imagining s1 pope and his girl who has sensitive tits and he loves playing with them..
cw: s1! pope, f! reader, soft(?) dom! pope, pope is a certified titty sucker, his big ahh hands 🤤, intense eye contact (you love it)
your nails dragged through the short curls that sat on top of pope’s head, back arched against his mouth, the rough drag of his teeth against your already over sensitive nipple causing your toes to curl, a moan tumbling out of your mouth.
one of his large hands swept over your other nipple, tugging it between two of his thick fingers before letting go, smoothing it over with his palm before his lips encircled that one, his fingers now working the abandoned nipple.
“andy, fuck. go easy, honey, ‘m sensitive, please.”
pope grunts out against your chest, heavy gaze locking onto your glazed over eyes from where he was situated between your tits, rolling his face between them as he sucked dark marks on the underside of each.
“how ‘m i supposed to go easy when my two favorite girls are right in front of my face, sweetheart?”
he spoke in a raspy tone, tongue peaking out from between his lips as he nosed over your perked up nipples, sucking each into his mouth once more before covering them both in his large, heavy hands, his lips seeking out yours in a heavy kiss, tongues rolling against each other in a mess of hot breaths and thick saliva.
messy, dirty, and all his, every inch of you- from head to pretty manicured toes (paid for in cash by him, obviously).
a/n: god s1 pope has been heavy on my mind lately, need him desperately.. hope y’all enjoy xoxo
SUMMARY ➩ Pope only feels like himself when he’s alone with you in your apartment
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ just a small soft drabble for you! pope my sweet autistic touch starved angel and the girl he deserved to have NOT PROOFREAD
part two
Pope could only think of you after the horrible comment Baz had made to him.
No one is ever going to have a kid with you. Ever.
He wasn’t sure why it affected him so much, why it dug deep under his chest into a part of him he hadn’t even realized was there.
Pope wasn’t as socially inept as most people might think and he knew exactly why his brother would say something like that to him, the truth behind it undeniable. He was off putting and had the strange ability to creep people out even when he was being as genuine as he possibly could be.
He’d seen it happen time and time again, a slightly crooked smiled that made people take a step back or an overly blunt statement that hurt somebody without the intent.
But never with you.
You’d been around for as long as Pope could remember, the daughter of one of Smurfs greatest connects who was constantly spending the night with Julia or helping Smurf around the house once you got a little older.
They all liked you, the younger boys would follow behind you while you did chores or ask you to help tuck them in long past the age they needed it. Baz wasn’t shy with his affection either even though his methods made Popes stomach tighten with the same type of jealously and anger he felt when it was directed at his sister.
Lucky for him, and to everyone’s confusion, you had a clear favorite when it came to Pope.
You never once treated him any different or acted like you were scared of him for even a moment. You’d keep that gentle and patient smile on your face when he didn’t deserve it and you wrote to him almost every single day when he was in prison, sending him photos that he’d stick under his pillows and doing your best to draw the sea and the shape of Lena’s eyes so he wouldn’t forget.
You never went far even when he tried to push you away and that was exactly why he wanted to see you.
His knocks on the door were familiar, even though you’d given him a key a year ago when you first moved in. He kept it in his wallet but he never dared to use it incase you had ever changed your mind and didn’t tell him.
Your smile was as soft as always when you opened the door, the smell of the dinner you were cooking coming in waves from behind you. You looked as easily beautiful as always and his legs naturally carried him forward through the door way.
“Andrew.” You breathed it out softly and your hands went to his shoulders, pushing his jacket off and sliding it down his arms so you could help free him from it. “I was hoping you’d come.”
“It’s okay?” He asked lowly even though he knew the answer, he still liked to hear it from you directly.
You took his coat and hug it up on the hook near the door that only ever held his clothing, turning back to him with the same smile and taking both of his hands in yours so you could lead him closer to the kitchen.
“It’s always okay, I was actually making your favorite.” You explain softly and he can smell it now, too distracted by the sight of you and your warm touch to place the familiar spices before.
“Thank you.” He mumbled back and it wasn’t too uncharacteristic, in fact he often showed up and didn’t say a single word at all, but your steps slowed and your lips formed a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
It unnerved him the same amount everytime when you so easily were able to read him and his moods, the only person in the world that seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and feeling no matter how stoic his face was. He sometimes wanted to ask you how you could just tell but he thought that might be stupid, maybe evidence of another human trait he was simply missing.
