We would need to make it believable. At least around Craig and our other friends. You know, hold hands, cuddle, maybe kissââ
You cut him off with an exaggerated gagging nose.
âThatâs a little harsh.â
You toss a throw pillow at his head that he catches just in time. âIâm fucking with you,â you laugh. âYouâre right. There does need to be a little physical affection to make it believable. Thereâs no reason to stick our tongues down each otherâs throats in front of your brothers and our friends, though.â Itâs his turn to grimace dramatically at the mental image of that. âJust keep it casual. Holding hands is good, an arm around my shoulder every now and then wonât hurt, and the occasional kiss on the cheek should suffice.â
He tilts his head in consideration. Your words seem to appease some of his uncertainty, though you still get the feeling that he isnât completely sold on the idea.
âLook, if you arenât on board, just say so. It was just a suggestion. You wonât hurt my feelings at all ifââ
âNo, no,â he interjects. âIt isnât that. Itâs justâŚâ He trails off, pursing his lips in contemplation. You wait for him to continue with raised brows. âWhat happens when you meet someone? Someone you want to be with for real?â
You donât have a quick-witted response for that.
That hasnât crossed your mind in ages. Youâve been single for so long that you donât even remember how it feels to truly want to date someone. Your last boyfriend left you with quite the sour taste in your mouth for relationships that still lingers more than two years later.
Youâve gone on the occasional first date here and there, and had a few mostly unsatisfactory hook-ups over the last couple of years, but nothing has ever come from any of them. The thought of a real relationship is at the very bottom of your list of priorities, and you canât see that changing anytime soon.
âIn the rather unlikely event that happens, then we simply end our romantic endeavor. Weâre still best friends. No harm done. Sound good?â
Deran considers that for a moment, then shrugs. âAlright. If youâre good with it, Iâm good with it.â His words try to play off how much it means that youâd be willing to do something like this, but you know him. His smile and his eyes say what his mouth wonât.
You nudge his thigh with your foot. âThen congratulations, dude. You officially have a girlfriend.â
đŚš× âËâšâ
Pope doesnât know all that much about romantic relationships.
Not healthy ones, anyway.
He canât say that heâs ever even been in one. At least not anything serious - nothing that didnât fizzle out after a couple months or end in some argument that he canât remember now.
Everything he really knows about romantic relationships comes from movies and books and the toxicity that heâs witnessed in his personal life. His mother and her goddamn three baby daddies. Baz and Cath. Craig and his ever changing girls of the month.
He can admit that these arenât the best examples of romantic love, and maybe thatâs why heâs having a hard time understanding the dynamic between Deran and his girlfriend.
Thereâs no screaming. No cursing each other out on a regular basis. As far as Pope can tell, the two of you never even get into minor disagreements.
And thereâs no cheating.
One morning, just a few days after Pope gets out of prison, heâs making himself breakfast when he overhears Craig trying to convince Deran to go with him to a party later that night.
âCome on, man,â Craig whines. âJust swing by for a couple hours. Rennâs cousin is going to be there. You know she has a thing for you.â
Pope looks up in time to catch the disgusted grimace on Deranâs face.
âI have a fucking girlfriend, dude. You know that.â
âI keep forgetting you two are serious now,â Craig sighs. âBring her too, then.â
When Pope meets you the very next day, he understands why Deran had seemed so repulsed at the mere suggestion of going to a party to hang out with some girl who isnât you.
He stops dead in his tracks when he walks into the backyard and finds you laying by the pool. Strappy bikini a size too small, perfectly polished toenails, and skin glistening in the sun - he canât help but stare at you until you realize he is standing still as a statue just feet away, watching wordlessly. You didnât even hear him come out, your eyes closed and music pouring softly from a Bluetooth speaker.
âShit,â you hiss as soon as you notice his presence, taken off guard. âUhm - hey,â you laugh awkwardly, sitting up from your position on the foldable lounge chair and pausing whatever upbeat song youâre listening to. âI take it that youâre Pope? Deran told me you might be around today.â
Pope is silent for a moment as he pieces together who you are. His gaze trails over your bare shoulders and down to your thighs before looking you in the eye again.
âYouâre Deranâs girlfriend?â He tries to keep his tone neutral, but he canât hide the incredulity that slips through.
âThatâs me.â Another awkward laugh, though you donât seem offended by the question. You offer a soft smile, but he thinks something about it doesnât quite reach your eyes. âDeran should be here pretty soon, but I was about to make myself some lunch. Do youâŚwant a sandwich or something?â
He isnât hungry. He already ate. But for some reason, he says yes anyway.
You yank on a pair of blue jean shorts over your bikini bottoms and he follows you into the house where you insist on making him a sandwich while he tries not to ogle you too hard.
(At the time, he told himself that he would have taken the opportunity to hang around any pretty girl because he had just spent three fucking years in prison. But that wasnât it. It was you. He wanted to be around you, even after just meeting you).
âSo,â you start, spreading mustard across a piece of bread with a butter knife, âWould you prefer if I called you Andrew or Pope? Deran always calls you Pope, but I guess thatâs kind of a family nickname, right?â
The question takes him by surprise. He hasnât heard anyone call him Pope much in years. It still sounds weird to hear the nickname again. It feels like itâs been forever since anyone has even called him Andrew, too - itâs mostly been âCodyâ or âInmate 87286-923â for the last three years.
Heâd forgotten how his name - government name or otherwise - sounds when it isnât being barked at him. Coming from you, both names sound like music.
You glance up when he doesnât answer right away, your expression hesitant as if worried you said something wrong.
âEither is fine,â he answers when he remembers how to string two words together. âCall me whatever you want.â
And he meant that. He doesnât really have a preference. He would be fine with you calling him anything, as long as you call him something - but he got the best of both worlds when you decided that you would call him Pope in the presence of his family but Andrew anytime the two of you find yourselves alone.
It isnât the lack of fighting or infidelity that perplexes him the most, though. Itâs the fact that in the now six months since heâs been back home, heâs never once seen Deran kiss you.
Only ever a peck on the cheek here and there. Heâs seen his arm slung around your shoulder, and your feet propped up in his lap when the two of you lounge on the couch at Smurfâs. Heâs seen you rub sunscreen on Deranâs shoulders and watched him swim around the pool with you on his back plenty of times.
But in the last half year, heâs never seen either of you kiss the other on the lips.
Not that Pope is complaining. The last thing he wants is to watch you kiss his brother. He experiences more than enough unwelcome thoughts anytime he sees the two of you so much as hold hands.
He just doesnât understand. He doesnât understand how Deran doesnât kiss you every chance he gets. Youâre over at Smurfâs often enough that he should have witnessed it at least once by now.
He hates that he even pays attention to such a thing. Itâs really not any of his business how you two choose to show your affection, but he canât help the way he feels the slightest jolt of jealousy when you kiss Deran on the forehead anytime youâre leaving Smurfâs - and then relief thatâs all it is. A kiss on the forehead and nothing more.
Because if you were his - and heâs painfully aware of the fact that youâre very much not - he wouldnât be able to keep his hands off you as easily as Deran does.
It takes everything in him to stop himself as is.
đŚš× âËâšâ
âYou look like youâre having a blast.â
The familiar voice pulls you out of your trance over the roar of rap music. You glance up from where you sit on the edge of the pool, your legs dangling over and into the lukewarm water. Pope stares down at you, his expression as neutral as ever and beer bottle in hand.
âAnd you look like youâre going to church instead of a pool party,â you snort. You arenât surprised in the slightest that heâs wearing one of his typical short sleeve button-ups instead of swim trunks, but you are a little surprised that heâs here right now. Parties with dozens of half-naked shit-faced drunks arenât really Popeâs thing.
Then again, they arenât really your thing either, yet here you are - nursing the same piss flavored beer Deran had handed you over an hour ago as you watch him and Craig shotgun beers across the yard.
âWhat are you doing here?â You ask, patting the concrete beside you in invitation for him to sit down. âWhereâs Lena? I thought she was with you tonight.â
âSheâs at home. With the sitter.â He crouches down, albeit a little awkwardly due to the fact heâs wearing pants and shoes and canât dip his feet into the pool like you. Even with his legs bent at the knees and his arms resting across them, he seems stiff. Uncomfortable. Like heâd rather be anywhere else than here. âI had a few things I needed to take care of before the job tomorrow.â
Ah, yes. The job. The job that you definitely donât know anything about - as far as Smurf and the others are concerned, anyway.
You may not get involved, but you arenât oblivious to what Pope and his family do to make money. Piecing it together hadnât exactly been rocket science. Every time a major robbery, heist, or hit-and-run occurs within a fifty mile radius of Oceanside, Deran suddenly seems to have an abundance of cash.
What really made the pieces click into place was the time he asked you to cover his half of the rent and then mysteriously had the funds to completely pay your car off for you less than forty-eight hours later.
âDo I even wanna know where you got this money?â You ask when he hands you a thick envelope with over six thousand dollars in it. The exact amount you need to pay your car loan off.
Deran sighs. âNo. You really donât.â
The following morning, you turned on the news at work and watched coverage of a casino that got hit for over a half million just two towns over.
You arenât a fucking idiot. His flesh and blood brother was in prison for a bank robbery at the time. Two plus two is four.
Popeâs not an idiot, either. He knows that you know. But you donât ask questions you donât want the answers to, and he doesnât volunteer any information that could potentially put you in danger.
âAnd?â You ask, leaning back on the palms of your hands. You turn your head to look at him and find that he seems particularly interested in the beer bottle in his hand. âDid you get everything taken care of?â
A curt nod. âEverything should be good to go.â
And thatâs that. You donât pry any further.
âI wouldâve watched Lena tonight if I had known,â you say lightly.
That gets him to look at you. âItâs your first night off in five days,â he says lowly, bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips. âDidnât wanna ask that of you.â
âI wouldn't mind,â you murmur, looking away to play off the heat rising on the back of your neck at the realization that he knew it was your first night off this week. âI like spending time with Lena.â
Pope hums, the corners of his lips quirking. âYeah. She likes spending time with you, too.â
âAnd Iâd much rather be hanging out with her than beâŚhere right now,â you grumble as Deran and Craig emerge from the house with another keg.
âWhat?â Pope chirps. âYou donât think holding your boyfriendâs hair back as he pukes into Smurfâs three hundred dollar orchid is fun?â
You snort a laugh, but you canât help the way your fingers clench around the neck of your beer bottle at the word boyfriend. âYou saw that, huh?â
âAt least a dozen people saw that.â
âGood,â you huff. âThatâs what he gets for thinking he can drink all of that on an empty stomach.â
At that exact moment, one of Deran and Craigâs surfer buddies yells âCANNONBALL!â from the roof of the house a second before you and Pope both get drenched in pool water. Youâre in a bathing suit, so no big deal - annoying, but not a big deal. Pope, on the other hand, looks like heâs seconds away from jumping in the pool and drowning the guy for soaking his jeans and button-up.
âJesus,â you grunt. âIâm over this. Wanna get out of here?â
Popeâs expression morphs from annoyance to surprise. He glances around like he isnât one hundred percent sure youâre talking to him. Then, you stand and offer him a hand up. He hesitates a second longer, staring in Deranâs direction before accepting your hand and getting up.
âWhereâre we going?â He asks, a step behind you.
âItâs a surprise.â
Itâs not a surprise. You just didnât think that far ahead before making the proposition - you just know that you want to be somewhere else. Somewhere that you arenât surrounded by drunk, obnoxious assholes. Somewhere that you donât look up and see a girl practically humping some douchebagâs leg. Somewhere that you can actually relax on your first Friday off in two months.
And, for reasons that you wonât let yourself dwell on right now, somewhere that you and Pope can be alone.
Somewhere you donât have to worry that people are looking at you and wondering why is she spending so much time with her boyfriendâs brother while her boyfriend gets plastered twenty feet away?
The answer to that is quite simple, actually. Deran isnât really your boyfriend. But no one knows that except for you and him. Not even Pope.
