pope cody who drops you at work and picks you up. he gets you there five minutes early. he's already in the parking lot before your shift ends. he's ready to hear all about your day. his fingers tap at the wheel, eager to see you.
pope cody who wakes up early to cook you breakfast. your plate has a protein, fiber, carb, and a green. he's always trying some new recipe. you'll come home and he's prepping to make pot roast. from scratch. playing butcher in your kitchen.
pope cody who loves seeing you interact with kids. his heart swells. he carefully watches you braid lena's hair, and send her off to school. he wants to make you the mother of his kids desperately. he fucks you with the head of his cock presses against you cervix. he cums inside of you every time.
pope cody who only allows you to touch him. he's able to talk to you without words. face alone can tell you all you need to know. his body clings to yours. he comes home to you after a job, head in your stomach. your hands find their way to his hair. he loves your touch. anyone else comes near him, he stiffens up.
pope cody who's your fucking guard dog. he makes sure you're on the inside of the sidewalk. he keeps one hand on your back at all times. he loves feeling protective over you. you're his girl.
pope cody spoils you at all times. he gets you bags, jewelry a plenty. he adorns you with everything you want and more.
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a/n: just a lil blurb of the reader loving that stache 🫦
this is the fifteenth kiss you’d planted on michael’s face and landed right on that little bit of peach fuzz above his lip. you couldn’t help yourself. his tiny mustache made him fine….cute wasn’t even the right word for it.
you were straddling his lap, your hands cupping his face making sure he stayed put. michael’s hands gripped the sides of your thighs as he looked up at you.
“b-baby, please…” he laughed, smiling so hard his cheeks were starting to hurt. he didn’t think you’d like it this much. “does it really make a difference…?” his voice came out soft, almost shy. you nodded immediately.
“m’so serious, it does.” you bit your lip. “makes you look a lil’ grown.” a laugh slipped out of him, he wanted to cover his face, but his hands were full. “grown?” he repeated.
“mmmhm.” you leaned in, pressing another quick kiss right against his mustache. “got me over here admirin you...” his hands squeezed your thighs a bit out of pure nervousness, and he tried to look away, but your hands kept him in place.
“ya’ know…” a devilish smirk spread across your face. “i could bleach that without any products.”
“bleach?” he asked, blinking his doe eyes in confusion.
bringing michael to the cookout (based on @prettyangeliczz’s post!)
the southern heat hit you the second you stepped off the plane, but it wasn't until you were pulling up the gravel driveway of your childhood home that your stomach really started to do flips. for the past two years, you’d been living a double life. in la, you were a corporate professional with a chic apartment and a solid routine. but you were also the girlfriend of the biggest star on the planet.
when you’d first told michael about your family’s annual juneteenth cookout, you hadn’t expected him to get so wide-eyed and excited. he’d never celebrated the holiday before, and the sheer genuine curiosity in his voice made it impossible not to invite him. but trying to warn your parents over the phone had been a disaster.
“girl, bring your lil boyfriend! nobody cares! you’re grown,” your mama had scoffed, completely brushing off your frantic hints. your daddy hadn't been any better, insisting that anyone was welcome at his table.
"i'm so sorry in advance," you murmured for the tenth time, turning in the passenger seat to look at michael. "my cousins have no boundaries, mikey. if uncle troy asks you for a loan, you tell him no."
michael just offered you that warm, soft smile, as he reached over to squeeze your hand. "it's okay, baby. i promise you i'll be fine."
taking a deep breath, you finally got out of the car. you led him through the front door, the screen door letting out that familiar creek. inside, the house smelled like vanilla and sweet tea. your grandma was parked in her usual spot in the living room, completely locked into her soap operas. she didn't even look up from the tv screen, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction saying her quick hi’s and hellos.
the real action was out back.
through the large windows, you could hear the muffled thumping of a bassline. your jaw nearly dropped when you realized the speakers were blasting "rock with you." out on the patio, your aunts and cousins were dancing, red solo cups in hand. michael’s eyes lit up, a soft chuckle vibrating in his chest at the sight.
bracing yourself, you pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the grass, still holding michael’s hand tightly.
"is that my baby?" your dad shouted over the music. he was standing by the massive black smoker grill, spatula in one hand, wearing a faded apron.
"hi daddy!" you called out, letting go of michael for just a second to wrap your arms around your dad's neck, breathing in the comforting scent of charcoal and hickory smoke.
as you pulled back, the rest of the family started wandering over, drinks in hand, ready to inspect the new boyfriend. "daddy, everyone... this is my boyfriend, michael," you said, stepping back to stand beside him.
"hi everybody, how's it going?" michael greeted, his voice soft and polite as he offered a gentle wave.
at first, the reaction was standard. your aunts swooped in for hugs, asking how the flight was, completely running on auto-pilot southern hospitality. aunt kaye didn't even look at his face, just patted his arm. "you look a little skinny, baby, make sure you get you something to eat before you leave here —"
she stopped. the gears started turning. the music seemed to fade into the background as silence dropped over the yard.
"wait!" your cousin marquise shouted, freezing mid-sip in his lawn chair by the edge of the pool. his eyes went completely wide, and he choked on his capri sun, coughing violently. "nigga is that michael jackson?" he said shaking your older brother awake.
every single head snapped back toward michael. a collective gasp echoed across the lawn. you let out an internal groan, burying your face slightly against michael's shoulder.
"no fuckin way," someone whispered.
"you're joking."
before anyone could even process it, your mama rushed past everyone, sprinting straight into the house. a minute later, she came flying back out the back door, clutching a vinyl copy of off the wall. she marched right up to michael, holding the album cover directly next to his actual face, her eyes wider than saucers.
she looked at the album. she looked at michael. she looked back at the album.
her mouth dropped completely open. she smacked a hand right onto your chest, glaring at you with pure shock. she shouted your full name, her voice booming over the yard. "and you didn't think to tell me?! i cleaned this house in a raggedy t-shirt and no wig, and you brought michael jackson into my house?!"
"i literally tried to!" you protested, throwing your hands up.
"you said he was in music! i thought you meant on the street or something!" she yelled, before immediately turning back to michael with a bright, overly sweet smile, completely changing her tone. "hello, michael, baby, welcome to our home."
michael couldn't contain his amusement. he threw his head back, laughing softly at the family dynamic, before naturally sliding his large hand around your waist, pulling you close to his side.
once the initial shock wore off, the southern hospitality kicked into overdrive. your mama completely took over, dragging michael toward the patio tables. she practically forced plate after plate onto him, insisting he try her homemade peach cobbler and the greens.
"now, michael, i know you're famous, but if you don't eat at least two plates, my feelings will be deeply hurt," she warned, loading up his plate with enough starch to feed a small village. michael, always polite, took small bites and practically melted, praising her cooking up to the heavens, which only made her beam with pride.
out on the grass, your little cousins—none of them more two apples tall—were practically vibrating with excitement. they kept tugging on michael’s shirt, begging him to show them how to moonwalk. despite his usual shyness, michael didn't mind one bit. he kicked off his loafers and spent a good half hour giggling, patiently breaking down the footsteps on the concrete patio while the kids stumbled around like newborn deer trying to copy him.
your dad eventually pulled michael over to the grill. while showing him the proper way to flip a slab of ribs, your dad launched into a massive, animated rant. "see, michael, the media won't tell you this, but the government puts chemicals in the tap water to keep us compliant. and don't get me started on the moon landing. you know about the industry, you see the truth."
michael just stood there holding a paper plate, nodding along with intense concentration, looking genuinely fascinated by your dad's wildest local conspiracy theories. you weren’t sure you’d ever seen michael eat a rib, like, ever…
across the yard, you were completely cornered. your aunts and younger cousins had bombarded you against the fence, whispering furiously.
"what is it like dating him?"
"how do you even handle that lifestyle?"
"is his hair soft? it looks soft."
you just looked across the yard, watching michael patiently listen to your dad while your little brother tried to high-five him. a soft, tender smile tugged at your lips. "when we're together, it's none of that flashy 'king of pop' mess," you told them softly. "he's just my michael."
by the time the sun went down, casting a deep orange and purple glow over the southern sky, it was time for michael to leave. you were staying for a few more days, but he had to get back to cali.
out by the driveway, the cicadas were buzzing loudly in the trees. bill was standing discreetly by the running car, waiting to take michael back to the airport. uncle troy was currently trying to pitch bill a pyramid scheme by the front fender.
"everyone loved you. thank you for coming, mikey," you said, wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, looking up into his dark eyes.
"you don't have to thank me, baby. i had a wonderful time," he murmured, his hands finding your waist, drawing you into his space. a sweet smile broke across his face. "everyone's so funny."
"no, everyone's so embarrassing," you laughed, shaking your head.
"i love you, applehead. call me when you land," you whispered, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a warm kiss to his lips.
"bye, michael jackson!“ your little brother's voice suddenly shattered the quiet moment, echoing from the front window of the house. a split second later, you heard a muffled smack as your mama tapped the back of his head.
"boy, shut up!"
the two of you broke the kiss, turning your heads toward the house. sure enough, the entire family—including your grandma, who had finally abandoned her soaps—was bunched up against the living room window, their faces pressed so hard against the glass their noses were flattened, trying to spy on the goodbye.
the second they realized they'd been caught, there was a frantic scramble of shadows as they all tried to dive out of sight, someone knocking over a lamp in the process.
you couldn't help but giggle, hiding your face into michael's chest as his soft laughter rumbled against your cheek.
"give them my goodbyes, and thank your parents for me," michael murmured, leaning down to plant one last, lingering kiss on your lips before finally turning to get into the back of the car.
I’m legit so tired of bitches complaining about black!reader. Tfym all black!reader does is party, smoke, and strip? So many fics of black!reader being a scholar, a bimbo, ex-wife, wifey, wifey to girlfriend, girlfriend to ex girlfriend, tutor, needing a tutor, a baker- i mean the list goes on AND THESE ARE ALL FICS THAT HAVE RECENTLY BEEN RELEASED! Mind you these types of fics have also been released on black!reader tumblr for YEARS! I’ve been on this account for a few years now and black!reader is never just some random ignorant, ass shaking bitch. Even when shaking ass, all of these girlies put in so much work to give her personality, a backstory, and emotions. Not only have I seen one black fic writer write a range of black!reader, I’ve seen MULTIPLE black writers on here write a range of black!reader. It’s not just a matter of you not finding the right account, it’s a matter of you just ignoring the damn fics and not looking for them. DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE FUCKING SINNERS FICS BECAUSE HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT BLACK WRITERS HAVE DONE FOR BLACK!READER WITH SMOKE AND STACK?! Yea stop playing these girlies like that aint put hella time, energy, and thought into these fucking works that they do FOR FREE! Even if they want to only write black!reader as “ghetto” and as someone who shakes ass THEY HAVE EVERY FUCKING RIGHT TO DO WHAT THEY FUCK THEY WANT! If you want something different WRITE IT YOUR FUCKING SELF! Everyone does this shit for FREE and for the damn love of the game. Black women can’t even create in peace without random bitches getting on their ass? Can Black women please just be left the fuck alone ESPECIALLY by their OWN FUCKING PEOPLE?! Damn yall pmo.
To every Black fic writer out there that’s creating for us to enjoy, please continue unapologetically. Please let black!reader shake ass, get degrees, get married, have kids, get divorced. I’ve seen too many black writers leave this platform and deal with constant harassment and negativity. I love you and all of us who are enjoying yout content loves you too!
