#but the reason i want it is there’s another quote by the same author i’m trying to track down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rynwrites4fun · 5 days ago

Text

Love You Anyway (2) | Andrew Cody x Brother's Best Friend ! Reader

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

Summary: You and Deran ditch the rest of the school day, joining his brothers for an afternoon at the beach.

Word Count: 6657

Warnings: Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline, Violence/Physical Altercation, Injury (scrapes, bloody knuckle)

Author’s Notes: Hello! The amount of times I rewrote part 2 lol. I was like is this too much drama for the 2 part??? but then I was like you know what, fuck it bc the Cody’s are chaotic and end up in crazy shit a way, so be it! after the 1st part, I again scoured the depths of gifs to find young shawn hatosy (i saved a bunch so ya girl is prepared lol.) time to figure out the next part lol Enjoy - Ryn

(Someone yell at me bc I’m still only half way through season 2 🫣)

THEN: BEACH DAY, 2008

“Hey dork” Deran nudges your leg with his sneaker.

“Deran, I’m trying to focus,” you mutter, eyes locked on the open textbook in your lap, pencil tapping lightly against your thigh as you reread the same line for the third time. You were trying to plan out your essay for history class, gathering evidence and quotes for it.

Deran flops down beside you on the lawn, unwrapping a sandwich with zero concern for your concentration.

“What are you working on?” he asks, mouth full of sandwich.

“History paper. It’s due in a couple of weeks.”

He groans. “Can’t you just enjoy your lunch break? It’s called a break for a reason!” He shoots you a teasing grin. “You’re always trying to go above and beyond. Chill out for once.”

You roll your eyes, but your pencil stills in your hand. “Some of us actually want to pass.”

“Pff, You are passing,” he says through a bite. “You’ve got, like, straight A’s. You could fail one assignment and still graduate with honors or whatever”

You glance at him. “That’s not how it works.”

He swallows his bite. “It kind of is, though.”

You shake your head, eyes dropping back to your notebook. “I don’t want to barely make it. I want to do it right.”

Without a word, he reaches over and closes your textbook with one hand.

“Hey—”

He rummages through his bag, pulls out a wrinkled bag of chips, and tosses it onto your lap. “Here. Eat something. Be human.”

You huff, but you don’t toss them back.

His flip phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out with one hand, flipping it open like muscle memory. “Hello?” he says, already stuffing another bite of sandwich into his mouth.

There’s a pause. “Where?” he mumbles around the bread.

He stands up slowly, dusting crumbs off his jeans, phone still pressed to his ear. His brows draw together like whatever he just heard changed something.

He squints, glancing toward the front of the school. You turn to look, following his gaze—and there it is. Craig’s Jeep idling across the street, surfboards stacked crooked on the roof, Craig in the driver’s seat waving like an idiot. A breeze tugs at the palm trees lining the curb.

Deran hangs up and tucks the phone back into his pocket. That playful grin creeps across his face—the one you’ve learned to be very wary of.

“You up for the beach the rest of the afternoon?” he swinging his worn Jansport backpack over one shoulder like it weighs nothing

Your eyes go wide. “What? I’m not ditching.”

“Oh, come on,” Deran groans, dragging the word out with dramatic flair. “We’ve already survived half the day. Just two more periods. Let’s skip.”

He takes a step back like he’s daring you to follow, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Ditching two periods won’t kill you,” he says, flashing that boyish, reckless smile. “Seriously, you need to get your head out of the books. Live a little! We’re only young once—might as well enjoy it while we can.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he grins, holding out his hand like it’s a promise

You stare at it for a moment, heart thudding. You shouldn’t. You never ditch. There’s still homework to finish, notes to organize, things you told yourself you’d get done today.

but what would really happen if you skipped—just this once?

Your fingers tighten around the chip bag. “I don’t even have a suit,” you mutter, almost like an excuse.

But you’re already rolling the bag closed.

You unzip your backpack, shove it inside along with your textbook, and zip it back up.

Then you take his hand.

As you stand and swing the bag over your shoulder, he’s already grinning.

“We can stop by the store,” he says. “I’ll buy you one. So… is that a yes?”

“Yeah I gue—woah!”

Before you can finish, he yanks you forward and the two of you take off, laughing as you run across the yard.

—

“Oh man,” Baz snickers, resting his arms along the edge of the truck bed.

“What?” Andrew asks, brows furrowing. He’s in the bed of Baz's truck, his shirt already half-stuck to his back from the heat. His sunglasses hanging on the back of his neck. He’s moving beach gear around, before yanking at the handle of the heavy cooler wedged between two chairs.

Baz jerks his chin toward the parking lot with that trademark grin of his. “Check it out.”

Andrew glances up, eyes following the direction of Baz’s nod. That’s when he sees Craig’s Jeep pulling in, kicking up dust as it turns into the spot across the aisle. The engine cuts, the doors swing open—and then you step out.

Hair tousled from the wind. Laughing at something Deran says as he hops out behind you.

Andrew’s grip tightens on the cooler handle. “What’s she doing here?”

Baz shrugs, barely hiding the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess Deran finally got her to loosen up.”

The last time they saw you was a couple weeks ago, when Deran brought you over to the house for their party. Andrew had figured that would be the end of it—that Deran would keep you away, that his warning that night would stick.

