#animalkingdom

CW: It’s Pope Cody. NSFW WARNING THERE IS SMUT. MDNI!!! Age gap (reader is 20, Pope is mid 30’s) Choking, use of hands (reader), piv, endearing terms like ‘baby girl, good girl’ and ‘baby’, a little slut shaming, overstimulation, Pope is a MUNCH argue with a goddamn wall, touch starved Pope, gentle reader, sub!Pope in the beginning but he gains his confidence, size difference implied. Cowgirl, doggy/prone bone. Pretty sure that’s it??

Before we begin: This might be OOC, I’ve watched some of the show and read up on the majority of it. Reader is described as female, no description of skin color or size (up to your imagination!) but hair is darker colored. This is purely smut, little plot. Just an established thing between the reader and Pope, he will be a bit weird. That’s guaranteed, but Reader is into it because she too is a degenerate.

………………….

Pope has never known peace. Not in his home, which he thought had been safe. Not his childhood. Not the little bar joint his brother owned, not the beach, not even his car. No. The only time he ever found peace was when he was buried inside of you.

You. The young woman who’d occasionally volunteered at the prison when you were twenty, who smiled so sweetly at him like he was deserving of something more than the constant going that his family made him do. A person who looked at him as if he was more than just ‘Pope’. You were pretty, you were kind, you were his salvation.

He tried to avoid you, tried to glare as hard as he could during his three years of being locked up. But the more you came around, the more something inside of him cracked. The more desperate he became for your kind words and gentle smile. He’d never been good at showing his emotions, always staring and watching you from afar after he got his food or whatever small meaningless task he’d been given for the day. He caught himself numerous times staring at your face or ass when he could catch a small glimpse.

The day he got out was the same day you were leaving the prison, and against his better judgement, he went to you. A broken, helpless, defiled man who knew nothing but violence and stealing. He confessed to you as if you were God himself, every stolen glance, every quicken of his heartbeat, every moment he melted when you smiled at him.

He expected rejection, fear, disgust— the normal responses he got when he confessed. Instead, you looked at him with those kind eyes of yours and offered your hand with a simple. “I know.”

Since that day he’s been hooked. He kept you a secret, his secret. Seeing you when he could.

Now, almost a year post-prison, he found himself underneath you again.

“You don’t have to do this.” He mumbled, his words and body sluggish underneath yours from the alcohol the two of you had been drinking earlier in the night. His breath hitching some as he felt your neat nails glide down his chest, his shirt unbuttoned. His belt was forgotten on the floor with his shoes and socks, his pants undone and halfway down his hips.

“I don’t have to, you’re right…but I want to, Pope.” You responded softly, your thumbs feeling along his toned body as your eyes swept over him. You glanced up, seeing him staring up at the ceiling with an almost dazed look. A soft sigh left your lips as you leaned over into his line of sight, waiting until his eyes met yours to smile softly.

“You’re overthinking.” You said with a subtly amused expression. Pope deadpanned up at you for a moment before sighing, resting his hands on your hips and rubbing slow circles on your bare skin.

“I can’t turn it off.” He responded. He was weak for you, ruined for anyone else. Every time you were on top of him, he felt his body vibrate in a manner that neither weed or alcohol could give him. He took a moment to admire you, his grip tightening before his hands slowly slid up your sides.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.” You playfully spoke, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. His eyes closed as you worked down to his hips, lifting your own to push his pants and boxers down enough to free his dick. It immediately slapped against his stomach, you heard his little huff of relief, making you chuckle softly. “We’ll just…turn your brain off for a while. Does that work?” You asked.

“Yes, yeah— fuck, turn it off, baby.” Pope rasped. He hadn’t even been touched yet and already his hips were lifting up, wanting attention from you. He shifted to kick his pants off, leaving them lying on the foot of the bed. He’d done his part in prepping you beforehand, so he got to watch as you took his cock in your nimble hands and lined it up with your pussy.

A groan of relief left him that intermingled with your soft sigh as you sank down slowly, the stretch of his cock inside of you a welcomed feeling. You took him to the hilt, his hips twitching upwards to make sure. “C’mon…been a while.” He mumbled, a soft whimper leaving him as your hips rolled in a circular motion.