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pairings : p1harmony x fem!reader (separate)
synopsis : reactions about what happens when p1harmony members call their girlfriend clingy.
warnings : crying, yelling, mean!p1h, angst, kissing, some things are set differently (dorm spaces, studio, etc.), humilation, lmk if i missed anything NOT EDITED.
a/n : guys i'm thinking of stanning cortis... (martin has caught my eye)
word count : 6k
back to library .
keeho - 기호
the dorm was loud the way it always was when all six boys were crammed into one room. jiung and jongseob were locked into a video game battle on the tv, their voices overlapping in sharp bursts of trash talk. intak sat cross-legged on the floor with a bag of chips, narrating the chaos like he was some kind of sports commentator. theo hummed under his breath while scrolling tiktok, and soul sat nearby flipping through a notebook.
you were curled against keeho on the couch, half leaning into his side, chin tucked against his shoulder as you watched the game unfold. it wasn’t unusual—in fact, it was your favorite spot, pressed against him while the others did their thing.
but tonight, keeho wasn’t really leaning back into you.
you didn’t notice at first. you laughed when jongseob shouted in victory, you clapped when jiung fumbled his controller, & you shifted closer when the blanket slipped from keeho’s lap. your hand found his sleeve, tugging gently as you whispered, “look, seob’s actually winning this round.”
keeho stiffened. he gave a small, almost invisible shrug like he was trying to shake your hand off. your brows pinched, but you didn’t move. instead, you tucked yourself closer, smiling. “you’re too quiet. what’s going on in that head of yours?”
that was when it happened.
keeho’s sigh was audible, sharp enough that the others glanced over. he pulled back slightly and said, without lowering his voice:
“god, you’re so clingy sometimes.”
the words landed like a slap.
the room went silent. even jongseob’s character died without him noticing, the announcer blaring on screen. you froze, heat rushing to your face so fast it made your ears ring. your hand fell away from keeho’s sleeve as if you’d been burned.
theo was the first to clear his throat. “…yikes.” intak blinked wide-eyed. “uh, hyung…” jongseob shot a glare keeho’s way, muttering, “not cool.”
soul didn’t say anything, but his pencil stopped mid-line. he was staring. jiung frowned, controller dropping into his lap. “dude, seriously? you didn’t have to say it like that.”
you swallowed, forcing a weak laugh that cracked on the edges. “wow. okay. that’s… noted.” you pushed yourself up from the couch, arms wrapping around yourself. you didn’t wait for a response. you slipped past the boys, trying to hold yourself together until you were safely behind a closed door. the sting hit then—humiliation, sharp and hot. not just because keeho had said it, but because he’d said it in front of everyone.
back in the living room, tension hung heavy.
keeho stared at the empty space you’d left, guilt slowly dawning across his face. “…i didn’t-” “bro,” intak cut in, still munching chips but his tone unusually serious, “you can’t say that to y/n. especially not in front of all of us.”
jiung shook his head, brows furrowed. “yeah, that was rough. you embarrassed her man.” theo leaned back, folding his arms. “more than rough. she looked humiliated.” keeho opened his mouth, closed it. he dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “i didn’t mean it like that.”
“doesn’t matter how you meant it,” jongseob muttered. “it’s how it sounded.” even soul piped up, voice quiet but cutting; “she looked like she wanted to disappear.”
keeho’s chest twisted. he knew. he’d seen it in your eyes the second the word left his mouth—that sting, that crumple he’d caused. and now all five of his members were staring at him like he was the villain.
because he was.
“shit,” he muttered, standing abruptly. “i need to fix this.”
you were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, when a soft knock sounded.
“baby?” keeho’s voice, muffled but gentle. you swiped at your eyes quickly, though the redness would give you away. “…busy.”
another pause.
“can i come in?”
“no.”
a beat of silence. then, “please. i messed up. i need to talk to you.”
your chest ached, torn between wanting to slam the door shut forever and the part of you that still craved him, even when he’d hurt you. finally, you exhaled, shaky. “fine.” the door opened slowly, revealing keeho’s guilty face. he stepped in and shut it behind him, leaning back against the wood as if bracing himself.
you didn’t look at him.
keeho crouched in front of you, voice quiet. “i’m sorry.” you pressed your lips together. “in front of everyone, keeho? really?” he winced. “i know. i know. it was the worst way i could’ve handled it.”
“you think?” the bitterness slipped out before you could stop it. tears threatened again, but you forced them down. “you embarrassed me. like i was some annoying… leech or something.” keeho’s face crumpled. “no, no, baby. that’s not what i think. that’s not what i meant at all.”
“then what did you mean?” your voice cracked. “because you looked pretty serious when you said it.”
he dropped his gaze, ashamed. “i was tired. distracted. you were pulling at me and instead of just saying i needed a second, i said… that. and it came out so wrong.” you let out a shaky laugh, humorless. “clingy. that’s what you think of me?”
“i don’t,” he said firmly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “i think you’re loving. i think you make me feel safe and wanted. i think you’re the best part of my day. and i took all of that for granted when i opened my stupid mouth.” something in his tone made your chest wobble. but the sting was still raw.
“you made me feel small,” you whispered.
keeho’s breath hitched. he reached for your hand—slowly, carefully—and when you didn’t pull away, he held it tight.
“i’m so sorry i hurt you. i would never want to make you feel like that. you’re not too much. you’re never too much. if anything, i don’t deserve how much love you give me.”
your throat closed, eyes burning again, but this time from the sincerity in his voice.
keeho shuffled closer, resting his forehead against your knee. “please forgive me. i’ll apologize a thousand more times if that’s what it takes. i love the way you cling to me. i love that you even want to. for a moment, the bathroom was silent except for your uneven breaths. then, finally, you whispered, “…promise?”
he looked up at you, eyes shining. “promise.”
something loosened inside you. you sighed, shoulders slumping as the tension drained. “you’re such an idiot sometimes.” a weak laugh escaped him. “the biggest idiot.”
you slid off the tub edge, into his arms. he wrapped you up immediately, hugging you so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse your pieces back together. “i’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair again and again, like a mantra.
this time, you let yourself believe him.
when you both finally re-emerged, the boys were still sprawled in the living room, pretending not to have been eavesdropping. theo raised a brow when he saw your swollen eyes and keeho’s sheepish expression. “everything good now?”
keeho squeezed your hand, answering, “better than good. but i owe all of you an apology too.”
they blinked.
“i embarrassed her in front of you guys,” keeho said firmly, “and that wasn’t fair. it was disrespectful to her, and it put you in a weird spot too. so… i’m sorry.”
intak nodded slowly. “that’s more like it.” jongseob smirked. “took you long enough.” jiung gave you a gentle smile. “we’ve got your back. especially when our idiot leader fucked up with you.”
you felt warmth flood your chest, gratitude swelling as the boys went back to their usual banter, tension easing away. keeho tugged you back down beside him on the couch, this time wrapping his arm snugly around your waist without hesitation. he whispered just for you, “see? not letting you go ever again.”
you smiled faintly, leaning into him despite the sting that still lingered. because you knew—this time, he meant it.
˙⋆✮
theo - 테오
the clock on the studio wall glowed 1:37 a.m.
you shifted in your seat, blinking against the haze of exhaustion. theo sat hunched over his notebook at the desk, headphones crooked on his head, lips pressed into a tight line. he hadn’t spoken in over fifteen minutes, pencil scratching furiously across paper while he rewound the same section of a beat again and again.
your back ached from the stiff couch, but you didn’t complain. being here mattered more than sleep. theo had been practicing nonstop for weeks, buried in choreography and lyrics, and tonight was one of the rare moments you could be by his side. you just wanted to make sure he didn’t drown in it.
“you’ve been staring at that line forever,” you said softly, trying to lighten the mood. “want me to grab you a coffee? or some snacks? you’ll think better if you take a break.” “i can’t,” theo muttered without looking up. you pushed yourself off the couch, padding closer. “just ten minutes, baby. come sit with me. breathe.”
he stiffened when you touched his shoulder. “i said i can’t.” your smile faltered. “theo…” he yanked the headphones down around his neck, finally turning to face you. his expression was sharp, eyes flashing with the frustration that had been simmering all night.
“you don’t get it. i need to finish this.” “i do get it,” you said gently. “but you’ve been at it for hours. you’re burning yourself out, and i just want to help.” he let out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “help? by hovering over me? you’re being… you’re being so clingy right now. i can’t think.”
the word slammed into you.
you froze, hand still hovering uselessly near his shoulder. “clingy?” theo groaned, turning back to his notebook. “just give me space y/n, okay? please.” your throat tightened, burning with humiliation. you’d stayed up for him, waiting, worrying, just to be dismissed like that. you stepped back quickly, arms wrapping around yourself.
“…right,” you whispered, barely audible. “i’ll give you space.”
before he could respond, you slipped out of the studio, the door clicking softly shut behind you.
theo sat frozen at the desk, pencil slack in his fingers. the silence that followed was deafening, the weight of what he’d just said sinking in with every passing second.
clingy.
his stomach twisted. he hadn’t meant it like that. he hadn’t meant for your face to crumple the way it did, hadn’t meant for you to leave. “shit,” he muttered, shoving back from the desk. his music didn’t matter right now. none of it did.
you sat on the floor just outside the studio, knees pulled tight to your chest. the hall was dim, quiet except for the hum of vending machines down the corridor. you hated that your eyes were stinging, hated that one stupid word had undone you so easily. but you couldn’t stop replaying it. clingy. like you were a nuisance. like your love was suffocating.
the door creaked open, and theo’s footsteps approached.
“baby?” his voice was cautious, almost pleading. you swiped at your cheeks quickly, though your sniffle gave you away. “…don’t, theo. just go finish your song.” he crouched in front of you, eyes wide with guilt. “no. i can’t. not after that. i’m so sorry.” you stared at the floor. “you didn’t seem sorry when you said it.”
“i wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, voice rough. “i was frustrated, and i took it out on you. and that’s… that’s the last thing i should’ve done.” your chest tightened. “so you don’t think i’m clingy?”
theo’s heart cracked at the way you asked it, so small, like you needed him to prove it. he shook his head fiercely. “no. never. i love that you want to be close to me. i love that you care enough to sit in a freezing studio at one in the morning just so i’m not alone. you’re the reason i can even keep going.” his hand hovered before gently brushing against your arm. “baby, you’re not too much. i’m the one who was too much. too caught up in my own head to realize how lucky i am.”
“i know,” theo whispered, throat tight. “and i hate myself for it. but let me make it right. please.”
he slid down to sit on the floor beside you, wrapping his arms around your curled-up frame. at first you resisted, stiff against him. but then his warmth seeped in, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, and you finally let yourself melt into him.
“i’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair again and again, voice trembling with sincerity. “i’ll never call you that again. i swear.” your tears soaked into his hoodie, but you didn’t care. you clung to him now, tighter than before, needing proof that he wouldn’t push you away again.
theo held you just as fiercely. “you’re not clingy. you’re the best thing in my life. don’t ever doubt that.” the hall was quiet, but in his arms, the sting slowly eased.
when he finally pulled back, his eyes were red too. “come back inside with me? i won’t work anymore tonight. i just want to hold you.”
you searched his face, wary but softening. “…promise?”
he cupped your cheek, nodding. “promise.”
back in the studio, the desk lamp still glowed over scattered papers, but theo ignored it. he pulled you onto the couch with him, tucking you against his chest under his hoodie, as if shielding you from every harsh word he’d ever said. you exhaled slowly, the ache in your chest loosening at last.
“don’t ever scare me like that again,” you whispered.
he pressed a kiss to your hair. “never again. you’re my everything. too clingy? more like not close enough.”
for the first time all night, you smiled.
˙⋆✮
jiung - 지웅
the dorm door clicked open, and jiung stepped inside, shoulders sagging under the weight of the day. his hoodie was pulled low over his eyes, backpack sliding down one arm like he didn’t even have the energy to hold it.
you were curled on the couch between intak and jongseob, waiting. the second you heard the door, you perked up, smile breaking across your face.
“ji!” you scrambled up, crossing the room to greet him. “you’re back, finally! how was practice? did you eat? do you want me to heat something up?” your arms went around him before he could answer, hugging him tight.
but instead of relaxing into you, jiung stiffened. “baby,” he said, voice low and rough, “not right now.” you pulled back slightly, blinking. “oh—sorry, i just missed you.”
he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i know. i just… can you not be clingy the second i walk in? i’m exhausted.”
the word landed sharp and cold.
clingy.
your smile faltered. behind you, the members shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the air immediate. intak opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head quickly, forcing a little laugh.
“right. sorry. i’ll… give you space.”
you backed away, retreating toward the kitchen even though your chest ached. jiung didn’t look up. he just kicked off his shoes and trudged toward his room, leaving silence behind him.
the kitchen tiles blurred as you stood there, staring at nothing. your arms still tingled from the hug you’d given him, a hug he didn’t want.
clingy.
like you were too much. like your love was inconvenient. intak’s voice broke through softly. “hey… don’t listen to him. he’s tired. you know how jiung gets when he’s wiped.” jongseob nodded. “yeah. he didn’t mean it.” you forced a nod, but the sting was already lodged in your chest. “it’s fine. i get it.” but you didn’t, not really.
jiung collapsed face-first onto his bed, groaning into the pillow. his body was aching, his mind buzzing from hours of practice, but all he could think about was the look on your face when he brushed you off.
god, why had he said that?
he hadn’t meant it—not the way it came out. he just felt suffocated by the day, by the endless schedules and expectations, and when you hugged him, instead of grounding him like it usually did, it tipped him over the edge. but that wasn’t your fault. that was his.
and he’d said it in front of the others. guilt coiled in his stomach, hot and sickening. he sat up abruptly, dragging a hand down his face.
fix it. now.
you were curled on the couch again, knees tucked up, staring blankly at the tv that wasn’t even on. theo and keeho were talking quietly in the corner, casting glances your way, while jongseob scrolled through his phone. when jiung stepped out of his room, the air shifted. everyone looked up. his eyes found you immediately, and the sight twisted the knife in deeper. he crossed the room slowly, kneeling down in front of you.
