#cody drabbles

[khioneee]

simon is possessive and obsessive.

“you’re mine.”

the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed through the room, each thrust harder and faster than the last. the force of him inside you was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. a broken cry escaped your lips as your orgasm hit, tearing through you at the unforgiving pace he’d set. your body trembled beneath him, bouncing uncontrollably with each thrust as you clawed at the floor, desperate for anything to hold on to.

tears blurred your vision, but even through the haze, you could see him—ghost. his massive frame loomed behind you, the white skull mask glowing dimly in the low light. his blue eyes pierced through the shadows, flickering occasionally into a deep, predatory stare before shifting back, as if a monster lurked just beneath the surface.

a shaky, heated smile curled your lips as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—wrecked, helpless, taken completely by the man behind you. every thrust sent shockwaves through your body, and the way he possessed you made it clear there was no escape.

simon leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and rough. “i’m going to make you watch me take you over and over again until you’re nothing but a numb, broken thing.”

then he slammed into you harder, pulling a ragged cry from deep within you. your nails scraped the floor in desperation, but there was no reprieve, only his unrelenting rhythm.

“i’m still angry,” he growled, his words vibrating through you as he thrust deeper, faster. “and i’m going to make sure you understand, love—no other man will ever satisfy you again.”

his pace quickened, every thrust a punishment, every motion a claim. you could feel it—his rage, his desire, and the dark promise that dripped from his voice. and in the mirror, it was all laid bare: the power he had over you, the way he unraveled you completely.

simon was taking you, body and soul, and there was no turning back.

[eyesoresoup12]

Simon Riley Headcanons

these headcanons are heavily inspired by the fanfiction made by @anghimalaaynasapuso

Riley has a personal vendetta against Simon’s gloves. Every chance he gets, he tries to pull them off with his teeth, like he knows they’re hiding something.

--

Simon never takes his coffee order off the counter immediately. He hesitates for a split second, like he's gearing up for battle against his own prosthetic.

--

Simon doesn’t do small talk, but he remembers details. Weeks after reader mentions being stressed over an exam, he casually asks, "How'd that test go?" like it’s nothing.

--

Simon’s idea of expressing gratitude is fixing something instead of saying “thanks.” reader’s car, their busted light switch, their wobbly chair—if something’s broken, it mysteriously gets repaired overnight.

---

Simon secretly likes reader’s messy, cluttered space. It’s the opposite of his own, which is sparse and lifeless. He won’t admit it, but being surrounded by their half-finished projects and coffee cups makes him feel grounded.

--

He always refuses to let reader pay for coffee when they take breaks together. His excuse? “Your hands shake too much from caffeine already.” It’s definitely not an excuse to take care of them.

--

Simon who keeps every single part reader has replaced in his prosthetic. Even if they’re broken, he can’t bring himself to throw them away. They’re proof that someone cared enough to fix him.

--

If something reminds him of reader, he buys it without thinking. A keychain that matches the stupid charm on their bag? Into his pocket. A limited-edition coffee blend they mentioned once? Already ordered.

--

Simon knows readers schedule better than they Do reader might forget what they have planned, but Simon doesn’t. “Didn’t you have that thing today?” He doesn’t even look up as he says it, but somehow, he always knows.

--

Simon who tells himself he’s just “looking out for them,” but deep down, he knows he’s gotten too used to their presence. If they’re gone longer than usual, he finds himself looking for them without realizing it.

--

Simon who just knows. If they’re having a bad day, he won’t ask; he’ll just hand them their favorite snack or start driving somewhere quieter.

--

Simon who won’t ask, “Are you okay?” outright, but he’ll casually comment, “You look like shit,” before handing reader something they need—water, food, or a jacket they didn’t realize they were shivering in.

[ovaryacted]

baby girl looking for pope (and reader) out in the crowd during some school event where she's on stage. she's searching so hard and almost starts crying until she finally sees pope being held back by reader because he saw the tears in his baby's eyes and needs to make sure she's okay.

then he turns back around to see her smiling and waving and so freaking happy that he's there. and yeah :)

─ Girl Dad! Pope Cody x fem! reader || WC: 735

CW: FLUFF. Pope being an emotional & dedicated dad. Daughter is graduating kindergarten & 5 years old. Daughter is unnamed. Daughter has Pope's hair, freckles, & eyes (carbon copy). Reader & Pope are married.

Aww, this is such a cute idea, please. Thank you for the little message Simone bae, thinking about Pope who's a little older now being such a dedicated dad makes me super emotional. I hope you like this little blurb. <3

The little girl is nervous, dark auburn curls pinned in a half-up half down hairstyle per her request. Her lavender dress flows down her small body, cutting off right at her knees in lace trim, a pair of fluffy socks and mary janes adorn on her feet. She remembers when she went on a shopping trip with her mom last week for this particular outfit, beaming the minute she grabbed it off the rack and threw it in the cart with dignified confidence.

It was the youngest Cody's kindergarten graduation, lined up on stage with several other kids for an award she doesn't fully understand she got. Her head turns over the crowd of people in the audience, trying her absolute hardest to find her parents amongst the sea of unfamiliar moving faces. Her brain works overtime to track down the head that shares the same hair as her, to see the familiar scowl that nobody other than her father wears.

She tries so hard, even squints as she tirelessly looks and looks and looks. To no avail, she hasn't seen the faces of her parents, of the people who came to this event with her, the people that would bring the moon and stars closer to Earth just so she could see them better. Before she realizes it, the corner of her eyes begin to sting as tears threaten to pour down her cheeks. She wrings her hands together, the anxiety bubbling in her body making her knees tremble as she swallows a cry, fully convinced her caregivers had disappeared into thin air and forgotten all about her.

