rynwrites4fun

[rynwrites4fun]

Love You Anyway (6) | Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Summary: After nearly a decade away, you return to Oceanside, convinced you’re ready to face the past and put it to rest. But some doors never stay closed.

Word Count: 7387

Warning: Age Gap (mid 20s / early 40s), Swearing

Authors Note: We’ve made it to the NOW timeline 🙂‍↕️. I don’t have much to say surprisingly LOL. Usually I’m just rambling here. But hope you're having a great week. Enjoy! -Ryn

NOW: 9 YEARS LATER | OCEANSIDE, 2017

It’s been nearly a decade since you last set foot in Oceanside. You haven’t been home since leaving for college on the East Coast, never returning for breaks or holidays. After that summer night when you were eighteen, you wanted nothing to do with this place.

That night had changed you and never left. It followed you everywhere. In your dreams. In the quiet moments. Always lurking, always there. You were constantly on edge, waiting for something to catch up to you.

College didn’t last for you. After only a few months on the East Coast, you dropped out. Ashamed of dropping out and terrified of going home, you stayed away. You cut your parents off and drifted through the years, lost in a bad place.

Eventually, you found a support group that helped you work through everything you’d been carrying. Little by little, they helped you find your footing again and slowly, you began to get your life back on track. But you knew one thing was missing: you needed to go home, confront the past, and find the closure that would finally let you close that door.

So here you were, sitting in the backseat of your parents’ car, staring out at the familiar streets of Oceanside as they drove through. They had picked you up from the airport, and now the town stretched out before you, familiar yet changed, every street and corner carrying memories you hadn’t thought about in years.

When you got home, you stood in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. A time capsule of 2008. Posters of your favorite bands and celebrities stared back at you from the walls, faded at the edges but still defiantly vibrant. Your shelves and desk were cluttered with the relics of a younger self, old knickknacks, dog-eared books, and trinkets you had once treasured. Each item whispered a memory, a fragment of who you used to be, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into someone else’s life…someone lighter, someone unburdened.

You rolled your luggage in and sat on your bed, letting the familiar weight of the mattress ground you. 

You were hungry. Your parents had gone to bed already, having work in the morning. They’d insisted on buying you something on the way home or making you a home-cooked meal, but you’d declined. What you desperately wanted more than anything at that very moment was a burger and milkshake from Hide Tide Diner. The thought made your stomach rumble in protest.

You pulled out your iPhone and typed in the name, heart hoping it still existed. Your thumb hovered over the screen, half-expecting the universe to tell you it had vanished, replaced by some generic café or juice bar. But there it was, still there, a little worn-looking, but alive. Relief washed over you. You could almost taste the crispy fries and thick, creamy milkshake, and for the first time since walking in the door, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips.

—

You frowned, glancing down at your phone and then back up. The High Tide Diner wasn’t there, just a place called Indigo’s.

You scanned the street, wondering if it had moved.

“Excuse me,” you called to a teenager riding by on his bike. He skidded to a stop, wobbled slightly, then caught his balance. “Yeah?”

“Are you a local?” you asked.

“Kind of,” he said with a shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Why?”

“Okay, so you know Hide Tide Diner, right? Do you know where it is? I swear it used to be here—”

“Oh.” He glanced at the new building, eyebrows raising. “The owner retired a couple years ago. Some transplants moved in, bought the place… and turned it into this bougie sandwich shop.”

You frowned, stepping closer. The bright, minimalist storefront felt cold and unfamiliar. A stark contrast to the warm, cluttered charm you remembered. “Shit… really?” Disappointment weighed on you.

“Yeah. The place sucks. I don’t recommend it… unless you’re into all that kale and avocado crap,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Very much down with the greasy stuff,” you muttered.

“Me too,” he said, smiling, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “My mom used to take me here sometimes when I was a kid. The burgers and milkshakes were killer.”

“That’s what I was craving!” you groaned with a laugh, shaking your head. “Stupid Google said it was open and still around”

“If you still want burgers and a milkshake I know a place that’s not too far from here. It’s down on the boardwalk. It's called Leon’s”

“Leon’s… alright I’ll check it out. Well… Thank you. Have a goodnight” you said, giving a small, appreciative smile. 

“Are you walking?” he asked, tilting his head, a curious flicker in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you replied, shrugging slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“Let me walk with you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Really. I’m sure you have places to be,” you said, trying to brush it off politely, though a small part of you appreciated the company.

“You really shouldn’t be wandering around here at night alone,” he said, a hint of concern in his voice, hands resting casually on the handlebars of his bike. “Besides, I’m meeting up with my family near the pier anyway.”

“Okay” you give him a small smile. 

You thought it was sweet that this kid, barely more than a teenager, was willing to walk with you. He swung his leg over his bike and started pushing it alongside you, matching your pace effortlessly.

He subtly guided you closer to the sidewalk, keeping you safely away from the edge of the street. His movements were easy, natural, like he didn’t want you to feel awkward but still wanted to make sure you were protected. The soft squeak of his sneakers and the faint whir of the bike wheels created a quiet rhythm as you walked side by side.

“You from here?” he asked, glancing at you with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, born and raised,” you said, letting a small, nostalgic smile tug at your lips. “I haven’t been home in years,.”

“I grew up on the outskirts of Oceanside,” he said. “My mom passed several months ago, so I moved in with family” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said softly, a hint of concern in your voice. “How are you adjusting?”

He shrugged, glancing down at his bike tires as he pushed it along the sidewalk. “It’s… different, living in the heart of Oceanside. I’m still getting to know my family. They weren’t really around when I was growing up.”

You nodded, sensing the weight behind his words. There was a subtle vulnerability in his tone, but also a quiet resilience, like he’d learned to navigate life on his own. The hum of the streetlights above and the faint distant chatter of the town felt unusually intimate in the stillness of the evening.

“Must be… a lot to take in,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag.

“Yeah,” he said, his shoulders tensing slightly before relaxing again. “But… I’m figuring it out. Finding my place in it all”

You continued talking as you made your way to the boardwalk. The area was better lit now, lanterns and string lights casting a soft glow over the wooden planks. The hum of conversation mixed with laughter and the distant crash of waves, and the smell of salty sea air blended with popcorn and churros from nearby stands. The boardwalk felt lively, comforting, and somehow easier to navigate than the quiet streets you’d just left behind.

The two of you stopped in the middle of the foot traffic, letting a few families and teens pass around you.

“Leon’s down that way, right next to the Sal’s Souvenir Shop. Can’t miss it. I recommend the Victorious Burger. That’s what they’re known for,” he said, pointing toward a cluster of colorful lights farther down the boardwalk.

“Alright, Victorious Burger it is. Thanks,” you said, smiling, taking in the playful chaos of the stalls and flashing signs.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes scanning the crowd like he genuinely wanted to make sure you’d be fine.

“Oh yeah! I’ll be fine from here,” you said, nodding toward the direction of Leon’s..

“You sure?” he asked again, a friendly insistence in his tone, as if he couldn’t let you go without checking.

“I’m sure,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a grin, easygoing and genuine.

“I never got your name,” you said, curiosity in your voice.

“Joshua, but everyone calls me J,” he said, shrugging casually.

You extended your hand with a friendly gesture. “It was nice to meet you, J,” you said, shaking it firmly.

“Nice to meet you too,” he said, his grin widening a bit, the sort of friendly energy that made the brief encounter feel comfortable and easy.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, giving a small shrug and a half-smile, like the possibility was casual but not impossible.

Knowing this city, you had a sense it just might happen. “Maybe,” you chuckled, shaking your head slightly and feeling a light warmth at the encounter. 

“Have a nice night,” he replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. 

“Bye” you gave him a wave. 

He swung his leg over his bike, cast a quick glance back, and then pedaled off in the opposite direction, weaving smoothly through clusters of people and streetlights before fading into the evening bustle.

—-

J spotted his uncles in the distance, hunched around a weathered picnic bench under the fading light. He swung his leg off his bike and started toward them, the sand crunching beneath his sneakers with each step. 

Andrew stood up as J approached, arms crossed, clearly annoyed. “You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago,” he said sharply.

“Sorry, got held up,” J muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Held up with what?” Andrew asked, eyebrows raised.

J sighed, already irritated. “There was this woman—” he said flatly, trying to keep it casual.

Craig grinned over the rim of his can, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, letting the pause stretch just long enough for Deran to catch on.

Deran chuckled, shaking his head, already tuned into the joke.

Irritation flickered across J’s face as he exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t like that. I was just helping her,” he muttered, flat, clipped, trying to cut the teasing off before it could take root.

“Mhm, sure,” they snickered in unison.

“Did you get the blueprint?” Andrew asked, his tone shifting back to business.

“Yeah.” J swung his backpack around, the zipper rasping open. He dug inside and pulled out a folded roll of paper, edges crumpled from being shoved in.

Andrew took it without hesitation. He unfolded the blueprint just enough to scan the lines and notes scribbled in the margins, his eyes narrowing briefly. “Good,” he said, folding it back with practiced precision. “Alright—we’ll talk about this later.”

Craig leaned forward from his spot on the bench, beer bottle dangling between his fingers. “What? I thought we were gonna talk shit about the job now?” His voice carried that familiar whine, restless and itching for action.

“Later. It’s getting late. I gotta go get Lena,” Andrew replied flatly, already tucking the blueprint into his jacket.

Craig scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on—she’s fine with Smurf.”

Andrew ignored him. He started walking, shoes crunching against the sand-dusted boardwalk path toward the noise and neon glow of the crowd.

“I’m headed out. School in the morning,” J said, swinging his backpack onto one shoulder. His voice was low.

Deran sighed and pushed himself up from the picnic table, brushing the sand and grit from his jeans.

Craig groaned, throwing his arms wide in exaggerated frustration. “Oh, come on—you too?” He turned toward Deran, his face twisted into disbelief.

“I gotta prep the bar in the morning,” Deran muttered.

Craig sat back heavily on the bench, left alone with the crashing surf, the hiss of the tide against the sand, and the faint laughter of strangers drifting from the boardwalk. He tipped his bottle back, scowling at the night.

—-

It had only been a couple of days since you’d come back to Oceanside, and you were still adjusting. The streets felt both familiar and different, like you knew them but had to relearn their rhythm. Running errands for your parents helped. It gave you something to do besides sit in the house and think about how much or how little had changed.

You carried a grocery basket under your arm, weaving through the aisles without a list. Just tossing in whatever caught your eye, half for them and half for yourself.

By the time you hit the cereal aisle, you slowed down, scanning the rows of boxes like it was a bigger decision than it needed to be.

There was a young girl standing in the aisle, her head tilted back as she studied the towering wall of cereal boxes. Her little sneakers squeaked on the polished floor as she shifted from one foot to the other, eyes darting between the colorful options.

“Excuse me,” she spoke up, her voice small but clear.

You glanced down and found her staring up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, her hair pulled into a slightly lopsided ponytail. You offered her a kind smile.

“Could you help me grab that cereal, please?” she asked, lifting a small finger toward the very top shelf.

“Of course! The Lucky Charms?” you clarified, following her gaze to the bright, rainbow-colored box.

“Mhm! Those are my favorite,” she said, her cheeks lifting with excitement.

“They are pretty good” You reached up, plucked the box from its neat stack, and handed it down to her. She hugged it to her chest like it was treasure.

“Thank you,” she muttered shyly.

“I like the marshmallows,” you admitted with a grin, leaning in as though you were sharing a secret.

“Me too!” she said, her voice bubbling with energy now.

“Sometimes I’ll just eat the marshmallows,” you confessed, lowering your voice like it was against the rules. “I like the heart-shaped one best.”

“I like the rainbows,” she countered quickly, grinning.

“Maybe I should get some too?” you asked, gesturing to the shelf.

“I think you should!” she said without hesitation, bouncing a little on her toes.

You laughed, reaching up to grab another box. “Well, then I guess I don’t have a choice,” you teased, dropping it into the basket with an exaggerated plunk.

She giggled, clutching her cereal tighter. For a moment, the two of you just stood there, surrounded by the bright, cartoon mascots and sugary promises of the cereal aisle, as if you’d both been let in on a sweet little secret.

But then something tugged at your instincts, a note of unease cutting through the moment. You glanced around the aisle, checking for a parent or guardian. “Sweetheart, are you alone?”

“No.” She hugged the cereal box to her chest. “I’m here with—”

“Lena!”

The name was called out, deep and firm, echoing down the aisle. Both you and the young girl whipped your heads toward the voice.

And just like that, your heart stopped.

It was Andrew Cody. 

His stride was quick but controlled, every muscle tight with urgency. His eyes locked onto the young girl next to you, tension flickering across his face.

One minute Lena had been right beside Andrew, her small hand brushing against the cart, and the next, she was gone. His chest had tightened instantly, panic clawing its way in before he could stop it. He’d abandoned their cart without a second thought as he rushed through the store, scanning every aisle with a growing sense of dread.

Relief crashed over him the moment he spotted her—safe, unharmed, standing beside a woman (unaware it was you) with a cereal box clutched tightly to her chest. The rigid line of his shoulders loosened, but his jaw stayed tight, the bitter aftertaste of fear still sharp in his throat.

“Lena, you know better than to run off like that!” he said, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. His tone was firm, but the worry underneath made it almost sharp. “You can’t just wander off anywhere. Anybody could have taken you, and I wouldn’t have known where to find you.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait to get the cereal…” she mumbled, guilt tugging at her features, her small voice barely rising above the hum of the fluorescent lights.

“You need to stay in my line of sight at all times,” he said, his voice firm but edged with worry. “If I can’t see you, I can’t keep you safe. Do you understand? This isn’t about being mean—it’s about making sure nothing bad happens to you.”

She nodded quickly, clutching her cereal box tighter. “Yes, I understand.”

He held her gaze “Promise me you’ll stay close. Always. No wandering off, no distractions. If something catches your eye, you tell me, and we’ll go together. Got it?”

She nodded. “Yes, I promise.”

He let out a small, relieved breath and ruffled her hair gently. “Good. I don’t want to ever have to worry like that again.”

It was then, as though he felt the weight of your stare, that his eyes lifted from the young girl. For a fleeting moment, they slid up to you, just another stranger in the aisle. But then he stopped, did a double take as recognition settled over him.

You saw it, the way his expression shifted, surprise flashing into something unreadable, something heavier. The young girl clutched her cereal, oblivious to the storm that had just cracked open between the two of you.

And everything inside you crumbled.

He stood, straightened to his full height. His expression revealed nothing, yet the silence stretching between you was deafening.

He looked the same and yet he didn’t. Older now. Broader. Bigger. Harder. Time had carved something rugged into him, sharpening every edge you remembered. His brown curls were still there, streaked faintly with gray, but just as familiar.

You looked different. Not the kid he remembered. The braces were long gone. There was a quiet ease to the way you held yourself now. Your features have matured. He could see how much time had changed you.

The last time Andrew saw you was on the East Coast, just a couple of months after you left, nearly a decade ago now. You hadn’t known he was there. He hadn’t gone for himself; he’d gone for Deran. But deep down, he’d wanted to see you for himself too.

Deran had been beside himself. He called, texted, left message after message, but you never answered after everything that went down. 

Deran had been furious, heartbroken. He poured everything into surfing, burying the guilt and the loss of his best friend under endless hours in the water. For a while, things looked promising. He was climbing, pushing toward the West Coast championship. But then he was eliminated. Sponsors pulled out. His dreams slipped away.

Everything he used to talk about with you, going pro, traveling the world, living on nothing but waves and salt air was gone.

In rage, he spiraled. Grand theft auto. A totaled car. Five months in a detention center.

Every minute inside the detion center was hell, but it forced him to reflect. He knew he never wanted to end up there again. 

When it came to the family business, he realized he had to be sharp, careful, and always keep a low profile. He knew he had to grow up.

When Deran got out, he went straight to Andrew, a weight pressing on his shoulders.

“I need you to go see Angel,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

“What… see her?” Andrew asked, brow furrowed.

“You don’t need to talk to her,” Deran said quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t make yourself known. Just… check on her for me. Make sure she’s okay. That’s all.”

Andrew hesitated, unsure how to respond. Deran’s desperate eyes bore into him.

“I need to know,” Andrew said, voice tight, raw with tension. “If she’s okay, then I’ll let it go. I’ll let her go. But I can’t… not know, Pope. Please…”

Andrew could see the mix of guilt, worry, and something heavier. Hope is laced with fear running through his young brother. This wasn’t just a favor. It was a lifeline, and he had no choice but to take it seriously.

And so Andrew traveled all the way to the East Coast, ending up in the diner where you worked. It reminded him faintly of the High Tide Diner he had taken you to when you got your acceptance letter. It had the same welcoming feel, but without the unmistakable West Coast charm. He slid into a booth in the far corner, keeping to the shadows, and watched as you moved behind the counter, every motion familiar and foreign all at once.

On the surface, you looked fine, steady, even, yet part of him tensed with worry. How were you really handling things? It had only been months since you’d walked in on what they did to that guy in the warehouse. Trauma like that didn’t simply disappear, it lingered, clinging to you whether you remembered it or tried to forget.

You had felt eyes on you while you worked the counter top. Your gaze drifted toward the far corner, where someone sat alone. They were too far away for you to make out their features, shadowed by the dim light.

Your chest tightened. For a fleeting moment, you swore it was Andrew. The thought twisted your stomach, your hand freezing around the coffee pot, grip tightening until the glass threatened to slip.

No. It couldn’t be. Andrew was thousands of miles away on the other side of the country.

Andrew kept his focus sharp: Get in. Get out. Don’t linger too long. You were alive. You were breathing. You were whole. That had to be enough.

“Could I get a little more coffee?” someone at the counter asked, pulling your attention away.

“Of course,” you said, forcing your voice steady as you poured. The customer thanked you, but your gaze drifted back toward the corner.

Without another word, he pushed himself up from the booth and made his way toward the door. He glanced at you one last time, the quiet behind him heavy with everything left unsaid.

The bell over the door jingled, faint and final, and when you turned, all you caught was the back of a figure slipping out into the night.

The booth was empty.

Your pulse skipped. You could’ve sworn Andrew or someone had been sitting there, half-hidden in the shadows. 

“Hey, are you okay?” one of your co-workers asked, noticing the sudden pause and the way you’d flinched.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “Yeah… I just thought I saw someone.”

Before they could press further, you shook your head. “I… I just need a minute.”

You slipped through the swinging kitchen door, the hum of the diner fading behind you. The cold air of the walk-in fridge wrapped around you as you shut the heavy door.

 Finally alone, your chest heaved, and the tears came fast, spilling hot against your chilled skin. You pressed your palms to your face, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of it all pressed down until you crumpled, crying in the cold quiet.

Paranoia gnawed at you. You swore you saw Andrew just now, but it couldn’t be. He was on the other side of the country, far from here. Still, the thought wouldn’t let go. Sometimes you imagined the Codys themselves would pop up around a corner, shadows from Oceanside stretching all the way here, even though you knew they were miles away.

You pressed your back against the fridge wall, trembling, your tears hot against your cold skin. You hated how shaken you felt—like the past was always waiting, ready to drag you under again.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Breath caught in your chest as you stood there in the aisle. 

You had told yourself you could handle seeing Cody after all this time, that you were ready to face them, to confront it. But the truth hit harder than you expected. The courage you thought you had built crumbled in an instant, the moment shattering as reality pressed in. You weren’t ready. Not even close.

Neither of you spoke. Lena’s eyes shifted back and forth, her small frame caught between you, hovering closer to her uncle though confusion clouded her face.

The plastic basket slipped from your arm, clattering onto the linoleum with a sharp echo.Your groceries spilling out. Your chest tightened, each breath coming faster, shallower, your pulse roaring in your ears. Before the thought could fully form, your body was already moving, turning sharply out of the aisle, your steps quick and uneven as you made a beeline for the exit.

Of all the people you could have run into, it had to be Cody, especially Andrew. 

Andrew stood frozen, blinking hard as if to clear his vision. His mind stalled, still struggling to process what his eyes were telling him, that you were here, standing with Lena, standing right in front of him after all this time.

“Uncle Pope?” Lena’s small voice tugged him back, her brows knitting as she looked between the two of you. “Are you okay?”

He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, you were here. You have come back to Oceanside.

Andrew crouched down, gathering the basket and the scattered contents that had spilled across the floor.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gentler now. He set the basket aside, tucking it near the shelves before straightening back up.

“Did you know that lady?”

“Yes… uh—” he hesitated, the words thick and foreign on his tongue, “she’s an old friend… of Uncle Deran.”

Lena tilted her head, studying him with a seriousness far beyond her years. “Maybe you should see if she’s okay.” Before he could respond, she scurried to the end of the aisle, peeking around the corner to see if she could spot you.

Andrew let out a long, slow exhale, a shadow darkening his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lena.”

She turned back, frowning, “Why not? She looked…sad…scared…”

Andrew didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, but the words didn’t come. He finally shook his head, muttering, “It’s complicated, Lena”

Lena shifted the cereal box in her arms, her little brows still pinched. “But Uncle Pope… if she’s your friend—”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “She’s not my friend, Lena.” The words came out sharper than he intended, and the instant her face fell, regret tugged at him. He sighed, dragging a hand over his jaw. “She was… she’s someone our family used to know. A long time ago.”

Lena studied him for a beat longer, then finally let it go.

“Come on,” he said quietly, holding out his hand for her to take. “Let’s go back to our cart.”

Her small fingers slipped into his, warm and trusting. “Can I still get the Lucky Charms?” she asked, tilting the box up at him. 

A faint smile ghosted across his face, the heaviness in his chest softening just a little. “Yeah,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on.”

—

After putting away the groceries at Baz’s, Andrew and Lena lingered a moment, making sure everything was unpacked and in its place, cans stacked neatly in the pantry, produce rinsed and set out, and the fridge doors closing with a satisfying click. The small rhythm of organizing the groceries felt grounding to Andrew. Still, underneath that calm, a hum of unease lingered. Seeing you again had rattled something deep in him, something he thought he’d buried long ago.

Once everything was settled, they went over to the house. Andrew’s eyes immediately caught the familiar sight in the backyard: Craig, Deran, and J gathered around a table, beers in hand, the afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the yard, highlighting the relaxed ease of the late day.