“Patience, Pope.” You reminded him. Your hands slid up to his chest, using it as leverage as your hips lifted, giving him a chance to start missing the feeling of your gummy walls before your hips fell. “Oh fuck—“ Pope swore, his hands moving from your rib cage to your hips as you set a steady pace.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Every bounce was done to ruin him. And ruin him it did, groans and moans left his lips as his eyes fluttered. The sensation drove him more insane than he was, his head falling back as he got that glazed look in his eyes before it lifted once more. “Shit— baby girl—.” He rasped, completely captivated by you.

“Yeah? You like it?” You taunted, stopping long enough to grind against him before you began bouncing again. Your moans were fewer than usual, soft grunts leaving you as you leaned forward to get a better angle. Your pussy tightened around him, already leaving a little white ring at the base of his cock.

Pope could only manage a nod, his hips beginning to buck up into you before he sighed and slid his hands up, sitting up more and flipping you both so that you were underneath him. Something shifted in his gaze, his hips rolling into yours as his eyes closed. “Pope—“ You started to say, but he simply huffed. Shaking his head.

He needed this. Needed this control. Needed to prove something to you both. “Just— let me.” He whispered, bending over you to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before pulling his cock out with a groan. He quickly moved down, grabbing your legs before you could complain and latching his lips around your clit.

“Oh fuck!” Your back arched off the bed at that sudden point of contact, your head falling back as a low moan left your lips. Your hands quickly went down to find the curls on his head, anchoring yourself as his tongue went from your folds up to your clit. A groan left him as he gripped your legs in a hugging fashion, keeping you close to him.

He could get lost in you for hours. He didn’t have to think when he was here, between your legs. His mouth knew what to do, the voices turned off like a switch in his head. Every moan and encouraging word that left your lips made him groan and double his efforts. His tongue pressed between your folds, parting them as it pressed deep into your already soaked pussy. Another groan left his lips as his tongue picked up the familiar earthy taste of you, his hips grinding down into the mattress to relieve the discomfort on his cock.

“Pope— sweetie, shit! You’re gonna make me cum,” You moaned out, your head in cloud nine as his tongue dragged up slowly to your clit. His lips closed around the little muscle, beginning to suck gently. Your hips bucked and arched from the bed, shaking your head as your chest heaved. “Fuck! Pope, oh my god, I can’t-“ Your orgasm built quickly, your pussy tightening around nothing as one of your legs draped over his shoulder.

A cry ripped from your throat as he pushed you over the edge, he growled into your pussy, his eyes fluttering open to look up at you. He loved to watch the expressions you made when you came, the way your face scrunched up and how your breathing stuttered. Your thighs tightened around his head, thick ear muffs he wished he could wear every single day.

When your orgasm subsided, he unlatched from your pussy with a soft pop. He let out a sharp breath, his chin and mouth drenched in your slick as he pressed a soft kiss to your naval. “…You good?” He mumbled.

You nodded slowly, taking a moment to catch your breath. Your thigh muscles jumping some as his much larger hands ran along them, he pried your legs open and pressed them down to the bed. As he sat up on his knees he looked down at you for a moment.

Pope had never considered or correlated love as a positive emotion. His entire life he’d been raised as a tool, a dog to do its master’s bidding. But with you…he could almost pretend that love was as simple as it should be. He shifted closer, huffing softly as he grabbed one of your legs to put over his shoulder.

A soft whine left your lips as he held one leg to the bed and the other over his shoulder, looking up at him with your soft eyes. So full of trust he almost choked up right there. He hasn’t cried during sex in a while, last time he did he disappeared for a week before you tracked him down yourself. But damn if you didn’t make it hard not to cry. His face scrunched up some as he looked you over, a hot mess in his bed.

Pope grabbed his cock, giving it a few tugs before scooting closer and pressing the tip at your entrance. A soft whimper left you as he coated it with your juices before he pressed his thumb in to guide his cock into your awaiting pussy. A hiss left him as your tight walls greeted him once more. He took his time, stopping when your hips finally met. He quickly bent over you, using the same hand now to grab your face and steady it as he pressed a hard kiss to your lips.

