okay but like real talk for a second, Pope can be so quiet in everyday life and even when he was sexually active in canon....can you imagine anything sexual with him and he is stoic and insanely quiet and you are like "am *I* doing something wrong is he not enjoying himself? and feeling super self concious like, a single moan grunt or grip to your hair to say he is having fun too?
and he works on it because you stop, mid activity to be like, are you good? because its giving me a complex here, like...I need feedback, good bad or otherwise.
and he does! he works on being more vocal and saying what he likes and when you do that tongue thing on his tip he howls unabashedly.
ugh, love it!! i know i havenât posted recently :( but omg is getting my schedule sorted out and getting back into my normal routine for class a struggle!! anywayyy hope you enjoy! and as always i love you lots and lots like polka dots!!
pope is the most quiet man you know. he barley speaks, even when heâs balls deep inside you.
he just has you on your stomach, hands on either side of you braced on the mattress, and they barley ever move. when he does speak itâs only because he asking if youâre okay and that heâs not hurting you.
it drives you crazy. itâs been like this ever since you two started dating, you didnât want to say anything because of how you thought he might get embarrassed or something, so you just let it happen for a little while.
but you finally snap after youâve had an extra difficult week. rude behavior from co-workers, keep waking up late for work, and the grocery store you usually shop at stopped selling your favorite snack. just a really difficult week so far.
so you wanted some time with Andrew. wanted to have a nice intimate few hours with him. had dinner together, and now your in missionary. heâs over top of you, hands where they always are, and itâs only been about a few seconds. barley enough time for either of you to work up a sweat or start panting.
you have to stop him mid thrust. shaking your head, and putting your palms on his shoulders to let him know to just get off. heâs all concerned with furrowed brows and resting his hands on his thighs as he sits back on the mattress and you sit up.
âim sorry, andrew. i⊠well i justâŠâ
you stop there letting out a desperate sigh and throw your head down, and ran a hand over your face trying to verbalize these thoughts that have been consuming you whole
he sets an awkward hesitant hand on your arm, trying to be comforting in the little ways he knows how. you finally lift your head, looking up at him again with a sorry expression.
âam⊠am i not satisfying you? or something?â
heâs shaking his head and humming a little
âno, of course not.â
you let out a sigh. you have to. with his answer thatâs supposed to be reassuring but just sounds so vague like it always does.
âwell, you donât ever say anything. not before, during, or after. you barley show any indications that you do enjoy having sex. like⊠i just donât know.â
that confession makes him frown and awkwardly inch closer to wrap two very awkward arms around your shoulders, and rest his forehead against yours but very quickly abort.
âsorry. i didnât mean to give you that impression.â
you smile a little and place your arms around hum but theyâre much more certain about that they should be there than his on
âoh, AndyâŠâ seeing how his lips are tilting in the slightest way down
âi know you didnât mean to. sâokay, i promise.â you plant a few kisses on his cheek and lips before you both just decide to crawl under the covers and go to bed.
and ever since then heâs been at the top of his game. heâs even gone as far as to suggest different positions!!
âyouâre so sweet.â he claims buried between your thighs which are currently burning from his stubble, but youâre never gonna tell him about it. heâll stop then, and you donât want him to.
heâll grip your hair more often because you mentioned how it was nice for him to pull it sometimes.
whispers sweet things into your ear or just flat out states them. âyouâre so pretty.â, âyouâre the best girl ever.â, âyouâre so beautiful when you blush.â, or just straight up âi love you so much.â itâs not much going by basic standards. but itâs definitely a lot considering who itâs coming from.
âi love this color on you.â when youâre wearing an bright red bra & panties set. you have at least four sets now.
you hope heâll get bolder with time, but who knows?
i keep thinking about that one scene in s1 where pope cuddles with smurf and just⊠urgh.
andrew 'pope' cody who doesnât sleep very well but goes to bed at the same time as you, and doesnât get up until you do. itâs his favorite part of the day, really, getting to hold you while you sleep, your warm body pressed to his side or his chest or his back.Â
andrew 'pope' cody who wouldnât touch you the first few times you share a bed, afraid of overstepping â afraid youâd go rigid at his touch like smurf does â and it always feels like nothing short of a miracle when you grab his hand and pull it to you: his palm between the valley of your breasts, his chest pressed to your back, your hair tickling his nose. itâs comfortable and not at the same time, half of his body going numb but he wouldnât change it for the world.
andrew 'pope' cody who doesnât get this sort of quiet and softness anywhere else other than your bedroom. he fights off sleep as long as he can to keep watch over you and, even though he always wakes up at the crack of dawn, he keeps his body incredibly still until your alarm goes off, just feeling your body on top of his, your head on his chest or your nose pressed to his bicep.
andrew 'pope' cody who whines and clutches to you when you try to get up in the middle of the night. you chuckle when you push him away, telling him youâre about to pee yourselfâ he relents and lets you go, eventually. he almost wants to ask to tag along, but he doesnât voice those feelings, always afraid youâll finally see him as the creep everyone else does.
andrew 'pope' cody who always loved summer but now resents it because heatwaves make you crabby and you donât let him crowd you in his sleep anymore. so he buys an ac and blasts it in your room every night so youâre cold enough to cling to him again.
andrew 'pope' cody who will sometimes shimmy down the bed and put his head on your chest to feel your heartbeat, who wraps his legs around yours like an octopus and who counts your breathing instead of sheep when he has trouble sleeping.
and then you, who doesnât sleep all that well afterall. who wakes up in the middle of the night when pope is fast asleep and traces his face with your fingers, memorizing the way he looks so carefree, how his lips donât purse and his brows donât frown while heâs unconscious.
you, who pretends to sleep in even in the mornings you wake up before your alarm just to feel andrewâs body pressed against yours, his nose on your shoulder and his arms caging around you.
you, who can tell pope is having a nightmare by the way his muscles tense, who will pull him out of it and then hold him for the rest of the night, peppering kisses between his shoulderblades as he clings to this new, happy reality with blood-soaked fingers.
Contains; slow burn romance, alcohol mention, f masturbation, f orgasm
Thank you so, so much for being so lovely and supportive about this fic! I had so much fun writing it and I've really enjoyed writing Part 2. I hope it lives up to Part 1 đ
'Just one more thing,' you pleaded, giving Pope your best puppy dog eyes. 'Just one more.'
How could he say no?
