✶ SYNOPSIS. ₊୭˚ On a night where guilt eats Andrew whole, he goes on the beach with a gun in his hand and only one idea. Put an end to his torment. That is, until something comes up the water and convinces him otherwise.
✶ RELATIONSHIP. ₊୭˚ Andrew “Pope” Cody/Female!Mermaid!Reader.
✶ GENRE & THEMES. ₊୭˚ Heavy Angst, Angst and Feels, Implied/Referenced Suīcīdāl Thoughts, Suīcīdāl Behavior, Suīcīde Attempt, Past Suīcīde Attempts, References to Depressīon, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Anguish, Mention of Mūrdēr, Guilt, Urban Legends, Urban Fantasy, Mystical Creatures, Mermaids (Her Skin is Not Specified in Human Skin Colors but She is Described to Have Multiple Under the Change of Light), POV Andrew “Pope” Cody. Ageless and blank blogs don't interact with my work or you'll be blocked.
✶ WORDS. ₊୭˚ 2,765k.
✶ STICKY NOTE. ₊୭˚ I wanted to write something with a mermaid for a while now but I couldn't decide with each character from which fandom. Then, the concept of angel guardian of some sort coming to Andrew in his darkest moment came to me like a revelation ahah!! Also, I might have overtagged but I wanted to not to trigger anyone by missing something. I hope you will enjoy it!
༄ THE WHISKEYS MENU. ₊‧+ THE MENU. ₊‧+ Archive Of Our Own. ₊˚⊹
The soles of Andrew’s shoes scraped the asphalt with every one of his desperate steps. His breath was uneven, the air from his lungs rasping and hoarse, scratching its way out of his mouth upset and nervous. In his hand, his gun was cold, but his fingers were burning with an itch that pleaded for him to slip the trigger.
His head was swarming with anguish and guilt, clawing at his temples and making his thoughts spin wildly, too loud— too much. Shame and grief were gnawing at him, and Andrew felt like he was about to burst. He could not listen to them anymore. He did not want to do it anymore. It was too much.
Andrew’s feet brought him to the beach, engulfed into the dark bosom of the night, the sky looking down on him black and faintly glinting with the glow of the moon. A soft wind hummed through his hair. Andrew walked into the sand, not caring if it went into his shoes.
Somehow, he felt scared. But he did not want to hear them anymore. He was drowning in his own head, and it was like he was dying slowly. Too much. Every breath he was drawing was laced with the misery of his sins. There would be no atonement for him, no forgiving the blood that stained his hands. The gun he held now was his absolution.
But there was no salvation awaiting for him. Only the unending gloom of nothingness.
Andrew fell to his knees in the sand, the waves ahead swaying in the dark, dancing in the calm of the night. He looked down in his lap, taking the gun in both hands. Death was glaring back at him, shining under the gleam of the moon like a temptation. His chest felt tight, his heart swelling with a mingle of desperation and fear.
He dragged in a long, slow breath. And brought the gun to his temple. Death was simple. He wanted to die. Listening to the storm raging through his head, screaming and wailing with shame and grief— Andrew did not want to hear it anymore. He needed to die.
He was twisted and wrong and soaked in the blood of innocents. Even if he ran away from what he was, deep down he knew. He knew he was guilty. Andrew knew way too well. And he needed to die.
The sound of the waves was almost lulling. His fingers twitched around the gun before his forefinger curled around the trigger. There was no reason to be scared. Only reasons to pay. The wind tickled the hair at his nape. Andrew did not hear it, the swash and splash of the water in front of him.
At least, not until he looked up from his lap ahead of him to waves. The faint light of the black night shone on it, and he frowned. Amongst the froth of the water, something was gleaming from the dark. Andrew blinked, before he saw a head floating. Two eyes, like two beads of opal, were staring at him.
“What—”
His confused whisper faded away with the soft wind. Then, the waves swayed about, foam licking at the sand near his knees. And the head sunk down, swallowed by the water. His brows creased. The gun at his temple wavered, fingers wiggling with uncertainty.
But before he could wonder any more of what his mind had fancied, the opal eyes came back with a slosh of the dark water. Andrew’s breath grew shallower, his chest feeling even tighter now. The fear bled into hesitation, then morphing into incomprehension as he stared at the eyes the same way they looked at him from the swaying of the waves.
Then Andrew blinked again. The pale glint of the moon blinded him, sparkling along the black waves for an instant. And when he looked again, squinting to glimpse whatever he had seen before, his mouth wobbled from the unease that had sprouted in the pit of his stomach.
“Why are you trying to die?”
The air in his lungs grew thinner as a spike of searing fear shot through him, flaring the hair on his arms with shivers. His heart was thumping even more nervously now, and if not for his trembling hand, Andrew would have aimed his gun at the woman.
Although, she was no woman. The wind, too calm against his skin, tickled along his neck and fingers. She looked like a woman, and yet Andrew knew she was not like any women he had known. The billow of the dark water swayed around her, sloshing and swashing about her shoulders.
“W-What?” was the only question Andrew could ask.
Beneath the fear flowing down his veins, there was this floating wonderment. Quiet, whispering to him. Making him curious and prickling his cheeks and neck with quivers.
“I am asking you,” said the woman, raised on her hands with her wet hair sticking to her faintly glowing skin, “Why are you trying to die?”
The gentle swells of the dark waves curled around her, and, in between the foam and the shine of the pale moon, Andrew’s eyes wandered beyond her. Scales. From a tail sweeping through the sand, gliding along the black water's calm billow. Scales like they were of agate and jasper.
His mouth twitched, brows furrowed, “What are you?”
Andrew had heard tales going around town in his childhood. Mermaids. He had heard they lingered about the beach at dawn, and were looking from under the glimmering billow of the water at dusk. Children said they asked for offerings. For a ring and a few cowrie shells, they soothed sorrows.
The children strung angel wings and worm snails on strings with beads to offer to the mermaids, leaving them on the warm sand in the evening. Andrew never saw them, but the necklaces were always taken away. And yet, now, the very mermaid of his childhood was looking at him.
“What about you? What are you, to try and take away your own breath?” The woman asked back, and Andrew’s eyes floated along her form.
From the many, many earrings she was wearing, glinting and sparkling beneath the faint gleam of the moon, to the nose rings shining against her skin. Offerings. She wore arm rings of red gold, with carnelian and red jade, twisting and swirling around the green glint of her body. Amber and brown resin floated at her wrists, with bangles of silver encrusted with white jade, along with bracelets of plum, mulberry and cherry plastic.
Children’s offerings.
And shells. At her throat, and swaying from her ears with the soft wind. Welk and conch shells. Ark shells. Calico clams and scallops and cockles.
“You’re a mermaid,” Andrew whispered, even though he did not even know if he wanted to ask or if he wanted to say it. To make it true or to hear how odd it was, he knew not either.
The woman chuckled, her cheekbones shining periwinkle, “And you are a man. Only men seek to see their death like you seek yours.”
He swallowed, the gun skimming his chin before falling into his lap. The waves came to lick at his jeans, slowly soaking them. His eyes looked down, contemplating his absolution for a moment, before glancing back at the woman, “Did I shoot?”
“Do you mean have you already shot your head? No, you have not. This is not another life,” she told him, head lolling over her shoulder. Pink gold twinkled at her ears and throat.
She looked like a deity of the seas, wearing the love of those who prayed to her about her, with beads of oranges and teal and browns drifting and swaying around her waist. Dancing with the black waves. Rings mounted with coral adorning every of her fingers.
Andrew frowned, “Then what d’you want?”
“I heard you walk to the sand. I was wondering who came to look at the sea when it is so dark,” she answered, the water sloshing and splashing against her shoulders, sweeping her hair from her shoulders to her cheekbones.
Maybe Andrew ought to have been afraid. To have been petrified with fear, terrified. And yet, he was somehow entranced with the sight before him. How could he not have been? A mermaid was looking at him. Tales from the kids were true. Or perhaps it was something else. Mayhaps God had seen him, after glaring down at him until Andrew decided to take his own life. Mayhaps he had sent him a mermaid to take away his sorrows. Like the kids ask for.
Glancing at her, a feeling of helplessness flooded through him. Swamped over him and brought tears to his lashes. Shaking his head, Andrew said, “I was weak.”
The woman looked at him, her tail sweeping with the water.
“I was born wrong, and she knew what I was. What I did, I— I can never take it back,” his murmur broke on his tongue as his hand twitched around the gun.
He did not know if he was asking her something, or if he was begging. Beseeching her for something. Help, perhaps. Forgiveness, maybe. He only knew he needed her to do it. His heart was beating so hard against his chest, heavy with anguish and shame and a thousand remorse.
She held her hand out and said, “Come.” Andrew frowned. Her mouth quirked in a bewitching curve, “I will not drown you. Come.”
Blinking away the tears, he rose from the sand. He tucked his gun between his soaked jeans and his hip, and walked to her. The waves sloshed around him, swallowing him further and further, until he was sunk to the waist. And then knelt in front of her. She was smiling, her skin shimmering green again, like she was etched from the greenest of agate. When Andrew took her hand, she felt warm and wet. And comforting.
“Why cry?” she wondered, her bedecked thumb wiping away the salt from his freckled cheek. “I mislike seeing your kind with tears. It is such a heartbreaking sight.”
“Is that why you came? Seeing me shoot my head off would break your heart?” Andrew asked, a tinge of doubt lacing his shaky tone.
Her hand brushed through his slowly greying curls, auburn threaded with amber and faint copper, the greys— some strands darker, some others pepper— weaving around his temples. Her touch had his body slacken, like she was soothing something deep within him.
The nose rings that enhanced the slope of her spellbinding face shone when she lolled her head to him, “I came so I would not cry,” she whispered, “So, no more tears.
Andrew had never felt so calm when he ought to have trembled with dread. It was as though she had wrapped him in something tender and warm. The simple brush of her fingers had embalmed his thrumming heart in a sweet coat of honey. A feeling that had become so terribly foreign to him. If he ever felt that way before.
His breath rumbled low in his throat, his forehead creasing with confused brows. Andrew looked away to the black waves flowing around them in dark swells. When he asked the mermaid, “Do you know what I am?” his chin wobbled, “What I’ve done?”
“No, I do not,” she answered, gently. “I am no judge. I did not come to you for this reason. And so, I judge you not.”
A sob tumbled out of Andrew’s mouth, the tears flowing down his cheeks anyway, “What have you come for, then?” he wondered in a desperate whisper, glancing back at her.
The moon’s glow glistened in the mermaid’s opalescent eyes. She was so enchanting, it made Andrew think that she was perhaps a blessing. Why should he be blessed in any way? If anything, he should be cursed. Yet a flicker of frail hope lit in his belly.
