i promise i'm okay

hi. i read ALOT of fanfic. slytherin, 23, she/her, if lost plz return to george weasley/ any character played by shawn hatosy/ randy meeks

[amphib0e]

mdni 18+

cw: f! reader, high reader, so intox kink (?), dry humping, lowkey sub! pope, craig and deran being a bit irresponsible but it’s for the benefit of pope getting his cute girl all soft and needy, pope uses pet names for reader, both came in their pants, but hey it was hot so.. i think that’s it sorry if i missed any

wc: 1.4k

it had been an accident in all honesty. craig and deran had been passing around a blunt in the living room of the cody home, something mindless spilling from the tv, filling the silent void as they chuckling amongst themselves. you were perched on the far end of the love seat, scrolling through your socials before craig plopped himself beside you, hand outstretched, blunt held haphazardly between his large fingers.

“you smoke?”

“oh no, i’ve never smoked before. never really been my thing.”

“you wanna try? what doesn’t kill you, y’know?”

he presented you with the blunt, nudging it towards you with an enthusiastic smirk adorning his face. you took it from him hesitantly, looking between his encouraging face and deran’s dopey smirk before attempting to pull the smoke into your mouth, coughing immediately at the harsh bite the contents of the paper wrapping attacked you with.

craig laughed with his full chest, deran tumbling into a cackle while clapping his hands together.

“yeah! that’s what i’m fucking talking about!”

“you’ll be a natural in no time!”

the light headedness hit first, your body felt like it was floating while you sat stationary, lounging about against the plush cushions. your hands played with the smooth fabric of your crop top, patting down where it covered your stomach, head lolled to the side, eyes trained on the shapes playing out something you couldn’t quite wrap your head around on the screen.

this is how pope found you. hazy eyes, big dopey smile causing the corners around them to crease, breathy laughs coming from your nose.

craig and deran had abandoned the living room after sharing the rest of the blunt between themselves, neither willing to face the eldest cody boy’s wrath at getting his precious, “could do nothing wrong” girlfriend high as a kite.

you barely turned your gaze to face him, that was enough for him to know that the lingering smell floating in the air was something now attached to you.

“sweetheart, what’re you doin’?”

“andy!! you’re home! hi honey!”

he had to admit, the large affectionate smile that graced your face at his presence was enough to ease his anger towards his brothers- not that they were off the hook. oh no, they’d get what was coming for them. a smirk tugged at the side of his lips, your hands outstretched towards him in a grabbing motion. he sauntered up to you, allowing your fingers to hook into the waistband of his jeans as you hurried your face in his muscular stomach, enjoying the sensation of his shirt against your cheek, the familiar smell of his subtle cologne and the lingering sweat on his skin from the california sun.

your hands snuck their way up his shirt, cold digits rubbing against the warm sides of his waist as your face continued to burrow into his stomach.

“you smoke something, babydoll?”

“mhm, craig had a blunt ‘n he let me take a hit or two off of it. i feel so light andy, like i can float around.”

“i bet you do, honey. c’mon lemme get you laid down somewhere. need to sleep this off.”

“nooo, andy i like the feeling. makes me feel good, makes me feel a little horny too, hehe.”

your lips trailed soft kisses against the exposed skin, the skin beneath your kisses growing taut as pope’s breathing became more shallow. you pulled him down onto the couch by his belt loops, crawling your way into his lap, your thighs encompassing his, hands placed into the cushions past his head, noses brushing together.

pope stared up at you, eyes wide at your sudden boldness, hands planted firm against the couch beneath him.

“you can touch me, andrew. you know i love when your hands are on me.”

“okay, yeah okay.”

his hands came up to your waist, running down to grasp at your hips, now latching them against his own. his face pressed further against your own, lips ghosting against your own as your hips began to grind down against his lap, the denim of your shorts sticking against your thighs due to the sweat, your underwear already slick with your arousal, eyes trained on his own.

“what’re you doin’ baby?”

“please, andy, sweetheart. just need you-need this. please.”

pope slouched a bit further into the couch, allowing you more access as his legs spread further apart, placing yourself perfectly right above the heavy tent that sat in his jeans. you plopped yourself back where you started, wiggling your ass against his boner in the process, a groan struggling its way out of his throat as his lips grazed against your throat. your head rolled back at the contact, allowing him more access as his lips began to suck dark marks against the skin there.

the high granted more sensation to the feeling of your core grinding against his clothed cock, airy moans filling the somewhat silent air between you both. pope’s mouth continued to nip against your neck, biting his way down to your collarbone, angry red marks laying in their wake as his hips began to grind up against your own. your hands ran through his mess of auburn curls, tugging at the pieces closer to the nape of his neck, pulling him back so that your already blown out pupils met his own in a heated gaze.

“need you andrew, i need you so bad.”

“you have me, honey. i’m right here, ‘m not going anywhere.”

your hips continued to grind down against his, senses dulled and enhancd at the same time as your lips met his in a searing kiss, tongues dancing against each other at the exchange of spit between eachother. pope grunted into the kiss as your hips continued to run in circles against his, grip tightening against the skin above your shorts, dipping lower to shove into the back pockets where he caressed your ass, hips eagerly bouncing up against yours to meet your grinds in stride.

you began to press further down against his hips, hitting the perfect angle against your slickened clit hidden inside your shorts, your moans coming out as short gusts against pope’s spit slick lips, his mouth agape as his eyes continued to stay trained on your face, watching the way your eyes shut gently, your eyebrows knit together, mouth shaped in a pleaseat little o.

his large, calloused hands continued to rock your hips against his in desperate grinds, soft whines leaving his lips as his grip on your ass tightens. he was close, you knew he was by the pitch his voice was taking, it always grew higher the closer he got to cumming, and you were right at the edge of your peak. all it took was a firm grind down the front seam of his jeans to hit your clit just right, your thighs spasming uncontrollably against his, fingers gripping tighter against the back of his head as yours was thrown back, a desperate cry of his name leaving your lips as you rolled your hips in broken strokes, feeling the sticky residue of your orgasm stain the front of your panties, your thighs growing sticky with sweat in a post orgasmic glow.

pope lurched forward, holding you tight as his hips rutted up against yours in short bursts, the warmth of his cum shooting against the confines of his boxers creating a heated sensation against where you sat, his pathetic little whines and breaths hitting the side of your neck just below your ear, his teeth having dug their way into the sensitive skin there, a shudder running up your spin at the pleasure, the high allowing the pain to subside in gradual waves.

your head rested agains this shoulder, a big grin spread over your face as you tucked yourself against his sweaty neck, a soft kiss laid there before your heavy eyelids finally shut, sleep taking priority as your body slumped against his. pope held you close, chest heaving as his breath caught up to him, using the back of his palm to wipe away any remaining sweat from his forehead, wiping it against his shirt as he moved to lay on his back, the comforting weight of you on his chest allowing him to relax into the welcome embrace of the couch cushions, eyes starting to focus on whatever ridiculous reality tv was left to play out as he let you rest.

you were safe, sated, and right where you needed to be- wrapped in the arms of the man you loved with all your heart. the mess in his pants could be cleaned up later in a shared shower, he just wanted to hold you as humanly close as possible right now, and no one was going to tear him away from you.

author’s note: this was meant to be a quick drabble and well…yeah !! anyways, i hope y’all enjoy,m ! xoxo

tags: @ghostlybfgf @lostfallenangelsblog @alexjacobsgoodnight

© amphib0e 2026

𝓃𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉/𝒸𝑜𝓅𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀

[cherrywineisawaltz]

MINORS DNI

Sammy Bryant giving you a sobriety test. Wobbling on your cute little heels giggling while he’s got his thumbs hooked into his belt telling you to walk a straight line. Crowding you up against the hood of his car and laying your tummy flat on the hood while he’s pushing your tight little mini over your ass, “You know how dangerous it is to be walking around like this at this time of night? Cute little fuck me heels on, makin’ officers like me check in on you,” he’s got his thick fingers rubbing through your slick folds, pink panties pushed to the side. Hearing the clink of his belt coming off over your panty little mewls, “Want you to recite the alphabet backwards. Don’t stop either, or we’re gonna start all over again, you got that?” and your nodding eagerly, feeling the blunt head of his cock breach your folds, squealing when a rough hand meets your backside, “Not hearing you, sugar. Fucked little head knows how it starts, don’t you?” you’re whining, hands clutching his thick thighs as they slap against the backs of your ass, finger tips dragging along the hood of his car with a quick nod, “That’s it, smart girl. Now get on with it before I cum all in this pretty cunt.”

[tenseoyong]

Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x F!Reader

Your relationship with the oldest Cody brother was delicate. Andrew is a very private, damaged man, but you’ll be there to discover what makes him tick.

Masterlist

18+ M!receiving oral He cries. TW: discussions of OCD tendencies. underlined self harming. painful sexual contact. brief brief allusion to CSA/SA. Smurf mention.

You’d met the oldest Cody as just another nameless invite to some chaotic house party. The novelty wore off quickly, your friends abandoning you to chase after another Cody brother, leaving you by yourself. You’d wandered inside in search of another drink, only to be startled by the motionless man already occupying the kitchen. He’d been quiet, staring at the absolute disaster of the room.

Half drunken bottles lined the counter, BBQ smeared plates piled by the sink, milk left on the stove.

And Andrew?

Face pinched in distress, eyes darting around the mess, breathing heavy like he was a minute away from breaking down.

Quietly, as to not startle the imposing man, you moved.

A quick sniff to see if the milk was still good, you returned it to the fridge.

Gently scraping picked at BBQ into the trash, careful not to make that awful screeching sound of utensils against porcelain.

All while Andrew’s dark eyes followed you. Shoulders loosening just a hair with each mess cleared away.

It wasn’t until you grabbed a discarded box of cereal and looked around for its rightful spot that he spoke, “Above the cabinet.”

You met his gaze, seeing a calmness slowly taking over him as you reached to slide the box home, gently arranging them until they matched evenly.

“Thanks.” He barely whispered.

“It’s nothing.” You shrugged. “My mom is—was—the…same.”

Since then, Andrew seemed to be a quiet constant in your life. It was kind of nice, refreshing. He was like a stray cat, drifting in and out of your space, without leaving too much much of a permanent stain.

Anyone could overlook the minuscule details—but you could see the little parts of Andrew he left with you plain as day.

Andrew kept a pair of clean clothes at your place, neatly tucked into the top right of your dresser drawer. A fresh toothbrush found its home in your bathroom cabinet. A singular bar of soap in its designated dish lived amongst your soaps and lotions. A surprisingly sparse amount of shower products for the insanely long showers Andrew took.

You’d learned early on that Andrew wasn’t one to offer a lot of personal information—and you accepted that—considering his time incarcerated, you thought perhaps that had altered his habits in ways you couldn’t understand.

You didn’t mind that he was the only man you’d dated that hadn’t tried to corner you in the vulnerability of a shower—Andrew kept the bathroom door securely locked behind him each time he went in—he was more like a skittish animal than a man most days.