Your lips parted for him in the kiss, your tongues pressing together before he pulled back slowly. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the feeling of you before his hips suddenly snapped forward. A broken whimper left him as he lifted his head and began to thrust steadily into you.

“Oh fuck- Pope, yes!” Your head fell back against the sheets, your breath hitching as your legs locked around his waist. Your hands finding his biceps as his hips rocked against yours, the lewd sounds of your coupling filling the bedroom and the silence he always carried with him.

Pope always lost his words when he had you like this, watching your reactions, the way his cock stretched your pussy open, your sounds. Everything was perfect to him, as his mind began to wander he suddenly came to a halt as he felt your hands cupping his face. His gaze snapped to yours, chest heaving as his eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re— You’re crying again.” You whispered, thumbing under his eye to get rid of his tears. He scoffs softly, face scrunched up in discomfort as he looks down at you. His gaze softens some when he sees you looking back at him, as if he wasn’t some sort of monster. As if he wasn’t a man who’s stolen and killed. “I’ll be okay.” He rasped. Reaching a hand up to cover your own as he looked down at you with the closest expression to love he’d ever have on his face.

Pope then grabbed your waist, pulling you closer with a soft huff. He began to thrust once more, drowning himself in the sound of your moans and the tightening of your pussy around his cock. He bent over you, grunting lowly as his hands tightened its grip. Every soft sigh and loud moan that left your lips drove him to thrust harder, his arm looping under your right leg to lift it over his shoulder and push deeper into the tight warmth your pussy provided.

“Fuck— Pope! Oh god,” You gripped the sheets tightly in your fists as your insides clenched around his cock, that familiar coil in your womb beginning to tighten as your back arched from the bed. It’s never been easy for you to have an orgasm, but in the beginning Pope had made it his mission to find every spot that made you see stars. “I’m gonna cum— please!” You begged helplessly. Pope whined softly at the feeling of your cunt tightening, his left hand pressing down on your lower stomach so he could feel his own cock through your skin as it battered your insides.

“C’mon, baby. Come on. Give it to me.” He growled, his pace never changing as his jaw tightened with determination.

It took only a few more hard thrusts before your back was arching, your cries and pants reaching higher octaves as your pussy gushed around him. Your hips bucking against his to match his tempo until he stilled inside of you. It took a few moments of just riding the second orgasm out before you realized he hadn’t cum yet.

“Pope—“

Before you could register it, he’d pulled out. Pope grunted as he lowered your leg, turning you over on to your stomach and pushing your upper back down. Your perky nipples pressed into the soft silk of the bed as you lifted your hips. “Nuh-uh. Not done with you yet.” He rasped from behind you, grabbing your waist and pulling your hips up into the position he wanted. He then grabbed his cock, giving it a few tugs and positioning it back at your swollen entrance.

With that, he thrusted back in with one hard thrust. It knocked the wind from your lungs, a soft whimper leaving your lips as he moved his hands to your lower back. He kept you pinned as he picked up that hard pace once more, your moans and pleas falling on deaf ears as his cock abused your inner walls.

“Pope! Pope— shit, baby please—“ You whined out, the bed rocking with the motions and the headboard hitting the wall with enough force to create small indents in the drywall.

Pope groaned lowly, leaning over your body and slipping his arms around you to lock you into place. His breath was hot against the back of your neck and ear, he pressed wet kisses along the column of your throat, sucking in soft subtle marks that made it clear to anyone else that you were his. His hands slipped down to your naval, pressing up into your stomach just to make you clench and squeal.

“So close…just one more, one more for me, okay? You can do that, I know you can.” He said in a weak voice against the shell of your ear, his cock throbbing as his face scrunched up. He could feel your insides pulsing around him, ready to give him one more. That’s all he needed from you.