Pope had enjoyed being your fake boyfriend so much. It hurt a lot, in some ways. It wasn't real, for one. All he wanted was to call you his girlfriend. To make you his own and give you everything.
The night hadn't ended how a boyfriend would drop off his girlfriend. The faux relationship obviously didn't extend past your parents' front lawn. There had been a moment of charged silence as Pope's truck sat idling outside your apartment block. For one brief second, Pope thought you might kiss him. His heart banged out of his chest so hard he thought you might hear it.
You had looked into his eyes and the tension was thick enough to feel like fog. But you had just smiled, touched his hand briefly, and left. The outline of your fingers scorched Pope's skin like a burn.
Finally, it hurt because you almost saw his orgasm face. You had spent a good forty minutes grinding against. Some of it may have been unintentional; it certainly started innocent.
You knew after a while. Pope knows you did. He felt you grinding up against his jeans, trying to press your seam along his length.
It had been painfully hard not to take hold of your hips and rub you along him like a doll until you gushed over his lap and his cock stuttered in his jeans.
But that wouldn't have been very family-friendly.
Plus, you were his friend. He shouldn't be thinking about you in that way... especially not when he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He shouldn't have started to moan when he was seconds away from cumming in his pants.
His erection hadn't gone down. When it became too uncomfortable and wore down Pope's restraint, he had fucked up into his fist before spilling down his hips and balls, splattering on his stomach. The relief was palpable.
The edging had been almost too much to take.
'What is it?' Pope mumbled, absent-mindedly brushing a soft curl behind your ear. He realised what he was doing and dropped his hand fast, clenching and unclenching his fist by his side.
'Birthday drinks with my cousin before she leaves for college.'
'Okaaay...' Pope waited for the catch.
You gave him a nervous smile, which did nothing to reassure him whatsoever.
'What?' Pope furrowed his brows. He lifted his hand to play with your hair again and caught himself.
'Erm...'
Pope waited patiently as you thought of the best way to sell it. Eventually you settled with just saying it.
'... it's at Deran's bar.'
Fuck.
Pope's brothers were all nice to you, in that distant, crime-family kind of way.
You were happy with that.
But you knew Pope wanted to keep you as separate as possible from that part of his life.
But these drinks were happening, and they were happening at Deran's, whether Pope was there to support / supervise you or not.
The cousin turned out to be Janie; the one who had fluttered her eyelashes at Pope at the family party.
Pope felt uncomfortable but knew he wouldn't be spending much time with her.
As he held the door open for you and followed you in, the room instantly swallowed you up.
It was dark and loud. More people than you imagined filled the space, which smelled like beer and cigarettes.
Pope put a protective arm around your shoulders as you looked through the crowd. Spotting Janie, you tugged on his shirt. Pope let you lead him over to their table.
He shot a quick glance over at the bar.
Deran was pouring a pint. He must have felt eyes on him because he looked up, making direct eye contact with Pope.
His expression didn't change until he noticed Pope's arm around your shoulder. Deran just raised one quizzical eyebrow at him.
Pope gave a slight shake of his head and carried on following you.
'Janie!' You smiled, and the pretty blonde stood to give you a hug. She looked past you to Pope, who was now linking fingers with you.
You watched in horror as her pupils dilated. 'Andrew!' She leaned past you to curl herself under Pope's flanneled arm, squeezing his chest a bit tighter than necessary.
You felt your heart miss a beat.
Pope didn't like physical contact. Not unless it was with you.
He visibly flinched, which Janie happily didn't notice. Pope moved to stand closer next to you.
Undeterred, Janie flashed you a mischievous smile.
'Shots.'
It wasn't a question.
As she pushed her way through the crowd towards Deran, you looked at the large round table in the middle of the group.
You didn't really know anyone; they were all Janie's friends.
You smiled politely and they returned the favour, continuing their conversation pre arrival.
You settled in to the side opposite Janie's bags, and Pope sat down beside you.
His thick thigh, clad in denim, was warm as it pressed against your own.
You turned to him to smile.
Your breath caught. You could never quite get over just how beautiful Pope was.
Even in his discomfort, his face was glowing in the semi-dark. His sculpted jaw was clean shaven, covered in freckles. Pope was making an effort to appear at ease but you knew him well enough to spot the tension in his shoulders.
Pope could never fully relax. His biceps were always flexed and his eyes continually scanned the room, as if looking out for potential threats.
Pope turned to meet your eyes. As you looked into him, they visibly softened, the way they only ever did with you. He offered you a gentle sideways smile.
You felt your insides turn to slush.
'You look beautiful,' Andrew murmured. His mouth barely moved around the words, and his eyes flicked between each of yours.
Your faces must have been inches apart.
'Sho-oooots!' Janie sang. She brought over a beer each for you and Pope, and a tray full of clear shot glasses.
Your stomach turned looking at them.
'How many did you get?' You laughed.
'Oh,' Janie said, looking down at them in concentration. 'Three each.'
'Three???' You exploded.
'Well, it is a party,' Janie shrugged.
Pope rested a large hand on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your dress.
'You don't need to have them if you don't want to,' he whispered, jaw twitching.
'Erm.... yes, she does.' Janie shook her head, holding out a shot glass past Pope and to you.
Pope searched your face again for any signs of discomfort.
'No, you really don't,' Pope's rough voice was inches from your ear, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.
'Alright, Dad. Let her choose for herself.'
You took the shot glass from Janie, who looked gleeful.
'I'm not doing three,' you said firmly, 'but... I might do two.'
'Atta girl!' Janie beamed. 'Cheers!'
Everyone held their drinks in the air before downing them.
Before you'd even finished your first, you watched three empty glasses hit the table in front of Pope.
'Jesus,' you whispered, awed.
Pope shrugged, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. You were impressed his face didn't even wince at the burn you felt halfway through your first.
You picked up your second, and Pope's fingers hovered above yours for a moment.
He looked into your eyes, questioning, before pulling them away.
You thought it was sweet. It didn't feel controlling but concerned. You liked Pope feeling protective over you more than you should.
You took the second one and pulled a face. Pope gave you his half-smile, amused.
'We're not all built the same,' you teased. You could feel the burn settling in your lower tummy.
Pope's eyes slowly looked you up and down. 'No,' he agreed. 'You're not.'
'So, what's the deal?' Deran asked as he poured yours and Pope's second pints.
'What do you mean?' You asked.