As far as he and everyone else knows, you and Deran have been in a committed relationship for well over half a year now.
âDonât you want to let Deran know that youâre leaving?â He murmurs low enough that only you hear as the two of you make your way through a throng of people near the back door to the house. Deran stands several yards away with his back to you, talking animatedly with Craig and a few of their friends. âIâm sure heâll worry if you dip without saying anything.â
You have to refrain from laughing at that. You stop to grab your tank top and shorts off the table by the back entrance, quickly cramming your feet into your sandals. âHe looks a little occupied at the moment. Iâll send him a text and let him know I decided to head out early.â
You have no real intention of doing so, but Pope doesnât need to worry about that.
He follows you to your car, gets in the passenger seat, and doesnât question you any further until you park your car at the first somewhat calm, quiet place that comes to mind.
A quaint cliffside pull-off overlooking the ocean on the outskirts of town. Itâs no more than a ten minute drive from the Cody house, but itâs so serene that it feels hundreds of miles away. You roll down both the driver and passenger side windows before turning your car off, and for a moment the only thing you can hear is the crashing of waves against the rocks below.
âDo you come up here often?â Pope murmurs, voice filling the silence.
You shake your head, not taking your eyes off of the moonlight that dances across the water. âI used to. A long time ago. Before Deran.â
From your peripheral vision, you can tell that heâs turned his head to look at you. âHow did you two meet, anyway?â He asks after an extended silence.
You huff a humorless laugh. âItâs not exactly a cute story.â
He unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face you more fully. âWell, now Iâm really curious.â
You finally look at him. Heâs staring at you with that same look that youâve been trying and failing to get a read on since the first time you met him six months ago. He looks at you now exactly how he looked at you then, that day by Smurfâs pool.
You exhale, looking back to the black horizon so you might stand a chance of regaining the ability to think clearly. âWe met about three years ago. I was still dating my ex boyfriend at the time. I was working the bar one evening when my ex stumbled in drunk and decided to pick a fight with some poor guy he thought was hitting on me. I tried to intervene, and my ex shoved me so hard I fell backwards and hit my head on the counterâŚâ You trail off, shaking your head at the memory. Pope waits silently for you to continue.
âAnd Deran,â you continue with a soft laugh, âwas sitting just two stools down. He didnât even hesitate. Just grabbed my ex and started beating the ever-loving fuck out of him right in the middle of the bar until he was unconscious. That wasnât the first time my ex put hands on me but it was the last.â
You look back to Pope to find heâs still staring at you, his jaw clenched and hazel eyes sharp even in the dimly lit car. For once, youâre able to tell exactly what heâs thinking and it sends a shiver up your spine. Without even saying a word, you know that if Deran hadnât already pulverized your ex, youâd have to stop Pope from going and doing the same.
âAnyway,â you shrug, trying to break the tension brewing in your passenger seat. âThatâs how we met. Deran stayed even after the cops showed up to make sure I was okay, walked me to my car when I was leavingâŚand just kinda stuck around after that, I guess. Been best friends ever since.â
The last words slip out before you can stop them. Best friends. It isnât a lie. You are best friends - have been ever since that night. But sitting here now, alone with his brother, itâs too easy for you to forget that youâre supposed to be more than just best friends.
If Pope thinks anything of your choice of words, he doesnât point it out. âSounds like it was a good thing he was there that night,â he says lowly, his voice clipped. âIâm glad you got away from that.â
You give a small nod. âYeah. Me too.â
âAnd DeranâŚâ He starts, trailing off until you glance at him. âHeâs good to you?â
You blink, taken off guard by the question. âDeran?â You snort. âYeah, heâsâŚI mean, heâs Deran.â You shrug. âHe doesnât show up shit-faced at my job and pick fights with random men, if thatâs what youâre asking.â
You laugh, but Pope doesnât. âNo,â he says slowly. âIâm asking if he makes you happy.â
You swallow. The space inside your car suddenly seems infinitely smaller. Even with the windows rolled down, it feels suffocating.
Itâs a simple question. It should have a simple answer.
âYeah,â you breathe. You force a tightlipped smile that feels completely unnatural. âOf course. Like I said, heâs my best friend.â
Those fucking words again. Itâs as if you physically canât stop yourself from saying them. Best friend, best friend, best friend. Not partner, not boyfriend, not lover. Just best friend.
The most fucked up part is that if it were anyone else sitting here beside you, you know you could force yourself to spew some fabricated bullshit about how in love you are. About how Deran makes you the happiest girl in the world and youâre going to spend the rest of your lives together.
But not Pope. Pope, who you most wish you could blurt out the truth to. Pope, who looks at you so intensely that you have to wonder if he can read your mind and already knows.
âBest friend,â he repeats. It doesnât sound like a question. âThatâs sweet.â
The silence that follows is brief but heavy. Then, your phone chimes with a text message, and youâve never felt more grateful for an interruption in your life.
âItâs Deran,â you mumble, typing back a quick reply. âJust making sure Iâm alright.â You press send, then place your phone back in an empty cup holder. âI should probably get home,â you sigh before Pope has the chance to press the subject of you and Deran any further. âIâve gotta open the bar in the morning.â
He nods, but thereâs something about the look on his face that makes you hesitate. You squint at him. âWhat?â
Pope shakes his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âNothing.â
It doesnât hit you until later - when youâre lying in bed and failing miserably to keep your thoughts from wandering to Pope Cody - that Deran wouldnât have texted to ask if you were alright if you had messaged him to let him know that you were leaving the party like you had told Pope you were going to.
That peculiar look on Popeâs face that you hadnât understood at the time suddenly makes sense to you. He had realized, in that moment, that you never bothered to text Deran and tell him you were leaving.
And what kind of girlfriend doesnât even take two seconds to let her boyfriend know sheâs leaving a party theyâre both at?
đŚš× âËâšâ
Pope barely slept a wink last night.
He spent half the night going over the details for todayâs heist, and the other half replaying and overanalyzing everything you had said during the short time spent together in your car.
One question. Pope had asked you one fucking question. How did you two meet, anyway?
And you had answered him - somehow leaving him with even more questions than before you whisked him away from the party and took him to some remote cliffside pull-off on the outskirts of town.
Questions he canât ask quite so casually.
Why didnât you say goodbye to Deran when we were leaving the party? Why do you seem so reluctant to call him your boyfriend? Why didnât you text him like you said you were going to?
Add those to the list of questions he already had - the biggest of which being why doesnât he ever kiss you like I fucking want to kiss you?
He may not have the answers to those questions, but he knows one thing: heâs not crazy.
Well, he supposes thatâs debatable. A lot of people would argue otherwise. But heâs not imagining things. Not this time. Itâs not just wishful thinking on his part. Thereâs more than meets the eye to your and Deranâs relationship.
Maybe you donât feel for Pope what he feels for you. But he doesnât think you feel it for Deran, either.
But he canât dwell on that anymore right now. Not when Lenaâs babysitter is texting him one hour before heâs supposed to leave for a huge job to tell him that she had something unexpected come up and canât watch Lena tonight.
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding me,â he grumbles under his breath. Heâs got less than an hour to figure out somewhere safe for Lena to stay tonight.
The last thing he wants is to leave her with Smurf and give her the satisfaction of being needed for anything, and he wouldnât trust Nicky or Renn either one to watch a fucking dog - so he packs Lena an overnight bag and heads to find one of the only people on the planet that he truly trusts with her.
He breathes a small sigh of relief when he pulls into the parking lot of the bar and sees your car.
âWhat are we doing here?â Lena asks from the backseat.
âI have to go to work,â he explains gently. âAllison is busy tonight so weâre here to see if you can hang out with uncle Deranâs girlfriend for a while.â He turns around to look at Lena - sheâs staring at him with those wide doe eyes that Pope has gotten used to seeing filled with disappointment. âIs that okay with you?â
Lena nods, her face perking up a bit.
Pope had figured she wouldnât mind. He hadnât been lying when he told you that Lena enjoys spending time with you. Really, heâd far rather Lena spend time with you than her regular babysitter, but he knows that for whatever reason, you enjoy your job.
(He would be more than willing to pay you significantly more than what you make as a bartender, but thatâs besides the point).
Lena practically runs towards you the second that she sees you wiping down a corner booth in the nearly empty bar. Pope trails a few feet behind, carrying her overnight bag on his shoulder. He watches as you glance up when Lena calls your name. You instantly open your arms to her, letting her jump into your embrace. The smile on your face when you realize itâs her lights up the whole damn dingy room, Pope thinks.
You and Pope lock eyes with Lena still in your arms. Your gaze lands on the bright pink bag hanging off of his shoulder, and he looks at you apologetically. Without him even saying a word, he can tell that you already know exactly why he and Lena are here.
âHey, are you hungry?â You ask Lena, placing her back down on the floor. âYou want some cheesy fries?â She nods, a somewhat shy but excited smile growing on her face. âIâll get you cheesy fries and a lemonade. Just go sit in that little booth while I talk to your uncle Pope for a minute, okay?â
Pope waits until Lena is out of earshot before speaking lowly. âIâm sorry,â he starts, but youâre already shaking your head. âHer sitter canceled at the very last second. Iâve gotta meet Deran and Craig in less than an hour. I just donât wanna leave her with Smurfââ
âAndrew,â you interrupt him, effectively ending his rambling by simply saying his first name. âItâs okay. Really. Iâm only working opening shift today, so I get off soon. It isnât a big deal.â
Pope glances to where Lena sits in the corner booth, watching something on her iPad, and then back to you. âYouâre sure?â
âOf course,â you say, soft but sure. You hold out a hand to take Lenaâs bag. âDo what you need to do. Me and Lena will find something fun to do this evening.â
He hesitates a second longer, then hands you the bag. âThereâs some money in the side pocket for you two to get dinner.â Then, lowly so the few people sitting at the bar canât hear, âI should be back no later than eleven oâclock, max. Her bedtime is usually eight but itâs Saturday, so she can stay up a little bit later, if she wants. Itâs up to you.â
You smirk. âIâll try not to keep her up too late.â
He canât help but think that you look so fucking pretty right now. Even in a simple black t-shirt with the barâs logo and a serverâs apron on. He wonders if Deran has told you how pretty you look today.
Or if Deran has even seen you today. Knowing him, he likely crashed at Smurfâs after the party or stayed out until the sun came up and was too hungover to wake up when you left for work.
âSheâll be fine,â you assure him delicately, seemingly taking his silence for hesitation. âTake your time and justâŚbe safe, okay?â You look like you want to say more, but you bite your bottom lip, crossing your arms over your chest.
Pope gives a brief nod. âI will.â
He starts to walk past you to say goodbye to Lena when you grab him by the forearm. His gaze drops to where your hand grips him and then back up to your worried eyes.
âPromise me,â you whisper. âYou wonât take any unnecessary risks. You wonât do anything to get yourself locked back up. Or worse.â
Thereâs a small, petty part of him that wants to ask if you made Deran make you a similar promise. But he knows how mean that would sound, and he knows he would regret it as soon as the words left his lips.
He settles for a simple I promise instead.
đŚš× âËâšâ
Spending time with Lena doesnât feel like spending time with a child. Itâs more like spending time with an adult trapped in a childâs body.
Sheâs more reserved and guarded than any seven year old should ever have to be. Hesitant to get close to anyone for fear that theyâll be the next person that she loses.
It never takes you too long to bring her out of her shell, though. All you had to do was ask if she wanted to go get her nails done, and glimpses of the bright little girl beneath the trauma began to peek through.
Any color she wants, you had told her. Multiple colors. A different color for each finger and toenail. She had said that would look silly - ultimately choosing a bright yellow for her toes and a baby pink for her fingernails.
When you asked if she wanted to come back for another manicure in a few weeks, she looked like she wasnât sure if she was allowed to be excited. She hesitated, asking âreally?â in a tiny voice that broke your heart.