She was close to wailing until she heard a familiar voice, the voice of her mother, warm and welcoming as it always was from the second she was born. The 5 year old's wet eyes gravitate towards the noise, finally spotting the face of her father who wore furrowed eyebrows and was halfway from rising from his seat.

"Andrew, you can't." You had one hand on his broad chest in a feeble attempt to calm him down. He only huffed a shaky breath, a growl settling in the back of his throat.

"She's crying up there. She can't see us." Pope mutters sharply, looking at you with worry in his eyes.

"She'll find us. She's a smart girl, she knows Andy. Trust her, okay?"

Andrew eases back down in his seat, focusing on trying to get his daughter's attention. He'd want nothing more than to bring his little miracle into his strong arms where she belongs, to wipe her tears away from her freckled face and tell her everything was going to be alright, that her father was here and had no plans of leaving her behind. But he knew the last thing he needed to do was lash out on such a special occasion.

He bounces his leg a few times, his knuckles turning white from gripping the armrest of his seat too tight, close to splitting the wood when his gaze is mirrored with his twin up on the stage, hazel meeting hazel.

In an instant, the little girl calms down, her frown flipping into a bright smile. Her round cheeks perk up at the sight of her parents at her first graduation, bringing her hand to swipe the remaining tears that ran down her face. She waves at her father then, and he waves back, the corner of his lips flexing upwards and nodding towards her, the love in his eyes consuming the remaining space in that room.

You reach down to squeeze Andrew's hand in reassurance, giving the calloused flesh an affectionate squeeze. His thumb runs over your wedding band, aimlessly playing with the gold as you both watch your baby girl walk the stage once her name was called, bursting in light shouts of claps of acknowledgement that got her attention and widened her toothy smile.

Andrew's eyes refuse to leave his daughter's face until she's sitting down with the rest of her classmates, exhaling in relief, antsy to hear his baby's voice again and hold her once more after all of this was done. But for now, he’ll sit and patiently wait until she’s running up to him, holding her certificate in her hands to show him. And he’ll shower her with all the praise she needs to remind her he’s here to stay, and his heart belongs to her.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[flofaiiry]

show me ; pope cody x reader

warnings: fem!reader, reader touches herself and pope watches (and talks her through it), use of vibrator, swearing

wc: 1.3k ... i got a little ahead of myself.

note: this idea has been floating around in my head for a while, and ever since i saw @erwinsvow 's blurb that was sort of along these lines last night... i just had to get this written down. + this is my second time ever writing smut so pls be nice!!! feedback is always appreciated :D

"what's this?" pope asks, holding a small vibrator in his hand like it's a foreign object. you quickly cross the room to him to grab it, your face heating up. he smirks & takes a step back "no, no..." he lowers his hand, "what is it?"

he knows damn well what it is. but he wants to hear you say it.

"it's a..." your voice trails off. "oh shut up, you know what it is." pope's smirk only grows, "nah, i don't think i do," he says, voice oozing with sarcasm. you huff, "it's a vibrator, andrew." you're currently cursing yourself for forgetting to get rid of it before he got back- in hopes of avoiding an exchange just like this one.

"and what would you do with this vibrator?" he asks, still sarcastic. he is loving this; you on the other hand... not quite. "what do you think i did with it? i used it to get off," you say plainly. "three years with no sex is not an easy feat, i'll have you know."

"so what would you do with it?" he says again. you scoff, "what, do you want me to show you?" you say, full sarcasm. you're hoping pope will pick up on that but he just stares at you. your scoff turns into a laugh somewhere along the way, "you cannot be serious." he doesn't say anything just raises his hand holding the toy and presents it to you.

"show me." he says, voice low.

you don't take it at first, your eyes locked with his. "andrew, i'm not going to-" you start.

"show. me." he says slowly, definitive this time.

your eyebrows shoot up. "seriously?" you say, voice embarrassingly high pitched. "you want me to, like, touch myself? and you just watch?" he nods slow. "i want you to show me how you'd get yourself off when i was gone." he tosses the small toy behind you onto the bed and moves his hands to the waistband of your pants, starting to undo them.

"but the whole point of you being here now is that i don't have to do that anymore." he doesn't answer, just works off your pants until they're in a pile at your ankles. "andrew," you start, but are cut off when he looks back up at you. those pretty hazel eyes practically boring into yours.

"please?" he asks, and suddenly you forgot how to argue. who are you to deny a man who says please so nicely?

you break your eyes away from his intense gaze to look down at the floor and sigh. you cant believe you're actually about to do this, but when andrew cody asks, you oblige.

"fine." you look up at him, "but after this- i'm getting rid of it." pope smirks, "we'll see about that." you shake your head through a laugh and turn to go sit down on the bed, searching for the toy among the sheets. you find it and hold it up. "you're sure you want me to do this?" you ask, while sitting back into the pillows and shuffling forward to lie down a bit.

he nods, "oh i'm sure." pope moves to sit at the foot of the bed, allowing him a perfect view of your body. you feel that warmth in your face again as his eyes rake over your body, greedily taking you in. you take a deep breath before hooking your fingers under the waist of your panties and pulling them down to sit at your knees. pope wordlessly leans forward and grabs them, pulling them the rest of the way off. he tosses them somewhere in the room before turning his attention back to you.