But apparently not.

Andrew doesn’t respond. His jaw flexes, the muscle ticking as he looks away and yanks the cooler free with a sharp tug, setting it down a little harder than necessary on the sand-streaked tailgate.

You spot them, Baz by the truck, Andrew in the bed. You break away from Craig and Deran as they take surfboards down from the rack from the top of the jeep.

You head toward the truck, lifting a hand in a small wave. “Hey.”

Baz grins wider. “Well, well. If it isn’t the little angel herself, come to grace us with her presence.”

“Angel?” you questioned.

“Yep,” he says, completely unbothered. “My new nickname for you.”

You figured it had something to do with those girls at the party—the way they’d made jabs at you for not drinking, smoking, not doing anything “fun.” Like being the only one with a clear head made you some kind of saint.

Baz still clearly thought it was hilarious.

You should probably tell him to cut it out. But you didn’t. Mostly because you knew it wouldn’t matter—he’d call you that anyway. And really, there were worse things to be called.

Angel.

It wasn’t the worst label to have.

Behind him, Andrew jumps down from the bed of the truck, not saying a word yet—but his eyes don’t leave you.

Baz throws him a look, then grins like he can’t help himself. “Honestly, this is perfect. Pope and Angel—look at you two. Holiest pair in Oceanside.” Bad throws his arm around Andrew’s shoulder.

Andrew knew that all too well.

Pope.

That one had followed him for years—another Baz original. He’d started calling Andrew “Pope” back when he took an interest in religion when he was younger. “Pope Andrew,” he’d say with a grin, and eventually everyone else joined in.

So yeah. Angel was probably here to stay.

Andrew knocks Baez’s arm off him. He mutters under his breath, “Don’t start.” rolling his eyes as he holds the cooler.

“You need some help?” you ask, stepping closer.

“We’re fine,” he replies curtly.

Then he turns, squeezing between the cars without another word, heading down toward the beach—leaving you standing there with Baz.

Deran and Craig come up beside you, their surfboards slung under their arms.

“Ignore him. He’s in a mood,” he tells you, glancing over at Andrew like it’s nothing new.

You nod, trying to push the unease down.

“When he is never not in a mood” Baz scores, grabbing stuff from the bed of his truck.

Craig nods toward the ocean. “Waves are decent.”

“You up for a surf lesson later?” Deran asks.

You hesitate, eyes drifting to where Andrew disappeared—his back already turned, putting distance between you like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Baz chimes in, half-grinning.

“She’ll be fine—she'll be with us,” Craig replies.

“So you down later?

Baz just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he’s down towards the beach.

“Yeah, I’m down,” you say.

“All right. Craig and I are gonna go out for a while. We’ll come back in and teach you”

—

You went to the public beach bathroom to change into the suit Deran bought you. A one-piece floral rashguard swimsuit with bright colors and a pattern.

When you got down to the beach, the brothers had gone in the water. Deran and Craig were cutting through the waves, loud and reckless as ever, while Baz waded in farther down the shore.

Andrew was just stepping out of the ocean, water streaming down his chest, board shorts clinging to his frame. He ran a hand over his wet curls, the sun catching the droplets on his skin. You didn’t feel anything for the Cody brothers—not like that—but you’d be lying if you said they weren’t attractive. Fit, sun-kissed, and so effortlessly at ease in their own skin.

Still, it was Andrew you couldn’t stop staring at. He wasn’t bulky, just solid—broad shoulders, defined lines, that quiet strength he carried without needing to show it off. He moved with a calm confidence, grabbing a towel and walking past you like you weren’t even there.

“You just gonna stand and stare all day?” he asked as he dropped into the chair beside the cooler, voice even, eyes fixed on the horizon—never once looking your way.

You blinked, caught, heat rising to your face. “I—I wasn’t… staring.”

“You seem pretty fixated,” he said, casually toweling off his hair, still not looking at you.

It unnerved you—the way he could read you so easily without even meeting your eyes. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking… and didn’t care.

“I wasn’t staring. Or fixated,” you muttered.

He raised his beer to his lips. “Sure.”

Just that. No teasing, no smugness. Just calm, flat certainty. And somehow, that made it worse.

Flustered, you dropped your things beside him and sank into the sand, brushing your hair back as a gust of wind came off the water. He still hadn’t looked at you.

You sat there beside him, the heat lingering on your face as you leaned over and grabbed the sunscreen sitting on top of Deran’s towel, squeezing some into your palm before rubbing it onto your face and legs.

You shifted, unsure. You didn’t know how to act around him—not after the last time you talked to him after their party a couple weeks ago, when he’d looked at you with that same unreadable face and told you you didn’t belong.

Andrew didn’t say anything else. Just drank his beer and let the silence settle.

It wasn’t uncomfortable for him—you could tell. He sat still, steady. He lived in quiet the way most people lived in noise.

“You’re not getting in?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Later,” you said simply. “Deran and Craig are gonna teach me how to surf.”

He gave a slow nod, like he wasn’t surprised, then took another sip of his beer.

“Skipping school for surf lessons, huh? That’s one way to learn,” he said quietly, a hint of dry humor in his voice.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Sometimes you gotta trade books for waves. ”

“That sounds like something Deran would say. Well, don’t let the waves wash away what little sense you’ve got left.”

