❛ THE POGUES INTERRUPTING YOU AND RAFE MID-FUCK ❜

military!rafe on facebook

NOT THE DOG TAG LMFAO 😭 u just know he posts motivational quotes too “are working hard or hardly working?”

So real

inspired by request | rafe unintentionally makes you cry

“Can you just—fuck, I said right there,” Rafe snaps, pointing aggressively at the engine while you fumble with the flashlight.

You shift your grip, trying to get it where he wants, but your hands are shaking a little now. It’s hot, and his tone is making your chest feel tight.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Dude, just—why is this so hard for you?” he says, frustrated, wiping sweat off his forehead. “You’re literally just holding a light.”

You go quiet. You don’t say anything, just stand there blinking fast because if you speak now, you’ll cry. And you really, really don’t want to cry in front of him over something this dumb.

But a second later, your eyes are already watering. And he sees it.

“Wait,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Are you—are you crying?”

You quickly look away, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

“Babe,” he says, quieter now. “Shit. I didn’t mean to—hey. Hey, come here.”

You still don’t look at him, just hand him the flashlight and step back.

“Don’t do that,” he says, sighing. His voice is softer now, not angry anymore. “I didn’t mean to yell like that. I’m just pissed at the truck, not you.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he mutters, walking over to you. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “I’m a dick. I know. I’m sorry.”

You stay quiet, but your hand grips his shirt, and that’s enough for him.

“I’ll be nicer next time,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “Promise. Just don’t cry, okay? Makes me feel like the biggest asshole alive.”

You mumble against his shirt, “You kinda are.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. But I’m your asshole.”

do u tbink reader and bsf!patrick would ever start hooking up but in like a fwb way? bc imagine….and wildly enough it’s HER who’s like ‘cant get attached’ blah blah blah. like it’s her being the one to make it clear that this doesn’t change anything, she’s completely platonic outside of it (well ok not really), she won’t think of them as dating even tho they practically are.

and it’s so obvious she thinks he’s not taking it seriously. assumes he’s going on dates. tries to not think ab it.

n eventually he just like loses it. points out how "it’s not fucking fair. you do all this shit to me, with me, and now you’re acting like i’m the crazy one for thinking we’re more than just fuck buddies? that’s all you wanna be? fuck off" and angry sex…..

NOT SURE JUST SOME THOUGHTS…

yes. youve seen patrick's ex girlfriends, how obsessed they still are with him. there is something so egregiously intoxicating about him--it scares you. truly knocks the wind out of you.

you didn't get it before you became friends with benefits. before you leapt over that line in the sand that had been toed over for year and years.

but that one night in september when patrick had just broken up with a girl, and you were feeling upset after yet another horrible date--you got it.

patrick comforted you that night. it felt selfish; you were upset about a guy you met maybe twice. he had just dumped a girl he thought he truly loved.

you brought up the idea.

"let's just be friends with benefits." you plead. the truth was that you were so curious about him. as he grew more and more and became a man instead of an immature little boy--you wanted to feel him.

"what are you talking about?" he didn't want to ruin your friendship. but thee truth was that he had broken up with his girlfriend because of a petty little disagreement. it was trivial, really. he told himself it was just pure incompatibility. but in reality, he resented her for not being more like you. nobody could be you--except for you.

patrick knew it would be complicated. for some reason, you figured it wouldn't be. patrick was always hooking up with and talking to new girls. it seemed like he had the no strings attached thing down pat.

patrick made love to you that night. that was the only way to describe it. slow, meaningful, deep thrusts, your legs wrapped around his waist. desparate for him to be closer.

his words were filthy. he spread your cunt open and cooed about how pretty it was. how it opened up just for him. how wet he had made you. so pretty. so perfect.

it made you cum. it made your nails dig and dig and dig into his back.

you understood how his exes turned obsessive. maybe not even turned.

so you vowed to never get too attached. to never ruin your friendship.

you never slept over at his place, and you never allowed him to stay the night at yours. no pillow talk or sweet nothings. no dates.

of course, these stipulations had loose definitions. and as best friends, it was inevitable to show appreciation to each other, to go out to an occasional nice dinner or impromptu lunch.

patrick was becoming more and more livid with you. you didn't know what had changed. he was more bossy in bed; he went from slow sessions of eating your pussy to slapping his cock on your tongue and commanding you: fucking suck on it.

of course, you liked it. you loved anything he did to you. but maybe you missed how sweet he used to be. you wouldn't admit to yourself why that was.

valentine's day was soon. and maybe patrick had assumed that you would be his date. he made reservations for you.