"so do you want me to like... i don't know, narrate? or just..." your voice trails off, "just start?" he shrugs. "do whatever you would do when i wasn't here." you take a deep breath, "okay then." you start slow. spreading your legs and tracing your hands down your body. one hand stops at your breasts to squeeze one through your shirt and the other trails down between your legs.

you find your clit quickly and start making slow circles around it. the sensation is familiar, but it doesn't stop the small gasp that escapes your lips. your other hand wanders its way under your shirt, rolling the now stiff nipple between your fingers. as the pleasure you're giving yourself grows, your hands only get faster, more reckless.

the circles on your clit are no longer lazy and slow, but fast and concentrated directly over the sensitive area. the pinch of your nipple is teetering right on the pleasure/pain threshold, but hasn't quite crossed that line yet.

your eyes have fallen shut in the midst of all this. you crack them open just enough to see andrew. he hasn't moved. not an even an inch. his eyes shamelessly dividing their attention on your fingers between your legs, and the hand snaked under your shirt palming your breast.

you've yet to make any noise, safe from your heavy breathing, and pope has noticed.

your eyes fall shut again, then you feel his hand. rough against your leg. "come on, baby. wanna hear you." he squeezes at your thigh, gently massaging the flesh there.

you open your eyes again, giving him a smile before the hand under your shirt moves to search for the vibrator on the bed. you find it, and close your hand around it, bringing it between your legs. you click the small button until you find the setting you like, and move to press it onto your clit. your back arches off the bed at the new sensation, a proper moan leaving your lips this time.

"there we go, good girl." pope praises as the sinful noises falling from your lips continue. your other hand travels down your body from your chest to join the other between your legs, toying near your entrance and feeling the slick that's quite literally dripping out of you at this point.

you slide one finger inside yourself and your eyes cinch shut at the sensation, head rolling back into the pillows. "fuck," you breathe, your finger now fully inside, curling to try and knock against the spot that feels extra good.

(you never hit it as well as pope does though, no matter how hard you try.)

you press the vibrator harder against your clit and slide another finger inside, moaning loud at the exponential increase in pleasure. "thaaat's it, keep going for me baby, make yourself feel good," pope says, voice low. with both hands working you towards orgasm and pope talking you through it, you're tumbling closer to the edge by the second.

"i'm close," you breathe, "so fucking close, andrew, please." you're practically squirming now, fingers pumping in and out of yourself while the vibrator is unrelenting against your clit.

"come on baby, cum for me," andrew encourages, "show me how good you can make yourself feel"

and with that, you're coming undone. back arching further, eyes closing tighter, fingers curling deeper as you barrel towards your climax. "fuck," you catch yourself with a gasp, "oh my god, oh. my. god." your hands don't stop as you ride out the high, breaths heavy and laboured as you slowly bring your movements to a stop.

you open your eyes to andrew smirking down at you. "feel good?" he asks, cocky.

you nod. "not as good as you though." you smile, moving to sit up.

"where do you think you're going?" pope says, scooting over closer to you on the bed, pressing you by your shoulder back down into the mattress. you smile, "i was going to go to the bathroom... but i have a feeling that's not going to happen."

he shakes his head, smirk growing on his face. he tucks your hair behind your ear before he moves to position his head between your legs.

"now's my turn. show you how good i can make you feel." his voice is low as he presses your legs apart.

it's going to be a very long night.

i hope you enjoyed!!! as always send me any thoughts / ideas / requests you may have :P

[riverbends]

https://www.tumblr.com/andrewcodymybeloved/781526766708719616/fuckin-wrong-baz-i-will-have-his-babies

omg ok hear me out…

Imagine overhearing this convo or having pope sadly tell you about it. Imagine having to try to cheer him up and convince him that you would have his children.

Like I would let my man breed me on the spot… but that’s just me

YES. it terrifies him to think that baz might be right—that andrew cody can only harm, never nurture.

he probably wouldn’t tell you about it though. too scared you might agree with baz. you’d have to be eavesdropping nearby and you’d bring it up later in your own home, maybe sitting down somewhere. i reckon the couch, late at night. he’s got some NatGeo documentary on and you watch quietly with him. you’ve got your feet in his lap, your ankles locked under his hands.

maybe you ask him if you can have his baby. you say it like you’re trying to borrow his shirt.

(nsfw-ish stuff below the cut)

he just turns his head and looks at you with that signature frown of his. the question makes his throat go dry so when he says “what?”, you can barely hear him.

“baby or no baby?”

still staring at you, mouth a little parted. he’s utterly perplexed while you wait for him to answer.

“i don’t understand,” he whispers. then blinks. you shrug and lightly nudge a foot into his thigh before his hands tighten over your ankles. he wants to know what the fuck you’re talking about.

“i want a baby,” you say, so simply. “whenever it suits you, of course.”

you watch him breathe. the light from the tv licks at his face. he lets eyes his fall to your childless stomach, and then to the floor. and then his attention is back on the documentary without a word. but you smile to yourself because you know his brain is probably trying to compute the possibility now and he has to figure out if you knew what baz said to him earlier. and how. and why on earth you would want such a thing from himself of all people.

when you’re in bed, he still doesn’t address it. he just summarises something he’s supposed to do with the boys tomorrow. asks you what time you’re finishing work so he can pick you up after collecting lena from school.

in the dark, he rests on his back while you nestle into his side. his heartbeat thumps steadily under your open palm.

“what did you mean?” he murmurs into your hair and you lift your head.