Deran pulled a face at you. His piercing blue eyes didn't leave a lot of wriggle room.
'You know exactly what I mean.'
You gave a self-conscious half laugh. 'We're just friends.'
Deran placed your pints down on the counter, shaking his head and waving away your bills to indicate a free round.
'That's not what your cousin said.' Deran looked pointedly at you.
'Ohhh.' It dawned on you. 'No, he's just pretending.'
Deran looked at you like you had grown two heads. 'Riiiiight, right. Just "pretending".'
You shook your head, not wanting to give Deran the wrong impression, and unsure as to what Pope had said to him about you.
'We are,' you repeated. 'He's just helping me out with something.'
'Oh, he'd love to help you out of something,' Deran mumbled, looking down at the counter below the bar and wiping at nothing.
'What was that?' You asked.
'Hmm?' Deran looked up at you with a faux innocent face.
'Shut up, Deran,' you laughed.
'No, you shut up.'
You scoffed, picking up your drinks and turning away.
'Pretending is not the same as denial!' He shouted after you.
Pope had been watching you the whole time, making sure no one had stood too close or bothered you. He shifted up and patted the seat next to him.
As soon as you sat, Pope seemed to visibly relax a little. He opened his arm to lean against the booth behind your shoulders. You lay back in the seat, the back of your head resting against his arm.
Pope immediately moved the angle of his forearm to make it more comfortable for you, despite it twisting at an awkward angle for him.
'Andrew,' you whispered, looking up at him.
'Yeah?' Pope replied, looking down at your face.
You focused in on his mouth. The perfect cupids bow framed a full lower lip. You watched at a sliver of tongue rolled over it subconsciously, followed by a bite.
Something inside you keened.
'Yeah?' Pope prompted, searching your face, concerned. 'Are you okay?'
'Yeah,' you replied dreamily. You were a bit fuzzy from the alcohol and the world was softened at the edges like a vignette.
'Good,' Pope murmured, gently touching your face. 'I'm okay, too.'
'So, ANDREW,' Janie interrupted, a little louder than necessary.
'Yes?' Pope answered her, his eyes not leaving yours for a single second.
The world seemed to have narrowed down to just the two of you.
You could feel your heartbeat in your mouth.
'How often do you work out?' Janie asked. The shots had obviously made her brave, as she reached out and squeezed his bicep.
Yours and Pope's eyes both followed her arm down to where her hand rested on his sleeve.
Janie didn't seem to notice.
'You always look really built.'
You felt sick. You hated Janie touching him, even though you had no claim over him whatsoever... and as far as she knew, Pope was your boyfriend.
'You've met him twice,' you scoffed. 'How is that always?'
Janie looked at you like you were mad.
'Yes, I've seen him twice, and he's looked built twice. That's always.'
Your mouth hung open at her drunk logic. You were well aware her hand was still on Pope's arm.
Pope looked incredibly uncomfortable but unsure of his next move. He didn't want to go with his gut instinct and risk upsetting you by upsetting Janie.
'Can you stop manhandling my boyfriend, please?' Your voice was steady but inside you were shaking. Janie was a pretty girl; it was easy to imagine Pope finding her attractive.
'You saaaay that,' Janie looked at you suspiciously. Your eyes zeroed in on her hand. You could hear the blood woosh in your ears.
'I do say that.' You were starting to get annoyed.
'Yes, you say that, buuu-ut,' Janie wiggled her perfectly-kept eyebrows at you, 'I've never even seen you guys kiss.'
Your breath caught and you felt Pope stiffen beside you. He gently pulled his arm out of Janie's grasp.
'W-what?' You spluttered, unsure of how to possibly answer that.
'We're just not into PDA,' Pope's rough voice rumbled in her general direction.
'Well, I am,' Janie winked suggestively.
You couldn't bear it. The secondhand embarrassment alone, but the fact she was hitting on Pope so damn hard, right in front of you, made you want to be sick.
A primal need for possession kicked in.
Pope turned to you then. His hazel eyes were ablaze.
You couldn't breathe.
He slowly placed a hand on your jaw and gently cradled it. He began to lean down and in.
Your heart was thumping. There was no bar, no crowd, no Janie. Everything else faded into nothing. There was only you and Pope suspended in the in-between; the liminal space about to mark a before and after your kiss.
You could smell the woody cologne on his neck warmed on his neck and his soft laundry detergent. Pope's thigh was still pressed against you, warm and solid.
He gave you every opportunity to run. You didn't.
Pope's face came closer still, until you were inches apart.
Pope closed his eyes for a second, hesitating, savouring the moment.
'Andrew,' you breathed against his mouth. Your lips ghosted against his.
Pope opened his eyes at the whisper of his name, and a soft half-smile tilted the side of his lips against yours... and then he was kissing you.
All your nerve endings sparkled shooting stars across your body.
The kiss was gentle; almost innocent. His lips barely gave any pressure against yours. You moved your head to the side and opened your mouth slightly.
A soft sound escaped the back of Pope's throat, which you lightly swallowed.
Pope's mouth moved on yours with all the magic of a first kiss.
As Pope's lips opened, you kissed a little harder. Your hand found its way to the back of his neck and pulled him closer.
Pope's fingers traced up your throat, setting you alight.
They settled under your jaw again.
The kisses became less public-friendly; open-mouthed which began as soon as the previous one ended.
Your fingers scrunched against Pope's curls and he gave you a soft sigh of relief.
You couldn't believe this was actually happening.
'Alright...' Janie's voice was disjointed, somewhere in the hushed chaos of the background. 'You don't have to be gross about it.'
When you finally pulled away, Pope's eyes were glittering dangerously.
Your fingers threaded through his.
You couldn't look away from him. Your intertwined fingers fell under the table and onto Pope's thigh.
He coughed quietly and shuffled your hands as your knuckles scraped against his jeans.
Your eyes flicked down and you saw how swollen his cock was, straining against his jeans.
'I'm s-sorry.' Pope suddenly looked very shy and vulnerable.
'I'm not,' you gave him a quick kiss on the lips before standing. 'Let's go.'
'What?' Pope asked confused, and still a little dazed from the kiss.
'What?' Janie spat
'Have fun in Cleveland!' You waved, tugging on Pope's hand to follow you.
'Conneticut!'
'Whatever!'
Deran caught your eye as you were leaving and a smug smile spread across his face. 'Just friends, my ass!'
Pope walked you backwards and pressed you up against your door. His hands were running all over you, down your sides and across your back.