"patrick, what are you talking about? no, i'm not gonna be your valentine." you shake your head, taking his tennis rackets from him to shove in the backseat.

"what the fuck do you mean 'what am i talking about?'" patrick lowers his voice. "we've been fucking for like 6 months why are you acting like this?"

"exactly," you say. "we've been fucking. we haven't been dating. i told you this would be purely platonic when we started."

patrick scoffs, slamming the door. he's yelling at you now. "so you're just gonna act like i'm fucking crazy for thinking this is more than platonic when it is definitely more than platonic?" he forces the car into reverse, driving away angrily.

"you're mad because i'm keeping my word--no, our word."

"whatever." patrick spat. "you're full of fucking shit. acting like this hasn't been dating this whole fucking time. making me seem like a fucking idiot for thinking you liked me."

"i do like you-"

patrick seethes; the vein in his neck pulses as he parks the car. he's dropping you off at your apartment.

"get the fuck out. go home. this is over--all of it is."

you gather your things and get out of patrick's car. you have barely shut the door when he skids away. your breath is visible in the cold february air, but your body is hot, and stiff with anger and confusion.

you think he will break and call you first. but one week passes, and then valentine's day. and soon it's march and you haven't so much as seen patrick for almost a month.

it's stupid. you go to patrick's apartment. you look like a lost puppy dog.

he doesn't answer the door. you know he's home. his car is in the driveway, you hear music in his living room. maybe he's with another girl. maybe he really did move on.

you don't leave. it's freezing, and your jacket is light--it's not made for the dry cold that hurts at the end of winter.

patrick opens the door.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

your lip wobbles.

"it's freezing out here what's your problem?"

patrick bullies you. he pulls you inside and wraps you in a blanket but sits on the opposite side of the couch. doesn't say a word.

you speak up; he cuts you off.

"i have nothing to say to you."

now you're begging. you're crying and the tears are stinging and you're on patrick's lap trying to get him to notice you.

"please pat, p-please. i miss you."

patrick grabs your jaw. he's stern. "this isn't how platonic friends act. this isn't how you fucking cry when you're just friends."

he's right.

you pull at his shirt. "please, i need you, i'll do anything. want you to be mine. i was so--stupid."

patrick is hard beneath you. he likes this.

"you're so fucking pathetic." he spits.

you get down on your knees in front of him.

"i'm so stupid."

"show me how much you want me." he pushes his sweatpants off; he's wearing no underwear. and his cock looks bigger. just as angry as he is.

you grab him into your hands and spit on his cock, moaning as you kiss it all over. lick him from his balls to the weeping head of his cock. suckling on him and hallowing your cheeks. saying im sorry im sorry im sorry.

he slaps his cock on your face. tells you you should be.

you feel how he pulses in your mouth; he groans as he pushes your face into his balls. you suck them into your mouth. your eyes water and your pussy drools for him.

patrick pulls you up. puts you on top of him. pushes your cunt onto his throbbing cock until you're gasping. god he's big and he's fucking relentless. you're not even moving and he's fucking up into you so hard you feel like you have whiplash.

but god, it feels so good. patrick pulls your hair, palms your ass, slaps your face. he rubs your clit and laughs at you. laughs at how much you're moaning. how easy you are.

"are you fucking sorry?" he asks. his balls slap against your ass.

you can barely get a word out.

"yes--i'm so sorry."