Considering all his…quirks…it didn’t come as a surprise he wasn’t the most overtly sexual partner you’d had, either. Andrew didn’t exactly reject physical contact, but he surely was less likely to initiate. He didn’t pull away or lean closer you when you kissed him. Held you tight to him when you snuggled into his side. Dug his fingers into your hips, while you rocked against his lap.

He was content to let you use his thick thighs to grind on. To fuck you with skilled fingers, play with your clit. To bury his face into your soaked pussy until you were shaking and pleading. But he never seemed to care—or expect—you to do anything in return.

As soon as he got you off, Andrew would almost robotically set about cleaning up—washing his hands, cleaning you off, changing the sheets and dressing you into pajamas—and lay back in your arms as if nothing had occurred at all.

And that was fine.

For a while.

But everyone had their limits.

Andrew had done what he always had—determination clouding his handsome features as he curled his fingers deep inside you, forcing you to cum over and over until you were a sobbing mess of weak limbs—before he shut down, and went to climb off the bed.

But this time, you reached out, wrapping your hand around his thick wrist. Your grip wasn’t remotely restricting, Andrew could have easily shook you off and continued on his routine—but he froze in place all the same, as if your touch alone was enough to immobilize him.

“Andrew?” You called, voice shaky from all the moans he’d worked out of you. “Don’t you…don’t you want me to return the favor?”

“You don’t have to.” He replied. Quickly. Too quickly. “It’s okay—I’m okay.”

He shook his head to himself like he was having a whole separate conversation with himself. Glancing off to the side, towards the bathroom.

“But I want to.” You clambered to wobbly knees, leaning against his shoulder, pressing tender kisses to his stern cheeks. “I wanna make you feel good, too. Can’t I?”

“You don’t have to.” Andrew repeated, softly, a whisper.

“I want to.” You reaffirmed. Gently guiding him to lay down on the bed, you trailed curious hands across the thick, tense muscles of his shoulders, his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palms, down to the waistline of his jeans. “I wanna touch you, Andrew. Will you let me?”

He looked like he wanted to continue to object. Maybe it was the sincerity in your voice, the kindness in your eyes, the fact that Andrew had never felt unsafe in your company that allowed him to agree.

Andrew met your eyes, his gaze reminding you of an animal caught in a snare. Scared. In pain. But resigning to their fate nonetheless. “Okay.”

His breath hitched when you popped his jean button.

Fingers dug into the mattress as the zipper rang loud in the silent room.

Gaze fixed on a corner of the room as you gently worked the harsh fabric down his thick thighs.

Eyes pinched shut when the concerned gasp fell from your lips before you could help it.

Andrew was painfully hard. Completely bare. Not a hair in sight.

Skin a bright pink.

Raw.

You brushed a shaky finger across the splotchy skin, jumping when Andrew let out a pained breath.

“Andrew?” You tried to steel your expression, not wanting him to shut down worse than he was. “What…”

His chin wobbled.

Tears wet his lash line.

“I’m not clean.” He choked. “She—Smurf—I’m not clean.”

Your heart tightened. You’d barely put together the pieces of the Cody family. Had definitely witnessed how little boundaries the matriarch had with her son. But you would never had thought…

“Andrew, you’re okay, you’re safe.” You stated, voice firm with no room to object while Andrew fought to not spiral. “Andrew you did nothing wrong. You’re not unclean.”

His sobs racked through his body, shaking you and the bed

“Please.” Andrew hiccuped. “Make it go away—I want you to make it go away.”

“Andrew—”

“Please.”

His pleading broke your heart.

You’d never seen the eldest attack dog so broken down.

What the fuck did Smurf do to these boys?

With enough hesitation to give Andrew time to object, you spit in your hand, and reached for his aching length. His cock jerked the second you made contact. Andrew’s cries stuttered. A twist of your wrist had his back bowing off the mattress. The angry tip leaking cloudy tears.

“I need you to talk to me, Andrew.” You shuffled to kneel between his spread legs. Leaning down until your hair tickled his thighs, warm breath fanning over exposed skin. “You have to talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.” Andrew swallowed hard, adams apple bobbing. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby.”

Then you drew the flat of your tongue along the underside of his full length, taking in Andrew’s sharp gasp. Lazily circling the weeping head, tasting the slightly salty pre-cum.

“Hurts—but…feels good.” Andrew whispered.

You hummed, letting the vibration melt through his crotch. Pressing sloppy kisses up and down the length of his cock. Nuzzling your nose against tender skin. All but worshiping the broken man.

Flicking your tongue over the sensitivity little spot just beneath his tip, giving the head a teasing little suck, lapping up each salty pearl that dripped from him.

“This okay, Andy?” Your flicked your gaze up to meet his. That permanent frown was etched on his face again. But his eyes—they bounced between desire and hesitation, like he wasn’t sure he deserved such tender treatment but crazed it all the same—stayed locked on the sight of you between his legs, like you’d disappear if he dared to blink.

“Mhm.”

“Say it, Andy.”

“Feels good.” He corrected, reaching to carefully tuck some loose hair behind your ear.

“Good.” You smiled, and took him in your mouth. Andrew’s jaw clenched tight at the heat suddenly surrounding the raw skin, hips involuntarily bucking at the feeling.

Drool spilled around your lips, dripping down to pool around his base. Unable to take his full length you made up for it with curling your tongue on the underside of his cock with each bob of your head. Obscenely wet sounds of you gagging on his cock mixed with Andrew’s pained moans.

In the corner of your eye, you could see his hands twitching, unwilling to move. You grabbed them, guiding them to your hair, giving him a point look to say, ‘it’s okay.’

Andrew didn’t give any guidance, didn’t alter your decided pace, only gripping at your hair as tight as he fisted the sheets. His head tossed back against the pillow when you snuck a hand down to gently play with his balls, feeling him tightening up the more erratic his subconscious thrusts became.

You tried to keep the steady pace, to anticipate his wild bucking and meet him half way, but Andrew seemed to have completely lost himself on the feeling of your mouth working him over. You almost couldn’t tell if he was moaning or crying anymore, the sound drifting from one to the other, to somewhere in between as his hips stuttered.

Then you took all you could manage, tears burning your eyes, air leaving your lungs as you pressed your nose as close to his pelvis as you could, throat spasming around the intrusion as Andrew thrashed beneath you. Thick spurts filled the back of your throat as you tried to swallow around him and keep up with the flood.

You lurched back, gasping for air, chest heaving in time with Andrew’s.

Andrew didn’t settle—he never really did—but he sunk into the mattress.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” You rasped, climbing off the bed on wobbly limbs.

Andrew nodded.

“Say it, baby.”

“Okay.”

You made for the bathroom, collecting some wipes Andrew kept in the cabinet, and snatched a tube of aloe gel before returning to Andrew’s side. With a tenderness he wasn’t used to receiving, you wiped away all the drool, the residual cum, your collective mess away from his raw skin. Then smoothed a generous layer of aloe on the burning flesh.

“You’re not dirty, Andrew.” You spoke quietly. Threading your fingers through his hair as he leaned into your lap. “You’re deserving of kindness. Softness. You deserve to be loved. Properly.”

Andrew’s sniffles reached your ears as he curled in to your touch. He never replied. But his shoulders were less tense. His breathing evened out. His fingers traced mindless shapes on your bare thighs.

“Okay.”

[groovyangelkisses]

canon pope isn’t as sexual as he’s made out to be— in fact he really struggles with sexuality. which is why his most intimate moments are shared in between mutual looks.

sitting on the couch at smurf’s, his brothers berating him about coming home from prison and wanting to jump on the first job they find. craig calls him reckless and stupid. but you jump to his aid. just like you always have. deep gaze held as you state, as simple and in-arguably has possible, “don’t say that about him.” it’s the first time in years someone really looked at him.

or years later, when you’ve long since thoroughly embarassed yourself in front of him with affectionate hugs and smiles, you watch him walk out with amy after their reunion date. clutching your purse as you wait for j to pick you up from your shift, you smile at andrew. you can’t help your tears, they burn your eyes and skew his figure even more in your clouded brain.

he looks back at you, what’s a stranger if not a lover in another life?

you watch amy walk to her car after a sweet hug with pope & you quickly swipe at your cheeks, pushing the tears away. you’d never want andrew to know he made you cry, couldn’t live with the idea of making his gnarled heart throb anymore with guilt. “oh… she’s beautiful andrew.” his head whips around, curls blowing in the sea salt air. stern eyes melt at the sight of your face & he swallows down the terrible feeling of adoration & failure & guilt & the undeniable pull of love. you smile at him, and can’t stop the tears that escape.

to love pope cody, is to suffer the never ending pain of an inmovable object on your chest. he knows it. which is why you just stare, even when amy’s tailights flash red across the lovers; the polarized figurines so fragile that one touch would kill them both.

you realized you’ve never touched him. he’s never touched you. does it matter?

[slytherclaw1978]

as much as I love pope cody smut and would love to go at it with him like rabbits, this is so true.

my man is 40 years old and doesn’t know how he can be loved naturally and easily. let alone sexually without some type of payment.

[groovyangelkisses]

pope who knows his dick is big so everytime you makeout and start to put your hand on him, he pushes it away. now you just think “oh okay, he’s not ready for intimacy yet.” understandable!

but it gets to a point where one day you convince him to pull down his jeans and you see his thick, heavy cock slap against his tummy. i mean heaaaaavy, like the crimson pink tip is so big & his balls are spilling out of his boxers and he’s soooo warm.

and you’re just staring— gazing, rather. his cheeks & ears are so red and he’s avoiding eye contact nervously as his fists clench and unclench. bare assed, sitting on the bed sheet and swallowing as he pinches his mouth and looks at you… sweet, doe-eyed you. you coo “oh andrew…” in lust and he’s shakily replying “‘m just… really big, didn’t wanna scare you off… or anything.”

FUCK

[slytherclaw1978]

just clutched my pearls….meeeOW

[sammy-bryant]

SHAWN HATOSY

[slytherclaw1978]

his stooped perfect hair ugh

[popepout]

baby daddytrapper!pope …

andrew “pope” cody & f!reader

content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, mention of death / murder, obsession, talk about having babies, baby trapping, use of daddy / mommy.

when you first started coming around no one thought much of it. except for deran and craig who placed a bet that pope was paying you for your company, and although smurf doesn’t particularly love the idea of you distracting him and doting on him, she did promptly tell them to shut up. everyone’s eyes linger on you both as you lay out by the pool on a lounge chair, skin warmed by the sun whilst pope rests over you in a way anyone else would find suffocating or overbearing.

he allows you to rub your hands over his strong freckled shoulders, not flinching away from your hands even as his eyes lock with smurf’s through the glass door.

it became very apparent that this relationship would be a problem in that exact moment. not because of you, no. everyone thinks you’re a total angel, debatably the sweetest girl he’s ever brought to the house. maybe you’re a little dumb to be hanging around a man that got out of prison only months ago but it is what it is. the problem lies with pope, because they know how this ends. either you’ll smash his heart to bits and pieces, or be tossed off the rear of a boat dead or alive.