You had assured her you were confident that her uncle Pope wouldnât mind.
Afterwards, it started to rain, so your original plan to take her to the beach got scrapped. You had been driving down the road, trying to brainstorm something else to do to pass the time for a couple hours, when you drove past an arcade that you hadnât been to in years.
Lena hadnât, either.
Air hockey, skee ball, Whac-A-Mole, pinball, and every claw machine in the building. With all of her tickets (and yours), she picked out a small stuffed bunny that she is now cuddling in your bed - fast asleep, with a belly full of the pizza that you picked up on your way home.
You tucked her into your bed hours ago and she fell asleep within minutes. You wish you could say the same for yourself.
Right now, itâs a quarter til midnight and youâre trying your hardest not to spiral - and the fact that Pope had said he would be back no later than eleven o'clock and youâve yet to hear a word from him, Deran, or anyone else is only the second half of the reason why.
The first half is an innocent observation made by a seven year old.
âWhy are you uncle Deranâs girlfriend and not uncle Popeâs girlfriend?â
You nearly spit out your drink at the question. Itâs so random that at first, you think you must have heard her wrong. The two of you are sitting on your living room couch, eating dinner and watching some cute animated movie on Netflix that Lena chose.
âWhat - why do you ask that?â You laugh.
She isnât even looking at you, her attention on the screen in front of her. She gives a small shrug and glances at you. âI donât know,â she says in a small voice. âSometimes I just wish you were uncle Popeâs girlfriend instead. Is that bad?â
What the hell are you supposed to say to that? Yeah kid, I wish that, too. All the time, actually. But your uncle Deran is actually gay and if I break up with him to get with his fucking brother then people are going to assume that Pope stole his girl and that I cheated on him. But I canât say that I didnât actually cheat on him, because then weâd have to admit to the fact that our relationship has been fake this entire time, and Deran would have to come out before heâs ready, and and andâ-
Lena is staring at you.
âNo,â you say softly. âI donât think thatâs bad. Sometimes we canât help what we want. ButâŚyou donât have to wish for your uncle Pope and I to be boyfriend and girlfriend. If you want the three of us to spend more time together, or if you want you and I to spend more time together, we can try to make that happen.â
âItâs not that,â she says meekly, looking down at her hands in her lap.
You tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. âThen what is it, kiddo?â
She hesitates for a moment. Youâre going to drop the subject, because ultimately, it doesnât really matter - what she wants or what you want - but then she opens her mouth.
âUncle Deran doesnât look at you the way uncle Pope does.â She looks up at you with those wide, earnest eyes. Itâs at this moment that you have to remind yourself that she has no true blood relation to Pope - because just like him, you think she can see right through you. âAnd you donât look at uncle Deran the way you look at uncle Pope.â
âWow,â you laugh, a little too quickly. âRemind me to never play poker with you.â She scrunches her brows together in confusion. Then, you scoot a bit closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. âGrown-ups are complicated sometimes. But I promise you donât need to worry about me, or Uncle Pope, or uncle Deran. Thatâs between us. All that matters is that we all love you. Okay?â
She nods, accepting that answer far more easily than you expect. She doesnât press, doesnât question, just leans into your embrace and goes back to watching her movie.
But her words continue to echo in your mind hours after she has fallen asleep and the small house has gone quiet.
Are you really so transparent that a fucking seven year old can read you like that? And if sheâs right about the way you look at PopeâŚcould she be right about the way he looks at you, too?
Youâve never let yourself think about it long enough for it to matter. Pope has never been a possibility.
Even if you wish he was.
And then thereâs the more obvious and pressing matter at hand - itâs nearly midnight and you have no idea if the boys are okay.
None of them are answering their phones. After Pope and Deran, you even try to call Craig. All go straight to voicemail. You even send Nicky a short, inconspicuous text - simply asking if sheâs heard from J. She has not.
You force yourself to put your phone down after that. If their phones are turned off, thereâs nothing else you can do for the time being except wait.
You donât even realize youâve dozed off until the sound of a car door slamming shut jolts you awake.
You practically sprint to the door, unlocking and opening it before they have a chance to wake Lena up. Your knees almost give out in relief when you see both Deran and Pope standing upright, walking up the front porch steps.
Then you see a cut across Deranâs cheekbone.
âOh my god,â you breathe, stepping outside. You reach out on instinct, your fingers hovering over the dried blood smeared across his skin. Itâs not deep, but itâs ugly. âAre you okay?â
âItâs nothing,â he mutters, brushing it off but letting you inspect the wound. âItâs already stopped bleedingââ
You canât help but glance past him to where Pope still stands at the top of the porch steps a few feet away. Your eyes are instantly drawn to a large stain on the side of his shirt, just under his ribcage. Dark red and wet looking. Undeniably blood.
âHoly shit,â you whisper, already stepping past Deran without thinking. âJesus, what happened to you?â
Before you can think twice, your hands are on him, tugging his shirt up. Your stomach drops when you see the bloody gash across his ribs.
âYou got shot,â you hiss.
âI got grazed,â he corrects gently, watching you with an unreadable expression. âI promised you I wouldnât do anything to get locked up or worse, right? I didnât break that promise. This is just a flesh wound.â
Behind you, Deran clears his throat. âDonât worry about me, babe. Iâm totally fine. In case you were concerned.â
âI know youâre fine, Deran. Youâre not the one bleeding onto our porch.â
Deran is silent for a moment as you crouch down to get a better look at the still-oozing wound on Popeâs side. Then, he sighs, muttering something about going to take a shower.
âDonât wake Lena up,â you call over your shoulder in a whisper-shout as he disappears into the house without another word.
And then itâs just you and Pope. Pope, with his abdomen still halfway exposed and blood dripping down his side.
âCome on,â you tell him. âLetâs get you patched up.â
He follows you into the house without any protest.
âShirt off,â you command without looking at him as you gather whatever you can find from around the kitchen and small hallway bathroom.
Youâre a bartender - not a doctor. Not a nurse. Not even a CNA. But you have been best friends with Deran Cody for a couple years now, so this isnât your first time having to patch up a gaping, bloody wound.
It is, however, your first time patching up Pope.
Urgent care or the ER is out of the question, so you have to make do with what you have. A clean washcloth, hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, gauze pads and tape.
Pope takes a silent seat on the couch and lets you examine the wound up close when you sit down beside him. You hear Deran turn on the shower from the master bathroom down the hallway as you begin wiping the mostly dried blood off of his skin with a damp washcloth.
âSo,â you start, your face warming under his stare, âother than the obvious, did everything go okay? Are Craig and J alright?â
âYeah,â Pope grunts. âTheyâre fine. Me and Deran got the worst of it.â
âClearly,â you grumble. âShouldâve made you promise specifically to not get shot.â You glance up at him. âIâll remember that next time.â
He looks down to where you carefully clean the skin of his abdomen. âHow was Lena?â He murmurs. âDid she behave for you?â
âOf course,â you snort. âShe always does. We had fun. Got our nails done, went to the arcade, got pizza for dinner, watched a movie about a fox and a bunny who are copsâŚâ
âWow. Sounds like your evening was far more relaxing than mine.â He pauses. âDid you use the money I put in Lenaâs bag?â
You roll your eyes but donât look away from the task at hand. âYeah. Five hundred dollars was more than enough for dinner, you know.â
He lets out a low, rough laugh at that. You feel it more than you hear it. It rumbles through his chest beneath your hands, the muscles there jumping with the motion of it. Your eyes drift without meaning to, suddenly very aware of how close youâre sitting to him and the steady rise and fall of his bare, bulky chest only inches away. You force your attention away from the thick muscles, grabbing the hydrogen peroxide.
âThis will probably sting,â you say, voice barely above a whisper. He nods, just visible enough to confirm he heard you before you carefully squirt the clear liquid over the gash.
âSo, whereâs she sleeping?â He asks, barely even wincing.
Your brows scrunch together. âIn my bedroom?â
A pause. âAnd where were you sleeping?â Youâre too distracted, and too tired, to pick up on the subtle, curious shift in his tone. With one hand, he pats one of your pillows that you had brought from your room along with a large throw blanket to assemble a makeshift bed on the couch. âHere?â
âYeah?â You snort. âI let Lena sleep in my bedroom and I took the couchâŚâ
âI thought this place had two bedrooms.â
You shake your head, still not entirely sure what heâs getting at. âIt does. My room and DerâŚâ
The words die in your throat. You completely freeze as you blot the clean wound dry with a paper towel.
Shit.
Your roomâŚand Deranâs room.
âI meanââ You clear your throat, tossing the paper towel aside and grabbing the tube of Neosporin and a gauze pad to avoid looking him in the eye while your brain is scrambling to think of some excuse as to why a happy couple would be sleeping in separate bedrooms. You say the very first thing that comes to mind. âDeran snores. Like, really loud. And Iâm a light sleeper, soâŚsometimes I crash in the guest room. It was my bedroom before we started dating.â
Itâs a shit excuse. It doesnât at all address why you didnât just sleep in your and Deranâs shared bedroom tonight, but itâs the best you can come up with on the spot - with him staring at you like he can read your mind.
Pope doesnât respond right away. You can practically feel his eyes on you, daring you to look up.
âI didnât know that Deran snores,â he muses lowly.
Does Deran actually snore? Maybe? Sometimes?
You tear off a piece of cheap medical tape you found in the first aid kit. âYeah, well, youâre not the one who shares a bed with him.â
The room feels impossibly small and suffocating. You hold the gauze pad up to the wound, your hands trembling more than youâd like as you try to make quick work of securing the bandage to his side.
You start to pull away, to tell him that should be good enough for now, to leave the room and attempt to regain your composure after all but blatantly admitting that your relationship is a sham, when Pope grabs your wrist.
At first, he says nothing. Just stares at you, as intense and unyielding as ever. His hand dwarfs your own, his skin like wildfire against yours.
You know you should pull away - should try your hardest to convince him that yes, of course your brother and I sleep in the same bed. Why wouldnât we? Weâre boyfriend and girlfriend. Thatâs what boyfriends and girlfriends do when they live togetherâ
But all the words catch and pile up in your throat, making you feel like youâre going into anaphylactic shock.
âNo, I donât share a bed with him,â Pope drawls. âBut you donât share a bed with him, either. Do you?â
Your mouth goes dry. Thereâs no point in even trying to deny it. The truth may as well be written across your forehead.
Pope releases your wrist. You almost think heâs going to let it go - that he isnât going to press this subject right here, right now, where Deran could so easily overhear. Instead, his hand settles on the exposed skin of your thigh, just above your knee. His calloused thumb applies just enough pressure to the flesh of your inner thigh to make your stomach knot.
âNot only do I think you donât share a bed,â he murmurs, voice rough, âbut I also think you donât like calling him your boyfriend very much either, for some reason.â
Your heart is beating so hard youâre sure he can feel it through your skin. His hand slides the slightest bit higher.
âAnd I donât think he kisses you,â he continues, leaning closer. âAt least not the way I think about kissing you.â
Air leaves your lungs in a shaky breath. Your eyes drop to his lips before you can stop yourself.
âTell me to stop,â he whispers, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.
Your hand moves before your brain can catch up, coming up to cup his jaw. The rough scrape of stubble against your palm sends a shiver down your spine as your lips hover no more than an inch away from his.
Heâs shirtless and wounded. Lenaâs sleeping in the next room and Deran is showering just down the hall. Youâre supposed to be in a relationship with his brother, but right now you canât remember why you ever thought that was a good idea.
Right now, you donât really give a shit about any of that because Pope is right. Heâs right about it all. You and Deran donât share a bed. You do struggle calling him your boyfriend. He doesnât kiss you, and you donât kiss him.
Never have. Not in the way that every fiber of your being screams to kiss Pope right now.
âNo.â
You arenât quite sure whether he kisses you or you kiss him. You just know within seconds of your lips touching his, the restraint that youâve been fighting to maintain for months crumbles. His mouth moves against yours with the kind of urgency that both shows and tells just how much heâs been holding himself back all this time, too.