“Hey, Lena,” J said with a smile as she wandered over and climbed onto his lap with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.

“Hi,” Lena greeted him and the uncles, her little voice cheerful.

“What did you and Uncle Pope do today?” J asked, swinging his legs slightly as he steadied her.

“Uncle Pope and I went to the grocery store,” she announced.

“Did you now?” Craig asked, one brow arched in amusement.

“Yeah—Lena took off on me,” Andrew said, giving her a pointed look. His tone was more serious than sharp, and Lena shrank a little under his gaze, cheeks pink, but she could tell he wasn’t really angry.

“Pfft, if I was with Uncle Pope, I would run off too,” Craig muttered under his breath like Andrew couldn’t hear.

“Ouch!” he yelped a second later when Deran smacked the back of his head. Deran shot him a firm look, shaking his head.

Craig rubbed at the spot with a scowl. “What the hell, man?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Deran said flatly.

“Why’d you do that, Lena?” J asked gently, his hand steadying her as she fidgeted in his lap.

“I went to the cereal aisle,” Lena admitted, eyes flicking toward her uncle Pope, “I really wanted Lucky Charms.”

Craig grinned. “Can’t blame you there. The marshmallows are the best part.”

“They are!” Lena said quickly, her shyness melting as excitement returned to her voice. 

“That’s what me and the lady was talking about, Uncle Derans friend” 

Deran’s eyebrows shot up, a flicker of confusion passing across his face as he looked from Lena to Andrew. 

“My friend?” Deran asked Lena, his tone cautious but edged with something sharper.

“Yeah, that’s what Uncle Pope said. She was your friend, but she left in a hurry.”

“Hey Lena, why don’t you go inside and watch cartoons for a bit?” Andrew suggested gently. 

“Okay!” She hopped off J’s lap and skipped toward the house. Once Lena disappeared through the sliding doors Andrew spoke. 

“What is she talking about?”

“I saw her,” Andrew said, letting the words land like a weight.

“You saw who?” Deran asks

“Angel. I saw her,” Andrew confirmed, his eyes locking with Deran’s.

Deran shot upright at the mention of your nickname, his muscles tense, eyes wide. Craig choked on his beer, coughing and sputtering, while J’s eyes flicked between his uncles, confusion all over his face.

“You’re shitting me,” Deran said, eyes wide in surprise as he leaned forward on his chair.

“I’m not,” Andrew replied flatly. His tone left no room for argument. “Lena had taken off…I was scrambling around the store and I found Lena with her in the cereal aisle ” 

“She actually came home?” Craig asked, disbelieving, lacing his voice.

Deran’s jaw tightened. At one point, he had thought she might come home for breaks, maybe for the summer, but she never did. Never.

“Who are we talking about?” J asked, curiosity creeping into his tone.

“Angel,” the brothers said in unison.

“Okay… and Angel is…?”

“She was my best friend in high school,” Deran said, voice low.

“So what happened?” J pressed.

The brothers tensed at the question. That night was a line they never crossed in conversation, too raw, too painful. It was touchy for everyone, a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

“Angel, she found out what we do. She got exposed to it one night…”

Craig shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. “She saw a lot, heard a lot… she was beyond scared, completely distraught.”

Deran’s jaw tightened. He wished, more than anything, that he could take it all back. If he could erase that night, he would.

“She left for college on the East Coast and just… never came back home” 

J frowned, processing, his gaze flicking between the three uncles. “And you’ve never… talked to her since?”

Deran shook his head slowly. “No… some things just can’t be fixed with words. This… this goes beyond words. I could never make it right.”

“Maybe it’s worth trying,” J said, his voice tentative but earnest. “I mean, there must be a reason she’s come back after all these years, right? Maybe this is your chance to make amends.”

Deran ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark with frustration. “It’s not that simple. That night… what she saw… It changed everything.”

J frowned, “So what do you do, then?” he asked carefully. “You guys just gonna pretend she doesn’t exist?”

Craig leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, restless energy rolling off him. “C’mon, what’s there to know? She’s back. We can’t just pretend like nothing happened. Oceanside’s too damn small for that.”

Deran shot him a sharp look. “And what, Craig? You think we invite her over for beers? Ask her how life’s been?” His voice was bitter, edged with something close to guilt. “She saw everything that night. She saw us. That doesn’t just go away.”

“Maybe she didn’t come back for you,” Craig shot back. “Ever think of that? Maybe you’re not even on her radar.”

Andrew’s jaw flexed, but he stayed silent, the tight coil of frustration and unease weighing on him.

J leaned forward. “Doesn’t matter why she’s back. You’re not gonna be able to avoid her forever. And she can’t avoid you guys either. One way or another… you’re all going to have to face each other.”

Deran ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Yeah… we’ll figure it out. When the time comes, we’ll deal with it.”

Andrew looked out into the breezeway, eyes landing on his car parked just beyond. The urge to leave gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. He turned back toward the breezeway, each step tightening the knot in his shoulders. The air felt too close, too heavy, his need to move, to breathe, to outrun the weight pressing down on him was suddenly unbearable.

“Hey—where are you going?” Deran called after him, the concern threading his voice.

“Just… need a drive,” Andrew muttered over his shoulder, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond them, refusing to meet their eyes. He could feel the thrum of restlessness in his chest, the familiar pull of the open road promising a momentary escape. 

—-

You stood at the pier, watching the sun sink below the horizon, streaks of orange and pink bleeding across the fading blue. You missed California. Nothing else compared to the sunsets in Oceanside.

After running into Andrew at the grocery store, you didn’t feel like going home. Your parents were probably wondering where you were, and sooner or later, you’d have to head back, they’d want to know why you’d come home empty-handed. You’d have to come up with a white lie, some excuse to smooth things over.

Andrew walked along the pier, letting the wooden planks creak beneath his feet. He came here sometimes to be with himself, to think…to escape his family, his life, everything that pressed down on him.

But after seeing you today in the grocery store, he couldn’t get you out of his head. That night replayed in his mind, every detail sharp and vivid, how you saw everything in the warehouse, how distraught and scared you had been, how he broke into your house and stayed with you until you finally fell asleep.

Part of him carried a quiet guilt, wishing he had pushed you away from his family back then. At first, he didn't want you around. He had been so adamant about keeping his distance. Yet as he got to know you, he had let his guard down, just slightly. And in the end, he kept thinking he should have done more, shoved you away, kept his distance, spared you the trauma.

As he walked the pier, he noticed you. Your back turned toward him. He started to make his way over, wanting to talk, but stopped. What could he possibly say? There was so much he wanted to say, but this wasn’t the right time. He was about to turn away, to leave you be, when you suddenly spun around.

A sharp yelp escaped you, your hand flying to your chest. Andrew stood there, silent and unexpected. You stumbled back until your spine pressed against the pier’s wooden railing, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, staring, his gaze sweeping over you. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but the slight tilt of his head told you everything. He was taking in this version of you he’d never seen before. Not in a sexual way, but as if trying to memorize every detail, to absorb it all.

Neither of you knew what to say. The silence stretched, thick and unyielding, the air charged as you simply stared at each other.

You were the first to look away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before wrapping your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the uncomfortable weight of the moment.

A lump rose in your throat, threatening to choke you. For a moment, you thought you might cry, but you forced yourself to hold it together. You were strong. You had to be. You wouldn’t let him see how much that night had broken you, how it had reshaped everything, how its shadow had followed you through all these years.

You turned back toward the ocean, your hands settling on the worn wooden railing.

Before Andrew knew it, he was moving to stand beside you. He leaned against the rail, careful to leave just enough space between you.

“I didn’t expect to see you here…” he was the first to break the silence.

Your brows knit, a wall going up before you even realized it. “Yeah, well… life’s full of things you don’t expect.” The words left your mouth flat and clipped, more protective than harsh, your tone holding distance rather than bite.

“What are you doing here?”

You knew he didn’t just mean the pier, he meant Oceanside, home. The way he said it tugged at an old wound, a reminder of how he’d once made it clear he never wanted you around.

“Decided to come home,” you said, the words simple, but heavier than you meant them to be.

Andrew’s jaw shifted, his gaze fixed on the horizon instead of you. “Didn’t think you ever would.”

Silence again.

“Did you…” Your voice faltered, trailing off, a flicker of worry knotting in your chest. The thought of him having followed you made your stomach tighten.

“I didn’t follow you here, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, his tone steady but guarded. “Just a coincidence we ended up at the pier at the same time. Guess we both had the same idea…”

The words lingered between you, but you weren’t sure if you believed him or if you wanted to.

Andrew finally shifted his weight, glancing at you briefly. “You… look different.”

You felt your chest tighten, unsure whether his words were observation, judgment, or something more. 

You felt your chest tighten, unsure whether his words were observation, judgment, or something more. “Yeah, well… that naturally happens over time.”

“I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now,” Andrew said after a beat, his voice low, carrying an edge that was hard to read.

“Is that what this is? Talking?” you asked, glancing at him, then away just as quickly. “I’m not sure I am.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. “Then why haven’t you walked away yet?”

Your chest tightened, the truth pressing against your ribs. You didn’t have an answer—or maybe you had too many.

“I half-expected you to be yelling, cussing me out… telling me to go fuck myself. I don’t know… just—something. Yet you bolted the moment you saw me at the grocery store.”

“I didn’t bolt,” you said, bristling, your hands tightening on the railing until your knuckles ached. “I just… I was caught off guard.”

Andrew’s gaze fixed on you. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t waver, even behind the dark shield of his sunglasses. Heat crawled up your neck, burning your cheeks. He knew the truth. You had run. And there was no point in pretending otherwise.

“Caught off guard, huh?” His voice was calm, almost too calm, each word deliberate, measured, like he was testing you, probing to see how far he could push before you cracked. The pier beneath you creaked softly in the evening wind, waves lapping at the pilings below, and the smell of salt hung thick in the air. You felt it all, the heat in your chest, the nervous flutter in your stomach, the weight of his stare pinning you in place.

“Can you blame me?” you shot back, sharper than you intended. Defensive. Your voice carried louder than you meant, carried out over the waves breaking beneath the pier. Your heart hammered against your ribs, so fast it almost hurt, and the salt-heavy air felt thicker than it should have, pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe.

A silence stretched, taut and heavy, filled only by the sound of gulls overhead and the boards creaking under your grip. For a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were angrier at him—or yourself.

“No, I don’t blame you,” he said finally, his tone softer but still steady, carrying that quiet weight of someone who was both holding back and testing the waters.

“After everything…” His voice trailed off, hesitant, as if he didn’t want to open old wounds. “I get it. I do.”

“No, you don’t,” you said, letting it slip out. The words came sharper than you intended. The last thing you wanted to do right now was bring up the past.

He had no idea how that night had changed you, how it followed you everywhere, lingering in the corners of your life. How you had dropped out of college, turned to drinking to numb the memories, and struggled with the trauma for years. He didn’t know the weight you carried, the fear and pain you still felt every day.

“You don’t know,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “You don’t know what that night did to me… how it changed me.” You felt the tears forming in your eyes, and your voice trembled despite your attempt to keep it steady.

“I can’t do this,” you said suddenly. The tears began to fall, hot and unrelenting, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. You started to back away.

“Angel,” he called gently, his voice low but firm, carrying both caution and concern. He reached out and grabbed your arm. You froze when he said your nickname. Angel. You hadn’t heard it in years—not like that. The way it rolled off his lips carried a weight, a softness and familiarity that his brothers never managed. It wasn’t teasing, or casual. It was something only he could make it

You flinched, ripping your arm away from him, the movement sharp and instinctive. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

Salt and wind stung your tear-streaked cheeks as you stepped back. The boards of the pier groaned beneath your weight with every hesitant step, each movement a small rebellion against something you couldn’t quite name. 

Andrew didn’t follow. He stayed rooted in place, his hand lingering in the air for a heartbeat before slowly dropping to his side, his gaze fixed on you as you made your way back to shore.

By the time the first streetlights appeared ahead, you were back in the city, the hum of traffic and distant voices replacing the roar of the waves. For now, the confrontation. The reckoning would have to wait.

LYA Tag: @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @child-of-the-amis @cheekeym8s @aj3684 @sunfairyy @ravenouswild @feverxxdream @naxxsstuff @baileythepenguin @britt217 @wittyogredemon @lumpypoll @harmonette @gigidacoolest @the-jess-life @madprincessinabox @showgirlshawn @ay0nha @helenanell @maybefoxysouls @blackroseguzzi

Love You Anyway | Then (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

[rynwrites4fun]

hey there! sorry for the reblog spam lmao, i have been obsessed with ‘love you anyways’ and i was just wondering if it would be possible to be added to your taglist? if not i understand, but i love your fics and want to be notified asap when a new chap is posted (currently knowing on the bars of my enclosure like a feral animal bc i love your characterization of pope sfm) 💛

I don’t mind a spam lol added you!!! thanks for the love 🙂‍↕️❤️

[rynwrites4fun]

Love your comments at the beginning of your stories! I am with your uncle tho, I ain’t a fan of J! Please don’t block me, I need your Pope story, 😂!! But I recently finished Animal Kingdom!! You gotta keep going!! You told us to tell you to watch it, lol!!

Also, can’t wait for the Now timeline too!! But the Then part has been great!! 🥰

I never know if people read my notes 😭 I literally ramble away, just thought dumping lol

WhAT??? you don’t like J??? BOOOO Lol kidding. I get it though. I understand why some people don’t like him, but I feel for him. Maybe that will change once I finish this show when god knows when🧍🏽‍♀️we’ll see in time LOL!

Now Timeline will come out sometimes this week!!! thanks for the love 🫶🏽

[rynwrites4fun]

just me, a tote bag and my emotional support photo (of shawn hatosy) against the world 🫶🏽

[rynwrites4fun]

Only You | Clark Kent / Superman x Best Friend ! Reader

Clark Kent / Superman x F! Best Friend ! Reader

Summary: After seeing Superman in action earlier that day, you’re still reeling, heart racing, thoughts spinning. You unload all your unhinged thoughts about Superman to your best friend, Clark Kent—how hot Superman is, the things you’d do if given the chance. You don’t hold back. What you don’t realize? You’re saying it all to the man himself. And what he doesn’t know? Your real feelings aren’t for Superman at all—they’re for Clark.

Word: 8281 

Warning: Suggestive Dialogue

Author's Note: I am a Marvel girie, but if the DC cinematic universe is gonna be like Superman, I will be SAT. Obessed with the Superman movie as of current and David Corenswet. (another man to add to my very long celeb crush list lol). I've seen it three times. The kitchen scene and the floating scene had lover girl me in SHAMBLES. The way clark smiles into the kisses...GAGGED. Anyway this fic is inspired by all the unhinged things you say about your celeb crush or fictional chracters to your besties but in reality you're all talk and selfaware that it will never ever happen in a million years. Enjoy - Ryn.

“It was amazing, Clark!” you gush, practically glowing as you pace across your living room, your hands animated with every word.

Clark Kent, your best friend, stands in your kitchen, stirring the pasta sauce on the stove. The spaghetti’s almost done—soon dinner for the both of you, but his eyes keep drifting your way, a small smile tugging at his lips. You’re practically bouncing with excitement as you tell him about seeing Superman today.

“That bus thing? Earlier today?” you continue breathlessly. “I was there. Like—literally right there.”

You’re too wrapped up in the memory to notice how Clark stills, shoulders tensing. The wooden spoon in his hand hovers mid-stir, suddenly forgotten.

He sets it down slowly, turning to face you with an unreadable expression. “You were there?” he asks, voice a little tighter than before.

“Yeah! I was heading to the bakery on Fifth for those stupid little croissants I like, and then suddenly people started screaming and running, and the city bus came tearing down the street with no brakes. I thought it was gonna crash straight into traffic.”

Clark nods absently, but something in his eyes flickers. “Right. I… I saw it on the news. It looked intense.”

“It was insane,” you say, wide-eyed, completely unaware of the way his jaw clenches, or the quiet dread beginning to twist in his chest.

“I was so close, Clark. Like… a few feet away. The wind knocked my hair back when Superman landed. And—okay, don’t laugh—but someone bumped into me in the chaos and I fell. Like, full-on hit the pavement. Scraped my hands and everything.”

He still goes. Not just physically, but something inside him freezes.

“You fell?” he repeats, his voice low, a little hoarse. “Are you okay?”

He leaves his spot at the stove and walks over to where you’re standing in his living room, 

“Yeah, just some scrapes, but nothing serious” you laugh, holding up your hands to show the faint red marks. 

He reaches out, gently taking your hands in his. His brows furrow with concern as he studies the faint red marks. Slowly, carefully, he runs his thumb over the scrapes, as if wanting to soothe away the pain.

You’d been there. In the middle of it. And he hadn’t known. He should have known.

He’s always been able to sense you, your heartbeat, the rhythm of your breath, the warmth of your presence. But today, in the rush and chaos of everything, he’d missed you. And if something had happened…

You finally catch the look on his face creased with concern, like he’s trying to keep it together but losing that battle by the second. You mistake it for Clark just being Clark, sweet, soft, a little overly protective.

But for him, it’s more than that. You were that close. And he didn’t even see you.

“Anyway it was a total mess. Got up just in time to see him stop the bus—with his bare hands. He was incredible.”

“Do you need anything? For these?” he asks softly, holding your hands palm-up gently in his.

“No, I’m okay,” you say, trying to sound casual, but your eyes meet his concerned gaze. He gently flips your hand over, and his thumbs begin tracing soft, slow circles over your knuckles—the way he always does when he holds your hand. It’s a small, quiet gesture. 

You don’t think he even realizes he does it.

But you do.

And you love it.

The gentle, steady touch lingers. It’s like a quiet reminder that he’s there—silent but present—and that makes you feel seen and safe.

“You sure?” His eyes search yours, not quite ready to let it go.

“Mhm. I promise.” You offer him a small smile.

He nods slowly, his worry easing just a bit. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He heads back toward the kitchen but glances over his shoulder. “That must have been scary.”

Yet you don’t seem shaken at all. “Everyone was okay thanks to Superman.” You pause for a beat, then shake your head slightly, almost in disbelief. “Honestly, I don’t think any photo or video could ever capture what it’s like to see him in person. Clark, he’s… just so handsome. Like, seriously—God.”

He clears his throat, trying to sound casual as he leans against the counter. “You really like the guy, huh?”

“He’s one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my entire life!” you gush, flopping back dramatically onto your couch.

Clark chuckles. “Yeah, I guess he’s pretty good looking.”

You sit up quickly “You’ve gotta let me meet him!”

Clark turns, brow raised. “Meet him?”

“Yeah,” you say eagerly. “Introduce me to Superman! You’re friends, right? You’ve interviewed him, like, a dozen times for the Daily Planet!”

“You want me to introduce you… to Superman?” He goes to the stove, picking up the wooden spoon again, his eyes fixed on you with a sly, knowing look.

“Duh,” you grin. “Come on, Clark. You’ve got the hookup.”

He furrows his eyebrows “I can’t just call him up and be like, ‘Hey, my best friend has a big fat crush on you—mind flying by to say hi?’”

“But you could,” you shoot back, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Clark sighs, stirring the sauce slowly. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s a great idea!” you declare, springing up from the couch like you’ve just had a genius revelation. “You introduce me to Superman, we fall madly in love, and I’ll have you…my sweet, loyal best friend Clark Kent to thank.”

You stride into the kitchen, still riding the high of the idea, and hop up onto the counter top beside the stove like it’s your throne. 

He laughs under his breath, “Right. And what happens if he’s not into giddy humans with no filter and a flair for dramatics? What if this fantasy doesn’t pan out the way you plan and you don’t fall in love?”

“Wow. Way to crush dreams, Clark.” You say flatly 

“I’m not trying to crush anything,” he says, holding up his hands. “Just being realistic. He’s a superhero—saving the world twenty-four seven, dealing with nonstop chaos, and let’s be honest… probably swimming in attention from women.”

You perk up, eyes flashing. “I can fight.”

Clark blinks. “What?”

You nod, dead serious. “I said I can fight. If I have to throw hands with a few thirsty admirers to win Superman’s heart, so be it.”

He stares at you for a second, then snorts. “You’re unbelievable.” He laughs, shaking his head at your unexpected declaration. "You can fight? And what, you're going to fight all the other women after him? That's your strategy here?"

He's finding this whole situation more amusing by the second, watching your determination to win over Superman, clearly entertained by your boldness.

He leaves the stove, makes his way to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and leans back against the counter—his eyes never leaving you.

“I never said it was a smart plan.”

He snorts. “No kidding.”

You glance off with a shrug. “I mean, the guy had a whole secret harem situation going on. I’d settle for a spot in the rotation.”

Clark chokes on his water, coughing violently as his eyes go wide.

“W-what?!” he gasps, clutching his chest like the words physically hit him.

“If I had one night with him…let’s just say I’d climb him like a tree” You just laugh, swinging your legs casually from the counter.

Clark’s still coughing, eyes watering now as he points an accusatory finger at you. “You—You can’t just say things like that!” he says between fits of coughing, voice hoarse.

His face is bright red, and you laugh even harder, thinking it’s from nearly dying on water.

But it’s not. It’s from you. From the words you just said. From the image he can’t now un-hear.

And from the fact that you have no idea the man you join a harem for… want to climb like a tree…is him.

You tilt your head innocently. “Why not? It’s true.”

“That’s not the point!” he wheezes, finally managing to catch his breath. 

“You—you’re insane.” He just blinks at you. “Are you absolutely out of your mind?! You know the secret harem wasn’t real!”

He knows you never believed in that nonsense. Back when the conspiracy started swirling—wild headlines, paranoia, accusations—you were the one rolling your eyes, defending Superman when most people didn’t. Yet here you are, joking like it was his true plan.

You roll your eyes playfully as you hop off the counter and move to stand in front of the stove.

“Of course I know that,” you say, grabbing the spoon and giving the pasta sauce a stir. “I never believed he was out there saving the world just to build some secret harem. That’s ridiculous.”

You taste the sauce, tilting your head thoughtfully. It needs something. You reach for the spice rack, adding a pinch of salt and a shake of oregano before stirring again.