“pope, don’t tell me you knocked her up.”

you can hear baz from the other room but you pretend you don’t as you help smurf arrange little finger sandwiches for a party and purse your lips, ignoring the way she side-eyes you. she knows, too. you haven’t been drinking, haven’t been as present in the house to avoid chaos, and unfortunately you woke up one day earlier this week and discovered your bump has decided to make quite the appearance.

it was easy to leave your anxiety behind that day when pope came up to you and placed his hands on your stomach, rubbing your bump through your tank top with such a gentle touch. a touch that parallels the way he caressed your soft skin while he fucked you full— you were too far gone to remind him to pull out but you’re not sure if it would have made a difference. you were wrapped up in the promises that were dripping off of his tongue. that he’s going to provide for you and your baby to the fullest extent, that he’ll be the best daddy, that you’ll be his for the rest of your life if you just give him what he wants.

how were you supposed to fight him off and stay strong when he was begging you to let him make you a mommy?

“it’s none of your business,” andrew replies. his blunt voice bounces off of the walls and snaps you out of your memory induced trance.

you hesitantly look over at smurf who’s already grinning at you, eyes crinkled in what you can only imagine is faux happiness—

“i guess we have a baby shower to plan. don’t we, sweetie?”

[slytherclaw1978]

i am thoroughly repulsed by the thought of a man baby trapping me

….andrew cody is not just a man though. he’s the love of my life, my world, my everything, my heart, my soul, AND YES….my baby daddy

[thisismeena]

a moment of gratitude for season 1 Pope

[slytherclaw1978]

his entire frame is so wide and his muscles are hugeeeeee. my god

[cannibalkermit]

Animal Attraction by She Wants Revenge but it inspired me to write perverted stalker reader who's obsessed with Pope

this goes out to my favorite tumblr freaks who inspire me to let the inner wolf out (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Content: p in v, stalking, unconsensual photos?, voyeurism, unprotected freaks, light choking

You'd sleep around with all the Cody brothers just so you could get closer to Pope. You curate yourself into the perfect girl, all soft and baby-like for Baz and clueless for Smurf, getting drunk and partying with Craig, taking a job at the bar and keeping some secrets (blackmail), whatever needs to be done.

All so you practically live in the same house as him and do whatever you want. You sneak into Pope's room to snoop through his things, stealing clothes that you wear when you finger yourself to the thought of him, rubbing your release onto his boxers before folding them up and putting them back in his drawer. You sneak around the side of the house, using a camera to zoom in through his window and watch him get ready for bed, clenching your thighs as you watch him change—as if doing it just for you.

You eye-fuck him every chance you get, stare at the bulge in his pants, lick your lips, salivating at the thought of dropping to your knees and taking him so deep in your throat that you gag. Wearing tiny fucking shorts and cropped tanks so he can watch sweat run down your back and sunlight glisten off your belly ring. You bend over just to arch your back and imagine his tongue running along your spine, imagine him salivating to the thought of your salty skin between his teeth as he fucks you from behind.

You come out in a skimpy bikini barely holding everything in, knowing he’s just drooling at the site of you, your curves and discolorations. He’s obsessed with watching you uncross your legs, giving him the briefest view between your thighs and the little stubble peaking out beneath the bottoms. The way you turn to him with your shoulders back and face all scrunched in the sun, holding out your sunscreen and asking in a sing song voice “won't you help me? I can't reach my back”

He’s heading for you before the word “yes” even leaves his lips, watching you lie on your stomach, your eyes covered by the brim of your sun hat. “Dont be scared to touch. I need it under the straps too,” you coax him forward, and hiss a slight breath at the cold liquid contacting your spine, making you arch just a little. His big hands spread out over your back, rubbing it in, fingers sliding under the straps of your top. He’s trying not to think of how easy it would be to pull that string and undue the bow holding it together. Let you spill out, let him grope your tits and pebble those nipples heloves staring at.

“Can you get lower?” you ask in a teasing voice, watching from beneath your hat as his adams apple bobs, but he follows orders. Wet hands roam down to the small of your back, then slowly over the curve of your ass as he lets out a little “this okay?” and you hum in reply, feeling your cunt flutter to life and drench your bottoms.

And poor Pope, all he can do is rub the sunscreen in until you spread your plush thighs open a little and his finger accidentally slips between your legs against the seam of your bottoms, letting him feel the dampness, the warmth, and he has to get out of there as soon as possible, to go hide in a closet and chase the smell of you on his fingers.

You know he leaves the bathroom door slightly ajar when showering so you can peek through and watch him bathe, watch him jerk off with his back facing you, all rippling muscles and those huffing breaths as he whispers your name. You bite your lip to keep quiet as you touch yourself, wanting to go in there and taste his release. The amount of times you’ve imagined walking in on him, just to get a good look at that v-line, get a chance to touch him, let your mouth fall open and tongue go flat against him, looking up at how his abdomen tenses and his head falls back when you suck him all the way down your throat like a good girl.

You start sleeping with no panties on and shirts that ride up your abdomen, your door unlocked and window open. He's keeping a collection of photos of your sleeping form, hair tousled and legs open like you're posing for him. And maybe he stays up late into the night sometimes just staring at those photos while fisting himself, hips stuttering as he imagines what you taste like, how you’d sound with his teeth on your clit or his tongue in your pussy.

You've got your own collection of sneaky photos: him on jobs, from behind trees across the street while he's at the atm, at the end of the grocery aisle. You learn his routine and start inserting yourself in every aspect of his life. Running into him at the beach, getting the girl who smiled at him fired from the store, coming over to sunbathe while he's working on the yard, pretending not to care in your bikini and staring at him through your big sunglasses.

You got his whole routine logged in your notes app. Where he goes shopping, how many hours a day he sleeps, when he wakes up, what he usually eats for breakfast. You even bought the same soap so you could smell more like him.

And maybe one night while following him across town, wearing no panties under your tight jean shorts cause you just get so turned on while stalking, Pope catches you off-guard. Cause of course he knows you stalk him, and he's so pent up with want that he can't help but drag you by the nape of your neck to the nearest back alley, pulling down your little shorts and sticking his fingers into your cunt, making your eyes roll back. "so fucking nasty, you get off on following me around?" he's leaning in, sniffing your neck and getting your hair in his mouth, pulling on the strands and tasting your conditioner.

He'll snatch your camera and start taking flash photos of your face while finger-fucking you, "so fucking wet and disgusting, look at you. You want it? Baby, c'mon, let the whole city know," he’s knuckles deep, curling his fingers up into that sponge as his thumb rolls over your swollen clit, making you buck against him, head thrown back as you mewl. Before you can cum on his hand he’s abruptly stopping, licking your slick off his glistening fingers before unbuckling his belt with one hand.

He'll record the whole thing—the moment your sloppy cunt sucks him in, how loud you moan while he thrusts until his hips slam into yours, all the babbled, incoherent things you say while clawing at him, not caring how loud you are.

"wanna—ahh, fuck—cum inside me. I wanna feel you, all you," you want to feel him inside you for days, don't you? Dream about the thick length of him, the pulsing vein that's sliding against your folds, the head of him squishing deep and the sputtering warmth as he bucks his hips, rutting endlessly and turning your pussy raw and burning.

He takes pictures of your face as you cum around him, thighs shaking and eyes rolling back. Then his thrusts falter for a moment while he sets the camera down and reaches for you, fingers round your neck as he picks up the pace. He’s got you squealing and gurgling choked moans, biting on his thumb when the pleasure spikes with pain.

He doesn't stumble one second as hot sticky release shoots into you, fucking himself through the climax and moaning against your shoulder. “Gonna keep following me?” he’s asking, squeezing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

You can't help but smile. He likes it just as much as you do.

And that's how he got a picture of you cumming in his wallet

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

[slytherclaw1978]

literally im tryna match popes freak so bad

like I’d love to see his reaction too … would he like it like this fic or be freaked out ugh I need to knowwwwwww

[dominowaverly]

no, sweetheart- I can’t. None of us can.

[slytherclaw1978]

trying to remind myself to be normal about him. but all i heard was a cocky-confident andrew cody or a regular jack abbot making me wanna drop my panties.

no baby I can’t look away!

[mariasont]

PEARL NECKLACE ⋆˚࿔

after a creep makes a gross comment to you outside your apartment, pope is forced to explain what a pearl necklace really means. spoiler: it's not jewelry

PAIRING pope cody x bunny!reader

WARNINGS 18+ MDNI suggestive material (not explicit smut), age gap, innocence kink, corruption kink, protective pope cody, obsessive pope cody, stalker-like tendencies, unhealthy attachment, sexual innuendos, explicit sexual language and visuals, sheltered reader, naive/ditzy reader, creepy male attention, objectification, harassment / catcalling, predatory behavior (not from pope), threats of violence, implied violence (no graphic scenes)

WC 3.3k

Pope is here because Smurf told him the property needs checking on. At least that’s the story he’s feeding himself.

And it makes sense. There’s water damage in one of the downstairs units and some dipshit’s been stripping cooper out of the laundry room again. If it’s not one thing going wrong, it’s another.

This building’s always two steps away from falling apart. Someone has to stop it from going to hell completely.

Plenty of good, rational reasons to be here. 

None of which do a thing to explain why he does not move from being propped on the hood of his truck just yet.

He stays at the curb as he watches the building’s familiar pulse of seedy activity.

It’s not even the worst spot owned by the Codys, not by far, but that doesn’t make it good. It’s definitely not good enough for you, not by a long shot. Run-down. Full of people who loiter outside longer than they should and pay too much attention to things that aren’t theirs.

A woman argues fervently on the stoop, body tense enough he can see the harsh jut of her collarbone from here. Two boys pretend to clean their bikes by the courtyard, their hands moving in repetitive, meaningless circles, rags never actually removing any grime.

And then there’s the smoker, with a long beard and crooked nose, leaning near the stairs, smoke rising around him.

Pope watches his sleepy gaze harden suddenly, tracking something straight ahead.

Pope’s neck cranes as his vision tunnels into pinpoint clarity, finding what the man found first: you.

Walking up the sidewalk with two grocery bags hooked over your wrists, pink flats picking their way carefully over the buckled concrete, skirt the same shade catching around your knees every time the breeze shifts. White cardigan buttoned all the way up over your chest despite the heat.

You don’t hurry. That bothers him.

You move through the courtyard with no care in the world. Unaware of the eyes that linger on your body, the curiosity you unwittingly ignite.

God he hates this place most when you’re in it. Without you, it’s just brick and mortar. But with you here, everything is suddenly hostile. A million scenarios blooming in his head. Someone following you from your car, someone hiding just around the corner waiting for you to pass by, a neighbor deciding your door lock doesn’t look so hard to force open.