He exhales against your lips, one hand coming up instinctively to grip your waist while the other tightens on your thigh. The pull of it drags you closer to him on the couch and before you know it, youâre straddling his lap, your hands braced on his broad, freckled shoulders for balance. He fists the hem of your t-shirt, bunching the fabric at your waist just enough for his knuckles to graze the exposed skin of your sides.
The unmistakable flavor of menthol on his tongue from a cigarette he undoubtedly smoked on the drive home with Deran tells you that he couldnât have predicted this happening right now anymore than you could have.
Your fingers glide over the planes of his shoulders and up the sides of his neck until they weave through his short brunet curls that youâve longed to run your hands through for longer than you care to admit. You give a gentle tug to the hair at the base of his skull and the sound that vibrates from deep within his chest shoots straight to your core.
Itâs nothing short of a miracle that your brain is somehow able to register that Deran has turned the shower off.
As much as it equally physically and emotionally pains you to do so, you scramble off of Popeâs lap, adjusting your t-shirt back into a proper position and wiping any evidence of his kiss from your mouth with the back of your hand. As you scoot to the opposite end of the couch from him, you canât help but take in the current state of him - lips kiss swollen, chest and neck flushed pink, and clad only in the pair of jeans that he attempts to adjust to conceal the bulge you were able to feel through your sleep pants.
If it werenât for the fact that you can hear Deran exiting the bathroom at this precise moment, you donât think youâd be able to stop yourself from taking him right here on this couch.
And thatâs a very dangerous thought.
Deran enters the living room wearing only a pair of basketball shorts, sandy blond hair still dripping and his own skin flushed pink for reasons entirely different from Pope. Luckily, he barely spares a glance in your direction, walking past you and Pope to get to the kitchen.
âBleed out on my couch yet? Or are you gonna make it?â Deran calls from where he rummages through an open fridge. You look to Pope, mentally urging him to play off what had just transpired not even ten seconds before Deran walked in the room.
He doesnât. He stares at the back of Deranâs head, his jaw clenched so tight that youâre surprised he doesnât break a tooth.
You answer before the silence can turn (more) weird.
âHeâs patched up well enough for now,â you say, voice unnaturally high. Then, as casually as you can manage, âthereâs leftover pizza from dinner in there, if youâre hungry.â
âSick,â Deran grunts. âWhat about you, man? You hungry?â
You raise your brows at him, shooting him a look that clearly says fucking answer him, act normal, I swear to God if you donât eat that leftover pizzaâ
He doesnât take his eyes off of you when he answers with a singular, emotionless word. âStarving.â
Deran has no reaction, but something about the way he says it while looking at you makes it feel like the back of your neck is on fire.
You clear your throat. âWell, I have to open in the morning, so I should probably get some sleepâŚâ You turn to Pope, trying not to completely melt under his stare. âUm - Lena can just sleep here tonight, if you donât wanna wake her up this late. You can come back and get her in the morning, or you sleep here on the couch if you wantââ
It wonât kill you to actually share a bed with Deran for one night. He is your best friend, after all.
âNo, thatâs okay.â He shakes his head and reaches for the blood soaked shirt on the coffee table. âItâs probably best if I come back in the morning.â He doesnât elaborate as he starts to put the stained button-up back on.
âAt least let me give you one of Deranâs t-shirts to wear for the time being. That thing is covered in blood.â You donât wait for a response before youâre rising from the couch and walking down the hallway to Deranâs bedroom.
The second the door shuts behind you, you lean against it - fingertips touching your bottom lip that still tingles from where his mouth had moved so desperately with yours. You take a few deep, steadying breaths before youâre able to force yourself to look for a clean t-shirt in the absolute shit show that is Deranâs bedroom.
Part of you feels relieved that Pope is insisting on coming back to get Lena in the morning so that you wonât have to actually sleep in this mess. As much as you love Deran, you canât say with confidence that heâs changed his bedsheets anytime in the last six months.
Another part of you is glad that Pope wonât be occupying your couch tonight because you know you wouldnât stand a chance of getting a decent nightâs sleep if he were a mere short walk down the hallway.
At least when Pope leaves you can take the couch and try to process the fact that you straddled his lap, stuck your tongue in his mouth and felt the very obvious evidence of his arousal with only walls separating the two of you from Deran and Lena.
You rummage through Deranâs closet until you find the first t-shirt that passes a sniff test while trying not to spiral until youâre fully alone.
âHereâs a t-shirt. If you want to leave your shirt I can try to get the blood out of itââ
You look around the small living room and kitchen to find that Pope is nowhere to be found. Deran leans against the counter, taking a bite of a slice of leftover pizza.
âWhereâs Pope?â
Deran shrugs. âI heated a piece of pizza up for him but he muttered something about going home and dipped.â
âHeâs the one wearing a bloody shirt, not me,â you sigh, tossing the t-shirt onto the couch and trying to play off the disappointment you feel at his sudden departure.
âDo you think he was acting kinda strange?â
Your stomach flip flops at the question. You canât bring yourself to look Deran in the eye, so you take your place on the couch once more, your back turned to him. âI mean, he did technically get shot. I guess anyone would be a little on edge after that.â
The excuse feels sour on your tongue, but itâs all youâve got.
âI guess,â he agrees with a mouthful of pizza. An awkward pause. âSeemed fine enough on the drive here, though.â
You shrug, grateful that Deran canât see your face at the moment. âProbably just a combination of blood loss and an adrenaline crash after the job. How did that go, by the way?â
Much to your relief, Deran doesnât press the subject of Pope any further before telling you heâs going to bed after heâs finished eating.
Unfortunately, that does very little to quiet the chaos in your mind.
When you finally turn off the lights and curl up under your blanket on the couch, you know that sleep wonât come easily. Not with the ghost of Popeâs hands still burning against the skin of your waist, not with the taste of a menthol cigarette still lingering on your tongue, and definitely not with the impossible to ignore realization that you have no earthly idea what the fuck youâre supposed to do now.
đŚš× âËâšâ
Pope has no issue being celibate. He got used to it during his three years in prison.
Then, almost immediately upon being released, his brothers all but forced him to go to a strip club for his birthday, where he ended up having the most unsatisfactory hook-up of his life. Heâs sure the woman - whose name he doesnât even remember - would say the same of the experience.
All it took was that one brief and underwhelming sexual encounter for him to decide that he would rather remain celibate than have sex that feels soâŚmeaningless and unfulfilling.
Coincidentally or not, he had just met you when he came to that decision.
You, his baby brotherâs girlfriend, who patched up his wound as if heâs made of glass one moment and then climbed onto his lap and kissed him breathless the next. You, whose lips taste so honey sweet that you got him hard with just one kiss. You, who whimpered as you broke away from him just seconds before Deran entered the room, leaving him desperate to do whatever necessary to keep drawing sounds like that from you.
It all replayed on a loop the entire drive back to his place.
The way you tasted, the feeling of your skin, and how it took every bit of his self restraint to resist laying you down just so he could feel you squirm beneath him.
He wishes he could say this is the first time that heâs thought of you as he gets himself off in the shower, but that would be a lie. Itâs far from it, but it is the first time doing so knowing how it feels to have your hands in his hair and the weight of you grinding down right where he most wants you.
Tonight, it takes him no time at all - all he has to do is think of the sweet smell of your perfume and how good it felt to have your fingers in his hair while your lips moved in synchronicity with his own, and heâs finishing with a groan of your name as warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.
When he lays down in his bed, he finds it difficult to feel guilty about any of it.
He knows that he should. He doesnât want to hurt his brother. But he felt every ounce of how you had kissed him. Thereâs no doubt in his mind that you want him as bad as he wants you. Thatâs not something a person can fake.
Not you, anyway. Pope knows you. You arenât a good liar.
If he believed that he was intruding on a happy, healthy relationship, he may feel a shred of remorse. But thereâs no part of him that believes that to be the case.
You may care about Deran, but no part of Pope believes that youâve ever kissed Deran the way you kissed him. You may spend most of your time with him, but Pope knows whoâs really on your mind the whole time. And you may have love for his brother, but Pope is more sure than ever you arenât in love with him.
đŚš× âËâšâ
That morning, you wake far earlier than you need to.
Lena likes to sleep in on days she doesnât have school, and you donât have to be at the bar until eleven, but you still find yourself awake at the crack of dawn.
Busying yourself does little to keep your brain from wandering to Pope. You bake blueberry muffins for when Lena wakes up, start a load of laundry, and clean the kitchen and living room all while thinking about what the hell youâre going to say and do whenever he comes to get Lena.
Should you tell him that last night was a mistake and that it canât happen again? Probably. That would make everything a lot fucking simpler. Nip it in the bud, before either of you get too invested, someone finds out, and people get hurt.
But youâre already invested. Your heart has been invested in Pope Cody since the day you met him by Smurfâs pool. Kissing him last night was just the dam finally breaking.
So what do you tell him, then? The truth? And completely betray Deranâs trust?
Other than Adrian, and a couple nameless men before him, youâre the only person heâs ever told the truth to. You are the only person heâs ever told who he hasnât also slept with.
Youâre the only person heâs ever told simply out of trust, and you wonât blatantly betray that.
Youâre drinking coffee on the front porch when Pope parks in front of your house. Equal parts excitement and anticipation bloom in your gut the second that he gets out of his truck and begins walking in your direction.
He pauses when he reaches the top step. He looks at you like he isnât sure if heâs allowed to do anything other than look at you.
âGood morning,â you hum, coffee mug pressed against your lips. âHowâs your side?â
âSore. Fine,â he murmurs, hesitantly taking the seat on the opposite side of the small patio table. âI changed the bandage this morning. Lena sleep okay?â
âSheâs still snoring,â you say fondly.
âShe does that,â he sighs, looking around like heâs expecting to see someone else. âWhereâs your boyfriend at?â
You roll your eyes. âYour brother,â you correct, placing your mug on the table but not taking your hands off the sides just so you have something to occupy them, âis out surfing. About that, thoughâŚâ You trail off, going silent. Pope waits, patient but as expressionless as ever.
Not even ten minutes ago, you swore to yourself that youâd only kiss him again if you also give him some kind of explanation that assures him youâre not actually committing infidelity by doing so.
And fuck, you really want to kiss him again, so itâs now or never.
You nod your head in the direction of the front door. âLetâs go inside.â
He quirks a brow, but doesnât question or object as he stands to follow you into the house. When he enters, you close the door quietly so as to not wake Lena - sheâs a deep sleeper, but you really need her to stay asleep for a little bit longer. Just long enough for you to get this off your chest before you chicken out.
You hesitate in the kitchen. You consider sitting down on the couch, but one vivid flashback of what happened last time the two of you sat on that couch together makes you think twice about that, and you settle for leaning against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest instead.
Youâre both silent for a moment, but Pope is the first to break.
âLook, I donât regret last night,â he says, low. He takes a tentative step towards you. âNot at all. But if you do, itâs okay. We can pretend it never happened, if thatâs what youââ
âYou were right.â
He freezes. Then, takes another small step, leaving only a few inches of space between you. âAbout which part?â
You lift your shoulders in a half shrug. âAll of it. Me and Deran. We donât share a bed. We donât kiss. Never have. Not like you and I did. Not even close.â
He doesnât look surprised. You didnât expect him to. He had already said it all himself. Youâre only confirming what he already believes to be true.
âIâm not in love with Dean. And he isnât in love with me, either.â
No, he doesnât look surprised, but you canât help but think he does look a little bit relieved - even just to hear you say it out loud. But that tiny smidge of relief written in his features is quickly replaced with confusion.
âThen why the hell are you guys together? What am I missing?â
You look down at the floor, your stare locking onto a blueberry you had dropped while making muffins. This is the part that you know you canât answer honestly. At least not in a way that will make sense to him. Heâs going to have questionsâŚones that you canât answer in complete honesty without outing Deran.
