point of view. ⸝⸝ pope is clingy

you settled into bed with your book propped on your knees. the sheets were cool and soft. pope slid in right behind you, pressing his chest to your back and shifting until his cheek was flush against yours. his face nestled there, eyes scanning the same page you were on, breath tickling your skin. you turned the page slowly and he adjusted without a word, arms looped loosely around your middle, fingers resting still on your stomach.

the room was quiet except for the faint rustle of paper and the shared rhythm of your breathing. you kept reading, focused on the story, while his warmth seeped into you and his lashes brushed your cheek every so often when he blinked.

later at lunch you carried your plate to the table but pope was already seated, patting his thigh once. you slid onto his lap without comment, settling comfortably as his arms wrapped fully around your waist, hands clasped over your belly. he held you close, chin resting on your shoulder while you ate, fork moving steadily from plate to mouth.

his hold stayed firm but gentle, thumbs occasionally stroking small arcs over your shirt, never interrupting. you focused on each bite, chewing thoughtfully, the weight of him grounding and familiar behind you. he said nothing, just breathed evenly, content to keep you anchored there until the plate was empty.

afterward you moved to the living room for laundry. the couch was piled with clean clothes. you stood sorting and folding while pope sat on the edge of the cushion right behind you. his arms circled your body, hugging your hips, and he leaned forward until his head rested on the curve of your ass, cheek pressed softly against the fabric of your pants. you kept working, hands smoothing shirts and pairing socks with the practiced motions from you.

the ironing board was set up nearby and you shifted slightly to reach it, pressing wrinkles out of a blouse with steady sweeps of the iron. pope moved with you, arms never loosening, his head staying nestled there like it belonged, quiet and heavy in the best way. the scent of fresh laundry filled the air and the low hum of the iron was the only sound besides your occasional soft exhale.

he clung without speaking, simply holding on as you finished each piece, his presence warm and constant through every fold and press. and the whole afternoon passed like that, easy and close to you, his silent attachment making every ordinary task feel completely wrapped in him.

point of view. ⸝⸝ jealously flows within pope when he sees you talking to people

pope pushed through the front door of cody’s house, his knuckles still taped and bruised from the fight, sweat and adrenaline clinging to his skin under a fresh hoodie. the place was packed, music thumping through the walls, red solo cups everywhere, laughter cutting through the haze of smoke and spilled beer. he’d won tonight, another brutal knockout that left the crowd roaring, but all he wanted was to find you and crash into your arms.

instead, he spotted you across the living room, leaning against the kitchen counter with a drink in hand. you were smiling, talking to a couple of party goers, some tall guy with a backwards cap gesturing wildly as he told a story, another dude nodding along too close, his shoulder brushing yours like it was nothing. you laughed at whatever they said.

pope’s jaw tightened. heat flared in his chest, that post fight fire mixing with something sharper, way more uglier. he knew it was stupid, you were just being social, the party was already in full swing before he got back, but seeing other guys around you, it twisted him up. his hands flexed at his sides, tape pulling tight over his sore knuckles.

he shouldered through the crowd, eyes locked on you, ignoring the people trying to congratulate him on the win. when he finally reached you, he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side a little harder than necessary, his body still warm and solid from the cage.

“hey,” he muttered low in your ear, voice rough, gaze flicking to the two guys who suddenly looked awkward. “missed you. fight’s over. you good?” he asked.

you turned into him, but pope didn’t let go, his grip possessive as he shot the boys a look that said ‘back the fuck off’ without words. jealousy simmered under his skin, making his heart pound harder than any round in the octagon.

the two guys paused, eyes flicking over pope’s face, taking in the fresh cut on his brow, the swelling along his jaw, the intense glare. one scoffed under his breath, the other smirked like he was sizing up a joke. they muttered “dick” just loud enough to carry before turning and walking off into the crowd.

pope didn’t care. he turned fully toward you, arms wrapping around your neck like a needy puppy, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. he didn’t say much, just held on tight, breathing you in. his chest rising and falling against yours, the tension in his body slowly easing as he clung there in the middle of the noisy party, he needed this more than anything after the fight.

point of view. ⸝⸝ since being released from prison, pope has been so needy

pope’s hands tremble as they grip your hips, pulling you down onto the creaky bed in the chateau like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. since they let him out, he’s been like this; so starved, desperate, every touch like it’s the first real one in years. his breath shakes against your neck, hot and uneven, a soft whimper slipping from his lips as he presses open mouthed kisses down your collarbone.

“i missed this,” he breathes, voice cracking. his mouth trails lower, frantic and wet, kissing every inch of your chest like he’s memorizing you. his fingers dig into your skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to show how bad he needs it, how starved he really is. another whimper escapes him when your hands slide into his hair, and he arches into it, hips grinding against your thigh.

he kisses down your stomach, lips brushing your ribs, your belly, then lower, tongue flicking out like he can’t get enough of your taste. “please… let me,” he mumbles between kisses, voice wrecked and needy. his breath hitches hard when you spread your legs for him, and he buries his face there instantly, moaning softly against your heat. his tongue works slow at first, savoring, but hunger takes over quick, lapping, sucking, whimpering with every little sound you make.

pope’s whole body shakes as he climbs back up, kissing your thighs, your hips, your breasts again, like he can’t stop. he doesn’t rush, instead he just keeps touching you slowly, kissing, whimpering your name like a prayer. “been so long… i need you so bad,” he gasps, breath shaky as he finally sinks into you, slow and deep, eyes fluttering shut with a broken moan.

he moves like he’s drowning in you, hips stuttering, mouth never leaving your skin, kissing your shoulders, your jaw, your lips in messy, desperate presses. every thrust pulls another soft whimper from him, his hands roaming everywhere, touching, gripping, like he’s making up for every empty day behind bars. “don’t stop… please.” he begs against your mouth, voice trembling, completely lost in how much he needs this, needs you.

point of view. ⸝⸝ who would’ve known that rafe was such a sucker for jeans?

the afternoon sun filtered through the palm trees as you stepped out onto the porch in your favorite levi’s jeans, the faded blue denim hugging your legs comfortably after a thousand washes.

rafe looked up from where he was lounging on the couch, keys dangling from his fingers, and his usual restless energy stilled. a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “god, I love the way you look in those,” he said, voice warm and unguarded.

you glanced down at the jeans with a little laugh. “these old things?” you asked.

“yeah, these old things.” he stood up, crossing the space between you in a few easy strides. his hands found your waist, not pulling you closer in any heated way, just resting there, appreciating you fully. “they just… suit you.” he paused, collecting the right words. “make you look like you.” he nods.

“comfortable and confident.” he teased, his brows dancing as a way to tease you. “okay you’re getting cringe now.” you laughed, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face, eyes soft in that rare way only you ever saw. “i could look at you in them all day.”

you leaned into his touch, smiling. rafe pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, completely content.