“Yeah,” you answer, trying not to let his tone get under your skin.

“So you just do whatever Deran tells you now?”

“No…” you say slowly. “Deran didn’t make me ditch. He just… convinced me.”

Andrew scoffs under his breath, shaking his head like that’s somehow worse. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

You glance at him, feeling the weight of his judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looks over at you, “I expected Deran to ditch…” Andrew says, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “You’re the last person I thought would skip school.”

You shrug, trying to play it off, even though your skin feels warmer under his stare. “Well, here I am.”

“Yeah…” he says, gaze lingering. “Here you are.”.

You could tell he had a problem with you being here. He didn’t say it outright, but it was clear—in the tone of his voice, in the way he carried himself. The vibe he gave off said it all.

“Look, I think we… got off on the wrong foot…at the party” you say, referencing the party from later weeks ago.

Andrew doesn’t even blink. “We didn’t get off on any foot. ”

“Really?” you say, the word sharper than you mean it to be. “Because we had been talking. You didn’t seem to have a problem with me then. And then suddenly you say I don't belong?”

Andrew’s expression doesn’t shift much, but his jaw tightens. That flicker of something crosses his face—guilt, maybe, or regret—but he doesn’t own up to it.

“You don’t,” he says, too flat, too fast.

The words land harder than you expect. You blink, once, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Wow. Okay. And you still don’t care to explain why?”

You cross your arms, not to look defiant, but because it’s the only thing keeping your hands from shaking.

He looks away again, like that’ll make it easier. “It’s not personal.”

You laugh, dry. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowing. “You know, for someone who says they only talk ‘when it’s worth saying… when it matters,’funny how most of what you say just makes you sound like a complete asshole.”

He exhales, barely audible. “This isn’t about me being an asshole.”

“No?” you snap. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels a hell of a lot like it is.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but not in anger—more like restraint. “You don’t belong here. That’s not me being an asshole, that’s just the truth.”

“Right,” you say, your voice flat now. “Thanks for the reality check, Andrew. I appreciate it.”

“Whoa, what’s going on over here?” Baz’s voice cuts in as he saunters over, clearly amused. “having a little holy quarrel?” He grins, eyes flicking between you and Andrew.

You scoff “I get why you guys call him Pope now” you direct it to Baz as you stare at Andrew “—because all he does is sit back, observing everyone like he’s some higher power, judging them like he’s got us all figured out. Knows it all, full of wisdom, right? Oh, wise one.”

Andrew snaps back, quick and sharp. “You done?”

You clap your hands together. “In Jesus’ name I pray,” you say sweetly, your expression innocent for a half-second—then it shifts, hard. “A-fucking-men,” you spit, seething.

You push off the sand and head toward the water, leaving Andrew and Baz behind.

Andrew exhales a long, deep sigh.

Baz bursts out laughing. “What was that?”

He drops into the chair beside Andrew, still grinning, skin sun-warmed and hair tousled from the ocean. A few drops of water flick off his shoulder as he leans back, relaxed in that effortless way Baz always is.

Andrew doesn’t look at him. His eyes stay fixed on you as you enter the water, laughing with Deran as he comes back in from the surf. The sound of your laughter carries just enough to reach them.

“You ever seen him like that?” Baz asks quietly, nodding toward Deran.

Baz huffs a quiet laugh, almost fond. “He looks like a goddamn golden retriever.”

Their younger brother acted like a normal teenage kid when he was around you. Carefree, easygoing, laughing at dumb jokes or complaining about school like it actually mattered. Something he—Baz, even Craig—never really got to be. They’d had to grow up fast, too fast.

So did Deran, in his own way. But at least he got to experience some sense of normalcy. Maybe not much, and maybe not for long, but enough to remember what it feels like.

“She shouldn’t be here. She’s not supposed to be part of this,” Andrew mutters. “Not the beach. Not us. Not any of it.”

Deran lifts you into the air and spins you before dropping you into the waves. You pop up sputtering, laughing, and swat at him.

“Yeah?” Baz says, as he glances at Andrew’s expression. “It’s the beach, Pope. You trying to ban her from public sand now?”

Andrew doesn’t answer, and Baz lets out a soft breath, almost amused. He looks back toward the water. “Looks like it’s a little late for that.”

They watched you throw your arms up in mock defeat as Deran splashed you. You laugh, bright and unbothered, the kind of sound that didn’t belong anywhere near blood or secrets or guns tucked under beds.

“You know what I mean.”

“Relax. They’re just having fun. It’s not like Deran dragged her out on a job.”

Andrew’s jaw tightens. “That’s not the point.”

Baz raises a brow, still watching him. “You’re really wound up about this, huh?”

Baz shrugs. “She’s not around anything,” he says, voice even. “As long as Deran keeps her out of the real shit, she’ll be fine.”

Baz and Andrew continue to watch you and Deran in the water—Deran flicks water at you again, and you shriek, chasing after him now.

Andrew exhales slowly but says nothing, taking a sip of his beer.

Baz looks at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Look, I don’t know what your motive is here. But you don’t owe her anything. She’s not your problem.”

Andrew’s eyes cut toward Baz, his jaw tight. “I’m aware she’s not my responsibility.”

Baz is unconvinced. “You say that, but you’re acting like she is.”