âHey,â Pope says, voice uncharacteristically soft. He closes the remaining bit of distance between you and places a tentative hand on your waist, causing you to look up at him. He braces his other hand against the ledge of the counter that you lean against, caging you between it and his body. His hazel eyes bore into yours, searching for whatever it is that you arenât saying. âYou can talk to me. Iâm justâŚtrying to understand.â
âI know,â you whisper. You uncross your arms, placing your palms against his chest. Your gaze drops to the chipped polish on one of your fingernails.
âI do love Deran. A lot. And he loves me, too. But we arenât in love.â You take a breath. âOur relationship is fake.â
His eyes narrow ever so slightly. âFake.â He repeats the word, his voice unreadable.
âMm-hm.â You nod, even though you can tell it wasnât really a question. âFake.â
âWhy?â
You canât help but snort a laugh at the bewilderment in his tone. You sigh, rubbing your thumb absentmindedly against the front of his shirt where your hand rests on his chest.
âI know it sounds crazy,â you admit. âBut it made sense at the time.â Pope waits, silently giving you the opportunity to keep going. âIt was my idea. As you know, I work at a busy bar. Men hit on meâŚpretty much constantly. Some donât take no for an answer the first time. Or the second time.â
His jaw clenches, but he doesnât interrupt.
âSo being able to say that I have a boyfriend helps,â you continue with a shrug. âMost guys back off quicker if they believe thereâs another man involved. And at the timeâŚI wasnât interested in being with anyone for real anyway. A lot of people already assumed me and Deran were together. I mean, we hang out all the time, we live togetherâŚit didnât really come as a shock to most people.â
You pause, then add more firmly, âAs for DeranâŚhe has his own reasons for agreeing to the arrangement. But thatâs for him to share, when and if he ever feels ready.â
Heâs quiet for a long moment, and then a slow look of realization settles over his face. âOh.â
âYeah,â you breathe. âOh.â
He doesnât ask for clarification. Doesnât push the boundary. But Popeâs smarter than most people give him credit for. You can see the gears turning behind those hazel eyes and you have no doubt he can read between the lines of what you are saying, and what you arenât.
His grip on your waist tightens and his gaze intensifies. The air in the kitchen seems to grow heavier. âAnd what about now?â
Your words come out as a breathy whisper. âWhat do you mean?â
âYou said you werenât interested in being with anyone. What about now?â
You swallow. âNowâŚâ
Now, you see the pretty hazel eyes that are staring at you in your dreams every night. Now, when the boys go out on jobs, youâre a mess until you know that not only Deran is okay, but Pope, too. Now, you struggle to call Deran your boyfriend when people ask, because youâre secretly wishing it was Pope you were calling your boyfriend instead. Now, you know how Pope tastes and you arenât really sure how you managed to go so long not knowing how he tastes. Now, youâre staring at his lips and canât remember how to form a coherent thought, much less a coherent sentence.
So instead of answering him with words, you grab his face in your hands and pull his face to yours.
For a fraction of a second, he freezes. Then, when your tongue sweeps his bottom lip, a sound releases from deep in his chest and heâs kissing you back. Heâs kissing you back like Deran wonât be home any given moment and Lena wonât be waking up any minute now.
His hands rub up and down your sides and yours go to his hair, subconsciously remembering how much he seemed to like your fingers tugging on his curls last night. His lips part for you, his tongue quick to dance with yours. He brings one hand to cup your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
Everything that follows happens fast. One second, youâre leaning against the counter kissing, and the next, heâs easing your sleep shorts and panties down your thighs and lifting you onto the edge of the counter before kneeling in front of you.
âAndrew,â you breathe. He takes a calf in each calloused hand, parting your legs just far enough to plant kisses on your inner thighs, the light stubble on his jaw tickling the sensitive skin. âWe canâtâLenaâs right down the hallwayââ
âItâs gonna be fine,â He murmurs the words against your skin in between trailing kisses up your thighs. He stops when his face is only a few inches from your exposed cunt, looking up at you in a way that makes you fight against the urge to clench your thighs around his head.
âJust stay quiet. Can you do that for me?â
You nod. You nod because you know if you speak, youâll sound every bit as eager and desperate as you are. Three damn years that youâve been single, and the last time you even had so much as a disappointing one night stand was months before you and Deran began your fake relationship, so it goes without saying thatâŚtouch-starved is a bit of an understatement.
You could have fucked someone at any point if you had wanted to. God knows Deran has. But the truth is, you havenât wanted to. The last few hook-ups you had prior to you and Deran getting âtogetherâ had been so underwhelming that youâve been repulsed at the thought of sex for the longest time.
Then you met Pope. And now here you are, with his head between your legs in the middle of your kitchen.
He all but moans into you when his lips settle over the bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds. You fight the urge to surge forward, bracing yourself on the countertop with one hand as the other shoots to his hair. You have to purse your lips tightly to keep from releasing the noises that threaten to pour from your throat as he tentatively explores you with his mouth.
Strong arms wrap around your thighs, supporting you from below. His fingers dig into the flesh with just enough pressure that you know youâll later be able to feel tiny, tender bruises in the exact spots where his fingertips press into your skin.
You glance down at him. Itâs the kind of sight that would bring you to your knees if you werenât already perched on the edge of the countertop - the kind of sight that makes you grateful that heâs helping support your weight right now because it turns your legs to jelly.
His eyes are closed and heâs lost in you - alternating between soft strokes of his tongue up your center and sucking your clit between his pretty lips that are wet with you.
Heat rapidly pools low in your belly and your thighs flex around the sides of his head as you inch closer and closer to release. You croon his name, instantly slapping your own hand over your mouth as soon as the word slips out. He chuckles low against you, the vibration of it shooting through you.
The familiar feeling of a hot coil dangerously close to snapping begins to overtake your senses. Your eyes snap shut and your head rolls back, bracing for the climax that is seconds away from washing over youâ
Deranâs voice. Craigâs obnoxious fucking laugh. Both coming from directly outside the house.
âFuck,â you hiss, ignoring the screaming ache between your legs and practically pushing Pope off you. âFuck, whereâs myââ
Pope reacts even quicker than you. Heâs grabbing your sleep shorts and panties from where they lay on the floor, shoving your feet into the holes of both at the same time. He stands, face flushed pink and glistening with your slick, and then darts down the hallway without a word, leaving you to pull your clothing into place just moments before Deran and Craig enter the house in their wetsuits.
You turn in the opposite direction of them, unable to look either one in the eye. You grab the hand towel in front of you and pretend to busy yourself with an imaginary spill on the counter.
âMorning,â Deran calls as he makes a beeline for the fridge. âSmells good in here.â
You clear your throat. âOh, yeah. I made blueberry muffins. Theyâre on the dining table. Help yourselves.â Your voice comes out too high-pitched and you mentally recoil.
âWhereâs Pope?â Craig asks. âI saw his truck out front.â
âYeah, heâs here,â you say, forcefully casual. You turn to face them, leaning against the counter and hoping your face looks neutral. âHeâs in the bathroom. OrâŚwaking Lena up, maybe. Not sure.â
Really smooth, idiot.
Craig nods in response, seemingly oblivious as he grabs a muffin from the tin on the dining room table.
âWhat are you guys doing back so early?â Then, fearing the questions sounds more accusatory than curious, you add, âI figured youâd be in the water until lunch time.â
AâŚcurious? Suspicious? Look comes over Deranâs face as he takes a step toward you, leaning in to place a hand on your waist and a kiss on your cheek. âWeâre gonna go back out. Just wanted to grab a quick bite to eat.â He retreats, joining Craig at the table. âThat okay with you?â
Your cheeks warm and you force a laugh. âYeah, of course.â
For the next few minutes, you attempt to keep yourself busy by unloading clean dishes from the dishwasher. And by attempt to keep yourself busy, you actually mean try to ignore how uncomfortably sticky wet your underwear are.
After what feels like forever but in actuality was likely no more than ten minutes, Pope and Lena appear from the hallway.
âHey Lena,â Craig greets her with a smile. Then, eyes trailing over Pope he adds, âHow you feeling, man? Heard that bullet grazed you pretty damn good last night.â
Pope shrugs, face giving nothing away. âNever been better.â
The three of them converse while eating, but you canât help but notice the way that Pope barely says a word to Deran. Hardly even looks at him, really. You try to tell yourself that heâs just beingâŚwell, Pope, but deep down you know itâs the fact that he had his fucking tongue buried inside you seconds before Deran got home.
And even though Pope knows that Deran isnât actually your boyfriend, theyâre still brothers. Heâs still lying to his brother, and that canât come easily.
It doesnât come easily to you, either. Even just being here in this room with all of them right now, you feel like if you open your mouth, youâre surely going to blurt out the truth.
âEverything okay with you?â Deran asks, pulling you out of a trancelike state.
You had been staring at Popeâs side profile.
âMe? Iâm fine,â you answer a bit too quickly. âI didnât get much sleep last night. Not looking forward to this shift today.â
Thereâs a beat of awkward silence, which Pope is the first to break. âLena? Isnât there something you wanted to ask?â
You glance from Pope to Lena. Sheâs staring at Pope with a shy smile on her face, like she isnât totally sure if she wants to speak or not.
âGo on,â Pope encourages. âYou can ask her.â
She looks at youâŚand then briefly at Deran before back to you once more. âDo you and uncle Deran want to come to my house for dinner tonight?â
You canât stop your eyes from going wide at the question. You arenât sure what you were expecting, but Pope encouraging Lena to ask you and Deran over for dinner wasnât anywhere on the list of possibilities.
Your foot twitches with the urge to kick Pope from beneath the table.
âOhââ
âAh, Iâm sorry, Lena,â Deran interrupts you. âIâd love to come over but I have to cover a shift at the bar tonight because weâre short staffed.â Deran looks at you, brows slightly raised. âBut youâre more than welcome to go, if you want.â
Lenaâs looking at you hopefully. âUncle Popeâs going to make spaghetti.â
âOh, is he?â You quip, glancing at Pope, who has been staring at you the whole time with an impassive expression. âWell, I do love spaghetti. Of course Iâll come.â
That earns a toothy grin from Lena, and something like a smirk from Pope.
Dinner. Itâs just dinner. Lena will be there. And Deran knows about it, too. Even gave you his blessing to go, so itâs not like youâre being secretive.
Dinner is good. Dinner is fine. So why is your heart racing at the thought of it?
When Pope and Lena say their goodbyes and head out to his truck, you spot the small purple bunny that Lena had won at the arcade last night on the kitchen counter. You could just bring it with you to dinner tonight and give it back to her then, but youâre going to take this as an opportunity to interrogate Pope.
By the time you slip on your flip flops and run outside, Lena is already buckled into the backseat and Pope is opening the driverâs door.
âWait a sec!â You call. He freezes, looking back over his shoulder. âShe forgot this.â You toss him the bunny and he catches it. You wait for him to shut the door before you speak again. âWhat the hell was that?â
âWhat was what?â He starts to take a step closer to you, but stops himself after a quick glance in the direction of the house.
âThat,â you whisper-hiss. âInviting me and Deran to dinner after eating me ouââ Now itâs your turn to stop yourself. You shake your head. âYouâre lucky heâs busy at the bar tonight.â
Pope smirks, the apples of his cheeks turning pink as he appears to be fighting off laughter. âI already knew that Deran is busy tonight. He was complaining last night about being understaffed and having to work tonight.â
âOh. ThatâsâŚoh. That makes sense.â
He shrugs. âJust figured it would be less weird if Lena invited both of you.â
You cock a brow. âSo you put her up to that, then?â
âI needed an excuse to see you tonight,â he says simply, opening the door to his truck again. âDo youâŚactually like spaghetti?â
You laugh, your face warming at the hopefulness in his voice. âYeah. Spaghettiâs good.â
đŚš× âËâšâ
âWhat happens when you meet someone? Someone you want to be with for real?â
The question Deran asked in response to you proposing a fake relationship nine months ago has echoed in your mind all day long. From the moment that Pope and Lena pulled out of your driveway this morning, throughout your shift at the bar, the entire time youâre getting ready to go over to their place for dinner, and with every bite of spaghetti, the question rings louder and louder.
