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guard dog - andrew "pope" cody x reader

chapter five of eight

Series Summary: When you move in down the street from the Cody family, you definitely aren't expecting romance. But Andrew gradually becomes a fixture in your life, for better or for worse.

Chapter Summary: You go to the Cody house for a family dinner (i.e. an interrogation) to see if you're good for Pope.

Tags/Notes: andrew "pope" cody x reader, afab/fem reader, girl next door trope, getting together, protective/possessive pope, meeting the family, first kiss, a little sexiness

Content Warnings: characters smoking weed (not reader)

A/N: this is my fave chapter everyone be nice

Word Count: 4.9k

Friday evening, you spend a full hour getting ready. You start with a slow, methodical, everything shower. Andrew said he’s a gentleman, but, in case you end up naked with him, you want to be ready, supple and smelling good and touchable. Even if you don’t, though, you still want your confidence high.

By the time Andrew knocks at the door – six o’clock sharp – you’re waiting for him in an olive green silk dress that’s cut at the right mix of modest and sexy and a pair of strappy leather heels you can barely walk in. You add one more spritz of perfume – some champagne and berries smelling thing the girl behind the counter at Sephora recommended as ‘sexy and sophisticated’ – and tuck the bottle into your bag to refresh later.

The moment you open the door for him, Andrew’s jaw hits the ground by his feet. He grabs you by the hips, the gesture more forward than anything he’s done by a mile, and devours you with his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, you look amazing.”

Realizing how much he’s touching you, too much, he raises up his hand and motions for you to do a twirl for him to show off the outfit. You roll your eyes, but secretly you’re thrilled to oblige because of the effect you’re having on him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Seriously, wow.”

Your bravado’s all gone now that he’s here, in the flesh, looking at you like that. You give a curtsy and then a shrug. “It’s just a dress.”

“No, it’s not.” It takes everything in Pope not to grab you and shove you into the house to screw you until you can’t think, but he knows how important it is not to fuck up tonight. So he just lets his fingers skate lightly down your arm to catch your hand. “Seriously, this is…Damn. Can’t believe you got dolled up like this for me. Thank you.”

You swear you’re blushing all the way to your toes. “For what?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he smirks, “but I’m definitely grateful.”

“Well, you can thank yourself, too.” You close the door at last and tell him, “Took myself on a little shopping spree this morning to spend the rest of that cash burning a hole in my pocket.” Then you lean up on your toes, kiss his cheek, and whisper, “Even had enough to get something cute to wear underneath.”

Andrew threads his fingers through yours, squeezes your palm, and groans, “You trying to kill me?”

Narrowing your eyes playfully, you tug him toward the sidewalk and ask, “What would you do if I was?”

“If you were dressed like this, I’d probably let you.”

The two of you walk down the street in silence for a moment until you give his hand another pulse with yours and say, “You know, you only live two doors down; I could’ve walked myself.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs as you head into their driveway. “You don’t need to be walking places.”

Without asking, you can tell he means ‘you won’t be walking alone anymore.’ You avert your eyes as he punches in the driveway code, the massive spiked gate swinging open. Going in through the side instead of the front door feels like seeing a new side of the family. Big red motorcycles, dirt bikes, surfboards, jet skis on stacked racks, convertibles with foreign brand logos you don’t even recognize.

With a library-quiet voice and wide eyes, you ask, “All this crazy stuff is your family’s?”

“On paper, it’s all mine,” Andrew corrects like that wouldn’t make him a multi-millionaire. “The house, the cars, everything.”

“Not your mom’s?”

He shrugs and leads you around the back of the house. “I’ve got the best credit.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Sure. Makes sense.”

At the door into the kitchen, he pauses. Turns and looks at you with questioning, serious eyes. “Smurf’s semi-retired now and I’m the oldest. I’m in charge of all our buildings. Handing out everyone’s salaries for managing things. Assets are all mine.”

Your blood runs cold and takes a few more seconds to warm up and resume pumping through your body. Andrew’s in charge. He’s joked about bossing around his brothers before, but you didn’t realize how seriously he meant it. He has the most responsibility, which means the biggest rewards, which means the most risk.

Andrew’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “You ready to go in? Need a minute?”

After swallowing hard, you meet his eyes and ask, “Anything I should know not to say?”