Andrew doesn’t respond, his gaze already drifting back toward the shoreline.

Baz, trying to ease the tension says “It’s a beach day, man. She’s not walking into anything but sand.”

—

Eventually, Craig came in from the surf, shaking water from his hair as he joined you and Deran.

“Ready for your lesson?”

Deran and Craig walked you back to shore, dropping their boards on the sand. They knelt beside you, demonstrating how to paddle out, find your balance, and pop up on the board. The waves crashed gently nearby, a steady rhythm in the background, and the sun warmed your skin as you listened closely, soaking in every word.

Deran leads the way, taking you out into the water while Craig stays on shore. You borrow Craig’s board, the smooth surface slippery under your hands. With Deran’s steady guidance, you paddle toward the waves, your heart racing with every push.

You catch a wave and manage to pop up—but your balance wobbles, and you fall back into the water. Deran grins, teasing but encouraging.

He then shows off a bit, cutting through the surf with ease, pulling off tricks that make you smile. His confidence pushes you to try again, determination growing with every attempt.

The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink. The two of you sit side by side on your boards, quiet except for the gentle lapping of the waves and the distant call of gulls overhead. The ocean stretches endlessly before you, glowing gold under the fading light.

You glance toward the beach. From out here, the shore looked far, but you could still make out Baz’s loud gestures as he talked with Craig, and Andrew—still, quiet, arms crossed—watching the water.

Watching you, maybe.

You weren’t sure.

The ocean rolled gently beneath your board, sun glinting off the surface.

“I don’t think your brothers like me all that much”

He doesn’t answer right away.

You glance over, and Deran’s still staring at the horizon, watching for a wave you could ride.

“They just don’t know you,” he says finally, voice low. “Not yet. They’ll come around”

You give a small, dry laugh. “Pretty sure they don’t want to. I mean Craig's fine, Baz tolerates me…But Andrew…he’s…”

He shakes his head, looking out toward the horizon again. “Complicated. Always has been.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“He doesn’t hate you, you know.”

You scoff “I beg to differ”

Deran wanted to tell you—wanted to explain what he saw that night at the party when he came back with your drink. The way you sat there, unflinching under Andrew’s stare, not afraid, not intimidated like most people were. How Andrew, for once, didn’t shut down or walk off. He stayed. He talked.

Andrew didn’t talk to people. He barely tolerated most of them. But he watched you. Listened when you spoke.

Deran saw it. And it stuck with him.

But now, with the two of you drifting in the water, the sun low and the world quiet, he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, a grin spreads across his face, that familiar spark lighting up his eyes as he spots something behind you.

“Alright, this is it! This is the one!” he says, pointing toward the rising swell.

You glance back. Your heart starts to pound, adrenaline rushing just in time to see the wave forming, growing taller as it rolls toward you.

“Paddle, paddle, paddle!” he shouts, and you both take off, cutting through the water side by side.

You dig your hands into the cool water, pushing forward with everything you’ve got. The wave lifts you, and you pop up, shaky but steady, balancing as the water rushes beneath your board. The salty spray hits your face. For a moment, it feels like you’re flying.

You hear Deran cheer behind you.

Then, suddenly, a voice cuts through the roar of the ocean: “Watch it!” The guy drops in right in front of you, and you gasp, startled. It all happens so fast—the board shifts beneath you, your balance lost.

You fall off, plunging into the cold water. Fear spikes in your chest as you surface, heart racing from the shock.

Deran calls out after you as he paddles toward you, worry clear in his voice. “Shit, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you say, treading water and grabbing hold of the leash to pull your board closer. “That guy came out of nowhere!”

“He fucking dropped in on you, almost clipped you,” Deran snaps, anger flashing across his face.

He’s angry, really angry. There’s something fierce in his eyes, protective. His knuckles are white around the edge of his board as he steadies it near yours.

He’s got that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s about to do something reckless.

“Deran—” you start, voice uncertain.

But before you can get another word out, he turns and starts paddling hard toward shore.

You curse under your breath and paddle after him, heart racing again for a different reason now. You knew exactly what was coming. Deran was going to find that guy, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

—

You and Deran drifted further down the beach during the last few sets, far from where the others were, and too far for them to notice what was about to happen.

Deran made it to shore, board tucked under his arm, his pace quick and determined as he stalked after the guy who was several feet ahead, heading toward the showers.

With what energy you had left, your board in arm, you pushed through the soft sand to catch up, your breath coming fast. The tension in the air was thick, and you could see the way Deran’s shoulders were squared, his jaw tight, his whole body humming with anger.

“Deran,” you called, just loud enough for him to hear, “let’s go back to your brothers.”

He didn’t slow down.

“I’m okay, Deran!”

“But that wasn’t okay!” he snapped, stopping suddenly and whipping around to face you. His eyes were blazing, chest rising and falling with every breath.

You caught up to him, stepping in front of him, your board still clutched tightly in your hand. “I’m fine! I wasn’t hurt! It’s not worth it! Don’t start anything, please!”

He stared at you for a second, jaw clenched, like he was holding something back—like he wanted to listen to you, but couldn’t let it go.

Then he turned without a word, storming off again toward the showers.