“Nothing.” He dismissed your worries easily and now you dropped his hands, the lack of touch making him feel a surge of nausea. He shifted closer and you sighed in understanding before placing a palm back on him, resting against his bicep now.
“Don’t do that, not here.” You half pleaded with him but it was also scolding, a reminder of what you were to him. “You talk to me.”
It took him a few minutes of silence to recount what Baz had said to him and if hearing it hurt, then seeing the way your face fell was ten times worse. You were always so empathetic towards him, crying for him on nights he couldn’t feel anything other than emptiness and anger, yelling at him to stand up for himself when the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
And now you looked downright furious at the insult Pope had repeated in a low and hesitant voice.
“Baz doesn’t know anything.” You say back firmly with a shake of your head, a rare tone of voice from you considering you’re normally so gentle. “He’s a dick. He treats Lena terribly anyways so what does he know about being a father?”
Pope doesn’t say anything as you ramble on, his lips pursing as he resists the familiar frustrating urge to defend his brother. He isn’t sure why he still feels it after all this time but it’s like second nature, the same type of instinct that ended up with him in prison for three years.
“Andy, you know that’s not true right?” Your voice is back to its normal sweetness now as you duck down a little to try and get his eyes to focus on you, smiling faintly when it works.
“Do I?” It’s quiet and not really self deprecating, genuinely curious on what he’s supposed to feel in this situation.
“Any woman would be lucky to have kids with you.” Your eyebrows furrow like you’re confused on how he doesn’t understand that and your determination rattles him a little.
“Any woman?” He repeats it and your face falls a touch, his eyes narrowing as he tries to understand what emotion you’re attempting to cover up.
You give him a reassuring smile and nod but it doesn’t meet your eyes, sad sad eyes that make him want to throw up. He doesn’t understand what about that makes you so sad and he feels too stupid to ask for clarification, knowing he should just be able to read you like you so easily can read him.
He doesn’t get to reflect on it long before your arms go around his neck for a tight embrace and he returns it eagerly, locking his behind your lower back and tugging you close so tight your feet nearly lift off the ground.
“Needed you.” He whispers as he tucks into your neck and he can both feel and hear the small fond laugh you let out.
“I’m here.” You return and it’s so quiet it pains him, wishing he could ask you to scream it out so everyone could understand. Your head twists and your nose brushes his jaw in a way that makes his spine shiver. “Made your favorite, come eat.”
You eat dinner in silence but you don’t seem at all bothered by the quiet, understanding like always that he just needs to sink into his own head sometimes.
He almost can’t stand the feeling of being around you, the constant under the skin itching whenever you’re not touching him and the headache of trying to be someone he’s not to make himself easier to be around. It’s only a headache because it doesn’t work on you, you see through him immediately and encourage him to be himself despite that being the exact thing he’s always ran from.
You’re as relaxed as always while you do the dishes and he stares at the side of your face, like you’re not at all bothered by the intense glare.
Occasionally you glance over and smile softly when you find he’s still watching you closely.
He tenses when your phone rings, one look at the clock on your microwave telling him it’s an odd hour for anybody to be calling. You don’t get many calls in general, your family and upbringing being similar enough to his that you scarcely give out your number.
You’re stiff for the same reasons but your shoulders relax when you retrieve the device from your pocket and see the contact name, placing it to your ear and sending Pope a calming look.
“Hey Deran.” You greet neutrally and his back loses the tension although his eyebrows furrow in question. “No sorry, he’s not here. I’ll tell him to give you a call if I see him.”
Deran continues saying something muffled on the other line and you give Pope a hand gesture that insinuates he’s talking too much which would have made him huff a laugh if he wasn’t so irritated by his brother bothering you.
You hang up after a soft goodnight and dry your hands before approaching his stiff frame, rubbing your palms up his biceps until you reach his shoulders.
“Relax. He’s just wondering where you were staying tonight.” You explain in a whisper and his eyes close at the rubbing gesture. “He gets worried when you disappear. I wish you’d just tell him you’re with me.”
“Don’t want them knowing where you live.” He murmurs back instinctively truthful and you sigh, reading between the lines. You know he’s not actually worried about his brothers knowing where your apartment is or harming you at all.