âIn the rather unlikely event that happens, then we simply end our romantic endeavor. Weâre still best friends. No harm done. Sound good?â
At the time, it did sound good. It sounded so simple. But you never could have predicted that the person you would meet, the person you would want to be with for real, would be his damn brother.
What kind of luck is that? To genuinely fall for someone for the first time in years and it happens to be your best friendâs brother?
No harm done. You can only fucking hope - hope that Deran doesnât feel betrayed, hope that he still wants to be your friend, and hope that he isnât angry with Pope whenever you tell him.
Because you are going to tell him. Soon. Youâre just still trying to figure out exactly what it is youâre going to tell him.
Popeâs mouth is on your throat.
Dinner was over a while ago, followed by several games of Connect 4 at Lenaâs request. Then, you insisted on cleaning the kitchen while Pope helped her get ready for bed. Now, the house is quiet. The curtains are drawn, the doors are locked, the lights are low, and his mouth is on your throat.
An Animal Planet documentary playing on the TV illuminates the otherwise dark living room. Youâre flat on your back on the couch with Pope above you, one arm braced next to your head and his other hand resting just under the hem of your shirt, fingers splayed across the skin of your stomach. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, keeping him pressed as closed as possible while still wearing clothes.
He alternates between peppering wet kisses and sucking tiny love bites along the column of your throat. You feel the hard press of him between your legs, unable to resist arching upwards in an attempt to relieve the rapidly growing ache in your core. He lets out a low, throaty groan at the movement, grinding down with enough pressure to make you gasp out in longing.
âAndrew,â you whisper, voice strained with arousal. Your hands shoot to the sides of his head, delicately urging him back. He pulls away instantly, just enough for his face to hover inches above yours.
âWhat is it?â He murmurs, worry on his face. He removes his hand from beneath your shirt, smoothing the fabric back into place. The simple gesture makes your stomach flutter. âWhatâs wrong?â
You shake your head quickly. âNothing. Nothingâs wrong, really. I love this. Being here with you. Spending time with you and Lena. ThisâŚâ You trail off, breathless, glancing down at the very limited amount of space between his chest and yours. âI just canât help but feel bad about keeping it from Deran. I know Iâm not actually cheating on himâŚbut heâs still my best friend. And your brother. I want to be honest with him before thisâŚgoes any further.â
His expression is soft as he nods. He maneuvers off of you, sitting up and helping you into a sitting position beside him, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as he pulls you into his side. âWhat are you gonna tell him, exactly?â He places a tentative hand on your thigh. âWhat isâŚthis?â
A shaky laugh slips out. âI was hoping we could figure that out together,â you say, eyes dropping to where his hand rests on your leg. âAll I know is I donât want it to end. I just want to tell him first.â
âThereâs nothing for me to figure out. Youâre it for me.â
Your eyes shoot back up to his. His thumb brushes over your skin in slow circles. He tilts his head, a faint smirk appearing on his lips. âBut Iâm not going anywhere. So you do whatever you need to do.â
You start to lean in, to kiss him once more, when the front door rattles sharply from a few feet away. The handle twists back and forth, like whoever is on the other side is fully expecting it to open. Pope goes rigid beside you. Thereâs a brief pause, then the handle jiggles again, followed by a light knock.
âHey, itâs just me,â Deranâs voice calls from beyond the door. âYou guys in there?â
Youâre pulling out of Popeâs embrace in an instant, standing to open the door. âJust act casual,â you murmur low, too quiet for Deran to hear.
You unlock the knob and deadbolt with shaky hands, trying your hardest to erase any signs of unease from your face. Youâre going to talk to Deran about all of this, and soon - but not in front of Pope.
Tonight. Once the two of you are back at your place, alone.
âHey,â you greet him cheerfully when you open the door. âHowâd you get off work so early? Thought we were short staffed tonight.â Itâs only 8:30 - the bar doesnât normally close until ten oâclock on Sunday nights.
âWe were,â Deran huffs, walking past you to enter the house as you hold the door open for him. âBut we were also dead tonight, so I decided to close. Let everyone go home a little early. I was driving home and saw that your carâs still here so I thought Iâd stop by.â
Deran pauses next to the recliner, hesitating before sitting down - he glances around the room, seemingly noticing how itâs dark except for the muted under the cabinet lights in the kitchen and the TV playing in the small living room. His gaze lingers on the two half empty beer bottles on the coffee table, one directly in front of Pope and the other in front of where you had been sitting moments prior.
Deran gives an awkward clear of his throat when Pope only stares at him wordlessly. âSo, whereâs Lena?â He asks, looking around for any sign of the girl.
âAsleep,â Pope answers shortly. âShe has school in the morning.â
âRight,â Deran says with a click of his tongue, though thereâs something in his voice that makes your stomach twist.
You hover awkwardly by the recliner, not eager to reclaim your original seat next to Pope. âShe just laid down a few minutes ago,â you add. âWe had been playing Connect 4 and watching a show on Animal Planet.â You gesture vaguely to the television and the red and yellow checkers scattered across the coffee table, evidence of your post-dinner activities. âI was uh - I was just getting ready to leave, actually.â
Deranâs eyes dart back and forth between you and Pope before he responds. âAh. I see.â He pushes himself off the arms of the recliner with his palms, standing back up. âWell, I guess Iâll see you at home then.â
And whether due itâs the look on his face or the tone of his voice, you have no doubt that he knows something is off.
You nod quickly. âYeah. Yeah, Iâll see you in a few minutes.â
Deran mumbles an emotionless see ya later to Pope, not waiting for a response before heâs opening the front door and stepping back outside. When the door closes behind him, it echoes in the otherwise quiet room.
âShit,â you grumble under your breath, looking around for where you had put your shoes. âWell, if he wasnât already suspicious, he definitely fucking is now. Iâve gotta get home and try to explainââ
You donât even notice that Pope stands up and walks over to you until heâs taking your face in his hands, tilting your head to look at him.
âHe may be upset at first,â he says with a half-shrug and sympathetic look. âProbably will be. I know I donât know all of the details, but I know you love him. He loves you, too. Everything will be okay.â
You nod meekly, trying to believe his words, but your brain is spiraling with worst-case scenarios. You wonât actually believe that things will be okay until they are okay.
And you know thereâs only one way to make that happen.
đŚš× âËâšâ
Deranâs not an idiot, and he sure as hell isnât blind.
Pope may be a near decade older than him, and he may have spent a good portion of Deranâs twenties in prison, but Deran still knows his brother well.
And he knows you very well.
Well enough to know that in the three years that the two of you have been friends, heâs never seen you look at someone the way that you do Pope.
He doesnât really understand why you look at Pope the way that you do, but then again, he doesnât really understand why youâre best friends with him, either. He supposes you see the best in people, even if you could do better.
Whatever the hell is going on between you and his older brother, isnât a new and shocking revelation to him. Heâs noticed Pope staring at you on too many different occasions to count at this point, and he knows youâve always had a soft spot for Pope.
But heâs noticed a shift over the last few days. Normally, he can ignore Popeâs staring, but itâs more than that now. Itâs more than just stolen, longing looks when he thinks you arenât watching.
Because now, youâre staring back. Maybe not in the exact same creepy, intense way that Pope does, but thatâs besides the point.
He accepted that he can no longer play it off as a soft spot when he and Pope got home from their most recent job and you looked like you had seen a ghost when you realized that Pope was bleeding. The second that you noticed the red stain on Popeâs shirt, Deran was suddenly chopped liver.
Maybe he should feel relieved. If youâre going to fall for one of his brothers, at least it isnât Craig. He loves the guy to death, but he doesnât exactly have the best track record with women. Heâd just cheat on you, or give you some unheard of and incurable STD, or pull a move like he did with Renn and leave you for dead the first chance he gets.
Still. He never expected it to be Pope.
But Deran knows better than most that the heart wants it wants. He canât fault you for that. He just doesnât understand why you didnât tell him.
Heâs told you everything. Everything. Things heâs never told anyone else. You know about the family business - well, more or less. He doesnât exactly try to hide it. You know the truth of what a monster Smurf is. You were the first person he told about his plans to buy the bar youâd been working at for years - the exact place the two of you met. You know heâs gay. He trusts you implicitly, but youâve kept the fact that youâre seeing his brother from him?
He isnât angry (heâs trying not to be, anyway) but more than anything else, heâs hurt.
His best friend. His brother. And neither told him.
When you get home less than five minutes after him, heâs nursing a beer on the couch, waiting for you. He doesnât say anything at first. You enter the house, slowly, leaning against the door and not meeting his eye for a long moment before taking a deep breath in.
âThereâs something we need to talk about.â
âYeah,â Deran snorts a sarcastic laugh. âIâd say so.â
You look up. If youâre surprised by his response, you donât let it show. You purse your lips, making your way to the living room the two of you have shared for the last few years now, taking a seat on the loveseat directly across from him.
âListen,â you start, staring down at your hands in your lap. âI shouldâve told you. I know that. Iâm not gonna sit here and pretend I had some perfect reason, because I didnât. I was just scared. I didnât know what this was, or where it was going, and I didnât want you caught in the middle if it didnât work out.â You pause, your voice softening. âBut still. Iâm sorry for not telling you from the start.â
Deranâs silent for a moment, letting your words sink in. The tension in his shoulders eases the slightest bit at the sincerity in your voice.
The two of you never fight. Bicker like children sometimes, sure. Like when he doesnât rinse his dishes off before putting them in the sink or waits too long to switch the laundry over so it starts to smell musty and you have to restart the load, or when you eat his last protein bar or forget to put the trash on the curb on garbage day.
But you never fight. Youâre the one person he never has to fight with. Even now, he doesnât want to fight with you.
He nods, staring down at the amber colored glass in his hands instead of you. âHow long has this been going on?â
You let out a quiet snort of a laugh. âDepends. If youâre asking when the first time we kissed wasâŚnot even twenty-four hours ago. If youâre asking how long Iâve had feelings for him, thenâŚI donât know, really. A while.â
âNot even twenty-four â last night? As in after we got back from the job last night? You mean you guys were sucking face while I was in the shower?â
âYes,â you moan, hiding your face in your hands. âOh my god, donât call it thatââ
âI knew it.â Deran shakes his head with a humorless laugh. âI fucking knew he was acting even more off putting than usual last night.â
You spread your fingers apart, peeking out from the cracks. âHe is not off puttingââ
âHoly shit. You are in love with him.â
You groan dramatically, throwing your head back and staring up at the ceiling. Deran tries not to laugh, but he canât help it.
You sit up a little, expression completely serious now. âJust so you know, I didnâtâŚtell Pope. About you. He knows that our relationship is fake, but I only told him my reasons for agreeing to it. Not yours.â
He should feel relieved to hear that, but he doesnât. He just feels guilt - guilt that you felt you couldnât confide in him. Guilt that youâve been in this fake relationship for him all this time while harboring feelings for his brother for âa while.â Guilt that you were willing to prioritize him over your own happiness. Guilt that you and Pope wouldnât have had to sneak around at all if it werenât for him.
âWell.â He lifts the beer bottle to his lips, taking one last sip before setting it down. âGuess thereâs only one thing left to do.â
Your brows pinch together. âWhat do you mean?â
âIâm breaking up with you.â
You blink, and then your eyes go wide in surprise. âWhat? YouâreâŚbreaking up with me?â
He shrugs. âYeah. Consider yourself dumped.â
Your jaw drops. âYou canât dump me. We werenât really even together.â
He waves a hand at you in dismissal. âI think what youâre actually trying to say is thank you, Deran.â
âButââ
âJesus Christ,â he groans. âWill you just let me give you my blessing? Youâre off the hook. Weâre good. Go suck face with Pope or whatever nasty shit you two were probably doing before I showed up.â
You roll your eyes, but your expression softens. Then, you stand, walking over to where Deran sits on the couch to take the empty space beside him.
