#Cody is living hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mercvry-glow · 11 days ago

Text

Want and need (18+)

parings. andrew "pope" cody x reader

summary. you're tired of pope's staring, so this time you give him something to do about it.

warnings. this is an 18+ fic so mdni, unprotected sex, rough sex, p in v, possessive!pope, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 25), typical animal kingdom stuff, mentions of drug addiction and drinking (but nothing in depth), pope and reader have wanted each other for a long time and all hell breaks loose, I am not responsible for what you read online, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I really don't even know what to say, this was really self indulgent but also a shit ton of people asked for this. this is my first time writing smut, so please go easy on me 😭 I love y'all tho and I hope this makes those who asked for this very happy and I'd be more than willing to try for other characters too. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 4100+

You were young when you were taken into the Cody household. Barely ten or eleven, chasing the coattails of Baz, Pope, and Julia. They were older, reckless, and way more fun than Deran and Craig in your young mind. You were just a kid back then, all scraped knees and wide eyes, desperate to be seen, to be wanted. And they gave you that—chaotic, dangerous, and messy as it was.

Now, you were older. Maybe not in their eyes, not entirely. To them, you’d always be the kid who used to sneak beers from the cooler and fall asleep on the couch mid-party. But you’d grown. Twenty-five looked good on you. It felt even better.

With the kind of money Smurf funneled your way—whether out of guilt, habit, or because she saw something useful in you—you were living comfortably. Shopping trips in LA with Julia’s old taste still lingering in the back of your mind, a crisp white sports car that purred when you touched the gas, and a room in Smurf’s homethat came with a 12-foot deep pool and too much sunshine. It wasn’t just surviving anymore. You were lounging, tanning, sipping something cold, and living the dream—Cody style.

But even with all of it—the car, the clothes, the pool—you still found yourself looking for him.

Andrew.

He was the one who never really changed. Still guarded. Still intense. Still carrying every unspoken burden like it was strapped to his chest. And even after all these years, you hadn’t outgrown the way he made you feel—safe, seen, even when you didn’t want him to see everything.

Sometimes he’d come by, dropping something off for Smurf, checking on Craig or Deran through you, but his eyes always lingered a little longer when you were around. Not in a creepy way. Just… aware. Like he was always assessing, always measuring how close was too close.

But you weren’t a kid anymore.

And you were starting to wonder if he knew that too.

He was always too worried about Julia or Cath to notice the young girl that gravitated toward him more than his brothers—and that was okay, it had been okay. You weren’t supposed to be seen back then, just allowed to linger. And Pope, for all his walls and rough edges, let you. He never pushed you away, never told you to stop following him like a shadow. But he never really looked at you, either.

Then life changed—fast and hard.

Julia left, tearing a hole right through the Cody family like a storm no one saw coming. She vanished into the haze of addiction, baby in tow, and that was that. Cath and Baz fell into each other in the aftermath, and that burned too—more for Pope than he ever admitted out loud. And when Pope finally cracked under the pressure, when he went to jail after a job went bad, everything fractured. The center couldn’t hold.

Life moved on, and you along with it.

You learned not to wait for anyone. You learned how to handle yourself, how to use what the Codys gave you—protection, money, a name that opened doors and slammed others shut. You carved a place for yourself in the world they ruled. No one questioned why you were there anymore. You weren’t the kid tagging along.

You were a woman now.

And when Pope got out, when he came back into that sun-soaked chaos of a world you both knew too well, he noticed.

Really noticed.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself now—confident, sharper, always watching like you used to—but from a different angle. Maybe it was the way you didn’t look at him like a lost, broken thing the way everyone else did. Or maybe it was just time. Maybe he finally realized you weren’t following anymore.

You were standing still. And he was the one stopping in his tracks.

"You gonna keep watching me like a creep or are you gonna come sit and talk with me?" you called out, not even turning your head, just lazily lifting your sunglasses as you lounged beside the pool.

Your bikini left little to the imagination—tiny, tied at the hips, glistening slightly from the coconut tanning oil that coated your sun-warmed skin. The scent mixed with the citrusy bite of the cocktail you’d been nursing for the past hour, the condensation from the glass dripping down your fingers as you swirled the straw.

You could feel his eyes on you before you even spoke. He always tried to be subtle, lurking in the doorway or leaning against the fence like he had any real reason to be there. But Pope was never good at hiding his intensity, not from you.

"No one else is here anyway," you added, voice lower this time, laced with something soft—an invitation, not a challenge.

You finally turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved yet, still standing a few feet away like he was weighing his options. Same old Pope. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, like walking ten feet to a lounge chair might cost him something heavy. But there was something in his expression that wasn’t so guarded now. Something careful. Curious.

“You worried Smurf’s gonna pop out of the bushes or something?” you teased, tilting your head with a little smirk. “She doesn’t care what I do. You know that.”

He shifted his weight but didn’t answer right away, jaw flexing like he was grinding down words before they made it to his mouth. Then finally, he started walking—slow, measured, like he was still deciding if this was a mistake.

But he came anyway and sat right at your feet.

"What's on your mind?" you asked, nudging him with your pedicured foot—painted a glossy shade of white that caught the sunlight just right. It was playful, meant to break through the stiff walls he always had up. You weren’t trying to push too hard. Just enough to remind him he didn’t have to sit there like a stone.

He didn’t flinch at the touch, just looked down at your foot resting lightly against his jean covered thigh, then back up at you with that unreadable expression he always wore. But there was something different in his eyes. Softer. Or maybe tired.

"Nothing," he muttered, eyes drifting to the water. "Just making sure you’re alright."

You rolled your eyes, “Of course I’m fine, you’re watching over me aren’t ya?”

He didn’t answer, but the faintest flicker of something passed through his eyes—something just shy of a smirk. You caught it, even if he tried to bury it again just as fast.

You leaned back against the lounge, arching your back just a little as you stretched out your legs, your toes still resting against his thigh. “You always do that, you know,” you said, your voice low and smooth, laced with something warm. “Watch me like you’re trying to memorize every move, but never saying a damn thing.”

Pope’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. Didn’t deny it either.

“I used to wonder if it was guilt,” you went on, your eyes locked on him now, studying his face. “Me being around… all the time. If maybe, you thought I was just another thing you had to take care of.”

His gaze finally slid from the pool back to you—slower this time. Steady. That unreadable expression giving way to something heavier.

“It wasn’t guilt,” he said. Voice rough, low enough you almost didn’t hear it over the soft splash of water from the filter nearby.

Your lips curved slightly. “No?”

He shook his head once.

Your foot pressed a little firmer against his thigh, not teasing anymore—more like claiming space, letting him feel the weight of your presence. “Then what was it, Andrew?” you asked, letting his name linger in the air between you like the taste of the rum still on your lips.

“Why do you still look at me like that?”

Silence stretched for a moment too long. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, and Pope never needed many. He was more action than speech. Always had been.

So you sat up slowly, cocktail forgotten now, your body turned toward him as you leaned forward just enough to let your fingers brush his wrist. His skin was warm. Tense. Alive under your touch.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” you said, softly now, like it was a secret between the two of you. “You can tell me things...”

His breath hitched—so slight, but you felt it. Saw it in the way his hand twitched under yours, like he was holding himself back with every ounce of control he had.

You leaned in a little closer, close enough that he could smell the sweet coconut clinging to your skin, the soft salt of pool water in your hair. “You can touch me now, Andrew,” you whispered, barely louder than the wind rustling through the palm trees overhead. “If you want to.”

His hand moved then, slow and unsure at first, like he was afraid you might vanish if he did. But you didn’t. You stayed right there, watching him, heart pounding in your chest as his calloused fingers brushed your thigh—just a whisper of contact, but it lit a fire low in your stomach.

And he looked at you like he didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse, thick with restraint.

You nodded, smile turning sultry, sure. “Go ahead.”

And for the first time since you were a kid chasing his shadow, Pope Cody didn’t run.

The tension between you snapped like a live wire—sharp, charged, inevitable.

You shifted, slow and deliberate, rising just enough to swing one bronzed leg over his lap. His eyes followed the movement, hands clenched at his sides like he was trying to stop himself from grabbing you right then and there. But when you settled on top of him, thighs hugging his hips and your hands bracing against his chest, he didn’t move away. Didn’t even blink.

He just stared up at you, jaw tight, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like he was caught between every wrong instinct he’d ever had—and the one that felt right.

You leaned in slowly, your lips just a breath away from his, fingers sliding up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw. “Tell me to stop,” you whispered, though your tone dared him to.

He didn’t.

So you kissed him.

It started slow—soft, testing. But the second your mouth met his, the switch flipped. His hands gripped your hips like he’d been dying to touch you for years and finally stopped pretending he didn’t want to. You moved against him instinctively, gasping softly when he deepened the kiss, his mouth hungry and rough, like he was trying to swallow every second of the years he’d lost, every second he hadn’t let himself want this.

Your fingers twisted into his curls as you rocked against him, feeling him grow harder beneath you. His groan rumbled in his chest, low and feral, vibrating against your lips. He kissed like he fought—intensely, without hesitation, like nothing else mattered but this moment. But even now, even like this, his touch wasn’t careless.

One hand slid up your back, fingers splayed over your spine, grounding you. The other stayed planted at your waist, as if anchoring himself to you, needing you close but terrified of losing control. You could feel it in the way he held you—like he didn’t want to break you. Like part of him still saw that girl who followed him around, and the rest of him was warring with the woman now straddling him in the late afternoon sun.

You pulled back just slightly, lips swollen, eyes locked on his. “I’m not scared of you,” you breathed.

His eyes darkened. “Maybe you should be.”

You smiled. Slow. Wicked. “But I’m not.”

And then you kissed him again, deeper this time, letting your body press flush against his, the heat between you scorching, undeniable, and no longer something either of you could ignore.

A hand slipped under your bikini top, rough palm closing over one of your tits, you gasped into his mouth. His thumb brushed against your nipple, and the sharp jolt it sent through you had you rocking harder against him, your hands fisting in his shirt.

“Fuck—just take it off me,” you muttered against his lips, breathless, needy.

Pope didn’t hesitate. He tugged at the knot behind your neck, and the top came undone with a quick flick of his fingers. You didn’t even care where it landed—just felt the warm afternoon air on your bare skin and the heat of his gaze as he pulled back to look.

His eyes swept over you like a storm cloud rolling in—dark, intense, and full of want. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, voice strained as he leaned in, lips brushing the swell of your chest.

Your fingers threaded into his dark curls, nails gently scraping his scalp as he sucked a mark into your skin, his stubble rough against your soft flesh. You moaned low in your throat, head falling back as he worshiped you with his mouth, biting, licking, claiming.

“You’ve always been mine,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You looked down at him, your body flushed and burning, heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. “Say it again,” you whispered, grinding down against the bulge in his jeans.

And in the next second, he surged up, one arm wrapping around your waist as he stood, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively, breath catching as his mouth returned to yours—urgent and possessive. He didn’t say another word as he carried you inside, but his kiss said everything. Every step was heavy with purpose. Like he’d finally given in to what he’d been fighting for years.

He pushed the sliding door open with his foot, barely breaking stride as he carried you inside, your bare chest pressed to him, his lips never straying far from yours. The house was quiet, golden sunlight spilling across the hardwood floors as you clung to him, your fingers tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin.

By the time he made it to your bedroom, the tension had hit a fever pitch. He laid you down on the edge of the bed, standing between your thighs, eyes sweeping over your half-naked body like he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or ruin you.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heart thudding, watching the way his hands shook slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. The way his chest rose and fell, same as your own, like he was holding back something dangerous.

"You look like you're about to bust," you said with a teasing smirk, voice low and breathy.

“I am,” he said simply, stepping closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edges of your bikini bottoms. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Then lose the rest,” you whispered, voice nearly a dare.