“baby,” he said softly. you didn’t look at him. “shouldn’t i give you space?” theo muttered something under his breath that sounded like dumbass, but jiung ignored it, shame burning in his ears.
“no. i was wrong. i didn’t mean what i said.”
your arms tightened around your knees. “but you said it.”
“i know.” his voice cracked. “i was exhausted and frustrated, and i took it out on you. i called you clingy because i didn’t have the energy to think, but the truth is— i need your clinginess. i need you.” finally, your eyes lifted to his, glassy with unshed tears. “you really hurt me.”
“i know,” he whispered, throat tight. “and i hate that i did. you’re never too much for me. not ever. i was just… too tired to see what was right in front of me. the person who waits for me, worries about me, loves me no matter how drained i am.” his hand reached up, brushing tentatively over your arm. “i don’t deserve it, but please don’t pull away from me. not when i need you most.”
you stared at him for a long moment, the ache in your chest warring with the sincerity in his eyes. finally, you exhaled shakily. “…you’re such an idiot.” a shaky laugh slipped from him, relief flooding his face. “yeah. i am.”
you let him pull you into his arms then, clinging to him despite your words. he held you tighter, burying his face in your shoulder. “i’m sorry,” he murmured again and again. “you’re not clingy. you’re everything. i love how much you love me.”
“don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” you mumbled against his hoodie. “i mean it,” he swore, pressing a desperate kiss to your hair. “every word.”
keeho cleared his throat pointedly from across the room. “apology accepted—on behalf of all of us who had to watch that train wreck.” intak snorted, jongseob muttered facts, and theo just shook his head. but their teasing softened the tension, and you even laughed weakly into jiung’s chest.
he smiled at the sound, finally breathing again.
that night, he refused to let you out of his arms. curled together on his bed, he traced apologies across your skin with his fingertips, whispered promises into your hair until your breathing evened out.
and when you finally drifted off, he stayed awake just a little longer, holding you like he’d never let go.
“never too much,” he whispered into the dark. “never.”
˙⋆✮
intak - 인탁
the bass rattled the mirrors of the practice room, sweat beading across the boys’ foreheads as they drilled the same eight-count for the tenth time. intak’s jaw was tight, movements sharp but not sharp enough for him. he cursed under his breath when he stumbled on the transition again, shaking his head furiously.
“focus,” theo said gently, but intak just nodded curtly and restarted the track.
you leaned against the doorway, watching quietly. you’d brought snacks and water, hoping to cheer them up after the long session. mostly, you wanted to see intak. he’d been disappearing into practices all week, and you missed him.
“break time, please,” keeho groaned, flopping onto the floor dramatically. jiung laughed and joined him, tugging jongseob down too. “fine,” intak muttered, tossing his cap aside and collapsing against the wall. his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat darkening his shirt.
you took that as your chance.
“hey, tak,” you said softly, stepping inside. his head snapped up, eyes wide before softening a little. “oh. you’re here.” you grinned and held up the bag. “brought goodies! figured you guys could use fuel.”
cheers erupted from jiung and jongseob as they scrambled over. keeho clapped like you’d just saved his life. you giggled, setting the bag down, then went to sit beside intak. “you okay?” he nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. “just tired.” you reached to wipe some sweat from his temple with your sleeve. “you worked so hard. i’m proud of you.”
his jaw clenched. “don’t.”
you froze. “…don’t what?”
he finally looked at you, eyes sharp. “don’t smother me right now. i can’t breathe.” your chest tightened. “i was just-”
“you’re being clingy,” he snapped, louder this time. “i don’t need it right now.”
the room went dead silent.
keeho’s eyes widened. theo shot him a look. jiung and jongseob exchanged awkward glances, halfway through unwrapping a granola bar. you sat back slowly, heat flooding your cheeks. “…right. sorry.”
you stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air, and slipped out before anyone could stop you.
the practice room was thick with tension after the door shut.
“what the hell was that?” theo demanded, arms crossed. intak groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “i didn’t mean-” “you called her clingy,” keeho cut in, voice sharp. “in front of us. when she literally just brought us snacks?”
jiung smacked him lightly on the arm. “not cool.” intak’s chest twisted with guilt, but frustration still buzzed in his veins. “i was stressed. i couldn’t think.”
“well, think now,” jongseob muttered. “because y/n looked she wanted to cry.”
intak’s stomach dropped. without another word, he grabbed his cap and bolted for the door.
you sat on the bench outside the practice room, picking at the hem of your sleeve. your chest still stung, the word echoing in your head. clingy. too much. the door opened, and intak rushed out, breathless.
“baby-”
you stood quickly. “don’t. it’s fine. go back to practice.” “no,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “practice can wait. you can’t.”
your eyes flicked away. “you made it pretty clear i can.” his heart squeezed. he reached for your hands, but you pulled them back.
“i’m sorry,” he blurted. “i didn’t mean it. i was frustrated, and i let it spill out the wrong way. you’re not clingy. god, you’re the opposite— you’re the only one who makes all this bearable.” you frowned, still hurt. “then why’d you say it?”
“because i’m an idiot,” he admitted instantly. “i was mad at myself, at my mistakes, and i lashed out at the one person i should never hurt. i swear, it wasn’t about you. it was about me not being good enough tonight.”
your throat tightened, tears threatening. “you made me feel like… like i was in the way.”
intak’s eyes softened, pained. he gently cupped your face, tilting it so you met his gaze. “you’re never in the way. you’re the reason i even get through days like this. when you wipe my sweat, when you cheer for me, when you just show up— it’s everything. i don’t deserve it, but i need it. i need you.”
you blinked, tears spilling despite yourself. “then don’t push me away.” his voice cracked. “i won’t. not again. i promise.”
you finally let him pull you into his arms, his hoodie damp against your cheek. he held you so tight it almost hurt, murmuring apologies into your hair. “you’re not clingy,” he whispered again and again. “you’re my safe place. i’m sorry i made you doubt that. i’ll make it up to you every day if i have to.”
you clung back, shaky but firm. “you better.”
he let out a soft, relieved laugh, kissing the top of your head. “yeah. i will.”
when you both returned to the practice room, the others tried to act casual, but keeho still shot intak a look.
intak tightened his grip on your hand, tugging you gently closer. “we’re good,” he said firmly, mostly to himself. you squeezed back, finally believing it.
˙⋆✮
soul - 白翔太
the dressing room buzzed with energy after the show. staff members hurried around, touching up makeup, collecting mics, tossing bottles of water into eager hands. keeho was joking with jiung, theo stretched his sore shoulders, and jongseob was scrolling through fan posts already.
you slipped through the crowd, eyes searching. finally, you found him.
soul sat off to the side on a folding chair, head bowed, towel draped over his neck. sweat clung to his skin, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. you crossed the room quickly, crouching down in front of him. “hey,” you said softly, offering him a water. “you killed it out there. the fans were so loud for you.”
he didn’t look at you. “thanks.”
you frowned. “are you okay? your shoulder- you looked like you were stretching it too much during the last song. want me to-” he shifted back, jaw tight. “i said i’m fine.”
you hesitated, then reached anyway, dabbing at the sweat on his cheek with a tissue. “you don’t have to pretend with me. i just-” “stop,” he snapped, swatting your hand away.
your chest jolted. “i-”
his eyes finally lifted, sharp and frustrated. “you’re being clingy. can you just give me a minute to breathe?” the room went quiet. a couple staff members froze mid-step. jiung’s head whipped around, eyes wide. theo’s smile faltered.
you felt the sting instantly, your face flushing hot.
clingy.
you pulled back your hand slowly, standing up on shaky legs. “…right. sorry.” you mumbled something about grabbing more tissues and slipped out the door before anyone could stop you.
inside, tension lingered. keeho raised an eyebrow. “seriously, soul?”
soul groaned, dragging both hands through his damp hair. “i didn’t— i didn’t mean it like that.” “sure sounded like you did,” theo muttered.
jiung shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “y/n was just trying to take care of you. you could’ve just said you needed space.” soul’s chest tightened. shame crept in, sour and heavy. he knew they were right. he’d seen the hurt in your eyes before you turned away.
and it was his fault.
you leaned against the cool wall outside, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep tears at bay. the backstage hallway was quiet except for the faint thrum of fans still screaming outside the venue.
clingy. like you were smothering him. like your love was a burden. you hugged yourself, heart aching. the door opened behind you, and hurried footsteps followed.
“baby.”
you looked up to see soul, hair still damp, panic written all over his face. you turned away. “shouldn’t you be inside celebrating?” he winced. “not without you.”
“you seemed fine without me a minute ago.”
the words cut, and he flinched.
“i didn’t mean it,” he said quickly. “i was overwhelmed. i couldn’t even hear myself think. i lashed out, and i used the worst word i could’ve picked.” your arms tightened around yourself. “you made me feel like i was suffocating you.”
he stepped closer, desperate. “no. you’re the only reason i can breathe on days like this. i swear, you’re not too much. you’re… you’re everything.”
you shook your head, voice small. “then why’d you say it?”
“because i’m an idiot,” he whispered. “because i was mad at myself for messing up a step, for being tired, for not being perfect— and instead of owning that, i pushed you away. i hurt the one person who was only trying to help.”
his voice cracked. “i hate that i did that to you. i hate that i made you doubt how much i need you.” slowly, he reached for your hands. this time, you let him take them. his grip was trembling but steady, grounding. “you’re not clingy,” he said, looking straight into your eyes. “you’re the one person who sees me when all of this—” he gestured vaguely toward the venue “—feels too big. you keep me sane. i’m so, so sorry i made you feel like a burden.”
your throat wobbled, the ache in your chest loosening just slightly. “don’t do it again.” he nodded quickly. “i won’t. never again. if i’m overwhelmed, i’ll tell you. i’ll never push you away like that.”
you searched his face, and all you saw was raw honesty. finally, you let out a shaky breath and leaned into him. he wrapped his arms around you instantly, holding you like he’d never let go. his hoodie was still damp from sweat, but you didn’t care.
“i need you,” he murmured into your hair. “cling to me all you want. i want it. i want you.”
you clung back, relief washing over you at last.
when you both walked back into the dressing room, everyone looked up. soul kept your hand firmly in his, expression set. “we’re okay.” he said quietly. keeho smirked. “better be.” jiung gave a small approving nod.
you squeezed soul’s hand, and this time, he squeezed back without hesitation. that night, when the lights were off and the noise of the day was gone, he whispered into the dark with your head on his chest:
“never too much. never clingy. just mine.”
and you believed him.
˙⋆✮
jongseob - 종섭
the dorm was unusually calm for a friday night. the other members were sprawled in the living room—keeho watching a movie, theo half-asleep with his hoodie up, jiung scrolling through his phone.
you were curled up on the end of the couch beside jongseob, legs tucked under you, head resting on his shoulder. he’d been quiet all evening, distracted by whatever track he was mixing on his laptop.
you didn’t mind at first. being near him was enough. you liked the way his warmth felt against your side, how his fingers tapped softly to a rhythm only he could hear.
but after nearly an hour of silence, you started tracing gentle circles on his arm. “you’ve been staring at the same screen for twenty minutes,” you said softly. “you okay?”
he hummed, barely looking up. “yeah.”
you smiled. “want me to get you a snack?”
“no, thanks.”
you shifted a little closer, resting your chin on his shoulder to peek at the project. “what’re you working on?” he sighed quietly. “just… something.” your smile faltered. “you’ve been kinda distant lately.”
that made him pause. just for a second—then his jaw tightened. “i’m just tired, y/n.” “i know, but-” you tried to wrap your arm around him, seeking closeness, something to melt the space between you.
but he pulled back a little, the movement small but sharp. “can you not?” you blinked. “not what?” his tone came out clipped, too harsh. “not cling so much. it’s a lot sometimes.”
the sound of it hit you like a slap.
even keeho glanced up from the movie, brows furrowing. theo lifted his head, still half-asleep with eyes flicking between you both. you froze, the air suddenly too heavy. “i was just… trying to be close to you.”
“yeah, well,” jongseob muttered, rubbing his face. “sometimes it’s too much. it's clingy.”
the room went dead silent.
you felt your throat tighten. “okay.” you stood up quickly, forcing a small smile. “i’ll give you space then.”
keeho started to say something, but you were already heading toward the hallway. when the sound of your door shutting echoed down the hall, the silence that followed was deafening.
keeho turned down the volume on the TV. “what was that?” jongseob groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “i don’t know. i just—i snapped.”
“yeah,” theo said flatly. “and you snapped at the wrong person.” jiung leaned forward. “she literally did nothing wrong.”
soul, who had been silent up until then, looked over from his game. “you’re in trouble.” jongseob slumped back against the couch. “i know. god, i know.” keeho sighed. “you’ve been stressed, sure, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on her. you better fix it.”
he didn’t even respond—just stood and disappeared down the hall, guilt written all over him. you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow, trying not to cry.
the word clingy kept replaying in your head; like it had weight. like it meant too much. you’d only wanted to help, to be near him. but now all you felt was foolish.
a soft knock interrupted your spiral.