"tell me you love me." he wipes a tear from your eye. "tell me you fucking love me."

you nod, cumming right then. coating his cock in your slick, milking him.

"i love you patrick. love you so much. i'll never leave you again."

patrick cums too.

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkf4Yfqm/

I saw this TikTok and it's so cute! Can you write smt like this with military!rafe, I just feel like this would happen with them lol.

(for the sake of this blurb, the twins’ names are callum && emerson)

rafe’s packing his things for deployment, shirts and rations piled onto the living room floor while one of your twin boys sit on the couch watching tv. you’re in the kitchen, brows furrowing before you yell, “cal, come here baby!”

momentarily looking up from his task, he notices the little boy still sitting on the couch, before he says to him, “callum, your momma’s callin’ you, don’t ignore her.”

he doesn’t budge.

rafe doesn’t even notice the other boy beginning to clamber down and make his way over to the kitchen while he discards his bag. “callum?” he asks confused, pointing to emerson who’s still sitting on the couch, tilting his head at his dad before shaking his head.

“no?” rafe repeats, eyes flicking over to the toddler waddling over to the kitchen. moving around the couch, rafe catches up to the little legs, picking him up in his arms before questioning, “are you callum or emerson?”

you lift your eyes from where you’re cooking, shaking your head at the exchange but keeping quiet, letting rafe figure it out on his own.

“i callum,” the toddler babbles, and you’re grateful that they’re too young to have developed the trick of pretending to be the other twin.

“jesus, you’re callum,” he mutters, settling the boy on the kitchen counter for you to talk to him as you first wanted to.

“mixing up our kids rafe?” you chuckle, focusing your attention onto callum who’s trying to grab the potatoes you just cut, prying it gently out of his hands.

“no, dunno where you got that from,” he grumbles, not accepting his mistake in his usual stubborn fashion. walking back to the couch, the look he gives emerson, a slight cock of his head and narrow eyes as if to make sure it’s really him, doesn’t quite go over your head. you’ve seen it too often - rafe always mixes up your kids.

AGAHGDHHSB

Hi girly pop absolute love blue collar!rafe I was wondering if you could write about wren/emmett throwing a tantrum about not having something then saying I hate my mum then rafes reaction

emmett being mean to his mommy & blue collar!rafe shuts that shit down real quick !!

cw: cussing, rafe being stern with emmett

it all happened in a flash. one second, the house was calm—just the quiet hum of the afternoon, dishes clinking softly in the sink, wren babbling from her playmat in the living room. you were wiping the counter down, calling emmett’s name gently from across the room.

“hey, em, pick up your toys, please.” you didn’t expect a tantrum. you didn’t expect the shift in his little body—the frustration that had been bubbling up all day to suddenly spill over.

“no! i hate you, mommy!” the words slammed into the air like a door slamming shut.

CLUNK.

the toy truck in his hands whipped through the air before you could even blink, bouncing hard off the far wall and skidding across the floor. your mouth fell open, your breath caught in your chest. you stood frozen, not from fear—but heartbreak. the sharpness of his words cut deeper than anything, but what stunned you most… was the look in his face. angry. frustrated. lost. like his little chest just couldn’t hold it all anymore.

“emmett—” you barely started. but you didn’t have to finish. because the front door opened with a slow creak, and heavy bootsteps echoed against the wood. rafe had just gotten home.

and he heard everything.

the toy being thrown against the wall.

the yelling.

the silence that followed.

you turned just as he stepped into the room—sunlight casting a halo behind his dirty neon orange work shirt, arms tan and tense from work, his hat pulled low, eyes immediately scanning the scene. he saw the toy across the room. he saw your face—shocked, wide-eyed, hurt. and then he saw emmett.

rafe’s jaw clenched, hard. he turned his gaze back to emmett, his shoulders squared as he stepped in with purpose, calm but with thunder in his veins. he spoke, voice even. “the hell’s goin’ on in here?”

emmett stiffened. his little face was red, blotchy, guilt already blooming in his chest. when he didn’t answer, rafe stepped closer, his voice low. “i asked you a question, son.”