He smirks at that. “You’re a smart girl; as long as you tell Smurf everything she does is perfect, you’ll do fine.”

“Good tip.”

Then, his smile growing a little more at the thought, he adds, “And she’s going to tell you to relax, put your feet up, whatever, about a hundred times. Every time, you offer to help with something. You don’t actually have to help, but offering will get you in her good books.”

The house is teeming with activity. Smurf is in the kitchen with a few women you very vaguely recognize from the first time you showed up during their house party, plus a little girl, maybe six or seven, perched up on the counter eating a popsicle. The boys are in the living room, smoking and drinking and laughing way too loud for the space.

And Andrew’s hand is on your lower back, fingers spread wide, guiding you inside. Pushing you, almost, like he’s scared you’ll back out if he lets you go. He takes you over to the boys first, who greet you with a raucous cheer like they’re actually happy to see you. Which is…nice. Even though they’re sitting in an absolute cloud of weed and cigarette smoke.

“Good seeing you again, neighbor.” Craig stands up, a lit joint between his fingers (they do drugs in front of their mother?), and tugs you into an almost painful hug because of the way he pounds his hand on your back like you’re also a 300-pound dude. Then he takes another puff, blowing it right in your face, and offers it up to you as you cough and wave. “Want a drag?”

Andrew murmurs against your ear, “You smoke?”

You shake your head ‘no’ nervously just like he expected.

He looks at his brother, stern, before you can stammer over some semblance of an answer. “Put it out, Craig.”

Craig scoffs at that, looking earnestly offended. “What, you get a girlfriend and I can’t smoke weed anymore?”

“Not in front of her.” He looks at Deran, who also has a joint attached to his lips, and orders, “Both of you. Put ‘em out.” Then he calls over his shoulder, “You, too, Nicky!”

A teenage girl’s voice from the kitchen calls back, exasperated but still light, “Fuck off, Pope!”

Then Smurf’s voice, calm and collected. “Whatever he says, Nicky. You know the rules.”

You hear a huffy sigh and, soon enough, the skunk scent is replaced by onions and garlic on the stove. Andrew brings you over to the kitchen where the women are preparing what looks like an absolute feast. There’s already a platter of caprese, bread so fresh its steaming surrounding spiced olive oil, and prosciutto-wrapped figs for starters, and there’s plenty more cooking on the large stove and in the double ovens for the main course later on.

The moment she sees you, Smurf pulls you into one of her tight hugs and praises, “You look absolutely beautiful.” She admires the sight of you next to her son, deciding that the view makes sense to her, and adds, “Green is definitely your color. Brings out Andrew’s eyes.”

Yeah, he’s definitely a mama’s boy. Still, you have enough manners to take the compliment, strange as it is. Admiring the food and her well-adorned outfit, you reply, “Thank you. Everything looks incredible – including you.”

That makes her beam. She squeezes your forearm and tells her son, “I like her already.”

Then she snatches you out of Andrew’s arms to usher you to the kitchen. At your helpless look, Andrew grimaces. His eyes say, sorry, but she has to like you. So you join her.

Before introductions, you hear Andrew return to his brothers and then, quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear, he tells Craig, “And don’t fucking touch her again.”

Once you’re with Smurf, she points out each of the girls you haven’t formally met. “This is Nicky, J’s girlfriend. Catherine – Cath – Baz’s wife, and Lena, their daughter. Renn, Craig’s-” She eyes the one with the strong bone structure and laughs, “What are you two right now? Girlfriend? Ex?”

Renn cuts up fruit, dumping them into a large cocktail pitcher, and purses her lips. “We’re hate fucking.”

“Craig’s girlfriend,” Smurf chuckles. “Deran's boyfriend couldn't make it, but I'm sure you'll meet him sometime. C’mere, baby, grab some appetizers and a drink and go sit with the boys.”

Andrew’s advice ringing in your ears, you insist, “No, no, let me help with something. You’ve all got your hands full.”

Smurf’s next gaze is nothing short of approving. She hands you a cutting board and a couple of fat ripe oranges before ordering, “Slices. Nice and thin. For the sangria.” She checks the temperature on a full rack of lamb in the oven and closes it back up. “Those cookies you made were phenomenal, by the way. You cook on top of baking?”

You start on your fruit, making sure they’re perfectly even and just the right thickness. “I love both. Now that your boys fixed up my kitchen, I can do a lot more cooking.”

