wibcage

you recognize the gift you’re getting once he finally pulls a box out that he’d kept hidden deep in his closet, taking out old pictures of him from med school, his soldier days. you coo as you lean over his shoulder, and then you go quiet, nearly yanking one from his hand to bring it to your face and get a closer look.

he glances at you, apprehensive as he tries to understand why you’ve suddenly gone so quiet. but then:

“red hair???” you exclaim, your eyes widening comically as your face absolutely lights up with glee.

he lets out a chuckle that’s laced with relief. “yeah, baby, you didn’t know?”

“NO I didn’t know! you’ve never let me see!!” you say, almost offended if it weren’t for your excitement. you rifle through more pictures, gawking at the deep red curls on the freckled boy in all of them.

you don’t shut up about it for a long time after, much to jack’s dismay. you’d pull up pictures that are now saved onto your phone, staring at them with a giddy smile. you’d go up to him with a smirk, and he’d roll his eyes.

“hey baby, does the carpet match the drapes?” you’d drawl, wiggling your eyebrows at him while he laughs and pushes playfully at your shoulder.

“you’ve seen the drapes. they do match - it’s all grey.”

you ride him slowly, painfully slowly. your fingers are tangled in his thick curls, using them as a form of leverage as your hips grind against his pelvis, pushing his fat cock deeper with every thrust. you look so blissful. your lips are slightly parted, letting erotic moans escape from your throat, while your body arches like a cat from the sensation of being filled so much by the man beneath you.

and pope…pope is miserable.

miserable because his hands are tied with plastic zip ties, and he wants to touch you—oh god, he wants to touch you so fucking badly it hurts him. but he can only watch, and that makes him feel as if he’s being tortured. pope wants—no, pope needs—to touch you; it’s more important to him than oxygen. yet he sits there obediently, growling and whimpering like a dog when your pretty pussy tightens around his cock and your hot sweaty skin presses against him, even if just for a moment.

you can feel under your fingertips how the muscles beneath his freckled arms tense up with every passing second, harder and harder, how the veins in his arms become so visible that you can see how quickly and intensely the blood is flowing through them. and for a second you feel the dirty urge to look at his hands, to see just how tightly they’re clenched, how red they’ve become from the plastic wrapped around them, and how deep the nail marks on his palms were. how desperate he truly was for you.

and when your skin finally touches his—driven by your curiosity—he finally snaps. you can’t even see exactly how the material breaks, you just hear the sound, and suddenly you're no longer in control. suddenly you’re pressed against the mattress, so hard that you feel your breath getting shallower because pope is so close to you, practically trying to force himself inside your flesh.