You groaned weakly, your eyes rolling back as he pushed you once more to the brink. You reached back to grab on to his forearm, a loud sob of pleasure leaving your lips as your thighs trembled from the pressure. “Pl—Please! Fuck oh my God—“ Your third orgasm hit hard and fast, your body convulsing a little underneath him as your pussy pushed and pulled, gushing your release.

“There you go— there— you— go!” Pope groaned loudly as his own orgasm followed shortly after yours, his hips stuttering and jerking as he pushed into you. His eyes fluttered and his chest heaved as he came deep inside of you, he slowed his pace down to slow rolls before finally coming to a stop, his forehead pressed into your shoulder as he worked on catching his breath before finally slumping forward a little.

It didn’t take long before he was up, turning you over and giving you soft kisses along your skin. He left for the bathroom, returning shortly afterwards with a warm rag to clean you up. He kept his eyes on you, checking to make sure you were comfortable and weren’t in pain or scared. Instead, you were blissed out and content. He pressed gentle kisses to your stomach, trailing them up to your jaw and humming softly.

“You okay..? Not— not too much?” He asked softly, afraid that he’d pushed you too far, that maybe he’d screwed up somewhere. But when you opened your eyes and lifted a hand to rest on his cheek, he eased some.

“Never too much, Pope…not with you.” You whispered. Letting him finish his cleaning before he finally settled into the bed with you, he pulled the covers over you both and pulled you close to him. He curled around you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and rubbing your back slowly.

“…Goodnight, Pope.” You slurred, already half asleep.

“…Goodnight.” He responded softly.

WARNING: I’m literally gonna break y’all’s heart with this one fuck I even did it to myself writing this .

Andrew Pope Cody x Latina.

The fight started like all their fights did—quiet, sharp, and burning beneath the surface.

The kitchen was still except for the low hum of the fridge. Pope leaned against the counter, arms crossed, jaw locked.

“You think you can control everything I do,” he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but her face.

“Control?” she shot back, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. “Andrew, I’m trying to keep you alive. You think I give you rules because I like bossing you around?”

His stare hardened. “Feels like it.”

She stepped forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Then hear me again, real slow. Three rules. Just three. Don’t end up dead. Don’t end up in jail. And don’t cheat on me. That’s it. You can run around with your brothers, play all the dangerous games you want, but those rules are non-negotiable.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just stared at her with that storm-dark face of his.

“You break any of those,” she whispered, her hand falling from his chest, “and you don’t just lose me. You lose yourself.”

For a moment, something flickered across his face—fear, guilt, maybe even love—but he turned away, leaving her with silence.

She didn’t know it yet, but it wouldn’t be bullets or bars that tore them apart. It would be the third rule.

That night, the house felt too small, too suffocating. Pope sat on the couch, restless, the echo of her words gnawing at him. His phone buzzed. A message.

One drink. Nothing more.

He told himself he wouldn’t go. That he’d stick to her rules. But anger, shame, and the weight of never being enough pushed him out the door.

At the bar, the woman was waiting. Reckless, dangerous, exactly the kind of escape Pope couldn’t resist.

“You look like hell,” she said, sliding him a drink.

“Been worse,” he muttered. He should have walked away. He didn’t.

One touch became two. A kiss, sharp and wrong. He thought of her, just for a second—her voice in his head, don’t cheat on me—but he drowned it out with another kiss. By the time he realized what he’d done, it was too late.

Later, sitting on the edge of the bed with guilt clawing at his chest, he knew. He’d broken the rule that couldn’t be fixed.

She noticed the change immediately. The way he couldn’t meet her eyes. The way he came home late, smelling faintly of perfume that wasn’t hers.

She finally cornered him in the bedroom.

“Andrew,” she said, voice low but sharp, “look at me.”

He did—and that was enough.

Her heart cracked. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t break the one rule that mattered most.”

His silence was the truth.

Her laugh was bitter, strangled. “Unbelievable. Three rules, Andrew. Three. Don’t die, don’t get locked up, and don’t cheat. And you—” she broke off, hands shaking. “You picked the one that destroys us.”

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“Don’t you dare.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t you dare say it didn’t mean anything. It meant everything. Because now I can’t trust you. Because now every time you walk out that door, I’m not just scared of bullets or cops—I’m scared of her.”