“If Smurf wanted to know where I am then she’d already know.” You respond and his eyes snap open, although not necessarily surprised that you sourced out the true discomfort he was having.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds so you shift even closer, holding his face gently which makes him let out a deep breath.
Pope doesn’t think he’s ever been touched in the way you touch him. He’s felt Smurfs hands all over him even when she’s not in the room, prodding and poking and silently placing her control over his very being with her affection and he’s had a handful of pained sexual encounters that left him throwing up in alleyways afterwards but he’d never had this except for you.
So gentle and never demanding anything from him in return. You don’t want him to touch you back or give you some sort of pleasure, you don’t even want him to let his guard down or weaken for you. There’s just the comfort and reassurance of your presence when it’s easy to forget.
His eyes meet yours and you shake your head before he can start.
“I don’t want another lecture about not understanding your mom because I do.” You whisper it like Smurf could possibly be overhearing your conversation, a precaution that is more for his paranoia than your own. “I’m not downplaying what she can do. But I’m safe and even more so when you’re here with me.”
“I’m not always here.” He nearly growls out in his own frustration and your eyes somehow soften even more.
“But you are right now so please just…” You sigh and his heart clenches. “Be here with me and pretend that doesn’t exist for now.”
It’s easier said than done but Pope would do just about anything to please you so he tries his best, swallowing the urge to triple check the locks and windows even though he knows you wouldn’t judge him for it.
You don’t last long trying to finish up the dishes before you started to yawn and he encourages you to go to bed with a gentle hand on your lower back guiding you to the hallway, one of the rare times he initiates the contact.
He finishes them for you and then stands in the living room for a good twenty minutes, fingers drumming against his leg and jaw clenching until his teeth ache while he contemplates leaving.
He knows you hate when he leaves without saying goodbye first, hates when he leaves in general. You are probably laying in bed still wide awake just so you can hear the sound of the door closing, not shying away from telling him tomorrow how it disappoints you every time.
It takes a lot out of him to turn and head back down the dark hallway even though it’s all worth it when he sees the way your eyes light up when he makes a gruff noise indicating he wants you to scoot over and make room for him in the bed.
Pope can never sleep and he doesn’t expect it anymore, he’s used to the constant exhaustion headaches and the stiffness in his neck when he dozes off sitting up too many times. Like most things in his life, you’re the exception.
Maybe it’s the way your nails drag against his clothed back or the fact he can hear your breathing level out and know you’re safe and alive right beside him, but he’s only able to drift off when sleeping in your bed with you. The nightmares don’t ever let up but they’re much more manageable when he can jolt awake and find himself still in your room, your arms wrapped around him as you instinctively shift closer throughout the night.
Tonight, it’s not the nightmares that wake him up.
It’s the sharpness of your breath as you sit up, your hands rubbing over his chest to shake him lightly as you whisper his name. He’s hit with confusion and panic as he sits up but then he understands when he hears the sharp knocks coming from your front door.
You never have visitors in general that aren’t him but it’s nearing three in the morning now and nothing good can come out of the extensive knocking the continues impatiently.
Pope is up and out of bed, ignoring your whispers of protest as he grabs his gun from the chair in the corner of the room.
“Pope.” You stand up to chase after him but he turns around in the dark hallway and gives you a stern look, pointing silently back to the room and not walking towards the door until you deflate and nod in defeat.
He’s completely tense as he nears the front door where the knocking hasn’t ceased and he halfway considers just firing through the door and dealing with the consequences afterwards but he figures you’d be pissed if he ruined the welcome mat.
“Open the goddamn door already.”
His freezes for a completely different reason once the voice registers and now he can hear you scoffing and stomping down the hallway. You brush past him and throw open the door, glaring at the sight of his three brothers standing in the outdoor corridor.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You’re practically hissing as they come inside like it’s not the middle of the night. You don’t even bother stopping Pope once he finally unfreezes and roughly shoves the nearest brother backwards, which happens to be Deran.
“We called you a hundred times man.” Baz shouts, wincing when you shush him aggressively and throw a pillow from your couch. “You said he wasn’t here.”
His finger points accusatorially at you for about half a second before Pope is smacking it out of the air and stepping in front of you, blocking you from the others line of vision.