“Good. That’s good.” More pointedly, she says, “Andrew eats like a king here, so don’t go feeding him takeout every night.”

“Better listen to her-” Renn takes the oranges from your cutting board and pushes them into a large pitcher of chilled wine. “-or he’ll be back here letting mommy feed him even after he buys you a house.”

Smurf smiles to herself. “I’ll always feed my boys if they ask.”

“That’s so lovely,” you say softly, mainly to butter her up but partially meaning it. “Wish my mom treated us that well. Whole reason I know how to cook is because she never did.”

Smurf reaches over and squeezes your cheeks. “You’re too sweet. Glad one of my boys is scooping you up.”

Then Nicky blurts out, completely filter-less with her glassy eyes, “How old are you anyway? Isn’t Pope, like, 80?”

“Andrew’s not even forty,” Smurf gently corrects her. “And you should never ask a lady her age. She’s young enough for him to take care of, but old enough not to be stupid.” Then she eyes you up; the way she looks at you has you constantly on edge, like you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say. “Right?”

You laugh and finish slicing, not missing a beat. “I’m going to have to steal that line next time someone asks.”

Then Cath takes her turn at the inquisition. With a glance at her daughter, who Smurf’s given the critical task of eating a second popsicle, Cath asks, “You want kids?”

You say honestly, “I’ve always wanted a big family. I like how close Andrew is to all of you. Wish I had that. Hope my kids get it some day.”

“Good.” Smurf’s expression doesn’t have a trace of joking to it even though her voice is playful. “I need more grandkids. You’re good with kids? Ever babysit?”

“I volunteer at the library and I spend half the time with the kids and half with the adult literacy program.”

“Jesus,” Nicky snorts, “you’re way out of Pope’s league. He’s a total psycho.”

Smurf glares daggers and points her knife at Nicky like she might actually use it. “I told you to stop saying that.” Then she makes a point of turning to focus on you again. “Baby, why don’t you bring these appetizers over to the boys? You should relax. Let them have a turn with you.”

Renn huffs bitterly, “Careful; Craig might take that literally.”

Still, because Smurf told you to, you pick up the plates of small bites and take them over to the living room, where the boys are all leaning in talking about something that looks tense. Their lips are tight, their eyebrows pinched, their voices hushed. You get the sense it’s work talk, whatever the hell that means. So, when you walk up, it’s soft as a mouse. You set the food on the table and say, “Smurf wanted me to bring these over and say hi, but I’ll go back and-”

“No, c’mon,” Baz laughs as you attempt an escape, “we’ve gotta talk to the guest of honor, too.”

“Nowhere for her to sit,” Deran hisses, not looking at you, wanting to get back to work talk with the rest of them. “You can chit chat over dinner.”

“Nonsense!” Baz folds his body so he isn’t taking up the entire couch. Then he reaches out to pull you onto the cushion next to him, but, before you can even process it, Andrew’s hand is wrapped around his wrist, bruising hard and bullet fast. Firm. Authoritative. Final.

“Don’t touch her.” Andrew drops his brother’s hand and then takes yours, his fingers now soft and gentle. You can see the red ring around Baz’s wrist where Andrew grabbed him. “Rule doesn’t only apply to Craig.” He stands up and says, “I’ll grab a chair; you take mine.”

“Such a gentleman,” Craig needles. “So jealous he won’t even let his girl sit on a couch with his brother.”

There’s an unfamiliar feeling screwing up in your gut when he says that. Something hard to name. Something like protectiveness. Something like bravado. You know Andrew’s restraining himself because you’re there; that much is easy to see. And you can definitely tell that, if you weren’t in the room, he would never eat shit from his brothers. So, trying your best to read the situation for what it is, trusting your instincts, you put a hand on Andrew’s chest, guide him back into his plush, oversized chair, and say, “I think there’s a perfectly good place to sit right here for me.”

Unsure entirely what’s gotten into you – the secondhand smoke, maybe – you drop yourself squarely into Andrew’s lap, throwing your arms around his neck and your legs over one of the chair’s arms. You press your lips to his ear and murmur, breath hot on his neck, “This an okay spot for me?”

