trigger warning: sh scars.
thinking about how sweet andrew 'pope' cody would react to dating a reader with self h*rm scars, *specifically on legs*.
dating him would be amazing. you’d constantly go on dates. you’d kiss, cuddle, make out and grope one another through layers of clothing. you’d just make sure you never got too far, because you desperately wanted to avoid having the ‘i used to hurt myself' talk. in past dates, they’d end up cutting things off shortly after they’d seen your scars. they’d just say they didn’t feel a connection, but you knew deep down in your heart they didn’t want to end up with someone scarred.
you knew a lot of things deep down in your heart. one of them was that andrew was not the kind of person to dump you over scars, whether they be mental or physical. but that didn’t stop you from only believing what your anxious thoughts were telling you.
you put off having sex with pope for a very long time. you stuck to dry humping and giving him head, even if he constantly pawed at your clothes like an animal. you’d also let him finger you, but you’d never take your pants off.
the no-sex rule lasted three months before a drunken night at andrew’s house. he rarely drank, but it was a night after a stressful job, so he had a handful of beers and too much tequila for anything 'angelic' to happen. you had also followed in his path, drinking too much with no persuasion.
you started off by making out. your hands were wrapped around his neck and your fingers were deep in his hair, tugging from the root. you were on top of him, grinding onto his fatty thigh that was clothed in rough camo pants.
andrew tilted your head and began kissing your neck and exposed chest. his hands kept toying with both your zipper and the hem of your shirt.
"let me take your clothes off,” he whined, and spread his big, warm hands over your stomach.
you grabbed his wrists and pulled them away. "just… i don’t want to take them off."
"really?" he asked. "your hands kept finding their way to my zipper a little bit ago, too."
"i wanna give you head, that’s why."
"again?"
you shrugged and pushed his hands away. "why not?"
"well i want to give you head, too. let me."
you started kissing along his stubbly jaw until you got to his ear. "i can’t yet."
"are you insecure? is that it? i don’t care about a bit of tummy or anything."
you hummed. then sat back and held onto his stiff shoulders. "it’s not my stomach. it’s my thighs."
he sunk his fingers into the fat of your thighs and massaged them. "i like them. what’s wrong with them?"
a lump began forming in your throat and you looked away from him. "when i was younger, i used to hurt myself.”
he moved his hands from your thighs to your face and turned it so that you looked directly at him. you couldn’t move anywhere if he had your face locked in his grip like this. "tell me about it."
"there’s not much to say. i used to cut myself because i was depressed and wanted to feel something. but now i have to deal with these scars," you told him. your eyes had begun to water — half because you were drunk and weren’t sure how to feel, and half because he was looking at you like a sad puppy. "andrew, i really do want to have sex with you, but people have dumped me over his and i don’t want that to happen again. so i’ve been putting it off just so i can have more of you."
andrew nodded. then, he picked you up and turned around, setting you down in his spot. he sank to his knees and unbuttoned your pants. you didn’t tell him to stop, even though your hands had begun sweating and alarms were going off in your head.
"lift your hips for me," he whispered, and you followed. he took your pants off, folded them, and placed them where the leg of the bed met the floor.
you unconsciously placed your hands over the tops of your thighs but andrew grabbed your wrists and shoved them to the side.
"pope, they’re ugly,” you cried, and tried to place your hands over your scars again.
"no they’re not," he muttered. he lowered his lips down to the first scar on your right thigh and pecked it. "they’re a part of you, and you’re fucking beautiful."
"you don’t hate them? you don’t hate me? you don’t think i’m weird?"
andrew darted his tongue out and ran it along the raised skin. when he was done, he said, "fuck no. why would i hate you for this? i hope you don’t plan on doing this again. if you are, tell me. but no, i don’t think you’re insane."
"have you ever done this?"
"not in the same way," he said while feeling your scarred skin. "but yes. i was alone and needed to feel something."
when he confessed this to you, you pulled him him up to your face and kissed him with enough force to shatter his lips. then you had sex for the first time.
amazing sex you regretted holding off on.