âYouâre really not mad?â You ask in a small voice.
He exhales through his nose, grabbing your hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. âNo,â he says simply. âHow could I be? I mean, Iâm not thrilled that itâs Pope, butâŚâ He shrugs. âYou committed to a fake relationship for nearly a fucking year for me. You deserve to be happy. Even if it is with my brother,â he adds, a tad more dryly.
You nod slowly, your gaze locked on where his hand still holds yours. âPeople are gonna talk, you know.â You turn your head slightly to look at him. âAbout why we broke up. About how Iâm with Pope now. Theyâll think that I left you for him, or that he stole your girl, or thatââ
âSo?â He cuts you off. âIf I hear anyone say anything about you, Iâll knock their teeth out. Pope would do worse than that.â
âItâs not me Iâm worried about,â you say gently. âI donât care what people say about me. I know the truth. I just donât want you to feel pressured toâŚexplain. You know, admit that it was a fake relationship or come out before youâre ready toâŚâ
He shakes his head, shushing you. He wraps his free arm around your shoulder. âI appreciate the concern, but Iâm a big boy. You donât need to worry about protecting me from rumors anymore. Let people think and say whatever they want. Iâll come out when Iâm ready. Not because people are being nosey assholes.â
You seem to relax a bit at his reassurance. You lean into his embrace, resting your head against his shoulder.
âAnd not because youâre doing my brother, either.â
That gets a laugh from you. The kind of laugh that lets him know that nothing has really changed between the two of you.
Deran gives your hand another squeeze before letting go. âGo on,â he mutters, nodding towards the front door. âHeâs probably pacing holes in the floor right now.â
đŚš× âËâšâ
Pope has typed and erased an embarrassing number of text messages in your chat thread since the moment that you pulled out of his driveway.
Let me know how it goes.
You can come back here for the night, if you need to. You can sleep in the bedroom and Iâll take the couch.
How pissed is he?
He doesnât send any of them. Instead, he sits on the couch, stares at his phone, and hopes that youâll text or call or magically reappear beside him.
Itâs a good thing that heâs accustomed to running off of very little sleep, because he doubts heâll be getting much at all tonight. He already knows that his mind will race with thoughts of you until he eventually collapses from exhaustion, and that itâll probably finally happen just hours before he has to take Lena to school.
Pope tries to pay attention to the documentary about killer whales playing on the screen in front of him, but he canât control how his thoughts keep drifting to you. He thinks of how badly he wishes to sleep with you curled into his chest.
Sleep. Thatâs all. You said you wanted to talk to Deran before things went any further between the two of you, and Pope doesnât mind. Heâd be content to hold you all night and nothing more. To be close to you, in any capacity, puts him at ease like nothing else. Thatâs been true since he first met you by Smurfâs pool the day after he got out of prison.
When you pull back into the driveway no more than an hour after leaving, heâs so zoned out that he doesnât even hear you until youâre knocking softly on the door.
âHey,â he greets you lowly, instantly relieved and a little taken aback by the cheeky smile on your face when he opens the door. âIs everything ohââ
But youâre stepping across the threshold and cutting him off by pressing your lips to his before he can get the question out.
He freezes for a split-second and then heâs kissing you back.
It feels familiar and new all at once. Familiar because Pope has already committed the taste and feel of you to memory in less than a full dayâs time, and new because the way youâre moving your lips with his is unrestrained in a way that all of the previous kisses have not been. The truth of you and him is out there, now. Thereâs no second-guessing, no weight on your shoulders, no reason to hesitate, and he can feel the difference.
You urge him backwards with your hands planted on his waist. Without ever breaking the kiss, he pushes the door closed behind you and takes your face in his hands. You guide him backwards until his legs make contact with the couch and gently push him down. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands ghosting down your back as you settle over his thighs.
âYeah,â you whisper against his lips, breathless as you caress his face in your hands. âEverythingâs more than okay.â
âYou sure?â He murmurs, looking up at you in the dim blue light of the television. You nod, your nose brushing against his and corners of your lips perking into a soft smile. âWhat did Deran say?â
âHeâs thoroughly repulsed by the thought of us kissing,â you snort. A laugh rumbles deep in Popeâs chest. Your hands drop to his chest, where you smooth the fabric of his button-up before your fingers find the top button. âSo we should probably do a lot of that in front of him. Just maybe not right away,â you hum, smirking.
You pop the button, and then move onto the next, and then the next, until each one is undone and youâre pushing the fabric off his shoulders and down his arms.
âHe didnât love the way that he found out,â you answer, more serious now. âBut he understands. Just wants me to be happy. And you make me happy.â
His entire body goes warm at the sentiment. He pulls you flush against his chest, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to tease the skin of your back. He holds you, gazes up at you, like youâre worth more than gold to him.
And you are. You, and the little girl asleep in the other room, who will be tickled to wake up and learn that youâre still here. That you arenât going anywhere, if Pope has any say in it.
He smiles at the thought before capturing your lips in his once more.
đŚš× âËâšâ
{ Epilogue ~ 2 years later }
âThis tie is too tight. Itâs cutting off the blood flow to my brain.â
âOh, come here,â you groan playfully. Pope leans in, letting you adjust the green tie that matches your dress (and complements his eyes) perfectly.
âYou didnât have to wear this, you know.â You give the length of the tie a gentle tug after loosening it. âThe dress code is semi-formal. You could have gotten away with just a button-up.â
âI know,â he grumbles. âBut I wanted to match you and Lena at least a little bit. And I figured I should probably get used to wearing one before our wedding.â
The response warms you as much as the Southern California summer sun.
A beachfront wedding. Small and intimate, with a total guest count of less than thirty peopleâŚyou canât think of anything more perfectly Deran and Adrian.
âYou donât have to wear one at our wedding either,â you snort, raising an arm to play with the curls at the base of his skull in the way that he likes. âIf you donât want to.â
He grabs your other hand in his, glancing down at the ring that glimmers in the midday sun. Heâd put it on your finger only a few months ago, and in the general chaos of life - Lenaâs spring soccer season and ballet recital, helping Deran plan his wedding, you and Pope closing on your new house and getting settled in - the two of you havenât had much time to begin planning your own special day yet.
âThought you said it looks good on me,â he hums low, unserious.
âOh, it does,â you laugh. âVery much so. But I care that youâre comfortable at our wedding. Youâd look good in anything.â
Soft instrumental music begins to pour from speakers at the edges of the makeshift ceremony setup and everyone goes quiet, turning to look down the aisle. Lena appears moments later, wearing a frilly flower girl dress that matches yours in color. She smiles nervously the entire time she walks down the aisle, small wicker basket in hand. Every few steps, she grabs a handful of pink and white petals, scattering them across the sandy path. As soon as she reaches the end of the aisle, she runs to where you and Pope sit in the front row and climbs onto his lap.
And then Deran and Adrian appear. Hand in hand, they walk down the aisle together until they come to where Craig - who became legally ordained in the state of California solely for this occasion - stands beneath the driftwood arch you helped decorate with flowers earlier.
They take turns exchanging handwritten vows. They cry, you cry, even Craig gets misty-eyed. And then theyâre pronounced husbands in what you can only think to describe as the most endearingly Craig way possible, and everyone on the beach cheers.
Afterwards, everyone helps themselves to unlimited beer and the taco bar set up back at the bar, which Deran has closed to the public for the day. Youâd done what you could to spruce the place up - miniature floral arrangements and tea lights candles on the tables - but itâs still a bar. Deranâs bar, broken surfboards and all.
Low music fills the room as guests mingle and drink into the evening. Pope surprises you when he offers you his hand and guides you to the very small, cramped space carved out in the middle of the room for a makeshift dance floor.
Itâs more swaying than slow dancing, but you enjoy it all the same.
âI know you said that I donât have to wear a tie to our wedding,â Pope murmurs low, âbut what about dancing? Do we have to dance in front of everyone at our wedding?â
âWeâre dancing in front of everyone right now,â you snort. âWhatâs the difference?â
He glances around the room. âYeah, but no one is paying any attention to us right now. Everyone is too drunk and paying attention to Deran and Adrian. At our wedding, all eyes will be on us.â
âAs they should be,â you hum. You bring a hand to the side of his face, steering his gaze back to you. âYes, weâre going to dance at our wedding. But Iâll let you pick the song.â
He smirks, his grip on your waist tightening. âI guess I should take some lessons, then.â
The clinking of silverware against glass draws everyoneâs attention to where Deran and Adrian stand side by side. You and Pope pause your swaying as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side.
âAlright,â Deran says, clearing his throat. âIâm supposed to say some heartfelt shit now, so bear with me.â Adrian laughs beside him, bumping their shoulders together.
âTwo years ago, if someone had told me that I would be standing here today, I wouldnât have believed them. I probably would have tried to fight them.â That earns a few laughs, but you know better than anyone that he isnât joking.
âIâm sure most of you know that I havenât always been the easiest person to deal with,â he continues. âBut Adrianââ Deran glances at his now husband with a kind of softness that he reserves only for him, ââAdrian never gave up on me. He stuck around when a lot of people wouldâve dipped. And I canât tell you all how glad I am for that.â
Then, his eyes find you. âAnd speaking of people who stick aroundâŚthis one right here.â He points to you with his beer bottle. You suddenly feel every eye in the building on you. Pope gives your arm a comforting squeeze. âBest girlfriend I ever had.â
The small crowd laughs, and you cover your face with your hands, but he presses on. âIâm serious. She was the first person to ever tell me that itâs okay to be who I am. That thereâs nothing wrong with me. And thereâs no way that I would have gotten to this point without her. And nowâŚI get a front row seat to watch her marry my brother.â
By the time he finishes, youâve dropped your hands from your face. Now, youâre actively blinking back happy tears. You canât find the words, so you hold up your hands to form a small heart and hope the simple gesture is worth a thousand words.
Later, after the crowd has thinned and the sun is setting, you and Pope head back down to the beach with a handful of others to gather the remaining chairs and decorations. Lena is supposed to be helping, but she has wandered to the shoreline, happily dipping her toes in the water.
You both pause at the same moment to watch her - her feet bare, her hair and flower girl dress both blowing in the slight breeze. You can only hope that feels as at peace as she looks right now.
âSeeing Deran and Adrian todayâŚâ Pope starts, then trails off like heâs searching for the right words.
You turn towards him. âWhat about it?â You ask gently.
Heâs still staring out towards Lena. âMakes me excited for ours.â
âYeah?â You hum. âEven if I make you slow dance in front of everyone?â
âYeah.â He meets your eye, his normal intensity fully present. âWhenever youâre ready. Doesnât matter when or where. I just want that with you.â
Deranâs toast echoes in your mind. Two years ago, if someone had told me that I would be standing here today, I wouldnât have believed them.
The words could have been taken from your own mouth. After everything the two of you have been through as individuals, and everything youâve been through together, youâre marrying the love of your life and raising a beautiful little girl together. Youâve made the most of a tragic situation; turned it into something safe and secure for her - a forever home for the three of you. Maybe more, someday. You canât help but picture Pope with a tiny baby all his own, soft curls and hazel eyes.
Only time will tell. And you have all the time in the world, now.
đŚš× âËâšâ
and thatâs how the show endedâŚ.right?? RIGHT???
thank you so much if you read all 18.7k+ words of this. this fic is my baby. i worked on it for well over a month, and i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.
Another part!!! Yay!! This started out as a wee standalone just so I could get the idea out of my head, and now apparently it's turning into a full blown series lol. Thanks so much everyone for the love on this. It means a lot to me â¤ď¸
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: angst. underaged drinking (I'm not american so not really, to me). groping. violence.
⎠â Ë。𦹠â・°âŠ
Morning came quietly.