He hooked his fingers under the ties, and with one smooth tug, the last piece of fabric between you was gone. You leaned back slowly, watching his eyes drag over every inch of you, hunger and restraint warring in his expression.

Then he was back on you, like wet on water.

Mouth on yours again, harder this time, kissing you like he was drowning and you were air. His hands roamed everywhere—your waist, your hips, the inside of your thighs—like he couldn’t touch enough fast enough. And you didn’t want him to stop. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist, pulling him closer, grinding against his buldge pressed between you. He was rock hard.

Every kiss, every touch felt like years in the making—pent-up tension finally snapping in the heat of that bedroom. You moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his back as he pushed you further onto the bed, hovering over you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“Fuck—tell me you want this,” he growled against your neck, voice ragged.

“I’ve always wanted this,” you breathed, eyes locked on his. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He crashed his mouth against yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation—just raw need, years of it unraveling all at once. His weight pressed you into the mattress, solid and grounding, as if he was trying to make sure this was real.

That you were real.

That after all the years of watching, waiting, denying, he could finally touch you the way he’d needed to.

Your hands were everywhere—his back, his chest, tugging at the waistband of his jeans with trembling fingers until he groaned against your skin. “Jesus, kid,” he muttered, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank them off with a rough urgency, kicking them away as he settled between your legs again.

You arched up into him, your body already aching, your thighs spreading to welcome him as he hovered over you. There was a flicker of hesitation—his eyes searching yours, his thumb brushing your cheek in a moment of quiet, reverent pause.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and gruff, but laced with something almost tender.

You reached up, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you pulled him back down to you. “Fuck me,”

That was all he needed.

He tugged on his cock a few times before sliding into you slowly, carefully, and your head fell back with a soft cry—his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. He filled you completely, a delicious stretch that had your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist.

He didn’t move right away—just held himself there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, like he was memorizing every second. “You feel like… fuck,” he whispered. “You were made for me.”

And then he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts that left you gasping, your hands clutching at him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising intensity, pulling you closer every time he drove into you.

“You’ve always been mine,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your ear.

Your heart twisted, heat building, rising between you in waves. You met every thrust, your bodies moving in sync like they were meant to be tangled like this. And as his pace quickened, rougher now, needier, you clung to him—your body trembling, your voice breaking as the edge drew closer.

“Pope—” you gasped, barely able to get his name out before it hit you. A rush of heat, pleasure, everything blurring as your back arched as you came, orgasm tearing through you, raw and electric.

He wasn’t far behind—groaning into your neck, his rhythm faltering, then stilling as he found his own release, his entire body shuddering above you.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breath and the faint rustle of sheets. Pope didn’t move for a while—just rested there, head buried against your shoulder, arms still wrapped around you like letting go might shatter the moment. When he finally looked at you again, something had shifted. There was no going back.

His grip on your waist tightened as he thrust deeper again, rougher now—no more holding back. His mouth was at your throat, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay sane, his teeth grazing your skin as he growled, “You don’t know how long I’ve fucking waited for this.”

You moaned, your fingers tangled in his hair as you clung to him, legs locked tight around his hips once again. “Fuck-ddon’t stop,” you whispered. “Show me.”

That snapped something loose in him.

“You want me to show you?” he rasped, voice thick with hunger. “You think I can be gentle with you now? After all these years, watching you walk around in those little shorts, laughing like you didn’t know what you were doing to me?”

His hand slid up your body, wrapping lightly around your throat, thumb resting on your jaw as he looked down at you, eyes blazing. “This body’s mine now. Say it.”

Your lips parted, breath hitched, your voice shaky, “It’s yours- fuck! All yours,”

“Damn right it is,” he grunted, thrusting into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, his other hand gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist. “You’ve always been mine, I knew I’d take you like this.”

You cried out, body burning under his every touch, the filth of his words twisting deliciously in your stomach.

“You like that?” he growled against your ear, biting your lobe before sucking it. “You like me talkin’ to you like this? Fuckin’ you like you were made for it?”

“Y-Yes—God, yes—Pope,” you gasped, head swimming as he hit deeper, angling his hips just right to make your toes curl.

“I don’t want anyone else lookin’ at you like this,” he snarled. “No more showing off at that pool like you’re just some pretty slut.”

“Wh-why? You jealous?” you teased, barely able to keep your voice steady as your back arched into him.

He bit down on your shoulder—not enough to break skin, just to mark you. “I own you.”

With that, he flipped you onto your stomach in one rough motion, dragging your hips back until you were up on your knees, face pressed into the sheets. You gasped, the new angle hitting something brutal, perfect, as he thrust back in with a groan.

“This is mine,” he growled, one hand fisting in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard you knew it’d bruise. “You’re mine.”

The way he said it—like a promise, like a warning—you believed every word.

“Fuck- I get it—Oh my god!” you gasped as he tugged on your hair, hips barely able to meet his harsh pace.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans out, bucking even harder as he fucks you with intent. You pant, eyes fluttering as he continues his brutal rhythm that’s hard enough to shake the bed frame.

You’re not even in your own body anymore, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. The once lavender scent of your room, now replaced with sex and what lingured of Pope’s cologne.

He slides a hand down between the two of you, thick fingers catching on your clit as he rubs in tight circles bringing you closer to your next orgasm.

“I- fuck Andrew… I’m- I can’t!” you moan into the bed, fists wrapped in the sheets like your grip will somehow alleviate the growing feeling in your stomach.

“Cum for me baby, I want to feel you.” he head dips to your shoulder blades, kissing down your back as he eases you to the brink once again.

It’s a white hot feeling as it rips through you, but Pope doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, pulling back just enough only to slam back into you one last time.

He tenses, body stiff as he gives you a few more sloppy thrusts as he cums inside you—thick, hot, and everything you want as he pulls and lays beside you taking a few deep breaths.

You can feel him dripping out of you, but you don’t care. Too spent, you take your time before turning to look at him. Pope’s curls are a mess, though you’re sure your own hair isn’t much better.

It’s silent for a while.

you’re cuddled up to him, tracing little shapes on his chest with his arm thrown around you. It keeps you close to him, like maybe you’ll disappear if he’s not touching you in some way.

“Why’d you let me do that?” His voice is soft and gravely, but genuine all the same.

“Believe it or not, I’ve wanted you to do that forever…” you give him a small smile, still tracing your little shapes into his freckled skin.

He sighs, something deep and heavy laced in it. “I’m not good for you,” he mutters.

“I think I can decide that for myself,” you shift your head to look up at him, deep hazel eyes meeting your own.

His lips capture yours in a kiss, something softer than earlier but the meaning is still the same.

You're his, and honestly you don’t really mind it.

mercvry-glow 2025

#animal kingdom #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom x reader #animal kingdom x you #andrew cody #andrew cody x reader #andrew cody x you #pope cody #pope cody x reader #pope cody x you #andrew pope cody #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x you #shawn hatosy #❥ - Pope Cody

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jockbroski34 · 10 months ago

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AlterEgo

The last thing I expected on my 20th birthday was to receive a gift from Cody, my roommate. We were never close, and there was no way in hell he actually knew much about me to know it was my birthday without me telling him. Him and I were basically complete opposites. While I was your typical nerd, smart, introverted, and so on, he was basically your typical jock in all the worst ways. He was boisterous, arrogant, and a total meathead. We mostly agreed to stay out of each others’ way, considering our irreconcilable differences, but that didn’t stop him from being a massive pain in the ass. His room was constantly in a state of disarray, with sweaty clothes scattered all over the place. As such, I often avoided being anywhere near his room if necessary since it smelled like a locker room. He often invited over his “bros” who were just as bad. Whether they were hogging the TV to watch whatever game was on, smuggling alcohol into our dorm to get wasted, or playing catch in the fucking living room, they were always a nuisance. And whenever I brought any of that up to him, he would always end up saying something like “It’s not that serious, dude. We were just having a good time.” Yeah, a good time at my expense. Whoever assigned the two of us to live together must’ve thought this was some twisted joke.

I woke up at 9 AM, still a little tired from last night. I hung out at one of my friends’ dorms to celebrate my birthday. I yawned, and went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I saw Cody was up as well, his legs spread across the couch, to the point that he was taking up two seats, watching something on the TV that was several volume levels too loud for me.

“Hey bro, today’s your birthday right?” Cody asked, as he tilted his head to face me.

“Uhh, yeah. How did you know?” I responded.

“Oh don’t worry about it, bro. Happy birthday!” I saw him get up and run to his disorganized room, likely to grab something for me. I could see a pair of worn gym shorts on the floor through the crack in the door. He pulled out an old Nike shoe box, since he likely had nothing better to put a gift in. “I’ve been saving this for you. I hope you like it!” Is this his way of trying to get on my good side?

I rolled my eyes since I doubt he got me anything I would enjoy. He probably just got me something that he’d enjoy, like some tight-fitting tank top or protein powder or something. Not that I work out or anything. The only gift I’d want from him is for him to stop being a douche. I opened the box and I was surprised about what I saw. It was a video game. Not any that I’d ever heard of. I looked at the box art and the words AlterEgo were written in a wacky, colorful font.

“Yeah, I knew you like video games, so I found this for you. I heard on the internet that it’s pretty nitch…nichy…what’s the word…”

“Niche?” I responded. I had to admit, him struggling to pronounce the word right was a little amusing. As amusing as being with a simpleton like him could be.

“That’s the word! I got it for myself, but I realized like half an hour in that it wasn’t my thing. I’m happy with what I have right now. I figured you’d probably get more out of it than me.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem, dude. Anyways, I gotta hit the gym. I’m gonna be out all day so you have the PS5 all to yourself. Hope you enjoy it bro!”

I watch him leave, thankful to have some peace and quiet. As I ate breakfast, I read the back of the cover in order to figure out what this game was about.

“Become a new you! In this life simulation adventure, you can become any kind of person you want and live any way you choose. Control your fictional avatar, your AlterEgo, and level up your stats to become closer to your true self.”

The game seemed something like The Sims or Animal Crossing, but with some stat progression system. It was a game that I had never heard of, but it could be some hidden gem. The rest of the back was filled with screenshots from the game with the cartoony characters doing activities such as cooking, jogging, and riding a motorcycle. I figured I might as well try the game since I did get it for free. Even if it was from Cody, I wasn’t one to refuse someone’s generosity.

I put the game in the disk slot and booted it up. The title screen had that same logo and some bubbly background music. I pressed the start button and I was presented with a save selection screen. I noticed that Cody’s save was on there, which was odd because I was playing on my account. I knew I should’ve put a password on it. I wanted to make my own character, but part of me was curious about the character that he made. Knowing him, I can only guess. His game time was less than an hour, as he was only on Day 1, and he likely spent most of that time on the character creation screen.

I started his save and my character was sitting in his room. At this point, it was very bare, with only a bed and a bunch of cardboard boxes scattered around the room. I guess the character starts by moving into their new home? I went into the menu to find more information about the character. The character was named Cody obviously and his AlterEgo somewhat matched him too. I went into the stats screen and I was greeted by a tutorial.

“Here you can check your AlterEgo’s stats. You have already set your initial growth modifiers and assigned your base stats. If you need a refresher, whatever stats you chose your AlterEgo to excel at are highlighted in red and the ones you chose to trade off are highlighted in blue. This means that your AlterEgo will grow in the stats in red much faster and prioritize activities that increase those stats and avoid activities associated with increasing your stats in blue. As you play, your AlterEgo will naturally develop into one of hundreds of potential archetypes based on the activities that they excel at. Experiment and see who you become!”