You sigh from behind him and rub a hand up his arm gently, coaxing him to relax and take a few steps back before they end up fighting in the middle of your tiny living room.
Craig shoots a look at Deran when he notices the touch that neither of you miss and Pope glares at them both. He almost feels sick from the intrusion even though it’s completely selfish. His brothers know you’re close to each other and can see the bond you have but this is different.
This is supposed to be the place he can go to escape from it all, his own separate world with you where he doesn’t have to be Pope Cody but instead he can just be Andrew who gets his favorite dinner cooked for him by a beautiful girl before they go to sleep peacefully.
A sleep so brutally interrupted.
“Listen we didn’t want to come.” Baz softens and does that tone of voice he always does when he wants to control Pope easier, speaking slowly like he’s having to use all his energy to pretend they’re equals. “But it’s important. We need you at the house.”
Pope is frozen as he considers, distracted enough to not notice the way Craig is eyeing the untouched couch and your messy sleep hair. You raise your eyebrows at him which makes him finally break and start to laugh at the apparent absurdity of Pope clearly having been sleeping in your bed with you.
“Just go with them.” You say gently with a tired sigh, stepping back closer to him so you can touch his elbow lightly and get him to focus. “Call me when you’re done or use your key.”
You ignore Deran whispering something to Craig about the key comment, rolling your eyes when Pope tenses up again under your touch. Finally his eyes meet yours and he hesitates before nodding in agreement, nostrils flaring a little from his irritation.
You look so tired and understanding and he considers what it means that he’d probably kill his brothers if it meant he got to get back into bed with you for a few more hours.
It’s easy to forget about his own homicidal inner dialogue when you’re leaning up on your tiptoes to place a kiss against the corner of his mouth. You weren’t shy with your affection but that was a stretch, even for you, and for once the others don’t seem to want to laugh about it.
They looked just as thrown as Pope feels when you give him a sheepish smile and head back to your bedroom, trusting him to get them out of there and lock up before he leaves like it’s his apartment too.
—
Pope doesn’t call you that night and you don’t hear the lock turn at any point, no bed dipping under his weight or his arms around you when you wake up.
You try not to think much of it especially knowing how hesitate he can be, almost constantly shy even though you’ve known him for longer than you can remember. He’s not one to make the first move even if you had invited him back, most likely doubting himself on if you truly meant it for the entire night.
But two days passed and you started to feel like something was wrong.
It wasn’t completely unusual but typically he’d atleast let you know before he was going to get busy or he sent out of town on some random Smurf errand. His brothers hadn’t looked too spooked the night they came to get him but your mind was filling with possibilities.
Maybe it was a job gone wrong, either he’d gotten hurt or locked back up. You weren’t really sure how you’d be able to handle Pope being back in prison, knowing how hard it was for him the first time.
This line of thinking led to you heading over to the Cody house, something you tried to avoid now that you were an adult. Especially by yourself, unable to remember the last time you’d gone over there without your father or Pope to accompany or invite you.
Deran was in the kitchen when you walked in and he gave you a heavy look, riddled with such guilt that your stomach turned and you had to slow down to swallow the bile building in your throat.
“He’s here?” You croaked out and he nodded with a sigh, gesturing his arm back towards where Popes room was.
You hadn’t been down the hallway in a few years, unable to stand it when it was empty while he was locked up and recently he’d been solely coming over to your place. He’d told you one night quietly in bed that he didn’t want you around Smurf anymore, a desperate plea that you didn’t fully understand.
You knew what she could do and you knew her influence on Pope but you had your own blood running through Oceanside that left you a little bit more protected than most people. Smurf didn’t scare you but you knew she scared him so you did what he asked and stayed away.
He was standing up when you walked in, pulling a shirt over his head full of wet curls like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Your lips pursed as you stood in the doorway, unmoving as his eyes landed on you and he jumped a little.
You watched as he naturally relaxed at the sight of you before stiffening completely like he remembered the reason you’d be standing outside his room with that pained look on your face.
You’re across the room before he can say anything even though you figured he wasn’t going to speak much anyways, your typically gentle hands shoving roughly at his chest. He winces at the shove but doesn’t resist, barely budging until you push him one more time and he stumbles backwards a few steps.