Andrew’s almost as surprised by your little move as you are, but he’s impressed. And very, very fucking pleased. He slings one arm around your back, settling right at the low point of your dress where your bra peeks out, and the other over your thighs. His thumb rides up your dress just until the point where he’d be exposing your panties to his brothers. His hand is bigger than you’d noticed before, and rougher, lighting up the nerves on your sensitive skin.

He turns to make staggering eye contact and says, “You stay there as long as you want, sweetheart.”

Baz grins and punches Craig hard on the arm. “See, the Holy Pope’s got plenty of game still. Lay off.”

Andrew’s body heat is radiating through you, relaxing you, and you do your best to meet the boys’ eyes without nerves in yours. Craig takes a long pull of his beer as he leans in closer to get a better look at you. “So what’d you do with all that cash Pope gave you?”

Deran nods and leans forward, too, having decided that you’re more interesting than whatever they were talking about before. “Yeah, I’m interested in that. Wasn’t exactly pocket change.”

“You don’t have to answer them,” Andrew tells you as his thumb runs over the top of your bra band, making you think about nothing but him unlatching it. Christ, you haven’t even kissed the guy and he’s driving you nuts. “Not their business.”

Deran pokes the bear next. “Let the girl talk, Andrew.”

You know that they’re trying to get information on you. Trying to protect Andrew and their family. So you tell them the truth instead of deflecting or joking: “Nothing exciting. Got my nails done, bought groceries, picked out this dress-”

“And it is a mighty fine dress,” Craig commends. “Really shows off your-”

“Two strikes,” Pope cuts him off. “Watch it.”

“Oh, I’m scared as shit now.” Craig raises an eyebrow and challenges, “What happens on the third?”

Andrew gives him a look then. Just a look. He doesn’t fake out to make him flinch or brandish the gun you don’t know he’s got on him, twelve inches from your ass. He looks at his much larger little brother and tilts his head ever so slightly to one side.

Craig sips his beer, flicks his eyes to yours, and says, “Sorry.”

The idea that Andrew’s so dangerous it even scares his brothers makes you squirm. He’d really protect you from anyone.

Baz eyes you over his beer and says, “So we know what you’ll do with a few hundred bucks. If he dropped ten grand in your lap right now, what’s the first thing you’d do with it?”

You pick up Andrew’s beer from the side table and sip on it just to do it. “Mostly I’d be impressed that he managed to put ten grand in my lap when I’m sitting on his.”

Andrew presses his forehead to your shoulder and laughs along with his brothers. It feels good to get a morsel of acceptance.

Lena pokes her head around the corner tentatively and announces, “Grandma Smurf says five minutes until dinner.”

“Thanks, bug. We’ll be right over.” Baz smiles and nods. Once she disappears back into the kitchen, though, he looks right at you and presses further, though, clearly trying to get something. “C’mon, though, really. What would you do if that kind of cash showed up?”

You meet his eyes straight on, feeling empowered with Andrew’s arms on you. “I’d ask what the catch is the same way I did when he gave me a percentage of that.”

Baz cracks a smile. “Smart girl.”

You laugh and say, “Well, they don’t let just anyone into community college these days.”

At that, you can feel Andrew’s body relaxing beneath you, softening with trust that you’re going to respond in ways that stop everyone from questioning your presence.

Still, Craig has to pry further. “I mean, she can’t be that smart if she’s with Pope.”

You roll your eyes at that, playing with Andrew’s hair, noticing for the first time how curly and soft it is, noticing even more how he leans into the touch. Not even looking at Craig, you reply, “Then you must not be that smart for taking his orders all the time, huh?”

The other boys ooohh down low and laugh.

While they finish piling onto Craig for walking himself into being called an idiot by a girl, Smurf’s voice breaks through the noise, “Deran, Craig, come help set the table!”

As his brothers disperse, Andrew turns to face you again, smirks, and says quietly, “You know what I just realized?”

You scrunch up your nose. “What?”

“I didn’t give you a tour of the place.” He guides you to a standing position, takes your hand in his, and adds, “That was awfully rude of me.”

Craving a minute alone with him, you tag along as he tugs you away from the open living area. Inside the first bathroom you reach, you agree, “Unforgivably rude, absolutely. I definitely need to see-”

He slams the door behind you both, cages you between his arms against it, eyes trained on yours, and whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyebrow goes up. “You’re asking?”

He leans in a little closer, an inch from your lips. His cologne smells so good, like sandalwood and leather and citrus. You could nestle into his neck and breathe deep and you know he’d let you. “I’m never going to make you uncomfortable.”