I looked at the stat screen and saw a list of stats with a bar indicating percentage level. The stats included Strength, Constitution, Dexterity, Intelligence, Wisdom, Courage, Charisma, and Luck. Not too far off from DnD I guess. It seemed like he chose to have Strength and Constitution as his highest stats as their font was colored red and Intelligence and Wisdom as his weakest stats as they were colored in blue. Gee, why am I not surprised… Cody was anything but a genius. It seemed like he had 20 initial points to allocate wherever he chose with a default limit of 5. And I was equally not surprised to find that my meathead roommate chose to put 5 in Strength and Constitution again like a barbarian. It’s like all he cared about was his looks and perceived masculinity, even in game.

Strength (physical strength): 5

Constitution (physical build and stamina): 5

Dexterity (agility and flexibility): 2

Intelligence (knowledge): 0

Wisdom (intuition and discipline): 0

Courage (risk-taking and bravery): 3

Charisma (social skills): 3

Luck (good or bad fortune): 2

After looking through his stats, I decided enough was enough and I didn’t really want to go around pretending I was Cody the whole game. I quit out of his save and went back to the title screen. I was back on the save select screen when I became confused. There was still one save, except the name of the character wasn’t Cody…it was mine? The play time was set to 0 minutes. I don’t know how that happened, but if it saves me the trouble of building a character and reading more tutorials, I’m happy.

To my relief, the avatar representing Cody wasn’t there. Instead, a very generic, average character stood in its place in the same room. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was some placeholder account with everything set to the default. Whatever, I can probably change stuff about him later. I decided to move my AlterEgo outside and I was greeted by a map of a large city. I chose an area of the map to explore at random and controlled my new avatar. On the busy city street, there was a cafe, restaurant, and a gym. It was too early for the cafe and restaurant to open, so I guess my only option here is the gym. I’ve never stepped foot in a gym before, but this character doesn’t have to represent me as a whole. Plus, I’d like my character to be well-rounded unlike Cody’s who would probably spend the whole time grinding here.

I went into the gym and had to perform a set of quick-time events. First, I had to do some bench presses. Then some squats. Then finally, run on a treadmill. At the end of it, my AlterEgo did a cartoony celebration and flexed his arms. A pop-up showing that my Strength, Constitution, and Dexterity went up by 1, followed up by another one saying that my Strength and Constitution will double every time I do activities like go to the gym. So it looks like Cody’s modifiers carried over after all despite everything seeming to be the default. That should’ve been the first thing I checked. I didn’t want my character to be specced to be some lumbering brute. I suppose that if I wanted to get my character’s Intelligence and Wisdom, it’d probably be like playing on Hard mode. Honestly, I was open to the challenge.

I was disappointed to find out that it’d be harder than it seemed. When my character got home in the evening, I went into one of his boxes and I was presented with an option to read. I was presented with several options, ranging from comics to full-on novels. I chose the novel since I figured it would raise my Intelligence the best. I watched my AlterEgo try to read the book, but I saw a look of confusion on his face. Eventually, he grew frustrated and threw the book back into the empty box as if he were shooting through a basketball hoop. I expected my Intelligence to stay the same, but no, it actually dropped!

“Sometimes when your AlterEgo fails to complete an activity, their stats can decrease! These stats can even go into the negative. Make sure to keep your stats high because it can become very difficult to increase your stats if they fall below a certain point.”

I couldn’t believe that my character struggled to even read. This guy was nothing like me at all! I hoped that it would be easier to raise my AlterEgo’s Intelligence because I didn’t want him to be a moron. I watched my character fall asleep and I could see into his dream. Another tutorial popped up.

“Sometimes your character will have dreams! These dreams are mostly random, but will also depend on your character’s stats. Just like other activities, you have a chance to increase your stats.”

I watched my character fight in a zombie apocalypse, but the zombies didn’t even look remotely threatening. I succeeded in the activity and my Courage went up by 2 and my Luck and Strength went up by 1. My character wiped his head of sweat as the zombies turned to dust.

The next day, I learned that my AlterEgo can go to school. That was expected, considering my character’s age, only I didn’t realize how hard it would be for him. He was sitting in a desk trying to write down notes. Eventually, like an idiot, he slammed his thick head on his desk and started snoring. This was honestly getting embarrassing. My Intelligence and Wisdom dropped yet again, not by 1, but by 2. If I didn’t do something different, my AlterEgo would basically be a clone of Cody instead of myself. After class, instead of being given an option to go and do something, my AlterEgo is approached by a group of buff men.

Quarterback: Hey new guy, you’re looking pretty strong. Judging from your Strength and Constitution, I think you’d make a good fit for the football team. Your Dexterity and Courage also seem pretty good. Wanna join, bro?

You know who else played football? Cody. I had to keep being reminded of him even when he wasn’t even around. This was my character and I didn’t care about sports, so I clicked the no option. To my surprise, my AlterEgo nodded instead. It's like this game is going out of its way to spite me at this point. Two tutorials popped up.

“If your Wisdom is too low, your AlterEgo might act on their own desires rather than your command. This means that they can sometimes act on their own or select activities that they are more interested in rather than those they are not. Raise your Wisdom or else you will have less freedom when developing your AlterEgo.”

“You have decided to join a club or organization. This will grant you a passive growth to certain stats every week.”

I watched as my AlterEgo walked away with the group of jocks. A football uniform magically appeared over his normal clothes. For joining the football team, I was granted a point in Strength, Constitution, Courage, and Charisma every week, with the usual double for Strength and Constitution.

I kept playing the game, getting frustrated at my AlterEgo’s reluctance to even try to act smart or reasonable. He frequently avoided or skipped intellectual pursuits to focus on those that made him look or feel good. It honestly just felt random whether he wanted to obey me or not. By the end of Day 7, the first week my stats were looking like this.

Strength: 30

Constitution: 28

Dexterity: 10

Intelligence: -20

Wisdom: -15

Courage: 21

Charisma: 17

Luck: 16

My Intelligence and Wisdom seemed unfixable. My AlterEgo wouldn’t even bother to try to read or pay attention at school and he consistently started to make random choices that satisfied his needs as the week progressed. I grew incredibly frustrated at this, but out of curiosity, I wanted to see if there was an end to this so I could go back and make my own character. Either way, this game was plagued with questionable design choices. It’s like the AlterEgo was already locked into a specific path. I hoped that I had accidentally skipped a tutorial or something and that I hadn’t softlocked myself out of raising certain stats. Unfortunately, my AlterEgo’s stats continued to grow and drop as I hit Day 30.

Strength: 75

Constitution: 69

Dexterity: 44

Intelligence: -66

Wisdom: -49

Courage: 54

Charisma: 37

Luck: 41

I received another tutorial message on Day 31.

“You look like you are on track to evolve into your archetype very soon! By this point, your AlterEgo’s stats will be locked in place. That will be the end of the main story, but there is still so much to enjoy afterwards!”

I figured I might as well see this through to the end. You know, see how much of an idiot my character can become. Despite my efforts, all my AlterEgo does now is work out, practice and go to games, and go to parties, outside of necessities. His Intelligence is so low that he rarely even goes to school anymore and that has caused his intelligence to plummet to the bottom. I played for even longer, eventually hitting Day 60. Turns out that this is the day I would discover my AlterEgo’s archetype.

“Congratulations on making it this far. I hope you are excited to find out your archetype, because I know I am! Remember that these changes are permanent, so there will no longer be ways to increase or decrease your stats.”

I watched my AlterEgo marched onto the stage and I was able to view my final stats and a rating of each of them. The descriptions seemed to be heavily based on my other stats, and trust me, they were very satirical, and in my case, very scathing.

Strength: 100

I’d give this an A+. I’m not even sure if you are human anymore. I’ve seen you lift things that no normal man could, not because you have to, but because you want to. You spend more time at the gym than you do at your own house and you might give The Hulk a run for his money.

Constitution: 100

You also get an A+. Your months of training at the gym have given you a perfect, chiseled body that looks like it could be made out of iron. You have a seemingly endless supply of testosterone and your stamina (in more ways than one, it seems) cannot be beaten.

Dexterity: 75

This gets a B. You are very athletic and quick on your feet despite your appearance. However, your large size means that you can be pretty clumsy and you’ve probably broken more things than you’d like to admit.

Intelligence: -100

I’ll just go along with your teachers and give you a big fat F. Are you even trying? I worry that there’s not a single thought going around in your thick skull. You care very little for anything intellectual or sophisticated, not that you even know what those words mean.

Wisdom: -90

Likewise, you also get another big fat F. Were you dropped on your head when you were a baby or did you take too many tackles to your cranium? You have incredibly poor judgment and you only make decisions that satisfy your brutish desires. In short, you often act before you think. Your lack of discipline is only matched by your lack of brain cells. As long as you’re having fun, should I really care what you do with your life?

Courage: 90

I’d give this an A, but not an A+. Because your brain moves too slow to process any risk, you often think before you act. You often find yourself in the most dangerous of situations and you often perform incredibly stupid stunts. When you’re on the field, you’re a risk taker, and at least it usually pays off. On the bright side, you always come out unscathed, so I can commend that.

Charisma: 70

I’d give this a B-. Being on the football team and being very attractive is going to place a lot of eyes on you, but they are all focused on your body because everything else you have to offer is very superficial. I wonder if you surround yourself with people who think and act the same as you do or if people keep you around to laugh at every stupid word that comes out of your mouth.

Luck: 80

Lastly, you get a B. Your luck genuinely amazes me sometimes. Despite everything, despite your lack of any intellectual thought or reasoning, you have survived long enough to make it this far in life. This alone proves that life favors some over others. If there is room for the concept of a higher power in your shrunken headspace, then they probably feel a sense of amusement at the state of you bumbling around through life with only your good looks and muscles salvaging you.

“What do you think? Are you happy with your results? Anyhow, it’s time to reveal your archetype. It’s who you are and who you will be from now on! Drumroll please… (As if it wasn’t obvious enough…) You, my friend, are…THE JOCK!”

The Jock

You are likely an athlete or bodybuilder and you likely care little for intellectual thought. You enjoy playing and watching sports and working out above anything else. You are hyper-masculine, aggressive, arrogant, and egotistical. However, you are also very muscular, tall, athletic, popular, and handsome. You feel a deep sense of camaraderie with anyone you consider your bro, which mostly includes other jocks like yourself. Your wardrobe mostly consists of tank tops, jerseys, varsity jackets, shorts, sweatpants, jockstraps, baseball caps, sneakers, and everything in between. Because of your high testosterone and your above average genitals, you are viewed as a desirable partner and often partake in sexual activities with members of the opposite sex, and sometimes even other men depending on the person and situation. Your most likely career path is as an athlete or coach, but as long as it doesn’t require too much deep thinking, you could probably find a job anywhere with your connections and attractiveness. Enjoy your new self!

I watched my AlterEgo vanish within a cloud of smoke and come out a cartoonish representation of your average stereotypical jock with blonde hair and a very lunkish, yet admittedly impressive build. He looked around, clearly disoriented, with a dull, confused look on his face before flexing with a cheesy, confident smirk on his face. The audience cheered and clapped at this ridiculous personification of a walking stereotype as if they were watching a magic show. Honestly, it was almost amusing how the description it gave for “me” couldn’t possibly be more wrong. It sounded like everything Cody was, not me. Although I guess I was playing with his settings, not by choice I will add, but I had little control over how my AlterEgo decided to live its life. I just wish I could get him off my mind for just one day. Either way, I found myself incredibly dissatisfied with my new AlterEgo, but I accidentally found out a way to make things even worse for me. I just wanted to scroll through the remaining text to get to the credits, since I have been playing for 8 hours by now, when I saw a selection that would seal my fate.

“Are you satisfied with your result? Now that you’ve discovered who you truly are, are you ready to be The Jock in the real world? WARNING: If you select Yes, your save will be deleted as a result. These changes are permanent. If you click No, you can continue playing after the credits.”