“But I’m just saying—” you glance over your shoulder at Clark, your tone light but far too confident, “if he did start one…”

You let it hang, smug as ever, like your logic is completely sound.

Clark rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long sigh. “You need help.” 

“I need Superman,” you quip.

“No. No you don't!" He shakes his head, firm. His water hits the counter with a soft thud as he moves past you, opening the bottom cabinet and pulling out a colander.

He sets it in the sink, then turns off part of the stove before carefully dumping the steaming pot of pasta into the colander.

You shrug, giving the sauce one last stir as you lower the heat. “I’m just saying, I’d bring value.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, wiping his hands on a dish towel as you reach up to grab two bowls from the cabinet. Then you pull two forks and the ladle from the drawer, still grinning like you’re perfectly serious.

He groans. “You definitely hit your head when you fell. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He takes two bowls from your hands, shaking his head. “You’re seriously saying you’d be okay with sharing him? Even with his other… admirers? You’d be fine just lining up with the rest of them?”

He fills the bowls with spaghetti pasta from the colander. You take the bowls back from him and ladle sauce on top, keeping your expression completely straight. Then, you stick a fork into each bowl before handing one back to him.

You sigh dramatically, “Okay, I’d want him to myself. But if it comes down to it, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Clark shakes his head, watching you with open amusement. You stand there, completely unashamed of your desires, and he laughs—soft, disbelieving—as his eyes widen. You’re wild, almost feral, and it throws him off.

And you still have no idea you’re saying all of this to Superman.

The two of you sit at his island table, pulling out the stools and settling in next to each other. You angle your stool slightly toward him as you eat together.

“You’re incredibly upfront about all this,” he says as he moves pasta around in his bowl. “Most people would be a little more… discreet about their crushes. But not you. You just throw all your cards on the table.”

You twirl your fork, unfazed, then take a bite like this is just another normal dinner.

But for Clark, it isn’t just a casual conversation. It’s brutal. Because you don’t see him. You don’t see what’s right in front of you.

You talk about Superman all the time with Clark. Grinning when his name came up, sighing dramatically after watching a news clip, tossing out little compliments like confetti. “He’s just so… strong,” you’d murmur absently, eyes lingering on the front page of the Daily Planet. Or, “Okay, but did you see his jawline in that interview?” you’d tease, nudging Clark like it was nothing.

Casual. Harmless. Just a silly little crush.

At least, that’s what Clark kept telling himself.

Because even if it was only in passing, even if you didn’t mean anything by it… he remembered every word. Every offhand compliment, every breathless sigh. He remembered how your eyes sparkled when you said, “Honestly? He’s kind of dreamy.”

Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Nothing he should let bother him.

But he loves you.

And he’s jealous.

Jealous of himself—of Superman.

Which is ridiculous. He knows that. It’s him. You’re talking about him.

But it doesn’t feel like it.

You’re not looking at Clark.

Clark is the guy who knows how you take your coffee, who listens when you ramble, who laughs at your awful impressions and lends you his hoodie when you’re cold. He’s awkward, nerdy, a farmer boy from Kansas.

But that quiet, everyday version of him isn’t the one who leaves you dazed, clutching a pillow like your heart might fall out of your chest. He’s not the one you talk about with that dreamy, far-off look.

And still, Clark wants to believe that version of him matters. That he matters.

Not the cape. Not the spectacle. Just the man standing in front of you. Awkward, ordinary, and hopelessly in love.

Clark just nods, offering a quiet hum. Because what else can he do?

Take off the glasses? Tell you the truth? It’s me. I’m the one you’re talking about.

No.

No matter how close he sits, no matter how much he listens, he’s just your best friend and nothing more. 

So he bites his tongue and lets you believe in the fantasy because at least that version of him makes you light up.

“You know, most people keep their delusional crush rants to themselves—or better yet, take them to the grave,” he says lightly, twirling a forkful of spaghetti before taking a bite. “But sure—why not unload them on your best friend instead? Totally normal.”

You smile, shrugging “That’s what best friends are for. I know I can tell you anything. Even the stupid stuff, especially the stupid stuff. You’ve never judged me. You just listen. You make it easy.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “And come on, I’m joking about all the Superman stuff… mostly.”

“You know,” Clark says, shooting you a look over the rim of his glasses, “if you’re gonna meet Superman, you should probably dial it down a bit…more like a lot. I’m scared for him If I’m being honest…”

You gasp dramatically, setting your fork down with a clatter. “Wait—are you serious? You’re going to introduce me?!”

Clark laughs, the sound low and warm in his chest. He leans back against the stool’s backrest. “I didn’t say that—I’m not making any promises. I can see what I can do, but he’s busy and—oof!”

You launch yourself at him with a triumphant squeal, arms flung around his neck in an excited hug that makes him rock back slightly on the stool.

“Hey—whoa—easy!” he laughs, instinctively catching you with strong arms, one hand splayed across your back to keep you from falling. 

“Thanks Clark” you pull aways from him.

His curls are messy on his forehead, his glasses crooked as he pushes them up the bridge of his nose. His dimples peek out, softening his expression in a way that makes your heart skip.

Clark swallows hard.

But he only smiles faintly and says, “Yeah, well… don’t get your hopes up.”

And if Superman is what you wanted…Then Superman is what you'd get.

—-

Dinner was done. The plates were scraped, the leftover spaghetti put away, and the lingering heat from the oven still warmed the kitchen.

You stood at the sink with your hands in soapy water, absentmindedly scrubbing a plate as the last threads of conversation faded into a comfortable quiet. The topic of Superman had come and gone.

From the living room came the soft shuffle of records as Clark thumbed through your vinyl collection, sleeves sliding against each other in a quiet, steady rhythm. 

“How about The Mighty Crab Joyssss!” he called, dragging out the name dramatically. He held their record up to show you. 

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head fondly. “The Mighty Crab Joys at this hour?” 

“Oh, come on,” he called back, clearly grinning.

 “It’s late. Punk Rock is not the vibe of the night”

He groaned dramatically. “Blasphemy. They’re always the vibe.” 

He examined the sleeve, flipping it over to read the track list. “I didn’t know you had this,” he said, chuckling. “You hate The Mighty Crab Joys.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “It was in the clearance bin.”

But the truth was, you bought it because Clark loves them. Not because you suddenly appreciated screechy vocals, but because they mattered to him. And maybe, in some quiet way, owning that record felt like holding a small piece of him, too.

He tilted his head, still looking down at the record like he was trying to figure something out. “Clearance bin, huh?”

You nodded.

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he gave a small smile and gently slid the record back into the pile

Clark was crouched by the shelves, glasses slipping a little down his nose, a flannel shirt bunching at the elbows. There was a curl falling against his forehead, loose and soft, and he kept brushing it away with the back of his wrist. He was humming under his breath now, something tuneless and happy.

You leaned against the counter for a second, dish towel hanging limp in your hands as you watch him.

Clark was real. Tangible. Messy and warm and familiar. He was late-night talks and quiet support. He remembered the little things. He laughed at your dumb jokes. He made you feel like you mattered—even on the days you didn’t feel like much.

And somewhere along the way, you fell for him. Not in a loud, dramatic way—but deeply. Completely. The kind of love that crept in slowly and stayed.

He doesn’t know. You never told him.

You had no idea the man you loved and the metahuman you couldn’t stop fangirling over were the same person. 

You were fascinated by Superman. Of course you were. He was extraordinary. But no part of you ever confused admiration with love.

That belonged to Clark. It always had. And it always would.

And then came the music.

Slow. Dreamy. Romantic.

I Only Have Eyes for You.

Clark didn’t look at you. He just stood there, arms crossed loosely, watching the record spin.

It was one of your favorite songs. 

And something about hearing it now here, with him made your chest ache a little.

The room was quiet, except for the soft crackle of the vinyl and the crooning harmonies floating through the air. You waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.

You stepped away from the counter, drying your hands on the dish towel as the music played on, low and dreamy.

“Dance with me?”

You crossed into the living room, eyes on him.

Clark blinked, caught mid-step. “What? I—don’t know how to dance.”

You gave him a look. “Lucky for you, I do.”

He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, but he didn’t argue. When you held out your hand, he took it.

At first, it was all fumbles and stumbles. He stepped on your toes almost immediately.

“Ow,” you said, grinning.

“Sorry! That was—okay, that was bad.”

You giggled and nudged him. “You’re fine. Just… loosen up.”

He tried. You guided him through a few awkward steps, then spun away with a dramatic flair, only to twirl right back into his arms. You both laughed—loud and unfiltered—as he caught you with both hands, steadying you.

“You’re showing off,” he teased.

“Maybe a little.”

The two of you kept it up for a bit spinning, laughing, bumping into furniture and each other, Without really thinking, your movements softened. The space between you disappeared.

His hands shifted at your waist. Yours slid naturally up to his shoulders. The two of you, swaying, content in the soft glow of the living room lamp, the Flamingos crooning dreamily in the background.

You let yourself drift a little closer, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, calm and grounding. Familiar.

He didn’t say anything, just held you a little tighter, like maybe he didn’t want the song to end either. His thumb traced slow, steady circles over your knuckles.

You closed your eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

His chin dipped slightly, resting against the top of your head. You could feel the warmth of his breath in your hair, the soft rise and fall of his chest with each inhale. Neither of you moved to speak. The moment felt too fragile for words, too perfect to break.

You are here and so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view and I only have eyes….—he dipped you low, holding you effortlessly— …for you.

He pulled you up slowly, close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

For a second, just one, you thought he was going to kiss you.

His gaze flicked to your lips.

Yours to his.

But then he blinked, pulling back just enough to break the spell. His hand slid from your waist, suddenly hesitant.

The record crackled softly, the needle reaching the edge with a gentle hiss. But neither of you moved. Neither of you let go.

Your breath mingled with his. The silence between you was thick with everything unspoken.

“I should probably head home,” he said quickly, the words breaking the moment like a snapped thread.

“You could crash here… it’s late, and walking alone isn’t great.”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got some editing to do… and an important interview tomorrow.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Okay.”

He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, you close behind.

Before stepping outside, he paused and looked back with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do about Superman.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s fine, Clark. It was all talk.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling with something unspoken. “Well, you never know.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, caught between goodbye and something else, something neither of you quite named.

The night air drifted in as the faint hum of the city settled around you.

Finally, he gave a small shake of his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Clark.”

The door closed softly behind him, but the warmth of the moment stayed with you long after.

—-

It’s Saturday afternoon in Metropolis, the sun dipping low behind the skyline and casting long golden shadows across the pavement. The usual foot traffic has thinned, the streets quieter now. 

You haven’t heard from Clark in a couple days.

Not that it’s unusual, exactly. He gets busy. Deadlines, interviews, chasing leads. You know how it is.

Still… you notice the silence. The space he usually fills without even trying.

You were a mess. Struggling to carry multiple heavy brown grocery bags, your purse slipping off your shoulder with every other step, trying desperately to balance it all as you made your way home.

And then, of course, one of the bags split.

A can hit the pavement clattering loudly as it rolls down the sidewalk. You groaned, dropping to your knees as the rest of the groceries spilled out onto the ground.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You groan and set everything down, dropping to your knees as you start gathering the fallen groceries, trying to shove them into the remaining bags before anything else rolls away.

“Here, let me give you a hand—”

“Thank you! The brown grocery bags are so paper thin these days, I swea—” You look up mid-sentence, and the words die in your throat.

Standing in front of you is him. The iconic red and blue suit. The unmistakable “S” on his chest. His cape shifts gently behind him, catching the breeze from somewhere you can’t even feel.

You freeze, staring, mouth slightly open. Completely stunned.

Superman.

He kneels down in front of you, as casual as if this were the most normal thing in the world, and begins helping you pick up your scattered groceries.

 You're just still kneeling, still holding a can in your hand like you’ve forgotten how basic motor function works. Speechless. Starstruck.

He rises to his full height as he extends his hand to you.

You stare at it for a second—his hand, steady and open, waiting. You take his hand in yours. His touch feels almost…familiar. 

He helps you up gently, his grip firm but careful, He towers over you, easily 6’4”, broad and solid in a way that makes the world feel smaller around him. He gives you a small, gentle smile one that reaches his eyes and those familiar dimples appear. 

Get it together. Say something.

Realizing you’ve been staring at him in stunned silence, you suddenly become aware that you’ve let go of his hand. Clutching the can tightly against your chest as if it holds the secrets of the universe, you clear your throat awkwardly.

Clark had never seen you this quiet before. You were usually talking his ear off—jokes, questions, wild theories—your thoughts spilling out faster than you could catch them, always filling the space between you. He’d honestly braced himself for a tidal wave of chatter the moment you met Superman.

But instead, nothing. You froze.

Not a word. Not a sound.

It wasn’t like you. And that silence? It threw him off more than anything else.

“Hello.” He greets

“H-hi” you stammer. 

He lifts a brow. “Do you need help carrying those?”

“S-sure,” you manage, nodding.

Without hesitation, he steps forward and crouches down, scooping up the three heavy grocery bags in one arm like they weigh nothing.

Then, gently, he takes the can from your hand, places it into one of the bags, and reaches for your purse. He holds it out to you.

You take it, clutching it to your chest—tight, like you did with the can earlier. As if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Your breaths come a little quicker, each one shallow and unsteady as the world blurs at the edges.

“Where are you headed?” he asks softly, his voice breaking through the fog.

“Home,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“Lead the way,” he replies with a small smile, eyes warm and patient.

But you just stand there, rooted to the spot, staring.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brow furrows in concern, voice gentle but insistent.

“Y-Yeah. Yes. I’m fine, just…” You cut yourself off, turning away before your voice cracks. “Follow me.”

You move past him quickly, shoulders tight, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze refusing to look at him.

You knew Superman was kind. Gentle, even. But right now, with him standing so close. You were nervous, intimidated. 

Clark found it kind of funny, in a quiet, bittersweet way. Just a few nights ago, you were talking big, bold declarations about what you’d do if you ever met Superman.

And now? Here you were. With Superman.

You’d clam up. 

Silent. Stiff. Not meeting his eyes.

He didn’t laugh. Not really. But the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“What’s your name?” He walks beside you, the groceries balanced effortlessly in his strong arms. The quiet rhythm of your footsteps fills the space between you both.

You hesitate, then answer quietly. 

“Do you happen to be friends with Clark Kent? The reporter from the Daily Planet?”

“Y-Yes,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s my best friend.”

Superman’s face lights up with recognition. “Ah! That’s why your name sounded so familiar. I know Clark, he’s interviewed me a few times. Actually…” He tilts his head, thoughtful. “You came up in our conversation the other day. When he was interviewing me.”

Your heart skips a beat. He talked about me? A thrill shoots through you—followed by cold horror.

Wait… did Clark tell him? All the ridiculous things you said—how you’d “climb Superman like a tree,” or how you’d “join his harem”? No. No, Clark wouldn’t. He was your best friend. He’d never actually repeat the unhinged stuff you said when you were messing around… right?

You swallow hard. “He… he talked about me?” Trying to mask your panic, you force a shaky laugh. “So… what did he say?”

Superman nods with a small smile. “Yeah. He said you were smart, kind… ”

He watches you for a moment, like he’s trying not to laugh. “That you’re... expressive. Talkative.” He says it like it’s a compliment, but the glint in his eye makes you feel like you’ve just been caught with your hand in the metaphorical cookie jar.

Your face burns. Expressive? That’s definitely code for unhinged. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands.

You try to play it cool, but your voice comes out thin. “So… that’s all he said?”

Superman shrugs casually. “Pretty much. Oh and that you talk a lot about me, apparently.”

You wince. “Oh no…”

He chuckles. “Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It was kind of flattering. Mostly

Mostly? Your stomach lurches.

You stare at him. “He didn’t, like… quote me, did he?”

Superman’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Not directly. Clark might’ve paraphrased. Something about you having very… passionate thoughts”

You make a noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a dying animal, and bury your face in your hand as your other arm still crutches the purse. 

“Please tell me he didn’t say what those thoughts were,” you groan, voice muffled.

Superman doesn’t answer right away. You peek out warily to find him grinning, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“He might’ve… hinted,” he says, dragging out the words like he’s savoring them.

“Honestly, I think he was just trying to give me a heads-up.”

You look at him, horrified. “A heads-up?”

He nods, straight-faced. “In case you tried to climb me like a tree.”

You let out a strangled noise and spin halfway around like you might actually walk away—just bolt and never look back.

“I was joking!” you blurt out, hands flailing slightly in the air. “It was a joke! I swear I’m not—” You cut yourself off before you say unhinged, because honestly, that might not help your case.

You groan and press your purse to your face. “Oh my god.”

There is a long pause. You can feel him watching you, and somehow that’s worse than if he’d laughed out loud.

“I mean,” he says slowly, “Clark did say you had a good sense of humor.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “I’m going to kill him.”

He chuckles. “Don’t be too hard on him. He just thought we’d get along.”

You squint at him. “Was that before or after he relayed my…passionate thoughts?”

He pretends to consider it. “Hard to say. Time’s a blur when someone’s calling you ‘a national threat to self-control.’”

Your eyes widen in horror. “He did not.”

Superman lifts his hands, palms out. “Okay, maybe I embellished that part.”

You stare at him, unsure if you want to disappear… or punch him gently in the arm. 

“Look I admire you–”

“Admire me yet you say those kinds of things?”

You blink, caught off guard by his smirk. “Well, yeah, but—”

He holds up a hand, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No need to explain. I’m just saying, you’ve got an... interesting way of showing it.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you shuffle your feet like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I wasn’t planning to actually climb you. That was just—”

“Imaginary tree climbing,” he finishes for you, grinning wider.

You clear your throat. “Exactly. Totally hypothetical.”

“Look, I just have a crush on you okay?” You were gonna regret this but you had to get yourself out of this hole. 

“I wasn’t expecting Clark to tell you things…but I don’t mean them, maybe a tiny part of me, but mainly it's just me joking around. Like I know we’re not gonna happen you know, the whole world loves you. I’m not the only one that does” 

“And besides… I’m in love with—”

You stop, the name just a breath away. Your chest tightens.

Saying it to Superman?

You hesitate. He’s carrying the weight of the world—he doesn’t need to hear about your feelings, especially not for someone sorta he knows. Someone he most likely will talk to again. What if he says something? What if Clark finds out and things get… weird?

You exhale softly, a small laugh slipping out as you shake your head.

“Never mind. It’s just… complicated.”

Beside you, Superman tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to you with something.

“…With who?” he asks quietly.

You stop just outside the lobby doors of your apartment building , meeting his gaze with steady eyes.

“This is me.”

“Let me walk these up to your apartment—” he gestures to the groceries in his arms, still perfectly balanced despite the awkward bags.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. You really don’t— I’m sure you have better things to do—”

“No, I insist,” he says, brushing past you with that signature confidence, like helping you is the most important thing on his list today. He pulls the door open for you with ease.

As soon as you step inside, heads turn.

People stop mid-conversation. A few gasps. Someone drops their iced coffee. Phones come out in an instant—screens lighting up as they catch sight of Superman, casually walking beside you with grocery bags in hand like this is something he does every Saturday.

Inside, you press the button for floor 5.

Clark steps in beside you, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

Trapped in this confined space with you, he can’t stop turning it over in his head—trying to figure out who it could be.

Someone you’re in love with.

The two of you walk the short hallway to your apartment, the soft thud of your footsteps the only sound between you. He helps you carry the bags inside, setting them gently on the kitchen counter. 

The two of you drift back toward the front door.

You stand in the doorway, fingers curled loosely around the edge of the frame.

“Thank you for the help, Superman,” you say, voice a little steadier now.

He gives you a small smile, warm and genuine. “Yeah, it’s no problem. It was nice meeting you.”

He reaches out and takes your hand in his to shake.

As his palm closes around yours, his thumb begins to rub slow, light circles over your knuckles an unconscious habit only one person you know has. The touch is familiar. Comforting. It makes your breath hitch before you can stop it.

It grounds you. Like a tether in a storm. Like home.

You glance up, heart skipping a beat as his eyes meet yours—steady, kind, and impossibly familiar.

The world tilts. Just slightly.

You stare at him, and suddenly, you realize: this isn’t the first time you’ve stood face to face with Superman.

You’ve seen that face a thousand times. But never like this.

No glasses. And his usually unruly curls are tamed—slicked back, styled to perfection, with a single curl falling artfully across his forehead.

You don’t see the suit or the legend.

You see Clark Kent staring back at you.

And in an instant, everything clicks into place.

Clark.

Your Clark. 

Your chest tightens, recognition blooming deep and sudden like a spark catching flame.

He smiles, soft, easy, unaware, while inside you, everything shifts.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

It’s really him.

“Have a good night,” he says gently.

And before you can speak, before you can ask, before you can say Clark, he turns, and he’s gone—disappearing down the hallway. 

—-

Clark was Superman.

Superman was Clark.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, cold, dizzying, unstoppable.

The man you’re hopelessly in love with, your sweet, nerdy farm boy from Kansas is the same superhero you’ve shamelessly, repeatedly, said absolutely unhinged things about. Loudly. Passionately. With absolutely no idea he was standing right there. 

You feel a whirlwind of emotions, embarrassment, anger, happiness, confusion. All tangled together, twisting inside you like a storm.

And to make it worse… he just teased you, as Superman, about all the wild things you said.

That mischievous glint in his eyes, that quiet laugh—you realize he’s been holding back, playing with you, knowing every word you ever blurted out about him.

Your cheeks burn hotter than ever.

You want to crawl into a hole. 

Without thinking twice, you drop everything and rush toward Clark’s apartment, not bothering to call first. Your heart pounds too loudly for any caution.

Is he even going to be there?

Did some emergency come up after helping with your groceries?

Questions flood your mind, but none of it slows your feet. You just have to see him. Right now.

You race across the city, your breath quick and uneven, heart hammering against your ribs like a desperate drum.

When you reach Clark’s door, you pound on it like your life depends on it fast, loud, relentless. Each knock echoes down the quiet hallway, sharp and demanding, fueled by a whirlwind of emotions you can barely contain.

The door swung open with a startled creak.

Clark stood there, no longer in the suit. His damp curls clung to his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, dressed in a plain white shirt and worn sweats.

“Hey—” he began, voice soft and cautious, but you didn’t give him the chance to finish.