Not all at once, but in thin, pale lines slipping through the blinds, stretching across Andrewâs muscled back where it rose and fell beside you.
You were already awake. Had been for a while. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, blinking slowly as the weight of him pressed warm and heavy against your side. His arm was still draped loosely over your waist, face tucked into the space beneath your jaw. His breathing even. Soft. Like this, he almost looked like someone who was exactly where he wanted to be.
For a singular moment, you let yourself pretend. That this meant something. That he stayed. That he chose you in the daylight the same way he reached for you in the dark.
His breathing shifted. It was small, barely there, but you felt it â the exact second he came back to himself. The quiet recalculation. The tension settling back into his body like it never left.Â
You didnât move. Didnât speak. Just stared at the ceiling like it might give you an answer. His arm tightened briefly around your waist before slipping away. Cold air rushing in where his warmth had been. He sat up at the edge of the bed. You turned towards the wall. A pause.
âYou okay?â
Your throat tightened. His tone was the same as always, like last night didnât change anything.Â
âYeah.â Voice sounding far away even to your own ears.
For a second you thought he might say something else. Acknowledge what happened. Instead, âYou hungry?âÂ
The question sat wrong. Too normal, too easy. Finger curling tighter into the sheets, you closed your eyes, âNo.âÂ
You could feel his eyes on you. The weight of it steady against your back. Your skin still exposed above the blanket lying at your waist.
Then he stood. The quiet rustle of clothes as he dressed. The soft creak of the floor as he walked to the door. Back to routine, like every other morning. Like this was no different from the nights he slept here and left before the sun came up. You almost said something. Almost asked him to stay. Instead, you pulled the blanket up over your shoulder.
The door opened. Then stopped. Your breath caught as he whispered, âHey.âÂ
You didnât turn right away. Just opened your eyes, staring at the wall for a second before looking over your shoulder. He stood there with his back to you, head turned slightly, like he hadnât meant to stop but couldnât quite leave yet.
Your heartrate picked up. âYeah?â
âYou â âÂ
He cut himself off. Your heart thundered against your chest. Waiting. But whatever it was, he didnât say it. His jaw clenched like heâd changed his mind before the words could even form.
âIâll see you later.â And then he was gone.
~~~
Voices carried down the hallway before you even reached the kitchen. Loud laughter from Craig at something Deran had said. You paused in the hallway for a second, damp hair clinging to the back of your neck, and skin still stinging from the shower. Youâd scrubbed harder than you needed to, like it might fix something. It didnât.
You pushed into the kitchen anyway. The TV showing Saturday morning cartoons as Deran and Craig wrestled on the couch, arguing over something that didnât matter. A small smile tugged at your mouth. Smurf stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand, cigarette balanced between the fingers of the other.Â
No one looked at you twice.  Just another normal day.
âMorning,â Julia appeared at your side. Hair a mess, eyes bright, energy spilling out of her like sheâd been awake for hours. âYou disappeared last night,â grabbing your wrist, she pulled you further into the kitchen. âWhereâd you go?â
You shrugged, keeping your voice light, âWasnât feeling it so I read in my room for a while.â
She squinted at you, not buying it, but not pushing it either. âWhatever,â she said after a second, waving it off. Then just as quickly, her grin came back.  âYouâre coming out tonight.â
You blinked, âWhat?â
âBeach party down by the pier,â she said like it was obvious. âEveryoneâs gonna be there.â
Your stomach tightened instinctively. âI donât know, JulesâŚâ
âYou do,â she cut in, grinning like a cat. âBecause Iâve already told people youâd be there.â
You let out a small laugh. Half annoyed, half humoured. âThatâs not how that works.âÂ
âIt is tonight,â she shot back easily, smile plastered across her face. âTy Dawsonâs gonna be there.â
You frowned, âWho?â
She let out a dramatic sigh and stared at you like youâd said something embarrassing. âAre you serious?â You just stared right back at her.Â
âSurfer. Older. Hot,â she said, ticking it off like a checklist on her fingers. âDrives that stupid, beat up campervan that looks like it should have died ten years ago.â
âOh,â you said like that cleared anything up. âOkayâŚâ
Juliaâs smile turned sharp, âHe saw at the beach a few weeks ago. Asked about you.â She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. âHe said you were ââ she dragged it out, clearly enjoying this, âsuperrrr sexy.â
You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. âJuliaâŚâ you sighed.
âYouâre going,â she cut in. âAnd youâre not wearingâŚthatâ she gestured to your oversized t shirt and jeans, screwing her face up.
You didnât want to go. Didnât want the noise, the people, the way everything felt too close. But staying didnât sound any better. Anything was better than sitting alone with your thoughts.
ââŚFine,â you said finally.Â
Julia lit up instantly. âYes,â she grabbed your hand, pulling you towards her room. âWeâre finding you something slutty.â
You snorted despite yourself. âAbsolutely not.â
âAbsolutely YES!â she shot back. âSomething tiny and tight!â
~~~
Her room was already a mess. Drawers open, clothes everywhere.
âYouâre not going out looking like that,â Julia said with a disgusted look on her face as she dug through a drawer.
âLooking like what?â you asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She didnât answer right away, just pulled out a top, squinted at it, then tossed it onto the bed with the others. âLike youâre trying to disappear.â
The words hit you like a brick. You didnât respond.
âHere,â she said suddenly, throwing something at you before you could argue. âTry that.â
You looked down. A fitted cropped tank. White. Paired with the tiniest pair of denim shorts youâd ever seen.
You raised your eyebrows. âYouâre joking.â
âIâm not.â
âThis is barely clothing.â
âItâs enough,â she said, already pushing you towards the bathroom. âGo.â
You hesitated for a second, grip tightening around the fabric. Your mind flickered back to a hand on your waist. The weight of him on top of you. The way heâd almost said something this morning. You shook your head and padded into the bathroom. You told yourself you needed this. Need the attention from someone else. You wanted to be seen.
You stepped into the bathroom.
~~~
The beach was already alive by the time you got there.
Music thumped across the sand, bass so heavy you could feel it in your chest. Bonfires burned in uneven circles, smoke drifting into the night air, mixing with salt and beer and something sweet you couldnât quite place. People moved everywhere â laughing, shouting, grinding, kissing.
Julia disappeared almost immediately. Of course she did.
âDrink,â Baz said, suddenly there, shoving a red cup into your hand before you could even get your bearings.
You blinked at it. âWhat is this?â
âDonât ask questions,â he grinned.Â
You gave a shy smile back, then took a sip. Immediate regret. You coughed, turning your head slightly as it burned its way down, threatening to come back up. âJesus! What is that?â
Baz just laughed. âGood, right?â
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, shaking your head. âYouâre trying to kill me.â
âRelax,â Baz said. âThe second will go down easier.â
It didnât. But you forced yourself to swallow it anyway.
By the third, the world felt softer around the edges. By the fourth, you stopped caring.
The music felt louder. Warmer. Like it was pulling you in instead of pressing against you. Your body moved easier, like something inside you had finally unclenched.
Julia found you again, grabbing your hands and dragging you closer to the speakers. âYes,â she laughed, spinning you once. âThere she is.â
You laughed too. Really laughed this time, letting her pull you into the crowd. And for a while, it worked. You didnât think about him. Didnât think about the morning. About the almost-words. About the way he left. You just moved.
~~~
âThatâs her?â
The voice came from somewhere to your right. You turned, slower than you meant to. A guy stood there â tall, tanned, hair messy like heâd just come out of the ocean. There was something off about his smile, like he was a little too sure of himself.
Julia leaned into your shoulder slightly. âTold you,â she said under her breath.
âTy,â he said, stepping closer like he already knew you wouldnât step back. âIâve been looking for you.â
You let out a small, breathy laugh. âHave you?â
âYeah,â he said, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle. âWas beginning to think Julia hiding you from me.â
Julia snorted. âYouâre welcome.â
You shouldâve pulled away. You didnât. The alcohol sat warm in your chest, dulling the sharp edges of instinct. Making everything feel⌠easier. Lighter.
âDance with me,â Ty said, already reaching for your hand.
You hesitated. Just for a second. Then you let him pull you in. You knew it wasnât what you wanted. But it wasnât Andrew. And right now, that was enough.
His hands settled at your hips quickly as he pulled your back to his front. It was too familiar for someone youâd just met, but you were too drunk to notice. He ground his hips into yours to the sound of the music. Stumbling slightly, you laughed and grabbed his arm to steady yourself.Â
âThatâs it,â he said, lips on the shell of your ear. âRelax.â
His lips dropped to your neck, leaving open mouth kisses. Your eyes shot open, thinking back to Popeâs lips on your neck the night before. On instinct, you looked across the beach and saw him standing there. Staring at you. Fingers twitching at his side as if he was holding himself back.
Pulling yourself away, you spun around so you couldnât see him anymore. Pushing Andrew out of your head, you looked at Ty. He raked his eyes over your body and bit his lip.
âYour tits look amazing in that,â he said moving forward to grab you again. He leaned in to kiss you, and you let him. Even though you didnât really want to. He forced his tongue into your mouth, and you could feel yourself start to gag at the taste of him. You almost pulled away. You didnât. You didnât know why.
His hand slid down your side until he was cupping your ass. You wretched yourself away from him but he pulled you back by the forearm.
âNo,â you slurred when his hand dropped low again.
âCome on, baby. Weâre just having fun,â he said before his lips found yours again. You let him touch you this time. The alcohol dulling your senses.
Across the beach, Andrew watched. Told himself it didnât matter. You werenât his. Then Tyâs hand slid lower and stayed there. Something snapped in him.
You barely registered the shift at first. Just the sudden absence of Ty against you. Then â shouting. The music didnât stop but everything around you blurred. You could hear Baz yelling Popeâs name and felt Julia pull you towards her. You turned just in time to see Andrewâs fist connect. It was brutal. Tyâs head snapped sideways as he hit the ground. Andrew didnât stop.Â
Another punch. And another. No hesitation. No restraint.
Your heart dropped. Baz was grabbing at Andrew, trying to pull him back. Andrew shoved Baz off him. Like he couldnât see past his own rage.
âANDREW,â you screamed, clutching the back of his shirt.
At the sound of your voice, he began to falter. Fists slowing down. Breathing ragged.
âAndrew, please,â you sobbed and he pulled back. Let you heave him off. Ty groaned on the ground, blood running from his nose and lips, staining the sand below. You dragged Andrew back, away from everyone.
âWhat the FUCK is wrong with you?!â
Your voice came out louder than you meant and Andrew turned towards you immediately. Whatever was left of his anger faded the second he saw you.
âYou were ââ he started.
âI was what?â you cut in, stepping closer, unsteady but furious. âDancing?â
âHe had his hands all over you.â
âSo?â
The word hit harder than anything else. Andrew blinked, like he hadnât expected that.
âSo?â he repeated, disbelief bleeding through.
You laughed, but there was no humour in it. âYou donât get to do that.â
âDo what?â he asked, small frown forming on his face.
âThis,â you gestured wildly between him and the mess behind him. âAct like you have some kind of claim.â
His jaw tightened. âI donâtââ
âYou donât,â you cut in again, sharper now. âYou donât get to show up, lose your mind, and act like Iâm yours when you canât even ââ
You stopped yourself. Too late. The words hung there anyway. Andrewâs expression softened.
âCanât even what?â he asked, quieter now.Â
Your throat tightened.
You shook your head once, like you could undo it. âNothing.â
âSay it.â
You let out a broken laugh. âYou donât want me.â
That landed. You could see it in the way he flinched like youâd struck him. But you were already past the point of stopping.
âYou donât stay ââ your voice broke, âyou never stay. You donât get to care now.â
Silence stretched between you. Heavy. Thick. Andrew stared at you like he didnât have an answer. Like maybe there wasnât one. You swallowed hard, stepping back slightly as the world tilted again.
âDonât do that again,â you said, quieter now. âDonât act like I belong to you.â
Then you turned before he could say anything. Before he could fix it or make it worse.
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