I accidentally clicked Yes as I was mashing through the text. What the hell was I thinking?! I had no idea that this would change the entire trajectory of my life. At first I felt nothing, as the screen faded to black. Then, I saw the credits start to roll, playing a remix of the joyful title screen music, and that’s when I started to feel all warm inside and I felt a painful shock come from my controller.

I felt a sudden wave of pain rush through my body as my bones started to crack and shift in my body and my muscles began to inflate like balloons. I looked at the credits and noticed that the new jock AlterEgo was doing the things he normally enjoyed doing in the background. But I couldn’t really concentrate on it as I found myself focusing down below. My legs stretched and stretched until I was around 6’4. My feet grew to a size 15 and my thick glutes and ass made me sink deeper into the couch from their weight. The fat in my stomach felt like it was melting as it left behind nothing more than a layer of sweat and a firm six pack of abs. My upper chest formed into a round set of bouncy pecs. Likewise, my biceps and triceps were almost the size of my head now and my soft hands became rough and covered in calluses from intense lifting. I felt my clothes cling tightly to my body as if they were two sizes too small, and they’d easily rip if my body grew any more. My shirt fit more like a crop top on me and my clothes were damp from pit and ass sweat.

I felt my long hair recede into my head until it formed into a shorter cut that was much easier to maintain. As it did that, my chestnut-colored locks lightened into a golden blonde. My soft, round eyes became more sharp and masculine and I could feel them turn from a chocolate brown into an icy shade of blue. My youthful face lost most of its baby fat and buried beneath it was nothing more than the chiseled edges of my jawline. The lower half of my face, which used to be soft and hairless, was now covered in a prickly lawn of stubble. Even my pasty skin turned a shade tanner from the years I spent in the sun throwing balls around. I noticed that my entire body started to sweat profusely to the point that I could smell my own musk and I became absorbed by my new-found masculine scent. I could smell the testosterone that was pumping through my veins like a drug. I felt powerful, dominant, virile, and dare I say it, good… Lastly, I found my lips contort into an obnoxious, conceited smirk. Was I…enjoying this? Judging from the growing feeling in my groin, I was led to believe that I was. And it kept growing and growing and growing…

All the while, the credits continued to play and the happy-go-lucky music felt like it was mocking my painful situation. Despite the strange pleasure I felt, it was only a distraction as my body still writhed in pain through the whole process while I changed entirely into a real life manifestation of my AlterEgo. What the hell is this game? I noticed that the jock avatar stared directly towards the screen, as if he was breaking the fourth wall, and started to walk closer and closer before vanishing from his virtual prison for good. The lively credits started to simmer down, giving the screen a more empty and disquieting feeling. That was the last thing I noticed before I felt a sharp headache ring through my head. I am usually fine playing games for a long period of time so why…Why did my roommate buy me this game anyways, bro? If he was gonna buy me any game, he should’ve gotten me the new CoD or Madden game, not this weird shit. I had to admit, it was kinda addicting. I liked being able to work out or play sports even when I’m at home. Wait, what was that? I felt like I just heard another voice in my head, both sounding similar yet different to my own. Eventually he called out directly to me.

“Hey bro, it’s me. Your AlterEgo. You know, the real you. It’s been fun, dude. Now I get to enter the real world, isn’t that sick? So here’s what’s gonna happen, dude. I am currently inside your mind and I’m making the final changes to turn you into the person you were always meant to be. That’s right dude, we are becoming one singular person in both body and mind. Don’t try to struggle or fight back. You know I’m stronger than you. There’s no going back. So, are you ready to become one with your true self?

No…I thought to myself. I wasn’t a jock. I was never a jock. I’m nothing like my AlterEgo. This is a mistake. This was Cody’s AlterEgo, not mine!

“Chill out, bro. I know you read the warning and you clicked Yes, so you obviously knew the risk. Why did you keep playing if you knew you’d become a jock regardless of the decisions you made? Because you are one deep down. Or maybe you secretly wanted to be one. Maybe you wanted to see what life was like on the other side. Maybe this Cody guy wanted you to try out this save, you know, to see what would happen... Whatever reasoning, it really doesn’t matter dude. I know you can feel me taking over your mind. You’re finding it harder to think. Soon you’ll be The Jock, me. I just wish you realized a little sooner who you really were…”

I felt my brain starting to shut off and my vision starting to become blurry as my AlterEgo took it over. I don’t even know how any of this is possible, even by today’s standards. An AI buried deep within the game was taking over my body and mind entirely, reshaping me in his image. But I continued to resist, to cling onto whatever parts of my personality I could. However, as I felt my mind sink deeper and deeper into this mental void, I felt myself slowly becoming more and more like The Jock. The archetype that was decided on, not by me, but for me. Until that’s all I was.

Everything turned black for a few seconds. I slowly regained consciousness as my brain rebooted itself. Wait…what’s a reboot? I sat and watched the credits with a dim look on my face as it finally ended. I was booted back to the title screen and saw that my save was indeed deleted. This was proof that my AlterEgo was now a part of me and that he was finally whole. I pulled out my phone wanting to learn more about this game, because, dude, it was kinda fucking weird. By scrolling, I couldn’t find much, but I did discover a post from not too long ago on some ancient forum site that was probably made in the early 2000s.

“Is The Game AlterEgo Real?”

“I’ve heard rumors about this game called AlterEgo, but I have very little information on it. It’s said to be incredibly dangerous and could lead to permanent bodily and mental changes. Throughout all of my research, I could not find any copy of the game for sale, nor any definitive proof that it’s real or any information on the company that developed it. If you have any information on this game, please let me know.”

I skimmed through the forum page, not that interested in reading what everyone had to say. Who has time for that anyways? But I did find one reply that caught my eye.

“I can confirm with certainty that AlterEgo does exist. My friend received it as a gift for Christmas and he wouldn’t stop talking about it to me. It’s like he was addicted. A week later, when I saw him next, I could barely even recognize him. His body had grown and changed greatly and he didn’t act like his usual self. I even feel like his memories might be a little distorted. I tried checking his house to find the game in order to figure out what it was all about, but I don’t think he has it anymore. He probably sold it or gave it away since he said he finished it. No matter what, he won’t tell me. If there are any other copies of the game left, please let me know.”

Woah, so this game is fucking weird, dude. Wasn’t just me. I just played it right? But I don’t feel any different. You know, I bet these nerds would pay a lot for a chance to find out about this game. Maybe they might come out as different people. I’ll put it up on eBay for a high price. One of those dweebs just has to take the bait. I wouldn’t mind a little cash though. I’d feel bad for selling Cody’s gift, but just imagine what I could get with that much money.

“Hey bro, you still in here dude?” I heard a familiar voice shout as they opened the door.

“Yo Cody, there you are. What’s up dude?” I was happy to see him. Cody was my roommate and my best friend. We were practically inseparable. When he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened. I couldn’t really blame him for being impressed with my awesome body.

“You beat that game I gave you already?” He seemed surprised, yet almost impressed.

“Yeah, it’s not usually my type, but I enjoyed it dude.”

“Do you…feel any different, bro?” Cody sounded kinda hesitant there. Had he read about the rumors too? I don’t see why he’d have to worry. None of those rumors are true anyways.

“Nah, same as I’ve always been.”

“Alright, good. I was just making sure you were down to get some food. You should be out partying and celebrating your birthday, not playing some nerdy video game. And trust me, I know all the good spots.”

“You’re right bro. I haven’t gotten enough exercise in today. Let’s go.”

“Wait, before you go, your clothes are so sweaty dude. You should change.”

“Oh shit, good idea.”

“Y-you can just wear one of my clothes. They’d probably fit you better.” He was right. As I soon realized, someone shrunk all my clothes as part of a prank.

Me and Cody went to a sports bar to watch the game. If I remember correctly, this was our favorite spot to get food, except you know, anywhere that lets me hit my macros. Since it was my birthday, he even paid for the whole meal. I don’t remember how long I’ve known him, but couldn’t ask for a better bro. On the way home, Cody grabbed a six pack of beer from the frat house and brought it to our dorm to drink the night away. I wasn’t old enough to drink, but it’s not like I never had alcohol before. And besides, today was basically my cheat day.

We got wasted while we watched TV, and we did some things that I probably wouldn’t admit to anyone but him. I couldn’t help it though. I hadn’t gotten laid all weekend and it was my birthday. Quite frankly, I deserved it. Thankfully Cody took one for the team. He said it wasn’t weird because we’ve definitely done it before and that it was our secret. I had to give him credit. His tight hole is better than most girls’. I didn’t know he was a bottom until tonight. I also didn’t remember having a dick this big, but you don’t see me complaining. After all was said and done, I passed out drunk next to him in his bed, our bodies drenched in sweat and each other’s fluids, as I enjoyed the bromance I have with my best bro. This was the best birthday ever.

The next day, I got up extra early to go for a run despite my hangover. Afterwards I went to school, but like usual, I struggled to pay attention. It was like my mind was in a constant fog. My grades are slipping and this football scholarship is the only thing keeping me from dropping out entirely. After classes, I joined Cody and the others at practice. Throughout the day, I kept getting this feeling of uh…dayjah voo? That word that means that you feel like you’ve done something before. I wasn’t exactly sure where it was coming from. I shrugged it off. I was just a jock and I didn’t need to worry about stuff like that.

When I got home, I got an offer for the game Cody gave me. You know, AlterEgo. Some nerd seriously offered $1000 for it. I didn’t actually know it was that rare. I hope he enjoys it more than I did. I’ll sure enjoy the 1000 dollars. I bet he’ll love passing it around to all his other geeky friends. I wonder what their AlterEgos might look like…

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riverbends · 1 day ago

Text

BLUEBIRD

(andrew “pope” cody x f!reader)

part two: flight | mdni | previous | MASTERLIST

—For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.

tags: angst, stalking, pain kink, mentions of pope's suicidal tendencies, unwanted proximity bordering on assault (not with pope), heavy yearning, canon-typical mommy issues wc: 5.1k cat says: yeah i'm posting this a few hours earlier YES idk why i bother tagging 'angst', i feel like it's an inherent part of anything involving pope cody

This, he tries to tell himself, is better.

Because at least he is contained and resolute outside your house. At least he is here and not in that blinding suburban hell. At least he isn’t parked up on someone else’s street, waiting—desperately hoping—for her to come running back.

No, instead, he placates the memory of that child by watching you from his pickup truck, here and there, throughout the day. Not every day, just some odd ones. Sits opposite your humble one-storey abode and memorises the yard and the low, red brick border and the porch and the font of the street number on your mailbox and the way you sit on your front steps in the morning as you nurse a mug in both hands. Sometimes joined by your daughter, who entertains you like she was born to make you break out into laughter. Sam, he remembers. Of course he does. He remembers exactly what you were wearing the first and second time he saw you. Remembers the charms clinking against your car keys and the press of your hand on his wrist as you tried to shoo his money away last week.

He doesn’t know how you like to make your coffee on the mornings you sit outside. Doesn’t know if you’re even drinking coffee. Not at all privy to the finer details.

But he studies you like he’s planning a job.

There is a day where he finds you at a park around the corner from your house. It seems to be a routine between you and Sam—not every day, just some odd ones. He’s not sure how he manages to keep himself composed at the familiarity of it. A swing set and a girl and something…akin to penance? To a fleeting pardon? He is aware of how foolish it was to think that the love of a child could grant him absolution; could clean him.

This is the picture of innocence, though. With a wide smile splitting your mouth, you pull Sam’s seat as far back as you can while she squeals in the delight of anticipation. You count down, gathering momentum. Harnessing wind. A big push, and your baby takes flight. He is convinced, for a fraction of a second, that Lena is the one suspended in air, her hair blowing out around her like wings. But you’re cheering Sam on as she settles back down with slow, declining kicks.

Pope is gone before he can let himself unspool like an old cassette tape. Like something nobody wants anymore—something everybody has moved past.