These kisses were more urgent. Pope had only needed to look at your mouth for a second. You felt yourself get shamefully wet as you pulled his face closer to yours.
Pope squeezed you tight to him then and kissed you with a ferocity you'd only ever dreamed of.
You fought with the keys in your hand without breaking the kiss, desperate to get him inside.
You turned quickly to unlock the door and Pope's hands dropped reluctantly from you. As soon as the door was open, he was walking you backwards again into the dark hallway. Pope only just cleared the doorway before he kicked the door closed behind him with his boot.
You couldn't stand it anymore. The accumulation of years of wanting, and the thick sexual tension from the previous week, made you desperately hungry for him.
You looked at each other for a second. You were both breathing heavily and wanted to savour the moment before it happened. The anticipation of what you both knew was coming.
Then you were on each other again. You started to tug off his flannel overshoot, pulling the sleeves impatiently down his arms and letting it fall to the floor at your feet.
Pope kicked his boots off, one after the other. The left one went flying and smacked against the wall. You turned to let Pope unzip your dress.
You weren't going to make it to the bedroom.
Pope pulled the zipper down slowly as you bent slightly against the wall. The cold metal teeth sent shivers up your spine. You tried to control your trembling. Once it was completely undone, you turned back to face him before allowing it to fall to the floor.
Pope followed it down as it pooled at your feet, eyes turning black. Everything he so badly craved was standing right in front of him.
You pulled his black tee up from the bottom, slowly revealing sculpted abs then pecs. Pope finished tugging it over his head; auburn hair curling under his arms.
You felt faint.
Looking down, you saw the defined V shape of his hips. A soft trail of hair stretched from his belly button and disappeared down beneath his jeans.
You couldn't hold back a soft moan as you started to tug at his pants. Pope let you undo his belt and the top button of his jeans, before taking over to push them down over his thick, hairy thighs.
You gave a sharp inhale. Beneath Pope's boxers was an incredibly large erection.
His cock looked even bigger than it had felt beneath you as you rode against it during your parents' anniversary party. (Jesus, that sounded terrible).
There was nothing fake about this.
'Come here,' Pope whispered, pulling you down onto the couch so you were lying next to him. Pope pulled your body flush to him and kissed along your jaw, pausing to suck softly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You let out a moan, and Pope felt a thrill run through him from teasing that sound from you.
He kissed all down your throat, raising all the hairs on your body, before hesitating above your breasts.
'Is this okay?' Pope mumbled, voice thick.
'Yesss,' you breathed.
Pope's mouth moved against you; kissing your breasts through the lacy fabric. His thick fingers searched behind you and unclipped your bra. It fell away after the snap, and Pope tossed it somewhere behind his head.
The apartment was still in darkness, with only the streetlights through the window illuminating the room. Slivers of soft golden light passed over his mussed auburn curls and his closed eyes. It added a dreamy haze to the intimacy.
Pope mouthed at your breasts, kissing each one before circling your nipple with a wet kiss. His hands reached down to grab the band of your panties and he tugged them down over your legs. He threw those in a completely different direction.
He pulled your leg so it hooked over his hip. Your mound was pressed against his thick erection and you moaned again.
Pope's tongue gently entered your mouth as your lips parted, and began to gently swirl in your mouth.
His hand was on on your hip, then your ass, then your hip again. He couldn't pull you close enough to his body. Now that he finally had you, he wanted to completely consume you.
Pope was completely wrecked. His fingers worked down between your bodies, completely undoing you.
'You'ee sure? I need you to say it for me.'
'I'm so su-' Pope finally touched you where you needed him.
'Fuuuck,' he groaned. 'You're so fucking wet.'
You whispered into his mouth. 'All for you.'
'All for me.' Pope repeated, almost testing the shape of the words.
'Touch me,' you begged. 'Please.'
Pope ran his fingers along you, beneath your folds. You felt your slick covering them.
'You'll have to tell me what you like,' he said softly. 'I don't want to do it wrong.'
Your heart panged.
'There's no way you can do it wrong,' you assured him. 'It's you. It feels so fucking good already.'
'Show me how you like to be fucked.' Pope's voice was liquid steel.
You pushed your hand down to hold his fingers and guided his index finger to your pussy entrance.
'Here,' you whispered.
'Okay,' Andrew nodded.
He slowly pushed his finger in, stretching you out. You moaned in relief as he finally entered you.
'Yeah?' Andrew asked, searching your face.
'Oh, yeahh,' you nodded, eyes closing. 'Please keep touching me.'
Pope audibly swallowed.
He slowly began to push and pull a thick finger into you. The tug of his knuckles against every inch of your insides was electric.
'Like this?' Pope's voice came out thick.
'Exactly like that.'
You felt almost full already but you were desperate for more.
'Please can I have another? Pleaseee.'
Pope added his middle finger and scissored them gently. You felt incredibly full of him.
'Oh my God,' you clutched onto his forearm. 'That feels so fucking good.'
Pope kissed you again; hungry and desperate.
The soft dragging of his fingers began to make obscenely loud squelching noises in a quiet room.
'Tell me where you need me.' Pope's voice cracked as he circled his fingers.
'There!' You cried out.
'Here?' Pope asked, rubbing against your warm, wet wall.
'Back a little,' you kissed the words into his mouth.
Pope slightly adjusted the angle of his wrist and curled the pads of his fingers until he touched just the right spot.
'There!' You cried out, 'right there, oh right fucking there.'
Pope growled and pressed against you, kissing you greedily.
Every thrust of his fingers punched against that spot. You felt the sensation of needing to pee building at the bottom of your tummy.
'I'm gonna cum,' you sighed, embarassed about being so close already.
'Yeah?' Pope breathed. 'Are you gonna cum all over my fingers?'
You felt your pussy flutter at that.
'Yeah,' you whispered. 'Andrew, you're gonna make me cum.'
Pope couldn't believe this was real, that he was going to make you cum from his massage. Everything he'd ever wanted was squeezing down on his fingers.
'Let me have it, beautiful girl.' Pope's fingers sped up a little. His gaze was focused as the rougher thrusts twisted your insides. 'Give in to me. It's gonna feel so good.'
'I'm gonna, oh I'm go- fuck am cu-'
Your orgasm set you on fire. Your back arched against him as your mouth opened in a wordless cry.
Pope used his elbow to keep your leg steady over his hip, and continued to fuck you with his fingers as you came.