emmett glanced up, then down again, “i was mad,” he mumbled.

rafe crossed the room in three long strides, reached down and lifted emmett gently—but firmly—under the arms, setting him on the couch. not rough, not loud—just serious enough to shake the air. “scoot back,” rafe ordered. emmett scrambled back, breathing hard. his small hands curled into fists against his jeans.

rafe crouched down in front of him, one hand braced on his knee, the other resting on the couch beside emmett’s leg. his eyes were locked on his son’s, blue and blazing. “you wanna be mad?” he said, voice low and controlled. “that’s fine. we all get mad. but you do not talk to your mama like that. not ever.” emmett blinked fast, his lower lip wobbling. “do you understand me?”

he nodded. “i didn’t hear you,” rafe said, sharper now. “do you understand me?”

emmett sniffled. “yes, daddy.”

rafe pointed toward you without turning his head. “that woman over there—have you ever heard me speak to her like that?”

“no, sir.”

“have you seen me throw things at her? raise my voice like that? make her cry?”

emmett’s face crumpled. “no.”

rafe leaned in a little closer, his voice quieter now, but firm as ever. “you know why?” emmett nodded. “tell me.”

“because… she’s your wife.”

“uh huh. she’s my wife,” rafe muttered. “and you know damn well no one talks to my wife like that. not only that, but she’s also your mama. she’s the one who loves you more than anything on this earth. she takes care of you when you’re sick, when you’re scared, when you can’t sleep at night. she makes your breakfast, folds your clothes, kisses you goodnight even when you’ve been awful. and today?” he shook his head. “you looked at her and told her you hated her.”

a tear rolled down emmett’s red cheek. his chest heaved with a shaky breath. “i didn’t mean it,” he whispered.

rafe stood, slow and heavy, like the weight of the whole conversation was on his back. he looked down at his son for a long moment, then nodded toward you.

“then i think you know what you need to do.”

emmett didn’t hesitate. he slid off the couch and ran straight into your arms, his little face already damp with tears. “i”m sorry, mama,” he sobbed, burying himself in your shirt. “i didn’t mean it—i don’t hate you—i love you, i’m so sorry!”

you knelt down, cupping his flushed cheeks, brushing his bangs from his wet forehead. “i know, baby,” you whispered. “i know. i love you too.”

rafe stood back quietly, his hand on his hip, watching the two of you with tight eyes and a chest that rose and fell like he was finally letting go of something heavy. you looked over at him, silently thanking him. he gave a quiet nod. that was all he needed to say. he had your back. always.

hi I love your writing!! let the days pass has gotten me through a lot. If you’re still taking requests, would you think about doing something for a reader with functional depression? Like can make it through a full day of work/school, seems fine when out and about… but then once she’s home she can’t get herself to eat, or clean, or reply to her friends’ texts or get out of bed on the weekend. And Frank just kind of soothing/supporting her through it and getting her out of bed and finding fun things to do together so she can’t just stay stuck in her little depression apartment and her terrible thoughts. No worries of this doesn’t spark anything for you; thank you so much!!!!

BREATHE ME BACK TO LIFE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’ve got a bad case of depression, and Frank does everything he can to help you through the difficult days.

Warnings: High-functioning depression, just a small nod towards suicide ideation, fluff, feminine nicknames

Word count: 2k

Author’s note: Thank you for the support!! I completely understand this struggle and it often makes me feel like a fraud and like my depression isn’t ”serious enough” and so many other people have it worse than me, but the reality is, everyone’s struggles are valid and no less important than someone else’s. Anon, I promise it can get better, don’t give up!! I know it can feel like an endless uphill for a long time, but hang onto the good days and know that you’ve got what it takes to get through the bad ones <3

When you first got to know Frank, you were careful about letting him in, simply because the effort of maintaining a relationship terrified you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Not to mention, you were kind of embarrassed — revealing your struggle to keep up with chores and to take care of yourself hardly seemed like the way to sweep someone off of their feet. Then there was the fact that Frank seemed so put-together and diligent himself. He didn’t strike you as the type to judge other people, but you knew you couldn’t meet his military level of routine and tidiness, and it made you nervous to open up to him.