You should really pay attention to your surroundings. He thinks you’re too easy to find, too easy to see without being seen himself (or he’s just disturbingly perceptive and he doesn’t like to think about the fact). But he has to remember your life and his are not one and the same. You have absolutely no reason to be as paranoid, as perceptive, as he is. You are not conditioned, he presumes, to go in with all teeth the moment you’ve been found out.

He knows that you pick up double shifts at the diner so your daughter doesn’t go hungry. He knows you sit in your car, before and after work, with your hands gripping the steering wheel as you press your forehead to the curve of the gap between them. What else is he to do with all of this time on his hands? If he’s not on a job, if he’s not in the fighting cage, if he’s not sitting in Lena’s old room, what more is there?

That’s what it is—a life without. He was built to saunter through battlefields in blood-stained stupor, not to live. His brothers might do this for the bountiful rewards that a good, well-structured job would bring. But this is way he was engineered. A steel-bodied machine; a soldier. The wolf in the black of night.

For as long as he can remember, ‘living’ is a hollow promise. ‘Living’ is the last thing Smurf raised him to do. He’s been on decades-long orders to traipse the darkness, eyes peeled and unblinking, watching for the threat of movement since childhood. He doesn’t know that, sometimes, he is the mirror of his long-dead father. Bogged down in the same paranoid craze that Colin wrestled with before Pope and Julia were nestled in Smurf’s womb—the sodden mire that seems to keep expanding. How strange it is to perfectly reflect a man and his hysteria without ever having known him. To inherit his father’s ghosts like warm heirlooms and spend his life wondering why he is the way he is.

No old photographs, no worn-out clothes, no well-loved car to be passed down to him. Just the name of a hockey player his father liked—Feels like a boy to me. Hey, Andrew, come on out and prove me right, you hear me?—and, of course, the loose screw. The thing in the cavity of his brain that ticks away like a faulty fire alarm. So, no, he can’t say that he ‘lives’ as much as he is haunted.

—yeah, after Andy Bathgate. Greatest hockey player of all time. You don’t like it? “Andy” for short.

Andrew David Cody, growing in a belly beside his sister as their father speaks only with him (Smurf has always held the belief that Andy would’ve softened him. In a good way. Had Colin lived long enough to give their son the nickname he wanted).

The haunting is why Pope doesn’t fight his habits. On the contrary, he clings to them like he’s hanging from the chin of a cliff, clawing for permanence so hard that his nails are scraped raw and bloody down to bone. He is intimate with this—latching onto pain. It saves him every time, and it pools on his tongue like blood medicine.

Won’t change a thing about Lena’s room in the Cody house. Won’t stop chipping into the fund he’s built for her. Won’t stop buying the food she used to eat and letting it go stale and mould-green because he obviously isn’t purchasing that shit to eat it. He is nourished by memory. Remembrance feeds him full.

It draws him back to the stupid grocer’s a week after seeing you. Though, he is here on a different day and a different time, hoping you’re not around. He can’t stomach that. Can’t force himself to remain poised and pretend the thought of you alone doesn’t make his head spin. It always did back then. With somebody else. That beach house and that little girl and that woman who stopped seeing him the way she used to as soon as he was thrown in a cell. Couldn’t even look at him when he got out. What is he left with now? His ghosts? His father’s ghosts?

Everything festers—

Six different brands of amber-brown maple syrup stare back at him from their shelves, and it’s torture. She should be here. She would tell him which one to get. Try her best to strain her little legs and reach up high for a bottle until he has to pluck it down for her. She would probably pout about it—I almost got it. He would nod—I know. Pope wonders if her brand new parents and her brand new sister take her out to get brand new maple syrup for their brand new pancakes and he feels his fists stiffen into stone weights at his side.

And then something tumbles into the side of his leg and lands on the floor with a thump and a small yelp that soon turns into sore snivelling. He frowns at the syrup before looking down to his left where he finds Sam all curled up, snotty-nosed and weeping as she firmly presses her hands over her right knee. When she meets his gaze, she’s suddenly sobbing in a way that chokes her words. He wonders if the fresh evidence of his recent cage fight has frightened her. The little white butterfly stitch. The colours blemishing his skin are rich and ugly after all—plum purple and screaming red. Her eyes dart all over his bruised face as if her collision alone was turbulent enough to hurt him in such a way.

“I’m sorry, mister, I’m really sorry,” she hiccups. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m sorry.” Apologies keep stringing from between her chattering teeth while he watches her fuss over her knee.

Pope lifts his chin and surveys the surrounding aisle in search of you before looking down again. He can’t really leave her—not that he would do such a thing anyway. He knows how helpless children can be. For him, driving a pocketknife into someone’s jugular vein is an easier feat than abandoning a lost child.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks. Sam blinks away her tears and drags her free hand under her leaky nose.

“I dunno,” she mumbles, bottom lip wobbling. “She told me to get a jar of honey and- and wait for her.”

He looks around once more, waiting for you to show up. Part hope, part dread. It doesn’t really occur to him that he might look uncaring or indifferent to the observing eye. He’s too caught up in the familiarity of this. Transported back to a time where he would’ve caught Lena to steady her with one hand before she could even hit the floor. Gravity was secondary to his caution for that girl. Light and physics be damned. Had Lena fallen like this, he wouldn’t think twice before scooping her up in his arms.

“We’re gonna look for her,” is all he says before leaning down, leather jacket creasing around his shoulders as he hauls Sam up by her underarms. The moment he hitches her on his hip, he has to anchor himself before his world tips over. It was instinct—the lift, the motion, the hold. Muscle memory. Just someone else’s daughter this time. Yours.

“Is your knee okay?” he asks, carrying her down the aisle like she’s weightless; eyes searching as he turns a corner. Sam nods before her arms loop around his neck and it feels like they’re locking. Feels like he’ll never be able to get out again.

Lena used to cling to him just as tight when he carried her, as if mere air would rip her away from him if she didn’t hold on with her life (but he never really let that happen, remember? Gravity? Light and physics? Laws that bent to his will. Logic that yielded to his love. Until he looked away for only a moment and everything slipped—). She’d get tired and rest her head on his shoulder, little nose tickling the crook of his neck. Craig once joked that Lena always latched onto Pope like a baby spider monkey.

“Yeah, she’s got the eyes too,” his brother laughed.

Pope shrugged, “Well, spider monkeys nurse on their mothers for at least three years.”

“Right, so they grow up like any normal kid,” Craig scoffed and flicked Deran a look, who only shook his head and minded his beer. The frown pulling Pope’s brows weighed deeper then.

“The mothers take their young everywhere,” he said, some faraway look blooming in his eyes. Remembered he had to pick her up from school soon. “Y’know, a lot of female monkeys tend to stick with their mothers long after they’ve grown up. It’s not uncommon in primate families.” Craig and Deran listened without absorbing anything, but he was elsewhere. Thinking about attachment, and the sheer force of it; the endurance. How, at the time, it felt like nothing in the world could tear through it—through him and his child. A fool’s dream. “Severance is harrowing,” he murmured, “for the both of them.”

Aisle after aisle, he walks across the far end of the store with his head stiffened to his right, pace picking up as he scans through the gaps until he freezes. A man towers over you in the middle of the drinks aisle, locking his hand around your wrist and gritting harsh whispers against your temple. You’re shaking your head, trying to claw at the man’s forearm with your free hand. A scene of proximity so clearly unwanted that you’re squirming against him the way a joint-locked animal twitches under pressure with little fight left in it. Pope feels his body load up like a gun. Safety off.

Electric heat charges through his legs, ready to storm forward with purpose, but then the heel of your palm cracks against the man’s cheek and the sound of it is sharp. Cuts through the low buzz of the radio hits from the store’s speakers.

Sam stirs in the warm crib of leather-clad arms, “Mommy?”

You fight whiplash at the speed of your own split of attention, head snapping to your left where you find your daughter wrapped around the torso of your friend who is not your friend because you’ve only met him twice before. Your friend who wears vivid contusions like he was kissed all over the face. The touch of bursting knuckles instead of your a soft mouth.

Andrew.

The sight of him holding your daughter at the end of the aisle has you ripping yourself away from your foe with a strength you thought you had misplaced until hearing her voice. Pope watches you rush toward him, hands reaching for Sam’s face like lungs stretching for air. But his eyes creep back to the man you’ve left behind, who contests Pope’s undaunted glare. He’s taller than Pope, but lean. Hair sweeps over his forehead, spine hunches slightly with a carelessness. Could snap the bastard in seconds.

“Hey, baby, hey,” you smile weakly, stroking a thumb over Sam’s chin before combing your fingers through her hair. Pope is roped back in. Can’t focus on anything but your gentle fretting and fussing. “Didn’t I tell you to get me some honey?” You ask and Sam nods, eyes downcast like she’s about to apologise. Again.

“I ran too fast,” she whispers.

It’s clear to you now—how he’s holding her. As if he has held her like this since before she could walk. You feel his eyes on you as yours drop to find a pale blotch of red flushing through the skin of her knee, bent leg tucked beneath the crook of his elbow.

The man behind you gnashes your name in his teeth. Pope is near ready to pounce again.

“You move on fast, don’t you?” He laughs bitterly, burrowing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Sam peels her arms away from Pope’s shoulders and he takes it as a sign to let the girl regain her footing. She’s encircling your thighs with the tight lock of her hands as soon as he eases her down. Your fingers trace over her shoulders as she hides her face.

Pope steps closer and lowers his head to look into your eyes like he thinks it’ll give you no other choice but to meet his gaze. Like he’s quite confident you’ll let him in that way. His voice is only for your ears when you do. “You want me to handle him?”

Maybe this is the first time you really start to consider using the word ‘strange’ to describe him. His generosity seems to know no bounds and it just confounds you. The chocolate pretzels, the cash, bringing Sam back to you. Strange. A complete stranger. You’ve never met someone with such a reclusive disposition who’d still give the shirt off their back to…you. Of course, it makes you feel sceptical. Of course, you’re going wonder if he’s trying to get something in return.

But those bruises suggest he has many means of getting what he wants. His face, his knuckles. Not just today, not just last week, but even the first time you met him, though the marks were the least visible at the time. It’s gotten consecutively worse over the three instances where you’ve run into each other. You can put two and two together. Must be a pastime of some sort, and a strange one at that. Strange. If he has some other agenda, you’d wager he’d have already taken it by force. He must pity you, then? Thinks you can’t take care of yourself so he has to do it for you?

(Unbeknownst to you, he is so inexplicably drawn in. It’s been too long since he’s allowed himself to dive head-first into this kind of naivety. You seem to nurse the promise of oasis and, of this, Pope is almost certain).

“I’m okay, trust me,” you nod once but his frown only deepens with doubt. He has never been this close before. Not uncomfortably close, but close enough that you think you can see the broken capillaries of the skin of his purple under-eyes. The thin adhesive strip closing the wine-red wound of his cheekbone. A part of you wants to press on a small welt. See if it hurts. See if he’s just stone.

He keeps searching your eyes, unrelenting. It takes the soft pressure of your palm on his sternum and a whispered please to disarm him. You see it, too.

The shift in his face reminds you of the fierce thoroughbreds you grew up watching. Creatures of majesty, condemned to the never-ending racetracks where their victories were gambled on. Raised to fill the pockets of insatiable betters and disposed in meat trucks when they no longer served their purpose. But you remember visiting these gentle giants in their stalls, sneaking a sugar cube or two in your little hands. The way their ears perked forward at something sweet. Nostrils flaring, head lowering. Trusting you enough to guide them to the reward in your hand.

He looks at you with the same keen interest and that rapt hunger you could only ever find in the eyes of an animal—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.