“jesus, you know what i meant,” you laugh.

when he doesn’t say anything, you’re getting up and straddling him. he lets you, of course. he always will. you just have to adjust your clothes before you can take him to the hilt. pleasure swallows him as you ride your way up. his hands are iron on your thighs.

you lean down, rolling your pelvis against his while he’s still inside, and you just tell him to keep going until it takes. he nods like he’s obeying an order. and then he’s got you on your back. he’s going for a home run. he does exactly as he was told and keeps going until he knows it takes.

…….guys you have to put me down like an animal or i fear i will never stop WTF

[greengoblinswifey]

You need Cody right after a match.

a/n— My first Cody blurb, I need him so bad, had to whip this up rq.

Your boyfriend Cody, spent the entire day rehearsing his match and promos. You stood at ringside, watching on as his muscles flexed each time he moved. He was so fucking hot, and you couldn’t help but admire him. You needed him, but was in his element, you couldn’t distract him.

By the time Raw had began airing, he was out cutting a promo, the fans just as wild as you. Except, something else was wild for him. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you watched him pace in the ring, his neck tattoo you craved to lick on full display.

When the bell rang, he immediately got the upper hand, dishing out punishment on his opponent. Punishment you craved for your pussy. Maybe it was your ovulation—whatever it was, it had you feeling like you’d die without his dick inside you.

Cody won the match and the referee held his arm up in victory. Your core throbbed in anticipation as he made his way to the back, his steps deliberate. As soon as the door to the room opened, you pounced on him, your lips all over his face and lips.

“Baby, what’s gotten into you? I’m all sweaty,” Cody muttered into your kisses.

“I don’t care, I need you. Sweat and all, let it drip all over me, I don’t care, just fuck me. Please,” you pleaded.

His eyes darkened at your words, he could practically smell you dripping for him. “So fucking desperate for me, I’ll give you what you want.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

Cody had you bent over a chair, his gear ripped off by you and his hard cock buried inside you. Your panties were ripped and he slammed into you from behind, his cock stretching you out. You hoped the distant cheering from the fans masked your loud moans as he absolutely ravished you.

“This is what you wanted? Huh? To get fucked like a slut?”

You nodded frantically, your pussy clenching tightly around his cock as he angled into you even deeper. If it wasn’t for his grip on your curls, you would’ve toppled over.

He slapped your ass and you cried out. “Y-yes sir! This is what I wanted.”

You knew he was smirking behind you and in your last act of boldness, you pushed back against him, fucking yourself on his cock.

“That’s a good girl. You should see how your pussy’s just creaming on my dick.”

His words sent a ripple through you and your body convulsed, an intense orgasm hitting you like a truck.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured, but he wasn’t finished with you.

He lifted and carried you to the couch in the corner of the room. A cry left your lips as he sank into your pussy once again, immediately finding your sweet spot. You drooled as he hovered over you—Cody was a greek god, one you would be happy to worship every single day. The sweat made his muscles glisten and he wrapped a large hand around your neck, making your pussy twitch in excitement.

Your body jolted as he slammed into your pussy and his grip around your neck tightened. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so wet, fucking perfect for me.

You held his dark gaze, wrapped your arms around his neck and grinding against him, meeting his thrusts. His sweat dripping all over you made you moan and you reached up, licking the tattoo on his neck.

“My dirty fucking girl,” he said, darkly.

One of his hands pressed against your abdomen, making you moan so loud, you knew anyone passing by would hear. “Feel how deep I am inside you? Only my cock can get that far. I fucking own you.”

“You own me,” you echoed, your nails now digging into his back.

“Cum on my cock, cum with me.”

With a loud cry, you squirted on his cock, soaking both him and the couch as he continued to pound into your aching pussy.

“Fucking hell, what a good girl just squirting for me like that.”

His orgasm followed immediately after and he pushed deep inside you, his cum filling your ovulating womb to the brim.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, his thrusts slower and deeper. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant.”

[halfway-happyyy]

 the one where you shotgun the devils lettuce with pope cody

i forgive you.

pope sometimes wonders if he was pulled from his mother’s womb waiting to hear those three words. there is a want for them that runs so deeply, it feels almost cellular. like everything he’s ever done - everyone he’s ever hurt, every choice he’s ever made - has been only to hear someone murmur i forgive you, andrew - and genuinely mean it.

you’re on your back in the inky darkness of your bedroom when you reach for the blunt and the matchbook beside your bed, and light it.

he watches the end of it glow orange as you pull on it, and waits for the musky, acrid scent of marijuana smoke to permeate every part of your room, and when you get a good lungful of the stuff, you offer him the joint.

“nah,” he whispers. “drugs don’t work on me.” 

it’s silent between you for a while before you ask if he trusts you. 

“course I do.” 

despite the lack of light, he doesn’t miss the small smile that tugs the edges of your lips skyward. he watches you take a long drag off the joint, before scooting closer to him between the sheets, and pulling his face to yours.

he reckons then, that kissing you is maybe the best thing he’s ever done. will ever do. 

he inhales your smoke deep into his own lungs, reveling in the warm, familiar burn that comes along with it and holds it in for as long as he can. feels like as soon as he lets go of it, the moment will pass forever. 

he can’t pinpoint a time he felt this… content. It thrills and terrifies him in equal measure. 

you sense this, and reach for his hand beneath the sheets and grasp onto it, and like a balloon hellbent for the sky, he feels tethered to you. tethered to the earth. safe. 

“i want to tell you something, andrew.” 

when he turns to look at you, he sees everything he’s ever known about you, and everything he wants to learn.

“go on.” he rasps. 

you trace a fingertip over the collection of delicate creases next to his green eyes. 