“To take away your sorrows,” she told him, smiling. Her bangles jingled around her wrists when she brought her hands to his shoulders, “But to soothe your heart, I shall require your offerings.”
Andrew blinked, confusion twisting his face. Oh. The children’s offerings on the beach. She wanted him to offer her something to grant him some appeasement. “Offerings? I— I’ve got nothing to give you...”
She shook her head, “I do not need much, only a token of your wish.”
He looked around, the black water dancing about his waist. “I, uh,” Andrew mumbled, before rising from his knees. He walked back to the sand, hands swaying in the dark waves “Hum, an offering. I...”
The children made the mermaids necklaces of shells. If not a necklace, then he would at least find her a shell. For her to take away his pain. His sorrows. He would have stringed her a thousand necklaces of the most precious shells if it meant she would have taken away his sins too. But he knew she could not, even if he prayed to her from dawn to dusk.
Andrew rummaged through the damp sand. He dug a scallop shell, but it was broken. Not good enough. Throwing it away, he saw a horse mussel. He took it, before finding a few, tiny jingle shells. But he wanted something better, something worth her blessing. And that is when he found a lump of sea glass. Amber golden. It was fragile, but stunning in a delicate kind of way. Yes, sea glass will do.
“Is this good for you?” He walked back to her, like a child eager to show his mother his findings.
Froth swashed and splashed against his hips and his arms, drops wetting his hair with every drag of his feet he took towards her. When he neared her, Andrew held her out his hand, his offerings sitting in his rugged palm.
The mermaid looked down, curious. Her earrings gently rang with the lull of the wind, and she nodded as she looked at him, “It shall do very well. Thank you, Andrew.”
A frown. “How do you know my name?” he asked, his eyes floating along the enchanting hues of her skin. Mayhaps she was no blessing, in truth, but only a dream. If so, Andrew hoped she would haunt his nights.
“Worry not,” she answered softly, taking the shells and the sea glass from his jagged hands into hers. She rolled them around in her palms, like they were precious gems. Smiling, she said, “I shall treasure them.”
He knew she would. She was wearing some plastic rings, and two of the strings of waist beads that adorned her skin were made with those pearls for children. But he saw no sea glass embellishing her wrists nor her ears. At that, Andrew’s chest somewhat swelled with a twinkle of pride.
“Come now, Andrew,” she told him, holding his offering in between her wet breasts, bringing her other hand to his head. Her fingers weaved through his hair, making him lower into her, “Let me take away your sorrows.”
Andrew took a small breath, his heart stumbling in between his ribs before he laid his forehead against hers, his arms swaying at his hips. She was smelling of the sea and of summer. Her skin was so smooth onto his, and when she breathed in, slow and calm, he did the same.
Breathing in, breathing out. Again, and again. And again. Soon, he swallowed her every breath, like he was sucking the air out of her lungs. His fingers tickled with the want to touch her, but he did nothing of it.
He felt his chest lighten, the tension wrapped around his shoulders melting away with each breath he drew. His heart slowed down, beating more tranquil than it had in weeks. Months. The anguish and the guilt mellowed away, shame and grief dousing down like they were nothing but fleeting emotions. His body felt more like his body. More than it had ever been before.
And deep down, somewhere within the depths of his soul, Andrew felt a flicker of harmony.
“I shall see you again, Andrew.”
The black waves came crashing into him, black water splashing in his face. And when he looked around, the mermaid had gone away. Swallowed by the billow of the night.
Standing in the sea, with jeans soaking wet, his heart soothed down and his gun kissing his hip, Andrew decided that, tomorrow, he would walk the beach from dawn till dusk to find the most delicate shells to string the mermaid an offering.
Reblogs are always appreciated and a comment will make my day!
You and Pope have been going for just over two months now and you're head over heals for him. He's quiet and a little awkward but he fascinates you. He's sweet, tender and almost never sleeps. Smurf tells you not to worry about it, that's just how he is. Sometimes though, when he's had a rough day, he'll lay in your lap and doze off for an hour or so.
You never feel more special than in those brief moments.
The two of you have had moments where tensions are high, he kisses you when he drops you off at your place, sometimes he even blushes but he never makes the first move. He never comes inside or deepens your kiss. Which you've been okay with, you understand maybe he needs some warming up to you. Especially since he's only been out of prison a few months longer than you've been together.
You thought maybe he'd take you the night he came clean about his wrap sheet; you told him you didn't care and he was surprised, you kissed - a lot. And then he got called away for some family thing. You've just been patiently waiting for it.
Sometimes you wonder if he truly likes you or is interested in dating you. The one time you brought it up you were honest with Pope, you told him you weren't sure of his feelings for you and maybe you should see other people.
Pope simply said, "I'll kill him." with a straight face and twitching lips.
"Who?" You had asked, taken aback and a little startled.
"Whoever 'other people' is." He had stated with furrowed brows, "I won't see anyone else." He continued, standing extra close to you so you'd realize and pull him into a hug.
"So - you do like me?" You asked to clarify, blushing some as you reached for him.
"Of course, I do. You - You're my girlfriend." He had gotten a little unsure when he said the girlfriend part after hearing your suggestion. So, you wrapped him up in a tight hug and hesitated to bring it up again.
Until today.
Pope had just gotten back from a job this morning, a little banged up but nothing more than usual. He took you on one of the nicest dates you've ever been on. Everything had been perfect, the restaurant, the food, the necklace he gifted to you (which you didn't even bother asking where he got it from).
He holds your hand tight as he guides you up the few steps to your front door. When he pulls away to say goodbye you don't let him, squeezing his hand and pulling him to your chest as you lean back on the door.
"What?" Pope asks, looking a little startled at your quickness.
You yank him against you, slamming your lips to his for a heated, passionate kiss but he doesn't get there right away. You deepen it yourself, licking his bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. He shudders and leans into you, his hands hovering tentatively over your waist.
He's nervous and unsure but he can't deny he enjoys the way you feel on him. He likes the way you smell and how gentle your eyes are on him - he's not used to that.
"Touch me." You plead, pulling him impossibly closer as you writhe into him. He's still so rigid and stiff in your hold.
"We're outside." He mutters, looking at you with that beautiful, plain face of his.
You huff, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before spinning around to swing the door open. You drag him inside with you, pushing him against the door once it's closed. You practically pounce on him. He's still hesitant. You're throwing yourself at him and he just - stands there, letting it happen.
It pisses you off.
You let out an exasperated sigh, slamming your hands into his chest with a frustrated grunt. "What the hell is your problem, Pope?" You raise your voice, finally feeling worked up enough to say something.
"I-I don't have a problem." He stutters, grabbing your wrists to hold them between you two. "Please, don't do that again." He's quieter but you feel the request in his grip.
"Why don't you want to fuck me?" You ask, still animated but you change your tone when you see him flinch. You cover your mouth with your fingers for a second before trying a softer approach. "I-If sex isn't - you know - your thing, that's fine. Just tell me, please. So, I don't have to worry or wonder."
Pope steps closer to you now, a single hand reaching to encapsulate yours.
"It's not that I don't want to … I don't always know the best time for things." He's quiet, curt and honest.
"You've just been waiting for the right time?" You ask, incredulously. "It's not the right time when I change in front of you before we go swimming?"
"I assume you actually want to swim." He shrugs innocently, which is not a fitting expression for a man so gruff and criminal.
"Or the time I tried to go down on you at Daren's after hours?"
"It's dirty there." He cringes.
His answers make you giggle, your heart warming in your chest at how genuine he is. You rub your thumb over his palm affectionately. "I'm sorry I flipped out on you."
"It's okay." He nods firmly, squeezing your hand back.
"So, - Sex is your thing?" You ask sheepishly. "You don't just think I'm unattractive or something?"
Pope nods down to his pants where his length strains against the dark denim. "You are very attractive." He assures you.
You stifle a giggle at his gesture, taking both of his hands in yours and brushing your nose against his. "Does now feel like a good time?" You whisper, looking down to his lips with want. Pope nods his head 'yes' slowly, looking at your lips too.
You nod back as if to make sure, watching his puppy dog eyes as well as his lips. He nods again as your faces inch closer, noses brushing, eye lashes fluttering and hearts pounding. Both of you are still a tad stiff as your lips meet, it's slow to start but you feel each other out. You guide his hands to your sides before caressing his face to keep him close.
You hum happily as your lips meld together and you find a good rhythm. His hand don't move from their tight grip on your sides as you slowly step back. You make it all the way to the couch, trying to pull him on top of you but he doesn't go. Instead, you both sit down facing each other, your lips staying connected the whole time.
You try not to rush it but if you let Pope lead you worry you'll never get there. You dance your fingers down his neck, inside the tight collar of his shirt. You tempt him with your tongue again and this time he lets you in. You take this as your sign to go further, working open the buttons on his shirt.
A little moan escapes you when his tongue returns the gesture, warmth flooding your belly. He gets more stern with his kiss, encouraging you to shove his shirt off his shoulders so he's bare for you. Your hands drag down his chest, his large pecks filling your grasp happily.
His fingers slowly slide down your sides and then back up, the fabric bunching up as his palms engulf your skin. The both of you let out a whiny sound because of the impact, your body sliding closer to chase more. He's slow and methodical, kissing you deeply, enough to make you warm and needy.
You run your hand down his muscular belly, passing his belt to take a hold of the large bulge in his pants. Pope gasps and jolts, pressing his forehead to yours as he slides you closer with his hands on you.
"Can I?" He asks, distracting you from where your hand is to pull your blouse over your head and off.
"You don't have to ask, Andy." You whisper, lifting your arms up for him. He blushes, looking away from your face as he folds and sets your blouse aside. You bite your lip as you watch him, feeling so endeared.
When he's finished you lean back in for his mouth, guiding his hands to touch your breasts as you fumble with his belt and zipper. Pope is as stiff as ever, watching your nimble hands with tight lips and flushed cheeks. You pull his belt out of the loops, his jeans open wide as you start to tug them off his hips.
"I got it - Take your bra off." Pope interjects curtly, his chest heaving while he stands. You nod enthusiastically, smiling with your teeth because you love that he's speaking up. You reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it at his head once its off.
You bite your lip and cover your chest, watching Pope pull your bra off his face, a tiny smirk gracing his face, you make sure to memorize it. He stands in just his boxers before you, the shadow on his leg looking much more intimidating with one less layer over it. You gulp.
Pope walks towards you, grabbing your arms to uncover you and make you stand with him. He leans in to kiss you, his need seeping into your mouth as you raise up on your toes to get closer. You shuffle your arms out of his hold, returning the kiss with all you have as you force his palms over your bare breasts.
Your heart pounds with excitement from his body heat, his touch. He slowly palms your breasts, groaning into your mouth at the feeling. Your entire body feels red hot, goosebumps all over your skin as he drags his rough hands over your taught nipples.