“No, I’m gonna fucking say something!” he snapped over his shoulder. “He shouldn’t have dropped in and cut you off like that! That was your wave! You could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”

His voice carried down the beach, sharp and heated, drawing the attention of a few people nearby. You hurried after him

“Deran don’t!” You protested.

The two of you made it to the showers. Deran propped his board along the public's restroom building, you did the same

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Deran shouts as he barrels up to the guy rinsing off at the showers.

The guy turns, startled, water still running down his back. “What’s your problem, man?”

“You’re my fucking problem,” Deran snaps, getting in his face. “You don’t snake someone like that—she had the wave. You nearly ran her over!”

“It’s a crowded break. Shit happens.”

“Watch we’re you’re fucking going dipshit!”

“Deran, let’s go!” You’re pulling Deran back when the guy mutters under his breath, just loud enough to be heard over the showers,

“Maybe she shouldn’t be out there if she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Deran freezes.

You feel it before he even moves—his whole body goes rigid, like a switch flipped.

“The fuck did you just say?” he growls, spinning back around.

The guy shrugs, a smug grin spreading across his face. “It’s not my fault she wiped out. If she can’t hold her line, maybe she shouldn’t be out here.”

That’s all it takes.

“Deran!”

They clash instantly—shoving, fists flying, raw fury spilling over. The scuffle spills from the showers toward the nearby parking lot. Dirt dust and some sand kick up beneath their feet, the sound of grunts and punches echoing off the pavement.

You move without thinking, rushing after them.

“Hey—!” you shout, trying to wedge yourself between them, hand outstretched.

But in the chaos, a wild backhand meant for Deran catches you across the face and you hit the asphalt.

“Shit!” Deran barked, breaking from the scuffle.

You barely registered the way your hands and knees were scraped raw from the ground, your vision blurred.

The guy stumbles back, hand half-raised like he can take it back. “Shit—I didn’t mean to—she got in the way—”

You blink through the sting as you sit up.

Deran drops to his knees beside you, hands gripping your shoulders, frantic and wide-eyed.

“Hey—hey, look at me,” he says quickly, voice tight. Then his expression shifts when he sees the blood at your temple. “Fuck—your head. Hold on.”

The guy stammers something under his breath and backs away fast, grabbing his board in a rush before turning and sprinting off.

“Hey—!” Deran half-rises, fury flashing through him, but he stops himself. He can’t leave you.

“Fuck!” he hisses, torn, but kneels back beside you, one hand hovering near your face like he’s afraid to touch you wrong.

Gently but urgently, Deran helped you to your feet, one arm steadying. He didn’t say anything else, just guided you back toward the beach where his brothers were, his steps quick, protective. The surfboards were forgotten, abandoned and left without a second thought.

Craig was the first to spot the two of you coming down towards them on the beach. Standing up from the spot in the sand.

“What the—?” he said, rising to his feet fast, his eyes locking on your face. “What the hell happened?”

Deran’s jaw was tight, his voice low but barely controlled. “She got hit,” he muttered. “Some prick surfer dropped in on her. When I confronted him, we swung—and she tried to get in the middle.”

All three brothers stood now, the shift in energy sharp and immediate—like a storm rolling in.

Baz shook his head, voice heavy with disbelief. “You started a fight with her there? What the hell were you thinking, Deran?”

“I was just—” Deran began, but you cut in quickly.

You take a breath, steadying yourself.

“Yeah, the guy hit me—accidentally. I got in the middle trying to stop it. So, it’s on me.”

You glance at Deran, then back to his brothers, trying to calm the growing tension.

“Deran was trying to protect me, even if he went about it the wrong way”

You shifted beside Deran, the air still thick. You’d tried to stop him. You knew he was acting out of instinct, maybe even out of fear, but that didn’t excuse it. You hadn’t needed saving. You were fine before all this.

Andrew stood still, jaw clenched, eyes dark and cold. He looked past you, like the anger was burning beneath the surface. “Well where’s the guy now?”

“Gone,” Deran snapped. “Ran off like a coward soon as he realized what he did.”

Craig and Baz exchanged a heavy sigh before groaning in frustration, the sound thick with exasperation and disbelief. Baz ran a hand through his tousled hair, while Craig’s arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw tight in silent irritation. Andrew’s fists clenched at his sides.

“What does he look like?” Andrew asked.

Deran described the guy who’d dropped in on you in the surf—his build and characteristics.

Andrew didn’t respond. He just stared at you for a long moment, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched tight.

At this moment you left like an inconvenience to all of them.

Baz shifted in the sand, glancing at Andrew with a knowing look. He could see it coming—what Andrew was about to do.

“I take her to the truck,” Baz said suddenly, cutting through the tension. He was already moving toward you, his voice more serious than usual. “Grab our shit and let's bounce.”

Craig and Deran nodded wordlessly and moved to gather the towels, cooler, and scattered gear.

Baz didn’t wait. He placed a hand gently on your back, steering you up the sand. “Come on, angel,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

—

You sat on the tailgate of Baz’s truck, the cool metal pressing against your skin. He stood in front of you, his eyes focused and steady as he cleaned the cut on your temple, gently wiping the scrapes on your hands and knees with water from a bottle and the edge of his shirt.

“Well, good news—you don’t need stitches,” Baz said, glancing up at you. “It’s minor. Just bled a lot.”

“Do you feel dizzy or anything?”