“I messed up,” he rasped, “but I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Her eyes softened just slightly, torn between fury and heartbreak. “I can’t forgive you. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I’m not ready to let you go, either.”

She grabbed her bag and left, the sound of the door clicking shut like a gunshot. Pope sat in the ruins, praying she’d come back.

Days blurred after that. Silence became their language. But sometimes—late at night—her name lit up his phone.

Neither spoke at first. Just breathing.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered once.

“Me neither,” he admitted.

And just like that, the line went dead.

Other nights, she showed up outside, sitting in her car, watching his house. When he approached, she rolled the window down halfway.

“You look like hell,” she murmured.

“Feel worse.”

Her hands tightened on the wheel. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because I still care. And I hate that I do.”

She drove off, leaving him standing alone in the street, her words burning holes in his chest.

It became their pattern—half-finished conversations, fleeting moments, a dance of reach and retreat. Push and pull. Torture and hope.

But the dam finally broke.

She stormed into the house one night, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” she snapped. “You sit here waiting for me to give in, waiting for me to say it’s fine—that you’re fine—while I’m the one drowning every time I think of you with her.”

Pope’s voice rose, rough and desperate. “I told you—it didn’t mean anything.”

Her laugh was sharp, furious. “Don’t minimize it! You didn’t just cheat, Andrew. You destroyed us.”

“I know!” His voice cracked. “I hate myself for it, every damn day.”

“Then why?” she demanded, eyes burning. “Why break the one rule that mattered most?”

“Because I’m broken,” he admitted, voice raw, “and I ruin everything I touch. And you were too good—I panicked.”

Her eyes glistened, fury and pain colliding. “And what if I believe you? What if I believe you’ll just keep ruining us until there’s nothing left?”

He stepped closer, shaking, his forehead nearly touching hers. “Then give me one chance to prove you wrong. Just one.”

Tears blurred her vision. “God, I hate you for making me still love you.”

Her fists hit his chest, hard, once, twice—but when he caught her wrists, the fight twisted. Their breaths tangled, their mouths crashed together. The kiss was fire—angry, desperate, and full of everything they hadn’t said.

Nails dug, hands clutched, bodies collided. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t healing. It was survival. Two broken people clinging to each other because being apart was worse than burning alive together.

The morning after was thick with silence.

She lay on her side of the bed, eyes open, staring at the wall. Pope sat at the edge, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing together like he was praying but didn’t know how.

Finally, she sat up, dragging the sheet around her like armor. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“I know.”

“I can’t tell if I regret it… or if I’d do it again.”

His eyes found hers, raw and unflinching. “I’d do it again. Every time.”

Her breath caught, anger sparking. “That’s the problem, Andrew. You take and take, even when you know it’ll destroy me. You don’t stop.”

He stood, restless, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Because when I stop—when you’re gone—I can’t breathe. You’re the only thing that makes the noise in my head quiet. Without you, it’s just chaos.”

Tears burned at the back of her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to run until she forgot his name.

“I don’t know if love is enough this time,” she whispered.

The words cut him open. But she didn’t leave.

Not yet.

And maybe that was enough.

The rules were still broken. The trust was still shattered. But the door was still cracked open, and as long as there was space for hope to slip through, Pope wasn’t letting go.

Not of her. Not of them.

what song reminds you of andrew “pope” cody? or what song do you think screams him..??.?.??.

totally for research purposes

perssssonally, i think Exit Music by Radiohead just SCREAMS andrew idk why but maybe it’s when the beat drops it kinda makes me feel like someone just needs a hug or something? like its full of emotions to me

+ the lyrics liiiiiike

(season 1 animal kingdom spoilers, tw for suicide mentions, murder mentions, someone being scared of their medication/going off it)

because he was treated for so long as impulsive and dangerous, andrew is constantly worried about snapping and hurting somebody without meaning to. he replays instances of hurting people that have already happened to make sure he had no desire to do it and checks his memory all the time to make sure he didn't enjoy killing cath or burning the house down.