“i forgive you.” 

he isn’t expecting it, and it takes his breath away completely. 

for what? he wants to ask, because jesus - there are so many things he requires absolution for. 

“i forgive you for everything.” 

for everything you have ever done. for everything you will ever do. 

and he’s never given much thought to a higher being, but he does sometimes think that god made you for him. 

[nogutsnogloria]

guys idk this worm crawled into my brain and i could not get it out.

Pope Cody x Reader

Pope is pretty sure that he has died and somehow was let into heaven. That has to be the only explanation for this.

His wife brought her into this world three weeks ago, and he never thought he could love her or the gift she had just given him more.

Except now this moment he thinks it might be in the winning for the most love he has ever felt.

He has his daughter tucked into his chest. In the safest spot she could possibly be under his touch. Underneath his other arm he has you curled into his side, face pressed into the other side of his chest. Both his girls feeling safe enough to use him as a pillow to take a much deserved nap.

He thinks he doesn’t deserve any of this. This life is too soft, he can’t believe he has something this good, the love he’s feeling in this moment is overwhelming and he’s terrified someone is going to wake him from this dream.

He is soon brought out of his thoughts by his daughter beginning to stir, he knows there’s only so much he can do to soothe his tiny best friend before he’s going to have to wake his other best friend to do the one thing he can’t when it comes to taking care of their baby.

Even if it is his favorite thing to see, his wife nourishing his baby, he could watch in amazement all day, he’s hoping he can let you take a much deserved rest for at least five more minutes so he breaks the perfect silence he was sitting with to speak in a soothing hush.

“Shhh princess, let mommy rest a little longer, she’s done so much for us and deserves it. hmm?”

[girthgrudgefear]

i know i write about pope having a partner who isn’t afraid of him, was never afraid of him, but imagine pope being aware that he’s making the person he likes uneasy and making a conscious effort to appear less… threatening.

how pope is instantly intrigued by this newcomer, a friend of deran’s or craig’s or j’s, who is lounging somewhere in the cody residence with good company. how he enters the room, quietly, at first, going unnoticed by nobody except them. how pope’s soon-to-be partner in question keeps talking, laughing, while everyone else is tense.

and then finally, when they notice that everyone has stopped talking, eyes locked behind where they're sitting, silently acknowledging someone they’ve obviously yet to meet.

when they turn around and see pope standing there, they audibly flinch, maybe mutter a quick, ‘jeez!’ and clutch their hand to their chest. then this earns some chuckles from deran or craig or j, who introduces them to pope.

and despite jumping about five feet in the air from fright, their smile is soft, genuine as they introduce themselves, hold their hand out for pope to shake.

which pope does not do.

and just like that their visit is cut short, and pope is lightly admonished about how he’s scared away yet another friend.

then it’s back to business as usual and they begin to discuss a job. except it’s not, because pope has this feeling that he’s been well-acquainted with since he learned of julia’s death.

it’s guilt.

pope feels guilty for scaring them away.

so the next time that the cody’s throw a party and this person shows up, pope catches them as they’re taking a beer out of the cooler. and when they turn, they immediately yelp.

and drop the beer bottle.

pope doesn’t get hurt because he’s still got his boots and jeans on, but the trajectory of the glass leaves several prominent gashes on the other person’s feet and legs.

they don’t react to the pain because they are too busy, caught between looking around for a paper towel to pick up the glass and apologizing profusely for making a mess.

“leave it. we need to take a look at your legs.” pope says with such finality that the other person’s movement slows.

“um, okay.” they hesitate, and pope hates that they hesitate, because between the broken bottle and the cuts that feeling is back, and now with this — he just wants the party to be over.

but they let pope fix them, try to pass the time by making small talk with pope, none of which pope is receptive to. only one cut needs stitches but all of them need to be cleaned, and he finds it endearing how they hiss at the first touch of peroxide to the wound before relaxing back into the bathroom counter.

“stop shaking your leg.” pope says as he’s threading the needle.

“i don’t mean to.”

“then why are you doing it?” he asks, looking up at them as he does so. and when their eyes meet, he feels it again when they immediately look away.

“because you make me nervous.”

“i don’t mean to.” he says, almost indignantly, which makes them giggle. the leg stops shaking and pope is able to finish with ease.

and it’s only when pope is walking them to their car that pope says, “i’m sorry.”

and when they ask, “for what?”

he says, “for scaring you. i know i scare people, but…” his gaze, fixed on the black pavement, meets their eyes and he’s pleased to find them staring at him. the warmth spreads all over, from the apples of their upturned cheeks to pope’s belly as if he just caught himself staring at the sun. “i didn’t mean to do it to you.”

he ends his sentence, deflates because it sounds lame. he sounds lame.

“it’s okay. just try not to do it again, okay? i’d hate to break any more beer bottles.” there’s a smile and a giggle that they don’t share, because pope just stares at them. watches them climb into their car, wave at him, and pull off.

and pope takes that shit about not scaring them to heart.