“No, it just hurts”

You stayed quiet, your mind still reeling.

“You okay?” he asked.

Baz looked at you for a long moment, then wiped the last bit of blood from your skin. He tossed the bloodied shirt into the truck bed behind you.

“I told Deran I was fine,” you murmured. “Told him not to start anything.”

“Yeah, well… you know Deran. Fine doesn’t mean shit to him when he thinks someone messed with someone he cares about.”

He ripped open the bandage and gently pressed it to your temple, then stepped back, tossing the wrapper into the truck bed.

A few minutes later, Craig and Deran came walking up from the beach, arms full—towels, boards and the cooler.

“Where’s Pope?” Craig asked

Deran dropping the gear beside the truck. Craig set the cooler down beside the tailgate with a heavy thud.

Baz nodded behind them.

And then you saw him: Andrew. Walking quickly down the road toward the group, his pace steady like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Where the hell did you—” Craig started, but stopped when his eyes landed on Andrew’s hands.

You felt your breath hitch, your eyes widening in shock. “Oh my god…” you muttered.

His knuckles were split and raw, streaks of red smeared across his skin, quickly becoming aware of what he had done.

He headed straight for the cooler beside you. He popped it open, grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and poured it over his hands. The blood washed away in thin pink trails, disappearing into the dirt.

None of the brothers said anything.

They started moving again, business as usual—Craig and Deran went to strap the boards back onto the Jeep, Baz shook out the towels, acting like Andrew’s bloodied hands weren’t still dripping into the dirt.

But you stayed where you were, perched on the tailgate, watching him.

The water bottle hung loosely in his hand now, his other flexing and curling like the ache hadn't fully set in yet. His face was angry but something about the way he kept his head down, shoulders taut, made your skin prickle.

And something in your chest tightened.

He hadn’t said a word. Not to you. Not to anyone.

But you knew.

You didn’t know how you knew—but you were certain: the guy who dropped in on you out in the surf? Andrew found him. Andrew finished what Deran had started.

After a long moment, he looked up, his eyes locking with yours. His expression was angry—but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You hesitated, the answer caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

“I… yeah,” you said quietly.

“Andrew…” you began, your eyebrows drawn together as you searched his eyes, your voice unsteady—unsure of what you were even trying to say. Grateful? Scared? Both?

He looked up after a long moment, eyes finding yours.

Andrew was angry.

It wasn’t because Deran started the fight with the surfer—or even because he did it for you. He understood that and probably would’ve done the same.

What bothered him was where it happened—in front of you.

He felt guilty, too. He’d warned Deran not to bring you around, but Deran hadn’t listened. He’d let his temper loose right there, reckless and stupid.

Still, Deran’s violence wasn’t the worst.

Deran had thrown punches, but Andrew? Andrew snapped.

When Deran brought you to the beach—hair wet, scraped hands and knees, bleeding forehead—there was no thinking. Andrew hadn’t seen the fight;only hearing what you and Deran said. But that was enough. That guy hurt you. That was all Andrew needed to know. No logic—just sharp, searing rage. He saw red. The kind of red that drowns out reason, leaves bruises on someone’s face, and blood on his knuckles.

Andrew had gone off and beaten the shit out of that surfer—and now you were seeing the aftermath. His knuckles were raw and reddened, the skin split open in places where it had met something—or someone—hard.

But he looked away, breaking eye contact, jaw tight like he couldn’t stand to see whatever was written on your face.

“Hey, you okay?” Deran asked, jogging up beside the truck, worry etched across his face.

“Yeah, Baz patched me up,” you said quickly, voice a little breathless, trying to keep the tremor out. You forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Deran said quietly

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze for a split second before looking away. “Don’t do that again, please. I didn’t like that at all.”

Before Deran could answer, Andrew spoke up “Deran, I need to talk to you.”

Deran looked between the two of you, frowning, then nodded. “We’re just about done packing up. How about you head to the Jeep? I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

“O-okay.” You slid off the tailgate, your legs a little shaky as you walked across the lot to Craig’s Jeep, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders.

Behind you, you could feel the tension shift the second you were out of earshot.

“I handled it.”

“Clearly,” Deran muttered, eyes flicking to the blood on Andrew’s knuckles.

Andrew’s voice sliced through the air—quiet, but razor-sharp.

“Next time you’re gonna confront and fight someone, do it when she’s not around. Don’t do shit like that again—understand me?”

Deran shifted his weight but didn’t back down. His eyes met Andrew’s evenly. “Yeah.”

Andrew didn’t soften. “I don’t want her around.”

Deran’s voice sharpened, “I’m not cutting her out just because you say so.”

“Did you not listen to me the first time? At the party?” Andrew’s tone went colder, more pointed. “She won’t last around us. I don’t want her around.”

“She’s my friend”

Andrew’s jaw flexed like steel, his eyes narrowing. “You really think it’s okay to drag your friend into this shit?”

Deran’s nostrils flared, frustration bubbling under his calm facade. “She’s not in anything,” he shot back, voice rising slightly. “You act like I brought her in on some job.”

Andrew took a step closer “You think it starts with that? It’s already started — the party, ditching school, the fight. This is how it happens. Piece by piece. One day, she’s too deep, and there’s no crawling back.”

Deran knew Andrew was right.