He has tried to get you to stay at Smurf’s countless times now, using different tactics each time. Gentle coaxing, stubborn demands, pushing you into the kind of corner where the only real choice was already decided for you.

And those all work most nights. 

Still, every now and then, for reasons unbeknownst to him, you insist on sleeping here.

So every now and then, he comes and sits off to the side, his truck parked discreetly out of view. Always staying within striking distance should anyone dare to try anything stupid.

Thankfully he hasn’t had to act yet, people know better, whispers exchanged in doorways and hallways: that pretty little thing tucked away in apartment 2B is Cody territory. Off limits.

It takes him four long strides to reach you. 

He comes up behind you without saying anything, partly because he doesn’t want to startle you and partly because he wants to see how long it takes before you notice a man his size coming up behind you. Too long, apparently. 

You don’t notice him when his shadow cuts across the pavement beside yours, not when his boots hit the concrete close enough you should hear him, not even when he’s right behind you, inhaling the faint sweet drift of your perfume over the dirty air of the courtyard.

You just keep walking, grocery bags bumping into your legs every second step, head angled down as you watch your feet over the cracked walkway. 

Then you stop so suddenly he nearly runs into you, boots scuffing against the ground in the process.

Nearly turns into definitely when you move again, bending at the waist to grab a little carton that had tumbled out of your bag and rolled near your shoe.

He can’t dodge you fast enough before he’s crashing against you, the ample of your backside pressed flush against him, your skirt skimming his denim-clad thighs.

He grits his teeth, swallowing down the groan lodged somewhere in his throat, and his hands shoot out to grip at your waist. Half to steady you, half to hold himself back.

You jump, a sharp little gasp tearing out of you as you twist in his hold, eyes wide, lips parted.

But the fear vanishes when you realize it’s him. Dissolves so quickly into relief, then blossoming into that lovely smile of yours Pope spends half his days obsessing over. Lip gloss glistens like honey under the afternoon sun, squinting at him through the harsh glare.

“Pope,” you breathe, like he’s something good that happened to you rather than the man who decided to follow you through a parking lot to prove a point.

His fingers flex once before he makes them let go.

“You don’t pay attention,” he tells you plainly.

You smile pinches at the edges a little, like you’re trying to decide whether he’s teasing you or scolding you. You seem to assume the later. A good assumption.

“I do pay attention,” you insist, the words coming out with the stubborn certainty of someone who has already decided they're right. Then you glance down at the sidewalk as though it might testify on your behalf. One of the grocery bags slips lower on your wrist, plastic stretching, and you hitch it back up with a small huff of effort. “I was paying attention to the ground. Because last week I almost twisted my ankle right there.”

Pope follows the line of your finger.

Without a word, he reaches for the bags. His hand closes around the handles and lifts them clean off your arm before you can object. You make a small noise of surprise, letting him take them.

“What if it wasn’t me coming up behind you?” 

Your brows pull together. “But it was you.”

“Yeah, but what if it wasn’t?”

You hesitate visibly, your fingers weaving together, rocking onto the tips of your shoes. You look almost apologetic when you speak. “I dunno.”

Exactly, he thinks.

He breathes out very slowly through his nose to keep the worst of his frustration from showing. It still sits heavy on his face, he’s sure. In the hard line of his mouth, in the way his hands tighten around the plastic bags until the handles stretch thin. 

“You gotta be more aware,” he says, dipping his face towards yours, almost pleading. His gaze flickers anxiously over your face, desperate for more reassurance. “Can you do that for me? Check around when you get out of the car, look before you walk up the stairs, take a second before you open your door.” 

You open your mouth to speak, something potentially defensive at the tip of your tongue, before you reconsider, shoulders sinking just a fraction. 

“For me,” Pope urges again. No room for misunderstanding.

And because you are you, you give a gentle, almost reluctant nod in surrender. You have a hard time fighting him on anything.

He returns the gesture with his own stiff nod. He knows you don’t fully understand the fuss, not completely, but you’re trying, and that has to be enough for now. He’ll shoulder the rest.

He moves towards the staircase, leaving you to catch up. You hurry to follow behind him. 

“Why’re you here anyway?” you voice after him. “Did I miss rent or something?”

Pope doesn’t turn around; doesn’t trust himself to look at you without giving too much away.

“No,” he replies, casual, like it’s not something he thinks about every single month.

You would never be late. You are a meticulously precise creature. Keeping track of everything, neat little numbers, due dates, confirmations, all of it lined up exactly the way you like, and then you get that pleased look on your face when you send the payment, like you’ve done something worth being proud of.

Which you have. He lets you have that. But he can’t stand taking your money.

So every month he waits until that little deposit appears, waits another day or two to avoid suspicion, then finds a way to get it back to you.

Sometimes it’s hidden in elaborate Cody business expenses; other times Craig’s buddy does some invisible computer shit to push numbers back into your account, nothing ever traced to pope.

And occasionally, he just leaves cash in places he knows you’ll find it. In your purse, between pages of a book you’ve left out, tucked behind a coffee mug. 

He loves hearing you puzzle over it. You always chalk it up to luck, or fate, or some karmic gift from the universe. Never once suspecting Pope’s fingerprints on every cent.

It all sounds more complicated than it actually is.

Really, it’s just logical. You need the money. Pope has the money. Problem solved.

At the steps, Pope pauses, gently nudging you ahead of him.

It’s a selfish move. He’s got a bad feeling you don’t have shorts under that skirt, and he’s not in the mood to have that confirmed by anyone standing behind you. Better him at your back than anyone else. Better him blocking the view.

As if to confirm his fears, someone over his shoulder lets out a short laugh. “Man, a girl that pretty oughta let me buy her dinner. Hell, maybe I’d even send her home wearing a pearl necklace.”

Pope looks back and finds the bearded cigarette smoker slouched against the vending machine, filter hanging loose between two fingers, eyes still fixed on you with that same open, filthy interest. He’s got a buddy with him now, some wiry little shit standing half a step to the side, not looking too sure of himself now that Pope’s facing him. 

Pope thinks about how easy it would be. Pin the guy up against the machine, forearm to windpipe, watching the smartass shine drain out of his eyes. Pictures crushing the cigarette into the soft part of his cheek. But he can’t do that without scaring you off.

So he crouches just enough to place the bags on the stairs without jostling them, eggs and bread and whatever else cushioned upright where it won’t tip. 

When he rises, he goes back the way he came, jerking his head in your direction. “You talkin’ about her?”

“Just complimenting her.”

“No,” Pope says. “You weren’t.”

The wiry friend shifts back half a step. Smart. 

The bearded man tries to recover, but it’s too late, Pope can already see the little glint of fear sputtering in his eyes, igniting as he sizes him up.

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth. “Ain’t that serious, man.”

Pope reaches out and plucks the cigarette from his fingers before it gets there. Drops it to the concrete. Crushes it under his boot. 

“Look at her again, talk about her again, I’ll make sure the next thing I crush under my boot is your throat.”

The bearded man opens his mouth. 

“Don’t. I’m tryin’ real hard not to scare her,” Pope growls. “Don’t make that difficult for me.”

The man’s eyes flick once past Pope, towards the stairs, toward you, then snap back fast like even that was a mistake.

“Alright,” he mutters finally, hands lifting a little. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

A lie. A terrible one, at that. But Pope doesn’t spare the man another look. Just turns, grabs the grocery bags, and comes back up the steps to where you’re perched on the landing, watching him with that dazed little expression of yours. 

“I don’t even like pearls,” you whisper to him the second he gets close enough. “They’re kinda old-ladyish.”

Pope shuts his eyes for half a beat.

“Yeah,” he finally sputters, tips of his ears burning a little. He ushers you towards 2B. “C’mon. Inside.”

The inside of your apartment is cute. Small as it looks from the outside and from what he can see through your window at night, but it’s cute, all pinks and whites and soft little girlish details scattered across every surface.

There’s a coffee table crowded with tiny trinkets he can’t make heads or tails of, glossy little objects with no obvious purpose except that you liked them enough to bring them home. 

And it’s clean. He likes that it’s clean. Clean means he won’t spend the time here distracted by dust in the corners and fingerprints on glass, trying not to imagine bleaching every inch of it.

He carries the bags into the kitchen and sets them on the counter one by one. Behind him, you wobble a little taking off your shoes and catch yourself on his shoulder.

It leaves a searing brand behind when you pull away. 

“What was that out there?” you ask.

Pope shrugs. “Nothin’. Guy’s just a dick.”

He winces inwardly as soon as he says it. Dick feels too crude aimed anywhere near you, and he has to resist the urge to take it back and replace it with something nicer.

“It’s not like he said anything really bad or anything,” you say, shrugging in a way that suggests you’re used to it. 

Used to being stared at, cat called, talked about. And maybe it shouldn’t surprise him, given who you are.

He’s seen it before, at Smurf’s parties, men practically stumbling over themselves to offer you a drink, eyes tracking every movement you make. Drivers nearly wrapping their cars around telephone poles because their heads turn too fast when you walk down the street. 

You’re beautiful. Beautiful enough that people can’t help staring at you. But Pope’s never been forced to hear it firsthand, never had to stand there while some pervert talked about putting a pearl necklace across your throat and chest. And you don’t even understand what he was saying. 

He could handle it. He could handle it right now. If the guy’s still lingering around when Pope leaves, he might just have to. The asshole will be out of this building tomorrow regardless, he’ll will make damn sure of it.

Your hand touching his arm snaps him out of it. He looks down and sees your painted fingers resting there, cautious like you’re not sure what’s going on in his head. 

“Pope?”

The heat cools just enough for him to breathe. He rubs a hand over his jaw. “He said somethin’ bad enough.”

You cock your head to one side. “Taking me to dinner isn’t exactly the worst offer I’ve ever had. And like I said, pearls aren’t really my thing, but it’s a nice sentiment, I guess?”

Pope shoves his hand through his hair, forced to take a step back because standing this close to your face is messing with him. 

“Look a pearl necklace isn’t… it’s not jewelry, okay? It’s not fuckin’ nice. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

You fold your arms over your chest, your hair slipping forward and partly covering your face. Pope’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the impulse to reach out and brush it back into place. 

“Not really… I— well,” you pause, fingers drumming along your left arm. “What else could a pearl necklace be, if it’s not jewelry?”

His blood pressure ticks up exponentially. Why must you make everything so difficult?

“I’m not gonna explain it. Just trust me, it’s not somethin’ appropriate for anyone to say to you.”

“What happened to ‘I’m an adult’ and ‘it’s my call if I wanna know stuff’?”

Shit. He did say that, didn’t he?

Pope takes a deep, irritated breath, wishing he could turn back time and rip his own vocal chords out. This must be his own purgatory. Cursed to answer all your sex related questions for all of eternity and unable to do anything about it.

You trust him. That much is obvious. He doesn’t want to abuse that trust. A Sisyphean task. Endless. Futile.

“Alright, look. It’s slang for a guy… finishin’ on you. On your throat, your chest, wherever.” His voice is strained, worried he might break something delicate in you just by saying it. “It’s disrespectful. Sleazy.”