'Good girl... oh good girl.'
Tiny spurts left you between each drag of his fingers. Not a lot. Not pornographic. But enough.
Pope kissed you throughout; messy, sloppy kisses. The twirling and licking of his tongue against yours, and the filthy increase of saliva sliding between your lips, only intensified the feeling.
Pope slowed his fingers, still twirling and scissoring them, his touch against your spot increasingly gentle.
'You're doing so good,' Pope's voice was wrecked; hair damp. 'You look so pretty like this.'
He didn't stop until you were shuddering and crying out his name in broken fragments. He slowly withdrew them and held them in front of his face with a stunned expression. His cock pulsed at the scent; mouth agape.
As you tried to control your breathing, you watched as Pope sucked on his fingers. His eyes closed for a second as he paused. He finally knew what you tasted like.
It was a deep, intimate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. How many times had you desperately tried to reach that spot, with fingers too short and slim, dreaming it was Pope instead?
Oxytocin flooded your brain and you felt dizzy with pleasure. You felt Pope's cock pressing insistenly against you. A thick smear of pre-cum was soaking through the fabric. You could see the outline of his bulging head.
'It's your turn to feel good,' you whispered, reaching down past his hips.
Pope caught your wrist gently, stopping you.
Your breathing was still heavy as you looked into his eyes, confused. His stunning hazel eyes, with the gold flecks and dilated pupils were so close to yours that you could count the freckles around them. It was simultaneously hard to look into them when they turned your world off its axis, but so hard to look away from when Pope was looking at you like that. His expression was all for you.
'If you touch me right now,' Pope groaned, 'I'm not gonna last.' His ears tinged pink.
'Oh, Andrew...' Something about that admission was so fucking hot.
'I haven't finished.' Pope guided your hand back up to his bare chest. 'I need to clean you up... and I desperately want to play with your clit.'
Your breath caught. Hearing Pope say the word 'clit' in front of you, and to be referring to yours, was completely undoing you.
'I need to know what you fully taste like,' Pope confessed. He lapped at the flat of your tongue with the tip of his own, before placing a kiss on your cheek. A contradiction in danger and sweetness.
'I'm going to eat you...' Pope's voice was wrecked, and it sounded more like a warning than a promise, '... and then I'm finally, finally, going to fuck you.'
Wait no keep going, because I think a lot of him being insecure about being physical period is because heâs only used to âhurtingâ people. Being capable of doing the complete opposite and giving pleasure is so foreign; his hands can be used to hold :( not just to damage :(
yes !!! from the moment he lost julia onward, andrew only ever felt negative types of physical touch. only "loving" touch he ever received was from smurf (ew) and it always went too far for comfort and was given to him with conditions, always with the risk of losing it if he didn't conform to her every whim. other than that, the only physical interactions he'd ever felt were either inflicting or receiving pain :(
poor thing would feel so out of place when he meets you, not sure of when or where to touch (or if he even had permission to do so ??) did he need to work in order to deserve your touch? would you get mad if he did this or that? he'd be scared to ask, stuck in between fight or flight and going straight into fawn or freeze because his brain is scrambled and disorganized completely when it comes to any sort of positive touch (or affection in general) !!
getting to know you, getting closer to you, finding that you did want his touch and that you did want to touch him back would be an out of body experience for him. he'd take a very long time to initiate any sort of touch with you. even if it was holding hands, hugging, cuddling, he'd be in over his head. his heart would hammer all the way out of his chest when he realized the ways in which you'd subtly initiate soft physical contact with him, not knowing what to do with all these feelings blooming inside him. his breath would catch and his brain would work overtime as he panicked as to how to respond, how to hold you back and not fuck everything up â but you'd still hold him even if he was a little awkward, even if he hesitated and averted his eyes bashfully.
and when it finally came to more intimate contact, andrew would be equally as lost as before. it'd be a slow process finding that he was not only allowed to touch you, but that it was highly encouraged. his eyes would widen every time and his breath would catch. he would not be able to understand what he'd done to deserve it. he'd be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to turn around and punish him for taking more than he was allowed, for you to scream and cry at him to get away. but as time passed, and as that never ended up becoming a reality, he'd slowly learn that it was all real. it'd take him a while to start touching you with certainty, with confidence. it'd be a battle you'd have to overcome together, but andrew would lose himself in you every time you coaxed him into pleasurable touch. he'd start thinking about you at every turn, he'd crave you, he'd condition himself to connect any and all positive feelings with you. his body would crave you, and he'd slowly learn that he could take and that you'd give in return.
this is where my belief that andrew and his partner would fuck like bunnies comes in lol. i think he'd be so pent up, so unaccustomed to pleasure that he'd sort of give in to it as much as humanly possible. he'd become obsessed with you, the person who'd taught him that pleasure was an option and that physical touch could be good and could come without strings. andrew would want to satiate your every need, feeding off your pleasure and unwilling to let anything or anyone to get in the way. i think over time you'd explore everything and find a rhythm where you'd just become insatiable with one another. you'd want to give andrew anything he could possibly want, and he'd live to fulfill your every desire.
idk where i'm going with this but you guys get the idea !!! also this is not proofread sorry if it makes zero sense :(
the way this shows just how far giann goes for his loved ones, even if art wasnt his forte at all he did it because his brother loved it
also why the fuck. why was this dropped so casually. rosa how did you not flip out. what do you mean from mariusâ perspective he was the problem he was the one who needed to disappear
also more giann personality dropsâŠ..i think we can say this sort of implies that he tries to at least also burden all of the pain and grit his teeth when suffering, almost always refusing to ask from help
anyways silly nxx moments after that wave of sadness, sir Goverment Agent Luke Pearce suggesting that we just idk hack a dead guyâs special computer (and dead guy was a respected figure in office space) and then artem being like âweâre not breaking the law. weâre not going to ruin rosaâs future career years.â LMAOOO
also nxx being done with marius shenanigans pt. 3737929 theyre so stupid i love them
also vyn teasing him at the end too KDJDJ love marivyn dynamic đ„čđ„čđ„čđ„č
SYNOPSIS. marrying the person you are in love with has to be the best decision you have ever made. here, we explore the daily life of these four suitors as newlyweds.
CHARACTERS. luke pearce, artem wing, vyn richter, marius von hagen
CONTENT. f!reader. married au. fluff, suggestive (artem & marius). 1.3k wc. rewrite of the newlyweds at my old main blog @/verxsyon. reader can be imagined either as rosa or an original character.