They only had a few months of high school left. You’d be going to college soon, off to some different world he couldn’t follow. Deran wanted you close—needed you close. He wanted to soak up every bit of your goodness before distance tore you two apart. It was selfish, he knew that. Even if it meant putting you at risk by keeping you around.

But you made things feel lighter. Easier. Like maybe the weight of their world didn’t have to crush everything.

College would take you away, and with you would go all the small moments that made life bearable.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Deran said stubbornly, like just saying it out loud could make it true.

Andrew didn’t argue this time. Just gave him a look—one that said you will learn.

Because his little brother wasn’t going to listen.

He was going to have to learn the hard way.

“You know what—fine,” Andrew snapped, jaw tight. “Keep her around. But when shit catches up to us—and it will—she’ll be the one standing in the crossfire.”

His eyes were sharp, voice low and cold.

“You keep pulling her into this life, that blood’s on you. Don’t come asking us for help.”

Deran didn’t say anything at first. Just stared back, jaw clenched, breathing hard through his nose.

“Deran, let’s go!” Craig called from the Jeep, his voice cutting through the tension.

Deran looked at Andrew one last time. Then, without another word, he turned and headed for the Jeep.

You had watched them through the rear windshield. They had been arguing—low voices at first, then sharper, more tense, like a storm building just beneath the surface. You couldn’t hear the words, but you didn’t need to. The way Andrew stood, rigid, and the way Deran’s hands kept flexing at his sides told you everything.

Deran climbed into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door harder than necessary. Craig gave him a look but didn’t say anything, just threw the Jeep into gear and pulled away from the curb.

You stayed quiet in the back, heart still beating too fast.

You were still trying to wrap your head around why Andrew had gone after the surfer. It wasn’t even his fight to begin with. Was it just because you were his little brother’s friend—an extension of Deran?

He didn’t even like you or want you around, so why did he do it?

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just instinct. Protection by proximity.

You glanced out the window as the beach faded behind you, sunlight slanting low across the water.

You didn’t understand Andrew. Not really. You were still trying to figure him out—where you stood with him, what he was thinking behind those unreadable looks and clipped words.

But one thing was clear: he wasn’t indifferent.

And that was enough to keep you wondering.

LYA Tag: @obfuscateyummy @princesssunderworld @jumpingjackalope @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @alexandrathegreat3 @cozyfanficnook @livingavilaloca @oldmanbunnylover @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere

Love You Anyway | Then (1) (2)

#love you anyway #andrew pope cody #andrew cody #pope cody #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew cody x reader #pope cody x reader #animal fanfiction #animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom #shawn hatosy

314 notes · View notes

calliesmemes · 1 year ago

Text

EVEN MORE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS FROM AROUND THE INTERNET, including quotes from Tumblr, Pinterest, TikTok, and X (formerly known as Twitter), for when a muse wants to lighten up the situation at hand.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“ It’s sea shanty time once again my fellow bastards of the ocean! ”

“ Partner, I reckon that I ain’t been feeling very yeehaw lately. ”

“ I don’t study; I consult the lore. ”

“ Yeah, I understand women — they all want daggers and swords. It’s all quite simple, really. ”

“ Lord forgive me but I may have to make a nonessential purchase. ”

“ Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range. ”

“ Yes I’m a gatekeeper and a hater. I’m also God’s most favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. ”

“ My primary motivations are fear, spite, and aesthetic longing. ”

“ Man — if I had a sword, I wouldn’t be worried about shit. ”

“ It’s not blood that runs through these veins but glitter gel pen ink. ”

“ If I was in a Jane Austen novel, I would be the one sent to the seaside for my health. ”

“ Half of me is a hopeless romantic, and the other half of me is … well … an asshole. ”

“ I am the nicest, sweetest, most rage-filled person I know. ”

“ I hope I give off the vibe to all animals that I am their ally and their friend. ”

“ I see you’re paying attention to someone who is not me. Why is that? ”

“ Normalize letting me talk without making any sense. ”

“ Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus my psychic visions have predicted the outcome of this encounter. ”

“ I could be so much worse. For example, I could start acting like my father. ”

“ Sorry for acting so strange and irregular; It will happen again. ”

“ i love sitting in my room.....alone....a girl in her cave....scheming and plotting and drinking tea. ”

“ These man made horrors are beyond YOUR comprehension. I get it though. ”

“ I’m a goth girl on the inside. On the outside? A father figure. ”

“ I don’t need to face reality; I’m not just that type of girl. ”

“ DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A frickle-frackle? ”

“ I’m about to cha cha real smooth off a fucking cliff. ”

“ Sorry I told you about my trauma. Do you still think I’m hot? ”

“ My priorities aren’t straight and neither am I. ”

“ I have felt permanently guilty for no reason since I was like eight years old. ”

“ Of course I have a lot of pent up rage, you fool! I’ve been the same height since I was twelve years old! ”

“ I was born for shock value. ”

“ Good morning! God has let me live another day and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem. ”

“ Oh, I slept miserably because I was tormented by terrible visions all night. I hope none of them were prophetic! ”

“ Be the surreal nonsense that you want to see in the world. ”

“ Being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot. ”

“ My hobbies include knowing things and being right. ”

“ This is good advice, but don’t tell me what to do. ”