You blink, eyes huge as you look up at him, clearly stunned by what you just heard. You shake your head slightly, trying to puzzle it out. “So it’s… disrespectful if someone does that to you?”

Pope cracks his neck, wincing slightly, as if the right words are somewhere trapped there and refusing to come out easy. 

“Christ — yes,” he grumbles. Then quickly, backtracking, “I mean no — no, it ain’t disrespectful if it’s something you, uh, wanted someone to do, but it’s disrespectful for someone to say shit like that to you unprompted.”

“Oh, well, yeah, that was gross,” you agree, wrinkling your nose.

Then you turn away from him, starting to put away the groceries with a distracted, absent-minded care. He thinks he’s in the clear, that you’re satisfied with his sparks note version of the definition.

He’s eyeing the door, when you pause again, bottom lip caught between your teeth, a bag of carrots dangling in your hand.

“Why would someone even want to do that to someone? The guy, I mean? Not him specifically, just, like, any guy? Is that something… you think about? Like a lot?”

He coughs, almost choking, and a hot flush creeps up the back of his neck.

There’s an instant headache pulsing behind he eyes as he tries desperately not to picture exactly what you just asked him.

Is it something he thinks about? Not until this moment. Not until he imagines those same wide and trusting eyes looking up at him as he spills milky white ropes of cum across your bare chest.

Christ. He’s no better than that asshole downstairs, thinking shit like that about you. 

He presses two fingers to his temple. “No, it’s not like I sit around thinking about stuff like that.”

It feels like a fib now.

“So why would someone wanna do that at all?”

Because it would feel good, he thinks. Immediately. The act itself, yes, but the claim in the aftermath. The evidence left behind.

The way people are always trying to leave marks on things they like. Names carved into desks. Initials scratched into trees. Dogs pissing on fire hydrants. 

You stare at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

He looks at the wall behind you, at the cheap paint and the little crooked shelf you’ve decorated with candles and a tiny ceramic flower.

Anything but your face. Anything but the curve of your throat. Anything but the where your shirt dips when you shift closer. 

“It’s…” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking. “It’s visual.” The word sounds dragged out of him. “That’s part of it. Men are wired like that. And part of it’s ego. They wanna see you messy like that. Wanna see that you let ‘em do it.” His mouth flattens. “It’s not always romantic. A lotta the time it’s just selfish.”

“But maybe it depends on who it is? Like doing it to you?” You continue to worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Like… if it was someone safe. Someone you trusted a lot.” A tiny crease forms between your brows. “And if it was something you wanted too, couldn’t it be kind of romantic?” 

Pope goes still. All his blood seeming to rush downwards as the question lands between you like something lit, something rolling close to dry brush.

He can feel the conversation slipping somewhere it shouldn’t. He needs to reign it back in, regain control.

Instead he says, “Could be. If you trusted ‘em. If it was somethin’ you were askin’ for, or… into. Not somethin’ that’s being pushed on you.”

You go quiet, turning that over.

Then, in that soft, absentminded way of yours, like you don’t realize you’re lighting a match in a room full of gas, you say, “I guess that makes sense. A lot of things probably feel different with a person you trust.”

You’re looking at him so intensely he has to take another step back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Can’t. Your gaze moves back down into the grocery bag with a shrug, sweet and unaware that you’ve just handed his imagination enough to ruin the rest of his night.

He’s corrupt for wanting to be that person for you. The one you trust enough to paint your body. To teach you all this dumb shit, but with his hands, with his mouth, with his cock.

He clears his throat hard, grabs the last bag off the counter even though it’s already empty, then sets it right back down like he forgot what he was doing in the first place.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice flat in that way it only gets when he’s holding too much under it. “Maybe.”

He leaves not long after that. Before you ask anything else. Before he can give into his urges and contaminate you with his darkness.  

By the next afternoon, the guy downstairs is gone.

Smurf’s property manager tells the tenants it was a lease violation. Some issue with unauthorized guests, late rent, maybe smoking too close to the building. Nobody asks too many questions. Nobody wants to.

And a few days later, you mention in passing that the creepy man by the vending machine must’ve gotten into some kind of accident.

“His face looked weird when he was packing up all his stuff,” you say, frowning a little. “Like he burned himself or something.”

Pope just hums, eyes on the road.

He doesn’t tell you cigarette burns heal terribly.

YOU CAN FIND MY POPE CODY MASTERLIST HERE ⭑.ᐟ

[slytherclaw1978]

andrew cody teach me what a pearl necklace is. im a visual learner by the way !!

[sleepingbeautiiies]

When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 11

+18 MDNI

pt. 10 / pt. 12

summary: pope has a surprise for reader

content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), lewd conversations, sugar daddy pope vibes, deran being traumatized, reader being delulu

a/n: STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THIS ONE OH MY GOD!!!!! need to be spoiled by this man fr 😭 i wasn’t even gonna post today but i really wanted to see everyone’s reaction to this chapter 💖

୨୧ taglist: @gaypoetsblog @17th-sector @edynmeyer1 @fortjackson @tulipbreeze @cardcaptorrin @jeshomie @10ava01 @sunbonesss @ilikebeingdelulu @missykoaladelulu @caridundermifflin @pagingmrsabbot @supernaturalsuperhero @whore4fictionalmen19 @mentallyilldarling @frankiebeeslyshouse @wylewhims @themoviefangirl-blog @bearymuchso @killora1708 @kaorisakamotofan

୨୧ all works taglist: @tiddieshakeshownu @will-run-for-gin @itzpixiebabe

[slytherclaw1978]

I kind of need this smau version of andrew in my life like yesterday

[ozarkthedog]

[slytherclaw1978]

oh baby I say a lot more than that

[voidsagent]

NOBODY TOUCH ME !! THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE PIC OF HIM !! IM CRYING HES SO CUTE— 🤧🫶🏻

[lovergirlcinema]

This feels like the type of picture you put in your wallet and look at wistfully throughout the day😩😩

[slytherclaw1978]

no literally need a wallet size hd portrait of this. he’s everything

[groovyangelkisses]

summer scent routines for hatosy lovers <3

jack abbot: dove “deep moisture” bar soap & body wash, eos fresh & cozy lotion, vera wang princess body spray, trader joe’s brazil nut body oil, lush snow fairy dusting powder, miss dior eau de parfum

andrew “pope” cody: dove “shea butter” bar soap & body wash, lush “mama chino” scrubbee, jergens “vanilla crush” lotion, lush “coconut drench” massage bar, victoria’s secret “bare vanilla” body spray, lush “super milk” dusting powder, kuumba “vanilla bean” perfume oil

[dirtygir1]

I OWE YOU A BLACK EYE AND TWO KISSES..

FarmingMan!Pope x FarmHandFem!reader!

You come back home to your daddy's place when things got rough, and there's a small job listing in the paper. Part one.

W: LOTS of plot build up, idk got many words. AU takes place in the 80/90s but Pope is still his old fine self. A world where he finally got away and was able to live his life. Usage of "daddy" but not towards him, Pope calls you a lot of sweet names, "good girl," "sweetheart" "sugar." Huge age gap, reader is described to be a young thing, entering her early 20s and Pope is canon age. A little power imbalance. Readers a daddy's girl. Pope likes that. A lot. Mentions of weed, Pope experienced, you're not.

A lilitle ooc but bare with me, yes I know the real Pope wouldn't have a country accent. or talk that much. Reader is described to be bubbly and punctual. Now to get into the good stuff, light smut in this part, grinding, mentions of masturbation, cherry popping. Pope has an accident. I think that's all of it. I will say I sort of curated this for black readers, I say braids and brown skin, but anyone can read of course!!

A/N: I got this idea scrolling on Pinterest when I saw the first picture, like hmmm that kinda...that could be.... like it would be so hot to see Popes big arms working a field in the hot sun all day...Imao I hope you enjoy!! This dragged on a little long I'm sorry :(

A/A/N: you guys piss me offfff ugh here you go🙄🩷

“Baby doll, I love you, but I can’t take of you forever,” Your dear old dad says with a sigh.

You’d called over the phone in tears, your landlord in your big city had been screwing you over, your job wasn’t paying you enough. You were overwhelmed, you’d never thought things would get so tough when you moved out three years ago.

You didn’t have to say much, your dad just told you to come on home and he’d help you the best he could, but he was gettin’ older in age. He couldn’t hold you on his hip anymore and guide you through life like he used to.

Being back home felt good, you didn’t have to worry about not knowing anyone, about when you were next gonna eat. Everyone loved you, so when your daddy told the town you were coming home, it was like you’d never left. Three years gone, four months back, and nothing felt different. You were just a woman now.

“Now I’m not kickin’ you out, okay? But you’re gonna have to get a job here soon.” He says, laying a newspaper on your bed. And it’s not like you haven’t been looking, but no one wanted your help. Not the grocery store, not the children’s center.

You’d spent your days helping around the house, the land and with the older neighbors, keeping them company like you used to always do. You were circling ads at breakfast, a small one catching your eye. “6/XX ACTIVE. Looking for a hand around my land. Has to be good with animals and know your way around a crop field. Pay weekly. Call at—” you look for the name, Andrew Cody.

“Daddy do you know of a ‘Andrew Cody’?” You say, shoveling eggs into your mouth as you hold the paper. He looks up at you with a confused look. “..Pope? Yeah uh…yeah he’s been down here a while, good friend of mine. You’ve seen him at the market a few times. Why?”

“He has an ad in the paper for a farmhand. Should I do it? Seems easy enough. Doesn’t sound like somethin’ I’m not used to.” You shrug, not noticing the look you were getting shot as you finish breakfast.

Andrew wasn’t a…bad role model per se, he was just an odd fella. Quiet, always wary of anyone he met, shacked up in that house all alone. Honestly, to anybody that didn’t already make good friends with him he seemed kinda mean. He never talked about where he came from, all anyone knew was that he came up one day and popped out the prettiest flowers you’d ever seen, and the reddest tomatoes.

“Yeah sweetheart, go for it. I’m sure you’d do good and keep him great company.” He says, and you smile, hopping up to the telephone around the corner and dialing the number, holding the phone up to your ear.

It rings a few seconds before it picks up, and you’re nervous immediately. “Go for Andrew Cody.” A gruff voice answers with a sigh. “Hel-Hello Mr. Cody,” you clear your throat before saying your name to him, “I saw your ad for a farm hand, I wanted to take you up on the position. I’m free all the time, and I’ve got some experience behind my belt.” You say, and he recognizes your last name.

“[last name] you said? This is his daughter? how are you,” “Oh i’m doing alright, having breakfast. How are you sir?” You say politely. “I’m doin’ alright miss, feedin’ the litter. What time can you come over? I’ve got a lot of stuff to get started on.”

“Oh-I can head on over after I freshen up and finish breakfast!” You smile. “Okay, well go ahead and finish your breakfast and I’ll see you soon.” He finishes off with telling you the address, and you politely thank him.