“Are you kidding me?!” you exploded, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and barreling into him with zero hesitation.

Clark stumbled backward, off-balance, nearly tripping over the threshold as you stormed into his apartment hot on his heels. His socks slid slightly on the hardwood as he tried to catch himself.

“Whoa—what the—ow! Stop hitting me!” he yelped, arms flailing as you started smacking his shoulder, then his chest, each blow a punctuation mark to your fury.

“You let me say that?!” you shouted, eyes blazing.

He twisted away from your reach, arms flying up like he was under attack—which, technically, he was.

“What did I do?! What are you even talking about?!” he yelped, already backpedaling into the living room, knocking into a lamp as he went. It wobbled dangerously before righting itself.

“You know exactly what!” you snapped, cutting around the couch as he scrambled the other way.

It was like a ridiculous, high-stakes game of tag as you chased him around, fury giving your movements speed and purpose while he tried to keep the furniture between you. Clark ducked, dodged, and pivoted like his life depended on it—because in that moment, it kind of did.

“What is even happening?!—Ouch! Will you stop that?” he yelped again as you hurled a throw pillow at him. It caught him square in the chest before bouncing to the floor.

“You knew!” you shouted, relentless now, charging around the couch. “You let me say all that stuff about Superman! How gorgeous I think he is! Fighting other women for him! Joining the harem! Climbing him like a damn tree!”

Clark froze mid-step, blinking rapidly, his back nearly pressed to the far wall of the room. His cheeks went bright pink, jaw slack with shock. 

“And you just stood there!” you jabbed your finger into his chest, each word sharper than the last. He winced but didn’t move, pinned in place by your fury. “You let me say all that stuff about you! And you have the audacity to tease me like 20 minutes ago—as Superman—about the things I said about you?”

“Me?!” he echoed, scandalized, pointing a frantic finger at himself like you had to be mistaken. “You were talking about Superman!”

“Quit the act, Clark!” 

“You can’t possibly think I’m—”

“Think?!” you screeched, cutting him off. Arms flung high in disbelief, you stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Clark, I know!”

He froze completely.

No breath. No movement. Not even a blink. Like someone had hit pause on him.

“Superman rubbed my knuckles when he held my hand,” you say, voice trembling with emotion, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “The only person I know who does that… is you.”

He did do that. Without thinking. A quiet, comforting gesture—muscle memory. A force of habit. His habit. 

You take a slow step forward. Then another.

He doesn’t move.

Your hands lift toward his face, hesitating just inches away. You reach for his glasses.

He catches your wrists gently, fingers wrapping around them, stopping you.

For a moment, neither of you move.

The air between you is too still. Too heavy.

But you don’t back down.

You look him in the eye and slowly, deliberately, you pull your hands free.

Then, with trembling fingers, you remove his glasses.

And just like that, there’s no hiding left.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper, handing his glasses back as your eyes search his face. His eyes.

The same eyes you’ve trusted for years.

“You just… let me humiliate and embarrass myself, saying all those godly unhinged things, when it was you the whole entire time,” you say, your voice cracking under the weight of it.

Mortification floods through you. You groan and cover your face with your hands, burying it against his chest.

He’s still Superman. Broad. Solid. Steady.

But he’s also Clark. Your best friend.

And you’d said so much. All those late-night confessions, the dramatic rants, the dreamy what-ifs.

Superman was your best friend.

And you hadn’t even known.

“Why did you tease me while you were Superman?” you ask, voice trembling.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “I’m not gonna lie—it was kind of funny. Some of the things you said… well, they were ridiculous. I just wanted to see what would happen if you knew that Superman knew.”

“Clark,” you mumble, your face pressed lightly against his chest, the warmth of him somehow both infuriating and comforting. “Do you know how humiliating this whole thing is?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he says, his tone softening instantly.

His hands move to your arms and shoulders, rubbing in slow, soothing strokes. There’s intention in every pass—steady, careful, familiar. He’s trying to calm you. 

“Hey…” he says softly, eyes searching yours, voice thick with something that sounds a lot like regret. “I didn’t mean to lie. I just…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re Superman?” you ask, voice barely steady, every word pulled from the tangle of emotion tightening in your chest. “Do… Do you not trust me?”

You finally look at him since everything shifted. Your eyes meet his, searching, aching. You’re still embarrassed, cheeks flushed with the memory of every ridiculous, unfiltered thing you ever said about Superman—right in front of Clark.

But the question weighs heavier than your pride.

Because beneath the shock and the awkwardness, what hurts most… is the thought that he didn’t trust you.

His eyes widened. “No, gosh no. It’s not that. Of course I trust you. It’s just… There were a lot of reasons. Factors I had to consider.”

You shake your head, not buying it. “That doesn’t really explain why you never told me.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, suddenly looking very human. I'm very tired.

“Okay. For starters… the main reason is to keep you safe,” he says. “If I told you who I was, and someone found out, they could use you against me. That risk—it’s not something I could ever take lightly.”

His voice softens. “I can’t have you getting hurt because of me. And now that you do know… I’m going to be even more worried than I already was.”

“There’s something else,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You look at him. He’s hesitant. You’re waiting.

“I was jealous of him,” he admits. “Of Superman.”

Your brows knit. “Jealous? But… that’s you. Why would you be jealous of yourself?”

 he says softly. “But he had your attention. Not me.”

He swallows hard, his voice rough with vulnerability. “You just—you light up when you talk about him. Stars in your eyes. Like he’s everything. And I know that sounds stupid, I know he’s me, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “You love the idea of Superman. And I guess I thought if I told you the truth… you wouldn’t feel the same about me.”

“I love you, but you love him,” Clark says, his voice barely holding together. “I felt like I wouldn’t be enough. That Clark Kent wouldn’t be enough. I didn’t think I was enough without the cape. But now… you—you’re... you said you're in love with some other guy?” His voice cracked, gutted, every word heavy with disbelief. Hearing that you, say to Superman, were in love with someone else felt like a punch to the chest.

“You… love me?” you ask, a little breathless, a little swoony. Your voice lifts with quiet wonder, like you’re scared to break the moment.

Clark blinks, startled by your reaction. His mouth opens, then closes again, like he doesn’t know what to say. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud—but it was already too late to take back.

“Yeah,” he breathes, finally. “I do.”

Slowly, you reach up and take his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the edge of his jaw.

His eyes search yours, still wide, still uncertain like he’s afraid to believe you might really mean it.

“Clark,” you whisper, “I don’t love Superman… I mean, obviously I do—I know that’s you now. But that’s a crush. I admired him.”

His eyes stay fixed on yours, wide and uncertain, like he’s still not sure he deserves this.

“But the one who has my whole heart—completely, utterly, forever—that’s you, Clark Kent. You’re the guy I’m in love with. You’re the guy I briefly mentioned to Superman,” you continue, voice steady and sure.

“Me?” His eyes widen, disbelief and awe mingling.

“Yes,” you giggle softly. “You and only you… I’ve always seen you. And you’ve always been enough.

He just stares at you for a beat, stunned, overwhelmed, like he doesn’t know how to hold all that love in his hands.

“You don’t have to fly or wear a cape for me to love you,” you say, your voice low but certain. “I don’t love you because you save the world. I love you because of who you are when no one’s looking.”

His brow furrows slightly, like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how.

“I love how kind you are, how thoughtful. You’re so humble, Clark. And yeah, you’re a total nerd,” you add with a fond little laugh, “but in the best way.”

He huffs a quiet breath, eyes softening, and you keep going because it’s all true and he needs to hear it.

“You care so much too much sometimes. And it’s not the powers that make you special. It’s you.”

You let your hands slide from his cheeks to his chest, anchoring there.

“You let me yap your ear off and rant about the most ridiculous things without ever making me feel small,” you chuckle. 

 “Half the time, you probably don’t even know what I’m talking about, but you still listen. You make me feel like what I say matters. Like I matter. You notice the little things about me—the way I tuck my hair behind my ear when I’m nervous, the dumb way I hum when I think no one’s listening, the silly jokes I make that no one else gets.”

You pause, brushing your thumbs lightly over the warmth of his chest. “That’s who I fell in love with. Not Superman. Not anyone else. Just… you.”

​​Clark gives you a shy smile, his dimples deepening in a way that makes your heart flutter. His eyes, soft and hopeful, hold a quiet warmth that draws you in. Without thinking, your hands find their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. Slowly, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you gently closer.

​​“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, full of hope and vulnerability.

You nod, breath catching in your throat as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a tender, gentle kiss that sends a rush of warmth flooding through you. You smile softly against his mouth, then can’t help but let out a small, light laugh.

He pulls back slightly, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What? Why are you laughing?”

You grin, your eyes sparkling with playful mischief. “I’m lucky… getting two for the price of one.”

Clark’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, but his smile only widens, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “Two for the price of one?” he repeats, amusement threading through his tone.

You smirk, your fingers tracing small, lazy circles on his back as you savor the closeness. “Yeah, you, Clark and Superman. It’s like having the best of both worlds.”

His smile softens, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip. “The whole world and I love Superman,” you say quietly, voice low and certain, “but you Clark Kent, you are mine and mine only.”

[rynwrites4fun]

Love You Anyway (5) | Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Andrew Cody x F ! Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Summary: Graduation and summer with the Codys meant soaking up every last piece of Oceanside before you had to leave. But one night changes everything—and in the worst way possible. In an instant, the truth shatters the world you thought you knew, and nothing can ever be the same.

Word Count: 7203

Warning: Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline, swearing, mentions blood/injury,

Author Note: I swear everytime I get back into writing, I’m on a roll lol. Excited to begin the “now” timeline and get into Andrew and readers relationship 🙂‍↕️. I just found out my uncle watched animal kingdom when it first came out lol he’s like “how far are you?” I told him I was on season 3 and he’s like “oh so you don’t know what happens in the end yet” and I was like “oh no I do” 💀 also he said he didn’t like j??? I will not take the j SLANDER. That boy suffered so much.

Enjoy! - Ryn

THEN: PERPETRATORS, 2008

“Congratulations to the class of 2008!”

Everyone cheered. The graduates on the football field, and the crowd of family and friends in the bleachers, erupted with applause and shouts. Your class stood up in celebration, caps launching into the warm evening sky like a flock of birds taking flight. Laughter and screams of joy echoed all around you, mingling with the smell of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of sunscreen.

Everyone moved around, hugging loved ones, snapping pictures, or searching for friends, while you just stood in place, letting the moment sink in.

“We did it!”

Arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you off the ground in a sudden spin. You laughed in surprise, the thrill making your stomach flip, before realizing it was Deran.

“Hey, Congrats!” you laughed

“Congrats to you too!” He set you down and pulled you into a hug, the warmth of his presence grounding you amid the chaos.

“Is your family here?” you asked once he let go, scanning the bleachers.

“No”

“What? Where are they?”

“We don’t really do this kind of stuff,” he said with a shrug, kicking at the grass beneath his feet.

“Really? You’re not hurt?” you asked, noticing he seemed perfectly fine despite the commotion.

“Pfff, no,” he said, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “It’s just high school.”

“I know,” you said, a small frown tugging at your lips. “But it’s a huge milestone. It’s the start of the rest of our lives.”

He smiled faintly, as if understanding the weight behind your words. Around you, the evening air shimmered with excitement and possibility, and for a moment, everything felt open and endless.

“Hey, I’m here sharing this moment with my best friend. That’s all I need.”

Before you could respond, Craig barreled in, tackling his younger brother with a grin. “Congrats, knucklehead!” he said, giving him a playful noogie. Deran laughed, squirming, and shoved him off, both of them collapsing onto the grass in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Then Baz and Andrew appeared, weaving their way through the crowd of cheering graduates and proud parents. The sight of them, casual, unbothered as always was so out of place among the caps and gowns that you almost laughed.

“Will you two ever grow up?” Baz muttered, rolling his eyes, though there was the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Craig was the first to stand, brushing grass from his jeans as he reached down to pull Deran up beside him.

“What are you guys doing here?” Deran asked, but his grin gave him away. He didn’t wait for an answer, just dragged them both in with Craig, arms locking tight until the four of them were a single, messy knot of shoulders and laughter.

“Smurf made us come, since you’re the—”

“Baby!” Smurf interrupted, catching Deran’s face in her hands and planting a kiss on his cheek. “My baby graduated high school! I’m so proud!”

Every brother knew better. She was proud, sure, but mostly she was here to show face, take some credit, and remind everyone that Deran’s success reflected on her. Her theatrical grin and the way she wiped at her imaginary tear told the real story.

While she held onto Deran, Craig and Baz drifted your way. Craig slung an arm loosely over your shoulder, pulling you into a friendly side hug before Baz followed, brief but warm.

“Congratulations, Angel,” Andrew said as he stepped forward, his voice softer than theirs. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips as he held out a bouquet of flowers.

You blinked in surprise, glancing from the bouquet to his face. The sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten. “Thank you,” you said quietly, taking the flowers from him.

“Hope these are okay,” he murmured, shifting a little as if he wasn’t sure he should have brought them at all.

“They’re perfect. Really. Thank you,” you replied, hugging the bouquet closer, their fresh scent grounding you in the swirl of celebration.

From behind Andrew’s shoulder, you caught Smurf’s eyes on you. Her smile hadn’t faltered, but the tilt of her head and the calculating glint beneath her lashes made your stomach twist. She was watching. Not just you, but the way Andrew looked at you, the softness he rarely showed anyone.

You hear your name being called above the crowd. Turning, you spot your family waving wildly, their faces lit with pride.

“I gotta go,” you say to Andrew and the rest of the Codys, your smile lingering even as your pulse quickens with anticipation.

Deran steps forward first, pulling you into a quick but tight hug. “Hey, I’ll call you later, alright? We’re hanging out this summer before you leave. No excuses!”

“Yes! I’ll see you later,” you reply, grinning as you pull away. “Bye!”

You wave to the Codys one last time, flowers clutched to your chest, before hurrying toward your family. Relief and excitement swell in you all at once, the weight of the day dissolving as their arms open wide. Finally, you slip back into their embrace, surrounded by the familiar warmth that feels like home.

—-

The summer of 2008 was a blur of sun and salt. You spent your days with Deran and his brothers sprawled out on the beach, letting the tide chase your ankles, or stretched by the pool at their house while laughter carried into the warm evenings. Oceanside became a rhythm you memorized—the crash of waves, the heat of the sand, the smell of salt in the air. You tried to soak up every second, every corner of California, knowing all too well that soon you’d be leaving it behind for a while.

By the time summer began to wind down, the days with Deran and his brothers grew fewer. They always had something pulling them away, calls they couldn’t ignore, errands that never seemed to end. You didn’t ask questions. Still, you held onto the moments you did get with them, tucking them away like snapshots before it was time to leave Oceanside behind.

Then one night with Craig and Deran changed everything you thought you knew.

The three of you were driving back from the movies, the night air rushing through the open jeep, the smell of popcorn and soda still clinging to your clothes. The roads were nearly empty, streetlights flickering past in a steady rhythm, when Craig’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Without hesitation, he slipped it out and pressed it to his ear, one hand steady on the wheel.

“Hello? What?! Now? Can’t this wait? But—”

You watched the color drain from his face, his easy grin collapsing in an instant.

“FUCK! FINE!” Craig’s voice exploded in the confined space, raw and jagged. He slammed the phone shut and hurled it across the dash. It struck the windshield with a sharp thunk, rattling the glass and making you flinch back in your seat.

The silence afterward was thick, suffocating.

“What is it?” Deran asks, voice tight, eyes flicking between Craig and the road ahead.

“Change of plans, we can’t go home… Something came up. We gotta go,” Craig mutters, voice low and clipped, jaw tight as his hands choke the wheel.

“What? Now?” Deran whispers back, eyes darting toward you, uncertainty flashing across his face.

“Yes. Now.”

“But we can’t—”

“We don’t have a choice, Deran,” Craig grits out, teeth clenched as he jerks the jeep hard around a corner. The engine growls, the whole car lurching with the movement.

Deran leans closer, voice sharp but hushed, like he’s trying not to let you hear. “We should drop her off.” His glance flickers to you, almost pleading.

“Drop her where?” Craig hisses, throwing a quick look at him. “There’s no time. Unless you want to dump her on the side of the road—”

“No, no we’re not doing that” Deran shakes his head, tension etched in every line of his face. “So what, we’re just gonna keep her in the car?”

“That’s about our only option right now,” Craig mutters, eyes locked on the road. “She’ll be safe, out of the way.”

A beat of silence, only the rumble of the engine between them. Then Craig adds, clipped, almost biting: “This is your friend, Deran. You make the call.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, voice small against the hum of the engine.

Craig grips the steering wheel tighter and exhales slowly, a sharp, controlled sigh.

“We gotta take care of something,” Deran says, his tone low, clipped, carrying an edge of tension he doesn’t bother explaining. His eyes flick to Craig, holding just long enough to make the message clear.

Craig’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as he glances at you in the rearview before locking eyes with his brother again. He doesn’t argue—he doesn’t have to. The silence says it all. Deran made the call. You were staying in the car.

“Okay…” you murmur, unsure if you should press further.

Craig drives on without another word. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, pressing in from all sides. Every corner of the jeep feels tighter, every shadow outside darker.

The farther you go, the streets change. The glow of streetlights thins, replaced by deep pools of shadow. Pavement cracks rise like scars, weeds sprouting through jagged lines of concrete. Old buildings loom on either side, leaning awkwardly, their windows shattered or boarded up, like forgotten teeth in a decaying jaw.

The world outside seems abandoned, dangerous, and your stomach twists. Every jolt of the jeep over the broken asphalt makes your pulse spike, and your mind races with questions you don’t dare voice. You feel small, trapped in the vehicle, at the mercy of the brothers and whatever “thing” they’re racing toward.

Finally, the car slows in front of a large, rusted warehouse.

“You’re joking right? You have to take care of something here?” Your voice wavers as you peer out the window. 

“We’ll be back soon.” Craig unbuckles and swings the door open, slamming it shut behind him.

A wave of déjà vu hits you—memories of that day Craig got hurt flashing sharply in your mind. Your chest tightens. You don’t like this. Not one bit.

Halfway out the door, Deran stops and glances back at you. His eyes are hard, unwavering. “I need you to stay in the car,” he says, voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.

You nod, hesitant. “Okay…”

“No. Not just okay.” His voice snaps sharper now, insistent, each word carrying weight that brooks no argument. “You stay in the car. No matter what. Stay put until you see us come back.”

“Deran—”

“Promise me, Angel”

There’s a desperation in his tone that shakes you. “…I promise.”

“Lock the doors,” he instructs before shutting his own and disappearing down the narrow path between two buildings.

And so you sit. You wait. Minutes drag, heavy and oppressive. Then more. Half an hour passes, and the air inside the car feels stifling, thick with unease.

What could they possibly be doing out there? Are they okay? Are they hurt? Every scenario your mind conjures twists your stomach into knots.

Despite your promise, concern wins. Your hands shake slightly as you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out. The air is colder. Quiet, except for the distant hum of the city.

You walk slowly, nerves on edge, down the narrow path between the two rundown warehouses. Gravel crunches under your shoes.

Up ahead, you spot a faint glow, light spilling out through a crack in one of the massive sliding doors. It’s just open enough for a sharp sliver of light to cut through the suffocating darkness.

Then you hear it.

The smack of a fist. A grunt. A choked groan of pain that reverberates hollowly through the metal walls, bouncing off the corrugated steel and scraping against your nerves.

Your heart lurches violently, skipping a beat. Blood rushes in your ears.

What was happening? Were they getting hurt? Was this… was this worse than you feared?

You have no clear plan, no safe way in, but you do the only thing you can think of. Your hands tremble as you fumble for your phone, your fingers slick with sweat. You press it tightly against your ear, as if the thin barrier could shield you from the sounds, the dread, the helplessness.

“Hello?” Andrew’s voice comes through, calm, casual, unaware. The contrast twists the knot in your stomach tighter. Panic and urgency mix into a cold, sharp edge that makes it hard to think.

Your eyes dart toward the crack in the sliding door, the faint glow spilling from it. Your grip on the phone tightens, knuckles whitening, and you try to steady your breathing, though your chest heaves and your pulse races like a drum in your ears.

“Andrew…I need help,” you stammer, voice shaking, barely more than a whisper.

“Woah, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone sharpens instantly, concerned cutting through the casual edge it had before.

“Something’s wrong… I don’t know where I am…”

“You don’t know where you are?” His voice grows urgent, edge tight with worry.

“Andrew, please, I… I think Craig and Deran are in trouble,” you whisper, trembling, gripping the phone like it’s your only lifeline.

“What do you mean they’re in trouble?”

You inch closer, each step heavier than the last. You peer through the crack.

“I was with them. They drove to a warehouse and told me to wait in the car—”

“Wha-”

“I promised Deran I would stay put in the car but they’ve been gone a while and so I’m looking for them and I think…” The words die in your throat.

Because through the crack in the warehouse door, you see him.

Deran.

Not tied to the chair. Not bleeding. Not the one you thought you were here to save.

He’s standing there, shoulders squared, blood glinting on his knuckles. The sound you heard, the brutal smack of flesh, it was him. He steps back, shaking out his hand as the man slumped in the chair groans, his face ruined, barely recognizable.

Craig slowly circles around the guy in the chair as he watches Deran ruin him. Baz is nearby crouched down with a duffle bag counting wads of cash, a gun on the floor beside him. And then Andrew.

The phone is still pressed to his ear, gun in hand. His eyes lock directly on the crack in the door…on you.

“Oh my god—” The cry rips from you as you stumble back, breath snagging in your throat. Your gaze locks on the sight before you, not just a scene, but a crime unfolding in brutal clarity.

“Fuck,” you hear Andrew mutter, both through the phone and in person, sharp and alarmed.

Too late.

Three heads snap up in unison. Baz. Craig. Deran.

All of them lock eyes on the cracked warehouse door

You slap your hand over your mouth. Your heart stops. You try to back up, to melt into the darkness. 

You pull the phone away from your ear, your hands shaking as your arm drops to your side. 

“Angel!” Deran’s voice is sharp. Alarmed.

You take one shaky step back. Then another. 