~

i got off topic.

but, no, seriously. imagine pope purposely making his footsteps loud when he’s entering a part of the house that his partner is hanging out in.

and how he knows his efforts have not gone unappreciated when they turn around and smile at him, give him their undivided attention as if he’s the only thing in the world that matters.

how pope is more receptive to the little things that they do, the little things that he would usually ignore. like a greeting, or small talk (which he does not, nor will he ever engage in fully). how he actually waves back when they do it first.

texting. pope actually had to find a way to keep up conversations with the person he’s interested in through text, beyond one-worded replies and leaving them on read.

or the way he spends hours in front of the mirror trying his best to appear “casual", no fists balled up at his sides, no hunching his shoulders as if he's ready for a fight at a moment's notice. until he realizes it just makes him seem more constipated and gives up altogether.

and most importantly, physical touch.

pope can tell you the shape that a fist can morph a jawbone into but he's out of his depth when it comes to handling a person in a non-threatening way. it doesn't mean that he doesn't crave it, though, crave them.

he just... doesn't know what it looks like.

and again this is where he's rewarded for the fruits of his labor. that there is some merit in learning how to be softer. it feels familiar, a dead-leaf echo to the way he became lena's safe space in the wake of her parents' passing.

the way in which his partner no longer leaves or avoids him when he shows up at the cody house, at deran's bar, or even on their own doorstep. how they almost always seem to want him around.

the way that they melt into him when they're alone together. how they'll sink beside him where he's sitting stiffly on the couch, curl into him like a cat after pressing a kiss to his cheek. do the little things like ask him about his day, if he's ate, and telling him about their day or anything that's on their mind. how something as simple as that helps him to relax after a long day of being at smurf's beck and call or hours and hours of sinking into his own head.

how they make him feel normal. and seen. and wanted and, even though they aren't there yet, may be leagues away from it, loved.

and this is where i mention that pope is still pope in a lot of the ways that make pope, pope. that sometimes his partner will look up and see andrew standing in the doorway, watching them do whatever it is that they are doing.

or how they'll turn over in bed and see that pope is laying beside them or sitting at the edge of the bed, watching over them as they rest. and how they have to get used to the fact that pope behaves like this, stands guard over the people that he loves, checks up on them in the same way a family dog walks through each room of the house before settling in for the night. how it comes from a place of safety, protection.

the way they learn not to act surprised when pope is waiting for them after work, ready to escort them back to their house where they can lavish pope with all of the affection that he's been learning to crave under their careful attention. and, yes, they are also acutely aware of the way pope is observing the way they interact with their co-workers or any other associates when they're out and about. looking for anyone who needs their ass kicked because no, pope does not play about them in any capacity and they know it.

but, no, yeah. pope is pope but sometimes pope can be persuaded into being less pope but also still pope. i think it's a nice thought.

[beskarfrog]

a witch and his familiar

1, 2

[erwinsvow]

wait you’re so onto something with those sex position headcanons this is real character work like of course jack’s into cowgirl and popes into mating press and sammy’s into pronebone IT JUST MAKES SENSE for their personalities and now i can’t stop thinking about their favorite kinks and roleplays goodbye

THANK YOU!!! there is reasons and thoughts trust me... more than just my horny brain. jack likes cowgirl but he still does that thing where he just holds you up and does all the work and he teases you beforehand like "i dunno if you can handle doing all the work it's a lot of responsibility and you get kinda dumb after the second orgasm" and pope and mating press. oh my god. god bless the anon who sent that ask. because it makes so much sense. just every single part of you both has to be touching and so close to each other and something about feeling his weight on top of you oh my god oh my god just put me down. but he still takes the time to brush your sweaty hair away from your face and kiss your tears on your cheeks and i just bet he stays in that position for so long after you both finish because you don't want to separate. and sammy pronebone STOP!!! his personality just tells me he likes cowgirl and classic missionary but there's something about it. maybe it's because i imagine he has this fantasy of coming home after a long day at work to a Grateful Loving Wife (yes this is an indirect. yes i know she's not real) like dinner waiting for him and beer in the fridge for him and the game is on so he can catch the last hour or whatever and you asleep on the bed hugging his pillow because apparently he has an almost 1.5 hour drive to work every DAY???? so you can imagine he's rubbing his neck and his back hurts and he sees all of that and it's just very. every thing he's wanted. in front of him every day waiting for him in a cute nightgown or one of his shirts. sammy somno is also very real to me but like the cute kind not the kind i'd give to charlie reid (he gets the not cute kind. he gets the hard dom scary kind.) and he likes staring at your back and the curve of your ass and your exposed legs before hovering over you to give you a kiss and trying but not really trying hard to not wake you up and maybe that's how the whole prone bone thing starts. just tells you not to move an inch and stay asleep and he'll take care of you. and doesn't wanna wake you up too much so he just starts fucking you like that and it's just okay this is my new favorite thing ever. roleplays STOP!!!! i had a silly idea about 4th year reader showing up on halloween with her drunk friend who is puking in her costume and jack just is head empty trying to stop staring obviously while his patient (your friend) is puking up her guts and the other friend is looking around like "which one is jack?" so yes i think jack abbot likes costumes. just incidentally though. pope's favorite roleplay is loving wife sex which is coincidentally the only kind of sex he can have. he is such a i love my wife guy so i don't see him needing some other story. sammy is such a dog he loves cute nightgowns and he loves costumes and i know he's a freak he just hasn't explored all the avenues yet. i can 100000% imagine him bringing home handcuffs and the whole cop and pretty girl trying to get out of a ticket thing. this blog is a breeding kink and overstimulation safe zone so they all have that one duh. if i had to assign only one to each though. pope wins the breeding kink one. jack abbot is overstimulation. and sammy has a huge daddy/dad kink. charlie reid's kink is making you into his pet so do what you will with this information

[ovaryacted]

the thought that Pope would name his daughter Julia as either her first name or middle name to never ever forget his sister!

The first person you are supposed to love is your mother but his mother is unlovable, his very first love is Julia!!!! And the newest love of his life is the beautiful baby girl that looks exactly like his twin, almost a little like his actual twin.

