valen

There's always this really cute dad with his kid at the mom and pop restaurant you like to go to after your shift is done. Seeing them after a long day brings a smile to your face whenever they happen to dine at the same time you do. 

Though, maybe you shouldn't be staring at them as much as you do…

Your job as a paramedic doesn't really allow for much wiggle room when it comes to having a family. Not that your mind should be drifting to having a family when you look at them…or how nice it would be to join their little family. 

Another long day means you aren't all that good at preventing yourself from imagining scenarios you shouldn't indulge in. You decide then not to get your usual drink and opt for some water. Better to stay sober, so your mind doesn't wander any more than it already has. 

And you're thankful you chose not to drink. 

Because that little girl is choking right now and her dad has such a panicked look on his face, watching her cough furiously, her face going pale with fear. 

You quickly run up to them and ask the girl, “are you okay, sweetie?” 

She shakes her head, still coughing. 

“What's her name?” You ask her dad. 

“Lena.” Pope looks at you, seeing that you're still wearing your paramedic uniform. “Can you help her?” 

“Yes, of course.” You give him a firm nod, acknowledging his consent, before turning back to Lena. “Hey there, Lena. I'm going to need you to keep coughing, okay sweetie?” 

She tries her best to keep coughing but it's getting harder and harder so you have Pope move out of the way so you can pull her to her feet, kneeling behind her. 

You have her bend forward just a tad with you supporting her and start applying back blows. After five of those, you switch to abdominal thrusts. You repeat the sequence in hopes of dislodging the food from her throat. 

But she passes out instead and thankfully you have her braced against your arm so you can break her fall. 

Pope is in a full state of panic right now, seeing Lena laying unconscious on the floor. He knew he shouldn't have let her order that dish with those big chunks of peppers. He's hovering you now as you start compressions, sick to his stomach, anxiety overwhelming him. 

“What's your name?” You ask him after you give her two breaths using the spare face shield you always keep in your pocket and start the next set of compressions. 

“Andrew.” He's unsure why you ask. 

Until you tell him, “Andrew, I'm going to need you to call 9-1-1. You need to tell them where we are and that we have an unresponsive child. Is there an AED on site?” 

Thankfully, the owners of the restaurant do have an AED so you quickly turn it on and lift up Lena's shirt so you can apply the pediatric pads in the correct places. 

The machine prompts everyone to stay clear of the body while it monitors whether or not she needs a shock. 

She doesn't need it, so the machine prompts you to continue compressions while it monitors for any irregular heart rhythms that may require a shock.

You do your CPR cycles until you see a piece of food in her mouth when you go to give her breaths. You pull it out before applying the next set of breaths. 

Lena gasps for air then and relief washes over you. She starts coughing so you help soothe her by saying, “you're going to be okay, sweetie. Just keep breathing. Help is on the way.” 

You hand her off to the paramedics when they get there, who you know from work so you can guarantee to Pope that she's in good hands. 

“Thank you.” He tells you before he is swept away into the ambulance, unsure how he's going to ever repay you for saving Lena's life. 

It starts by making sure that your tab is always paid for at that restaurant. You tell the owners not to let Pope keep paying for your meals but they brush you off, saying you should enjoy having someone take care of a bill for you every now and then. 

You do enjoy it, but you feel guilty because you were just doing your job. You may have been off duty but you would've helped regardless.

So the next time you see Pope and Lena, you go up to them to say something but then Lena immediately rushes to give you the biggest hug. The kind of hug that warms your heart instantly. 

“Thank you for saving my life.” She says so sweetly to you that you almost cry from how precious she is. 

“Aw sweetie.” You pat the top of her head gently. “I'm happy I could help.” 

“Do you want to join us?” Pope invites you to eat with them. “I'm paying for your meal anyways. Might as well eat with us too.” 

“Please?” Lena looks up at you, wanting you to share a meal with her and her dad. 

“Okay, sure.” You cave, letting her take your hand and pull you into the booth with her. 

You sort of wish you had said no because now you're face to face with Pope and you've never been this close to him before. Minus when he was panicking over Lena's body but that doesn't really count. 

You're horribly shy, not knowing if you should say anything but then Lena prompts, “what do you normally order, pretty paramedic lady?” 

You giggle at her nickname for you then tell her your actual name. “In case you wanted to know.” 

“My dad and I have been calling you the pretty paramedic lady since we didn't know your name. We were hoping you'd be here today.” Lena explains and her words have Pope's ears going red. 