VERA. i donât play this game much anymore, but i miss my boy luke.
đàŒâ§âË. LUKE PEARCE
epitome of childhood friend romance. heâs the top tier bestie anyone could ask for.
he has been with you for as long as you can remember â through thick and thin, and through the good and the ugly. itâs natural for him to make jokes here and there around you, including marrying you when he comes back to stellis. little did you know, he was very serious about it. years later he will be at your door to put a ring on your finger, and the rest is history.
whenever he comes home from work, you are either cooking in the kitchen or sleeping on the couch while the TV is on. you two have a special welcome home greeting, which starts with a kiss on your temple followed by an exchange of heys.
âhey, lu.â to which he responds, âhey, you.â and afterwards, heâll pepper more kisses along your jaw until he places one upon your lips before asking how your day went.
he loves to update you about his investigations. realizing that he canât keep everything to himself, his goal is to confide in at least one person he can trust. it makes you so happy to hear that heâs enjoying his job despite the amount of stress he may be experiencing.
on his day-offs, heâll marathon crime shows with you â popcorn, drinks, and everything. his favorite show to marathon is sherlock since he is inspired by him.
he claims to miss you whenever heâs away for long hours performing his investigations. to cope with his concern, your husband keeps a picture of you in his breast pocket so youâll always be in his heart no matter where you are in the world.
đàŒâ§âË. ARTEM WING
he may appear cold and strict on the outside, but is actually a warm and awkward softie on the inside.
due to his status as basically being married to his job as a senior attorney, romance is the least of his worries until you enter his life. his approach to you for a date isnât as smooth as the both of you had expected, but he improved in that aspect when he popped the question.
even after months into your marriage, he still doubts how he gives you affection. are his lips in the right place? is he holding your hand right? ever since the incident where he accidentally groped below your back when he was trying to hug you, he remains self-conscious whenever he touches you.
to make him comfortable with initiating intimacy, you would walk around the house half-naked and observe his reaction from there. instead of admiring your body, he rushes to lend you a piece of his clothing to cover yourself. what a gentleman indeed, but this is not the result you wanted.
âartem, honey.â he flinches at the heat enveloping his front. the sight of your bare legs makes his skin flush and paralyzes his movements. you guide his hands to your sides with a gentle smile on your face. ârelax. youâre doing everything more than perfectly.â
a hidden talent of his is that he can cook, and my goodness his food is brilliant. on some days when you come home late at night, seeing a delicious platter by your husband is quite the treat. to further practice his romantic skills, he would set up wine, candles, and flowers as well. to be honest, he doesnât need to go all out because cooking dinner is already romantic enough for you.
he is fond of children, especially their positive energy. in fact, itâs canon that he visits orphanages and hangs around them. the moment you step into one, he knows that the children will automatically love you. he would be lying if he said he didnât imagine having a family with you, but time will tell when the two of you will be ready. Â
đàŒâ§âË. VYN RICHTER
a wise person once said, âhe is the whole package.â a psychiatrist who is also a criminal psychologist and heâs hot as hell? not to mention that heâs also good at pretty much everything the universe has to offer.
his emotions are still hard to read even after marrying him, but heâs trying his best to make them transparent. although you canât tell in plain sight, he appreciates every single thing about you, most especially your belief in him being loved.
in addition, he appreciates your knowledge in classical music. you have brought up the fact that you did play piano a while back multiple times while the two of you were still dating. his wedding gift to you was a grand piano, which made you cry not because he had thought of you, but because it cost thousands. that being said, you are touched that he had thought of you.
the grand piano surprise motivates you to regain and refine your musical skills from the past. you challenge yourself by practicing a difficult piece, which vyn recognizes almost immediately just by a few notes. your hands crash and burn against the white keys, startled by your husbandâs sudden presence.
âkeep playing, my love.â he snakes an arm around your waist to pull you into a kiss. âyou are doing so well.â
besides psychology, heâll be glad to teach you some of his hobbies such as equestrianism and gardening. in comparison to luke, he is also quite knowledgeable in areas either related to or outside of his expertise. you donât know whether to admire or fear the capacity of his intellect.
whenever heâs free of work, heâll take you on bike rides around the city and perhaps have picnics at the park. spending time with his spouse is what he deserves from juggling between teaching students to treating patients to solving cases on a daily basis.
đàŒâ§âË. MARIUS VON HAGEN
a little shit. always a little shit, but is your little shit who deserves a slap in the face (affectionate).
your first meeting with the heir of the pax group was insufferable to say the least, justified by his constant teasing and duping. he was a person that you wanted to avoid at all costs, but he eventually managed to win your heart and settle down with you.
the von hagen household isnât itself without the two of you bickering left and right. the topics in questions are usually miniscule, and marius is aware that lawyers do not invest their time in such types. he always forfeits from the arguments in your favor, suggesting that heâll make it up to you with gifts.
speaking of gifts, he loves spoiling you with a range of his own paintings to stuffed animals from the arcade to luxurious brands of the pax group. he has done so much for you already, you tell him to stop buying all those things. of course, he doesnât listen and still does it anyway to keep you happy.
the ultimate king â pun intended â of teasing doesnât let you breathe in peace, whether that be in public or at home. as an act of revenge, you do the same. except more⊠spicy.
he sometimes catches you in your robe when he comes home from work. he seems to not suspect much other than you look very sexy in it; after all, he was the one who bought it. youâll make your intentions known by whispering in his ear, âiâm not wearing anything under.â letâs just say he doesnât waste any time to wipe that so-called innocent smile off your face.
somewhat on the same side of the spectrum, he paints portraits of you which he hangs around the house. you made a mistake of telling him to âdraw me like one of your french girlsâ, and now he wonât stop pestering you to take your clothes off. the paintings of you are priceless; theyâre for his eyes only.
thinking about pope with a newborn and how scared he'd be of accidentally hurting them, they just seem so fragile that he's scared to burp them to hard or that he's gonna drop them. You have to reassure him time and time again that he won't accidentally hurt them
yupppp oh my god!!! i feel like pope has some experience with babies (since he delivered his own brother i think he probably took care of him too) but this just feels different?? the baby is so much tinier than deran was and it's his and yours and he never thought he'd ever get to have this (baz certainly made it seem like he never would). he'd hold the baby with trembling fingers and always wash + sanitize his hands before coming close and it's always such a reverent moment when he tucks his baby â his baby â against the crook of his shoulder.