(first love as in platonic btw hope it doesn’t sound weird😭)

(You didn’t sound weird I get what you meant!!)

I thought of this too! When I was playing around with name combinations with all of the character’s children, when it came to Pope’s I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to give her a middle or nick name, because in my mind Pope would want his daughter to be her own person and not as attached to the “Cody” last name because he’ll think it’ll instantly bring her bad luck. He’ll even suggest that you give your daughter your last name, but with much convincing you tell Pope she’s his daughter too, and she’s a Cody regardless of her name. Though just because she’s a Cody, doesn’t mean she has to fit Smurf’s vision of one, they get to remake that identity and end that generational curse.

That sort of influences Pope to suggest giving his daughter Julia as her middle name. Pope never asks for anything, he’ll keep things to his chest and take them to the grave with him regardless of how much it burdens him. But this time, there’s a pleading in his eyes that you knew to well, and Julia was your friend before Pope was your lover. It felt right to give your daughter Julia’s name with the rest of her identity when her family would want nothing more than to forget about her existence.

When his daughter’s born, he doesn’t call his little miracle Julia by any means, it’s strictly her first name, but he knows it’s part of her name and having it on her birth certificate is enough for him. I would also think that his daughter is his carbon copy: auburn curls that darken as she ages, freckles that multiply in quantity every year; and as much as I would say she’d have his eyes, I’d like to say she has your eyes, the same eyes he fell in love with.

I do think there will be glimpses of Julia in his daughter that sort of make Pope emotional. She reminds him of his twin sometimes, and it’s ironic that his daughter is theoretically his twin because they look so much alike, so it’s a very somber feeling that he doesn’t bring up but he knows it’s there.

[flofaiiry]

why him? ; pope cody x reader

warnings: swearing, probably ooc pope & j

wc: ~580

i am so so sorry if this is extremely ooc for pope or j, i'm basing them off of the two episodes i've watched and a bunch of pope fanfic i've read! i'm imagining this taking place right at the beginning of the show (seeing as that's all ive watched!!)

"i dont want this to come across as like..." josh trails off, searching for the words so as to not offend you, "like, rude or whatever?" he squints, trying not to cringe at how awkward he's being. you smile, "spit it out, kid, i won't be offended."

he takes a beat, slowly nodding before he continues. "why are you..." he glances back to andrew standing inside the house, before turning back to you. "why are you with him?" you raise your eyebrows, "him? you mean andrew?" josh nods, "pope, yeah- andrew i guess."

you cant help but laugh. the sound mostly leaving as forced exhales through your nose. "yeah i guess we're not really alike at all, huh." josh shakes his head, "no, you're definitely not." a small smile coming on his face, now knowing you didn't take his question the wrong way.

you take a sec, honestly thinking about the answer. why were you: college educated, career woman, from a good family, with andrew pope cody of all people. you understood how the question could come up.

you shrug.

"why is anyone with anyone," you smirk. trying to sound philosophical, while also dodging the question. josh just stares at you, not quite getting the sarcasm. you sigh. "to be honest, j? i couldn't tell you why." you admit. "i don't know that there's a reason... i just-," another sigh, collecting your thoughts now.

"i know he's not everyone's cup of tea," you start. "i know he's a lot for some people, i know people don't really get him, i know he can be scary at first..." you're practically rambling now. "i know he's got a staring habit," you tease, earning a laugh from josh, "yeah he definitely does. that shit is unsettling as hell," he admits and you laugh, nodding. "it one hundred percent is but- you'll get used to it i swear."

"really though, j, why is anyone with anyone," you circle back to your earlier point, once filled with sarcasm, now an actual question. "why are you with your girlfriend?" you counter, not trying to deflect, just... curious.

he shrugs. "makes me happy." he says matter-of-factly, "i don't know, she just... gets me." you smile. "exactly."

"is andrew a little... weird? absolutely he is. he's probably the strangest, most complicated person i've ever met but... when i'm with him? when it's just us? god, it's..." you try to find the words to describe how being with andrew makes you feel, but decide to use josh's own.

"he gets me," you say simply, "and i get him."

josh nods slowly, "i guess that's all you need, right? someone that gets you." you smile, "yeah it really is."

"what's all you need?" andrew asks as he emerges from the house, walking over to where you and josh sit on a couch by the pool.

"someone that gets you." you repeat, smiling at your boyfriend while he sits down beside you and drapes his arm across your shoulder. "kid was asking for relationship advice. told him all you need is someone that gets you. the rest will just... fall into place." you fill him in. it's not entirely a lie, but it's enough for andrew not to ask anymore questions.

"uh huh," andrew hums, "got my someone right here." he pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. you smile.

for the first time, in this moment, josh thinks he might be understanding why you two are together.

[riverbends]

something something pope cody spots broke single mom reader in a grocery store and he can’t help but watch from around the corner of an aisle as you regrettably tell your kid that you can’t afford to get whatever they’re asking for because you’ve already stocked up on necessities that have reached your budget. for pope, the pout on your kid’s face is only secondary to the anguish that’s written all over yours. the urge to aid, to assuage, is a driving force within him - one that he only recognises when he sees you frown in defeat. the way you comb your fingers through your baby’s hair, trying to comfort them, kinda has him feeling weak and gut-punched. is anybody taking care of you? someone has to. he’s already taken note of the prized item that you don’t have enough to pay for and he’s gone before you can even notice he was watching in the first place.

but then you’re in the parking lot with your kid who’s sighing and pouting as you’re loading the groceries into the trunk of your ancient, half-dead sedan when a strange man rocks up next to you with his own bag of groceries. looks like he’s never smiled a day in his life. doesn’t introduce himself, doesn’t really say anything at all, but he’s handing your kid whatever they were begging you for in the store and they beam up at him like he just gifted them the fucking world. you, on the other hand, are a little sceptical because how did he notice? where on earth did he come from? why is he so eerily quiet? you can only resort to smiling at him and, to your surprise (and your delight), the corner of his mouth just barely quirks up. a little crooked. it warms you. “what do you say to the nice man?” you ask your kid, and they promptly drag out a well-rehearsed ‘thaaaank youuu’. the man nods once. and then he’s on his way, disappearing from view. weeks later, you’ve only just recently caught onto the recurring appearance of a bulky black pickup with tinted windows parked opposite your neighbour’s house. hm. that’s odd.