You’re melting under his gaze, genuinely becoming a puddle pooling around his feet. Wanting his touch. Wanting him. “I thought you said something about not kissing me goodnight the other day?”

“If the stenographer would read back the record, I think you’ll find that I said ‘if you don’t ask me first.’” Smiling like an idiot now – a rare sight that you work hard to memorize – he continues, “And this wouldn’t be a goodnight kiss, just a first one.”

“Well, I think we’ve got about thirty seconds before your mother starts knocking on the door reminding us it’s dinner time.” Your breath ghosts across his face, your nose nudging along his cheekbone as you murmur, “Better make the most of it.”

The kiss starts tentatively. Like he’s never done it before. You rest one hand on his chest, fingers flexing into his pec, and let the other grasp at his hip. Your lips part and his tongue slides along the envelope of you. You let out the tiniest moan.

That’s when his hand goes to the back of your head to stop you from hurting yourself as he crushes you back against the wall, stealing your breath, making desperate sounds rise in your throat that he swallows down right away like his life depends on it. His other hand isn’t as polite as the one holding you close.

His fingers slide up your thigh, hiking up your dress, until he touches the skimpy edge of your panties. As you whimper, he follows the line of your thong with his thumb until he’s cupping the fullness of your ass in one of his large hands. “What the fuck do you have on under this, little girl?”

It’s downright shameful how wet that makes you. You roll your hips toward him and he tightens his hold on your ass. “If I get your family’s approval during dinner, maybe you’ll let me show you after?”

Andrew kisses along your jaw for a second, letting himself cool down while still tasting your skin, and mutters, “You’re trouble.”

Testing the waters, you narrow your eyes at him and say, knowing it’s risky, “Ironic coming from the guy who left a bag of cash and guns in my house.”

A flash of darkness takes over his eyes. An edge of paranoia and anxiety. But only for a second. He studies your expression and finds it teasing, light, flirtatious instead of fearful and cagey. So he nips you again with a quick kiss and replies, “Hey, you’re the one who hung onto it. I gave you an out.”

“You gave me a test,” you correct. “I’m not stupid, Andrew.”

“My brothers seem to disagree.” There’s a moment of insecurity from him that you didn’t expect, his hazel eyes analyzing every fraction of your features. “You don’t think I’m too, ah, intense for you? That’s what girls are always telling me when they- What everyone’s always telling me, actually.”

“I like that you’re intense,” you tell him easily. Honestly. “I like that you want to keep me safe. I like that you’ll actually do it and not just say you will. I like that you’re not scared. I like that you know how to fix things I don’t even know are broken.” You run your fingers through his curls and hope he can feel the tenderness in your every movement. “I like you, Andrew, not whatever person everyone else has you convinced you are.”

He takes that in. Goes quiet. The tiny, sweet twitch of his lip tells you everything you need to know. “Let’s go eat.”

You steal one more kiss. “Yeah. Let’s.”

He walks you back out to the dining room hand in hand, pulling out the chair next to his for you. The table’s practically overflowing. Smurf went all out, but you get the feeling she’s always looking for an excuse to do that. Herb crusted lamb, garlic butter lobster tails, truffle mashed potatoes, lemony asparagus, mushroom risotto, more fresh crusty bread, and so many pitchers of mixed drinks that everyone could have their own if they wanted.

And, to be frank, you nail it. The whole evening. The Codys aren’t as complicated as Andrew made you think. Smurf wants to feel trusted. Baz wants to feel respected. Craig wants to feel important (and to see you drink enough to keep up with the rest of them). Deran wants to feel heard. J wants to feel smart and capable. Cath wants family, Renn wants a laugh, Nicky wants…Well, Nicky mostly wants pot, but she’ll take you seeming interested in her thoughts.

You grew up in a family where you learned to wear a lot of masks. A lot of costumes. You know how to tailor the way you speak to whoever’s listening. Which Andrew loves watching. He’s beyond impressed with you. He thought you were just a cute, mousy girl who hung on his every word and wanted someone to talk to in a new neighborhood, but you’re quick. You’re sweet. You don’t miss a beat.

Meaning? You’re an asset. Something beyond ‘not a liability.’

You could be useful.