you're the only mom in the world that gets to sleep through the night with a new born because pope doesn't ever sleep anymore; he sits next to the crib all night long and stares, making sure the baby isn't going to choke on the blankies and he frowns at the plushies you put inside the crib â they're unhygienic and a choking risk, in pope's opinion â but the baby is learning how to grab things and only settles when the bear plushie is within reach so pope accepts it with a twist of his mouth and enough disinfectant to keep the toys as clean as he can.
and his love for you changes, too, but it only intensifies: he canât believe you made such a perfect little creature, a mixture of your smile and popeâs curls, and the fact that you are the reason pope gets to be a dad is something he can never put into words. so he puts into action: heâs always on top of the house chores, always making sure to buy the brands you like when grocery shopping, vacuuming whenever youâre out with the baby so the loud noise doesnât become a problem and running you a bath as soon as the baby is down for the night. he touches you with the same reverence as he does the kid, his puppy dog eyes staring at you with wonder, getting truly, genuinely upset whenever you make a depreciative remark about the changes your body has gone through.Â
he loves you, and he loves your baby, and for the first time ever, he loves his life.Â
synopsis. Just you, Pope Cody, and the smooth, arresting vocals of Daryl Hall and John Oates in the peace of your apartment.
Song Featured: Out of Touch, Daryl Hall & John Oates
âYou listen to this stuff?â
Pope bites his tongue, realising how patronisingâhow rudeâhe sounds the moment the words slip past his teeth. His fingers drum on the vinyl sleeve, awkward and repetitive and soothing, as he waits for you to turn around and tell him to leave, tell him he should really think before he speaks, tell him he has no business interrogating you on what you might listen to in the comfort of your own home.
And all of that would be fair, he thinks. He needs to mind himselfâ
âUh, yeah! Are you kidding me?â You flash your teeth, and Popeâs heart constricts at the sight. Heâs used to this. His family are like dogs, in the sense that when they show their teeth itâs usually a warning, lips curled before they bite.
Thatâs what heâs used to. Itâs what he knows, and it takes him a long moment to realise that youâre actually smiling. All teeth, bright eyes, and hands outstretched to take the seven-inch from his hands. âI love this song! I mean, I donât play it as much as all the albums I have but thatâs only because itâs more effort to change out this one than the twelve inches. Out of Touch is like, one of my all-time favs.â
Pope hardly hears you over the feel of his heart staunched of all its blood. Like a heart-attack but all the worse, because Pope never wants this feeling to end. Heâs struggling still with your beautiful smile, and how you were doing so for him. No oneâs ever smiled at him and truly meant it. Not for a long time.
And itâs entirely unmoored him, and he feels like heâs watching from outside of his body as he stands with you in your apartment, watching through anotherâs eyes as you smile at him with a radiant easiness to you that is so unfamiliar it throbs within him like a bruise he wants to keep pressing down on. You donât say anything else, but you give him a look that sets off a swarm of angry wasps within him, rattling against his ribs with a ferocity that both excites and terrifies him.
You excite and terrify him because thereâs a vulnerability he has around you that heâs not entirely sure youâre aware of, but Pope feels like a brand across his forehead.
Pope was not vulnerable with just anyone. His family had shown him long ago that they would wield any softness, or vulnerability, like a sword for him to impale himself on. And for most of his adult life, Pope had done just that, stuck himself with the angry jagged edge of his own emotions, and bled himself dry upon it because that is what his family had asked of him.
He hadnât known there was any other choice. That he could unburden himself of his anger, his guilt, and his fear, into the hands of another and they might just carry it for him. No twisting it into something to hurt him with later, no storing it within their heads like a loaded gun, just to wound him with it when they were angry and hurting and needing someone else to feel the pain for them. The thought that someone might just hold this burden of Popeâs, and carry it so he did not have to do so alone was not one that sat easy in him.
He hadnât known he could be something held with care, adored and appreciated for his bare bones, and not what his family had always dressed him up to be. Pope was just a means to an end, to his family; a loyal guard dog seen only as an accessory, as security, and not a thing truly worthy, or capable, of love.
âHey, you still with me?â
Pope blinks, realises how long heâs been staring, and shuffles awkwardly on his feet. His hand presses to the back of his neck like that might reboot his finer motor functions. âYeah, âcourse. Nowhere else Iâd rather be.â
And he says it with such earnest, that the words have, perhaps, too much weight and land awkwardly on the patterned tile of your apartment. Itâs not a pretty sight, Pope thinks, like roadkill flattened on tarmac, with bloody rotten entrails smeared bright red against the gravel. Avert your eyes, his dead animal of emotions seems to say. Drive on past like I was never really there.
But you never do just drive past, or allow the moment to pass just because itâs awkward or heavy or entirely too intense for a Tuesday afternoon. Your face cracks open like a ray of sunlight bursting through dark miserable clouds, dazzling and bright and so impossibly warm that it heats Pope from the inside out.
He can feel his ears burn as you take up one of his hands and entangle your fingers, âGood. You make my apartment less lonely.â
âI do?â (Iâm not yet dead, the poor animal calls as it lays limp, half-stunned by the impact of high speed metal and tire, half-dead because of it, the tiny broken thing claws forward like salvation might lie in the brush just beyond the roadside. Someone, please. Take pity on me just this once.)
âOf course you do. Why do you think I want you around so much?â You turn to finish booting up your record player, one hand still entwined with his. With a care Pope still finds baffling, you delicately place the needle on the edge of the spinning vinyl; âDance with me?â
âWhat?â
You laugh, full and honest as you squeeze Popeâs hand once again. You draw him to you, âPlease?â
It starts slow, and you give Pope plenty of time to draw back, to deny you with no hard feelings. But Pope wouldnât give up this moment for anything in the worldâcouldnât think of denying you anymore than he could think of denying his lungs air. So his face softens and his limbs loosen, malleable as you start twirling yourself around the living room, bringing Pope into your orbit with a gentle, easy finality.
Itâs not an intricate dance, no elegant dips or spins, just a gentle two-step and easy sway as you jut your hips out to the beat and shimmy your shoulders to make Pope laugh. He does. A quick, dry huff of laughter that heâs quick to smother in the crook of your neck, less he ruins the moment, and youâre a Venus fly-trap, arms snapping up and around his back to keep him close, all but rolling your hips on him as you dance, now singing along with such enthusiasm that Pope can hardly contain his joy.