“ I hate the idea of authority. What the fuck is someone being superior to me? Bitch I’m gonna take your kneecaps. ”

“ Stop forgiving my crimes! I worked so hard on those! ”

“ My hobbies? Uhhhh, symbolism mostly. Metaphors and implications and the like. ”

“ I may not have any braincells, but I make up for it by having many heart cells. ”

“ I can’t mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one guys! ”

“ Not all your life decisions have to be smart. Some can be purely for cinematic value. ”

“ Sometimes I wish I looked more fragile and feminine like a dainty flower, but I do enjoy looking like I hate everyone. ”

“ Any dream can be a prophetic dream if you’re willing to do some really weird shit. ”

“ girl help there is not enough enrichment in my enclosure. ”

“ BRO, you NEED to stop SUMMONING DEMONS in the FRAT HOUSE. ”

“ I just gave your address to some spiders! ”

“ I disappoint my father as a hobby now. ”

“ I think that the dark circles under my eyes add to my aesthetic actually. ”

“ Good news! I’ve successfully replaced all of my emotions with jokes! ”

“ I have half a braincell left and I’m very scared to use it! ”

“ Listen, son — in this world, it’s either yeet or be yeeted. ”

“ I appreciate the advice, but I think that I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. ”

“ I’m disappointed in me too. Y’all aren’t special. ”

“ Running from your demons is the best exercise! ”

“ Sorry; I can’t commit any crimes with you. My mom says that I have to study. ”

“ Time flies when you don’t know what the fuck is going on. ”

“ If I run out of tacos, I can no longer maintain my human form. ”

“ Bestie, I don’t think that I can girlboss under these conditions. ”

“ Yeah I’ve had combat training; I can do anxiety attacks! ”

“ Swag is earned, not learned. ”

“ Contrary to popular belief, violence solves a lot. ”

“ I CANNOT STAND YOU ALL so I will SIT DOWN. ”

“ Please God no … I don’t need any more character development right now! ”

“ If you can’t beat ‘em, yeet ‘em. ”

“ Do not put me in a situation. I’m at my limit and I am very tired. ”

“ I may be depressed, but at least I’m not basic. ”

“ It’s MY LIFE and I’ll sabotage it myself, thank you. ”

“ Think twice? Bold of you to assume that I think once. ”

“ At the next inconvenience, I will start biting people. ”

“ Oops I think that I just experienced an emotion. ”

“ Did you know that rats spelled backwards is star? ”

“ One day, I’ll be reincarnated as a pigeon, and I’ll shit on your head. ”

“ On the outside, I’m a baddie — but on the inside, I’m a saddie. ”

“ My grandma bullies me through the Ouija board. ”

“ I’m a cool person if you can just look past my personality. ”

“ Beetles don’t have to do taxes, and I think that is a beautiful way to live. ”

“ I hope that you get your character development arc soon. ”

“ Those are some nice kneecaps … It’d be a shame if someone stole them … ”

“ I’ve wanted to be a trophy wife ever since I was a little boy. ”

“ I’m done being baby; I want POWER ”

“ Wait, “Just Standing There Ominously” doesn’t count as socializing? ”

“ Yes I am smart, and yes, I am stupid. It’s called being flexible. ”

“ I am NOT delusional!!!!! I am OPTIMISTIC! ”

“ I deserve compensation for not being the menace to society that i could be, like i'm skipping out on a lot of fun here. ”

“ Do not ask me if you should or shouldn't do something !!! Before I am a friend I am an enabler !!! ”

“ i am the WORLDS PRETTYIST PINK PRINCESS and im gonna KILL YOU WITH MY HUGE FUCKING HAMMER ”

#askbox meme #askbox prompt #rp ask meme #ask box #roleplay sentence meme #sentence starters #roleplay prompts #roleplay sentence starters #* sentence meme #rpc help

652 notes · View notes

somanyideassolittletime · 9 days ago

Text

the car love shop pt.2

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!mechanic!reader

Summary: continuation to my previous work, a hangout turns into a small heart to heart, will you be my gf?. pt.1 can be found here

warnings: language, Jack yearns, you yearns, love love is in the air (or the office), grammatical error, no beta read.

author's note: definitely a self-indulgent fic where I put my love of automotive and Jack together, but nonetheless, enjoy!

It’s been two month since his truck filter change, since he went for a coffee with you (and a few short dates here and there followed by a ton of hangouts), two weeks since that one innocent kiss, where he’s sure he wanted to be with you officially, not that the both of you needed that extra step of confirmation with the way your relationship are progressing, but he is an old-fashioned guy at heart, so he feel the need to actually ask you out.

It was almost comical how he approached the talking stage with you, the way he came to your shop pretending that his tire was not the right pressure, only to get called out that his tire was indeed the perfect pressure, or the one time he told you he forgot to eat, followed by “wanna go get food with me?”.

maybe it’s been way too long since he actually is interested in having a relationship, but he supposed he’s at least doing it right, with the way you responded to his advances, so he’ll forgive the butterflies in his stomach for now.

He’s packing up his stuff to go, his shift ended five minutes ago – something that needed further investigation, to quote what Dana said to Santos – Mindlessly, he fished his phone out of his pocket. His phone’s been buzzing a few times throughout the shift, but he hasn’t had a chance to check it.

7 text from you. One of those is a selfie of you and a car.