Neither of you notice the man’s absence until Sam coughs into your leg. Pope still feels the phantom shape of your hand on his chest after you’ve stepped away to look over your shoulder. Paralysed, he watches the angular muscle flex in your neck as you turn. He’s itching to get out; escape. Thick, sinewy arm choking between iron bars as he searches for the lock to his own cell.

He can’t figure out if you make him feel twice as caged or closer to freedom than he’s ever been. Either way, Libertad brands the skin you touched through his shirt. Any closer to the left, and he’s confident you could’ve torn his heart out with its caustic chambers and rotten valves, leaving shreds of flesh and clotted blood dribbling down your wrist. Any closer, and he’s terrified you could’ve discovered that he was never in possession of anything resembling a heart to begin with. Though this wretched organ batters his ribs with persistence, the absence of it would not surprise him in the slightest.

“Where was she?” you ask. Pope blinks back into his senses. Has to wet his tongue like a sponge just to speak.

“She ran into me in the,” he struggles to remember now, “breakfast aisle. I think she hurt her leg.”

You gently tip Sam’s head back and tuck your chin to your chest to make eye contact, “Now, what’ve I told you about running in places we shouldn’t be running?” You wear some faux pout of sympathy as her brain tries to download an explanation. “Did you apologise to Mr. Andrew?”

Sam nods her head vigorously before craning her neck around to ramble another string of I’m sorry’s.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, voice tight.

Momentarily, you’re crouching to take a look at the bruise on her knee—a fresh but fading blotch the size of a quarter. It could be a longing for childhood or a longing for the child he lost, but when she balances a hand on your shoulder as you pull up the bend of her knee to kiss it better, he aches something fierce. There were times, of course, before Smurf’s love turned acrid; perverse. Times when his only sibling was Julia, times when innocence was preserved. When a kiss on a bruise was the only aid he needed, no strings attached.

“Thank you, I’m sorry she’s—” you push yourself up from the floor, “—a bit unaware of her surroundings sometimes.”

“They tend to be,” he agrees.

“You got kids?”

It’s a harmless question in your head, but you can’t say the same for him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a bullet just narrowly missed his ear and fucked with all the gears in his brain. Cogs bursting apart.

“Uh, she fell off her ATV thingy. Got a few scrapes.”

“Where’s Baz?”

“I don’t know, man.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Put her on the phone.”

“Okay.” A beat, and distantly: “It’s- it’s Uncle Pope.”

“Hi.” Relief, then. Waves of it, rivalling the crashing shore in front of him. Roaring at him with foam and ferocity in the cool of this night. Like it was God who saw him draw the gun to his head and knew only her voice would lift his finger off the trigger.

“Hey,” he breathed. “Are you alright?”

“He tackled me.” She had been crying.

“What? Who- who tackled you?”

“A man. So I wouldn’t get hit by the car.”

The parties always bothered him, but he was never really driven to shut them down like he did now. Grabbing the shotgun from the fireplace and pulling the cords from the speakers. The sea was his oracle that night—the child, his saviour.

“No,” Pope answers flatly. You’re perceptive enough to recognise that the pause before might be an indication of something he’s chosen not to share. So, you nod.

“Well, can you let me repay you?” Your hands rest on your hips. “For last time, at least, because that was absurd,” you laugh.

“It wasn’t a loan.”

“What were you shopping for?” You ask, ignoring his rejection to your offer. He narrows his eyes like he’s caught on to a game you’re playing.

“Nothing. Just maple syrup,” he says. “I don’t need it.”

You roll your lips into a line, trying to force back a smile. For many reasons beyond you, the enigmas he has presented over time don’t necessarily scare you away like they probably should. Shadow, retrospectively speaking, has never been good for you. Furtive men who show you mere glimpses of the skeletons in their closet before tightening the padlock. They give you a thirst you can’t slake. You’re always left to jam your way in, and what you find has you staggering back. Isn’t that how one of your exes ended up cornering you in this aisle? Isn’t that why you sent Sam to find something you didn’t need? Isn’t that how your thoroughbred brought her back to you?

But he is so singular in his ways. Remarkably giving. Stuck between deciding if he should glue his eyes to yours or look at everything in existence but your face. You haven’t forgotten the way his shoulders had tensed at your closeness before resting upon touch—like he was bracing for impact. Like you have the power to tear his very soul asunder. For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.

His body seems to translate what he refuses to confess. He betrays himself.

“Then why do you look for it?”

He thinks on it—“Habit.” No matter how little sense it makes to you, that is all he knows. Habit. Repetition. Return. Chases his own tail like a blind mutt most of the time.

In the suspension of sound, he says—doesn’t ask—he’ll walk you and Sam out to your car. He almost pays for your groceries, but he’s afraid it might frustrate you the second time around. You’re doing all the talking at the self-checkout while he quietly passes items for you to scan, ears keen for the stories you recount about Sam as a toddler. At one point, you draw the faintest ghost of a laugh from his chest and it fills you with this ludicrously enormous sense of accomplishment. You yearn to hear the sound of it once more—to actually see it grace his face, too.

He learns that Sam is actually ‘Samantha’, and that you named her after a friend with whom you no longer speak. Not for any tragic reason, just time, you tell him. A high school friendship that ran its course. He wonders, then, if you’ll somehow keep him in your life for longer than these passing grocery run-ins (longer than his frequent observations from his pickup outside of your house—outside of your knowledge).

Sam skips ahead of you as Pope, who had silently collected the bags of food against your objections, walks by your side like he’s holding feathers. The leather of his jacket catches on your arm sometimes.

“Can I ask about the bruises?” You ask out of nowhere, keeping an eye on Sam as you all walk the crossing. “Don’t tell me I should see the other guy.” A breath, just short of another laugh, leaves his throat.

“Maybe you should,” he says, adjusting his hold on the bags. He won’t say anything about the other bruises he’s hiding under his jacket, and how it hurts a little to carry the weight of the food. “Sort of a hobby. Hole-and-corner cage fights and the usual betting.”

—formidable racehorse.

“And how does one get into cage fighting?” You look at him, brows raised with astonishment.

He locks his gaze ahead, looking around for your sedan. “My…mother puts me in. For catharsis, I guess.”

“And is it?” you press. “Cathartic?”

The three of you settle by the trunk of your car. Sam crouches in front of a tyre to trace over the bolts while you wait for Pope to give you an answer. You wait until it’s clear to him that you’re expecting something. Truth.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t require much thought and I s’pose I’m good enough at it.”

“And the bruises?” You finally move to pop the trunk, prompting Sam to jerk a door open and hop into the backseat out of boredom.

Pope bends at the waist to lower the bags into the empty compartment before stepping back and shutting the rear for you. “I don’t really mind them.” He would’ve called them reminders. Or punishment. Or penance. Only if he was sure you wouldn’t ask why.

“Maybe you should,” you playfully echo his words from earlier and he rests his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The corner of his mouth creases at your quip, and it might rival the feeling you get when a glass of wine plunges you in a heady buzz. Blurring the world around you with a dull kind of bliss. He dizzies you with a fucking quarter of a smile and you open your mouth before you can give yourself a chance to think. “Can I do something?”

He is wordless again. Searching. Again. Narrows his eyes like he did in the store, like he’s trying to feel around in the dark despite seeing your pleading face shining before him in broad daylight. Then, a nod. Then, stillness. Your hearts leap into a synchronised crescendo of beating as you let yourself approach him, slow as the sun breaking out of its horizon. There is not a single moment where his eyes aren’t locked on yours, even when your hand finds the side of his neck and he feels your thumb barely graze a welt on the corner of his jaw.

Pain is nothing to him here. Pain is almost sublime when you softly press your lips to the tender skin near his butterfly stitch. Ghosting the scar that aches most. He shudders the same way he did when your palm was on his chest in the drinks aisle. A kaleidoscope of light deluges his vision and all he can do is close his eyes to absorb the heat from your mouth as it permeates the skin of his cheekbone. All he can do is clench his fists in his pockets and pray that you’ll move the pressure up to the stitch. Kiss him where it really hurts. Kiss him better.

He’s not sure he can remain standing any longer when your warm mouth and your soft palm leave him untouched again.

You don’t know what possessed you, but you can’t pretend it hadn’t been on your mind for a while. You can’t pretend the bruise isn’t calling you back to make contact again. To cradle his jaw, to caress his wounds in a way that impels his hands to tear out of his pockets and search for purchase of your hips in a desperate attempt to steady himself under your touch.

His eyes peel open to find you again, only a breath away.

Courage embraces you once more. “Give me your phone.”

He is so stunned, he can’t compute the image of you adding your number to his contacts but that’s exactly what you’re doing as he struggles to make fucking sense of what you just did.

“Invite me to a fight,” you say, short of breath as you return his phone. “Or whatever you want. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”

Pope barely nods, too distracted by his phone displaying the standard digits of your number and the print of your name above it. Mouth, too dry to give you words. He’s still lingering by the trunk when you climb into the driver’s seat.

Once you click in your seatbelt, you can really feel the sheer velocity of your heart, like it’s darting all over your body. Electrifying you.

Sam kicks your seat, eager to go home.

“Okay, baby, I know,” you calm her down as you adjust the rearview mirror to find…nothing. Just the utter absence of him. Maybe you really should’ve kissed him; pressed your mouth against his properly. Maybe he wouldn’t have liked that. Would he? He’s still a stranger in most ways—in every way that’s supposed to make you keep your distance.

You toss and turn in bed with grating regret over how forward you were in the parking lot. If anything, you must’ve looked vain. So arrogantly sure of yourself that you’re convinced you can peck someone on the cheek and order them to give you their phone so you can insert yourself into their life before they have the chance to object.

But once the tail of sleep curls itself around you, your phone lights up, vibrating on your bedside table as it bears a foreign number on its screen.

—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.

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silens-oro · 3 days ago

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Well Enough Alone: Part VI

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and Pope come full circle. Word Count: 5.6k Content Warning: angst; uncomfortable conversations; typical Animal Kingdom warnings AN: you guys have been so amazingly kind about this series. if I could give you each a lil forehead kiss in thanks, I would. just know that I'm reading every comment, reblog, tag, and message you guys post and I'm giggling kicking my feet and twirling my hair. I appreciate every single one of you who have been a long for the ride so far, and to everyone who is just hopping on the Pope x Hawk train. please comment & reblog :)

Hawk’s head pounded as she woke up the next morning. The increasingly familiar hangover was nothing new for her, not recently, and she figured it would be a close companion if things continued the way they were going. The smell of coffee wafting through the air made her eyes snap open and sit up like the living dead. Hawk’s stomach rolled as she stood on wobbly legs. She didn’t give herself a single second to acclimatize herself before trudging down the hall and out to the kitchen.

“Hey.” Pope greeted stoically as he leaned against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug.

“Hey? Ten days of absolutely no contact from you and hey is the best you’ve got? Give me a fucking break, Pope.” Hawk moved around him, grabbing her own mug and filling it with what was left in the pot before taking it back to her bedroom so she could nurse the headache from Hell that was approaching.

“We need to talk,” He called out to her, but the only response he got back was the slam of her door that shook the whole back end of the house.

The sound of Hawk’s cell phone ringing made her head spin. She had fallen back asleep after downing her cup of coffee and the disorientation was making her feel like she needed to puke. Hawk’s hand sloppily hit around the bedside table blindly until her fingers reached the offending tech. Her dry eyes cracked open and squinted at the name on the screen. Sighing, she hit decline before she let her face fall back onto her pillow. Another thirty seconds later, it rang again.

“I’ve heard enough from you to last a lifetime, Baz.” Hawk’s voice was dry and rough as she spoke. “Someone better be dead.”

“Have you, uh, talked to Cath at all, Hawk? In the last day or two?” Not to alarm you, Hawk, but we haven’t been able to contact Catherine in nearly two days. Hawk’s stomach sank and bile made its way up the back of her throat. “Hawk?”