"Please." You whisper, practically panting after pulling back from the kiss to beg.
"What, doll?" Pope asks earnestly, his eyes heavy on your face, searching for your words before you even say them.
"Take me, Andy. Make me yours." You're quiet and sultry, pressing your tits into his hands and ghosting your lips over his.
"A-Are you sure?" He hesitates, unsure of his self control once he starts with you.
You've become incredibly impatient and needy, solidified by the whine that leaves your mouth. "Andreeewww." You coo, snatching his wrist and pushing his hand under your skirt, the fabric rides up over his arm as you press his flat fingers to your bare cunt.
He gasps on contact, your hot, slick cunt taking is breath away. He lays his forehead to yours, his eyes pinched shut as you hold his hand to you. "Fuck!" He hisses, his voice so rough, not like anything you've heard from him before. "Where are your panties?" Pope grunts out, pressing his fingers harder against you, enough that you feel you can let go of his hand and touch his face.
"I didn't wear any - been waiting for you to take me all night long, Andy." You speak to him softly, your voice raspy from the deep breaths you keep having to take. You caress Pope's cheeks, rubbing your nose back and forth on his as you try to resist the urge to buck your hips. He whines again, the sound giving you full body chills and this time you can't stop the way your hips rut towards him. The movement spreads your arousal over his fingers and he snaps from the sweet sensation.
He slams his mouth to yours, a free hand clamping down on your neck to make sure you can't pull away from his kiss. In the same moment he slides his middle finger into your eager, wet entrance. You're so slick he sinks all the way to his last knuckle in one movement. You cry out into his mouth, trying to pull back to breathe but Pope forces his mouth back on yours, swallowing every sound.
His finger dances around inside you, like he's exploring. He touches you at every depth and angle he can find, paying attention to how you react and making note of what's good and what's great. You cling to him for dear life, your hips feeling weak from the pressure built up there.
"Good? It's good?" He pants, pulling back just enough to see your eyes as he starts fucking a second finger inside you. All the sudden his hunger and want are on the outside of him, instead of hidden somewhere you couldn't reach. He's feral looking, like he's on the brink of snapping again and lord knows what'll happen then.
"Yeah, yeah." You nod frantically, pawing at his hips for balance.
"Yeah?" He asks, smiling at you like he's proud of himself. You love it. So, you nod again with enthusiasm, leaning in for more kisses as you turn him and shove him back onto the couch.
You're in his lap in an instant, guiding his hand back under your skirt to resume his work. As you straddle his lap you comb your fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead and cheeks while riding his fingers. His free hand gropes your ass and forces you to bounce at a quick, messy pace on him.
You grab a small handful of hair from the back of Pope's head, guiding his face down to your free hanging breasts. At first he just lays his face against one, rubbing his mouth and nose across you as he transitions to the other side. He practically mauls your tits while forcing you down on his fingers and you've never been wetter, never been more turned on.
Eventually, you coax Pope into latching his mouth around one of your nipples. He sucks gently, making you arch deeper into his touch. He laps you up with a wet tongue, you can see his spit glistening in the dim light. You start to lose your sanity when he blow on your sensitive bud, the sharp cooling sensation making you jump in his hold.
"A-Andrew, touch my clit too - you'll make me come." You tell him, sounding desperate but his eyes light up. He uses his free hand to rip your skirt up over your head, you help him to speed it up. Once you're fully naked he guides your other tit to his mouth as he starts circling your bundle of nerves.
It takes a couple of swirls for him to find the spot but once he does he touches you expertly. It took all of five minutes for him to discover your sweet spots, it's like he had a cheat sheet somewhere in his brain for your body.
"Please, come for me, doll. I wanna watch so bad." Pope whispers, begging you like it's a secret. All of the stimulation from him has your climax building deep in your core. Your hips buck into Pope's fingers and it doesn't faze him at all, he continues to pound into you unwavering. He kisses you so deeply you realize instantly that it's never been like that before. "Are you close?" He asks when you tense up in his hold.
"H-Harder, Andy, please." You beg, guiding his mouth back to one of your tits. He listens to your request, keeping a steady pattern on your clit while pounding his fingers into you with more force. His big doe eyes stare at your face so intently, waiting for you to crest.
You can barely get the words out when you try to tell him you're coming, he catches on regardless. Pope kisses you through it, not changing a thing about his movements until you're squirming and shoving his hands away. He doesn't give in at first, making you squeal before you truly get free.
He grabs you by the waist, spinning your bodies until you're laying on your back, long ways on the couch and he's hovering between your legs. He slowly grinds himself against you, hesitating to go further.
"Your boxers are still on." You whisper, tugging at the elastic.
"I know." Pope grunts, grinding himself harder when you wrap your legs around him. "Do you have a condom?"
"Don't need one." You rush out, yanking hard on his boxers to expose him. Immediately you wrap a firm hand around him, pumping slow but tight. Pope huffs out a few heavy breaths, his elbows and knees quivering from your touch.
"Y-You sure?" He stutters.
"Pope, I swear if you don't just fuck me - I'm gonna go crazy." You're stern but you might as well be begging. You just want to have sex with your boyfriend after a romantic date, is that so crazy?
He stares at your face for a few seconds, you can see the hunger returning to his exterior. In a singular moment - he snaps. He grabs your knees and pushes them up to get a better angle, spitting directly on your pussy before swirling his tip around in it to tease you.
The warm sensation make you whimper, your hands in fists by your head as your arch for him. Curse words fall from your lips, mixing with other whiny sounds. They turn loud and guttural when he slams into you, taking up a quick, harsh pace as soon as he feels you.
Pope can't help himself, you suck him in so tight - it makes him lose control. He leans down, pressing your shins to his chest, folding you up to reach your lips while still pounding into you. The angle is painful at first, not used to anyone reaching that deep inside of you. But you adjust quickly, soaking up the way his mouth feels on yours.
"Jesus christ, doll. Your cunt is- it's… fuck, perfect." Pope grunts out, his voice gravelly and rough as he slams himself into you over and over. He's knocked the wind out of you with the force, you gasp for air, looking up at his with glossy eyes and parted lips. "Look at you, begged for my cock just to go dumb as soon as you get it." He teases, nudging your nose and giving your thighs a good squeeze.
You gulp, trying to wet your throat and tongue. "M'fine!" You gasp out, digging your nails into his biceps for leverage. You're determined to stay aware and keep your eyes open, focused on his.
Pope chuckles a little, kissing your red hot cheeks before straightening his spine. He looks down at you with a menacing gaze, fingers burning into the skin of your thighs as he uses his leverage to rock your body into him.
"So, so pretty like this." He mumbles, "Gonna have you like this every night," His voice gives you chills, you blush all the way down your chest, smilling up at him as your brain slowly starts to fog over. You fight it off, blinking and biting your lip until it stings.
"You coulda had me like this all along, Andy - didn't have to wait so long." You whine, reaching up to caress his chest and stomach, your words being forced out of you because of his pace. He hasn't let up and ounce and you're starting to wander if you can keep taking it.
He growls, forcing your knees down and pulling out of you in a fast motion. His large hands clamp down on your sides, flipping you over onto your stomach before settling his knees on either side of yours.
You let out a few whimpery sounds as he man handles you, forcing a deep arch in your lower spine before sinking back into you. He's even deeper than before and it makes you scream. You hear Pope chuckle again, clearly satisfied with himself. His chest comes down over your back, his arm slipping under your chin until he's got you in a headlock.
"You were worth the wait, doll." He grunts, kissing your temple at the same time he tightens his bicep around your throat. "Now be quiet and take me, gonna make you mine, huh?" He taunts and you nod with enthusiasm, whispering 'yes' a few times over. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up?"
"Yes, yes, yes Andy, please,"
"The first time you ever get my cock and you already want it?" He continues his taunting, his voice makes you mind spin as he destroys your pussy. You can barely get air in your lung with his taught muscle pressed to your neck, you start to feel a little tingly.
"Please," You hiss, gasping for air.
Pope feels your pussy get slicker the more you struggle to breathe and he can't help that it riles him up. He tightens his arm more, pressing his cheek to the side of your head as he continues his violent, messy thrusts.
"Make me feel so special, doll. I'll give you what you want - gonna fuck this little cunt 'til I come, yeah? - You'll get all of me." He's definitely feral now, his voice raspy and deeper than you've ever heard it.
You're tingly all over, your brain fuzzy as you take what you boyfriend gives you. It's blissful, his painful thrusts throb through your limps until it feels like pleasure. You're so wet you feel the mess on your ass and thighs.
Pope doesn't mind, in fact it spurs him on.
"Cross your goddamn legs." He demands, growling in your ear. He lets up his hold around your neck enough for you to hear him and listen. You slide one of your knees under the other, feeling yourself tighten around him. The sound he makes gives you chills, you shiver as it reverberates through your skin. "That's it - fuck!" Pope grunts.
It only takes a few more thrusts before he's filling you full, he moans through it, close to your ear, nibbling at your sensitive skin. He groans and says sweet things but you can't hear him, you're still so fuzzy from all the brutal sensations you've just received.
Pope collapses on top of you, elbows by your temples as you let your head sink back into the pillows. He doesn't pull out right away, letting his cock get flaccid and slip out on it own as he cages you beneath his spent body.
You don't mind, his warmth and weight soothe you as you come back down to earth. You kiss the skin of his arms you can reach, his skin burning hot against you. You both struggle to catch your breath but he cocoons you underneath him until you do.
"Baby doll, - fuck, I-" He huffs, his voice barely there. He slides off your back and to the side, encouraging you to turn so you two are facing each other. His hefty arm drapes over you, keeping you cuddled close to his chest as he looks down at you. "Are you okay?" He asks, his deep eyes searching yours.
You nod your head vigorously, "M'never going two months without you again." You sigh, kissing his chin as you watch him smirk. It's small and subtle but adorable, you lean up to peck his lips. "Stay the night please, Pope." You mutter, tracing your fingers over his back to see him shiver when you hit his spine just right.
"I'm not going anywhere, doll." He promises, cuddling you close.
You're both quiet for a few moments, hugging each other tight. You nuzzle close and he welcomes you, his body still stiff while somehow drawing you in. Maybe it's because you're still hazy, or because you're cock-drunk but you can't help the way your heart pounds, even after catching your breath.
"Andy, I- I think,"
"What doll?" He softly encourages.
"I think I love you." You whisper, burying your face into his warm, bare chest. You nuzzle even closer when you realize how comfy his pecks are.
"You're just saying that because you're foggy from the sex." Pope chuckles, shaking his head above yours. It seems as if he thinks you're joking and you guess you can't blame him. He's not used this sort of thing - that's what makes it all so special.
"I love you too." He whispers a few moments later, kissing the top of your head, huffing a little when your messy hair tickles his nose.