“So?” Your dad asks as you clean off your plate. “He said come over when I can, I guess he’ll show me around and stuff. The pay is weekly, and I’m sure he’ll tell me how much when I get there.” You smile.

Pope sat back in his recliner with a sigh, rubbing his head. He was happy someone finally picked up on his ad. He didn’t think of himself as friendly, but he wanted..the community. He just didn’t know how to get there.

He volunteered as much as he could, went to church, spoke to anyone who spoke to him. But it still just seemed like no one wanted him around, at least as much as he could pick up on, he knew he was self kept. And for the most part it was fine, it wasn’t something he was foreign to, people noticing he was offputting. But he wanted this fresh start.

Pope moved on from the life his mom gave him years ago, almost a decade now. He left with nothing but cash, a few outfits and distant land waiting for him, a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town, away from any smog being produced that would fuck up his crops.

He made luck with good people, working for his own seed, cattle and other animals which over time allowed him to sell independently. His name grew, as mysterious as he was.

“That man down the road sold em to me. Sweet as hell he is, right?”

“His prices are reasonable too, not like xyz. Think he goes by Andrew?”

Nobody really cared how he just planted his feet into the ground and became a shoulder to the poeple, they just knew they weren’t letting go. It wasn’t much, and sure he wanted more people in his life now that he was healing, but it kept him alive.

“Go down to Andrew and ask him if I could get some sugar, and an egg or two. He knows I’m good for it.”

“Go over there n’ tell Andrew that the milks ready for him when he needs it.”

“Ask Mr. Cody if I can ride along to church with him.”

He never told nobody no, not for the right price at least. He didn’t care about money, as long as he got by he never worried.

He was quiet, didn’t go out unless it was to the bar for a quick drink, into town for the market or to church, and you’d be drunk off your tail if you ever thought you saw him with a women. Just him and his livestock.

Don’t get it wrong, though. He was aged, but Pope was far from ugly. No, he had a beautiful head of auburn curls that shined red and a bit silver in the light when he didn’t have a cap on, a chiseled face and the body of a heavyweight champ, the kind you see on television.

Older ladies he grew to knew always had a daughter or niece waiting on his hand but he always, always said he was too busy with work, and that he already had a girl in his life. His pup, Lucky. A beautiful golden girl.

His face was sunkissed and led with freckles that trailed everywhere for miles, and he put up well. You’d never see Pope around the town looking like he came from hell. He was tidy, white shirt tight against his body, tucked under his belt and jeans that outlines his tight ass and strong legs.

The small town was ran by majority older people, so he wasn’t surprised when very few even glanced at his ad. The people that did were growing teens lookin’ for quick summer jobs, or someone thinkin’ they could slack off on his property. Not on his watch.

He sat on the porch when you came, parking your little car next to his truck, shushing his dog that barked at the new arrival. You waved as you walked up, your little frilly top rustling in the wind a little. He knew who you were, your dad talked about you often before you got back, and even after.

He listened when your dad vented about you moving upstate, and was there for your family when times got tough in the winter. Though he never got a good look at you up until now, he always heard good things.

Bright young lady, wanting something more for yourself. You knew just about everyone in town, never fussed or fought, always lended a hand. He saw you in church a few times since you got back, never up close since you sat in the front. But seeing you now, you were beautiful.

Pretty thing, with chubby apple red cheeks he could take a bite of. Your dark skin glistened under the sun, your pearly smile bright as you come up the porch, eyes squinted. “Goodmorning to you sir,” you say as he stands, calming his dog down.

“Goodmorning missy, you have a good breakfast?” He shakes your hand, it’s firm. “Yes sir, I’m ready for the day. What’re we gettin’ up to?” You say, and he cracks a smile at your enthusiasm. “Well let me show you ‘round first, then imma introduce you to everything I call mine. Then we might get started, that sound good? Alright, let’s get to it.” He cocks his head for you to follow him, watching you eye his girl.

“She’s friendly, you’re just a new face so don’t worry. Lucky.” He tells you her name as she clops beside you, enjoying the head scratches you give her. “Now, imma warn you first. If you’re looking for a quick job for the summer, or you think you can get off scratch free by standin’ around here you’re sadly mistaken. My ship is tight, and my work is honest, okay? So when I give you tasks, you need to be on it.”

“Yes sir,” you nod earnestly. “Okay, great. What you got under your belt girlfriend, I know your old man so I know you know somethin.” “Mhm! I know how to tend to gardens and chickens, but it’s..been a while. So I’m rusty but I could get it again in no time.” You say and he nods.

“What about a tractor, you think you can get on onea’ those? And do you know how to shuck?” “Uhm…never got on a tractor before but I can drive..? And yeah that’s light work.” You say, watching nod and look around, deciding with himself if he wanted to teach you or not.

“Alright, well I got pigs, cows, chickens, and a horse that’ll come by every so often,” he jokes. “So I need to know that you’re not gonna be shy with them. They’re my girls and guys but they’re not easy company. Can you handle that?” He says, and you nod enthusiastically.

“I’ve never wrestled with pigs, but I’ve handled a cow once or twice, and get along with chicks well. Daddy has em’.” You chirp, and he smiled internally at your bubbliness. “Good, good,” he examines your small frame, eyes poking at your bicep, weary of how you’re gonna be handling any heavy loads.

“Stay here, imma get you somethin.” He walks off the lawn and around back, and at first you think he’s getting you a shirt for your exposed arms, but he comes back hailing a big tin pale, huffing as he sits it in front of you. It was almost filled to the brim with brown slop, and smelled of something almost rotten.

“This is for my pigs, their breakfast is near. Go carry this to their bin.” He points, and you realize he’s pointing to the back of his house. You examine it, trying to eye if it was gonna be a hassle or not as you tuck your braids behind your ears.

You grab the pail by its handles and lift into the air with a small groan, waddling round his lawn as quick as you could. “Don’t be scared to spill it either, or hold it to your chest. It doesn’t smell like flowers but it won’t kill ya’.” He follows close behind you, watching as you reach the fence of his pigs.

You sit it on top and pour it over, bending slightly to make sure it all goes in their slop bucket. Your little top goes up slightly with the wind, exposing the small of your back and your tiny shorts. He tried not to look too hard.

Once you’re done you look back at him, catching your breath. “Good?” You ask, and he nods, taking it from you and throwing it somewhere out his eyesight. “These guys you’ll feed once, only in the morning when you get here. I’ll feed them again but you’ll be gone before I do. You feed them first, then my chicks. You don’t feed my cows, I handle them. Don’t touch my girls,” he jokes, throwing a playful nudge your way.

“You can handle that? It won’t be like that everyday.” He shakes his head, and you nod. “Yeah, sounds like no trouble really.” You say, and he almost wants to laugh.

“Good, cmon. Crops are on the side.” He says, letting his arms fall on the side. You find yourself staring as he took lead, his wide frame that tore out of his dirty shirt, bulging muscles with veins so big it would only take a dull knife to get into em. You didn’t know why you didn’t notice it sooner, he was hot.

“I have cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, squash, zucchini, cabbage, and onions in the ground. I have em all marked so you shouldn’t have a problem. In my trees, I just recently started sprouting oranges, peaches.” He pointed around before facing you.

“Over there,” he pointed to a small space away from all his crops, a little patch that was tented by a clear tarp, seeing some bushes being occupied with a few sticks. “You don’t touch that. That’s something else, and you will never have to touch that ever in the whole time you’ll be here. Understood?” He says, and you nod earnestly, your eyes big and attentive on his.

“Do you know what it is, just by maybe looking at it? Or can you guess?” He asks you, a little smile creeping on his face. From where you are you squint, playing with your hands as you think as to what it could’ve been. There was no color besides green that you could see, and even then you still had no clue.

You shake your head, “A type of flower?” You guess, and his brows raise in shock that you almost had an idea. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah. A flower.” He starts to chuckle lightly, shaking his head at you as he walks off, and you follow.

“Your routine will never be something straightforward, I could have you tending to the animals one day only or I could have you doin’ it all while I kick back and watch.” He takes you back to his porch.

“But, that doesn’t mean you won’t be working. You will most likely always have something to do. You’ll be here only a few hours, from 9, maybe 10 am to nightfall. You don’t have to be here every day, though work is gonna be tough whenever you get back, but any days you won’t, just let me know. We’ll trade off on work, you’ll never be doing just something while I do another. Any questions so far?” He pays for you to sit next to him on his bench.

“Will there any days I absolutely have to be here? I don’t like..do much anyway, but if there is I’d wanna be there.” “Yeah uh, I need you Sundays, every Sunday. Sundays market day, so me and you will go on down for a few hours and sell whatever we can. I got church and I know you do too, so I’ll let you go home with your folks to change becuase—god help us—it’ll be hot, and then I’ll come by to get you. It’s imperative that you’re there with me, becuase it does get hectic. And, that’s also your pay day. Every week, every Sunday, in cash.”

Every Sunday, in cash, got it. “Okay, okay that sounds easy enough. Does this mean I’m hired?” You ask,, and he finally lets out a laugh, his eyes closing slightly. “Yes sweetheart, you’re hired. And I want you here startin’ nine sharp.” He flinched slightly when you squeal, stomping your feet happily.

He smiled and pushed his head back when you hop onto him for a hug, holding you carefully respectfully in his grasp, your knee crossing over his thigh slightly in the act. You pull off, arms still around his shoulders, seated where his knee met his thick thigh, your foot that wasn’t propped up on him holding yourself against the floorboard.

“Thank you so much Mr. Cody, I’ll be good I promise, and I’ll do you even better! I’ve been lookin’ for a job for so long, and I really appreciate it, I do. No one would hire me at all, not even the daycares. But I think I’ll like working with you, I always liked working on..” You ramble on, not noticing Popes uncomfortable expression growing, even though he tried his best to hide it.

His hand just barely rests on your back, still lingering from the hug. He let you talk, shifting in his seat so he’d be more comfortable, ignoring the growing heat within him as he watched you ramble contently. Yes, it was inappropriate. Yes, he knew just about anyone could ride by and see it. Yes, he let you keep going.

“And daddy always told me that being around animals anyway was therapeutic. Which is why I moved to the city…” he tilts his head, skimming down your frame quickly before landing back on your face, he could tell you had been wantin’ to talk the whole time, and it was odd for him too, he was never one for leading conversation. He liked listening, though. So it wasn’t much trouble, even if you were practically on top of him.

“So you like the animals? Imma start you with them first then. And then I’ll get you on that tractor.” He finds a second to interject. He noticed your hesitation, “It’s not hard, and it’s not scary, promise. It’ll be like ridin’ a big ass bike.” He shrugged, and you giggle at his language.

“Do you need me today?” You ask, and he shrugs. “Not really, I mean, today I have laundry to run down and some deliveries. Boring stuff, I’ll just get you started tomorrow.” He starts to bounce his leg, and it hits you. Where you were, what you were doing.