“y/n?” his voice came quietly from the other side of the door.
you didn’t answer.
he waited, then sighed. “can i come in?” after a long pause, you said, “yeah.” he slipped inside, eyes immediately landing on you; small, curled up, and clearly hurt.
his chest twisted. “i’m sorry.”
you didn’t look up. “you made me feel like i was annoying.”
he winced. “i didn’t mean that. i swear.”
“then why’d you say it?”
he hesitated, words fumbling out. “because i was tired, and my brain was loud, and i just… wanted quiet for a second. but i didn’t mean you were too much. i love that you’re close to me. i just-” he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “i said it wrong. i hurt you. and i hate that.”
you glanced at him, eyes glassy. “you really did.”
he nodded, walking closer slowly, like he was afraid to scare you off. “i know. i’m so sorry. you’re not clingy. you’re caring. you’re the only person who makes this place feel calm.”
you stayed quiet, chewing your lip.
“sometimes,” he said softly, “i get so lost in my own head that i forget how lucky i am to have someone who wants to be near me at all.” that cracked something open in you. you blinked, tears slipping free.
“come here,” he whispered.
you hesitated—then let him pull you in.
his arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear. he buried his face in your shoulder, voice breaking against your skin. “i’m sorry. i love when you touch me. i love when you care. i love you. i just got stupid.”
your fingers curled into his hoodie, clinging back. “then don’t push me away next time.” “i won’t,” he promised instantly. “you can hold me all you want. forever, if you want.”
you laughed through a sniffle. “that’s a little clingy.”
he smiled, relief flooding his expression. “guess we’re both clingy then.”
when you both rejoined the others in the living room, it was quieter softer somehow.
keeho didn’t say anything, just gave a little nod when he saw your hand in jongseob’s again. theo muttered, “good job,” without looking up. jiung smiled faintly.
you curled up next to him on the couch again, and this time, when you rested your head on his shoulder, he didn’t move away.
instead, his hand found yours under the blanket.
and just before you drifted off, you heard him whisper, barely audible, “cling to me all you want, baby. i’m not going anywhere.”
˙⋆✮
a/n : thank you for reading & thank you for 400 followers<3
Andrew celebrates another birthday with a party thrown by his family. But over the course of a year that you've known him, you have watched the dynamics of the Cody family and you are not pleased. 13.7k
warnings: fluff, soft!reader, soft!pope, reader is protective of pope, reader has a low tolerance for bs and smurf and baz are at the top of her shit-list, birthday do-overs, pope just needs a hug, implied erectile dysfunction due to stress and anxiety, unprotected sex, piv, what happens when you meet someone who is always willing to meet you in the middle, no use of y/n for reader
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A svelte finger traces the elegant loops of stenciled lettering that you have been staring at for the past ten minutes.
Those dark orbs of yours melt in the sunlight that filters in from the windows, resembling barrel aged bourbon poured over fresh rocks. The slight gloss on your lips pops as your mouth is slowly pulled at the corners as you continue to admire the invitation in your hand.
Nearly a year of knowing Andrew Cody.
Two of those months were spent getting to know the man who shared sunrises with you on a rock; of shared mornings with only tea and muffins or biscuits between you.
In the third month, you both realized that you found a friend in each other – a confidant that did not judge, did not ask, but simply allowed the other to breathe in a world that is as demanding as it is freeing. No pressure, no constraints, the two of you existing in the same moment, at the same time – in the same place.
It meant everything.
The weight of the world does not feel so heavy when there is a fellow Atlas who kneeled shoulder to shoulder with you.
By the end of the third month, you realized that the glances he once gave you have become stares – weighed with something warmer than quiet interest.
Soon it stopped being just mornings when you saw each other, finding yourselves right back on the rock in the evenings to take in the sunset together.
From sunrise to sunset, your worlds did not cross. You returned home and spent hours in your office, reviewing emails and inquiries from local theatres and orchestra halls. A hiatus from composing allowed you to pursue other ventures that allowed for you to still live comfortably without having to touch your savings or inheritance. You lived a life worth maintaining – of keeping and protecting.
During those hours when Andrew was not in your presence, he lives in a world of fog. Lines blurred with no clear distinction as he functioned in his role as Smurf’s tool. You could never deny seeing the dredges of emptiness in his eyes when you returned to each other in the evenings. But you noticed the way he changed when he came upon you, the tension bled from his spine the same way the skies did with gold and lavender. His shoulders slightly lowered, eyes clearing as though you were his focal point – it is a role that you embraced with ease.
One day in particular, Andrew had arrived with a limp, and he barely made it to the rock before you had approached, arms raised as you met him where he was. Mindful, you wrapped your arms around him, whispering in his ear a question but the only response you got was his weight pressing into yours. You stood with your feet firmly planted in the sand as you held him up, body rigid like the willow tree you were lovingly nicknamed after – you supported his weight like a loadbearing wall, unwilling to see him falter. Your curls blew in the wind like tree branches before a spring thunderstorm hit off the Gulf while your whispers of encouragement hung like ripe fruit.
After that, everything changed.
It felt as though a dam broke, not with maliciousness – but purpose.
Before where Andrew and you navigated one another with a carefulness – of respecting boundaries and not rushing into this – it shifted to intent.
Everything that has transpired has carefully led up to this moment, you tell yourself. You gave another glance at the invitation in your hand, the tip of your tongue licking the roof of your mouth.
Navy blue lettering on matte black cardstock.
You carefully slip the invitation back inside the matching envelope. In your office you move in silence, gaze focused as your hands begin to work; the blue wax slowly melts above the tealight candle you lit. Your eyes glance at the flickering flames before you pick up your stamp.
It is the same stamp your daddy had gifted when you finished undergrad and pushed into graduate school, continuing in your pursuit of the fine arts. You remembered the first time you sent out invitations to your first performance as a composer. Just as you did then, you pour wax on the envelope, watching the blue darken from the absence of heat. Quickly, you grab your stamp and press down, listening to the dull thud as you hold it.
Slowly, you pull it back and stare at the “W” in the center.
“Well…this is it.” Your voice echoes back to you softly, the music you had played earlier has already been cut off, leaving you to fill the silence.
After glancing at the watch on your wrist, you blew out the tealight candle and straightened your office back to order. You left your envelope to continue cooling and harden while you showered and changed.
Almost twelve months since your first encounter with Andrew.
Of those twelve, nine months have been spent dating.
And today would be the first time that your worlds will finally collide – intersect – as you finally have faces to put with the names that Andrew often speaks about.
It will be different, of not just knowing Andrew’s family from his stories but seeing them in person as well. You have spent the better part of a year listening to what is said and what goes unsaid by Andrew.
The dynamics in his family once he told you about his past – the good, the bad and the ugly – are complex. Andrew once admitted when both your heads had been pressed into pillows that there was not a lot of good in his life.
His niece, Lena.
And you.
He has said those two statements so openly that you could only stare at him, a hand creeping up to palm at his face.
There is a hierarchy in the family – though false it is. Because it does not matter the order of birth – or adoption in Baz’s case – it all leads back to Smurf. In the near year that you have been dating Andrew, the questions you thought to ask him are answered with contexts provided by him when he comes home to you; sometimes bruised, limping, exhausted with shadows under his eyes – yet somehow still keeping his head on a swivel to reach for you and hold you close.
It made you curious, about a woman who had sons such as this one and kept sending them into the fire, time after time.
Again, and again.
You knew eventually at some point you would have to meet Smurf, along with the rest of his family. Andrew has purposefully gone out of his way to keep his two worlds from crossing, but you know the toll it takes on the mind and body; of trying to separate two forces that are bound to meet at some point.
But you sought to rectify that decision the moment you realized over the course of months that you truly loved him – flaws and all. You didn’t want to sleep another night knowing the cost he was burdened by because Andrew feared that if your two worlds collided, you would walk away.
As if you could at this point.
You were gone the moment your eyes met.
However, there is no one in this world who understands your threshold and tolerance better than you. When Andrew first mentioned the birthday party his family was throwing for him, you noticed the hesitation in his voice, along with the wound that you had patched up just a week ago after he returned from Smurf’s.
Before Andrew had thought of rescinding the offer, you had smiled and pressed a kiss onto his lips. “I want to meet the people in your life; they are important to you – they will become important to me.” There was nothing Andrew could say to refute that, his gaze dark as he blankly nodded his head, still hesitant but assured by your own confidence.
You are southern to your core; you can turn a blind eye to a faux pas or see an opportunity and snatch it like a hawk who has dropped down from the skies because it sighted weak prey.
In this, you chose the latter.
After showering, dressing in your two-piece swimsuit and coverup, you grabbed your envelope and headed out the door.
Thirty minutes later, even without the description of the Cody’s compound, you would have found it with all the vehicles parked on the street and the music that bumped behind the tall fence and gates.
You parked your merlot-colored 1990 Mitsubishi Majero Wagon down the street, making sure it was locked before you began your short trek.
The tote bag on your shoulder is filled with sunscreen, car keys, a beach towel, water, the envelope you had tucked away in between the pages of the current novel you were reading. But hidden in the smaller compartment is a small black box, the item inside had been a nice find in an antique shop you visited a month ago. Your cellphone is in your hand; you hesitated but ultimately decided not to call Andrew and pull him away from the party.
If there is one thing that being a composer has taught you – confidence and demeanor will carry you everywhere.
Act like you belong and people’s eyes will easily gloss over you in a crowd, because nothing about you alarms them to give you a second look.
You fell into step with other partygoers who giggled amongst themselves, bottles of beer already opened before they even got through the gates.
The white coverup dress you wear hid the matching white two-piece bikini underneath. Your sandals completed the ensemble as you glide easily through the pockets of people; some drinking, others eating ribs and hot dogs, a few diving into the pool with shouts of excitement.
Behind the shades perched on your nose, you took a cursory glance around the large backyard and scoped out an open chair partially hidden under an awning and fairy lights. The cowboy hat cast a shadow over your face as you pulled out your towel and laid it down on the lounge chair before getting comfortable.
Music continues to bump while you discard your hat, feeling your curls plop freely against your head in different directions before you lean back, setting yourself up to perfectly view the pool and observe with your book opened in your lap.
Unbeknownst to Andrew, the first to approach you is none other than Craig.
The second youngest Cody cast a tall shadow over your lap, pulling your gaze away from the pages as you stared at him.
Craig towered over all his brothers; his long hair pulled back into a bun with a cocky grin across his face while staring at the new one he has never seen before at one of their parties.
“Hey, you new around here?”
Even without Craig introducing himself, Andrew has always tried to provide you context of his family – descriptions included. Craig’s posture is not rigid – not like Andrew’s – he is relaxed, at ease with the opposite sex, his own appeal is natural. Your eyes do not miss the slight glances in your direction from a few of the other women who sought his attention.
Wrong brother, you sigh to yourself.
“No, I have lived here for three years though.”
Craig laughs, coming closer. “No, I mean new here? Ever been to Smurf’s? Never seen you before.” Craig knew that he would remember your face – or at least he thinks he would.
“Nope,” you pop your lips, flipping to another page. “First time for everything, right?” You asked. Not completely dismissive but a slight acknowledgement that his flirting won’t be reciprocated.
The shifting of your legs causes Craig to glance down, pulling his eyes away from your face to your limbs.
Long and toned.
Stretched out lazily, your legs shimmer under the sunlight. The sunscreen you applied before left your skin bronze and glimmering, the gloss on your lips shined while you pouted easily once Craig sat down in the chair across from you, not attempting to sit on the same chair – smart.
Craig continued to take in your legs, glancing down at your feet, noticing that they were nice, painted with white polish that matched your dress, but his eyes caught on the silver jewelry clasped on your right ankle.
Amethyst butterflies, with an “A” in the middle.
“Your name starts with an A?” Craig questions, ready to play twenty questions.
You smile easily. “Nope,” you repeat your earlier words and told him your name. “But most people just call me Willow.”
Hell, the only people who called you by your actual name are your mom when she is upset or your uncles and aunts when you encourage your younger cousins in their mischief.
“Ah,” Craig rubs at his beard. “Got a man?” This time his smile is broad, because a boyfriend has never stopped him before.
You put your bookmark between the pages, realizing that Andrew’s younger brother won’t let up. But while he questioned you, you took him in.
Not fully muscular – you understood he had a recreational drug habit that Andrew detested but Craig has long since stop heeding his elder brother. When Andrew spoke of Craig, it was twisted with paternalism and a duty as big brother, even if Craig is a man grown. You knew that when Smurf left the boys alone as children, it had been Andrew who took care of them, changing their diapers, holding them, soothing them as he and Julia tried to take care of each other.
Babies taking care of babies.