Your mind comes back to you all the way and you realize just how lucky you are. Your boyfriend may not be the perfect guy but he's perfect for you. You never want to leave his arms - you never want to get off his cock either.
You have a feeling after tonight though, you won't have to worry about that anymore.
content: pope and reader are in highschool | pope has a fat crush on reader | baz being his usual wacky self | bullying | angst with comfort | poor pope just wanted to impress you | happy ending
🟡 author’s note: this was inspired by that one unreleased ethel cain song that’s trending… i was going to make it completely angsty, but i had to give andrew a happy ending
—
“…what the fuck is that for?” baz barked out, amused by the half-finished poster that sat in the middle of pope’s bedroom.
pope instinctively moved to hide it from his pestering step-brother, but it was too late as baz stepped in, swiftly grabbing the poster board from his grasp.
“will you go to…” baz began to read out aloud, “oh, pope, don’t tell me you’re planning on asking that girl to the dance…” he cooed condescendingly.
pope stiffened, his jaw clenched tightly as baz teased him. “put it down,” he mumbled, biting down the sense of humiliation that always followed after baz’s words.
“alright, alright… no need to get yourself worked up,” he scoffed, carelessly setting it down.
pope let out a relieved huff the second baz left the room, moving to lock his bedroom door before carefully smoothing out the creases that his brother left. he looked down at the poster, his eyes glazing over the colorful letters.
he had been planning to ask you to the homecoming dance for the past few weeks. he even strung julia into it, asking for her guidance and girlish opinion when it came to preparing his homecoming proposal.
sure, he felt incredibly out of place; even borderline foolish for attempting to craft something like this.
but he wanted to do it for you.
he wanted to be someone charming, someone who could impress you, similar to the male leads of the romcoms you adored watching. that reason alone was why pope spent the rest of his night locked away in his room as he finished up the poster, obsessively making sure that every detail was executed just as he planned.
you two had met in science class. your teacher had assigned you as lab partners for the semester at the beginning of the school year. initially, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at not being paired with one of your friends, but pope had turned into a pleasant surprise. despite your peers warning you of pope’s unsettling demeanor, the two of you collaborated well, and eventually it gave way into an easy friendship. it was something that pope held protectively, especially when everyone seemed to prefer baz over him. besides you, there were only two other people in the school who would tolerate his company.
once the day to ask you to the dance finally arrived, he spent the whole class watching you with butterflies flooding his stomach. each time you’d flash him an easy smile or make eye contact with him, he’d feel the mix of nerves and anticipation worsen as the time ticked past.
the bell rung for the final time, dismissing students for the day. pope hurriedly rushed downstairs, his feet carrying him to his locker. “do you… would you want to go to the dance with me?” he muttered to himself, practicing the grand question as he opened his locker.
he reached for the poster and bouquet of crochet flowers he carefully prepared, before heading towards the lobby where he requested you to wait.
as he rounded the corner, he didn't see baz and his football friends waiting, grinning as they prepared to spring their trap. before pope could even take a step towards your direction, the group ambushed him, catching him completely off guard.
he felt his shirt become wet, drenched and slimy with a sharp, pungent smell.
“holy shit, i can’t believe you were actually planning to ask her,” baz scoffed, cracking up at the sight of pope holding the items.
the other guys followed suit, thinking his efforts were some kind of joke.
pope shifted slightly, his heart pounding out of his chest as he felt the halls close in on him.
he felt ridiculous and humiliated, the buzzing in his ears blocking out their continued remarks until something else hit the side of his face.
he looked down, realizing it was a discarded frog leg from the dissection earlier that day.
shit, how was he supposed to face you when he had animal guts splattered over him?
when the poster he had prepared now reeked of formalin?
would you laugh at him as well?
what if he accidentally embarrassed you by asking?
what if this entire time, you had been tolerating him out of sheer politeness?
“it’s bad enough she’s stuck with a nutjob like you. i heard mr. smith had to assign her as your partner because no one else wanted to volunteer,” one of them snickered.
pope couldn’t bear it anymore, quickly turning to rush away from the obnoxious bunch. his vision was too tunneled to realize that he had ran past you in the hall, your brows furrowed at the sight of his distress. he faintly heard you calling his name as he left the building, not realizing that you had picked up the discarded poster and flowers.
pope was thankful that the following day was saturday, at least then he’d be able to hide away from everyone, especially from baz.
he wanted to wring his brother’s neck for orchestrating something like that, but his embarrassment kept him cooped up in his room, not moving an inch even after craig and deran’s attempts to invite him to the skate park.
he only slipped out of the cody compound when he knew nobody would notice, his feet dragged as he walked to the cathedral, the only safe place that he had left. as he reached the entrance, his eyes spotted you seated on the steps.
he almost turned around and fled until he heard your voice, “andrew, wait!”
you were sweating slightly from waiting on the steps for hours, your hands holding onto the poster board and flowers.
“i knew you’d show up,” you sighed happily, flashing him a small smile.
he stiffened as you stopped right in front of him, awkwardly glancing around before his eyes uncomfortably settled on your face. he swallowed nervously, his mouth feeling incredibly dry as he watched you hold up the crochet bouquet.
“you… made these for me? to ask me to homecoming?” you asked.
he gave you a brief nod, his fingers drumming against the side of his thigh. “…it’s a gift. my sister told me that you’d like it,” he mumbled.
that earned him a wider smile from you, your eyes lighting up.
he cleared his throat, before replying, willing himself to speak a little louder. “i’m not going anymore,” he clarified, the sound of their teasing laughter still ringing in his ears. “you… you should go with someone else.”
“…well we don’t have to go to the school dance. we can just do our own thing,” you suggested. “i didn’t really wanna go anyways. it’s just gonna be a bunch of sweaty teenagers packed into the gym,” you shrugged.
pope’s brows furrowed, the thought of you choosing to spend time with him rather than attending a special event seemed out of reach.
“oh! how about the science museum? it’ll be open late if we go on a friday night…” you continued, rambling on and on about other potential options, other things that included you spending time with him.
pope quietly stared at you, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in reality. he had been ready to crawl into a hole and never come out, but now, you were standing right in front of him, casually pitching a night at the museum as if it were the most obvious choice in the world.
“the science museum?” he repeated, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders.
“yeah! unless, you think looking at fossilized bones and learning about our solar system is too lame for a friday night?” you teased.
a tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of pope’s lips. “i heard they’re also opening a new wing for exotic bugs and insects,” he informed.
“so… is that a yes?” you asked softly, leaning in slightly, your eyes searching his. “andrew, i never cared about the dance. i just wanted to go with you,” you added, sensing his hesitation.
the lingering sting of embarrassment finally vanished, replaced by something warmer, something steady fluttering in his chest. his drumming fingers went still against his leg. he looked down at the handmade gift in your hands, then back up at your face, realizing you meant every word.
“yeah,” he said, a shy, but genuine smile breaking across his face. “…i’d really like that.”
without thinking, you reached out and gently squeezed his wrist. “it’s a date, then.”
pope felt his cheeks heat up, but for the first time all week, he didn’t mind at all. “it’s a date,” he agreed.
warnings . . . curse words, mean reader, literally a one day time skip from last chapter lol. probably could’ve made it more clear that the “drinking plan” with j just meant a small heist…
“You can’t be grouchy right now.” Pope pulls his face from between your legs, looking up at you with a bored expression.
You sigh dramatically, sitting up and letting your skirt fall back down around your legs, covering you up. The drive back to the city was spent smacking his hand off your thigh when he subconsciously let it drift. He’d glare at you for a moment and relent, but the cycle started all over again. Now, the two of you are in his apartment with your legs spread as you’re perched up on his counter. “How was your night out with J?”
“You were thinking about J while I was—“
You interrupt him with a grimace, “ew! Shut up! Don’t even say that!”
He leans his arms beside you, sighing softly. “Why are you grouchy, then?”
You bite your bottom lip nervously, unsure of how to voice yourself. You know you’re a good person. You don’t view yourself as a loathsome person who no one can get along with. But you often wonder why people like you. Why do they put up with your attitude and anger and worries, just to be around you? And when they do put up with it, it’s hard for you to accept. Even harder to accept when they finally get rid of you.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, his eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. “Like what?”
“You tell me, Andrew.”
“Andrew?” He’s amused, the corner of his mouth quirked up.
You nod, “yeah, some lame ass advice J told me.” You sigh dramatically once again, “are you cheating on me?”
He huffs, “I’m not cheating on you.” He pauses and you can tell it’s a strain to speak his next words, “you’re the only one I want.”
“Until the next one.” You chime with a scoff.
His grip on your chin isn’t tight, but it’s enough for him to force your eyes onto his. “There’s no next one.”
“Until there is.”
“You’re incredibly—“
“Gorgeous? Smart? Funny?” You interrupt with a small smack to his chest. “You’ll tell me if I annoy you, right?”
“You don’t annoy me.”
“You are such a liar.”
“I don’t lie.”
“He lies—“
“Shut up.” His lips press to yours. It’s a tender kiss, his hands cupping your face as his lips move against yours. It doesn’t last very long, your mouth chasing him when he pulls away. “I can promise you, there’s no one else. You don’t annoy me. You’re not too much for me. You are very pretty. Anything else I need to cover?”
You hum, a grin plastered on your face as you lean your chin on his chest. “Tell me my ass is fat.”
“Your ass is fat.”
You hum, content by how well he obeys. “You’re the only old man in my life who listens to what I say.”
“How many old men do you have in your life?”
“Nunya. Keep eating me out.”
authors note . . . me vs putting in my hyperfixations and rn it’s those shitty vertical movies. love you give me your thoughts
summary: You’ve always thought getting high with Andrew was harmless. Then tonight happens, and you realize you’ve been testing the limits of his self-control all along. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: needy!pope my fav, smoking, weed, subbish!pope barely, he’s so nerdy in this i love it, ocd tendencies, SMUT!! (dubconish, protected piv, fem oral receiving, fingering), cute ending, lmk if im missing some. word count: 5.1k amalia’s love note: shoutout to @wench-hunter-gatherer for this amazing idea, i hope i did it justice <3
The joint passed between your fingers and Pope's, the ember glowing orange against the deepening purple of the sky. The ocean stretched out before you, endless and dark, waves rolling in with that rhythmic crash that made everything else fade away. You were perched on Pope's lap on the old wicker chair on your balcony, his chest warm against your back, and the weed was hitting just right, that floaty, melty feeling where your body felt both heavy and weightless at once.
The air was thick with salt and humidity, that particular heaviness that came with coastal evenings. Your skin felt sticky, and where your bare thighs pressed against Pope's jeans, you could feel the heat radiating between you. The sun had dipped below the horizon maybe twenty minutes ago, leaving behind streaks of pink and orange that were slowly fading to deep purple. A few early stars were beginning to prick through the darkening sky.