Little did you know, he knew depression all too well from personal experience. After losing his wife and kids, he had been shoved into a dark place and it had taken him a long time to dig himself out of there. He understood the lack of motivation to look after yourself or your home, and he, too, struggled with getting out of bed and staying in contact with people.

And that was exactly what he told you when you allowed him to get a glimpse of your reality.

”Hey, I feel ya, sweetheart. I’ve been there. It ain’t easy, that’s for fuckin’ sure, but you’re doin’ amazing”, he praised you, finding your perseverance admirable. ”It can be a real pain in the ass. I struggled for a long time, I won’t lie. Still do, some days. But it’s gotten better, even after I didn’t think it would”, he opened up, trying his very best to instill hope in you. It sort of worked, but it also made you feel guilty — if a man who had lost his entirely family could pull through, why were you having such a hard time? In fact, while you felt glad Frank hadn’t judged you for sharing with him, you felt even more embarrassed and like you were a burden, one he would regret getting involved with.

But he didn’t give up on you. He kept showing up for you, participating in your day as often as he could, whether that meant pushing you to watch a movie he heard so much about and thought you might like, or surprising you during work to take you out to lunch.

By weaving himself into your everyday life, he quickly realized your troubles with depression were more complex than he had initially realized. Whereas he had been completely devoid of energy and hope throughout the day and it had been obvious to everyone around him, you could mask it. He found it sort of impressive, actually, the way you managed to be efficient at work and the way you socialized, smiled and laughed on a night out. To an outsider, it wasn’t obvious that you were struggling, and while he felt fortunate to be in your inner circle, he also grew worried. He couldn’t imagine the toll it must have taken on you, to always put up a brave front and go about your day like nothing was going on.

So, he started visiting your apartment more.

”Have you eaten yet, sweetheart?” he probed gently while collecting various garbage from around the place, shoving it into a trash bag. You were grateful, but you were also entirely drained, the effort of the day catching up to you and leaving you paralyzed on the couch, buried under the heavy blanket.

”No. Didn’t feel like it”, you shrugged, much too casual about it for Frank’s liking. He finished filling up the bag and left it by your front door, making a mental note to take it with him before he stepped into the living room where you were. He crouched down in front of you, gingerly swiping your hair away from your face and eyeing you up with a mix of sympathy and worry. He knew it could be hard to accept help — he certainly had done a good job of pushing Curtis away, but he was determined to give you a hand, whether you liked it or not.

”I make a mean pasta. Would ya eat a lil bit f’me if I made you some?” he asked softly, his voice so patient and calm with you, and if you only had the energy for it, you probably would have teared up. You felt bad just watching Frank do all these things for you, but you suspected, correctly, that even if you told him to stop, he wouldn’t have.

”Sure”, you gave him a weak attempt at a smile. He mirrored it back at you, and leaned in to kiss your forehead before standing up and striding into the kitchen.

He rummaged through your cabinets and fridge, finding what he needed but not exactly pleased with the lack of food. ”I’mma take you grocery shoppin’ tomorrow, aight? We’ll get whatever you need, on me”, he called out from the kitchen, not really offering it as an option but a simple fact. He did that a lot, made promises that to him seemed obvious and like the bare minimum but that meant the world to you.

He made a habit of stopping by on weekends, especially. He knew those were the hardest for you — during weekdays, you had work to keep you busy and distracted, but during the weekend, you sank deep into your dark thoughts. He tried his best to be a lifeline, to keep you afloat, just because he knew what it was like to get stuck in that vicious cycle of hateful, ruminating thoughts and that gloomy mood that didn’t seem to loosen its grip. And he certainly didn’t want that for you.

