butter

summary: encouraging pope to let his guard down after a bad fight 

tags: subby!pope, fem!reader, breastfeeding (no milk), dry humping, handjob, dacryphilia, praise, implied violence (pope does MMA), no use of y/n

andrew had come home late after one of his MMA fights, bruised and bandaged, still carrying traces of blood despite the shower he’d taken. dressed in a t-shirt and loose sweatpants, he stepped into the living room, where you were bundled up on the couch, and lay down next to you without a word. he doesn’t speak much to begin with, but it’s always less than usual after a fight, whether he wins or not.  he turns you over to face him, his body finally settling against yours with a sigh. his arms wrap around your waist, holding on like you're the only thing keeping him from floating away. "don’t speak." he says, his voice is muffled, a low rumble against your skin as his hands go to the loose-fitting shirt you had on, pulling it up to your chin to expose your bare breasts to him. "don’t move."

you ignore his comments as you shift further up on the couch a bit and try to nudge his body down a bit, cradling his head in your arm and pushing your breast against his lips. “come on… open up…” you say as you stroke his cheek with your thumb, moving your hand to his to his hair, nipple pressing against his lips. 

a low sound escapes him, something desperate and primal like that of an animal being given a treat. he doesn’t fight it. he leans into the cradle of your arm before moving to nuzzle the swell of your breast. he instinctively parts his lips and takes your nipple into his mouth with a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. he suckles gently for a bit, letting out little breaths and inaudible whispers against your chest. he has one arm above your head and the other resting firmly against your lower back. his hand finds your waist, gripping and squeezing and pulling on your soft flesh as you breastfeed him.  you let out a content hum as you run your fingers through his curls, tugging gently at the roots. without looking at you, he presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to the inside of your wrist before turning his face back towards your offered breast.  his mouth works on you with a slow, deep rhythm, his cheeks hollowing with each pull. the only sounds are the soft, wet sounds of his nursing and the low moans that vibrate against you. his hand rests on your lower back, his thumb stroking your skin softly. his eyes are closed, his face relaxed, looking peaceful in a way he rarely allows himself. 

you can feel the outline of his hard cock pressing against your leg through his sweatpants, a little stain of precum growing where his tip is pressing. he gently moves his hips against your leg, rocking back and forth trying to some relief. his low whispers against your breast grow more insistent as he humps your leg.  a warm droplet of liquid falls onto your chest, trailing down your sternum and causing you to look down. “don’t cry.. it’s okay…” you say as you take your hand out of his hair and gently brush away another tear from his cheek. a stifled sound escapes him as your thumb wipes the tear away. his nursing ceases for a moment as he pulls off of your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to you. he instinctively leans into the touch, turning his face to press a kiss into your palm.  "m'sorry," he mumbles, but his eyes squeeze shut, another tear sliding down his cheekbone. his hand clutches your back as he presses his hips up again against your leg. "need you," he whimpers, the words thick and broken against your skin. "please..."  “you don’t have to apologize…” you say quietly. he flinches from your touch for just a second, a stubborn flicker of pride. he nuzzles into your hand, his lips pressing clumsy, wet kisses into your palm. his own rough, calloused hand comes up to cover your hand and hold it there against his face. a tear escapes the corner of his eye, tracing a path through the stubble on his cheek and jaw. he moans, the sound vibrating against you as the wetness in his sweatpants spreads. 

his head moves instinctively, pressing deeper into the cradle of your arm. his hand on your lower back moves to the curve of your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he takes your nipple in his mouth again. his hips start to rut against you again, grinding his bulge against your leg, searching for any kind of relief. you switch hands, moving the one on his cheek to his hair while the other moves down to his sweatpants, palming the area between his legs. he rocks against your hand for a bit before you reach into the waistband and pulling out his aching cock, hot and heavy in your hand and begin to stroke it slowly. 

his body tenses and his pupils widen but he doesn't protest as you free his leaking cock. a choked groan rips from his throat as your small fingers wrap around his hot flesh. he bucks instinctively, a violent shudder wracking his entire frame. his suckling pauses, turning into frantic, open-mouthed kisses against your breast. his thrusting against your hand becomes more frantic, a desperate motion in time with the steady rhythm of your hand. "fuck... yes... please..."  “is that good..?” you ask shyly as you gently pull at his hair. he shudders violently at the sharp tug on his roots. a thick pearl of precum beads at the tip of his cock, smearing across your thumb with the next stroke. his eyes are squeezed shut, but tears still slip out the corners, tracing hot, wet tracks down his cheeks. “fuck yes," he groans, the words torn from deep in his chest.  "don’t fucking stop..." his voice dissolves into a broken, guttural whine. he cries out, a raw, broken sound as you focus on the swollen, weeping tip of his cock. his hips buck, fucking into the tight circle of your hand with desperate, uncontrolled jerks.