You feel heat rush over you, his hard thigh nudging against your cunt, immediately feeling the rush of heat pool in your panties, and had you not been in the right mind you would’ve almost grinded against it. You look away from his eyes and unfist his shirt from his hands, something you didn’t even notice you were doing as you get up, trying to act casual as you pull your purse back on your body.

“Okay!” Is all you say to him, and his expression twists, he could tell you were flustered, but by what? “O-okay Mr. Cody, I’m gonna get on home then, hang out and stuff. Thank you for having me and everything.” You gulp and stare everywhere but at him as you stumble off his porch, not giving him a second glance as he gives you a confused farewell, watching you pull out and skirt off.

He wondered if it was something he did, did he touch you the wrong way when you were on him? He tried to be good, not let his hands wander. Tried not to look too into your body, admiring how you filled out the dip of your blouse you wore. He noticed how you bunched up his shirt for a split second, your lashes flickering as you went quiet. You had seem just fine, it was like something flushed over you.

He found himself staring into space again like he used to, but this time, he was looking at the thigh of his jeans, which coincidentally was right where you were rested on him. The spot was…warm. Warm with a different heat that radiated from the heat the sun provided. The same sort of heat that came from his growing bulge.

Gross, he thought, cringing at himself. For fucks sake, she’s 20 years younger than you. Keep it tucked. He sighs as he stands, wanting to go adjust himself, but he finds he has no time as a different car pulls into his driveway, a patron of the town. Business comes first, then pleasure.

You went home in a frenzy, your mind racing. No, he hadn’t meant to do that, no way. You thought, gripping the steering wheel. He’s old, he was probably tired. I was all over him too, I probably got too heavy. I didn’t even realize it until… the feeling rushed over you again, your heartbeat fluttering, legs feeling like they were sticking together.

You take a deep breath, you were driving for Pete’s sake. His hands were on me, on my back. He didn’t seem to mind it I guess..he even looked into—You shake your head, no, no. Not happening. Not with your boss. Your day goes by foggy, you couldn’t help yourself.

Your head was filled with Mr. Cody, it was…weird. It felt like when you were in high school and you’d gained a crush on one of your male teachers for simply being nice to you. As you lay your head to rest, there it goes again. That feeling of butterflies in your stomach, the wetness pooling to your panties.

You reminisced on his gaze he had on you, the one you thought you saw peek down your shirt. You found yourself creeping into your panties, eyes flickering to the door, scared someone was gonna wanna check up on you even in the dead of night.

Your head brings you back to his arms, the small shirt hugging against his big biceps and riding up just enough for you to see his exposed v-line. You moan behind your bit lip, circling your clit faster as your legs fall on the side of you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” “I’m doin’ alright miss,” you hear his gruff voice in your head, sweat beading down your forehead as your other hand lodges a finger into yourself, as awkward as the position is you work on yourself with a quickness, almost imagining it was Mr. Cody’s rough, dirty hand in you. His working man hands on you.

You wondered if he could ever think of you how you were thinking of him. If he could get all hot in bothered in the night like this, maybe palming himself at the thought of getting you under him? Hearing you squeal for him like you were in the moment, maybe cumming with your name under his breath.

And with that your climax runs at you fast, trying to conceal your gasps of air and tiny moans as you bring yourself to your high. Juices stain the sheets as you dirty up your fingers until you can’t move no more, catching up to your breath and letting your scent fill the room as sleep overtakes you.

You’re up and at ‘em early for your first day, greeting the day with a nice shower and a quick breakfast before you get ready, conversing with daddy about what you might get into today, as well as what your new schedule looks like.

He’s happy for you, telling you how now that you’re getting paid your own you can buy your own clothes, which you laugh off. You put on small shorts and an even smaller shirt for the day, seeing the sun beam down on the green already.

You rub lotion on your newly shaved legs (fresh shave=just in case, in girl terms) before going in with some sunscreen and pulling your hair back cutely, dabbing on some blush and gloss before heading out with a water.

You talk yourself into being normal on the way there, not gonna be weird again, you reflect on how you scurried out of his place just yesterday. And no staring, no holding onto him, no licking your lips, don’t even think about anything but work actually. Actually just don’t even look at him, at all. Don’t make eye contact either.

You park next to his truck, searching the green for him from the front, though he’s no where to be seen. Not an issue. Sitting your purse on the porch, you give Lucky a little kiss and scratch before heading to your first duty, feeding time.

You were a little early, by the time you got there it was only just hitting ten till nine, but early is on time, something you were always told. You were thankful seeing he set the feed out for you by the barn, a quick walk from each pen.

You speak sweetly to the pigs and chickens as you feed em, giving them little, “Y’all ain’t ate since last night, must’ve been starving.” “Don’t get angry with me, you gotta get in there. Push ‘em out the way if you’re that hungry.” And when you’re done, you stand back to gander at the cows contently, listening to their conversations between another.

“Good morning young lady.” You turn your head to see Pope approach from your right, his chest already wet with sweat through his white beater and dirt kissing his knees and below. “Good morning sir. Sleep alright?” You hold your hands behind your back respectfully, he walks up to you like whatever’s in his pants is heavy against him.

“Tried my best, I’m always gettin’ torn outta sleep though. And yourself?” “It-it was alright,” you swallow back drool pooling in your mouth, “My brothers, they got a few new toys so they were up longer than I anticipated.” You lie with ease, your hand coming up to cover your eyes, squinting at him as he takes in your clothes. What was he gonna do with you.

“We’ll keep your eyes open, don’t want you fallin in the dirt,” he says, looking over you to look at what you’ve gotten done. “Atta girl.” He coos, patting your back. “You ain’t touch my girls did you?” “N-no sir, just takin’ a look,” you giggle, kicking at the dirt.

“They’re beautiful, nice pretty lashes. You take care of ‘em I can tell.” “Hell yeah I do, these are my babies. And, one day if you get well acquainted I’ll have you milk ‘em, but they’re uhm…” he snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember something.

“Divas.” He points at you, and you laugh, you wouldn’t expect a man of his age to even know that word. “They are divas, they don’t even like me half the time, so I know it’ll take you a little while. But you’re here, earlier than I expected actually. I’m on the side gettin’ ahead of the field, but since you’ve got the animals all good, you can let em roam around in the fences. Cows shouldn’t bother you, they got their own little patch, and if they get near my flowers Lucky will handle em.” He says, whistling her over quickly.

“When I call you for somethin’ else, that’s when they go back in. Lucky can heard em in, you won’t have to do nothin’ but tell her go, and close the gates. That sounds easy enough?” “Like a Sunday morning sir. After that?” “I haven’t decided, I might have you collect eggs, I might have you on the side with me. But don’t let it trouble you, I’ll get you when I get you okay?” He rubs your back and you nod, looking into his eyes.

They’re pretty, a nice hazel that illuminated in the sunlight even as he squinted. “Atta girl, you got this. My door is never ever locked, so you need anything just run it by me and run inside. And if you need a second to cool off don’t hesitate, if you faint, those pigs won’t waste a second on your lil’ bones,” he pops a smile at you, making you giggle again.

He wipes his forehead off before turning his back to you and off to his duties, “If anyone pulls up, holler for me.” Is all he says. You do as told and let your new buddies out, watching Lucy run with glee, her tongue in the wind as she rips and runs around the yard.

You were kinda sad you guys weren’t working together directly, you only saw him when he went inside, sending a little wave your way. You whine, you were bored and you missed looking at him. You tell Lucky go, watching her wrangle up the livestock before you close the pens.

“Mr. Cody,” you come up behind him as he’s down on one knee, your hands behind your back as he looks up at you, dirt on his cheek and hands. “Can I uhh..get the eggs? I’m bored.” You say, and he scoffs a laugh as he stands. “Bored? Clearly I’m goin too easy on you, on your first day at that.” He pats your back as he looks around.

“You put the animals up, that’s good. Yeah, go get the eggs. The bins are in the barn next to the opening, get as much as you can, just be gentle. When you’re done, put ‘em on the porch then come find me. I’ll give you somethin’ else to do.” He winks and sends you off, watching you jog up to his barn.

He thought about giving you something to do alright. He couldn’t believe how much you’ve grown, you weren’t that young when you left but you’re..much more. Fuller, a..woman. You were never introduced to him when you were home, never ran to his house, saw him like he saw you, but in your defense he saw everyone.

You weren’t sheltered, just protected. So your dad did the runs to Popes, took you to and from anywhere you needed, and god help his heart if he ever found out about a damn “boyfriend”.

Pope thought about what you might’ve gotten up to when you went up into the city, if you’ve had your first drinks yet, how you spent your birthdays, if you found a boyfriend up there or anything. If you blossomed, if your sounds were high or not. If your cunt was as plump as your rosey cheeks were.

God, ew, he thought. He didn’t know what was coming over him, he saw beautiful women everyday, women that threw themselves onto him even after timeless rejections. He never felt compelled to do something so..lustful, not in a long time at least.

You pull him out of his thoughts as you call out to him from the porch, watching him pull that big dusty tractor out the shed. “You done?” He pulls it up to the side of his house, stretching his arms. “Yes sir, I only filled one bin though. They kept biting me.” You frown, making him chuckle. “That’s ok sugar, you did good anyway. Cmon, imma show you somethin’ before we get started.”

He walks you to his flower beds, colors shining under the sun, yellows, pinks, reds, purples. “So pretty!” You tell him, bending down to smell. “Thank you. I take good care of everything you see on this grass, and a lot of people depend on me. You wouldn’t believe how many men and women get in an uproar over these flowers.” He lifts his cap up to rustle his hair.

“So when I get you on that thing,” he points to his tractor, “I need you careful, okay? You go over any one of them flowers, and you gon’ have about four or five ladies here lining up to rip you a new one.” He says and you giggle, nodding.

“Now imma’ teach you of course,” he walks you over with him. “She’s not the newest one out. But she’s good, she’s reliable and she gets the job done. She’s bout as old as me,” he says, hopping over and sitting down with a huff, arm over the back of the seat. “She’s a little bumpy too, but it won’t be a problem. The problem is the gear shifts.” He says, and he waits for you to step on, nodding you over.

“Oh-you-you want me to get on now or after?” “Yeah now, I gotta show you how to do it don’t I?” He says, and you nod, duh. You swallow back spit as you reach your leg over and into his lap, looking back at him as you put your hands on the wheel.

“This good?” You ask, and you don’t get an answer as he fixes your positioning, putting your feet in the slots of the vehicle, leaning himself back as he pulls you more onto him, “Like this. I’m only gonna sit with you on it for a little while before you take over on your own, and it’s okay for me but a little big for you. Is that okay?” He asks, and you just barely tune back in to nod a little.

You were too focused on the bulge of his jeans pressing against your crotch, the only thing saving you from sitting on his cock directly was the thick denim you both wore, and though you couldn’t see it, he thought the same. “M’kay,” he holds your hip gently as he pulls the tractor on, bracing you for the bumps that follow.