”Hey, darlin’. How you feelin’ today?” he asked as he made his way into your bedroom on another Saturday, his gaze gentle and caring even when you felt like you looked horrible. You had meant to change your sheets and your PJs for the longest time, and your hair was unkempt in a way that made you feel insecure. But Frank was not bothered, at least not in the manner you expected him to. It unsettled him because he wanted to see you happy and thriving, but he wasn’t scared of a little mess.

You gave him a shrug from the midst of the covers where you had been mindlessly scrolling your phone, only for the damn device to make you feel horrible guilt about all the unanswered texts that seemed to keep piling on. Frank nodded in understanding and sat on the edge of the bed, next to your legs, and he thought about the right way to get you out of that hole. He knew he could be pushy sometimes, but it originated from a place of love, and most times, you responded well. Coddling wasn’t going to help, he knew that, so sometimes he took a firmer approach, but the affection never left his tone or eyes.

”C’mere, sweetheart. Thought I’d take you out for a walk. That okay?” he suggested, and as much as you wanted to agree to his idea, you didn’t think you had it in you.

”I dunno, Frankie…”, you trailed off, and reaching for your hand to squeeze it tightly, he gave you a look that in its simplicity had the power of convincing you.

”I know, sweet girl. But I really want you to get some fresh air with me, yeah? Just around the block, don’t gotta be out for long”, he pleaded, ”I know what you’re thinkin’ in here and I don’t want to lose ya to it.”

You couldn’t argue on that. You knew you weren’t doing yourself any favors, and your thoughts tended to tip over to self-deprecating and hopeless, surrounding you in darkness that only Frank could bring light into. So, you nodded at him, and he gave you an attagirl before winding an arm around you and helping you out of the bed, well-aware that even if you wanted to go, you couldn’t always get your body on board.

He brushed your hair with as much care as possible, enjoying the process more than he wanted to admit, and after that he dug out the hoodie he had left behind a few weeks ago and zipped you up in it. He tied your shoes and made sure you had your keys with you, and after he had taken care of almost everything for you, you were finally ready to go.

The sun was already going down when you stepped outside, and the sight got a faint smile from you, which in turn made Frank grin. ”Pretty, huh?” he noted while taking your hand and interlocking your fingers. He acted so much like a boyfriend even if you had never actually labelled your relationship in any way. It made you wonder, because he took such good care of you and he didn’t really even get anything out of it. It was an equation you simply didn’t understand.

You walked for a while, but finally, you had to ask. ”Why do you keep showing up?” you questioned, not meaning it to come out so accusatory, but Frank was immediately alerted to the thought of crossing a boundary. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, he just wanted to help.

”You want me to stop? All you gotta do is say the word”, he promised, and you hastily shook your head to reassure that that wasn’t what you wanted.

”No, I like it. I just… don’t really get why you do it. I can’t repay the favor. I’m not getting any better. So, it just seems like you’re running a fool’s errand, I guess”, you explained, and licking his lips, he gave it some thought. But really, there was no doubt about why he did it.

”You’re important to me, sweetheart. And like I’ve told you, I’ve been there. I know it gets lonely and brutal and I just don’t want ya doing it by yourself”, he answered, and quickly continued, ”and the part about you not bein’ able to repay the favor, bullshit. You do it every time you give me a smile or give me a call or agree to my stupid ass ideas to get you outta the house. I know it may be hard to see, but you got a lotta good moments and I feel damn privileged to get to see them.”

You were speechless, looking at Frank with wide eyes as you kept walking. His stare was focused on your surroundings, hyper-aware of every car that passed you by and every pedestrian with their hood pulled over their eyes too suspiciously. Whether you were in your apartment or out and about, he just wanted to look after you.

”Aren’t I kind of a burden?” you stated what felt like the obvious, and your words got him to instantly face you, a frown etched onto his forehead.

”Never. I ain’t ever gettin’ sick of you”, he swore, stopping you just so he could look into your eyes with solemnity and determination. ”I know you think you’re not gettin’ better, but you will. I’m not lettin’ you give up. Some day, you won’t need my help anymore, but until then, I ain’t goin’ nowhere”, Frank emphasized, dedicated to showing you his loyalty and confidence in you. He had so much hope for you, way more than you had yourself, but he didn’t mind carrying you.