“This is perfect,” Pope murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest into your spine. His breath tickled your ear, warm and smelling faintly of weed and the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, adjusting his position, and you became acutely aware of the solid warmth of his thighs, the way his body cradled yours.
“Mm-hmm.” You took another hit, held it, watching the smoke curl from your lips and dissipate into the salt air. Everything felt heightened, the sound of the waves was almost musical, each crash and retreat a perfect rhythm. The wicker chair creaked slightly as you both breathed, and you could hear the distant sound of someone's music playing down the beach, just a faint bass line carrying on the wind.
Pope's hands rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers drumming slightly to some internal beat. You noticed he was being very careful not to touch you, even though you were literally sitting in his lap. It was so Pope, respectful to the point of awkwardness, even in an intimate situation. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself carefully still.
The weed was making you hyperaware of every sensation. The cotton of your tank top felt soft against your skin, and you weren't wearing a bra, hadn't bothered when Pope texted saying he was coming over. You could feel your nipples hardening slightly in the cooling evening air, and you wondered if he'd noticed. The thin fabric didn't hide much.
Your shorts were denim cutoffs, frayed at the edges, and they'd ridden up slightly when you'd settled into his lap. You could feel the rough texture of his jeans against the backs of your thighs, and the contrast between that roughness and the smooth warmth of his hands, even though he wasn't touching you, made you shiver slightly.
“You cold?” Pope asked immediately, his voice concerned.
“No,” you said, and your voice came out lower than you'd intended, almost husky. “Just... feeling good.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and you felt him relax slightly behind you. “This is nice. I needed this. Been a crazy week.”
You hummed in agreement, taking another hit before passing the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and even that small contact sent a little spark through you. The weed was definitely making you sensitive, making every touch feel more significant.
The ocean continued its endless rhythm, and you found yourself swaying slightly to it, your body moving in small circles. It was unconscious at first, just responding to the sound and the feeling of being high and relaxed. But then you became aware of it, aware of the way your ass was pressing against Pope's lap, the way the movement was creating friction between your bodies.
Pope's breath hitched slightly, and his hands tightened on the chair arms. You felt a little thrill run through you, he'd definitely noticed. You did it again, a little more deliberately this time, rolling your hips in a slow circle.
“You, uh...” Pope's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. “You good?”
“I'm great,” you said, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder, exposing the line of your throat. The movement pressed your body more firmly against his, and you felt him tense. “Really, really great.”
You could feel his heart beating faster against your back, could hear the slight change in his breathing. The joint had burned down to almost nothing, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray on the small table beside the chair. His hands returned immediately to the chair arms, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You wiggled again, this time more obviously, grinding down slightly. The friction sent a pleasant tingle through your body, and you realized with a lazy, weed-hazed smile that you were getting turned on. The sensation was building slowly, a warm pressure between your legs that was becoming harder to ignore.
“Jesus,” Pope breathed, and you felt him shift beneath you, trying to adjust himself. That's when you felt it, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your ass. He was getting hard, and he was clearly embarrassed about it, trying to shift away without being obvious.
But there was nowhere for him to go, and every time he moved, it just created more friction, more awareness of his growing erection. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of arousal mixed with affection. He was trying so hard to be respectful, even as his body betrayed exactly what he was feeling.
“Andy.,” you said softly, turning your head so your lips were close to his ear. You could see his profile in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It's okay.”
“What's okay?” he asked, his voice strained. “I'm not-I mean, I'm just-“
You wiggled again, deliberately this time, grinding down against the hardness you could feel pressing against you. He made a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and his hands finally left the chair arms, hovering uncertainly near your hips before returning to their safe position.
“You're so hard,” you murmured, and you felt him shudder. “I can feel you.”
“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn't mean to-you're just sitting there and you're so-and I can't help-fuck, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry,” you said, and you pressed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled like weed and ocean air and something distinctly Pope clean sweat and that expensive body wash he used, something woodsy and masculine. You let your lips brush against his skin, just barely, and felt him suck in a sharp breath.
His pulse was racing beneath your lips, and you could feel the heat of his skin. You kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, your lips pressing against the spot where his neck met his shoulder. His skin was slightly salty, and you let your tongue dart out, tasting him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.
“Kissing you,” you said simply, doing it again. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, feeling the vibration as he groaned. Your hands came up to rest on his thighs, and you felt the muscles tense beneath your palms.
“We're-we're high,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself of something. “And we're friends, and I don't want to-I don't want to take advantage or-“
“Andrew,” you interrupted, turning in his lap so you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. The movement pressed your core directly against his erection, and you both gasped at the contact. His eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, and his lips were parted. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely done anything. “I want this. Do you want this?”
“I-fuck-yes,” he admitted, his hands finally, finally coming to rest on your hips. His grip was tentative at first, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tight. “I've wanted this for so long, but I didn't think-I didn't know if you-“
You cut him off by rolling your hips against him, grinding down deliberately. The friction was delicious, the seam of your shorts pressing against your clit through your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans. The layers of fabric between you were frustrating and arousing at the same time.
“Oh god,” Pope groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His hands tightened on your hips, and you could see him struggling with himself, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to maintain control. His neck was exposed, the tendons standing out, and you leaned forward to kiss along his throat.
You worked your way up to his jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, occasionally letting your teeth graze his skin. He was making these small sounds, almost whimpers, and each one sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his thin t-shirt, and you could feel his heart racing.
“You're killing me,” he breathed, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. “You're actually killing me.”
“Good,” you murmured against his ear, then caught his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently. He made a strangled sound, and his hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping firmly. The touch sent electricity through you, and you ground down harder against him.
You could feel how wet you were getting, your underwear already damp, and the knowledge that he could probably feel it too through the layers of clothing made you even more aroused. You wanted him to know what he was doing to you, wanted him to feel how much you wanted this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged slightly, angling his head so you could kiss along his jaw. He had a day or two of stubble, and the scratch of it against your lips was intoxicating. You kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing, and felt him turn his head, trying to capture your lips properly.
But you pulled back, smiling, and kissed down his neck instead. His hands were kneading your ass now, pulling you against him in a rhythm that matched the rolling of your hips. The friction was building, that pressure between your legs intensifying, and you knew if you kept this up you could probably come just from grinding against him.
“Please,” Pope groaned, and you weren't sure what he was begging for. “Please, I need-“
You kissed back up his neck, along his jaw, and finally pressed your lips to his. The kiss was immediately intense, all the pent-up tension exploding between you. His lips were soft and eager, if a little clumsy at first, but then he was kissing you back with increasing confidence, his tongue sliding against yours.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him. The kiss was deep and hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You could taste the weed on his tongue, and underneath that, something distinctly him.
Your hips were still moving, grinding against him in a steady rhythm, and you could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. His jeans had to be painfully tight, and part of you wanted to reach down and free him, to feel him properly. But another part of you was enjoying this, the teasing, the building tension, the way he was completely losing control.
You broke the kiss to gasp for air, and immediately started kissing down his neck again. This time you didn't hold back, sucking hard enough to leave marks, wanting to see evidence of this tomorrow. He groaned, his hips bucking up hard, and you felt a surge of power at the response.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” he panted, his hands sliding under the hem of your tank top, finally touching bare skin. His palms were warm and slightly rough, and the touch sent shivers through you. He explored cautiously at first, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then growing bolder, sliding up your ribcage.
When his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, you both froze for a moment. You weren't wearing a bra, and he clearly just realized it. His hands stilled, and you could practically hear him thinking, trying to decide if he should continue.
You made the decision for him, arching your back and pressing your breasts more firmly into his hands. “Touch me,” you breathed against his neck. “Please, Andy, touch me.”
His hands cupped your breasts, and you both moaned at the contact. His thumbs found your nipples, already hard and sensitive, and when he brushed over them, you gasped, your hips jerking against him. The dual sensation, his hands on your breasts, the friction against your clit, was almost overwhelming.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. “So fucking good. I can't believe-I've thought about this so many times, but I never-“
“What did you think about?” you asked, genuinely curious. You rolled your hips in a particularly deliberate circle, and he groaned.
“This,” he said, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Touching you. Kissing you. I thought about, fuck, I thought about what you'd taste like, what sounds you'd make. I thought about making you come.”
His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and you kissed him again, hard and desperate. Your hands slid under his shirt, needing to feel his skin, and he helped you pull it up slightly.
His chest was muscular and tanned, muscles defined from physical work, and you ran your hands over him appreciatively. His skin was warm and smooth, and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, and he shuddered, his hips bucking up hard.
“Inside,” you gasped against his mouth, the need becoming urgent. “We need to-bedroom-“
“Yeah, yeah okay,” he panted, and then you were both standing, stumbling, still kissing frantically. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your ass, sliding up under your shirt to touch bare skin. You knocked into the doorframe, then the couch, giggling between kisses, drunk on him and the weed and the overwhelming need.
The journey to your bedroom felt like it took forever and no time at all. You were vaguely aware of moving through your apartment, of Pope's hands on you, of the way he kept stopping to press you against walls and kiss you deeper. At one point he lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him as he carried you.
“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your ass to support you. “I can feel how wet you are, even through your shorts. Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” you gasped, the dirty talk sending another surge of arousal through you. “So wet. I've been wet since I started grinding on you outside.”
He made a sound that was almost a growl, and then he was moving faster, carrying you the rest of the way to your bedroom. When you finally reached it, he set you down, and you started to pull away, intending to fall back onto the bed. But his hands tightened on your hips, stopping you.
“No, no, wait,” he said, slightly breathless, his lips swollen from kissing. “Don't-don't lay on the bed with those clothes.”
You blinked at him, confused and aroused and impatient. “What?”
“They smell like weed,” he explained, and his hands were already moving to the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. “Gonna get your bedsheets all dirty and smoky, and then you'll have to wash them, and-“
He pulled your shirt up and over your head, dropping it on the floor, still talking in that earnest, practical way that was so quintessentially Pope. Your breasts were exposed now, and you saw his eyes drop to them, his words faltering for a moment before he continued.
“-and that's a pain in the ass, you know? Better to just-“ His hands went to the button of your shorts, and you realized with a thrill that he was undressing you without even seeming to realize what he was doing. He was so focused on his explanation, on the logic of it, that he didn't notice the way your breath had quickened, the way you were watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“-take them off now, and then the sheets stay clean, and-“ He popped the button and slowly dragged down the zipper, his knuckles brushing against your lower belly. The touch made you shiver, and you saw him swallow hard, his throat working. “-you won't have to do laundry tomorrow, which is good because laundry sucks, and-“
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and started pulling them down, kneeling as he did so. The position put his face level with your hips, and you saw his eyes darken as more of your skin was revealed. You were wearing simple cotton underwear, nothing fancy, but they were damp with arousal, and you knew he could see it.