Because no matter if Craig disappointed Andrew, you knew that Andrew loves his brother – all his brothers – so much so he caught a charge for him – for them all – and did the time on his head.
At the indirect mention of Andrew from his brother, you smile. Something slow and sweet, white teeth peeking out behind your lips. “A man?” You hummed in consideration. “More than that I think,” you’re honest. Hoping and wanting Craig to realize all the good things about Andrew that you get to see because there is space for him to be so. “I would say he’s more like my boyfriend, love of my life, future husband.” You held your breath and then leaned forward as though you were going to share a secret, pleased when Craig leans in too. “If he was a seahorse, let’s just say I would let him have my babies.”
Craig’s brow pinched before he starts to cackle.
His laughter is sharp, a bark that cracks through the air.
Craig stands up, pointing at you. He has seen Pope watch enough nature documentaries to know what you mean. “That’s fucking crazy,” he laughs. “Yo, what the fuck?” He can’t stop laughing even as he walks away.
You chuckle to yourself, returning to your book.
The second brother to approach is Baz.
He does not linger like Craig did, just stares at you as though trying to place you. “Everything alright over here?”
You answer simply, eyes hidden behind your shades. “Yeah, no issues. Thank you.”
Curt and to the point.
You knew that out of all Andrew’s brothers; Baz is the one that should be treated with the same caution as Smurf. It is not that you are afraid of him or the “matriarch” of the Cody family – you simply don’t respect them.
Too many nights of Andrew apologizing for running late because he stayed behind to take Lena home. The girl’s parents too absorbed in their lives; more of Baz doing what the fuck he wanted and Catherine chasing behind him – not realizing that a dog is gone be a dog regardless of the collar on his neck or ring on his finger.
Andrew’s care of his niece is one of the factors that did not make you pause when he explained the armed robbery charge. If your daddy had been your North Star, you knew that for Drew, his niece was his.
A North Star is a moral compass, you believe. They were the type of person who believed the best in others even when that person couldn’t see it in themselves.
Pope has showed up with drawings from Lena that have found a home on your fridge as Andrew spent more time at your place. Drawers cleared out to make way for his clothes, space in your closet slowly began to become halved as you moved your winter clothes to the other closets in your house.
You knew that he wanted you to meet her, but that he did not want Lena to be in a bad way of keeping you secret if his family inquired and she let slip. Andrew is a protector – he wouldn’t put that burden on a kid’s shoulders. You respect that and love him even more for it.
After a moment, Baz leaves, taking one last glance at you, his eyes flashing towards your anklet before he left, making his way towards Craig who stood by the grill.
Jesus had Three Wise Men visit him while in the manger.
You had Three Codys speak with you.
Whereas Craig is charismatic and easy-going and Baz is tight in the face, Deran has his own way about him.
Deran Cody is the youngest, but you knew of the pride in which Andrew spoke of his baby brother. “Best surfer that’s ever hit the waves. Opened a bar, all on his own.”
A band of brothers that are criminals, but you knew even without Andrew saying that if he did have a favorite, it will probably be Deran.
You think Deran has Andrew’s eyes, not the same color – but there is something soulful and old in them. Your grandmother jokes that your Daddy had “been here before,” which is why he had been the first of her children to leave. “Old souls always have a way of finding young vessels. Just be mindful of them, they can be weary without even knowing it.”
“Hey,” you greet, voice relaxed and open. Opposite to the humorous way you spoke with Craig or the brief and blasé conversation with Baz.
Deran stands for a second longer and sits down where his older brother sat. “Hey.”
The two of you sit in that space for a moment. Your eyes and his take in each other, measuring and weighing.
“Baz and Craig are their own sort of problems, but I guess they haven’t fully connected the dots yet.” Deran starts, nodding at your anklet. His eyes flash towards his two older brothers, both their heads bent towards each other as they kept taking glances at you both. “Dumbasses,” he mutters under his breath which earns him a genuine smile from you.
It was clear to Deran once he saw you wave off Craig and dismiss Baz.
The women who usually attended one of their parties would flirt back with Craig, try to flirt with Baz – if Cath or Lena weren’t around – or try it with Deran himself, even if he barely gave them a second of attention. Even behind your shades, he noticed the way your head would slightly tilt up towards the wide glass windows – Deran knew Pope and Lena are in the kitchen. His niece wanted one of Pope’s sandwiches, and Pope has never refused Baz’s daughter anything. The “A” only solidified what he thought.
“You sound like Drew when you say that,” you laugh to yourself. You have heard Andrew mutter “Dumbasses,” under his breath every time he complains about something Baz or Craig did that pissed him off.
“Drew?” Deran repeats, voice quiet with thought. For as long as he could remember, Pope has always been…Pope. In the same breath that Smurf is Smurf and water is wet. Deran pauses. “Guess that sounds about right.”
The youngest Cody doesn’t get to say anything more because Pope arrives, hands cleaned from the crumbs of the sandwich he set before Lena; leaving her alone with Cath who quietly wished him a happy birthday after she caught him staring through the window at Craig walking away from you, laughing.
Pope had forced himself to breathe as he tended to Lena inside the kitchen, glancing and momentarily freezing when he saw Baz approach you next – secretly pleased at the way you quickly got rid of him. He knows your moods, the placid expression on your face when speaking with Baz is enough for Pope to know you hold a low opinion of his brother.
Deran watches how you move slightly, leaving space for Pope to sit down while you continue laying stretched out. The book that has been in your lap is easily discarded now that Pope has your focus. You reach out to him, fingers brushing against his wrist before your index and middle finger settle on his pulse.
“Okay?” You ask.
It is a question that you two frequently ask one another, as though you are checking each other’s temperature; not wanting to overcrowd one another.
The two of you are learning how to diligently stitch your lives together.
Pope holds that question in his mind for a moment.
You are here.
In Smurf’s backyard.
His breath catches at that statement.
Before he can think more about it, your fingers tap lightly against his wrist.
A reminder.
Both you and Deran can see the way his spine relaxes slightly, the way he leans into your soft touch, towards your body. His eyes are warm as they stare at you in wonder.
You attempt to tuck a curl behind your ear, showcasing the butterfly earrings that hung in from your lobe. The silver jewelry matched your other ear piercings in both ears. Between the stars in your upper lobe are silver sapphire anchors.
Pope exhales.
“Okay,” Andrew finally answers.
You whisper that word back to him before you shift focus. “You’ll get sunburnt being out here without any sunscreen, Sweetheart,” the observation is gentle. “Come on.”
You lean up from your chair, turning away from Andrew to reach into your bag and pull out the sunscreen you brought along. Before, Andrew never seemed to mind getting sunburned, but over the last few months, his curiosity over your own skin-care regime made you research and buy items for him.
Pope has spent much of his life in Oceanside, being sunburned came with the territory. But he likes standing with you in the morning and before bed, both your faces in the mirror as your own movements are paralleled – synced with one another.
“Deran was just telling me how your brothers are dumbasses for not putting two and two together,” you comment, rubbing the sunscreen between your hands before you got to work. You can feel Andrew’s sharpened gaze at the shape of your nose while you carefully apply the sunscreen to his face. Your fingers gently pad in the protection, rubbing down his neck before you step away and move towards his back.
He grunts at your comment, staring at Deran who continues to watch the two of you in silence.
To Deran it made zero sense and yet, it did.
Pope had been in a much better mood as of late, all of them had been surprised when he got released from Folsom and did not appear to slip back in his stoic moods. He stayed less and less at Smurf’s until his clothes were fully removed from his old bedroom.
Smurf has made pointed inquiries to Craig, Baz and Deran but none of them had any answers. J did not know Pope enough to truly speak on his personality, but the boys? They noticed and were unsure of what changed.
But now, it made total sense.
Your hands move across Andrew’s back; sunglasses pushed to the top of your head as you work, listening as he talks to his brother about this and that.
Across by the grill, Baz and Craig watch.
You are attentive, rubbing the sunscreen onto his arms.
Pope fights not to turn away when you squat down in front of him, applying some to his legs, your eyes flashing up towards him with a quick wink before you finish. He can feel Deran staring a hole in the side of his neck, but he ignores his brother while he helps you up.
“Thank you.”
Deran can see the difference in Pope’s appearance. His skin shimmers faintly in the sunlight, his curls are damp from his earlier dive in the pool.
“You’re bold for bringing her here. Smurf is going to shit a brick.” Deran has not told anyone that he is gay, but he would never bring Adrian around Smurf.
Janine Cody has an uncanny ability to fuck things up for her sons, daughter and now grandson.
You cluck your tongue once you’re back to lounging in your seat once more. “I am here of my own volition,” you tell Deran. “It’s no life to keep our worlds separate,” your eyes meet Andrew’s. This is a conversation between the two of you had before when both of you realized your feelings for one another.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Pope nods his head in agreeance.
In this, the two of you are a united front.
Deran raises his hands and backs away as though in warning – the “I’ll tell you I told you so later,” hangs in the air when Smurf calls out to Pope.
You reach back and pull your book back in your lap, removing the bookmark to continue reading.
Smurf Cody walks with her usual air about her, cocksure about her place and the pieces she has on the board.
“Baby, you didn’t tell me you were inviting friends.”
Not a question, a statement.
Thrown with the same finesse of a dart into a bullseye.
Baz, Craig, Deran and even J stand around in a circle, watching the two of you face Smurf.
Pope saw how you didn’t even blink at Smurf’s approach, or her inquiry of your presence and what you mean in his life – what you mean to him.
Where he and his brothers would deflect, you don’t freeze, over explain yourself or anything. Your eyes blink slowly, nonplussed.
You allow Smurf’s words to hang between the three of you. After a heartbeat too long, you slowly begin to move in response.
Standing to your full height, you meet Smurf’s gaze.
One is a woman who has kept her son occupied for nearly a year, like an owner making their dog fetch whatever bone she has thrown.
While another is a woman who understands the basics of generational trauma and how hurt people can hurt people; unwilling to see the man you love twisted inside out for someone’s purpose other than his own.
Your fingers reach out and tap against Andrew’s wrist, and you offer him a smile – it’s genuine.
“Seems like your brothers could use the help on the grill, Sweetheart.” You’re pretty sure those are sausages that have been burnt to hell and back by Craig. “Let us ladies relax over here while you men take care of that.”
Pope met your eyes and saw your thoughts in them, “Let me take care of this, I’m a big girl.” He trusts you, and in a move that surprises his brothers and Smurf, he bends down to kiss you.
The familiar scent of your perfume is comforting as he pulls back, his eyes going to Smurf’s who stares at him as though he is alien. Maybe he is. Perhaps he always has been, or since Julia died.
You sit back down in your chair and gesture towards the other one in invitation.
It is bold of you to tell a woman whose house you’re sitting in to have a seat on her own furniture. But with all the mind games you knew Smurf plays with Andrew – with the rest of his brothers and nephew – it seems only fair.
Smurf smirks.
“You have to excuse me, not often my boys bring girls around,” the Cody matriarch begins.
You nod. “Good thing they are men and not just boys,” you joke. “As a woman, a boy would never appeal to me.”
You aimed right for the jugular.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the moment Smurf pauses, the smile on her face almost glitches before she controls it – but you saw it.
It hurt in the beginning when Andrew told you about the Pandora’s Box that is his mother. Which is a title that you did not think Smurf deserved nor earned. The woman treated her sons as though they are her boyfriends, lashing out when they do not immediately do as she says. You may have taken a few psychology courses in college, but music had been your focus – with foresight you wished you had taken more because even with your limited background you knew the wrongness of it. The emotional incest that Smurf weaponized against her sons, the syrupy voice she uses to call them “baby,” never caring at the slight flinch Andrew has at the pet-name.
There are many sins that Smurf is guilty of, but the way she has twisted her children is by far the worst in your opinion.
Smurf gives you a true full look. From your sandals all the way to the curls atop of your; Janine Cody has set her sights on you, and she analyses everything that she sees.
“Funny, how old are you? Thought my baby boy would be a little too old for you.”
“Not at all,” you dismissed. Unphased about the comment of your age in comparison to Andrew’s. He was only ten years older than you, which you tell Smurf. “He’s perfect for me – the way he is. He’s my best friend.”
This is a language that is spoken between two women who have their wits about them. The two of you walked on two separate paths, the only common denominator you have is one Andrew David Cody. This is a conversation that is perhaps long past due, but you both are not willing to concede in this matter.
Smurf won’t be able to run you off like she has the other weaklings who thought to ride on her own coattails through her sons. Not even that bitch in Mexico that Baz keeps, though he believes Smurf doesn’t know about it. Baz settled for Cath while Lucy keeps her head on a swivel, not willing to clash against Smurf over something as frivolous as love – or lust.
Catherine Blackwell has always been around, far too used to the Codys and their order of operation, the hierarchy of the family with Smurf at the forefront. What Catherine tolerates is not just from Smurf but Baz as well, she turns a blind eye to keep the peace when it costs her something every day.