“No, I haven’t talked to her, Baz. Is everything alright? Is Lena okay?”

“Yeah,” He paused. “Lena’s here with me. Just haven’t been able to get a hold of Cath. Can you do me a favor and reach out to her? Maybe she’ll answer your calls. She’s probably just pissed at me and I want to make sure she’s alright.” Catherine wouldn’t leave Lena. Never. Hawk wasn’t close to the woman, but she knew how fiercely she protected her daughter and would never leave her behind for anything.

“I’ll give her a call now, alright? I’ll let you know if I hear from her.” Hawk had a horrible feeling that she’d never get a hold of Catherine, not after what the police told her. If Smurf somehow found out about it…Hawk let the thought die where it began.

“Thanks, Hawk. I appreciate it.” He hung up, not waiting to hear anything else from Hawk and she was grateful. She shakily brought a pillow up to her face and screamed until her lungs burned.

Hawk knew Pope was watching her. He had been watching her every move since she resurfaced after Baz’s call and he attempted to approach her three more times before she got in the shower, and all times he was unsuccessful.

Pope stood in the doorway of her bathroom, and unlike the first time he watched her in the shower, there was nothing inherently sexual about it. He needed her to say something, to look at him, to acknowledge him. He’d take anything at this point because being ignored by her was starting to do his head in.

Hawk took her time, listening to the music she had playing from the speaker she kept in the bathroom while she exfoliated and shaved. She lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, and Pope knew she was doing it to drag this out as long as she could.

The shame Pope used to feel when he upset Smurf, and occasionally still felt, was nothing compared to what he was feeling currently. Now, it was amplified to a degree that made his fingers twitch at his sides and made his jaw tick. He’d look away when she turned in his direction because Hawk looking through Pope was worse than not looking at him at all.

After the third time she brushed Pope off, he gave Hawk her space, but still moved from room to room with her as she went about her day. It was a Monday and the shop was closed, so she had nowhere to go and only had time to kill.

Pope haunted every room Hawk inhabited and it killed her when he looked at her like a wet cat. When Hawk sat on the sofa, Pope sat on the armchair, both in silence as she flicked through the channels on the tv. When she made herself lunch, he stood in the entry to the kitchen and watched as she moved around the kitchen. After a while, he started straightening things out in every room they occupied because it was the only thing his brain could control in the situation.

Every tidy.

Everything in order.

Everything in its place.

The shower turned off and Pope continued to watch as Hawk grabbed a towel to wrap around herself before stepping out of the shower and around Pope like he was an obstacle. He followed her, as he had all afternoon, and sat on the edge of her bed facing the closet while she got dressed. Pope’s fingers continued their nervous tapping against his thigh, jaw clenched, and he looked ready to puke if this went on for much longer.

Hawk was still slightly damp when she bypassed Pope to grab her sunglasses on the nightstand. He swallowed thickly when the scent of her body wash enveloped him, teasing his senses in the worst way. Hawk slid the door open to her private area on the deck and stepped outside. She heard him sigh from inside as she lowered herself to sit on the top step.

“Please just talk to me.” Pope broke as he came to sit next to Hawk, his knee boldly resting against hers, searching for any form of physical contact he could get with her.

“I haven’t heard from you in over a week, Pope. You did that, not me. I tried to fix this and you wouldn’t let me so as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing that needs to be said.” The warmth of the sun was relaxing in an otherwise tense setting.

“There’s plenty that needs to be said.” Pope’s eyes squinted, brows pinched together, as he looked out to the horizon. “I know it wasn’t you. I confronted Smurf about the pills.”

“I heard.” He glanced over at Hawk quizzically. “Baz stopped by a few days ago. I’d say I was disappointed you didn’t actually strangle her, but I’d never want to put that on you. Not when I could do it myself.” Hawk mumbled the last bit under her breath, but Pope still heard it.

“We had a job-” He started to explain, but was swiftly cut off.

“-Yeah, Pendleton.” Hawk chuckled sardonically. “How’d that go, by the way? Considering you haven’t landed yourself back in lock up, I’m going to assume things either went fine or you haven’t done it yet.”

“You really want to know?” Hawk shrugged, looking to the flowerbed she missed a few weeds in. “How do you know about Pendleton?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is that why you iced me out? So you could focus on the job?” Hawk picked at her nails, doing everything she could to not look at him.

“No.” Pope admitted, “Not completely, anyway.” Hawk scoffed, turning her head in the opposite direction of where he was sitting so he couldn’t see her face at all. “I had some shit I needed to figure out, Hawk.” Vin, Cath, Smurf, Lena, the job.

“And you couldn’t have just said that? Jesus Christ, Pope, I didn’t deserve that.” Hawk shook her head, turning back to Pope. “Ten days, Pope. Ten fucking days of silence. In what world does what I did require that kind of punishment?”

“I wasn’t punishing you.”

“That’s exactly what it was.” She snapped. “You were punishing me because you couldn’t punish Smurf.” Baz’s explanation regurgitated through Hawks’s mouth and the words, although true, felt acidic like bile. “You were punishing me because you knew I’d care that you did, and that it would hurt me if you did it because I hurt you -and that gave you control over the situation.” He didn’t deny it.

“That’s part of it.”

“Well that doesn’t work for me, Pope.” Hawk’s voice was firm, reprimanding, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep her spine about her when he looked at her like that. Like he knew he disappointed her. It was scarily similar to the look J gave her the night before -a Cody trait shared with J’s mom’s twin. “And that’s not even the biggest problem we have right now.” Hawk turned to face Pope fully and he could feel a tug in his chest at how goddamn defeated she looked.

Hawk sat for a moment, contemplating her next words as she let out a sigh.

“You have been purposefully lying to me since you stepped foot in my house.” She removed the sunglasses from her face to reveal her bloodshot eyes. Pope blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for something to say. “From day fucking one, you’ve lied to me.”

Pope’s heart raced. The only thing that crossed his mind was Catherine, but the timeline didn’t line up and there was no way Hawk could’ve learned about what he did. He and Smurf were the only two people alive on the planet who knew about what Pope did, and Smurf wouldn’t rat him out to Hawk of all people. Not about this, even at her maddest. Still, it felt like his stomach was trying to escape through his throat the longer she held his eyes with hers.

“I was so unbelievably angry with you. I wanted to scream and yell and take all of my anger and frustration out on you when you finally decided to grace me with your goddamn presence, but now the fight’s left me, Pope. Now I’m hurt more than anything because you of all people know what it’s like to be deceived by someone you cares about you.” It wasn’t even the latest pill incident she was referencing. A lifetime of deceit from his own mother and Baz had its hooks dug deep into Pope. He carried that weight with him, unable to release it because there was nowhere to release it. That feeling stuck around like an old friend and he never wanted Hawk to feel that, not intentionally. Pope knew he fucked up something, he just didn’t know what it was or when it happened. It’s hard to keep track of the skeletons in your closet when it’s filled to the brim, even when you’re as meticulous as Pope Cody.

“What are you talking about?” Pope’s voice was low, genuinely confused at the direction Hawk had taken this conversation. This couldn’t just be about the time he fell off the face of Hawk’s Earth.

“J, Pope.” There it was. Everything lined up and Pope finally understood. Somehow, probably from the kid himself, Hawk found out about J’s little field trips. “I’m talking about J and the shit you’ve pulled him into after telling me, promising me, that he wasn’t involved in any of it.” Hawk glared at him. “I don’t know why you did it, but you kept it from me and you lied about it when I asked you point blank.” She broke eye contact with him, looking back out into the yard. “I understand that I hurt you in my own way, Pope. I’m not minimizing that, but these are two very different situations.” Pope released a breath of relief, as fucked up as that was. With everything else going on around him, this was one of the smaller problems he could deal with -and he would deal with it.

“I know. ” Pope squinted again as he looked over the backyard with her. He needed to fix this rift that he let split between them, and Pope wasn’t the type to lay his feelings and emotions out in the open, but he had to let Hawk know that he understood. “I saw Julia in him, Hawk, and I hated it. I hated how close you were to him and I guess…if I could bring him in, destroy some piece of him so I could let go of her, but I realized that yeah, he looked like Julia, but everything else?” He turned to Hawk, “That was all you and by the time I figured that out, he already got a taste of it.” Hawk rested her elbows on her thighs and she let her face fall into her hands.

“You don’t understand the lengths I went to, Pope, to keep this from happening.” Pope squatted in front of her, forearms resting on his thighs. “Josh is supposed to go to college, have a life, maybe have a family one day. He was supposed to exist in a world where this shit didn’t touch him and you helped decimate that. All I’ve thought about was him either ending up in prison, or worse -dead. I can’t lose him too. I won’t come back from that.” Pope didn’t have the heart to tell her that Prison was the worst option of the two. If J was lucky, he’d end up in a casket before it ever got to that, but looking at Hawk, he silently vowed to himself to look after the kid. As much as he could without being obvious about it, anyway.

“I told you before that everything I touched...” Turns to ash. “J was no exception.” Hawk picked her head back up and leveled Pope with a look.

“Just because it’s been that way, doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.” He nodded, standing back up. Pope turned his back to Hawk so he could face the ocean and cut that line of vulnerability so he could take a breath. His hair was a brighter red under the direct sunlight, Hawk noticed as she watched Pope.

“J is a part of my life, a very big part, and he always will be.” Hawk left no room for speculation. “If this is going to be a continuous problem, then you need to say something now because I will never leave him behind. For anyone. You understand that, right?” The slightest of nods was given to her, though he didn’t turn around. “J is with me for life, Pope. We’re a package deal. You don’t get one without the other.” Hawk hoisted herself up and walked over to Pope to stand next to him. “But that doesn’t mean I give anything less to you, Pope. They’re different parts, each one a different type of love. One is just as important as the other. Are you okay with that?” Pope turned to fully face Hawk, initiating touch with her once more by bringing his hand up to cup the side of her neck, just under her jaw. Her eyes closed at the contact and she took a step closer to Pope.

Hawk missed him, even as pissed off as she was, she truly missed his presence in the house -in her bed at night. He was quiet, observant, but dutifully by her side when he was home. She missed his touch, his presence, his cologne -him. She missed the space he took up, even though he didn’t try to take up any of it. From being alone for so long with J coming and going as he got older, to having Pope fall back in and out of her life, the whiplash Hawk was experiencing was hard to manage.

“I get that now, believe me.” Pope bit his lip before letting it go. “I don’t have any more problems with J. He’s not a bad kid,” His shoulder raised in a half shrug, “-especially to have around you. He’s smart, loyal.”

“Not nearly smart enough and loyal to the wrong people apparently.” Hawk scoffed, thinking back to the fight she had with J the night before. Hawk tried to give J some leeway, she really did, but it was hard. She experienced what he did, albeit just slightly different. It was easier for her to say no to the temptation because the people she was saying no to were her age at the time. J, on the other hand, was dealing with four grown men who were at least twice his age and had decades of experience being who they were. They were pushy, aggressive, even downright mean at times. She was in denial, Hawk realized. As long as J was in that house, he was never coming out unscathed.

You left me, Hawk winced, shaking the thought out of her head as she pulled away from Pope.

“He cares about you.” His eyes followed Hawk as she stepped around the yard. “He loves you. He’d die for you. That alone makes him okay in my book.” Hawk turned to walk back towards Pope, determination filling her.

“And you?” Hawk put Pope on the spot. His face hardened, but not in anger. Pope matched Hawk’s seriousness as she stopped directly in front of him.

“You know I do, and I would.” Pope said without hesitation, as if his admission wasn’t absolutely earth shattering to Hawk. Pope’s eyes stared into her soul as he reached his hand out to take hers. Hawk let him pull her hand up to his lips, both of them yearning to feel any part of each other that they could before bridging that gap. He gently pulled her closer, coaxing her in just close enough to lean down to press his forehead to hers.