“-the detergent you use is expensive, I've seen it in your bathroom, so it's better to not waste it on sheets that don't really need washing, and-“ Your shorts hit the floor, and his hands skimmed up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His face was inches from your core, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin.
He finally seemed to register what he was doing, his eyes traveling up your body, taking in your underwear, your bare breasts, the expanse of skin he'd just exposed. His hands were still on your thighs, and you could feel them trembling slightly.
“Oh,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Fuck.”
You reached behind you and hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly sliding them down. His eyes were locked on the movement, watching as you revealed yourself to him completely. When you stepped out of them, kicking them aside, you were completely naked, and he was still kneeling in front of you, fully dressed, staring at you like you were something holy.
“You were saying something about keeping the sheets clean?” you asked, your voice teasing.
His eyes snapped up to yours, and the heat in them made your breath catch. “I, uh... I forgot.”
“Andrew,” you said, reaching down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. “Your clothes smell like weed too.”
“That's-yeah, that's a good point,” he managed, and then you were pulling at his shirt, and he was helping you, yanking it over his head. You'd already seen his chest, but seeing it again in the better light of your bedroom made you appreciate it more, the muscle, the tan skin, the way his stomach tensed as you ran your hands over it.
You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and his hands came up to grip your shoulders for balance.
He was hot and hard in your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, could see the bead of precum at the tip. You swiped your thumb over it, spreading it, and he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he panted against your skin. “But if you keep doing that, I'm gonna come way too fast, and I want-I need to-“
“What do you need?” you asked, still stroking him slowly.
“I need to taste you,” he said, his voice muffled against your stomach. “I've thought about it so many times. Please, can I-“
“Yes,” you said immediately, and then he was guiding you backward to the bed, his hands on your hips. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, then lay back, and he followed you down, settling between your legs.
For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel exposed and desired at the same time. Then he leaned down and kissed your inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against your skin.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing higher. “So fucking beautiful. I can't believe I get to do this.”
He kissed his way up your thigh, taking his time, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. When he finally reached your core, he paused, his breath hot against your wet flesh, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit.
You gasped, your hips jerking, and he made a sound of satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. He licked again, more firmly this time, and then his tongue found your clit, circling it slowly.
“Oh god,” you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair. “Andy, that's-fuck-“
He was enthusiastic if a little inexperienced, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in eagerness. He experimented, paying attention to your reactions, learning what made you gasp and moan. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched off the bed, and he did it again, harder this time.
“Yes, like that,” you panted, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Just like that, don't stop-“
He didn't stop. He worked your clit with his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, and then you felt his finger at your entrance, pressing in slowly. The stretch was delicious, and you moaned, your hips rolling against his face.
He added a second finger, curling them inside you, searching for that spot that would make you see stars. When he found it, you cried out, your whole body tensing, and he focused there, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm while his mouth continued its assault on your clit.
The pleasure built quickly, that familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. You were making sounds you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, the way he was completely focused on your pleasure.
“I'm close,” you gasped, and you felt him double his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent. “Andy, I'm gonna-oh fuck, I'm-“
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure washing through you in pulses. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers, and you heard him groan against you, the vibration prolonging your climax. He worked you through it, only slowing when you started to squirm from oversensitivity.
When you could breathe again, you looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and he looked at you with such satisfaction and desire that it made you want him all over again.
“Come here,” you said, pulling him up for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it made you want him even more. “I need you inside me.”
“Condom,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Do you have-“
“Nightstand,” you gestured, and he reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he found one. You watched as he rolled it on, his hands slightly shaky, and then he was positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
“Ready?” he asked, and you loved that he checked, even now, even when you were both desperate for it.
“Yes, fuck, yes-“
He pushed in slowly, and the stretch was perfect, filling you completely. You both groaned at the sensation, and he paused when he was fully seated inside you, his forehead dropping to yours. His arms were shaking slightly with the effort of holding still, and you could see the tension in his jaw.
“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed, his voice strained. “So tight and wet and perfect. I need a second or I'm gonna come right now.”
You clenched around him deliberately, and he made a choked sound, his hips jerking. “Don't-fuck-don't do that, I'm trying to-“
“Move,” you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Andy, please move, I need-“
He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in, and the friction was delicious. He started a slow rhythm, deep strokes that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. Each thrust hit something deep inside you, and you could feel the pleasure building again already.
“Harder,” you urged, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.
“Oh god, right there, don't stop-“ You were babbling now, incoherent with pleasure, and he maintained that perfect angle, that perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his face buried in your neck. “So fucking good. I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.”
His words sent a surge of emotion through you, mixing with the physical pleasure, and you pulled him down for a kiss. It was messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and you could feel him getting close, his rhythm starting to falter.
“Wait,” you said, pushing at his chest. “I want-can we-“
He pulled out, looking concerned. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” you assured him quickly. “I just want to be on top.”
His eyes darkened, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock, and slowly sank down. From this angle, he went even deeper, and you both moaned at the sensation.
You started to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, and his hands came up to grip your waist. From this position, he had a perfect view of your body, and you could see his eyes roaming over you, your breasts, your stomach, the place where your bodies were joined.
“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. “I love watching you ride me. I love seeing you take what you need.”
You increased your pace, bouncing on him now, and the pleasure was intense. You could feel him so deep, hitting all the right spots, and the friction against your clit was perfect. One of your hands came down to touch yourself, your fingers finding your clit, and Pope's eyes locked on the movement.
“That's so hot,” he panted, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock.”
The dirty talk was unexpected and incredibly arousing, and you rubbed your clit faster, chasing your orgasm. Pope's hands were on your hips now, helping you move, and you could feel him getting close, his cock throbbing inside you.
“I'm gonna come,” you gasped, your movements becoming erratic. “Andy, I'm-“
“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.”
Your orgasm hit you hard, your whole body tensing, inner walls clenching around him rhythmically. The sensation triggered his own release, and he thrust up hard, groaning your name as he came. You could feel him pulsing inside you, and it prolonged your own pleasure, waves of sensation washing over you.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. His arms came around you, holding you close, and you could feel his heart racing against your cheek.
For a long moment, you both just lay there, catching your breath, enjoying the afterglow. Then Pope carefully lifted you off him, disposing of the condom before pulling you back against his chest.
“That was...” he started, then trailed off, like he couldn't find the words.
“Yeah,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It really was.”
“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. “About wanting you. This wasn't just... I mean, I really like you. Have for a while.”
You lifted your head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. “I really like you too,” you said softly. “This wasn't just a high hookup for me either.”
He smiled, that genuine, slightly awkward Pope smile that you loved, and pulled you in for a kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, full of promise.
“Stay,” you said when you broke apart. “Tonight. Stay with me.”
“Yeah,” he said, his arms tightening around you. “I'd like that.”
Outside, the ocean continued its endless rhythm, and inside, wrapped in Pope's arms, you felt perfectly, completely content. The high was starting to fade, but the feeling of rightness, of finally being where you were supposed to be, only grew stronger.
You dozed for a while, comfortable in the silence, but eventually you felt Pope stir beneath you. “Hey,” he said softly. “You awake?”
“Mmm,” you hummed, not quite ready to move.
“I was thinking...” he started, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass. “We should probably shower. Get the weed smell off properly.”
You lifted your head, seeing the mischief in his eyes, and grinned. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he said, his hand squeezing gently. “Wouldn't want to smell like weed tomorrow. Very irresponsible.”
“So responsible of you,” you teased, sitting up. His eyes immediately dropped to your breasts, and you saw his cock twitch with interest. “Think you can go again?”
“With you?” he said, pulling you down for a kiss. “Definitely.”
The shower was long and steamy, full of soapy hands and slippery skin and Pope pressing you against the tile wall as he fucked you from behind, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. The water cascaded over you both, and when you came, it was with his name on your lips and his teeth on your shoulder.
Afterward, you dried off and climbed into bed properly, your sheets still clean just like Pope had wanted. He pulled you against him, your back to his chest, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder.
“This is perfect,” he murmured, echoing his words from earlier on the balcony.
synopsis: micro twitter celebrity, yn, moves to Oceanside and meets Andrew "Pope" Cody at the bar. She's too trusting for her own good and Pope finds her demeanor hard to ignore.
warnings: mention of age gap. reader just turned 25, and is brunette. she has a popular twitter account where she tweets out her unfiltered thoughts. reader has kinks/ fetishes she talks about on her account. she is a virgin, he is not. pope is kinda vanilla but not due to the trauma from his mother (praise kink). will be slightly angsty in the future.
two | three | four
writing below !
so far, the tension thick. at least for you. you were sitting in front of him, looking at the menu. then you looked up at him to notice him staring directly at you.
since the car ride here, he’s been silent. besides saying a hey after you said hi and buckled in.
“uh, did you already decide what you want to eat..?” you ask, flashing a smile.
he stiffens before looking down at his closed menu, “california roll. i don’t like raw fish.”
“i assumed you asked if i liked sushi because you like sushi?” you tilt your head.
“I like sushi cooked.” he corrects.
you nod, “ah.. um well, do you like shellfish too?”
he thinks about it before nodding. “yeah. oysters are good. not raw though.” and you smile, noticing his little tic with his lips.
“i like crab legs. but, my mother taught me me how to make her special ceviche. it has shrimp and octopus.” you feel comfortable enough to lean in, he notices.
“ceviche is good.”
you give him a nod, “what do you do for work?”
“uh, i work at my brother’s bar for now.. place is a shit hole. im surprised no one’s gotten sick.”
you pause. “the bar i met you at?”
he nods.
“hm.. maybe they do get sick, just that the booze is enough to blame for it.” which earns you a chuckle from him and suddenly your stomach is doing somersaults. “lots of people like it. the bar.”
he nods again, “yeah. i just— very by the book when it comes to.. cleanliness. basic common sense.”
“well, i would hope somewhere i eat and drink is following sanitary protocols. you like tidy?”
“i don’t like mess.”
you hum out, and pope shots a look. it was a stubble change, but you noticed it. he looked like he was going to eat you in a predatory manner. it causes you to stay silent, lose track of the conversation. you had to tear your eyes away to remember where you are. “that’s okay.” you mumble out. “can i ask a question?”
he waits.
“ever been seduced by a woman in her twenties?” you tilt your head.
“no actually.”
your lips quirk up out of interest, you were kind of shocked. i mean, sure, you have a unique taste, but the man was fairly attractive. you wondered why you were the first. “I feel special then.” you mumble.
he nods.
tag list here .. @desperatecatgiirl @1dhoe93 @aniaphrodite @cowboylover2000 @sta4bunny @rockinglikemotley @heaven4lostgirls @mrsabbotthankya
andrew pope cody who’s worried about you finding his rap sheet vs. reader who’s printed out his mugshot to include in her journal with little hand-drawn hearts around it <3
What about a fluffy by the pool meet cute with Andrew “Pope” Cody
"You should just go talk to her." Julia encouraged, even giving Pope's shoulder a little nudge. Pope dropped his eyes from watching you across the pool to the ground, the emotions stirring up in his stomach too overwhelming for him to handle. You were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, he was sure his heart stopped for a beat when he first saw you. Looking at you was like looking at the sun - dazzling, bright, warm, and dangerous if you stared too long.