”Thank you”, you whispered, hugging him with a tight grip, and he responded with his own arms curling around your figure. He shielded you from the dark cloud over your head, hoping that his embrace would offer the comfort he so badly tried to be for you.

”Just so you know, when that day comes when I won’t need your help… I’ll still want you around”, you pointed out, and chuckling, Frank kissed the top of your head.

”Well, I didn’t wanna be a selfish asshole, but I was hopin’ you’d feel that way”, he admitted. He may not have been very good at speaking up about it, but you had completely stolen his heart, and he wasn’t sure he was ever getting it back. ”You mean a lot to me, sweetheart”, he added quietly, and holding onto him a bit tighter, you sighed.

”You mean a lot to me too, Frank.”

standing ovulation or whatever they say

♡ when pope doesn’t want to hit you during sex..

warnings: oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, slight dirty talk, angst, finger sucking, mentions of past sexual encounters, reassurance and comfort, brief description of reader being treated poorly, overstimulation, soft sex, praise, reader cries, pope is so gentle and sweet ૮ . . ྀིა⁩

a/n: highly recommend reading bitchy!pogue!reader’s lore if you haven’t already so you could get a better understanding of her <3 this was slightly inspired by the ending of ‘anora’

wc: 1.3k

“pope, pope, pope—” you sounded like a broken record, the man’s name falling off of your lips like a mantra. working his tongue in skillful cirlces around your clit, you shuddered as his grip around your thighs tightened, arching your back off of his sheets with a cry. you didn’t think he had it in him. pope had effortlessly made you scream and cry in overstimulation for the past twenty minutes, your brain fuzzy and vision hazy as he pushed you over the edge time and time again.

“how are you so good at that?” you couldn’t help but ask as pope licked the remnants of you off of his lips, your eyes running down his shirtless form. “well i took a lot of anatomy classes for science and stuff, you know? bodily functions are kinda my thing. jj also might’ve given me some pointers..” you laughed, your chest rising and falling as you basked in your post-orgasm bliss. pope looked up at you sheepishly, sorta in disbelief that he had you of all people here in his room.

deciding to put his shirt back on, pope froze once you pulled at his arm. “what are you doing?” your brows knitted together in confusion when you saw him looking around like you two were finished. “i uhm— i didn’t want to assume that you wanted to have like full on sex, so i was just gonna let you get dressed whenever you felt ready.” you laid there dumbfounded. no guy has ever been this considerate. “are you kidding? i’m not leaving you high and dry..”

pope swallowed thickly when your hand trailed down his frontside, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you palmed him through his shorts. “did jj also give you pointers on how to fuck?” pope shook his head, allowing you to pull him down between your legs. he was rock hard in his boxers and he was still making it all about you. “you got this hard just by tasting me?” your voice was sugary sweet and pope swore he could blow his load right then and there when he felt your fingers working him out of the restraints of his underwear.

“yes,” he nodded, deciding to help you out when one of the charms from your nails got caught in his zipper, “you tasted so good, and you’re also just really, really pretty.” he stammered, the nervous look on his face making you giggle. ‘pretty’ the word was so wholesome, you hadn’t been called that in ages. you were so used to the terms ‘hot’, ‘sexy’, even ‘sinful’, but pretty? you couldn’t decide if you liked the way your heart fluttered in your chest when you heard it.

you shook off the weird feeling that came over you, instead distracting yourself by taking pope’s hand and wrapping your lips around his thumb. “oh, wow! that’s—” pope had never seen such an erotic sight before in his life. not even in the weird porn jj would flash him out of no where. pope could sense a slight energy shift, but ultimately decided that he was just mentally psyching himself out cause he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

once he was prodding at your entrance, you and pope shared a knowing look before he pushed into you, a muffled moan tumbling from your mouth as he groaned, screwing his eyes shut at the sheer feeling of you being wrapped around him. you felt better than what he could’ve ever imagined. warm, wet, and gripping him like a fucking vice. he cursed to himself, hoping, pleading, that he wouldn’t finish quick and make a fool out of himself.

