summary: andrew loves it when you call him andy instead of pope.
pairing: andrew “pope” cody x fem!reader
content tags: 18+ MDNI, reader is super sweet, kinda pervy!pope, reader calls pope andy (obviously), use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, good girl, sweet girl), pope is down bad, probably bad writing but idc, no use of y/n, smut – m!masturbation, unprotected piv (don't try at home kids), praise kink
a/n: my first fic ever!! (well, technically this is more of a blurb, but still). i apologize if it’s written badly, i truly don’t know what i’m doing <3 also i’m only on season 2 of animal kingdom, so this is more based off of seasons 1 + 2 pope.
andrew cody who loves it when you call him andy, not pope. your sweet nature is such a far cry from any member of his family, and the fact that you don’t know him as pope like everyone else in his life but as andy, your andy, makes his chest feel tight. he likes the softness you bring to his life, it makes him feel normal for once.
andrew cody who loves it when you wander out to the kitchen in the morning after you stay the night with him, looking all sleepy, mumbling “andy, you out here?” and rubbing your eyes as you round the corner. he loves when his brothers eyes fall on you standing in the doorway, looking shy in your – his – shirt and boxers, arms hugged around yourself. loves when deran and craig pause eating their scrambled eggs to look at each other with raised brows before looking to andrew with the silent teasing question of andy?? in their eyes, not used to anyone calling him names other than pope and definitely not used to pope of all people bringing pretty girls home to smurf’s.
he’ll give you a small smile, the type of smile that he reserves only for you, and mumble “‘m here sweetheart.” he subtly reaches for you as you pad over to him, sidling up next to him where he stands in front of the kitchen island. you smile shyly at craig and deran as andrew’s hand settles comfortably on your lower back, and deran offers eggs, gesturing vaguely to the pan cooling on the stove. before you’ve even responded, andrew’s already moving to grab a plate from the cupboard, his form silent and intense as usual even when his task is as simple as serving breakfast to his girl. he especially loves when you give him the sweetest smile as you take the plate from him and say “thank you andy.” and as you lean up to kiss his cheek affectionately, he’ll attempt to keep his usual stoic expression, eyes intense and lips pressed into a thin line, but his brothers won’t miss the way his cheeks and ears redden ever so slightly.
andrew cody who loves it even more when you call him andy when you’re alone, because without the eyes of his brothers on him he can let himself relax in your presence, melting into your hand as you cup his cheek and give him a kiss on the nose. “andy, sweetie, c’mere,” you murmur, grinning as you pepper his face with kisses for no reason other than you think he’s so cute – your words, not his. he doesn’t understand how he got so lucky, how someone like you could care so much about a man with as much baggage and problems as him, but he lets you coax him into laying his head in your lap while you watch a movie together. he lets you run your fingers through his hair murmuring “oh, my andy,” with a warm expression on your face. he lets his eyes close, letting the nickname soothe him.
andrew cody who occasionally lets your phone calls go to voicemail. not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, he calls you back immediately with a lie: “sorry sweetheart, left my phone in the truck.” he just wants a recording of your bubbly voice saying “hi andy its me!” or “andyyy, please pick up” that he can listen to whenever he’s away on some job for smurf. the way the syllables roll off your tongue, even through the tinny sound of a phone call, does something to his heart. and to his cock. he tells himself he saves your voicemails so he can hear your voice as a simple, innocent comfort when he misses having you around, but more often than not he finds himself alone in his motel room at the end of a rough day, listening to your little whiny andyyy, please in his ear as he ruts into his hand, picturing his girl’s pretty face scrunched up in pleasure as he cums with a grunt. he always feels guilty after, telling himself he won’t do it again, but he always comes back to those recordings, unable to resist. once, when he was lucky, he had found an old pair of your underwear in his suitcase, probably from that time you borrowed it for a girls trip with your friends, tucked into the side pocket and forgotten. by the end of the night, your voicemails have gotten a workout and the lacy black garment is painted in white.
andrew cody who eases his conscience by fucking you into the mattress the second he gets home, telling himself that making you feel so good you cry will make up for his perverted behaviour. not that you even know about his little voicemail situation, or that you’d care, but still. “fuck, andy, oh my g–” you whimper, clutching his freckled biceps as he hitches your leg over his shoulder to sink deeper into you. “that’s it baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me, sweetheart, takin’ me so well,” he groans, voice rough. he knows the praise will go straight to your head – it always does – and you let out a choked sob, your brain going completely blank as his cock nudges that sweet spot inside you that only he’s ever been able to reach. his sights narrow down to one thing as you start to tighten around him: you. he loves to draw all those sounds out of you, needs to hear you cry his name. it doesn’t take long before the white-hot tension in your belly reaches a searing peak, and you cry out a nearly incoherent string of andyandyandyandyandyandy and fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, nails clawing at his skin. he doesn’t care if it marrs his back, the scratches are evidence that he made you feel like this. he fucks you through your orgasm, not slowing down for a second, muttering “good girl, such a sweet girl, fucking made for me,” until you’re twitching, the feeling becoming too much. the sight of you beneath him looking absolutely wrecked, skin flushed and tears glistening on your cheeks, mixed with the sound your breathless chants, soon makes his hips stutter. in no time, he’s collapsing on top of you as his cum fills you up, his guilt over the voicemails and the panties long forgotten.
later, you’re curled up against his chest, fucked-out body soft and warm and sleepy in his arms, and andrew silently kisses your temple and thanks his lucky stars that he doesn’t have to be pope all the time, he can just be your andy.
dividers by @strangergraphics and @somebitchprobably-graphicdump !
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