He smiles the whole time he walks you home, shaking his head to himself, not saying a word while he holds your hand, swinging it every once in a while like he’s a lovestruck teenager. You’re drunk and giggly and happy and adorable.

Approaching the steps to your porch, he finally breaks the comfortable silence, praising, “You did good tonight. Really good.”

You laugh a bit, thinking back on the confusing, hectic, lovely evening that’s left your eyes starry and your brain swimming. “I’m not sure what that even means.”

He stops at the door, taking your hand before you can unlock it and go inside. “It means I’d like to take you on a real date. How about tomorrow?”

“I’m free tomorrow,” you tell him, already mentally canceling plans. He knows you’re doing it, too, but doesn’t say anything about it, thrilled at the idea that you’re already throwing things to the side to be with him. “Does it also mean you’d like to come upstairs?”

Andrew shakes his head and holds your cheek in his large palm, making you dizzy. It might be all the booze, though. “You’re too drunk to invite me in.”

You tug him closer by a fistful of his shirt and he laughs at the attempt at forcefulness. At how easy it would be for him to overpower you and how you wish he would. “You need to get your bag back, remember?”

“Go grab it for me; I’ll wait for you down here.” When you just grab his shirt tighter, he lowers his gaze and adds, “Please.”

Pouting, you let go of him, unlock the door, and pop inside, leaving it open behind you. When you hear him close it, leaving himself on the other side and leaning up against it like a bouncer, you can’t help smiling. Every single trace of protectiveness makes you feel like you’re worth millions.

Pope waits outside for a count of 240. He knows you’re all tipsy and playful now, trying to bait him into coming inside, and it’s taking a hell of a lot of willpower to stop himself. But he’s going to be careful with you. He’s going to take his time. If it comes down to a battle of who can control themselves best, nobody will ever beat Andrew Cody.

You fling the front door open, dropping his bag on the porch.

He nearly blacks out.

You’ve lost your dress and shoes and accessories, now wearing only the lingerie you bought to wear underneath. Light cream, almost white, fucking innocent. No frills like a garter belt or corset, not too many goddamn straps like some of the working girls he’s been with, just a bra and panties. The bra’s silk and lace, unlined, letting the pearls of your nipples press through the fabric, the weight of your breasts the only thing to fill them out. The thong sits high, right over your hips, framing out your legs.

Before he can blink a few times to process how absolutely mouthwatering you look, how badly he wants you, how hard his dick has gotten, you traipse past him onto the porch. Nearing the steps down onto the sidewalk, you call to him, “Gonna let the girl you’re seeing walk around at night like this? You won’t even let me walk around fully clothed during the day.”

His anger flares, but it’s a different shade than what he normally feels. This isn’t white and deafening, the kind of anger that makes him thoughtless; it’s simmering, low, controlled. He lunges to close the distance between you before you can get to the end of the porch, wraps one arm around your waist, and hoists you over his shoulder.

You shriek out a laugh as he keeps carrying you until he’s inside the house, leaving the bag on the porch, focusing his attention fully on you. When the door’s closed behind you, he shifts so you have to lock your legs around him, cling to him, desperately trying to kiss him as he just manhandles you like you weigh nothing to him.

He holds you with one arm – he holds you with one arm – and shoves your bedroom door open. Then he flips you down onto your bed, pins your arms above your head, and grins. Your pupils are blown wide and your lips are parted softly. Andrew can tell you’re really, really enjoying this. Maybe a little too much.

“Tease me all you want. Drive me crazy all you want,” he chuckles, breathy and heavy and deep, his heartrate barely elevated from carrying you up the stairs, “but I still won’t fuck you unless you’re sober.”

And that’s way, way sexier than if he’d succumbed to your bratty drunken behavior.

Yeah, you’re screwed.

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rr-after-dark · 1 day ago

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guard dog - andrew "pope" cody x reader

chapter four of eight

Series Summary: When you move in down the street from the Cody family, you definitely aren't expecting romance. But Andrew gradually becomes a fixture in your life, for better or for worse.

Chapter Summary: After making repairs around your house, Pope's left a mysterious bag in your closet. It's the family's first test to see if you have what it takes to stick around.