Your heart’s hammering so hard it hurts. You want to run, you need to, but your mind is blank, frozen, scrambling to process what you’re seeing. Every detail of the scene presses in, sharp and unbearable, leaving you paralyzed with shock.

You drop your phone. Your limbs move before your brain catches up. Panic takes over.

You bolt.

“Shit—SOMEBODY GRAB HER!” Baz’s voice roars behind you.

You freeze, whipping your gaze left, then right, panic clawing at your chest. Each breath comes sharp and uneven as your mind scrambles for an answer. Do you run back to the car? Make a break for the street? Every option feels like a trap.

But what if they’re faster? What if they catch you before you even take a step? The possibilities slam into you, sharp and terrifying, and your legs feel like lead, your body caught between instinct and fear.

You make a split-second choice and take off down the narrow path between the warehouses running towards the streets opposite from the car. The gravel slips under your shoes. 

You don’t know where you’re going, you just run.

Run like your life depends on it.

Because maybe… it does.

You know you shouldn't have seen that. You weren’t supposed to know. You stepped into their world, and now you know too much.

Then—

A hand clamps down hard on your arm, yanking you back with enough force to nearly knock you off your feet.

You let out a startled yelp, twisting around and slam right into someone’s chest. Solid. Unforgiving.

Your breath catches.

And then you look up.

It’s Andrew.

His face is inches from yours. Cold eyes blazing, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Andrew’s voice cuts sharp, laced with raw anger.

The Andrew you’d spoken to on the phone just moments ago…soft, measured, careful, was gone. In his place stood someone darker, unrestrained, unpredictable.

Tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them, hot, fast, and helpless. Your body trembles beneath the weight of adrenaline and fear. You try to speak, but no words come out. Just a broken breath.

Andrew’s eyes flicker with a mix of anger and something deeper, frustration, maybe even fear. 

Before you can answer, you shove him and go stumbling back against the cold, rough metal surface of the warehouse wall. The impact jars you, breath hitching in your throat.

You’re a wreck, sobs tearing out of you as tears stream unchecked down your cheeks. Your chest heaves, voice breaking as you fight to force out words that won’t come.

You’d never been afraid of Andrew. Not really. His reputation for intimidation belonged to other people, never to you. But this… this was different. For the first time, terror gripped you in a way you couldn’t shake. 

Andrew knew eventually you were going to see who they truly were. What they did. What they were capable of.

He just didn’t think it would be now.

Not like this. Not tonight.

His jaw tightens as his eyes lock on you. You tremble, pressed against the warehouse wall like prey cornered by a monster. Seeing you shrink from him guts him in a way nothing else ever could. And that, watching you like this, snaps something inside him. His fury isn’t directed at you. It’s at the situation, at the chaos closing in around you both.

He slams his fist against the wall beside your head, not at you but still, you flinch, and the sound rips through the night like a gunshot. 

“Goddammit!” Andrew snaps, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. His eyes are wild, panic and fury battling for control.

You slid down against the metal wall, legs giving out beneath you. Curling into yourself, you wrapped your arms around your knees and buried your face against them.

You made yourself small, tight like a ball as if folding inward could protect you from everything that had just happened.

But it couldn’t. Not from the way your hands were still shaking. Not from the way your chest aches like something inside you had cracked open.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it all out, the fear, the image of the boys, the beaten man.

Andrew forces himself to take a slow breath, forcing the storm inside him to settle. He knows he needs to stay calm, steady, together for you.

“Hey,” he says softly, crouching beside you, his hand reaching out as if to steady you. He can’t bear to see you like this, trembling, overwhelmed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay,” he whispers, his hand hovering helplessly in the space between you, unsure if reaching out would only make it worse.

“You expect me to believe that?!” The words tear out of you, raw and trembling as you press yourself tighter against the wall, as if distance could save you.

And he can see it, written plain in your eyes. You don’t believe him. You’re scared. Scared of him. Scared of all of them.

Footsteps pound against the dirt and gravel as Baz, Craig, and Deran come walking over from the far end of the warehouse, their faces pale, adrenaline already high.

The boys crowd around you, their presence closing in as you remain pressed against the wall. Andrew stands in front of you, his body shifting slightly to the side near the slide—but he stays close.

“Angel—what the hell…I told you to stay in the car!” Deran shouts the second he sees you, his voice tight with panic. He rushes toward you, eyes wide, breathing hard. His hands are clenched at his sides like he’s trying not to fall apart—or hit something. Maybe both.

“Why the fuck did you get out of the car?!” he snaps, voice cracking. “I told you to stay put! You promised me!”

You’re still sobbing, chest hitching with every breath, shoulders trembling violently. Tears streak your face, hot and unrelenting, as you struggle to force the words out through the panic lodged in your throat.

“I—I got worried! You and Craig were taking so long! I thought… I thought something happened! That you two were hurt!” Your voice cracks, shaking under the weight of fear and desperation.

Baz’s shout cuts through the charged air, raw and furious. “You two thought it was the best idea to bring her and leave her in the fucking car?! Are you two fucking stupid?!” His face is twisted in anger, veins prominent on his forehead, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You didn’t give us much of a choice—or any other options! You told us to be here, and we showed up! We did what we had to do!” Deran’s voice is fierce, trembling with a mix of frustration and fear, echoing off the metal walls of the warehouse.

“I warned you!” Andrew snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the room as he steps into Deran’s space, chest rising and falling hard. “I told you this would happen if you kept her around! You didn’t listen—and now look!” He jerks a hand toward you, his glare burning into Deran. “Look at her!”

“What do we do?” Craig says, quieter than the others but it hits harder.

Because that’s the question no one wants to answer.

The guys had never dealt with anything like this before. Normally, it didn’t matter who they had to throw under the bus, who they cut loose to keep themselves safe. But you weren’t just anyone. To them and especially to Deran, you mattered. And that changed everything.

Baz is the first to snap.

“She saw too much,” Baz growls, pacing like a predator. “We can’t just let her walk away like nothing happened. What if she talks?!”

“She’s not gonna talk!” Deran yells, his voice cracking with desperation.

Baz spins on him, fury flashing. “Look, I get it—she’s your friend. Fine. But this is business. And she’s a liability. A huge fucking liability, Deran! She saw what we did. She knows now. That puts all of us at risk!”

“I won’t tell—I didn’t mean to see it—please, I didn’t mean to—I promise I won’t say anything!” Your words spill out in frantic, trembling bursts.

“When Smurf finds out—” Baz says.

“No! We can’t tell her! She doesn't need to know! She can’t find out about this, ever!” Deran panics, picturing the consequences if Smurf discovers what happened and what might happen to you.

Baz’s eyes lock on you, unreadable and hard. “At the end of the day, it’s her or us. We do what we have to do to survive.” He glances at Deran, then back at you, his voice steady, sharp. “When it comes down to it… we’ll always choose our own. If that means she gets hurt… if that means she’s gone… so be it. Nothing matters more than family. Nothing.”

The words hit you like ice. Baz doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch. He would discard you, treat you like you were nothing without a second thought. All in the name of keeping themselves safe. You feel your chest tighten, panic clawing at your throat. Your mind races, scrambling for a way out, for any sign that someone, anyone, might protect you. But in that moment, the truth is clear: to them, you are a liability. A risk. Something expendable.

But Deran… Deran is the only one standing between you and their ruthless logic. He looks torn, haunted, the pull of family pulling at him, but he knows where he stands. His stance is with you.

“Do you hear yourself right now?!” Deran snaps at Baz, voice shaking with both anger and desperation. He knows exactly what Baz means, but this isn’t right. You’re innocent, caught in this mess because of him, and it’s his fault. He won’t let you suffer for it. Not for a second. He’d fight his own brothers if he had to.

“Could you live with yourself if you actually did that… to Angel?” His words cut through the room, a challenge and a plea all at once.

Baz stops pacing, his eyes cold and sharp as knives. “Deran,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Do you think putting her first changes anything? It doesn’t. You know the rules, liabilities get dealt with. Always. Family comes first, no exceptions.”

“This is on me, alright? Not her!” He jabs a finger at his own chest, eyes blazing. “She didn’t ask for this. Don’t drag her ever more!” 

He takes a step closer, the air between them heavy. “If you really want to risk all of that for her… make sure you’re ready for what that choice costs.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Andrew’s voice cuts through the tension.  He steps forward, positioning himself in front of you like a shield.

“Enough.” His voice cuts through the chaos, low and deadly calm, but it carries the weight of authority no one dares ignore.

Baz freezes, eyes narrowing, while Deran takes a small, shaky step back, relief and fear mingling across his face. Andrew’s gaze locks on Baz first, then sweeps to you, assessing, protective, unyielding.

“No one’s touching her,” Andrew says, each word deliberate, measured. “Not tonight. Not ever.” His voice cuts like steel, final, absolute. It’s not a question. It’s a command, an unshakable law in the room. Every eye shifts to him, even Baz’s, sensing the weight behind it.

“She’s not a threat, Baz. She’s scared. She’s just a kid.” His gaze sweeps over you, protective and unyielding, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

“Pope—” Baz starts, his tone sharp, bristling with defiance. “We can’t just—”

Andrew knows. He knows exactly what liabilities are, exactly how they’re handled and usually, he takes care of them without hesitation. But you… no, you’re the exception. Someone worth protecting, no matter what it takes.

Andrew turns on him, slow and precise, eyes locking with his in a way that makes the air itself seem to harden. “I said no.” His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be. 

Baz glares, teeth clenched. “You think just because you say so, that changes anything? Rules are rules, Pope. You’re blind if you think this—”

Andrew’s jaw tightens, his voice low and steady, each word laced with menace.

“You’re not touching her.” He leans forward just slightly, eyes locked on Baz like a predator ready to strike.

“You try anything, anything at all, I’ll fuck you up. You know I will.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. Baz doesn’t back down, not really but even he doesn’t push it further. Not when the Pope's in this state.

“And what about you?” He turned to Craig, already knowing where Deran and Pope stood. Deep down, he hoped Craig would be the one to back him.

Craig owed you, after he got injured, you’d helped him. You didn’t understand the world they moved in or the things they did to make a living, and you certainly didn’t deserve to be caught up in it. None of this had anything to do with you. You were innocent.

 “Come on, Baz, none of that is necessary. Just… step off, alright? Let’s not make this messier than it already is.” Craig says

Baz’s eyes snapped to his brothers. His jaw tightened, and after a long, tense sigh, he shook his head. Without another word, he turned and walked back in the direction they had come from.

Despite everything, they had defended you, protected you, but it didn’t change the fact of what you had witnessed. Your crying slowly subsided as they argued over you, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

Andrew held out his hand. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

You hesitantly took his hand and stood up, hugging yourself as the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin. Without a word, Andrew shrugged off his jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric a small comfort against the chill.

He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze steady and filled with concern, as if silently asking if you were really alright.

“Take her home. We’ll take care of things here,” Andrew said firmly to his younger brothers, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, without another word, he turned and followed the path Baz had taken, leaving you the three of you. 

—

When Craig pulled up to your house, you didn’t wait for the car to fully stop. You yanked open the door and stepped out, your heart still racing. You fumbled with the gate, pushing it open and rushing toward your front door.

Behind you, you could hear Craig moving quickly, the car door slamming shut as he hurried after you.

Your hands trembled as you dug for your keys, fumbling to find the right one.

“Angel, wait please” Deran called, grabbing your arm gently but firmly.

You spun around, backing toward your front steps. “Don’t touch me!”

He froze mid-step, palms up like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. “Just let me explain!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Deran!” Your voice cracked, your hands trembling at your sides. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

His expression shifted, like he’d been punched. “You know me—”

“Know you?!” you laughed, sharp and bitter, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t know you at all!” 

You took another step back, your back practically up against the front door. 

Deran looked at you, his jaw clenched like he was holding back a thousand words.

“You do know me,” he said, quieter now. “You do.”

But you just shook your head, biting back the sting in your voice. “No. I thought I did. And that’s the part that hurts the most.”

“I knew I should’ve kept my distance and stayed away from you when I found out what was in that damn duffle bag—” you said, your voice shaking, the words heavy with guilt and fear.

“What?” Deran’s voice cracked, disbelief and anger tangling as he stepped closer, eyes narrowing on you like he was trying to read the truth from your face.

“I saw it,” you admitted, hands trembling as you clenched them at your sides. “The money… the jewelry… the gun. The duffle bag you hid under your bed.”

Deran froze, as if your words had landed a blow he never saw coming. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, jaw tightening as fear and frustration warred behind his eyes. “You… you saw that?” His voice dropped, hoarse, almost wounded. “Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve told me.”

“And what would that have done?” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

His mouth opened, then closed again, as if he didn't even have an answer. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you whispered, voice raw. “I told myself I was imagining things. That it couldn’t be real. That you couldn’t possibly…” The word lodged in your throat, sharp and cruel. You couldn’t bring yourself to call him a criminal, not when a part of you still wanted to believe in him.

Your chest rose and fell unevenly as you shook your head. “I didn’t want to see it. I kept telling myself there was another explanation. Because the second I admitted the truth…” Your voice cracked, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. “The second I admitted the truth, it meant the person I thought I knew—the person I—” You choked, stopping the word before it could escape.

Deran’s jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. For a heartbeat, his expression flickered—anger, regret, fear—before settling into something guarded.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice rough, like gravel. “It’s not that simple.”

You let out a sharp, brittle laugh. “Of course it’s not. Nothing with you ever is.” You swiped at your eyes, throat aching. “But you could’ve trusted me. You could’ve told me the truth instead of letting me figure it out in the worst possible way.”

“Would you have still been friends with me if I had told you… what my family and I do? What we’re capable of?”

You froze. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway. His jaw clenched, voice breaking low. “Would you?”

Your chest heaved as you shook your head slowly, tears spilling. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I want to say yes, but… God, Deran, how could I? Knowing everything? Watching you throw your life away and pretend it’s normal?”

Deran’s eyes flared, frustration and desperation breaking through his usual restraint. “This is normal! This is my normal! It’s all my brothers and I have ever known!” His fists clenched, knuckles white, as he stepped closer. “You think I want it to be like this? You think I chose this life? I didn’t!”

“You’ll never understand,” he snapped, voice tight with pain.

Your chest tightened, stomach twisting with fear and anger. “Then why drag me into it?” you asked, voice trembling.

Deran’s jaw worked, eyes flickering between guilt and defiance. “You’re the only person I’ve got that’s real. Not caught up in all the bullshit. I didn’t want to lose you… even if it meant lying, even if it meant keeping things from you. You’re the one person in my life that makes me feel like I can be… someone better.”

You took a step back, shaking your head, hands trembling. “Better? You’ve already ruined everything I thought I knew about you. And now I find out… you and your family… you’re criminals?”

He flinched at the word, but his voice stayed low, almost desperate. “I was always real with you about me… everything I told you is true. I just left out my family. I didn’t want you to see that side—the messy part that could drag you down. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” you spat, disbelief and hurt twisting your voice. “By lying? By letting me trust you while hiding that you and your whole family are involved in… in that? You’ve destroyed my trust in you!”

Deran’s shoulders sagged, the fight fading into guilt. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I wanted you in my life. Losing you—it’s the last thing I could bear.”

You shook your head again, stepping back, shaking off the tremor in your hands. “ I don’t even know if I can trust you again—or be your friend at all.”

Deran’s jaw tightened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “Angel…” 

“I never want to see you again. You and your family—just stay the hell away from me!” you snapped. With that, you quickly unlocked the door and slammed it shut, the sound echoing like a verdict.

—

You had just gotten out of the shower, only in kick-around shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your hair still damp. Your eyes were swollen and puffy from crying so much, the events replaying endlessly in your head. It felt like a nightmare you couldn’t escape, even as you tried to get ready for bed.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over your mouth, an arm snaking around your waist and yanking you back against a solid chest. You gasped, screaming into the palm covering your mouth, your heart lurching as panic surged through you.

“Shh—it’s me. It’s me” a voice whispered urgently in your ear.

Andrew.

Your hands flew to the arm around your waist and the one covering your mouth. Your chest heaved, rising and falling in a panicked rhythm.

“I’m gonna let you go,” he said slowly, “but you can’t scream.”

Slowly, his hand lifted from your mouth.

You stumbled away from him the second he let go, pressing yourself into the farthest corner of the room. Your eyes were wide and streaked with tears, your chest heaving. Every nerve screamed, but you kept your voice low—your parents were asleep, and you didn’t want to wake them.

“You need to leave,” you whispered sharply, trembling. “You can’t be here. You need to go!”

“No.”

“Andrew—”

“My jacket.”

“What?”

“My jacket.”

A surge of fury cut through your fear, sharp and heated even as you lowered your voice. “You broke into my house to get your jacket back?!” you hissed, your words barely above a whisper.

You pushed off the wall, moving toward your bed. Snatching the jacket up, you hurled it at him. “Take your jacket and get out!”

Did he really want the jacket back? No. He could have cared less. But it gave him an excuse to come see you, after everything that had happened at the warehouse.

You wanted him gone, now, the sense of safety in your own home shattered completely.

“Just… leave me alone, please,” you whispered.

Andrew’s eyes flickering with something between guilt and frustration. He held the jacket awkwardly in front of him, as if it were a shield. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, voice low, careful not to raise it.

You didn’t move, “Then why are you here, Andrew? After everything at the warehouse, after what I’ve seen… why?”

He swallowed hard, jaw tight, and glanced toward the door before meeting your gaze again. “I just… I needed to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t just leave things like that. Not after everything.”

Your voice cracked. “You thought it was a good idea to break into my house! Just to… what? Check on me?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair, his usual confidence gone, replaced by tension. “I know it’s stupid—”

You shook your head, backing slightly, body trembling. “Stupid? Andrew, this is terrifying! And such an invasion of my space, of my trust!”

“Okay… okay. I get it. I’m leaving.” He took a careful step back toward the door, the weight of the unspoken words heavy in the air.

“Don’t come back,” you said, your chest heaving, anger and fear twisting in your gut. “I never want to see you again.”

You didn’t speak, didn’t even watch him leave at first. You made your way to your bed, you turned off your lamp and sank onto it, tears spilling freely as you curled up under the covers. 

He stopped in your doorway when he heard the soft sobs, unable to bear leaving you like this.

You knew he was still there. Even without looking, you could feel it—the weight of his stare pressing into your back, the faint scrape of his shoes shifting against the wooden floorboards. The silence stretched heavy, broken only by your uneven breathing.

You didn’t trust yourself to look at him, didn’t trust yourself to speak. But you could sense him drawing closer, each step quiet but certain, until his presence loomed at the foot of your bed.

“Angel.”

The sound of your name from his lips made your chest tighten. You buried your face deeper into the pillow. “Just go away, Andrew.”

“No.” His reply was immediate, steady, almost stubborn.

Your throat burned, eyes raw from crying. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you whispered, though your voice barely carried in the dark.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, the mattress dipped under his weight as he sat carefully on the edge, careful to stay on top of the covers. The faint smell of cigarettes and saltwater clung to him, grounding and suffocating all at once.

You hugged the blanket tighter around yourself, torn between recoiling and leaning closer. Every part of you screamed he wasn’t safe, not really, not after what you’d learned about him. And yet, the quiet certainty in his voice, the unshakable way he anchored himself there, chipped at the edges of your fear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said finally, softer this time, “not until you fall asleep.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing him away, but the dip in the mattress and the steady weight of him sitting there refused to let you forget he was still beside you. Every nerve in your body buzzed, torn between panic and something dangerously close to relief.

Minutes dragged. Your sobs quieted, though your chest still hitched with every breath. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, only stayed, a shadow anchored to the edge of your bed. The silence between you wasn’t empty; it pulsed, heavy with everything unsaid.

Against your better judgment, your voice slipped out, small and cracked. “Why are you doing this?”

He let out a slow breath, one hand rubbing over his jaw. “Because I can’t stand to see you like this. I don’t care if you hate me, I’m not walking out. Not yet.”

Your throat tightened. The anger, the fear, the aching confusion twisted all at once, and you wanted to scream at him, shove him out into the night. But your body betrayed you, your shoulders sagging, exhaustion pulling harder now that you weren’t alone in the dark.

You shifted slightly under the covers, still not daring to look at him. “I don’t want you here,” you whispered, though the words lacked bite.

“I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned. “But I’m staying anyway.”

Your eyelids grow heavy, each blink longer than the last. You fought it, but the weight of sleep pressed harder, dragging you down. And through it all, you could feel him there, unmoving, watchful, steady.

When you woke the next morning, you wished it had only been a dream. But the heaviness in your chest told you otherwise. The Codys were criminals. No amount of denial could soften that truth anymore.

Andrew was gone. The space on the mattress where he’d sat was empty, but a folded note lay on the blanket beside you. Your stomach tightened as you reached for it.

For simple words were written 

I’m sorry for everything 

And that was the last time you heard or saw Andrew Cody. 

LYA Tag: @obfuscateyummy @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @child-of-the-amis @cheekeym8s @aj3684 @sunfairyy @ravenouswild @feverxxdream @naxxsstuff @baileythepenguin @britt217 @wittyogredemon @lumpypoll @harmonetta @gigidacoolest @the-jess-life

Love You Anyway | Then (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

[rynwrites4fun]

Oh Robby lookin fineeeee 😭 can’t wait for season 2 (no bc reader from across the hall would climb him like a tree when he’s looking like THAT)

[rynwrites4fun]

Love You Anyway (4) | Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Andrew Cody x F ! Brother’s Best Friend ! Reader

Summary: You start talking to Deran again after ignoring him over the duffle bag, though he has no idea that you know about it. Before long, you find yourself caught up in the chaos of Craig getting injured, blood and all, forcing you into a tense and unexpected situation.

Words: 5028

Warning: Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline, swearing, mentions of drugs, blood/injury

Authors Note: Oh my goodness, HI!!! It’s been a fucking minute. My job started up again and getting back into the routine of everything. I had a 3 day weekend so I finally found the time to write. Thank you for being patient! Next part will be the last of then THEN timeline and we will hop into the NOW (2016/2017) timeline 🙂‍↕️

Did anyone see Superman? That was my movie this summer. I saw it three times LOL. David Corenswet is literally one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen in my entire life 😭. I actually liked Superman more than Fantastic Four. And this is coming from a Marvel fan and Pedro Pascal stan 💀 but I wrote a Superman fic if anyone is interested??? let me know.

also someone yell at me to watch animal kingdom im still on early season 3 LOL

I’ll try to update again soon. Enjoy - Ryn

THEN: BLOODY, 2008

“Hey!”