Renn was in and out, never knowing when Craig wanted to be serious or if he was running game on her again. Her relationship with Smurf was cool and cordial, an acknowledgement of Smurf’s position but that is all.
You.
Smurf studies you.
You are an unknown.
Unknowingly, you have been in her walls for nearly a year with her none the wiser. Never catching Pope unaware – that told her enough as is. Her eldest is protective of you and only now it appears as though he decided to bring you around, but that’s just the thing isn’t it? Smurf doesn’t know that the offer had barely been thrown before Pope thought to rescind it.
In a moment of opportunity, when you saw a wild horse running by – you didn’t hesitate to jump on. Thighs squeezed, your chest pressed close to its back, you took the opportunity for what it was and here you are now.
Smurf knows nothing about you; besides the southern accent she hears and the anklet she sees with Andrew’s “A” hanging proudly on display.
“Yes well, you know how it is. Some boys can appear to be men, but ultimately they play their games. I would know,” Smurf said in faux commiseration.
You eye the woman sitting in the seat next to you. “Really? I’ve been fortunate. Drew’s my first real relationship after college. He’s steady – unwavering.” Despite how you’ve raised him, you think. All of the goodness Andrew possesses, it’s a miracle that he has enough to hold you in the center of his world.
You knew what it felt like to be disappointed in a man, but you prided yourself that the men in your family have always been a pillar you can lean upon. Andrew has never faltered in his support of you; never gave you cause for hesitation of where his focus and heart lay.
This is how the conversation flows between the two of you. Poking and prodding like an enemy searching the walls for a weakness to exploit and penetrate.
Across the yard, as bodies move to the music, rushing past to dive into the pool and splash, the gang of brothers continue to stand amongst each other.
J glances between Smurf and you. No twisted scowls, if anything it appears as if both women are happy to be talking to one another. It’s weird, but he recognizes it as the thing that woman do when they don’t like each other. Sizing each other up like the cats he use to see in the alley when he would score for his mom. He continues to observe them, lifting his can of soda and taking sips throughout.
Even when Smurf speaks to Cath, there was always a tonal distinction. Smurf talks to Cath as though she’s exasperated by her mere presence – or confused how the woman ended up being in her family in the first place – as though she hadn’t been there from the beginning.
Deran sips from his beer, eyes moving back to the grill to observe the new pack of sausages he brought out for Pope who flipped them. There are two of them closer to the front where they’re directly on the fire. “You’re going to burn those, dude.”
“Willow likes hers slightly charred,” Pope readily answers.
Craig snickers to himself. “Seems like she’s okay with eating white meat too.”
Baz laughs at Craig’s double entendre, while J and Deran barely release twin sighs of annoyance.
Pope doesn’t take his eyes off the two sausages in front of him, the flames from the grill dance in his eyes. “Watch your fucking mouth before I punch your teeth in with that bottle in your hand.”
The threat is quick and efficient.
Craig’s laughter dies off.
Baz raises his beer and takes another sip in interest. “So…where did the two of you meet?”
“Somewhere where the sun meets the horizon,” is the only response Pope gives before he takes your sausages off the grill, assembling your food with the same intensity he gives a job.
Sausages slightly burned on all sides between two tortillas – you didn’t like the texture of hotdogs buns, a quirk he noticed when the two of you went to a baseball game and he saw the way you ate a hotdog around the bread – no ketchup, only a slight drizzle of mustard. He went to find a bag of your favorite chips – that he specifically bought and brought to Smurf’s because he knew you’d be coming – to add to your plate before delivering it to you.
All the Codys raise their brows at the plate of food, sharing glances.
Once Pope is out of earshot, Craig cracks. “Makes sense he would find someone who eats a hotdog like that. Hey, did you know that male seahorses can carry kids? That’s what she wants to do to Pope. To Pope. How the fuck is this possible?”
Deran takes over the grill, putting on another pack of links once J took the tray and put it on the table where the rest of the food is housed before coming back. “Craig, what the fuck are you talking about? What does seahorses have to do with any of this?”
“She’s pretty,” J notes.
His uncle claps him on the back, “Hell yeah. See those legs? Bet she puts Pope in a headlock every night dude. Happy place to die, yeah?” Craig jokes.
“How’s Renn by the way?” Pope asks, standing behind Craig with a blank stare and empty hands.
You were happy to receive the food, a brief touch between the two of you was shared. You are not afraid to show affection in public, and Andrew has learned to be less shy in receiving it. Not even Smurf’s presence could dampen the affection between the two of you as Smurf continues to volley questions at you which you returned with your own serves.
The two women pulled their attention away from each other when the pool splashed loudly.
Baz, Deran and J had watched as Pope wrapped his arms around Craig and quite literally carried him over to the pool and dropped him in.
It made you smile, not at seeing Andrew thrash his brother with some sort of discipline, but at the figure he cut while doing so.
“Look at her,” Baz comments. “She’s smiling at his bullshit.”
Pope had walked back, resuming his mantel at the grill. “At least she is amused by my bullshit, the same can’t be said about Cath to yours.”
That lob even made Deran rear his head back in surprise as Baz’s smile faltered. Before you, Pope would meet comments like that with pointed silence or a “shut up.” But now, he has gotten more creative with his insults – if his silence had been pointed then his retorts now were cuts to the jugular. Deran is impressed.
J bites into his hotdog, watching the drama unfold between his uncles – or at least one of them, according to Smurf.
Craig arrives back to them dripping wet, scowling as he dries off. A small, petulant, irritated huff leaves him but even that’s dismissed by the plate of food Pope makes for his little brother.
“Eat,” Pope demands. He knew food staved off the effects of the cocaine his brother snorted when he thought Pope wasn’t looking.
A few hours later, Smurf rises from her chair, her blonde signature bob shifts slightly in the wind as she stares down at you. The silence holds weight, but there’s just a fraction of a tilt in her head of acknowledgement before the older woman walks away.
Not a win for you.
But not a loss either.
The boys brace themselves when Smurf approaches them, staring at each of them before her eyes turn towards her eldest. Just like with you, she doesn’t say anything to her son for a moment. “We should open your gifts now.”
That’s all she says before she begins to kick people out, Baz is moving to help her.
The music slowly dies down as folks leave. The stones in the backyard are soaked from the pool and wet bodies moving around.
At some point Cath and Lena come out, meeting you as you remained where you are seated – Andrew didn’t have you lift a finger to clean up the mess of others. He moved around the yard with a methodical precision, gloves on as he didn’t want to open his gifts in a filthy environment.
You spoke with Catherine who seemed happy at having another woman around, though you knew that your positions are very different. Lena was quieter, inquisitive – much like Andrew even if they shared no blood. Asking what Texas was like, if it was as hot as others made it out to be.
“It can be, but on a night like this…it’s beautiful,” you whispered to the little girl who had moved closer to you as you spun a tale of rolling country hills and wide skies. “The moon always looks larger, brightening up the countryside in a glow that even the most beautiful woman would envy,” you lightly poke at her cheek, causing her to smile.
This is easy, talking with children. Your younger cousins hung off you when you went home to Texas or Louisiana; wanting to be carried or play up under you as you moved around your family’s land. As a child you just wanted to be heard, and your parents fulfilled that desire. From what Andrew has told you, it appears to be as though he is the only one to truly listen to the little girl before you.
“In spring, the grass grows tall, every breeze makes those hills look like waves in an ocean – grass so green it sparkles like emeralds in the sunlight.” Speaking of Texas like this, it made you think about the plot of land that was deeded to you. You are still undecided about what you wanted to do with it besides intermittently checking on it throughout the year or having your mom do it for you. But it is there for when life gets too loud and you want to remind yourself of what you can build in the future. “You can hear the coyotes howling, branches from trees that dance in the wind.
“Sounds pretty,” Lena comments, eyes bright with the idea of someplace new.
You hum to yourself. “Very beautiful, but California has its own beauty too.” If it didn’t, you wouldn’t have stayed – and you hate to think what would have happened if you left before ever meeting Andrew.
Cath listens while you speak, half her attention on studying you and looking at Pope. Probably asking the same questions as the boys and Smurf – holding up a picture of you and Pope and figuring out how you two align.
You had kept Smurf occupied for hours and the woman didn’t try to circle back and make pointed comments.
This is a first.
But to you it is simply recognition that in a battle of wills, neither of you are willing to roll over and show belly. You know that a woman like Smurf will not simply let the matter lie and at some point she will try to see if there are any weakness that she can exploit, to either drive you away or force Andrew to.
But just like a willow tree with its roots deep, you aren’t moving.
Lena runs once Cath begins talking to you. You watch as the little girl runs past her father and into her favorite uncle’s arms.
Pope catches his niece with ease, his mind soothed now that the mess from the party is cleaned up. Lena whispers in his ear, telling him about what you told her. He nods his head, staring at Cath and Willow talking.
His past versus his present and future.
Smurf watches everything behind the glass windows in the kitchen, observing before she makes her way outside, clapping her hands to get the attention.
Soon the Codys and you are sitting around at the table.
Craig gifts his brother a gift certificate – to a strip club but he appears hesitant when he glances at you. “If I had known…obviously I would have chosen something else.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Baz, Pope and Deran all replied at the same time.
Craig doesn’t refute them, but he states, “but don’t worry, I got a back up too!” The next gift are tickets to a motorcross show in Los Angeles in a month, we can just hang out, you know.” Craig attempts to apologize half-way for the certificate, but you easily dismiss it.
You rolled your shoulders, tilting your head in thought. “I’m not mad about that; I’m just surprised there’s a strip club that gives out gift certificates.”
Before Craig can begin to regale to you about how he found the club, Smurf moves along.
Baz gave Pope a watch, one you recognized as being too gaudy for Andrew’s taste. Nothing about Andrew screamed flamboyant, of attention seeking but he took it in good humor with a quiet, “thank you.”
Deran at least had put thought behind his gift, a book. The youngest Cody shuffled when Pope stares at him. “Book store guy said it’s a good book – written in the 80’s about the conservation effort for beluga whales.”
You give Deran a smile, something soft and sweet for Andrew’s youngest brother. You knew from the documentaries that Andrew watched that he was quietly fascinated by beluga whales.
Pope’s mouth twitches in an attempt of a smile – not a full one that displayed the dimples that he knows you have seen – but Deran takes it for what it is, rolling his shoulders now that the attention is off him.
Lena’s gift had been something smaller, made with the type of grace that only a quiet precocious child could have for her favorite uncle. A small picture drawn, a picture of him and her framed with help from Cath.
Smurf’s gift had been an envelope of money, a portion of the cut that Pope should have earned if he wasn’t in Folsom.
Pope and Smurf say nothing, but he takes the envelope and sets it aside until his attention is caught by Smurf’s question.
“Willow, I don’t suppose you brought a gift, did you?” The question isn’t rude, but it is skeptical.
Pope watches your mouth twitch, as though you find Smurf funny – perhaps the only person here who did.
Quietly, you reach in your bag. Just like earlier, svelte fingers grabbed a hold of the envelope, slowly pulling it from your bag before you turned and handed it to Andrew.
Hands free, he accepts your gift, flipping it over to stare at the wax. He traced the “W” in the middle of the envelope. Pope broke the seal, splitting it in half as he opened it and pulled the invitation out.
“You asked me if I’ve been written anything, I have.” You spoke to Andrew directly, but your words carried under the fairy lights that brightened the yard.
The cerulean surface of the pool sparkles under the lights, empty of the mass of bodies that had occupied it earlier.
Pope reads the invitation.
Date.
Time.
Location.
There are no flares, no dramatics.
It’s an invitation done proper.
For Pope to see into your mind, to not just peek into your world like he does at home but fully walk into it.
You composed a piece for him, Pope Cody. A man that most have written off as too quiet, too odd, too weird.
It feels as though the air has escaped his lungs and Pope stops breathing.
But there you are again, his anchor.
Your two fingers brush against his wrist and you hold it there, not minding the stares from his family because you are focused on him.
“Okay?”
Pope exhales, the invitation in his left hand while he slowly moves to hold yours with his right.
“Okay.”
Craig peers over Pope’s shoulders. “What is it?”
Pope answers while you rub your thumb against his skin. “An invitation, to listen to her music,” his hand tightens around yours momentarily.
The warmth of your skin burns his in the best way. Pope, still processing what your gift means to him, feels as though his skin is feverish.
Craig stares at you, “you sing or something?”
Your peal of laughter is bright and bubbly, your body angled towards Andrew. You pull his hand into your lap, shaking your head. Your curls bounce with movement; the scent of your conditioner is sweet under his nose.
“No, she’s a composer. She writes music, plays a violin,” Andrew corrects with pride.