“You disappear.” You shove again. “You don’t call, you don’t text me.” Each statement is emphasized with a push until he’s had enough, gripping your wrist tightly and huffing a little as he stares down at you.
Your eyes are pained and angry, an expression he hasn’t seen on your face in nearly a decade. You were the one touch of gentleness he had in this world and he felt terrible for pulling a gross emotion like this out of you.
“Do you even care that I worry about you?” You laughed bitterly as you stared up at him and his stoic face, searching for answers in the blank look. “Can you fucking say something?”
It takes him a few seconds, holding your wrist tightly still until you finally relax and let out a defeated breath. He only lets you go once he knows you’re not going to fight him anymore and you step away as soon as you’re freed from his grasp.
“I’m sorry.” He rasps it out and follows you as you try and create some distance, eyes a little pleading. You give him a stern look, wanting him to cut it out before you fold as easily as always when he gets like this.
“You can’t keep doing this to me Pope.” Your voice is as stern as it can be with the knowledge you’d let him do whatever he wanted for the rest of your lives.
He frowns deeply and you know why before he says it, knows how much he hates to hear that nickname from you. It slips sometimes when you’re not thinking, especially when you’re back in this nearly haunted house and so upset with him.
You feel bad despite your anger and stop walking backwards, letting him close the distance until your hands can run over his back. He tucks his head down into your neck and lets out a breath so heavy it makes the hairs on your arms raise.
“Should’ve called.” He whispers against your warm skin and you can fill in the blanks on your own.
You can see the bags under his eyes and the way his sheets are tucked neatly like nobody has touched them in weeks, the fact he was wincing while pulling his shirt on like something on his body was hurting more than usual.
You didn’t even want to hear him say what they’d been up to the last few days even though you knew he’d tell you as soon as you asked, never lying to you even if it hurt him to admit some things. The embarrassment and guilt on his face always made you regret asking, like a good dog who had bit somebody without meaning to.
He picks his head up at your silence and your eyes lock, pressing forward until your foreheads are leaned against each others. You sigh and bunch the fabric of his shirt up in your fist, making his breath stutter a little.
“Just come home okay?” You whisper as your eyes shut for a moment from sheer desperation.
He’s nodding immediately, still going until you open your eyes again and see him clearly, making sure you understand that he knows what you mean by home and he’s willingly to go with you no matter the consequences.
Pope Cody who’s spent his whole life around mindlessly muscular and strong men, who never really had to work hard for those abs, who just had em. Who finds a soft belly to be the ultimate display of femininity. You’re not supposed to look like him, why would he ever want that? Women are supposed to have bellies. For babies and stuff, he doesn’t know okay.
All he knows is he fucking loves it.
At first you were self conscious about it. Popes Staring never bothered you, maybe it turned you on a little. But when you’d see his eyes on your stomach you’d panic a little. Sit up straighter and adjust your clothes. He hated that.
He always was touching it. Standing on line? Hand on your tummy. Cuddling? Arm around it, hand on it. Sex? Don’t get him started about sex. He’s the worst when it comes to sex. Kissing it, staring at it, watching it giggle and shift with each hard thrust, seeing his cock make it bulge out just a little. Your tits are right there, but he’s focused elsewhere.
Eventually you ask him if he thinks you’re fat. And then you have the balls to tell him, like it’s your place, that he doesn’t like it. Because he stares at it. He gets a bit pissed. “I stare at it because it’s sexy. Don’t tell me what I like.”
You swallow the fact, as hard as it is to believe. Becuase Pope wouldn’t lie to spare your feelings. He’s Pope.
But it becomes more explicit and obvious.
Bathing suit shopping he sees you only looking at one pieces and asks why. Maybe there’s a reason you do that. You look at him like it’s obvious. “No one wants to see that.” “I want to see it.” He says like it’s obvious. “Whats the point in showing off your stomach if there’s nothing to show” he says like it’s obvious. Like the opposite isn’t the common belief.
You wear low rise jeans and he thanks every god he’s ever heard off. It’s the best thing he’s ever seen. You’re a bit shy but he’s feral. “Muffin top” you complain about. He throws his head back and laughs. “And that’s the only part of the muffin anyone likes.”. Well. Who can argue with that logic.
this is literally making me feral he looks fucking animalistic lordddddd like this is the pope that pounds into you from behind anywhere he feels like it
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