Tags/Notes: andrew "pope" cody x reader, afab/fem reader, girl next door trope, getting together, protective/possessive pope

Content Warnings: gun mention

A/N: sorry but pope beating someone to a pulp bc he likes you will always do it for me

Word Count: 1.8k

When you return home from your shift the next day, the only sign that the Cody brothers have been there is your key resting squarely in the center of the dining room table. Otherwise, it’s exactly as you left it. Their presence is in the details as you go through your bedtime routine. The kitchen sink drains easily when you wash your evening tea mug. The faucet doesn’t drip after you brush your teeth. The pressure’s nice and strong when you shower. Your bedframe doesn’t squeak when you settle in under the covers.

A text from Andrew lights up your phone as you’re turning on the TV to your regular channel before bed.

>> Think I left a bag there on accident. Mind checking your closet? Big black duffel.

– one sec

You climb out of bed and over to the closet, flicking on the light that doesn’t make that weird buzzing noise anymore. On the floor, there are two changes. Yes, the duffel’s there in all its glory, plain black, oversized, probably full of tools. There’s also a large safe installed into your wall, the edges sealed in with silicone like it was original to the house, no sign of any drywall cut or power tools used. Jesus, the Cody boys know how to do a clean job.

Inspecting the safe carefully, you text back.

– yeah, it’s here. i can walk it over if you want?

>> No. Don’t want you outside at night. I’ll pick it up on Friday.

>> If you don’t mind hanging onto it for a few days.

– no problem!!

– also you put a safe in my closet…?

>> Forgot to mention it. Came with the security system.

>> Code’s 0628.

>> Manual’s inside if you want to reset it.

– gotcha

– i really really really appreciate you guys for all this work

– see you friday :))

>> See you soon, gorgeous.

>> Get some sleep for me.

And you try. You really try. You put your phone on its charger, set your TV to the right volume, and put on your eye mask. But your mind is absolutely racing for one reason and one reason only: Andrew’s not a forgetful person. You haven’t known him very long, granted, but he’s always neat, tidy, not a thing out of place. His tone is always measured, his words carefully chosen. There’s no way he leaves duffel bags behind by accident and there’s no way he forgets to mention that he’s going to install a safe in a hidden place in your house.

So you get out of bed.

You walk back to the closet.

Flip the light on.

First, you open up the safe. Inside is just the manual, like Andrew said, so why is your heart pounding? Of course, you don’t notice the listening device attached to it (along with the ones in all your other rooms) or the false back that would lead to a secondary safe where Andrew stashed $20k, a set of doctored passports, and a handful of burner phones just in case.

Morbid curiosity brings your hands to the bag’s zipper. With a deep breath, you open it up.

Inside, tools. Just tools.

At first.

The top layer has a few pry bars and screwdrivers, which almost makes you stop looking. But then you see the shine of a bit of plastic. So you dig. Soon enough, the contents of the entire bag are surrounding you in a half circle on the floor.

Ski masks, gloves, duct tape.

Three plastic bags of cash.

Two Glocks.

Down the road at the Cody house, Pope is staring down at his phone, looking through it like his eyes could set the thing on fire.

Baz’s phone dings first. He checks the notification for a light censor in the bag they’d left at your house. Swallowing hard, averse to the risk of it all, he announces, “She opened it.”

Smurf slings an arm around Andrew’s shoulder. “She say anything?”

Pope’s jaw is tight. His knuckles are red and white around his phone. “Not yet.”

Deran shakes his head and mutters, “Probably called the cops as soon as she opened it.”

Without taking his attention from the screen, Pope snaps, “She won’t call the fucking cops.”

Craig takes another hit of the joint he’s been puffing on while bouncing his leg. “Yeah, because your instincts around people are always so good.”

“She’s not going to,” he repeats. It sounds more like a prayer than a promise. “She’s too good for that.”

“If she’s good,” Deran goes on like he’s talking to a toddler with a temper, “then she’s got absolutely no business screwing around with someone like you.”

Pope’s phone starts to vibrate.

“She’s calling me.”

Everyone starts to talk over each other, but Pope shoots up an authoritative hand that shuts them up. He answers the call and puts it on speaker. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s up?”

The silence on the other end is long and tight. He can hear you breathing hard. Trying to keep yourself calm. Everyone in the family holds their breath.

“I just, um. Your- I-” You start. Stop again. Then he hears you take a big deep breath. Once you’ve let it all the way out, your voice comes out again – this time without any trace of nerves. “Are you sure you don’t want to come pick up this bag tonight? I don’t want you to miss it if you need the tools for your work tomorrow.”