âCome on, sing with me.â You pout, leaning back to catch Popeâs eye. You hardly flinch when you see the shine to his eyes, knowing how swiftly and brutally his emotions could cut when they bubbled over threshold, you knock your forehead against his, running the tip of your nose over the strong line of his. âThis is my favourite part!â
You donât question how Pope knows the chorus by heart, or that his voice sounds like it was drawn over gravel as he all but chokes on the knot of emotions sat at the back of his throat. You dance, and you sing, and you both try your damnedest to ignore the trill of his phone; the sound of Smurf calling.
The proverbial roadkill that made up Popeâs emotions wasnât truly dead, or disturbing, after all. It just needed a good samaritan to wrap it up in blankets and tend to its hurts, to nurture and rear what had been broken until it could stand on its own once more. Until it could look that samaritan in the eye and say, Thank you for seeing that I could be more than just some dead, ugly thing left for the vultures; thank you for believing I was capable of getting better.
And Pope could be better. He would be: for you, and for your collection of classic, albeit cheesy, vinyls.
If you have a bad day, heâs there, listening. You tell him how you spilled your morning smoothie, a lady almost bumped into you, and didnât say excuse me. The grocery store was out of the vanilla extract, and you needed it for your cookies. âThis is horrible,â you say, resting your hands on your face. âHey...itâs okay,â Andrew comforts. You feel his arms hug you, you smile at the warmth. Something about Andrew makes bad days better. You tell him youâre going to make dinner, he tells you to order take out. âSit here for a moment,â he says.  Â
You sit on the couch in confusion, so you look for a restaurant to occupy your wondering mind. After ten minutes, he reappears, âDid you order it?â. You nod, he directs you to the bathroom, and you see the bathtub with bubbles. âThis is amazing! Thank you!â you say happily. You hug him, then smother his face in kisses. He chuckles at the sensation, âyou deserve it, now rest, and I'll go pick up the foodâ. After your bath, and nighttime regime; you two eat dinner together while watching a movie he picks. Â
He supports your small businessÂ
âNo, uncle pope we have to make it pretty,â Lena emphasizes, shaking the glitter glue. She loves hanging out with you two on the weekends. Andrew and Lena decorate a poster for your shop, (mainly Lena), by writing your business name, and adding foam star stickers. Andrew helps you set up your shop at your local farmerâs market every Sunday. People look forward to eating the baked goods you prepare, because you make them for everyone. You believe people should enjoy a sweet treat, but you also make sugar-free treats as well. Â
Lena loves hanging out with you
âI want to stay with uncle pope and Y/N this weekend,â which explains why Lena is on your couch on a Saturday morning eating breakfast, and watching cartoons. There you are right beside her giggling at the cartoon jokes. If Andrew is busy working, you and Lena have a girl's day. You blast the radio playing your favorite songs, which are now also hers. You two go shopping, go to the movies, and get ice cream to end the day. When Andrew gets home, she gives him a haul of everything. He applauds when she twirls, and gasps when she enters the living room with each outfit. Â
He loves watching you danceÂ
He loves watching you in general, but he loves watching you dance. Youâre in the kitchen wearing his t-shirt, tiny shorts, and cartoon character socks. While your dinner heats up, youâre dancing about the meal. You hype yourself up while dancing, but in the corner thereâs Andrew watching with a slight smile. Not to mention when Lenaâs there you two dance in the kitchen to Solange. Sheâs tossing her hair in a circle as you dance from side to side. Thereâs Andrew watching his favorite girls have the time of their lives. Â
He loves your hands, but especially your nails Â
Youâre pretty creative when it comes to your nails; you do plaid, ladybugs charms, polka dots, and more. Whenever heâs a bit overwhelmed, he holds your hand, and stares at your nails. He plants a kiss on your hand, then proceeds to rub his finger across them.  After a day with his family, he likes to feel your nails drag along his scalp. Â
He adores your laughÂ
Whenever you laugh itâs music to his ears. Hearing your laughter makes him smile at you, admiring the love of his life. But, if youâre laughing hard, he canât help but chuckle. Â
He holds your bags when shoppingÂ
Whether youâre at the mall, antique shop, or thrift store. Thereâs Andrew holding your bags. One time you had so many you couldnât see his face. âOh Andy! My poor baby, why didnât you say anything?â You ask, carrying some of the bags to lighten the load. âI want you to get what you want,â he explains. Your heart swells at his kind words, earning him a kiss on the lips. Â
He canât help, but stare whenever you get your hair doneÂ
Andrew stares at you all the time, but when your hair is freshly done? He's staring EXTRA hard. You flaunt the hairstyle to him, and heâs absolutely mesmerized. âYou look beautiful,â he compliments. âThank you baby,â you kiss him, and he pulls you closer. The kiss is intense, different from the usual ones you two share. You pull back for air, "You must really like my hair,â.Â
He keeps a picture of you in his walletÂ
Whenever heâs on a job and misses you dearly, he opens his wallet. Your heartwarming smile welcomes him with open arms. He thinks back on the day he took the photo; it was on your polaroid when you two had a picnic date. He had your legs on his lap, as he fed you a chocolate covered strawberry, then you fed him one. You look gorgeous in the photo, making him smile every time he looks at it, knowing he has someone to get home to. Â
You like Andrewâs chestÂ
Of course you love all his features, but his chest always catches your eye. Especially, because he likes to sleep shirtless. In this scenario, heâs watching television with you in bed, but youâve been watching his chest since he took off his shirt. You lift your hand and gently rest it on his chest. His eyes fall on your manicured hand; you go back to watching television and gently squeeze his pec. âHoney...do you like my chest?â Andrew asks, you look at him and nod. He laughs, and lets you rest your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulls you to sleepÂ
He said I love you firstÂ
Youâve had a bad history when it comes to relationships, so when you met Andrew, you felt like you finally hit the jackpot. He talked to you about his childhood trauma, so you donât pressure him on the matter. He takes you to a drive-in movie after you mentioned wanting to go days prior. Youâre watching the movie when you hear it, âI love you,â he whispers. Your body goes still, then you turn to him. âWhat?â You ask. He looks at his lap, then back at you. âI love youâ. You smile at him, âI love you tooâ. You give him a kiss, then return to the movie, smiling. Â