"No, she's busy." Pope replied in a mumble, avoiding looking at his sister. Julia rolled her eyes at her brothers shyness.
"C'mon Pope, you think she's cute, take a chance! She's our new neighbour, you have the perfect excuse to introduce yourself." Julia reasoned, trying to get her twin to make a move. Julia glanced back up at you when Pope didn't move a muscle and she saw you holding a sunscreen bottle, looking a little lost. Julia instantly knew what was troubling you and she raised her hand to wave at you through the crowd of teens there for the party.
"Hey neighbour!" You looked across the pool to see Julia already looking at you as she waved you over. Pope's head shot up so fast, his eyes wide as he stared at his sister in a panic while you rounded the pool to the loungers where the twins sat.
"Do you need a hand with your back?" Julia asked and you lit up with appreciation.
"Yes!" You sighed gratefully. "I wanted to be covered before I get in the pool but I don't know anyone here and I felt bad about bothering them."
"No worries, I'd be happy to help. Oh wait! I forgot I need to help Smurf in the kitchen." Alarm bells started going off in Popes head and he almost grabbed Julia by the arm to keep her where she sat. But she was too quick, getting up and out of Pope's reach in a flash.
"My brother Andrew can help you. He's really nice." Julia left quickly, abandoning her brother to his fate. He stared at her as she went, his stomach doing nauseating somersaults, and once she was out of view he finally let his eyes drift up to you.
"Hi," You said with a cheerful smile. You introduced yourself and gingerly passed him the sunscreen bottle. Pope realized there was no way out but through and he turned towards the empty lounger so he could apply the sunscreen. You sat down facing away from him and Pope wasted no time squeezing some of the lotion into his palm and lathering it over the bare skin of your back. He apologized for how cool it was when you jumped a bit and he nervously asked you after a minute about how you liked living in Oceanside. You launched easily into your opinions and experience moving as Pope focused on getting every spot covered.
Pope found himself smiling a bit at your thoughts on how rude tourists seemed to be and how much you liked being near the ocean. Pope quietly told you about a nice spot on the beach a couple streets South and you gave him a lovely smile over your shoulder, which made all of Popes insides melt from the beauty of it, as you thanked him for the information. Pope finished up and passed you back the sunscreen bottle.
"You're really thorough!" You said, complimenting Pope on a job well done.
"Melanoma is really deadly." Pope said in response, spewing a fact as reasoning for his thoroughness. What he really wanted to say was that sunscreen is a great way to protect yourself from melanoma, and he wanted you to be protected because he liked you.
"Thanks, I'll remember that any time I'm feeling lazy about putting sunscreen on." Your reply was genuine and honest, not mocking or sarcastic like Baz might have responded. It made Pope feel good that you heard what he was saying and not only were you not brushing him off, you were thankful for the tidbit of information.
"It's actually more effective if you put it on 15 minutes before you're out in the sun." Pope added, feeling embolden to continue telling facts.
"Oh," You said a little seriously. "Should I have put it on inside then?"
"That's usually best, but you could sit in the shade for a bit instead." You looked around for some shade and spotted a strip to your right but there wasn't any seating. You made an off hand comment about it and Pope stood immediately to push your lounger, with you on it, into the shade.
"Woah, thanks Andrew!" You gave him a great big smile and he felt so elated he could have jumped over the house in a single leap. "Will you pull your chair over too? So you can keep me company?" Pope could have jumped to the moon in that moment. You wanted to spend more time with him!
Pope lifted his chair over, the feat easy for him thanks to all the weightlifting he did, and he sat down right next to you to keep talking. You sat back in the lounger and the two of you launched into a long discussion about how Pope knew so many facts, which led to him confessing that he watched lots of documentaries and you asked if he'd seen the one about blue whales.
And by the time the pool party was over, you realized you hadn't gone in the water at all, and you didn't mind one bit.
synopsis: micro twitter celebrity, yn, moves to Oceanside and meets Andrew "Pope" Cody at the bar. She's too trusting for her own good and Pope finds her demeanor hard to ignore.
warnings: mention of age gap. reader just turned 25, and is brunette. she has a popular twitter account where she tweets out her unfiltered thoughts. reader has kinks/ fetishes she talks about on her account. she is a virgin, he is not. pope is kinda vanilla but not due to the trauma from his mother (praise kink). will be slightly angsty in the future.
one | three
context: this all happens during pope’s breakdown in season three, ep 13. note that a lot of things that will happen will jump around from the actual show. pope is mentally unstable, and reader is slipping. also, ignore the dates.
tag list here .. @desperatecatgiirl @1dhoe93 @aniaphrodite @cowboylover2000 @sta4bunny
⤷ ✭⋆ bf!pope cody headcanons⋆ˎˊ˗ (sorta nsfw under the cut...)
a/n: first time writing for pope!!! eek i haven't written in months... hope this isn't too bad! (dividers by @/uzmacchiato !! <3)
bf!pope cody who... stays within a 6 foot radius of his girl at all times. you go to the grocery store? he's right behind you with every step. at a party? his hands haven't left your body. even when you get up in the middle of the night for water. you fill up the cup and turn to grab a straw when youre met by the great wall of pope.
"jesus, andrew. scared the shit out of me."
"why'd you get out of bed?" when it's glaringly obvious that you were getting water.
"i was thirsty. any other questions, Sherlock?"
he mumbles under his breath before taking your hand and holding it while you drink your water.
bf!pope cody who... is overly clingy. this kinda goes with the first one, but i mean!!!!!! he has no concept of personal space god love him :( he is always always always touching you, and when he can't, hes blowing up your phone.
⟶Where are you?
im in the kitchen
⟶Come back to bed.
pope im in my kitchen... like at my house
⟶Oh.
⟶Come back
and of course you do go over because who are you to deprive him of what he needs?!
bf!pope cody who... knows exactly how to get what he wants. he knows all he has to do is use his pathetic little puppy eyes to get anything. it worked on smurf growing up, so he learned to naturally employ it in his regular life as well. this leads to many days spent bickering about stupid stuff in the grocery store, at which point he gets quiet and he looks at you with those shiny eyes and... how did that end up in the cart? oh pathetic puppy eyed man you are so special to me
bf!pope cody who... is a biter. he love the sensation and the way you react. he bites anything and everything. its gotten to the point where you've banned certain positions because he cant stop biting you. he doesn't even do it on purpose!! he just needed somewhere to rest his head... not his fault your shoulders were perfect for sinking his teeth into.
"pope!" you squeal, pushing him back lightly. his eyes rove over you, his blank expression unmoving on his face. "i thought we agreed no more biting."
he grumbles lowly before tucking his face back into the crook of your neck where he had it before you'd so rudely evicted him. "yeah. 'm sorry baby," he mumbles softly. his teeth graze against your skin as he continues, "cant help it." you huffed softly as you felt his teeth connect back with your skin.
"pope. quit it." he whines softly at the demand. cant let him get away with everything but you'd be lying to say you didnt like it
bf!pope cody who... is a giver. you had a bad day? hes between your legs. you had a good day? hes kissing you to celebrate. he had a bad day? his hand is down your pants. he had a good day? youre bent over the couch. make no mistake, you will always finish first! doesn't matter whose birthday it is, who fucked up the job, who slept until noon and did nothing all day. if there's a chance for pope to please his girl hes jumping on it!
we’re talking about a man who would rather suffocate than pull his mouth from your cunt before you came. nose red from how hard he pressed it into your clit, chin dripping from a combination of your wetness and his drool.
a man who humps the bed while he’s going to town, turned on by the fact that you’re turned on, just happy to be of service and drowning in your cunt.
a man who would grow stubble if it meant you would get pleasure from it. he prefers being clean shaven but after you mention that you crave a little more friction, he’s ditching the razor for a couple days so he can rub his face right in your cunt, skin turning flushed. your pleasure is the only thing he really cares about.
a man who will drop to his knees in the shower, hiking one leg over his shoulder while he fucking EATS. it’s a terrible angle and you’re a little worried he’s waterboarding himself down there with the combination of your juices and the water from the shower, but he makes sure you come.
personally, i just love the idea of andrew’s girlfriend making him absolutely insatiable. he’s not very sexual by nature, and he’s always nervous to make the first move. but after 3 months of being with you— younger, bubbly, kind, you… he’s taking on a new form.
you could be standing with his brothers at a party, nodding along to a drunken story & noticing pope getting spacey and quieter than usual. so, as a comfort, you smile and grab his hand. poor thing doesn’t know it’s just supposed to be sweet in the moment, and he’s turning to you so quickly and leaning down to shove his tongue in your mouth.
naturally you’re surprised, gasping with a soft giggle, “andy!” to which he immediately pulls back with smacking lips, “‘m sorry.” it’s so genuine it breaks your heart, which then leads to you pulling him into his bedroom to suck him off.
or, you’re sitting on the beach watching him surf one morning. laid across your long tanning chair, happily waving at him in your little bikini as he comes back to join you. deran’s a little further behind, chatting with adrian about the tide, when andrew makes his way to you. he stands above you, broad shoulders nearly covering the warm sun as you look up at him.
“hi honey!”
but his eyes are completely locked in on the movement of your chest, and the drops of water sliding off of him and onto you. a big, meaty hand reaches down, pawing at your chest in a trance as you guffaw.
“andrew!” “can we go home now?” he tries, still squeezing at your tits and slowly bringing a hand to squeeze at his cock. amused, you quickly stretch your hand out to grab his wrist before he starts palming at himself on this very public beach.