A smirk begins to flirt with Pope’s lips. “I don’t mind stopping by if you don’t want my junk stinking up your closet.”

Another shaky breath from you.

The moment of truth.

“If you don’t need it tomorrow, I don’t mind holding onto it for you a couple days,” you tell him pointedly. Completely serious. Then your tone takes on a lightness he hadn’t expected. He’d been braced for questions. For demands. Not for acceptance. You tease through the phone, “As long as it’s not just an excuse to get into my bedroom Friday night after our not-date.”

Pope snatches up the phone, turns it off speaker, and replies with a low chuckle, “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a gentleman; won’t even kiss you goodnight if you don’t ask me first.”

Craig boos behind him and Deran fake wretches.

But Andrew only cares about your voice in his ears. “Thank you again for all the work you guys did. For my car, too.”

“Hasn’t been giving you any trouble since we fixed it?”

“None.” He can hear your smile. “Should I bring anything with me on Friday? Wine or something?”

He replies simply, “Just bring yourself. Now get some sleep. Really. I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

You tell him, voice going gravelly now, “Would’ve been up thinking about you anyway.”

Pope’s mind absolutely swims with ideas about what you might mean, all confident since he can’t see your face. “Have I given you anything good worth thinking about?”

“You were awfully heroic at the library. Thought that guy was gonna do a lot worse than touch my skirt before you showed up like some knight in shining armor.”

“That’s what does it for you?” Pope goes to the fridge and cracks open a beer. He can feel his brothers’ eyes on him as he traipses through the kitchen, all shocked that he’s actually talking to a human woman so easily. “Me being a jackass because I got jealous?”

You inform him seriously, “Girls like that. The jealousy thing. To borrow your eloquence, it’s hot.”

“Been a long time since a girl as pretty as you called me hot.”

“Good; I don’t like competition.”

“That’s about the sexiest response I could’ve imagined.”

Craig throws a pillow at his older brother and shouts, “If you’re about to start having phone sex, at least put it on speaker!”

On the other side, you’re giggling, which does absolutely nothing to stop Pope’s cock going half-hard at the thought of you touching yourself under the covers because he scared some random off of bothering you. He wonders what kind of effect it would have if you knew he’d do a lot worse if someone actually laid a hand on you. Whether it would scare you off or turn you on.

Pope shakes the thoughts out and laughs at himself. Christ, he feels like a teenager. “C’mon, don’t get me riled up this late. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Okay, okay.” Now he knows you’re blushing and, fuck, wishes he could see it on your cheeks in person. “Sweet dreams.”

“Not as sweet as you.”

“Kiss ass.”

“If you’ll let me.”

“Goodnight, Andrew.”

After Pope hangs up, he polishes off his beer and goes back to his family in the living room, falling back on the couch like it’s made of clouds and cotton candy. He holds up the phone like it’s a trophy. “See? She’s good.”

And they haven’t seen him smile like this in decades.

You still don’t sleep after you hang up with Andrew. Instead, you open up your laptop, sitting cross-legged on your bed, and Google him, his brothers, and his mom.

It doesn’t take long for you to get a sense of them. There isn’t a ton out there, but you do see arrest records. For every single one of them, even J and Smurf. All but Andrew’s have been sealed with no details, just little notes of dates with no charges.

But Andrew went to prison for an armed robbery. You find a few news clippings about it with his mugshot. Which, you hate noticing, is pretty handsome. A bank not far away, a job done with a handful of unnamed co-conspirators whose identities you can definitely guess, more than $50,000 recovered by cops.

You don’t know what roles the Codys play in the world of crime. It’s not your world and you never had any reason to believe it might become yours. They might be muscle. They might be brains. But, from what you’re reading, they’re not trafficking drugs or people. They’re not robbing families or little old ladies.

What you do know is that Andrew shows up. He fixes things for you. Notices things. Clearly he’s protective, strong, observant. He’s done nothing but make you feel safe and seen. You know, deep in your bones, that nobody will mess with you if Andrew’s standing in front of you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s gorgeous, of course, with those auburn curls and hazel eyes.

And if he and his brothers are dangerous, then it’s better to be on their good side than their bad side, right?

Right?

All of a sudden, Friday’s dinner is as much an interview for you as it is for them.

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