(update: i decided to continue this here)

[museaux]

solace - andrew x reader

word count: 841 | warnings: (family) trauma, feelings of worthlessness | banner: plutism

i’m at the end of s3 and can’t stop thinking about him lol.

Constantly playing second fiddle in every aspect of your life will make a weary soul out of anyone. Andrew, one of these second fiddles, was a deeply troubled soul who quietly longed to be first—even for just a moment. Though he longed for it, he felt undeserving of being a priority. His standing as a second thought, family muscle or the occasional nuisance served as a reminder of all his missteps—his punishment for existing under the thumb of the pain and legacy that came with the Cody name.

Unlike his brothers, and contrary to his cousin’s assumed position from the outside, Andrew saw himself as little more than a glorified errand boy. And whenever Smurf was involved directly, he was a lapdog, ready to follow her every command. That’s why, after he sat up in bed waiting for his alarm clock to chime at 6 a.m., he took a moment for himself; built a quiet ritual that placed him in the coffee shop not too far from his home every morning. He liked to sit in the corner of the shop, where for just 10 minutes, he was the only customer. Not a Cody. Not Pope. He didn’t have to worry about any familial hierarchy or job. In those moments, he was just a man with no responsibilities or identity beyond his coffee order. Every Tuesday and Thursday, these quiet mornings were especially cherished as there was one beautifully kind barista who would greet him with a warm smile and sometimes, a pastry on the house.

Six months ago, that woman wrote her number on the plastic container that encased a breakfast croissant. Since then, the two have been seeing each other. He didn’t really know how it started, only that he found himself back at the shop one Friday night at the end of her closing shift, listening intently as she told him the story behind her first tattoo. Sitting under the dim light with her that night felt different. Made him feel normal, like someone actually wanted to know and be known by him. Like he wasn’t scaring anyone away by simply existing in proximity to them.

What he felt in her presence that night kept bringing him back to the shop every other Friday at closing time as he listened to her talk about her life, offering up bits and pieces of himself as well every now and again. Tonight, he had found himself at her apartment, lost in her scent with his head on her chest as she stroked his arm and massaged his scalp. Under his cheek, her mocha-colored skin was as soft as a cloud, and though delicate, able to hold him in her bosom with ease. The sensation of her acrylics tracing up and down his arm was just enough sensation to keep him grounded in the moment (and not in his head).

“You know, you’ve never brought up your family. In all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve heard all about mine. What’s yours like?” Her smooth voice gently broke the silence between them. Listening to her was like hot fudge melting over a cold, perfectly formed scoop of ice cream—it was addictive. Sweet. He was quiet for a moment before answering. “There’s not much to tell. They’re…dysfunctional at best. I love them but… I—well. It doesn’t matter.” By this time, his eyes had closed. He was allowing himself to sink into the still unfamiliar sensation of safety and relaxation her closeness inspired. In her arms, he wasn’t a Cody or Pope, or anything else. Just Andrew. He wanted to hold onto this version of himself as long as he could, uninterrupted.

“It absolutely matters, Andrew,” she said softly. “Have you told them about me?” Her question hung in the air for a moment as he took a deep breath. “No,” he frowned. “Th-they tend to... ruin nice things. What we have is just for us. I’d rather not taint it with my family. You’re good, and for some reason, you chose me. They wouldn’t rest until they took that from me.” A single tear fell from Andrew’s eye and onto her chest as he spoke.“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she whispered. “We don’t have to talk about them.”

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “You don’t have to apologize, y/n. They’re a lot to deal with. But when I’m with you, I don’t think about them. That’s a good thing…” he paused. “They don’t exist when I’m with you.” his eyes glossed over as he took in her expression. “Even when we’re just sitting in silence, it feels like I’m existing without expectation—for the first time ever.” A soft smile spread across y/n’s full lips as she leaned in to kiss his trembling lips. “Then let’s just sit,” she said. At her kiss and her words, Andrew found himself smiling—really smiling. His head returned to her chest, where he gave a soft kiss as they listened to the rhythm of each other’s breath for the rest of the night.

[jackrrabbot]

pope who kindly offers to shave your pussy bc you like it trimmed (shaved or not it's sexy either way and he dgaf)

you're sitting on the sink while he's crouched in front of you, razor in one hand, rubbing coconut oil over the delicate skin with the other

as soon as he starts, he nicks you bc he's just so heavy handed but then he licks your wounds to make up for it

blood smears across his chin and he runs his tongue over his teeth to map your taste to his senses—the smell, flavor, texture of the blood just too overwhelming to be normal about it

your blood mixes with the slick gathering in your cunt as you watch him lave over the same spot, but he never gives you attention where you need it most

you push him back and make him watch as you get yourself off—a punishment for nicking you and neglecting your swollen clit

pope does a better job at shaving you from here on out