Pope let his confession settle for a moment before continuing, his voice lowering even further as he spoke. It was intimate in a way Hawk had never heard Pope speak before. “My time locked up -I don’t need to tell you how bad it was.” The feeling of his lips moving against her temple was soothing, and the more he spoke, the more she craved him at a molecular level.

“The day you showed up, I felt like I could breathe again, you know? You’re all I thought about for three years, Hawk. This,” he held up their conjoined hands, “is all I thought about -what I imagined you felt like, the way you smelled, your warmth. Everything. And every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every call and every visit kept me going and made me feel like I was dying a slow agonizing death all at the same time because I was stuck there…” He trailed off, letting the impact of his words hit her. His hands, both of them this time, returned to her jaw.

“I’m sorry for pulling J into this.” He nodded with his words, “I did it for selfish reasons, plain and simple. My head wasn’t screwed on right.” He swallowed thickly, “I was just released, I finally got to be around you without any kind of barrier and that was overwhelming. Julia was dead, and then here comes this kid -her kid, who knew every single thing about you. He lived in your house. He spent time with you. He existed alongside you for years. He loved you and you loved him back so fiercely in a way I didn’t think anyone could love their kid. He’s not even blood and you’ve done everything to give him the best life he could have because you loved Julia.” There was something underlying there, and Hawk knew exactly what it was. Pope resented Baz for how Smurf treated Baz as opposed to himself -her actual son. This didn’t excuse what Pope did, but it was starting to make a little bit of sense to Hawk.

“Smurf gave him my room like I was never coming back -they sold my house. J had you, he had Smurf, he had my things. And it was like I was obsolete and replaced with something new and untainted. I was territorial, unadjusted, and backed into a corner, but he was still a kid who didn’t ask for any of this. None of us did.” Finally, Hawk wrapped her arms timidly around Pope’s waist. He allowed her head to drop to his chest and let his eyes close after finally truly feeling her against him.

“We can’t do this, Pope.” Hawk mumbled against his shirt. “Not if this is how this relationship is going to function. I can’t live like this -I won’t.”

“It won’t be.” He promised. “I can’t lose this, Hawk.” Pope’s hands ran up and down between her shoulders as he held her. Pope was very obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, but he was willing to be vulnerable with her -for her. “There is no one else and there never will be after you.” Hawk pulled back just enough to create a little bit of space between them without actually letting go.

“I’m not ending this, Pope, but this” Hawk pointed between them, “is a partnership, and we are supposed to act as a unit. I’m too old to be doing this. I’m not asking for the world, just you. Not Smurf, not the bullshit. Just you.”

“Okay.” Hawk’s palm held Pope’s cheek so his attention stayed on her as she spoke.

“Then all of that ends now. The lies and the scheming -all of it. Do your jobs, but you don’t bring any of that shit home. If you need to talk about it, that’s one thing, but anything physical stays out.” He nodded. “We do this our way. If something is bothering you, if something happens, you need to talk to me about it. You don’t disappear and then reappear when you’re ready because I won’t be here waiting again. The same goes for me. We talk and work things out, but we always stay honest with each other.” Hawk thought for a moment. “And we don’t go to bed angry. I’ve had too many of those nights as of recent and I’m done with it. Those are my stipulations for this.” Pope nodded again. “I mean it, Pope. No more lies. I need to hear you say it.”

“We talk things out. Stay honest. Never go to bed angry.” His eyes were earnest and Hawk genuinely believed him as he said it, but that little bit of doubt that stuck around -like a gnat flying in her face- kept itself nice and cozy in the darkest recesses of her mind.

“Okay,” Hawk whispered, closing the distance between them for the first time in ten days.

It’s fixed. Can we talk?

That’s the text Hawk receives from J while she’s working at the shop a few days later. She stared down at her phone for a moment, typing and then deleting what she wrote, then typing it out again.

When I’m ready. Was Hawk’s response. She wasn’t mad at J -not anymore, but the hurt still lingered and she needed time to work through everything that had come to light between him and Pope. She’d invite him over for dinner soon and they’d hash out what they needed to so they could move forward. Hawk meant every word she said to Pope about J -she’d always be there for him. In no way was she okay with what he was doing, nor did she know just how deep he was into it, but they would make it out of this.

“Still no word on Cath?” Hawk asked as she got comfortable in the bed. Two months had passed since Pope essentially vowed his heart and soul to Hawk. Things had moved slowly between them, both reacclimating with the other. Pope tiptoed around Hawk, needing to be reassured that he was fine and that his presence was wanted.

“No,” Pope answered as walked out of the bathroom fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Hawk wiggled her eyebrows at him and checked him out very obviously, causing a furious blush to travel from his chest, up to his neck, then flushing his cheeks. Pope rolled his eyes knowing that was the reaction Hawk was going for, but she still saw the tilt of the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

Pope did not inherently seek attention. He avoided it at all cost, but he did secretly love it when Hawk threw it at him in the intimate confines of the house. Just to be a tease, he dropped the towel coyly as he stepped into the closet, giving her a show of his perfectly sculpted ass and muscular back.

“Watch it or I’m liable to start howling at the moon.” Hawk called out to him as she flipped the comforter over her legs. She heard Pope laugh, ever so lightly, from inside the closet as he fumbled around for a pair of pajama pants. He was typically a nude sleeper, but when Lena was in the house he made sure he was appropriately clothed at all times. Both of them did after Lena tried to climb into their bed after she had a nightmare.

It had been over two months since Catherine left, or went missing. Hawk leaned on missing considering the fact Pope said Lena was left alone in the house the night that Cath disappeared, but he also mentioned that she stole cash from Smurf -ten grand. That wasn’t chump change, but it also wasn’t enough to just disappear without a trace. The thought of disappearing was one of the scariest things Hawk could think of.

Lena was the light of Cath’s life. She lived for her daughter and even Hawk knew she would’ve never left without Lena. Something didn’t add up with any of it, and Hawk spent more time than she’d like to admit dwelling on it. On the other side of things, Baz wasn’t equipped to be an actual father to a child (ironically). Cath did all the nurturing -school drop offs, doctors appointments, feeding, and all around caring for Lena with minimal help from Baz, so that left the young girl in the hands of Smurf when this whole catastrophe started.

The interesting turn of events for Hawk was when Pope casually asked her one morning over breakfast if it was alright to bring Lena over occasionally. “Just to get her out of Smurf’s.” He said, like he needed to convince Hawk. He still considered himself a guest in the house they both essentially shared, and he wasn’t the type of person to assume anything under someone else’s roof. Pope had taken to his niece like a house on fire and it was genuinely endearing to see him interact with Lena. They were kindred spirits of a sort, an unlikely pair, but they connected with each other when the remainder of the family neglected them.

Of course, Hawk was perfectly fine with Lena coming over and so “occasionally” turned into “most of the time”. Taking care of Lena brought a spark to Pope that Hawk didn’t know he had and it was refreshing to see someone who lived such a tortured existence let go.

Hawk’s heart hurt for Lena. The first couple of weeks without her mother were trying on everyone at Smurf’s, according to Pope. Hawk wasn’t around the house during that time for obvious reasons, but Pope made sure to tell her what was going on between the family.

Lena had a lot of questions, as a young child who was attached at the hip to her mother would, and she didn’t get many -if any- answers back. Baz was short with her, Pope said when he brought up the idea of Lena initially coming over. Baz’s annoyance and short temper at having to actually parent was actually baffling to Hawk. Lena was well mannered, quiet, and liked to express herself in ways that mostly involved some kind of coloring utensil and a coloring book. She was a dream kid if Hawk ever saw one, considering who her father was as a child. Smurf, on the other end of the spectrum, let the kid run amok eating whatever she wanted, staying up as late as she wanted, without a single rule in the house. Not that Lena was bad by any means, but structure, even a little bit, was needed for any kid as they grew up. Hawk learned that very early on with J.

After a couple weeks of Pope bringing Lena around, she became attached to Hawk. Hawk was maternal in a way her grandmother wasn’t and she latched onto any kind of comfort she could -and that happened to be Hawk. Lena didn’t smile often anymore, reserving herself after being told to stay quiet by her father time and time again, but with Pope and Hawk, she was as happy as she could be in the absence of her mother. Pope also told her about how Baz would yell at the little girl and how Lena would act out in ways that weren’t destructive, but just annoying enough to get a reaction out of her father. She needed attention, nurturing, and love - things that children were owed, and Lena wasn’t getting any of that from Baz. Hawk almost blew a gasket when Pope mentioned Lucy’s presence in all of this. She told herself that if she ever saw Baz in the street, she’d hit him with her car first and ask questions later.

In her own way, Hawk also became attached to Lena. It was a familiar feeling she remembered having when J was little. J and Lena were similar when J was her age. Both were kids with easy temperaments who just wanted to matter to the people who brought them into the world, and both had been let down spectacularly.

Lena was kind, smart, polite and as cute as a button. She had an adventurous streak to her and she also had a very peculiar sense of humor when she wanted to come out of her shell. Pope, out of everyone, seemed to be one of the only people to be able to get her comfortable enough to do that.

The spare bedroom that Pope had occupied when he first moved in was turned into a bedroom for Lena so she could have her own space. Sage walls made way for a pastel lavender that Lena picked out herself one weekend when Hawk and Pope took her shopping for some things to call her own, and the queen sized bed was swapped for a twin canopy bed that Pope was all too happy to put together the same afternoon they bought it. Pope paid for it, all of it, even when Hawk argued to just split. He insisted that Lena was his responsibility and that letting her stay in the house was more than he could’ve ever asked of Hawk.

Childrens clothes, shoes, toys, and books slowly started to fill up the pastel room. Dress up costumes had their own rack that Pope mounted to the wall. Then came a little desk so Lena could color and draw in the comfort of her own space. Hawk’s mind imagined what it would’ve been like to have Pope here while she was raising J and she wondered if he could’ve ever loved J as he very openly loved Lena. How different things could’ve been for all three of them.

Before Hawk knew it, she couldn’t imagine Lena and Pope not occupying the house with her. Pope, in turn, had moved into Hawk’s bedroom -now their bedroom. Lena spent nights over frequently, more frequently than Smurf would’ve liked. At one point, about a month after Hawk and Pope made up, the hatchet between Smurf and Hawk was finally buried. Hawk still kept Smurf at arm's length, but Smurf was all too happy to have her back in the circle.

Pope padded back into the bedroom after finally finding his chosen pair of pajamas for the night. They were blue with little birds on them and they hung dangerously low on his hips -low enough to show off the v-cut of his lower abdomen that disappeared beneath the waistband. It was distracting, and as Pope got more and more comfortable in his own skin around Hawk, the saucier he’d get around her. This was one of the things he knew drove her crazy.

“My eyes are up here.” Hawk barked out a laugh of surprise at Pope’s deadpanned joke.

“Your eyes may be up there, but mine are down there.” She motioned with her eyes to where she was looking before, then rolled them back up to meet his. Pope crawled up the length of the bed until he reached her. His hand immediately attached itself to her waist as Hawk pulled him up to meet her kiss and toyed with the waistband of his pajamas with a single finger, letting it slide just under the hem to get his blood pumping.

“Not while Lena’s here,” Pope mumbled against her lips, knowing she was teasing him.

“I know, but who’s to say we can’t make out like a couple of horny teenagers?” Hawk challenged with a grin that told Pope she was up to absolutely no good. She wiggled her eyebrows once more for good measure and that was it for him. “Make up for lost time.”

“Can’t say no to that.” His mouth captured hers once more, both of them pawing at each other.

please comment & reblog :)

and just like that, we've transitioned to season two. there's plenty more to come for hawk and pope.

#pope cody #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody #pope cody imagine #shawn hatosy #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfic

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