A jeep slowed to a crawl beside you. Craig was behind the wheel, one hand draped lazily over it, while Deran leaned out the passenger window, eyes locked on you.

You froze. For days now, you’d been avoiding him, ever since you found out what was stuffed inside those duffel bags. Sure, you’d said hi when you had to, kept things light, but whenever he asked to hang out, you dodged. Helping my mom with errands. Swamped with homework. Maybe another time.

Now, with him right in front of you, excuses weren’t going to cut it.

“You’re walking home?” Deran asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve given you a ride.”

Craig snorted, not taking his eyes off the road. “I would’ve given her a ride. You don’t even have your license yet, idiot.”

“Same fucking thing, Craig,” Deran shot back before turning back to you. His grin softened.

“Hop in.”

You shifted your backpack higher on your shoulder, heart hammering. “I’m good, thanks.”

Deran frowned. “That’s a far walk.”

“I’ll manage.”

Craig let out a low chuckle, revving the engine just enough to make the jeep lurch forward a few inches, as if daring you to change your mind. Deran kept his eyes on you, searching your face for a crack in your resolve.

You tightened your grip on your backpack strap.

Craig drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, impatience bleeding through. “What, you planning on walking the whole damn way? We don’t go all day.”

The jeep idled beside you, its presence heavy, following your pace. You knew they weren’t gonna let up.

Deran leaned further out the window, his arm braced against the frame. “Seriously, what’s the deal? Are you mad at me or something?”

Your throat went dry. You kept your eyes forward, willing your legs to carry you faster, but your chest felt tight under the weight of his stare.

“No”

“Then what’s up with you?”

You ignored him, eyes fixed straight ahead as you kept walking along the sidewalk. The jeep crawled forward a few more feet before the sound of a door slamming made you glance over.

“Deran!” Craig barked from behind the wheel.

“Just give me a minute!” Deran shot back, jogging a couple steps to fall beside you.

“Hey—stop for a sec.” His hand landed on your shoulder, gentle but insistent, halting you.

“Seriously, what did I do? You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

You shifted under his touch, refusing to meet his eyes. He ducked his head, lowering his voice, trying to catch your gaze.

“I haven’t been avoiding you…” you murmured.

“Yes, you have,” he pressed. “We haven’t really talked since the day you hung out with Andrew. Did he…do something?”

“No. Of course not.” You enjoyed that day with Andrew.

Deran’s brows drew together, his mouth pulling tight. “Are you sure? ’Cause—”

“Andrew didn’t do anything,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.

The words hung heavy in the space between you, Craig’s engine rumbling in the background.

Deran’s hand slipped from your shoulder, but he didn’t back away. His brows knit together, eyes searching your face like he could read the truth there.

“Look,” he said quietly, almost pleading, “I want to fix this. Whatever I did… or whatever’s going on… just tell me.”

Your stomach twisted. For days, the image of that duffel bag had haunted you. Money, jewelry, and a gun hidden in the duffle under his bed. You didn’t know why he had those things. You didn’t know what to think.

But looking at him now, so earnest and open, doubt crept in. The thought of him being capable of what you’d conjured up in your head felt impossible. It was Deran, your best friend, the boy who dreamed of getting out of Oceanside, traveling the world, becoming a pro surfer. The same boy who had laughed with you until your sides hurt, who’d always had your back.

Could he really be the person you imagined when you saw that bag? Could someone like him, someone so full of life and mischief, be capable of secrets like that?

You shook your head slightly, trying to push the image away. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.

A car honked sharply behind Craig, snapping both of you out of the moment. Craig slammed his hand against the wheel, leaning out the window to stick his finger at the driver.

“GO AROUND, ASSHOLE!” he yelled.

The other car honked again as it swerved past, tires squealing against the pavement.

“Deran!” Craig shouted, frustration lacing his voice. “Hurry the hell up!”

Deran glanced back at you, then over at Craig, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Drive around the block!” he called, motioning for Craig go.

Craig groaned, muttering something under his breath as he turned the wheel, the jeep lurching forward to circle the block.

“Is it about me not being there when you got your acceptance letter? I know you told me you weren’t upset, but—”

“No, it’s not that.”

“I just feel like… I don’t even know,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “Something’s off. You’ve been distant, quiet. I can’t tell if it’s me or… or what. Just… Please, talk to me. We’re graduating soon, and then you’ll be going off to college… miles and miles away…”

You stiffened, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his tone.

Deran stepped closer, lowering his voice, trying to reach you. “Angel… seriously, you can tell me anything. I mean it. Whatever it is, I won’t freak out. I just… I don’t want there to be this wall between us.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek, your mind spinning with excuses. It’s nothing. I’m overthinking. Maybe I imagined it all wrong.

Your gaze flicked past him, out to the street, to anything but his eyes. The urge to tell him the truth battled with the fear of what it might do—to him, to your friendship, to everything.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “It’s… I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been feeling… a lot lately. Graduation, college… leaving Oceanside… everything is changing, and I feel like I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Deran’s eyes softened immediately, the hard edge of worry fading. “Oh,” he said gently, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. “That makes sense. I get it, Angel. I mean, it’s a lot. I’ve been feeling it too. It feels like everything’s moving so fast, and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

You nodded, grateful that he believed you. Relief washed over you—but underneath it, the secret of what you’d seen in that duffel bag still pressed against your chest, heavy and unspoken.

“Whatever happens, it’s gonna be chill. We’re just gonna ride life straight on, full send, no bail.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his surfer talk.

“There’s that laugh… that smile,” he said, flinging his arm over your shoulder. The warmth of him pressed against you, grounding you, making the fear that had been gnawing at your stomach loosen, if only a little.

Craig had come back around again, pulling up beside where you and Deran stood. The sight of the familiar jeep brought a fleeting sense of normalcy, though your mind couldn’t stop spinning with everything left unsaid.

“You coming?” Deran asked, opening the back door for you, his hand resting on the frame, eyes searching yours. His voice was calm, patient, but there was an undercurrent of hope that made your chest tighten even more.

You hesitated, your gaze flicking to the car, then back to him.

Finally, with a shaky breath, you let yourself slide into the seat. The door closed with a soft thud behind you.

Deran hopped in the passenger seat. “Alright. Now… let’s roll.”

“You wanna come over and hang out for a while?” Deran asked, his voice casual.

“Sure,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though your stomach fluttered.

“Before we head home, I gotta stop somewhere—a slight detour,” Craig said as he drove, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual, eyes scanning the road.

Deran shot him a sharp, almost exasperated look. “Craig…” he muttered.

Craig muttered something under his breath.

“No! Are you stupid? Just take us home,” Deran snapped.

“I’ll be quick, I swear,” Craig replied.

Deran leaned back, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. “I don’t like this,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

You fidgeted in your seat, trying not to show how uneasy you felt. “Where are we going?” you finally asked, voice small.

Craig glanced at you, a flicker of guilt—or maybe hesitation—in his eyes. “Just… a quick stop. You’ll see.”

“It’ll be like, minutes too. Don’t sweat it,” Craig said, trying to sound casual.

The Jeep rolled into a rougher, sketchy part of Oceanside. Buildings leaned awkwardly, paint peeling in jagged strips, windows shattered or boarded up. Trash rustled along the cracked sidewalks, and faint graffiti stretched across walls like silent warnings.

Craig pulled the car up in front of a dilapidated building and twisted the keys in the ignition, letting them hang as he sat back for a moment.

You and Deran waited, making small talk, but the minutes crawled by. Five minutes became ten… then fifteen. The tension in your chest grew with every passing second. Craig still hasn’t come back.

“Is Craig okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Deran’s eyes flicked toward the building, his jaw tight. “I’ll be right back,” he said, rising from the seat. Without another word, he headed after Craig, his movements purposeful but cautious, leaving you alone in the jeep with your worry spiraling.

After several minutes, you watched in alarm as Deran hoisted his older brother up, both of them stumbling out of the building.

“Oh my god!” You quickly jumped out of the back seat and rushed over, helping Deran support Craig.

“What the hell happened?!” you asked, panic tightening your chest.

“I need you to drive!” Deran barked, his voice sharp as Craig groaned in pain.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the pool of blood soaking Craig’s once-pure white t-shirt, oozing as the seconds passed. Craig’s face was bruised, one eye already starting to swell, and blood trickled from a split lip, smearing down his chin. Deran, though steadier, had a darkening bruise forming along his jaw and a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“W-what?! I-I don’t have my license—”

“Neither do I, but you have your permit—”

“Deran—”

“Now, Angel!”

Deran reached out and pressed the keys into your hand. As your fingers wrapped around them, a smear of warm, sticky blood from his hand coated yours, and some of it splattered onto your shirt.

“Here. Just drive. I’ve got him—you just get us moving,” Deran said, his eyes locked on yours, urgent and steady.

You climbed into the jeep, your hands trembling as you fumbled for the keys. The blood smeared across your fingers made them slip, but finally, you managed to turn the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

Deran got Craig into the backseat. Deran pressed firmly against Craig’s wound to slow the bleeding, while his other hand brushed against your arm, steadying you as panic threatened to take over. Craig groaned softly, his bruised face and split lip making your stomach twist.

“Just… drive,” Deran muttered, his voice tight but controlled. “No stops. Just get us out of here.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath, and pressed the pedal down. The jeep lurched forward, every second stretching as fear and the metallic tang of blood filled the air.

You drove the jeep in what you thought was the quickest route to the hospital.

“Where are you going?!” Deran suddenly shouted, his voice sharp, panicked.

“The hospit—”

“No!” Deran and Craig yelled in unison, voices tight with urgency.

You froze for a split second, confusion and fear warring in your chest. “What?! He needs a hospital!” you shouted looking at the rearview mirror at them. “You need a hospital, Craig!”

“No! Not yet! We’re not going to the hospital. We need to get home—now! Trust me, just follow my directions!”

Craig groaned,. “Angel… please… just do what Deran says. Home first.”

Your hands tightened on the wheel as you tried to process their words, your pulse racing. Fear coursed through you. You swallowed hard and adjusted the wheel, turning in the direction Deran instructed, every nerve on edge as you obeyed their urgent commands.

Deran called out directions, his voice tight and urgent, guiding you through winding streets and unfamiliar turns.

“Left here… no, wait… slow down—there’s a pothole… okay, now straight!” Deran barked, glancing down at Craig, who groaned weakly with each jolt of the jeep.

You followed his commands as best you could, nerves straining, until finally, the scenery shifted. The street signs and familiar houses came into view, and a small sense of relief washed over you. You knew this area. From here, you could navigate to Cody’s house without directions.

“I got it from here,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I know the way.”

Deran nodded, pressing gently against Craig to keep the bleeding controlled. Every turn, every bump in the road still sent your heart racing, but knowing the route made the chaos feel just a little more manageable.

You pulled the jeep up to the house, tires crunching over the familiar driveway. Deran slammed his hand against the back of your seat as you hit the brakes hard.

Before you could fully react, Deran was hauling Craig out of the jeep, shouting for help.

You climbed out, still trembling, hands slick with blood.

Smurf appeared at the front door, her eyes widening at the sight of her sons. She caught a glimpse of you, dazed and shaken, but her focus quickly snapped back to Craig and Deran.

“Baz!” she yelled, panic threading through her voice.

Baz came running, swearing under his breath, and quickly helped Deran support Craig. You could hear the urgency in their voices as they guided him inside.

You follow behind, keeping your distance as they move like clockwork, like this has happened before. Nobody hesitates, nobody asks questions. Deran’s got Craig under one arm, practically hauling him forward, while Baz clears the way without a word. Smurf’s already barking orders, sharp and decisive, as if she’s directing a drill she’s run a hundred times.

They take him straight to the kitchen. Your stomach twists as Craig lays the island counter top. Someone’s already grabbing towels, bottles, anything that looks remotely useful.

You freeze in place, heart pounding. You knew you couldn’t do much. You didn’t even know what to do, so you stayed out of the way. You stayed quiet. Your legs carried you back towards until you found yourself in the living room.

You sank onto the couch, blood still clinging sticky to your skin. All you could do was sit, listen, and wait.

—

Andrew rushed home the second Smurf called, her voice clipped with urgency as she told him there was an emergency. He stepped through the front door, moving through the house until his gaze fell on you in the living room. He slowed, taking in the sight of you for a moment, before the sounds from the kitchen, raised voices, someone clearly in pain pulled his attention.

He kept slowly moving toward the commotion in the kitchen, but his gaze returned to you. You were staring down at your trembling hands, slick with blood, and at the dark stains spreading across your shirt.

The sight hit him instantly. His eyebrows furrowed, a sharp tension settling across his features as he struggled to process what he was seeing. You didn’t notice him there, watching, caught between concern and shock.

“Hey,” he says, getting your attention.

Startled, you looked up quickly, instinctively dropping your hands as if caught. Andrew’s eyes softened slightly, but the tension didn’t leave his face.

He just stared at you.

Fuck. That was all he could think.

Your chest heaved, each breath coming faster than the last. Your lips trembled, and the tears threatened to spill over, blurring the line between fear and helplessness.

That made Andrew move.

He crossed the room in a few strides, his hand reaching out before he even thought about it. He crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he asked urgently, scanning your body for any wounds.

“It’s… Craig’s blood—” Your voice shook as your hands trembled.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” Andrew said, voice steady even though his jaw was tight. His thumb brushed under your chin, coaxing your gaze upward until your eyes met his.

Once he had you there, he took your trembling hands in his, not caring that they were smeared with blood. “Tell me what happened.”

“I—I… I don’t know.”

“Okay. Then tell me what you do know.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “We were headed here, but Craig needed to do something—”

“We went to this sketchy building in the rundown part of the oceanside. He said he’d take 5 minutes. Deran and I waited in the car. Deran went in after him because he was there a while. When they came out, Craig was drenched with blood and beaten, as well as Deran but not that bad”

“I—I drove,” you admitted, “I was going to the hospital, but they made me come back to the house—”

He knew you’ve never been in a situation like this before, had probably never seen that much blood in your life.

“Hey… it’s okay,” he said gently, his voice steadying you even as his own heart raced. “You did the right thing. You stayed with them, you helped…”

You nodded shakily, blinking rapidly to clear the sting of unshed tears. Your chest still heaved as you tried to steady your breathing. Andrew’s hands remained firm around yours, grounding you, anchoring you.

“Come with me.” He stood, still holding your hands, and you rose, letting him guide you quickly through the house. He led you to his room.

“Go wash up. Bathroom’s through that door,” he said, nodding toward the doorway. “There are shirts in the top drawer of the dresser. I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded, still shaken, your fingers brushing at the bloodstains on your clothes as you stepped inside the bathroom. Your hands trembled as you reached for the sink, trying to steady your breathing.

Andrew made his way into the kitchen, halting at the sight before him. It looked more like a makeshift operating room than a place to cook. Bloody towels were scattered across the counters. A single bullet sat on a paper towel, catching the harsh kitchen light.

Craig perched on the island, nursing a whiskey bottle, stitches fresh along his side. Baz stripped off his gloves and tossed them onto the counter. Deran leaned against the wall arms folded tight, annoyance etched across his face. Smurf stood with the same expression, sharp and unimpressed.

“Well, it took you long enough. Better late than never,” she said, brushing past Andrew to grab herself a beer from the fridge.

Andrew’s voice came out tight. “What happened?”

Smurf popped the cap, took a sip, then leveled him with a look. “Your idiot younger brother thought it was a good idea to buy a bag of coke after picking up Deran and his friend from school.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “Are you serious? You almost got yourself killed over a bag of coke?”

Deran shifted against the wall, muttering under his breath, “Told him it was stupid…”

“No, he’s right. It was stupid—and the fact you put Angel—”

Before Andrew could continue, Smurf’s voice cut through the room, calm but edged like steel.

“Enough. It’s done. Craig’s alive, and we move on.” She tilted her beer in Andrew’s direction, her gaze flat, unforgiving. “You showing up late doesn’t give you the right to lecture anyone.”

Andrew’s jaw flexed hard, the muscle ticking as if he were biting down on every word he wanted to throw back. For a heartbeat it looked like he might ignore her, push back, but then—he swallowed it. He always did when it came to Smurf.

“Now, as for the girl…” Smurf’s eyes shifted, sweeping slowly across the room before landing on each of her boys one by one. The weight of her gaze was enough to silence even their breathing. “You make sure she keeps her mouth shut. Not a word. You handle it before I have to. Understood?”

A low chorus of mutters followed—agreement, obedience, whatever she needed to hear. None of them dared meet her eyes for long.

Satisfied, Smurf set her beer down with a dull clink, like a queen concluding her decree. “Now… clean my kitchen up.” She drifted out of the room without another word, leaving behind a silence heavy with the echo of her authority.

—

You looked up to see Deran standing in the doorway of Andrew’s room. You were sitting on the floor, back pressed against the bed. Your hands were clean now, wiped free of blood, and you were wearing one of Andrew’s T-shirts.

“Is Craig okay?” you asked, your voice still a little shaky.

“Yeah, he’s fine…” Deran replied, his tone cautious.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping a little closer, concerned with threading his voice.

“Andrew brought me in here. He let me wash up and brow a shirt” you said quietly, still trying to steady your racing thoughts.

Deran sits himself beside you “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, searching for any sign of the fear and shock he knew you’d been carrying.

You ignored his question. “What happened?”

Deran exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with what to say. “It’s… complicated,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “You don’t need to worry. Just… know Craig’s okay. That’s all that matters right now.”

“Why didn’t you let me take him to the hospital?” you asked, voice tight with frustration and fear.

“Baz knows how to patch a wound… He’s good at this stuff,” Deran replied, trying to sound casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

“Shouldn’t you guys go to the police? Press charges or something?” you pressed, your hands clenching in your lap. “Craig was seriously hurt, Deran. He could’ve—”

Deran ran a hand down his face, the weight of it all settling in his shoulders. “It’s not that simple…” He stops himself. “Look, there are things you don’t know, things you don’t want to get involved in” His eyes softened slightly.

“I don’t understand…”

Deran let out a slow, heavy sigh “I know it doesn’t make sense,” he murmured, voice tight with frustration he wasn’t directing at you. “But I need you to just trust me, okay?”

Deran’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly. “Just…you have to promise me you won’t say anything about what happened today with Craig. You can't tell anyone, and I mean it.”

Your throat tightened at his words, the weight of the promise pressing down on you. You swallowed hard and nodded. “I… I promise,” you whispered, though a knot of doubt twisted in your stomach. You wanted to trust him, but what had happened with Craig today and the memory of the duffel bag lingered in your mind. The deep unease reminded you that you’d stumbled into something far bigger than you fully understood.

Deran’s eyes lingered on you, searching, almost pleading. “Good,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, though the warning in it remained.

You shifted slightly, feeling the tension in your body settle into a new, restrained fear. You wanted to ask questions, to understand more, but something told you it wasn’t safe and maybe it never would be. Your chest still ached from the panic earlier, and your hands itched to scrub away the memory of the blood that had coated them.

The brother appeared at the doorway, with Craig, Baz, and Andrew lingering in the back. Craig’s bruised face was pale, the dried blood around his split lip now somewhat cleaned, but the jagged line of stitches across his arm and the swelling forming on his cheek made you wince.

“Sorry about earlier, Angel. Thank you for driving, too,” Craig said, his voice quiet but sincere, carrying a faint edge of embarrassment at how much trouble he’d caused.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you replied, your gaze dropping to the crude stitches Baz had done. The hack-job looked rough—threads uneven, some spots slightly puckered—but it was functional.

You stood up, and Deran mirrored you.

“I should head home,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’ll drive you,” Andrew spoke up, his tone calm but firm. The room went quiet, all eyes flicking to him—the brothers exchanging subtle glances, reading the unspoken authority in his voice.

—-

The drive home was silent. You clutched your backpack tightly.

Andrew kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel, his focus absolute. The low hum of the car filled the space between you, punctuated only by the occasional click of the turn signal or the muted thrum of the engine.

You stared out the window.

Andrew’s hands tightened on the wheel for a moment, jaw flexing. He wasn’t angry at you, but at everything that had led to this, at Craig, that you had been caught up in the chaos he caused.

He pulled up to your house, easing the car into park. The engine hummed softly, filling the quiet, and he kept his hands on the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the silence.

He pulled up to your house, easing the car into park. The engine hummed softly, filling the quiet, and he kept his hands on the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the silence.

You didn’t move.

“You okay?” His voice was low, careful, but there was an edge to it—protective, patient, and just a little frustrated.

“No,” you admitted, letting the tears fall despite yourself.

You hiccupped, pressing your face into your hands, your shoulders rising and falling with each sob.

You’d held your tears back at their house. You didn’t want to cry, especially in front of Deran, but with Andrew, the walls you’d built crumbled. You let it go, letting the tears flow freely, unashamed and raw.

Andrew stayed quiet. He didn’t rush you, didn’t speak over the sobs. He simply let you release what you’d been holding in, giving you the space and safety to feel it fully.

“What you saw today, what you had to do, you shouldn’t have been a part of that. I’m sorry that happened,” Andrew said quietly, voice low but steady, carrying both regret and resolve.

You looked up at him through wet lashes, your hands still gripping your backpack.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he continued gently, tone firm but soothing. “Like I said earlier, you did the right thing. You stayed with them, you helped. You were caught in it, and that’s not on you. None of it is.”

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you.

“But that’s exactly why I don’t want you around,” he added, honest but careful, leaving out any details that might expose the danger.

You frowned, frustration and confusion mixing in your chest. “I… I still don’t understand. What’s going on?”

What secrets were they hiding? you thought, a cold knot forming in your stomach.

Andrew’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head slowly, “You don’t need to understand any of it,” he said firmly. “Not now, not ever. What you need to focus on is graduation and preparing for college on the East Coast. That’s your life. That’s what matters. Everything else… don’t worry about it. Forget it. Okay?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. His words felt final, like a door slamming shut. You wanted to push, to demand answers, but the set of his jaw and the steel in his voice told you it would be useless.