“you don’t wanna surf a little more?” you try, though you love how needy he’s gotten. he scoffs like it’s the last thing in the world he’d want to do, as he sits on your chair with his back to you, “no.”
smiling and shaking your head in faux-exasperation, you lean back for a final few minutes of sun…. until you hear and feel him again. running his big hand up your leg and pouting. “andrew cody-“ “love this color on you, sweetheart. wish you’d wear it all the time.” totally in his own world.
you finally grant him reprieve, standing as his puppy eyes follow you. with a low “c’mon tiger let’s go,” he’s up and throwing you over his shoulder.
happily leading you to his truck. hopefully you can make it home in time, but as he clambers in the passenger seat underneath you, i don’t think he can make any promises….
synopsis: micro twitter celebrity, yn, moves to Oceanside and meets Andrew “Pope” Cody at the bar. She’s too trusting for her own good and Pope finds her demeanor hard to ignore.
warnings: mention of age gap. reader just turned 25, and is brunette. she has a popular twitter account where she tweets out her unfiltered thoughts. reader has kinks/fetishes she talks about on her account. she is a virgin, he is not. pope is kinda vanilla but not due to the trauma from his mother (praise kink). will be slightly angsty in the future.
this story was in my drafts. time to let it see light!
anyways, i rlly wanted to make reader be clingy and a bit hyper. she will struggle with anxiety and attachment issues (basically the complete opposite of my jack abbot reader) and have a problem with trusting too much. Since she hasn’t done anything wrong to Pope, he keeps replying because he’s intrigued by the sudden but innocent normalcy ..
warnings . . . tbh it’s giving bpd a little… explaining how attached and dependent reader has been, curse words…. Yeah……… i do solidify the age gap and that reader is the same age as j! i don’t say what the age IS but it’s there
You had a clear, set plan. Get Andrew Cody to fall in love with you. It’s yet to work, clearly.
The news of him being intimate with another woman sets you three steps back after one single step forward. You’re not sure why it hits you so hard. Logically, you understand there’s not a title, nothing official between you two. And yet, you wallow in tears and self-pity the next two days of this spring break trip. And for the first time since meeting Baz, you’re grateful he’s around to pay attention to Lena, giving you time to yourself. Because of him, you’re getting the help you need from your friends.
“Remember when I first met you?” J asks out loud, tossing a baseball back and forth with Sammy.
You’re scrolling through your phone, tears streaming down the sides of your face as a single TikTok audio plays repeatedly. You’re purposefully making yourself sad, watching the saddening trend. You sniffle, “who?”
“Obviously you, idiot.”
You kick his thigh, jostling Nicky who’s sleeping at your side, groaning at the move. “Shh.” She snores into your pillow.
You shrug, lying your warm phone down to your chest. “We met in third grade. When I transferred to the same elementary school as you.”
He shakes his head, “no. Our official meeting, when I first got with Nicky.”
He was a late addition to the friend group. He was always someone you three passed by, no one important enough to take another look at. Until Nicky decided he was. Her last boyfriend was a too old asshole who picked her up in the truck he works construction in. So, when she popped out with an age appropriate one, with good grades, manners, and a soft way of speaking… you didn’t like him. He was too good to be true and the last thing you needed was your sweet Nicky Belmont getting her heartbroken.
“You called me a fat lard.”
Sammy cackles, “that was so fucking funny.” She takes her free hand and high fives you.
“What about it, fat lard?” You turn to J with a curious look.
He schools you with a bored expression, not amused by the repeated insult. “I didn’t take it to heart because I’d seen the way you were. You didn’t like it when Mrs. Steven was nice to other students after being nice to you.”
Mrs. Steven’s being your new third grade teacher after transferring. You grew attached to people in ways that most would say are unhealthy. And it is unhealthy, that much is obvious. Mrs. Steven was unbelievably sweet to you. Her voice was soft in a way your mothers wasn’t when she was too upset about what guy ghosted her on those dating sites she used, which was often. Where your mother tugged at your arm to pull you with her, annoyed by your slow pace because you kept stopping to look at flowers, Mrs. Steven let you caress whatever it is that caught your eye.
You grew attached. And the first time you saw her treating another student in the same manner, you lost it. Screaming and crying and using the curse words you heard your mother yell at the men in her life. She was your Mrs. Steven and it hurt you to know that you weren’t her all.
You hum, nodding at the memory. “Ha. I forgot you were in that class with me.” Sammy tosses you the ball now and it lands on your lap with a thud. “What does that have to do with anything though?”
He shrugs. “You want the people you love to love you more. And you want it for yourself.”
You instantly deny it, “what? You’re making me sound selfish. Shut up.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” He continues, “you love hard. It’s sweet. It’s what I like most about you. But you cling onto versions of people that you make up in your head. And Pope isn’t a good guy but you’ve got it in your head that he is. And it’s crashing down on you. And you’re making yourself cry over TikTok’s for it.”
Sammy’s nodding and you glare at her, “you too, skinny lard?” You gasp.
Sammy snorts out a laugh, “I mean… you were ready to break into J’s house when we first found out about him.”
Nicky laughs into her pillow, mumbling, “oh, yeah, when we found his apartment on Redfin.”
He scoffs. “You guys are freaks.” She fully sits up, letting Nicky’s head fall onto his lap as she snuggles up into him, ignoring you now. “My point is… stop putting Pope up on a pedestal.” He sighs, “if you must pick him… see him as Andrew.”
You’re confused and mixed with your heartbreak, it’s frustrating you. “That makes no fucking sense.”
Sammy catches the ball as you toss it back at her. “Yeah, you lost me there, white boy.”
He huffs, frustrated with you for not understanding. “Pope is for everyone else. Who people see and experience. Experience Andrew.”
“Literally, shut the fuck up.”
—
You’re shoved to the back of the van again. Baz murmured something about having to leave a day early, so he was gone. And it’s back to everyone’s previous seat. Pope’s the first one in and after the break you’ve had, you didn’t think he’d sit so close to you like before.
You scoff as he presses himself next to you, looking straight ahead in the empty van. “Scoot over.”
“No.”
“We’re not doing this again.” You groan, “scoot over.”
“Listen to me first.”
That earns an eye roll from you. “I don’t want to.”
“That’s too damn bad. I’m speaking.”
“Lalalalalalala—“
“Listen to me—“
“No! Lalalalala—“
“Listen to me,” he snarls, turning to you fully, his hand gripping your wrist. His tone startles you but it works, quieting you. “I want you.”
Your body turns into static. You’re stuck, frozen as you gape at him, unable to speak.
“I want you more than anyone I’ve ever wanted… in a real way.” He’s admitting this so freely, it’s astounding to you that this is the man J tells you speaks better with his fists than his words. “And I feel like I mess up our chances when I’m near you.”
“That’s not—“
“Let me speak.” You purse your lips at his words, nodding. “It is true. Because you’re too good for me. You're smart. And funny in a way that I don’t fully understand. And you’re young. Too young.”
“I’m not that young.”
“You are. You are that young. You’re the same damn age as my nephew, that’s not okay.”
“But I want you, too, Pope.” You’re pleading with him, desperate and afraid that this is him cutting you off. “Stop talking like that.”
“What upsets you so much about me being with another woman?”
You bite your bottom lip, nervous at the question. What upsets you? Not just the fact that he’s who you want for the rest of your life. Not just the fact that you don’t share who you love so fiercely. “You’re going to see what’s out there for you.” The admittance isn’t easy but you feel the weight off your shoulders instantly.
He sighs. Not in annoyance, but relief. “You’re out there for me.”
“Too out there, I’ve been told.”
“I like how out there you are.”
A pause, “did you like it? Being with her?”
“I wasn’t,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t with her. It was nothing.”
“Just… tell me.”
His hands are rubbing at his jeans, wiping the sweat off of them. “I did like it. I didn’t deny her. I didn’t say no. I wanted to feel good.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I have to be honest.”
“I think I prefer it when men lie to me.”
“I won’t.”
You sigh, “okay.”
“Okay?” He repeats.
You nod, “okay.”
And then, he says something that makes you cackle. “The Fault in Our Stars core.”
“Uncle Pope,” Lena whines as she gets on the van, tugging her sweater up her shoulders as it falls, too big for her. “Daddy said I have to stay with Grandma. Can you stay with me instead? I want to be at my house.”
Pope turns to his niece, nodding. “Course. I’ll call your dad.”
Everyone is climbing into the van now. Nicky in the passenger seat, J driving, and Lena and Sammy are holding hands like they did on the way here.
Pope isn’t annoyingly pressed up against you. Instead, he’s leaning into you, his hand in yours as the van jostles a bit. When you settle on his shoulder, letting sleep overcome you, his lips meet your temple, inhaling the scent of you.
pope cody had never seen you cry before. he hadn't really thought about it much because you always came to him if something was bothering you. you were practically an open book to him, at least he'd assumed so before tonight. he was known for spilling tears quite often, something that you never wanted him to feel ashamed of. but for some reason, that same rule didn't apply to you. you didn't enjoy people seeing you cry because you didn't want them to worry about you. sure, you had bad days more often than good days, but that wasn't anyone else's problem except for your own. you knew pope had enough happen to him in his life, some of those things still happening to him even now. the last thing you wanted to do was burden him with something else that he had no control over.
he comes home after a long day at the skatepark, working on renovations and such. noticing the lack of your presence in the living room, he felt off. the moment you hear him open the front door, you make a beeline for the bathroom. you quickly try to steady your breathing despite the fact that you'd just spent the last ten minutes sobbing. pope feels a sense of relief wash over him when he sees that you're just in the bathroom. this relief doesn't last long when he manages to hear a barely audible sniffle that has his senses on high alert. he gently wraps on the bathroom door. "are you hurt?" his voice is gentle, but there's a notable hint of concern. "no- i'm not hurt. just had to pee." you lie easily, trying to hide the watery sound in the back of your throat. unfortunately for you, pope wasn't buying it.
"can i come in, please?" he asks you quietly, his forearm resting against the wooden door. when you take a moment too long to answer, he reaches for the doorknob and turns it gently to not startle you. he pushes the door open just enough to see you, hands braced against the counter as your head hangs low. the slight shine on the apple of your cheek gives you away immediately. pope doesn't say anything, knowing his words of reassurance probably wouldn't do much to help in this exact moment. you needed someone steady, someone consistent who wasn't just going to tell you that everything's okay and there's no need to cry. he thinks of reaching out to comfort you, but he decides against that as well. instead, he just leans against the counter by your side and waits for when you're ready to talk. he feels a sense of achievement when, two seconds later, you shift your body toward his and he instinctively wraps his arms around your middle. you cry softly into his shoulder, holding him tight against you.
he stands there protectively, wanting nothing more than to be your rock, the person you can rely on when you can't keep up the defenses anymore. "does reality ever just hit you like a ton of bricks some days?" you mutter against his now dampened t-shirt sleeve. "yeah- life kinda sucks sometimes." he answered quietly. "but then i think about you, and the bad thoughts go away." his words make you pause, pulling back as you look him in the eyes. you see that he's now shed tears of his own, but his eyes are locked on you as he cups your cheeks. a soft sniffle escapes you as you lean into his touch. "i love you, andrew." you give him the best watery smile you can muster. a smile he ends up mirroring with a crooked one of his own. "i love you, sweetheart." he finally coaxes you out of the bathroom, leading you to the couch where he lets you curl up in his lap. he turns on a new episode of love is blind, knowing you're feeling better when you start to psychoanalyze the contestants all over again.
alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: something a little soft for my sweet babies, i hope you all are doing okay. you are so loved, special, and important... don't ever forget it <3333
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