“Oh!” Your body flushed, heat racing through you as you feel his bulge nudge against you every half second, your grip on the wheel tightening. “Mhm.” He clears his throat, watching your hips, “Yeah, she’s rough n’ loud. You’ll get used to it, it won’t be too bad after a while. Now,” he pulls a lever from the side, which jolts as you wheel forward.

“That’s how you go, and that button is how you start and stop. You can’t go forward without that button first.” He exhaled hard through his nose, feeling your legs spread a little more against him, to get more comfortable he assumed, but it was all the more distracting as you bounce against him.

You fight to keep your eyes open, trying not to get tied up in the pleasure thrusted upon you as you listen to Mr. Cody’s voice over the loud engine of it. “You’re gonna uhm,” he swallows hard, looking away from your body rocking against him, trying to remember what he was gonna say.

“I’m always gonna push it out to where we were, and when you get on you’re gonna always go to the end of the lawn, turn and snake it. You know what I mean by snake it?” “Yeah,” you respond absentmindedly, licking your lips and swallowing hard before you realized what was said. “I-I mean no, no I don’t. Sorry.” You try and lock in, straightening up and tightening on the steering wheel.

He takes in the whiney sound you’d let out, “It’s okay.” He says gently, trying to get a good look at your face from behind, failing. “What I mean is, when you turn,” he pulls the turning lever for you, placing his hands on yours and turning the wheel, his back against yours now that he’s more sat up.

“You’re gonna go all the way down till you meet the rocks of my driveway, and then turn again, restarting. Like a snake.” He puts his arm over the seat, his other hand steady on your body, shirt bunched up under his grip. “O-okay, yeah. Sounds easy enough.” You nod, fighting the little noises that desperately wanna come out of you.

He’s eyeing you, so hard you can almost feel it bore into your head. He just hoped you didn’t feel him hardening under you, though, how could he not? Your hips rock against him so much with this thing he’d thought you were doing it on purpose, and sure the tractor was noisy, but his ears worked fine. Were you doin’ that on purpose too?

And the thing is..you were rocking against him more on purpose, and though you didn’t mean to whine and moan, you did. You couldn’t help it. It felt so, incredibly good against your aching cunt, feeling the friction you hadn’t felt in so long. As much as you tried to shush yourself especially over the loud tractor, a sound or two slipped out every once in a while.

All you could do was pray he didn’t hear you, and pray he didn’t see how your hips roll with every bounce, or your hands that grip the wheel. You’re only snapped out your head when he calls your name louder over the tractor, making you flinch. “Yes sir?” You look back, and his face is flushed as his brows come together.

“You hear me? I asked if you were ok.” He rubs your back, bucking up and adjusting his place. “Yeah, yeah I’m ok. Sorry.” You nod, eyes bouncing back between him, the lawn in front and his bicep that lays on the head of the seat. “You sure? You want me to get off?” He asks, and you shake your head with a quickness.

“No, I’m okay. This is good. Am I too heavy?” You ask, and he gives you a slow nod, assuring you. “Not at all sweetheart, light as a feather.” His hands drifts downwards as he ran his eyes down your body, the curve of your back peaking out of the small cropped tee you had on.

He could see your little panty band peak above your shorts, his head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t even realize his hand was resting against where your thigh and hip met until he had to pull you back a bit from sliding off him. His hand wrapping around the fat with ease, finding his finger trace along where your thigh busts out the denim.

He sucks in a breath, reminding himself to behave. He wanted to say sorry for touching up on you, but you didn’t seem to mind, in fact, you didn’t seem to have a care in the world. From his view of you, it’d seemed you were really into the work you were putting into his lawn.

Your posture straight, face forward with a hard grip on the wheel, focused. He didn’t even know how you bit into your lip like you wanted it to bleed, forcing your silence as you ride his bulge as sneakily as you could, humping against lightly with each bump against the piece of shit tractor hit.

How were you supposed to manage? He made your brain so fuzzy, his sweat stained shirt, shining muscles, big, rough hands that latched onto your body. And then that face, his gorgeous eyes, chiseled jaw and dimples that just barely shine through.

He was perfect for your sexually neglected cunt, perfect to look at, to think about. Even with the little bit of friction his jeans gave you, you took it in full, it’d been so long. And he could say that same.

Pope didn’t even remember the last time he got some actual tail, it had to have been before he left. He didn’t pursue anyone, it wasn’t what he came for, and he wasn’t ready for anything serious yet. But your plump body perched against him made him want it, he felt like he was drooling over the sight of you, even if it was something as innocent as you simply on his lap.

He found himself pulling you back against his bulge, rocking you against him slightly. And he knew it was wrong, but you wouldn’t notice, right? Not with how the tractor bumped and thumped, no. He felt perverse, he knew it was, but he couldn’t stop.

His mouth parted slightly as he watched your ass against him, almost finding the nerve to grab at you or something. Keeping his hand on your thigh, he sighs harsh, a short whisper to Jesus falling off his tongue. He wants to tell you to get off, that you don’t need him to “help you” anymore. But the more his cock strained against his jeans, the more the thought disappeared, and turned into..something it shouldn’t.

Turning into imagining you on top of him in his recliner, riding him just like this. Ass nudging against his stomach while he bounced you on his cock, hearing you moan into the room while you hold onto his knees. He bites his lip, feeling heat overcome his chest as his mouth parts, blinking harsh.

He thought about how you sounded over the phone, how that word came off your tongue so effortlessly. Daddy. He heard you in his head, actually. Heard you say, “it feels so good, daddy,” “daddy m’gonna cum,” in his ears, and he shudders at the thought.

And before he knew it, his thighs twitches under you, a cold sweat ran down his torso to his aching balls, and he stammered out a shakes gasp, feeling himself cum in his boxers, grabbing at your hips roughly to hoist you off. “Stop, stop the tractor.” He says hurriedly, his foggy mind running a mile a minute. And you obey with a quickness, nervousness running over your body as you stay in the air, your ass in his direct eye sight.

It only makes it harder for him as he sighs, looking down at his pants that haven’t made a spot yet. “Are..are you okay, Mr. Cody? Did I do something?” You look back, seeing his face a deep shade of red as he looks around nervously. “Yeah uh..y-yeah,” he hops up and off the tractor, making you fall back into the seat abruptly, he doesn’t face you, not as he looks down at the mess that grows dark on the denim. “I uhm..sorry babydoll, I gotta run and do something. You finish up, ok?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer as he beelines for the door, cursing himself for something so gross, so..lustful of himself. He stomps to his room, peeling his pants off to see the oozing of his cum stain his boxers, cursing again and running his hands down his face. “God..fucking dammit Pope..” he sighs, throwing his hat down.

She’s his daughter, Pope. Just a little girl, a familiar voice in his head says. Shaking his head, he readies himself, changing out the messy garments and into something fresh, watching you through the blinds to see if you suspected anything, thankfully it seemed foggy to you. He’d die if you found out he came in his pants, because he thought about you calling him daddy, the way you do for your actual dad.

When he looks out the window again, you’re no where to be seen. The tractor still in its spot, unfinished lawn in his face. “Mr. Cody?” Pope hears your voice down the hall, and he quickly fixes his belt before exiting. “I’m down here, honey!” He meets you halfway, catching you in his hallway as if you were gonna come find him yourself.

“Sorry for coming in unannounced..but are you alright? You seem kind of agitated..” you twiddle with the belt loops of your shorts, a nerved expression tainting your face. He should die, for making you worry. He thinks. “Yeah I..yeah, I didn’t mean to startle you. I had to use the bathroom.” He tucks his shirt back in, and you give him a once over. His cheeks are still flushed, his hats discarded behind him, and he’s..in new jeans?

“Okay..I didn’t do anything wrong, right?” Did you feel me throbbing? Did you feel me grind on your bulge, did you hear my moans?? I didn’t mean to, Mr. Cody. I just couldn’t help myself. “No, of course not. How bout we get some water, then we can go back on the land, ok?” He guides you down the hall, his hand on the small of your back, which makes you tingle.

“Are we getting back on the tractor?” You look up at him, and the images that flash in his mind are hellish. “Uh..you can. I think you got it, I’m just taking up space. Then we can work on my hedges.” He’s gotta learn to keep an arms length. Who knows what he’ll do if that happens again.

Part two??

[slytherclaw1978]

oh you know I need that part two my love

im sitting here sick thinking about sweaty pope with a cowboy hat, white tank, and jeans on

[boutiquw]

Father's Day is coming so I'm back to thinking about girldad! Andrew Cody with his daughter :( (mostly headcanons about what his daughter is like lol)

Girldad! Pope Cody whose daughter inherited his staring problem. His toddler would be posed up by the window, watching him or/and reader very intently while they do stuff like mowing the lawn, or cleaning the yard (She's supposed to be sleeping btw)

When she was a baby, andrew would check on her through the baby monitor to see how she's doing, only to find her already awake and staring into the camera

Girldad! Pope Cody whose daughter comes to him for every minor aggreviance she experiences. She can't find her dolly? Make papa look for it. She can't get up on the windowsill (to watch mama gardening)? Make papa carry her. Her papa will fix anything and everything for her and she knows it

Girldad! Pope Cody whose daughter has attachment issues. (Inspired by my cousin). He has to always be within her line of sight, otherwise she'd start crying "Papa!" like he abandoned her and made her an orphan (He went to the bathroom). Trust that he will be dealt with. AKA She'd be sulking when he comes back until she forgets why she was even upset in the first place

++ She likes being carried around by her papa (he's more than happy to oblige cause it's something he's always wanted to do since Lena)

Girldad! Pope Cody whose daughter likes to include him in the girly stuff she and mama do so he isn't left out. This usually ends with him having the same hairstyle as her, INCLUDING the bright pink glittery hairclips and headbands for the rest of the day.

While we're on that topic

Girldad! Pope Cody who lets his daughter paint his nails, do his hair, put makeup on him, and dress him up until he looks and feels bonita. And even though the nail polish always ends up coating more of his fingers than his nails, he lets her paint to her heart's content. He's long come to terms with his daughter's skill as a manicurist anyway. (it's okay cause his baby girl is the cutest manicurist in the world even if she can't paint in a straight line)

Girldad! Pope Cody who genuinely thinks his daughter is phenomenal at everything she does. She brings home a family portrait she drew during class? Holy shit, she might as well be the next Van Gogh. And trust that he's gonna be creating compilations of his daughter's drawings to show when she's older. He's like a Facebook mom but without Facebook

Be it piano, soccer, ballet, surfing, skateboarding, or whatnot. Whatever hobby his daughter is interested in, he's gonna be very supportive. He'd be at every practice, recital, and event to cheer and show some love

Girldad! Pope Cody who is DEFINITELY getting at least 2 more daughters from reader (me)

I actually need to give him a baby STAT. Family man Andrew I love you

[slytherclaw1978]

obsessed with a freaky little pope baby who also has a staring problem !! it would be so cute omg