“…Okay,” you whispered, though the word felt hollow.

Andrew extended his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Confused, you unzipped your bag, pulled out your flip phone, and placed it in his palm. He flipped it open, his thumb moving quickly across the buttons. A moment later, he snapped it shut and handed it back.

“My number’s in there,” he said, his tone softer now, though still carrying that edge of authority. “In case you need anything.”

You stared down at the phone in your hands

“…Thanks,” you murmured, though the word felt small compared to everything you wanted to say.

Andrew gave a single nod, eyes forward again, already retreating behind that wall he carried so easily. For a moment, you wondered if he regretted putting his number in there at all.

“You don’t call unless you have to,” he added, the firmness returning to his voice. “Understand?”

You nodded, though uncertainty twisted in your stomach. You weren’t sure what counted as having to. You weren’t sure about a lot of things anymore.

Andrew finally reached for the gear shift “Go inside.”

As you stepped out, you half-expected him to call you back, to give you something more. But the car stayed quiet, Andrew barely shifting behind the wheel.

You closed the door gently and unlatched the gate, slipping through as it swung shut with a soft clang behind you. The walk up the path felt heavy, your fingers clumsy as you dug through your bag for the keys. At the door, you slid one into the lock and pushed it open.

For a moment, you lingered in the doorway, unable to stop yourself from looking back.

The taillights glowed red, then dimmed as Andrew pulled away from the curb. The car rolled slowly down the street, sunlight flashing off the windows before it turned the corner and disappeared.

LYA Tag: @obfuscateyummy @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @child-of-the-amis @cheekeym8s @aj3684 @sunfairyy @ravenouswild @feverxxdream @naxxsstuff @baileythepenguin @britt217 @wittyogredemon @lumpypoll @harmonetta @gigidacoolest

Love You Anyway | Then (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

[rynwrites4fun]

Hey I was wondering if you were going to update the Love You Anyway story! I absolutely love your writing and it’s fun to see Pope as a younger guy! Not a lot of people write him like this! Keep up the great work, you slay!!!!!! 🤍🤍🤍

ahhh thank you! Yes updating soon! Thanks for the love!

[rynwrites4fun]

hi! I just binge-read all of the chapters for LYA and I wanted to know if I could be added to the taglist?

Yes!!! let me know your @ !

[rynwrites4fun]

hey!!! sorry just started up work and it’s been hectic. Will try to find time to update. very sorry and thank you for being patient!!! 🫶🏽

[rynwrites4fun]

You said you had writers block. Would you take ideas for possible chapters if you ever get it again?

yeah I’d be down!

[rynwrites4fun]

Question about Love You Anyway.

Idk what you are planning, but like in my head Reader looks like a teen. If that makes sense. Like I had a glow up in my late 20s. So I am curious if that is going to happen? Like after college we get a confidence boost and all?

there’s gonna be a time jump! so we’re in the “then” timeline and it will go to “now” which will be 2016 or 2017 like the first two seasons of the show. reader will be in their mid/late twenties.

[rynwrites4fun]

Love You Anyway (3) | Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

Andrew Cody x F ! Brother’s Best Friend ! Reader

Summary: You get your college acceptance letter and go to the Cody house to tell Deran—but he’s not there. Instead, you spend the afternoon with Andrew. It’s easy and unexpected… until you return to the house and realize things aren’t as normal as they seemed.

Word Count: 8480

Warnings: Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline

Author’s Notes: omg sorry guys. i had major writers block and then got busy. but part 3 is here. unfortunately my summer is coming to an end and i have to start up my job again BOOOOO. (crying i dont wnat to go back) so i'll prob be updating whenever I can, sorry. oh i finally made it to season 3 of animal kingdom yuhhhh, but last half of season 2 was so good i was on the edge of my seat. Anyway, here's part 3!!! Enjoy! - Ryn

THEN: ACCEPTANCE LETTER 2008

You biked as fast as you could to the Cody house, the midday sun beating down on your back. You gripped the letter in your hand as you grip the handle bars of your bike. 

You didn’t want to wait.

Not until dinner. Not even another hour.

You just wanted to tell someone—wanted to see Deran’s face when you said it out loud.

You roll into the driveway, pressing the handle bar breaks to slow down your speed and hop off your bike. You roll your bike towards the open garage, noticing Andrew working out on the workout equipment.

Andrew was shirtless, wearing jeans that hung low on his hips, his back sweaty. He was focused, jaw tight, arms flexing as he pulled down on the cable machine with steady rhythm.

“Hey,” you called, still a little breathless as you leaned your bike against the garage wall. 

Andrew glanced over his shoulder. His eyes landed on you briefly before he turned back to the machine.

You’d been around more since the day at the beach—seen Andrew a handful of times since then—but things between you hadn’t changed. He kept his distance. Every interaction was brief or clipped. You only spoke to each other when you had to; otherwise, you stayed out of each other’s way.

Baz and Deran, on the other hand, had been more welcoming. They talked to you, included you in whatever they were doing when you came around to hang out with Deran. But Andrew still held back, like there was an invisible line you weren’t supposed to cross—and he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

 “He’s not here,” he said, voice low but clear—already knowing who you were here for.

“Oh…” You pushed your hair back, trying to catch your breath. “Do you know where he went or when he’ll be back?”

He didn’t pause. Just pulled again, the weights clanking softly. “Nope.”

You stood there, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. The excitement that had propelled you here was starting to fade, caught in the silence between his reps.

“Okay… is anybody else home that could tell me where he is?”

Nothing.

“I’ll take that as a no, then…”

You glanced down at the envelope in your hand. Its edges were crumpled from how tightly you’d been holding it.

“I got my letter back. From one of the colleges I applied to.”

Andrew's rhythm of his reps slowed.  A subtle adjustment, like he’d finally stopped pretending not to listen. He remembers you mentioning how you applied for different colleges.

You looked up at him again, searching for some reaction. Still nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he continued to pull the handles down. 

The envelope suddenly feels heavier in your hands.

“I don’t know why I came here,” you said with a quiet laugh, mostly to yourself. “I guess I just wanted to share it with someone… with Deran.”

Andrew didn’t say anything, but the pause between his reps stretched a little longer this time.

You thumb the edge of the envelope. “He’s the one who kept telling me to go for it. Said I’d get in, no problem.”

Your voice wavered just a little. Not enough to crack—just enough to reveal the truth beneath it.

You had been nervous about applying. Nervous about even wanting something that far away. A school that meant starting over, leaving behind everything familiar.

But Deran hadn’t laughed, hadn’t shrugged it off like you half-expected him to. He’d just looked at you and said, “Why not you?” Like it was obvious.

That stuck.

So you’d done it. And now the letter was here, trembling just slightly in your grip, and the one person who told you to take the leap… wasn’t.

“It’s the college I really want to go to,” you added, trying to fill the silence.

Andrew huffed, not quite a scoff but close, still not facing you. “You don’t want to open this at home? With your family?”

“My parents are busy with work,” you muttered, voice low. “I didn’t even tell them I applied… to a university outside of California.” Your eyes are still on the letter.

“I was gonna tell Deran in person,” you added after a beat. “But since he’s not here…”

You stepped forward, lifting the envelope slightly. “I guess you’ll do.”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure if this was something you should be sharing with Andrew. Deran was the one who encouraged you, who believed in you when you were too afraid to believe in yourself. Maybe you should’ve waited—waited to open it with him.

But the anticipation was gnawing at you, tightening your chest. You couldn’t wait any longer.

Your fingers tore the seal open before you could second-guess yourself. You pulled out the paper, unfolding it with shaky hands, eyes scanning for one word. Just one.

Then you saw it.

Congratulation

You gasped. A laugh broke from your chest.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your hand flying to your mouth. “I got in—I got in!”

You shrieked, joy bursting out of you like a firecracker. You jumped up and down, spinning in place as you waved the letter in the air, barely able to hold onto it.

Andrew paused, his hands still gripping the handlebars of the exercise machine. His shoulders rose and fell with quiet, controlled breaths as he turned to look over his shoulder at you. He let go slowly—arms dropping to his sides

You hadn’t realized he was watching.

He watched your reaction—your spinning, your laughter—and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A quiet chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.

“Good for you,” he said.

You heard that much. By the time you calmed yourself, his smile was gone. You didn’t catch how his smile lingered, genuine and quiet, drawn out by your happiness and the excitement you couldn’t contain.

You pressed the letter to your chest, breathing hard, cheeks flushed. 

Andrew stepped away from the machine, grabbing a water bottle from their outside refrigerator. His expression had already settled into something more neutral, but there was still a softness in his eyes if you looked closely enough.

“Where to?” he asked, taking a sip.

You tell him the name of the school. “It’s on the east coast” 

He lowered the bottle, recapping it slowly. “Far.”

Good, he thought. You’ll be away from all their bullshit.

“I know,” you said, practically bouncing with a mix of nerves and excitement. “But it’s exciting!”

Your heart raced at the thought of taking the leap — scared, but ready.

He went back to the machine grabbing his towel that was draped over the bars on the workout machine. 

“You can stay… wait for Deran, I mean,” he said, wiping his face, then tossing the towel over his shoulder.

He didn’t know why he said that. It came out before he could stop it—quieter than usual, not gruff or sharp. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said it, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor, like offering that kind of invitation cost him something.

You were surprised. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

You nodded quickly, hopeful but trying not to seem like it. “Yeah. I’ll wait. If that’s okay.”

Andrew gave a short jerk of his head toward the house—a wordless cue: go on in.

You hesitated just long enough, thinking he might say more. When he didn’t, you took the side door and headed toward their house.

He stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching you disappear, towel still resting on his shoulder. Then he tossed the towel aside, turned back toward the machine, and started working out again.

—

You moved into the living room and sat on the couch, the envelope still in your hands. You sank into the couch, left alone with the silence. For a moment, you thought Andrew might follow you inside—but he didn’t.

After a few minutes, you pull out your flip phone. The screen was smudged, the battery half-dead. You flipped it open and hit Deran’s number.

It rang a couple of times before going to voicemail.

“Hey! I’m at your place—sorry, I should’ve called first to check if you were home. Andrew said you were out, but I got my acceptance letter in the mail! I wanted to tell you in person. Sorry… I opened it. It couldn’t wait, but I got in! I’m going to the East Coast! Call me when you get this”

You hung up, leaving the voicemail, then snapped the phone shut with a soft click.

Now you wait. 

Time dragged. Twenty minutes. Then thirty.

Andrew came back out, freshly showered and dressed. He was in a clean T-shirt and jeans, towel still in hand as he ran it through his damp curls. He stopped in the space of the living room

 “No word?” he asked.

You toyed with a loose string on the throw pillow clutched to your chest. You shook your head, “He’s probably busy.” 

You stood from the couch, smoothing your hands down your legs just to give them something to do. “I should get going.”

Then added you, “If you see him… can you tell him to call me?”

Andrew didn’t say anything. Neither did you. There was no goodbye.

You stepped past him and made your way back outside the house. You grabbed your bike from where you’d left it against the garage wall and started rolling it up the driveway toward the street.

Andrew came out a moment later, keys in hand, heading toward his truck parked just a few feet away. He didn’t say anything, just walked in silence, unlocking the doors with the fob.

You were halfway up the drive when he said,

“C’mon.”

You stopped in your tracks, caught off guard.

“What?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“Let’s go.”

“But—”

“Leave your bike and get in the car,” he said, climbing into his truck. You knew with Andrew, he never asks—he tells.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why he wanted you in his truck, or where you two were going, but you did what he said. You rolled your bike and left it leaning against the outside of the garage, then climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. The engine was already running, the car humming softly.

“Seat belt,” he said.

“Right” You mumbled as you reached for it, pulling it across your chest and clicking it into place just as he shifted the truck into reverse.

He backed out of the driveway in one clean motion, then turned onto the street. The gate closed behind you with a mechanical hum, triggered by the clicker in his hand.

You glanced at him once, but he didn’t say anything. Just kept his eyes on the road. 

You stared out the window as the truck moved down the street, houses blurring past. Every few seconds, you felt the urge to say something—ask where you were going, 

The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either.

“So…” you said finally, the word slipping out quieter than you meant it to.

Andrew didn’t look at you, but you saw his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

You waited, but when he didn’t follow up, you added, “Where are we going or better yet… where are you taking me?” 

You shifted in your seat, not sure if you were annoyed or just anxious. Maybe both.

Nothing. 

“Andrew,” you said, a little firmer this time, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling under the surface.

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Relax.”

“Relax?” You blinked, incredulous. “How am I supposed to relax when you’re basically kidnapping me?”

He furrows his eyebrows, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face, but he doesn’t look over. “Kidnapping? You got in the car willingly.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the seat. “Only because you practically ordered me to. You didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”

He finally glanced your way, expression unreadable. “I didn’t force you. You have free will. You could’ve just said no.”

You let out a breath, part exasperated, part amused. “Yeah, well, when someone’s voice sounds like a command, saying no doesn’t exactly feel like an option.”

“You don’t have anything better to do,” he said flatly.

You raised a brow. “How do you know? Maybe I had plans.”

He gave you a look, dry and pointed. “Did you?”

You hesitated, then muttered, “That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

You rolled your eyes and looked out the window. “God, you’re infuriating.”

He drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel. “And yet you got in the car.”

You turned your head, shooting him a glare. “Because you made it sound like it wasn’t up for discussion.”

You turned to look out the window, watching the blur of palm trees and strip malls pass by.

Then, quietly, “Would it help if I said I didn’t want you sitting around by yourself?”

Andrew didn’t want you to be alone. Your parents weren’t home, and neither was Deran. There was no one around to celebrate with you. Sure, you could celebrate later—but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing compared to sharing the moment while it was still alive, still buzzing in your chest.

That caught you off guard. Your head turned slowly back toward him.

He wasn’t looking at you—his jaw tight, eyes ahead—but the tension in his shoulders had softened, just barely.

You blinked. “So this is… what? You playing chauffeur out of pity?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Not pity.”

You waited, but he said nothing else. Just kept driving, hands steady on the wheel.

“I’m hungry.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“I thought you might be too.”

You stared at him for a second, trying to make sense of it. Was… was he taking you out to eat? That couldn’t be right. Not Andrew. Your best friend’s older brother. The one who always kept his distance, who made it painfully clear he didn’t want anything to do with you—or have you hanging around. That Andrew was now driving you somewhere for food?

It didn’t make sense.

“You’re taking me to get food?” you asked slowly, raising your eyebrows in disbelief, trying to figure out if there was some sort of ulterior motive.

His jaw tightened just slightly, like he was already regretting saying anything. Then he muttered, “Seemed like a decent way to mark the occasion.”

You paused.

That’s when it clicked.

This wasn’t just about food. Andrew was taking you out—it wasn’t random. It was intentional. A quiet, awkward way of showing he cared, even if he couldn’t put it into words. He wasn’t going to say “congratulations,” No grand gestures, no speeches—just this simple act that said more than he ever would aloud. This was his version of showing up.

And even if he couldn’t say it out loud, you could feel it.

You didn’t know what to say. It was… sweet. Simple. Thoughtful, even—that he’d go out of his way to do this for you.

His truck pulled into a small parking lot, easing into a stall right out front. High Tide Diner was painted across the large front window in a faded retro font, the kind that hadn’t been updated in decades but somehow still felt timeless.

You climbed out of the truck, the door creaking slightly as it shut behind you. Andrew didn’t say anything, just nodded toward the entrance, and the two of you headed inside.

A bell above the door jingled as you stepped in. The place smelled like coffee, salt, and something fried. Vinyl booths lined the walls, cracked in places, and the floor tiles were uneven from years of foot traffic. It wasn’t fancy, but it was warm. Familiar.

It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of people and families scattered here and there throughout the diner, low conversations humming beneath the clatter of dishes.

Andrew stepped past you and slid into an empty booth tucked away near the back, far from everyone else. Typical. Always picking the quietest corner like he needed distance to breathe.

You followed and slid into the seat across from him, the vinyl sticking slightly to your legs as you settled in.

“This place is good. We don’t have to eat here. We could go somewhere else—”

“No, no, this is fine. Really,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could protest. “I like it”

You reached for the menu and scanned the beat-up plastic laminate in front of you. The corners were worn, peeling a little from years of use. The food options were exactly what you expected—greasy, oily, unapologetically comforting. Burgers stacked high, loaded fries, grilled cheese, milkshakes thick enough to bend a straw. No frills, no health section. Just pure, deep-fried Americana.

“This place has personality,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Across the table, Andrew shrugged, like that was the point. “The food's good. That’s all that matters.”

You looked up at him, watching the way he leaned back against the booth like he’d been here a hundred times. Like he fit.

“Do you come here a lot?”

He shrugged again, eyes still on the menu he hadn’t even picked up. “Used a lot when I was a teenager. With… Julia sometimes. But I come around every so often”

“Julia…” you repeated softly, the name unfamiliar on your tongue.

He glanced up, just briefly. “My twin sister.”

You blinked, surprised. “You have a twin?”

Deran hadn’t mentioned he had an older sister. In fact, no one in the family had ever mentioned her—not once. 

“Been a while since we’ve seen her,” he said, almost too casually—but there was a tightness in his voice that said more than the words did. He didn’t elaborate.

You hesitated, unsure if you should say something else, asking what happened. But the way he was staring past you now, like he was seeing a memory and not the diner, made you pause.

Instead, you just nodded. Quiet. Respectful.

“There’s so much on this menu,” you said, your voice lighter, pulling things gently back to the present. “I might need, like… a solid twenty minutes.”

Andrew didn’t smile, exactly, but his mouth twitched like he almost could have. “Pick something greasy. It’s what they do best.”

An older woman came over with two glasses of water balanced in one hand and a notepad in the other. Her name tag said Deb, and she gave you both a polite nod.

“Hi there! Are you two ready, or need a few minutes?”

“Double Cheeseburger. Everything on it. Extra pickles. Fries. Chocolate shake.”

Deb jotted it down and turned to you. 

You hesitated for a second, then said, “I’ll have the same thing he’s having… but strawberry shake.”

Andrew looked over at you, one brow lifting.

Deb gave a smile. She took the menus. “Alright, I’ll get that in.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen, the order slip already in her hand.

You glanced back at Andrew as he stared at you. “What? Your order sounded good…” 

​​Andrew’s brow twitched slightly, amusement flickering behind his eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the copy-my-order type.”

You shook your head. “It’s not copying—my order is different from yours”

He scoffed. “Just swapping the shake doesn’t make it different.”

You glanced at him with a smirk. “Didn’t peg you for someone so territorial about food. Are you always this dramatic over an order?”

Andrew shook his head and rolled his eyes, then muttered, “Should’ve stuck with chocolate.”

“Strawberry’s better.”

Andrew gave you a sideways glance. “Better, huh? That’s… questionable.”

Silence falls between the two of you. 

Andrew rested his arms on the table, fingers tapping against the table top as he stared out the window. 

You noticed his knuckles were almost healed. The scrapes had faded into thin, reddish scabs—the kind that stuck around after the worst was over. You remembered how bad they’d looked at the beach, when he came back to Baz’s truck. Bloody, raw.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you said quietly, the words spilling out. 

Andrew glanced at you, his brows knitting together. “Do what?”

“The surfer. At the beach.”

His eyes narrowed, like he might deny it, might brush it off with some half-answer—but you cut him off before he could.

“I’m not stupid, Andrew.” You sighed “I know what you did.”

His tapping stopped as he caught you staring at his hands. He didn’t say anything—just slowly moved his hand from the table to his lap.

For a long second, he didn’t say anything. Just stared past you, jaw tight, like he was weighing the cost of answering.

Then finally, he said, “He was out of line.”

“That’s it?” you asked, not bothering to hide your frustration. “He was out of line, so you beat the shit out of him?”

His eyes met yours. Steady. Unapologetic. “Yeah.”

There were a dozen things you wanted to say—about how messed up it was, about how you weren’t his problem, about how that’s not how normal people handled things.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Because part of you wanted to yell at him.

But the other part—annoyingly louder—just felt that same strange twist in your chest. That not-quite-fear, not-quite-comfort thing.

So instead, all that came out was, “You didn’t have to.”

“He dropped in on you, didn’t he? When you were surfing?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And he hit you.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said. “It was an accident.”

“That guy could’ve seriously hurt you, out in the water and Then he ran off like a coward after he hit you”

You swallowed. “And you took it personally?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You got hurt. I don’t care who started it or what excuses anyone gives. That shouldn’t have happened.”

You blinked.

“And that justifies everything?”

“Maybe not,” he said finally. “I wasn’t thinking about right or wrong. But I’d do it again.”

It knocked the breath out of you—not because it was shocking, but because of how easily he said it. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t even a question in his mind.

That shut you up.

Because he meant it. Completely and without regret.

You stared at him, trying to make sense of it. Of him.

And maybe that should’ve scared you.

But somehow… it didn’t.

“Well…Thanks,” you said—quiet, measured. Nothing more, nothing less.

You left it there, even if you didn’t agree with how he handled it.

You didn’t say it was okay. You didn’t pretend it made sense.

But you also didn’t take it back.

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just studied you for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to say what he was thinking or keep it buried like usual.

“Here we are—two cheeseburgers with everything on ’em, extra pickles, fries, one chocolate shake, and one strawberry,” Deb announced as she approached, balancing the tray like it was second nature.

She set it down in the center of the table with practiced ease.

You both murmured a “Thanks,” nearly in unison.

Deb gave a nod and a quick smile. “Holler if you need anything else,” she said before turning and disappearing back toward the kitchen.

You dug in, taking a big bite of the burger and let out a muffled groan. Your eyes flutter shut for a second. “This is so good,” you mumbled around a mouthful, barely pausing between bites.

Across the table, Andrew watched you with a mix of amusement and disbelief. A quiet chuckle slipped out as he took in the way you were devouring your burger like you hadn’t eaten in days.

“You gonna breathe at some point?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You know—maybe in between bites?”

You held up a finger, chewing furiously, and pointed at the burger. “Too good,” you said, barely intelligible. “Not my fault.”

Andrew took a big bite of his burger, enjoying the juicy flavors. As he chewed, a bit of ketchup slid from the bun and landed right on his nose. He didn’t notice.