you were already a mess when his head was between your thighs, but feeling him inside you was a totally different thing. he knew exactly how to angle his hips so he could hit that spot that made you see stars behind closed eyes. he was slow and calculated, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. the realization had you feeling exposed and slightly embarrassed.

why wasn’t he being rough?

why wasn’t he being selfish?

why wasn’t he using you purely for his own pleasure?

pope leaned down and started leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck, taking his hand and intertwining his fingers with your own. “you feel amazing,” he praised, “just perfect.” you blinked, your breath quickening as his lips found their way to yours. your brain wanted you to push him away and tell him that kissing on the lips was too intimate, but your heart had you giving in and kissing him back.

it wasn’t until you and pope were lost in each other’s orbit and his nose was nudging yours ever so gently that you panicked and turned your head away from him. you were losing control, and you needed to get behind the steering wheel fast. ripping your hand from his, you grabbed his shoulders and flipped you two over so you were on top. pope looked surprised, the sudden change in position throwing him for a loop. you reached back, lining him up with your entrance before sinking back down onto his length.

pope let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his hands flying out to rest in the curve where your thighs and your hips met. you started up a steady pace, the man underneath you shamelessly grunting and moaning as you rode him with ease. you refused to look at him or meet his eyes, partly because you were terrified of seeing what you couldn’t handle right now; and that was the gaze of a man who wasn’t viewing you as some kind of sex object, but as an actual living being with emotions and thoughts and aspirations of your own.

pope knew what you did for work but it didn’t bother him. he was concerned about your safety more than anything. your fears came true when pope ran his fingers across your flesh, the look on his face saying it all. he wasn’t just admiring your body, he was cherishing it. every curve, every detail, he was engraving every single thing into his brain in hopes that he wouldn’t have to rely on his memory of you to be the only time he’ll ever see you like this.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you needed to prove that pope was exactly like everyone else. “hit me,” you moaned, grabbing his hand and placing it on your cheek, “please, i want you to do it.” pope felt his heart drop to his stomach, his face twisting in confusion. “hit you? why would i do that?” he stopped you, sitting up against the headboard while you avoided his heated stare. “why wouldn’t you?” you scoffed, “it’s like every guy’s wet dream.”

“it’s not mine.”

that’s exactly what you were afraid to hear. of course pope wasn’t some sick individual who got off on hitting girls and inflicting pain on them— words included. “please, just do it. choke me, pull my hair, anything— i want it.” with his palm still on your cheek, he cradled your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “no, you don’t.” he whispered, stroking your skin with the utmost care.

him being gentle hurt you more than any man who threw you around with no regard ever did. you didn’t know no other way, you didn’t know what it was like to be put first. nor did you know how to outwardly express your appreciation or vulnerability without having to give something away. you stared at him, your resolve crumbling as you cried into his chest, his arms enveloping you immediately. you cried until you couldn’t anymore, all while pope was still nestled inside of you.

he didn’t say a word as he held you tightly, your tears dripping down onto his skin as he rubbed soothing circles into your back. pope already knew what was wrong, his ability to read you and see right through you was uncanny. “no one can hurt you anymore,” he stated, “not in here. not when you’re with me.”

this made me giggle

ooo continuing ur last oral fixation post i think jj would love if reader keeps on biting him … his beefy arm is out n ofc she has to put it in her mouth yup

mhm mhm mhm!! like you’re just sitting with the pogues n you’re laying your head on his shoulder and you just sink your teeth into his beefy arm when he’s wearing one of those tight t-shirts that make him look xtra beefy😋😋 prime time beefy jj was start of season two he was soooo !!

but he’d act like he hates it at first but just gets used to it and just likes feeling needed and having you there right next to him is nice hehe. but when people asks he’s like “she just does that sometimes.” just dismissing it like it’s normal lolll