Even though you have not publicly performed in three years, Pope does not doubt that whatever you have written will not be as beautiful as you are. The fingers that are threaded through his, the curve of your neck, your lips when you smile, he finds everything about you mesmerizing, why shouldn’t he? You, who let your shoulders brush against his while watching sunrises and sunsets. Kisses that are soft and sweet, so much so that he wishes he could fall into you – your warmth is a hearth he keeps for himself.
Perhaps that is the reason why he never brought you around his family; half for safety and the other for selfishness. Of not wanting to share you with others because Pope knew the type of man he is, he can never do anything partially – either he’s committed or he never tries in the first place. But with every step, even when he is afraid of messing up, you meet him in stride.
It is wonderous but also fucking terrifying.
You did not bail on his party even after talking to Smurf for nearly three goddamned hours – doesn’t think any woman ever has held Smurf’s attention that long, not without her making them feel pathetic and small. You brushed off Craig’s attempt at flirting and barely paid Baz a glance. You were undeterred by Deran’s presence and acknowledgement.
Above all else, you talked with Lena not with the typical dismissal that Pope saw Baz or even Cath do when she is too exhausted from Baz’s bullshit, but you spoke to his niece like she matters.
While Smurf sits down and listens to her sons and nephew ask you questions, it is not them she focuses on.
It’s Pope.
It’s you.
The picture that gets painted.
Your shoulders are pressed together, no space in between you. Fingers still entwined while Pope mumbles answers to their questions, providing more context. Your voice carries when you supplement what Pope leaves bare. Smurf notices that when you shift, Pope mirrors your action, readjusting himself around you.
The cigarette Smurfs pulls from burns red at the tip when she inhales, silent as the smoke curls in the air, dissipating like plans washed away along the shore.
*
Pope walks you out of his family’s compound.
The night air is cool, but the large palm on the small of your back is enough to warm you twice over. You could have made it to your car on your own, but Andrew would have none of it. It’s only when your truck gets into view do you both slow down.
Pope presses his palm harder against your back; the pads of his fingers burn against the thin barrier that separates his skin from yours. Hazel eyes darkened by the night, he takes a moment to stare at you.
“Thank you,” his voice is gravelly. Pope cannot begin to explain fully what this means to him – you being here, today.
Last year when he got released, his birthday had passed with little fanfare. Pope had not known what to do with himself. Another year without Julia, and he hates that as time continues to march forward, the childhood memories he had of Julia’s laughter are beginning to fade. When he got out of Folsom and returned to Smurf’s, he hated how there were no traces of Julia, no memory of the girl his sister and twin had been, only a nephew he barely knew who had Julia’s smile.
Last year, everything had been out of place for Pope Cody.
And yet within that year, everything has drastically changed.
Pope doesn’t realize you moved until he hears you whisper to him.
“I know what today means for you, Drew. With the life you lived, it is a blessing that you made it to forty.” You pulled out the small box from your bag, holding it out to him.
The gifts he had received from his brothers were nice – strip club certificate and flashy watch excluded – but he knows he values yours and Lena’s the most.
“You didn’t have to get me another,” Andrew states but you shake your head.
You step closer, eyes bright and fervent as you beckon Andrew to open it. You savor his expression when he stares at what you bought, carefully packaged like the treasure that it is.
Cradled on blue velour is a silver Saint Jude’s pendant. Not unlike the one you wear as a staple jewelry piece, it belonged to your great-grandmother, and your grandma has since passed it down to you.
While you never called Andrew, “Pope,” he has told you where the nickname came from. His fascination with Catholicism as a child, of Baz dubbing him “Pope Andrew,” and that the name stuck.
“I know, but I wanted to because you deserve it.” You always reinforce to Andrew that he is allowed to want things, to desire them for himself. That he did not have to sacrifice without gaining, no matter what his family – his mother – believed. “I just want you to have something as a reminder that no matter what, you are not lost.”
Carefully, you lift the necklace from its casing, Andrew says nothing but that you expected. You knew he needed a moment to process this, his mind probably churning what all of this meant – how this new piece of information, of freely given affection, will impact him.
Silently, you unclasped the necklace and stand behind Andrew. Your svelte fingers brush against the sternum of his throat. You can hear the sharp inhale of breath, but you pay no mind as you clasped the necklace.
Stepping around, your eyes lazily drink Andrew in.
The cicadas sing in the background, nature’s harmony accompany your movements as you press yourself against him, arms wrapping around his torso while you buried your face into his chest.
Salty, from the chlorine in the pool.
His cologne has long since been stripped away, but his unique scent almost makes you dizzy as you hold him tighter. The palms of your hands spread across his back, feeling the defined muscles underneath your touch.
Pope shoves the empty box into the pockets of his shorts so that his hands are free. His arms curl perfectly around you, and he rests his face atop your head.
There are no cars that pass so you both stand under a streetlight, in a warm embrace that spoke less of urgency and more of a quiet happiness that’s obtained and shared between the two of you like a lone flame.
At some point, your bodies spin and you are walking backwards while Andrew leads you until your back is against your truck. The breeze nips at your ankles but it goes ignored when your head tilts up, mouth slotting easily over Andrew’s.
There is barely a sliver of space between you, no light able to creep through your bodies as you press against one another tightly. Your hands wound up into his hair, fingers carding through the curls that Andrew has grown out – once you commented that you thought them pretty – in the last few months.
Pope hands drop lower, unabashedly grabbing a handful of your ass.
Your tongue slips past the seam of your lips and barely a second pass before your tasting Andrew’s mouth.
This is not a kiss that is shown in romantic comedies when a couple finally meets in the middle of a street, and the perfect song is played in the background.
It’s messy.
Hungry.
Pure greed.
The lack of oxygen begins to make you dizzy, and the moment you pull up from air you suck in a mouthful.
Andrew looks wrecked.
Eyes wild, hair mussed, lips swollen, smeared with the remnants of your lip gloss.
In the year that you’ve known each other, you have not yet crossed the threshold of sleeping with each other.
Boundaries on both parts.
You, wanting to be sure before allowing a man to have unfettered access to you.
Pope, who is only just now coming into himself; he no longer wants sex to be transactional or to be watched by Smurf through a crack in a door.
The two of you need this time to adjustment, of acknowledging the boundaries set and working on removing them yourselves.
Pope breathes deeply, his hands cupping your face, eyes searching. He is about to say something until his name is yelled, breaking the silence between them.
“POPE!”
Baz stood on the curb of the compound. Pope and Willow are far, but Baz can see how closely the two of you are standing, the way your face is tilted up, Pope’s hold along your jawline.
“Family meeting.”
You can hear the irritated sigh that Pope releases, but you shush him, stealing one kiss, and then two before swiping in for a third.
“How many years do I serve if I steal a fourth?” You smartly ask.
In moments like this that get intense between the two of you, just are good like this. Your humor lightens the heaviness of the moment – a reset that feels less like a hard one and more like refreshing a webpage.
But this is not a time where Pope wants you to stop – he doesn’t feel guilt for finding you attractive, of the desire he feels coursing through him while you continue to stare at him, mouth twisted with a smile and eyes that resembled aged bourbon.
Pope does not stare back at Baz; he keeps his attention on you.
“Will you wait up for me at home?” It’s a question that he already knew the answer to but he asks anyway.
You spread your palms against Andrew’s chest; one hand resting lightly above his heart and the other presses against his throat, fingers gently touching his new necklace. “Of course, I’ll leave on the light for you.”
Baz continues to stand on the curb, watching his brother who retreats as you turn your truck around, taillights disappearing down the streets. When Pope gets close, Baz can see the new accessory that adorns his brother’s neck. He knew that Pope didn’t wear jewelry, maybe a watch but that is about as close as he’d get.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” Pope huffs. His body may be here, but his mind is gone, focused on you and waiting for your text to let him know you made it home safely.
“Smurf’s just worried.”
Pope cuts his eyes at Baz. Baz doesn’t say anything about the deadpanned expression on Pope’s face, the two of them walk back into the compound, the gate swinging closed behind them.
The next hour is filled with Pope standing in one corner, listening to Smurf’s “concerns.” Her concerns read more like inquiries as she tries to figure out a hole in your background. Cath and Lena have gone to the back long before voices began to rise and Pope took it all in silence. It comes to head when Pope straightens, rolling his shoulders as he steps towards the table.
Palms face down against the smooth surface; the expression Pope wears is dark.
Deran shakes his head, circling before leaning back against on the couch, glancing once at Craig before he subtly shrugs, the movement is slight, but his older brother catches it.
“Stay away from her,” Pope tells Smurf, but he also makes sure to look at Baz too when he says it. “You don’t know her and you don’t need to know her.” Because as far as Pope is concerned, Smurf had no reason to pry into your life or the life you and him were building together. He wouldn’t let Smurf get her claws into you.
“Oh baby, don’t be that way. Just want to make sure she is who she says she is.”
Perhaps it’s too much time spent on the couch while you indulge in your guilty pleasure reality tv shows, but Pope can’t help but see the irony in her words and he voices that. “The same way you are who you say you are?”
Baz continues to drink a beer that has long since gone warm in his grasp. He has never seen Pope push back this hard – not since Julia. Baz moves the beer back to his lips, wondering how long mother and son will continue to go back and forth. Eventually he gets tired and intervenes. “Smurf is just concerned, I mean, what we do – we don’t know anything about her. Who knows,” Baz shrugs, “she may go and rat or ruin things.”
Your very presence in Pope’s life is already causing issues for Smurf and Baz understood that any issues of Smurf’s eventually became his – unfortunately.
Smurf raises her hand in Baz’s direction, as though his point held weight to it.
J stands off in the corner, watching the stoicism across Pope’s face as he stares at Smurf and Baz, contemplating which one is the bigger threat. J keeps silent just like Deran and Craig, not willing to cross any lines that are being carved into the sand, though he knows that Pope would likely carve his in blood if pushed hard enough.
Pope shifted, his necklace catching the light above the kitchen table. Smurf’s attention is briefly caught on it, something passive crosses her face before it disappears but Pope tenses, waiting for her remark.
“Saint Jude? Girl’s got some big aspirations.”
Pope knows exactly what Smurf is trying to imply. But your words from earlier give him comfort and only harden his resolve.
“This is the first and last conversation we will have about Willow. I meant what I said. Stay away from her. If I get so much of an inkling that either of you are snooping,” he turns slightly where his other brothers and nephew are, “or sending one of them to do it for you, there won’t be another conversation.” Pope keeps his eyes focused on Smurf and Baz before he steps away, moving to the back to say goodnight to Lena before heading out.
It wouldn’t be a birthday in the Cody family without Smurf trying to reassert her position before midnight arrived.
Pope’s drives his truck barely within the legal speed limit before he slows down once he enters your neighborhood. It’s quiet, the sounds of the ocean are far in the distance, but Pope can smell the salt in the air once he steps out of the cab. His truck sits in the driveway, a familiar sight that will greet the neighbors when they wake in the morning.
When you arrived home, you texted Andrew and then called your mom. You didn’t bring up your conversation with Smurf because you knew at the earliest scent of trouble, your mom would be on the next flight out of Texas with her rollers still in her hair and ready to use them to poke Smurf’s eyes out. In the morning, the two of you will talk proper but for now you were just happy to hear her voice before wishing her a good night. After taking a long and hot shower, you continued through your night routine before walking downstairs and turning on the overhead light over the stove. It did not brighten the kitchen fully but is a soft and warm greeting for Andrew to return to.
You lay in bed, cozy under the blankets but missing your living furnace as you kept your drowsy gaze focused on the TV. Phone discarded on the nightstand, you curled up closer to Andrew’s side of the bed, eyelashes fluttering as you tried to stay awake.
It wasn’t that you were totally tired, but with the house nice and cold, blankets warm from your body heat and feeling clean – it is the perfect combination for you to drift to sleep to.
You don’t hear Pope’s entrance into the bedroom, or the shower going before you stir when you feel the dip in the bed. You hum, moving closer until you’re smushed right up against him. The light from the TV is enough for Pope to see your eyes open, a sliver of brown visible as you wear a sleepy grin.
Laying on his side, Pope shifts until your faces are aligned.
The breaths you take are flavored by mint from the toothpaste you share. Body languid, Pope just stares at you, of the few curls that have escaped your silk bonnet, a hand raised to settle on his chest just like hours before.
“I missed you.”
And you had, you knew that you would have preferred him coming straight home with you, but Andrew would not want to leave his truck at Smurf’s.
“M’sorry,” he mumbles, pressing closer.
Pope pauses for a moment before he poses a question. “Can I kiss you?”
This draws another grin out of you, your eyes opening only a fraction wider before you nod your head. You move to drag your head across the pillow, but it is pointless with the way Andrew reaches for you.
Pope is there, a hand settling on the back of your neck to hold you in place as he kisses you. This time it is not you who leads, it is him.
Even though Pope can still feel the earlier residual indignation at Smurf and Baz for questioning your character, he doesn’t let that taint the soft press of his lips to yours.