You caught it instantly and snorted, covering your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing mid-chew.

“What?” he asked, mouth half-full, tone flat.

“You’ve got—” You broke into another giggle, motioning vaguely toward your own face. “Ketchup. On your nose.”

He frowned and tried to see it, his eyes crossing slightly, which only made it worse. You practically wheezed only made you laugh harder.

“I got it, I got it,” you said, still laughing as you reached for a stack of napkins from the dispenser.

You leaned across the table. “Hold still.”

He didn’t move. Just sat there watching you with that calm, unreadable expression.

You were suddenly aware of how close you were—close enough to catch the faintest trace of his aftershave and the subtle heat of his gaze on you. You dabbed at the smear of ketchup on his nose, biting back a smile as he let you do it, silent and still, his expression flat but clearly unamused. 

Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to before you finally pulled back.

“There,” you said softly.

“For that,” you added, reaching over without hesitation, “I deserve a fries.”

You snatched a couple off his plate and popped one into your mouth before he could protest.

“Hey,” he said, half-amused, half-indignant. “You’ve got your own.”

“I saved your nose,” you shot back. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be looking like Rudolph.”

He shakes his head. “One smear of ketchup and suddenly you're a hero.”

You grinned, already reaching for your milkshake “Damn right I am.”

—

After finishing up at the diner, the two of you ended up driving aimlessly with no real destination in mind.

There was no rush. No plan. Just the road stretching out ahead and the quiet comfort of his presence beside you.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. You leaned your head against the window, watching the world blur past—quiet neighborhoods, aging gas stations, wide-open lots bathed in the soft gold of the setting sun.

At a red light, he glanced over at you. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. This is nice.”

He gave a small smile—one of those rare ones that didn’t quite reach his eyes but meant something all the same. “Yeah. It is.”

As he drove, the two of you did nothing but talk. And it was different—unexpectedly so. Easy in a way that caught you off guard. You’d been talking—really talking—and somewhere along the way, Andrew’s walls, usually built so high, had lowered without ceremony. Without either of you even noticing when it happened.

For the first time, it felt like you were beginning to truly know him—not just the version everyone else saw. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to know you too. There were still parts of him kept carefully out of reach, tucked away behind familiar silences, but that didn’t bother you.

And, strangely, he didn’t seem to mind you seeing him like this. Not tonight.

Eventually, you found yourselves at the beach near the pier, the truck rumbling to a stop just as the sun began to dip low on the horizon. The sky was brushed in soft shades of orange, pink, and fading lavender, the last light of the day stretching long across the sand. The breeze off the ocean carried the scent of salt and something faintly sweet—maybe kettle corn from the boardwalk nearby.

Shoes in hand, you wandered the shoreline together, the sand cool beneath your feet. The tide rolled in gentle and steady, lapping at your ankles. Andrew kept to the drier sand away from the water, watching you with that same quiet expression—as if he was memorizing the moment, even if he didn’t know why.

“You think you’re gonna get homesick when you’re on the East Coast?”

“Maybe,” you admitted with a shrug. “But I guess that’s part of the point—learning how to deal with it.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here—away from my parents, on my own. All I’ve ever known is California, Oceanside. I’m just excited to experience something new, though it is daunting.”

He stood standing, eyes fixed on the shoreline where you walked splashing in the water.

He was envious—of your freedom, your clean break. The way you had the opportunity to leave and actually go. He could do his own thing in theory, but in practice… he couldn’t. Not really.

Even as an adult, hardened by everything he’d been through, Andrew was still tethered to Smurf. No matter how far he tried to pull away, that invisible thread always snapped him back. She had a way of pulling him in, of making sure he never drifted too far. He was loyal to a fault. 

Watching you—so full of hope and momentum—was a stark contrast to his world. You, who grew up in a stable, middle-class home. Two loving parents. Consistency. Safety. Unconditional Love.  Things he never had. Things he didn’t even know how to trust.

In his world, nothing was handed over willingly. Everything had to be taken—stolen, hustled, fought for. They didn’t work to earn in the traditional sense. They planned, schemed, and survived. And when they got what they wanted, they didn’t celebrate—they braced for whatever came next.

You were everything he wasn’t. Everything he’d never be in this lifetime.

It was better that you were leaving—going off to college, to the East Coast, to anything that wasn’t this. Better you got out before you had the chance to really see what he and his brothers were. What they did.

He glanced over at you then, eyes catching yours for just a second before flicking away again.

“You’ll be good out there,” he said quietly. “You’ll figure it out.”

You moved slowly along the shoreline, letting the waves chase your toes. Every now and then, you’d glance back at him, and he’d give you that faint, unreadable smile of his.

“You gonna get your feet wet or what?” you called over your shoulder, teasing.

He smirked, but didn’t budge. “I’m good right here.”

You turned back to the ocean, the breeze tugging gently at your clothes. A particularly strong wave rolled in and soaked your calves, making you gasp and laugh as you jumped back. You heard him chuckle behind you,

“Come on” You kick some water at him

“Hey stop that!”

You giggle as you continue splashing through the water, coming to flick some back at him just to get a rise out of it.

“Angel, quit it—” he says, voice low but amused.

You freeze for a second, the nickname catching you off guard.

They all called you that—Angel. Baz had started it that day at the beach, half a joke, half a dig. After that, they hardly used your real name at all. But Andrew?

He never used it. Not once.

Until now.

And it felt different coming from him. Not careless or mocking. Not something he said just because the others did. His version was quieter. Almost gentle.

You didn’t know why it made your chest feel tight, or why you wanted to hear it again—just not with the usual teasing behind it.

“Boo, you’re boring!” 

“Oh, yeah?” he said, an eyebrow lifting, just before he stepped forward and scooped you up like it was nothing.

“Andrew—wait! No, no, no—”

But it was already too late. He was already walking straight into the ocean, steady and unbothered, even as you squirmed in his arms.

“Andrew—!” you kicked your feet in protest, laughter bubbling up despite yourself.

He didn’t slow down. Just kept moving forward, water lapping higher—first at his knees, then his thighs. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck tighter, clinging to him as tightly as you could.

“Andrew, don’t you dare—”

He smirked. And then he leaned.

“Oh, don’t you dar—!”

Too late.

With one swift movement, he dunked you both under.

You shrieked as the cold water swallowed you whole, salt stinging your nose, your laughter muffled in the splash. You surfaced with a gasp, hair plastered to your face, eyes wide, and already laughing so hard it made your chest ache.

Andrew came up behind you, shaking the water from his curls, completely soaked. His clothes clung to him, heavy and dark with seawater, and he ran a hand through his hair, flicking droplets everywhere.

Andrew just grinned, smug and unapologetic. “Totally worth it.”

You swiped your soaked hair out of your face, still laughing. “Says the one who wanted to stay dry!”

“And then you started kicking water at me like it was gonna do anything.”

You scoffed. “I barely got you wet!”

He gave you a look, eyes narrowing like he couldn’t believe you were still pretending. “My jeans were damp. That was a violation.”

You grinned. “Oh, poor you.”

“I had to restore balance,” he said solemnly. “Full submersion was the only way.”

You splashed him again. “You’re such an asshole. Where’s the logic in that, by the way? You didn’t want to get wet, so you decided to throw yourself into the ocean—with me?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “I didn’t say it was good logic.”

—

Andrew’s truck pulled into the driveway. He stepped out, door slamming shut behind him as he headed over into the garage.

The brothers were mid-count—money spread out across the workbench in uneven stacks, jewelry glinting under the garage lights. A gun sat openly beside a half-zipped duffel. They were too hyped to care.

Craig glanced up first.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?! We’ve been calling you—” Craig’s voice was loud, half-laughing, charged with adrenaline and whatever trouble they’d stirred up all day.

“You guys did a job?” Andrew’s voice cut through the room, sharp and disbelieving. They’d gone out and done something—without him. Without even telling him.

If he’d known, he never would’ve brought you back to the house—not with the heat still fresh, with evidence still laid out in plain sight. At the very least, he would’ve warned them, told them to clean up, to stash the bags and play it cool. But now? It was too late for any of that.

Andrew’s stomach dropped. He was pissed, sure. They’d cut him out, made a move without him. That stung, and he’d deal with it later. But right now? None of that mattered. All he could think about was you.

“Dude, why are you all wet?” Baz asked, staring at Andrew with a raised brow as he stepped up from the beach.

Andrew didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked over his shoulder—to the car, to the door he knew was about to swing open.

“Get rid of it,” he said sharply.

“What?” Baz blinked, thrown.

“Get rid of it. Now.” he tells his brother 

And then you stepped out of Andrews truck. 

Still damp from the ocean, sand clinging to your legs, hair a tangled, wind-blown mess. You were brushing sand off, not even aware of the storm you’d just walked into.

Four sets of eyes locked on you, and just like that, the air in the garage turned sharp, still, and heavy.

Craig’s grin evaporated as he stared, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he was seeing you or some kind of mirage.

Deran froze halfway through shoving bills into a bag. “Wait—Angel?”

Even Baz, usually the smoothest at holding his expression, faltered for a beat. His gaze landed on you, then flicked to Andrew. His jaw clenched, subtle but visible.

Then they moved.

Fast.

They quickly managed to stuff everything away. The jewelry was swept off the table in hurried, careless motions. Bundles of cash were stuffed back into the duffels with practiced, frantic efficiency. Craig cursed under his breath as he knocked something over—a watch clattered to the concrete floor, its face cracking sharply. Without missing a beat, he kicked it out of sight.

By the time you came into the garage, there was no evidence left—no sign of what had just been there. 

“Hey guys!” You beam. Your voice was cheerful, easy—completely unaware of what they just did. The room looked almost normal, but the tension hanging in the air told you otherwise.

Craig froze mid-zip, then straightened with a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Angel! What’s up?”

Baz was already standing in front of the table like he’d just happened to be leaning there all along. “Didn’t expect to see you around,” he said, tone smooth but eyes still calculating.

Deran tilted his head, eyeing you with a mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Uh… what are you doing here?”

His voice had that weird edge to it—trying to sound casual, but it didn’t quite land.

You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Nice to see you too. I stopped by earlier—you didn’t get my voicemail?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn't see anything.”

“Well, I came to open my acceptance letter.”

Deran’s eyes widened. “Wait—the one from the college on the East Coast?”

You nodded, grinning now. “Yeah. I got in.”

“Angel, that’s awesome!” His whole face lit up. He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground even though your clothes were still soaked. 

“Congratulations!” Deran says as he sets you back down.

Baz brows raised. “No shit? That’s big. Congrats, Angel.” His voice was casual, but there was a flicker of genuine pride behind it, the kind he didn’t hand out often.

Craig grinned from where he was crouched by a bag, wiping his hands on his jeans before getting up. “Hell yeah! That’s huge! You better throw a party before you leave. Better yet, we’ll throw you one” He pulled you into a one-armed hug, not caring about the wet clothes. 

“Thanks, guys,” you said, a little overwhelmed by their rare, unfiltered support.

You glanced toward Andrew. “Yeah, Andrew and I hung out today—”

Craig cut in before you could finish. “Wait, you and Andrew hung out?”

That stopped everything.

Baz’s gaze flicked from you to Andrew, then back again. Deran raised an eyebrow.

The three of them stood there, silent now, their attention sharper—focused in a way it hadn’t been before.

Craig’s smirk had faded into something more curious. Baz didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in his eyes.

You gave a nervous laugh, trying to brush it off. “I came by to hang out with you,” you said, nudging Deran lightly in the chest. “But you weren’t home.”

You shrugged. “Andrew was around. So we hung out. No big deal.”

But it felt like a big deal now—with the way they were all looking at you.

“Why are you guys wet?” Baz asked, eyebrows raised, voice careful now.

“Beach,” you and Andrew answered at the same time.

Your voices overlapped, perfectly matched—flat, casual, a little too in sync.

Craig snorted, more amused than anything. “Cute.”

Baz leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Didn’t know you two were going on beach dates now.”

“It wasn’t a date,” you and Andrew said in unison.

You knew they were teasing, but seriously—you and Andrew? No way. That wasn’t what this was. He was Deran’s older brother. It would’ve been weird. Messy. Off-limits for so many reasons.

You scrunched your nose and made a dramatic face like you were physically repulsed by the idea. “Ew. No. Gross.” You waved your hands as if to push the thought far, far away. “He’s like…ancient”

Andrew glanced at you clearly unimpressed. “Wow. Thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” you said, mock-defensive. “You’re basically halfway to forty.”

Craig burst out laughing. Baz smirked. Deran didn’t laugh at all.

It wasn’t a date—at least not by any definition either of you would use.

But it was something.

You weren’t sure what Andrew had expected when he told you to get in the truck. But today felt... different. Not romantic, not even close to it—but it was rare. Easy. The kind of connection that didn’t need to be explained.

Craig, sensing the shift but not knowing what to do with it, let out a breath and offered a weak grin. “Well, sounds like you two had fun,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s... cool.”

You are taking in the scene. The guys look worn—sweaty, out of breath, exchanging looks that say more than words. Your gaze shifts toward the workbench. One of the duffel bags is sitting there, the zipper slightly open. 

You tilted your head. “So… what’s with the duffels?”

The question hung in the air.

Craig’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide for a beat. Baz didn’t move, but his jaw tightened. Deran’s fingers twitched like he was seconds away from grabbing the bags and chucking it out of sight.

Deran says “Nothing important.”

You arched a brow. “Looks important. That one’s practically bursting at the seams.”

You took a step forward, curious.

Baz moved fast—subtle but firm—as he casually shifted into your path, blocking your view with that practiced, easygoing grin. “It’s not,” he said smoothly. “Just moving some stuff out of storage.”

“Yeah,” Craig added, nodding way too hard. “Cleaning house. You know how it is.”

Baz says “Just old crap we’ve been meaning to toss. You know how Smurf is—keeps everything.”

Your eyes narrowed a little, suspicion stirring—but not enough to press.

Behind you, Andrew shot them a look. Cold. Sharp. A silent warning not to screw this up.

You lingered for a second, gaze drifting toward the duffles again. Something didn’t sit right—your gut told you there was more to it than “old crap,” but you couldn’t put your finger on why. The way they all moved. The way they watched you. It was too… controlled.

Still, you let it go. For now.

“Right.” You dragged the word out, still not convinced. “Well, Andrew said I could use the shower, so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Craig said quickly, waving you off like everything was totally normal. “You do that.”

“You can borrow my clothes—help yourself,” Deran said as you passed him.

“Thanks,” barefoot and still damp as you padded around them towards the side door of the garage.

You glanced back at Andrew. “Oh… and thanks for today.”

His eyes lingered on you, unreadable.

You gave him a quiet smile before turning away and heading inside, leaving the boys where they stood.

None of them said another word until you were out of earshot.

Deran scoffed, disbelief flashing across his face. “Are you serious right now? What the hell are you doing with Angel? So what now—you’re just hanging around my best friend?”

He shot back, voice sharp. “Don’t act like this is all out of the kindness of your heart. You’ve been weird about her for months—saying to keep her away. And now? You’re all buddy-buddy with her?”

Andrew didn’t flinch. “This isn’t about being buddy-buddy. I’m here because someone has to look out for her. And if that means being around her, so be it.”

Andrew stepped forward, voice colder now. “You’re the one pulling her into it without even thinking. You bring her around like this shit isn’t dangerous—like she’s immune to it, but she’s not, Deran. None of us are.”

Deran scoffed. “You’re such a goddamn hypocrite.”

Andrew turned, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You’re always telling me to keep her out of this,” Deran says. “To keep her safe. You act like you’re above it—but look! She almost saw us going through our shit!”

Andrew’s voice cut back, defensive. “How was I supposed to know you guys did a job? None of you told me.”

Craig threw up his hands. “We tried calling!”

“I didn’t answer one time and you all went off without me?”

Deran’s voice dropped, cold. “Don’t turn this around like we’re the problem. You’re the one who brought my best friend home—with duffels wide open and a gun sitting out.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “You wanna talk about me bringing her around? Fine. Let’s talk about how many times you almost dragged her into shit then”

Deran’s expression twisted. “Don’t put this on me—”

Andrew snapped “But you let her crash here with stolen merchandise in the guest room and a duffel full of guns in the hall closet. She almost found both—just looking for a blanket. You think about that?”

Baz’s jaw tightened. He remembered.

Andrew kept going. “She borrowed your truck—the glovebox wasn’t cleared. She was two seconds away from opening it. Loaded piece inside, cash under the seat.”

Deran opened his mouth to speak, but Andrew cut him off and didn’t stop.

“You leave your burner lying around. She almost answered it once—could’ve ended up on the phone with someone who wouldn’t blink before pulling the trigger.”

Craig shifted but stayed silent. 

“You’ve had her this close to shit she never signed up for,” Andrew shouts “And you’ve got the nerve to look at me sideways?”

Deran’s jaw clenched.

Andrew didn’t back down and got in Dearn’s face “You don’t get to lecture me. You’ve had more close calls with her than I ever have. I’m not the one leaving doors open.”

Craig hovered nearby, watching the two of them like they might come to blows. “Alright, can we not do this right now?” he muttered, half to himself, half to keep the peace.

​​“She’s not just some girl, Pope,” Deran said, voice rough. “She’s mine. My best friend.”

He shook his head, the anger in his eyes cracking into something raw. “She’s the only person who doesn’t see me as a screwup. She thinks I’m smart—like I could actually be more. More than what everyone expects me to be. She believes in me. And that means something.”

Andrew’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “And if she saw you now—how we really are—what then? Do you honestly believe she’s gonna think that when she finally catches on—when it’s not just some close call, but the real fallout? Then what? You think she’ll still believe the good guy story you’ve been telling yourself? Because right now, all I see is someone who’s setting her up to get hurt.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

Baz finally stepped in, arms crossed. “Okay. Everyone shut up. She’s inside. She hears this, it’s over.”

No one said anything.

Andrew just turned, jaw tight, and walked off toward the house.

Deran didn’t follow. He stayed where he was, chest rising and falling, the line between protectiveness and guilt blurring fast.

—

You were in Deran’s room, fresh out of the shower and already changed, towel still in hand when you saw it—and froze.

The duffel bag.

The same kind the guys had in the garage earlier. Scuffed black canvas, worn straps, the zipper just slightly askew. Now it was here, half-hidden under the bed, the corner barely tucked in.

It hadn’t been there when you came in earlier to grab clothes. You were sure of it.

A slow chill crept down your spine as you stepped closer, towel slipping from your fingers and landing on the bed in a damp heap.

They’d said they were cleaning. Getting rid of old stuff.

So why move one of the bags into this room?

You knew you probably shouldn’t look. But your gut twisted. Your fingers moved before your brain could stop them.

You dropped to your knees and pulled the zipper back.

The first thing you saw was the gun—matte black and heavy-looking, nestled against rolls of cash, thick and uneven, banded in rubber and duct tape.

Then something else caught the light.

Jewelry.

Not just one piece—several. Tangled chains, a gold bracelet, a small velvet pouch half-open with what looked like diamond earrings spilling out.

Your breath caught.

You stared down into the bag, heart thudding so hard it almost drowned out the quiet hum of the house around you. The room felt colder now, heavier.

You zipped it shut fast—too fast—but carefully, like if you messed up even one detail, someone would know you’d seen it.

Your hands were shaking.

You stood slowly, knees stiff, mind spinning. You didn’t know what this meant—not exactly—but you knew it wasn’t nothing.

You’d seen it.

The gun. The cash. The jewelry.

And you couldn’t unsee any of it.

The sound of the door clicking shut made you jump. You picked up your towel and moved like you were drying your hair.

Deran looked at you “You good?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just got out.”

Your voice didn’t sound right. You knew it. He probably did too.

Deran lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, his gaze drifting—briefly—to the spot under the bed.

For a split second, his eyes flicked to the duffel bag, half-hidden and poorly tucked away. He realized he hadn’t done a good job hiding it, but said nothing. Figured you probably didn’t notice.

You held your breath.

Instead, he walked in slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey… sorry I wasn’t here earlier when you came by with your acceptance letter.” He trailed off, not quite meeting your eyes. “Sorry I didn’t answer your call. If I had checked my voicemail, I would’ve called you back.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

“But I’m proud of you,” he added after a beat, softer now. “College on the East Coast? That’s huge. You deserve it. We should celebrate—I’ll take you out sometime this week.”

Your throat tightened. “Thanks.”

He offered a small smile—genuine, but tired. “Your bike’s in my car, by the way. I figured I’d drop you off. Whenever you’re ready.”

You swallowed hard, that bag still sitting beneath the bed like a ticking clock.

“Okay,” you said, managing a small smile. “Yeah. That’s cool.”

Deran looked at you a second longer, like he wanted to say more. Like he was trying to read something on your face.

Then he nodded, grabbed a clean shirt from the dresser, and headed for the hallway.

“You sure you’re good?” he asked again, pausing in the doorway.

You hesitated, just for a breath. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing a fraction like he didn’t quite believe you—but he let it go.

Then he disappeared down the hall.

As soon as he was gone, you let out a shaky breath. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts racing.

You didn’t know what scared you more—the weight of the secrets hidden in that duffel bag, or the sinking feeling that maybe you didn’t really know your best friend and his family at all.

You tried to gaslight yourself, telling yourself it was nothing. Just stuff. Nothing to worry about.

But your instincts screamed otherwise—there was more here than met the eye. Something buried deep and dangerous, just waiting to surface.

LYA Tag: @obfuscateyummy @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @child-of-the-amis @cheekeym8s @aj3684 @sunfairyy @ravenouswild @feverxxdream @naxxsstuff

Love You Anyway | Then (1) (2) (3)

[rynwrites4fun]

Ik ur probably busy but any update on love you anyways ??? PLEASE

YES coming sometimes this week!!! sorry was bit busy last week and lowkey had writers block so I didn’t post but I’m on the groove again lol

[rynwrites4fun]

Hi! I’ve stumbled across your writing and it’s so good! It’s inspired me to start writing fic for fun :) I currently have one sitting in my drafts lol

GAHHH yes! Love that!!! 🥹🫶🏽 message me when you post your fic or tag me! Would love to read!!!

[rynwrites4fun]

Okay impulsive decision but rewriting eyes on me 🫣😵‍💫