It is not greedy like the kiss you shared on the street.
In the last few hours of the day, warm in bed with your body against his, Pope has no reason to be demanding. Lying in sheets that carry the scent of your soap and oils, in a house where he has learned the sounds of your laughter – unfettered and cackles alike – Pope let’s himself soak this in.
There are moments where you pause, a sliver of light between your lips as you both breathe, sharing the same breath before your lips are meeting once more.
The hand on your neck soon disappears down your back before grabbing ahold of your ass. You are not surprised; Andrew loves the shape of your ass, the stretch marks that cover them and how high it sits.
Nothing of tonight is different.
Your legs slot open for Andrew once he has you on your back, his mouth kissing down your neck, the lace trim of your top is ignored when he kisses the top of your breasts. His mouth is wet and wanting as he continues down.
His fingers hold apart your thighs once he gets your shorts off. His drops his face until he is eye-level with your cunt.
You turn your head in embarrassment when you hear Andrew breathe deeply, inhaling your scent. There is no time to feel further shyness before his face is buried between your legs, mouth open, tongue flat as he licks your pussy before sucking on your clit.
Leg tensing, you immediately try to shut them, but Andrew’s hands are hard to fight against as your legs are forced to stay open.
“Ah!” A moan catches in your throat before your hands move to grab ahold of his hair, pressing yourself closer.
If Pope loves the smell of your perfume and soaps then he loves the natural scent of you even more. It is light, sweet almost when you become aroused like this. Your taste saturates his tongue which only makes him dive his tongue in deeper. Pope doesn’t mind the way you pull his hair as you hump his face. Loves that you do not try to muffle your moans like the first time he got his mouth on you. It made him prideful to know that he could get you to be like this; writhing under his grasp, soft moans that are choked off when the pleasure builds too quickly.
Your back arches when he adds a finger into you, your left leg collapses against his head now that you have mobility in it. You feel your stomach tighten when one finger becomes two that thrusts inside you.
If Pope pulled his fingers out, he would see the clear sticky fluid webbing between his middle and ring fingers. The veins on his arm and wrist pop as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. The soppiness of your cunt deepens his breathing as he licks your clit once more.
“Drew.”
One hand leaves his head, reaching down for the hand against your thigh, you laced your fingers together. Feeling the pressure build and build until it snaps.
A burst of liquid gushes from you, coating Pope’s face who continues to eat you out. His tongue remains flat against your cunt while you cum. He can feel the shakes in your body, the fluttering in your pussy as you moan, long and drawn out.
His dick rubs against the sheets, neglected as he keeps his face buried between your thighs.
Your twist in his hold, toes bunching up as pleasure wrecks through you.
Cunt drunk, Pope pulls away, staring down at the mess you made before he glances at you. Your bonnet has fallen off, left on your pillow while your head rests on his. You stare up at the ceiling fan, muscles still spasming in your thighs, barely cognizant of Pope who began to rub circles into your flesh.
Pope stares down at his cock, painfully hard and weeping at the head. He doesn’t know what to do, but like always you are there.
The hand that was entwined with his are loosened and two familiar fingers settle at his pulse. “Okay?”
By this time, Pope would usually get off the bed and go into the bathroom, walking out with a warm cloth to clean you up before tucking you back into bed, him curled up behind you.
But tonight, he sits and stares.
Pope stares at his cock. Usually when you came, he would cum from humping the bed as he ate you out. But tonight, he remained fully hardened. It surprised him, but he thinks after today, after your gifts, and that kiss…he grunts to himself.
“Okay,” though he doubts his own words.
You tap against his pulse twice. “Don’t over think it, Drew.” You move your legs, parting them.
Another invitation.
Pope moves above your body, settling between your thighs as he presses his chest to yours. You smile at him easily, welcoming him with a kiss, your arms wrapping around him.
Feels so good here, Pope thought. In your arms like this with no barriers between the two of you, just skin-to-skin. He bent his head and sucked on a breast, tongue laving against the brown nipple before he bit down gently.
Your pelvis grinds against his, breath hitching when you feel his dick slip into your cunt before poping out to brush against your clit.
Pope alternated, moving to the other breast when your nipples grew stiff from his attention. He sighs around your breast every time his dick slides through your wetness, the brief contact of heat are shocks of pleasure before his dick pops out.
The muscles in Pope’s back flex while he moves, the light from the TV is blocked by his body over yours.
It is easy to fall back into kissing. You taste yourself on his tongue and it only serves to turn you on more, body thrumming with a fire that has been stoked all night.
“Please,” you breathe, voice soft and pleading. “Please.”
There is no one standing outside of his door, watching him. It is just you and him. Pope and Willow. He grabs ahold of himself and slots his dick to your cunt, checking your face, you eagerly nod and he begins to push in.
It is one thing to purposelessly slip inside; it is another to do so with intent. That first inch has Pope biting down on his lip, a shiver ripples through him when he pushes further into you, sinking into your heat.
It burns. You are so hot that it feels as though he is melting.
“God,” he mutters, pushing further, ignoring the way your legs begin to tighten against his sides.
You held a breath, hissing quietly at his girth before relaxing once he got the next two inches in. Wet and slick, Andrew falls into you easily, dick reaching where his fingers could not.
As much as Andrew has always tried not to take up space in your life – or be apologetic when he does – he fills you up until your pelvises meet. Your lower lips are stretched wide around him, flared even as you both get used to the sensation of what it feels like to be joined together.
“Feel so good,” he moans, voice muffled as he kisses your neck.
You can feel the trembling in his arms as he holds himself up, but you shake your head, pulling him down. His weight falls on top of you, pressing you into the mattress as your pussy is stretched to the brim around him.
It starts slow.
Pope pulls out and then pushes back in.
Every time he does so, there is an audible pop that fills the room.
All those mornings spent watching the waves crash upon the shore, Pope begins to mimic the tides.
Push and pull.
In and out.
Beads of sweat are licked away by searching mouths.
Half-moons welts left behind from hands that are eager and desperate.
Feverish flesh bruised from control slipping, rationality burning at the frays of the mind.
Less talking and more moans, some soft and others harsh.
Groans when a particular angle proves fruitful, mouth open, breath labored.
Once started it became difficult to stop.
Puffy and swollen, your pussy continues to drip with your arousal, making a mess between the two of you but Andrew pays it no mind. His eyes move from your face to the white that froths around his dick, egging himself on even as he pulls your legs up and pins them towards your shoulders – leaving your body exposed fully to his eyes.
More pressure is added onto you, but you accept it with all the grace one can when getting put into a mattress. Andrew leverages his weight on top of you, keeping you right where he wants as he pushes back into you, groaning when he hits bottom.
“Drew,” you try to warn him but his name from your lips pushes him further as he uses a hand to play with your clit.
Your chest heaves as you sigh, stomach jerking and then your body sinks further into the bed as you cum again.
Oversensitive, Pope pulls out, watching the way your pussy flutters around nothing.
Your eyes barely close before they flash open in surprise, feeling his tongue swiping through the mess between your thighs. There’s so much, you can’t help but feel warm in the face, dumbfounded by your body’s reaction as you continue to cum, eyes burning before you cry out. His mouth is hot and open, teeth dragging over your clit that cause you to jump but be unable to run as he keeps his mouth on you.
Pope keeps his face buried there before rising, grabbing ahold of his wet dick and pushing back in. He doesn’t know where he gets this pace from, this energy to keep going even when he feels how boneless you become; watching how helpless you are as your cries taper off into mewls, breathless gasps as you grab at his arms, holding onto him.
His curls have long since began to stick to his head, darker at the ends that are soaked in sweat. Pope licks at the sweat between your breasts and under them, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.
You feel as though you are being devoured – and it’s because you are.
The thoughts that have been with Pope from nearly the moment he has met you have taken over, and even with the limited sexual activities you’ve both done with each other, it pales in comparison to this.
Pope thinks about how different you sound when he has his fingers in you to when it’s his dick. The slow drag of his fingers in comparison to cock that slides against your ribbed walls; the way your pussy stubbornly clings to the head of cock before he pushes back in, snapping his hips and grinding against you.
The sheets begin to pull from the mattress with how much the two of you are moving, one slipping free and showing the mattress cover underneath.
You are not cognizant of the time, Andrew doesn’t expect you to be. Just like your pussy, all of your sense are filled with Andrew. Hyperaware of everything he’s doing, of what he’s saying, nothing but filth that pushes you closer to closer to the edge.
“So good to me,” Pope pants into your ears.
“M’sorry, I can’t stop.”
It almost funny because it sounds as though he is remorseful that his hips keep slamming into yours, that his dick keeps pushing against that spongy spot inside of you, trapping air in your throat.
Words begin to slur as Pope feels the way you tighten around him, squeezing like a vice as you cum, mouth agape as you throw your head back, back arching. He feels liquid soaking the hairs at the base of his cock and it’s enough for him to cum.
Pope bends over you, back bowed as though wounded.
Cum spurts out of him, ropes of white that sear your insides in a flood of warmth. You moan at the sensation of being doubly filled, pussy spasming as your body trembles in ecstasy.
“Fuck,” you mumble, hands twisting in the sheets before Pope lowers your legs and entwines your fingers back together.
Pope continues to cum, face twisted as he gives a few lazy pumps of the hips. It feels so good that he falls on top of you, balls jerking underneath him as they empty. “S’ good,” he whispers into your ears. “Taking me s’ good,” he slurs at the end. He kisses your neck, keeping his dick inside of you even as he feels his cum leak out. Pope rolls his hips, pushing cum back inside, smiling into your neck when he hears you mewl, fingers tightening around his.
The stillness in movement allows for the ceiling fan to begin cooling the sweat on Pope’s back. He can feel the welts on his back from your nails, but he doesn’t care, mind too filled with bliss to register the minor pain. He will wear your bruises and scars with honor – he pulls out slightly before sliding back in, moaning at how wet and messy you are. Pope Cody has never had sex without a condom before, but he doesn’t think he has cum this hard – ever.
Too weak to fully withdraw but eager enough to continue rolling his hips to hear the airy moans you make under him. Pope rears his head back, only to kiss you.
Compared to the mess between the two of you, this is neater but no less passionate. You tug at his hair, fingers carding through damp curls as he cups the base of your neck, grinding into you as his dick begins to soften inside of you – finally.
The two of you remain like that; joined with cum spilling past swollen lips onto the sheets beneath you, trading kisses for moans as dopamine courses through your bodies.
Pope moves once he’s fully soft, taking his lips from yours as he rears back to watch as he pulls himself out of you.
White spills out onto your brown sheets, and Pope watches how your pussy glistens. He admires how it looks all fucked out, swollen and puffy. Watches the way it jumps when his fingers lightly brush against your clit, the mewl you give him when he swipes that nub twice between retreating, eyes focused as more cum drips from you.
The necklace you gave him sits on his chest, something cool against his feverish skin. Pope falls on his back, the mattress and pillow meeting him in greeting.
You move gingerly, already knowing that by morning your thighs will be aching, your back will be sore but you cannot bring yourself to complain. Andrew already has his hand on your back when you move to lay closer on your side, his fingers are pressing into your skin, massaging your lower back and making you hum drowsily.
Your nose wrinkles at the stickiness between your thighs and the wet sheets beneath you but you ignore it as you sit in this moment with Andrew.
You play with his free hand, holding up your hand to his for comparison as you often did in bed. You observe once more how much larger his hand is, his blunt nails that he keeps trimmed and manicured, compared to your long almond-shaped nails. Your sunkissed brown skin compared to his pale, the freckles scattered on his arms that are like ones that dance across the bridge of his nose – there’s fifteen of them, you counted once when he fell asleep while you watched “Double Indemnity” a few weeks ago.
Unwilling to sleep on damp sheets, you let yourself be pulled from the bed by Andrew. He sets you on your feet, watching how you stand with your feet slightly apart, body already aching.
Pope leans down and brushes a kiss onto your head, whispering under his breath. “Go clean up, I’ll take care of the bed.”
You don’t protest, you swing your legs around and walk the short distance, hissing to yourself at how sore you felt, opting to take a quick shower in the hopes the heat will help alleviate the onset of muscle fatigue.
Nearly forty minutes later the two of you are back in bed, the sheets beneath you still smell like Tide detergent Andrew used on a load of laundry on Tuesday. Back to being warm and cozy; your body is slotted next to Andrew’s who has returned to massaging your back as you laid your head on his chest and hooked a leg over his.
You place a finger under his chin and tilt your head up, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips, smiling as you settled back against him, your nose slightly brushing his. He mumbles something, tired now that he’s back in bed and has you curled up next to him.
You tilt your head up and see the alarm clock on his nightstand and you cannot help but smile.
A minute left of the day.
Before Pope truly falls asleep the only thing he hears is you whisper, “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.”