Because she's revealing that the two of them have talked about you a lot. And that he thinks you're very pretty…

Something you find quite endearing, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering about in response. “Is that so? Well, here I am. So glad you seem to be doing better, Lena.” 

“Yep!” She exclaims in that carefree way only children can. “And now I know I'm never ordering anything with peppers in it again. Yuck!”

You smile at her, loving how cute she is. Pope smiles at you, loving how cute you are. 

He really loves you. 

You'd be a perfect mom to Lena. 

Lena is usually not this talkative but she likes you a lot so now she's telling you all about her school and what she likes to do for fun. You listen intently, remaining engaged, asking her questions that she's happy to answer. 

Pope wishes he could just take you home with them. He would love to see Lena this happy all the time. 

Maybe that's why after the meal, he invites you to come over for some dessert. You should decline but then Lena practically begs you to and how are you supposed to say no to such a cute kid? 

So, that's how you end up in Pope's beachside house. You help tuck Lena into bed and then Pope asks you if you'd like a drink. 

“I should get back to my car.” You left it at the parking lot of the restaurant since Pope told you he'd drive you back to get it. 

As much as he wants you to stay, he decides it would be better not to ruin his chances with you by being himself right out of the gate. He has to suppress his desire to be possessive of you, to demand you stay with him. 

But it leaks out when you tell him good night and he leans in to kiss you. Because he just had to know what your lips felt like. 

And what kind of adorable face you'd make when he did kiss you. 

You're so flustered by the sudden kiss. You've only been kissed a few times in your life but none of them were as out of the blue as this. 

So when Pope cups your face with his hand and leans in to kiss you again, you're surprised how easily you kiss him back. 

“Can I see you again soon?” His words are warm against your lips. 

“Okay.” You say back super shyly with a nod.

So cute. Pope loves everything about you. 

You both exchange numbers before you head out of his truck, your face so hot to the touch from the memory of his lips on yours. 

You'll be thinking about him kissing you for a while. 

Like how Pope thinks about kissing you while he has his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off to the thought of you moaning against his lips while he fucks you. 

He has to know what you sound like in bed. 

He just has to. 

And his patience is getting thoroughly tested because you're always too busy to stay the night.

You work a lot. More than a pretty girl like you should. Pope could take care of you. He has plenty of money from doing jobs to help you with any bills you have. 

It makes you nervous that it's obvious your new boyfriend wants you to spend more time with him but you can't find the courage to tell Pope that you're inexperienced and scared that you'll end up ruining everything when you don't know what you're doing. 

You can barely kiss him without feeling embarrassed by how much you like it…

“Don't go.” Pope tells you while he has his lips on your neck, kissing a trail up to your cheek, making your skin hotter than it should be.

It doesn't help that you're sitting on his lap on his living room couch. He's been pulling you onto his lap recently, since you got a little too flustered the last time he got on top of you while the two of you were making out. You seem less apprehensive about being on his lap.

Though, the feeling of how hard he is rubbing up against you is causing the butterflies in your stomach to dance around like crazy…

“I have to work tomorrow.” You have the night shift but still, you like to get enough sleep and decompress before the shift starts. 

“Sleep here tonight." Pope wants to spend more than just these little moments with you after Lena goes to sleep. “Please.” 

“Andrew…” You want to so badly but… 

Pope pulls you in for another kiss that has you melting into his grasp. He will convince you to stay tonight. You have to.

He wants to touch you, more than just like this, with his hands roaming over your clothes. He needs to touch your bare skin against his. He just needs—

“Dad?” Lena's voice has you scrambling off of Pope's lap. You sit down beside him, covering your mouth, hoping his kid didn't just catch you on top of her dad. 

Pope clears his throat, wiping his mouth of the lip balm you wear that he likes the flavor of, before asking, “everything alright, Lena?” 

“My lamp won't turn on.” She makes it known just how dark it is in here. 

That's strange.

It looks like the power went out, not just here but the whole strip of the beach. Neither of you had noticed since you and Pope have been kissing in the dark. Which is nothing new, since the two of you have been trying not to get caught by Lena so the darkness aids with that. 

“Shit.” Pope curses under his breath because he knows Lena doesn't sleep well without her favorite lamp on.

You know about the lamp. She loves that lamp because the colored tiles of the lampshade light her room up with pinks and reds alongside the usual warm ambient light. It's hard for her to sleep without it. The variety of color comforts her. 

So, you know you're going to regret this but… 

“Why don't you two come over to my place?” You offer, talking softly to Lena. “I doubt I'm out of power. We can bring your lamp. I've got a spare room you can sleep in and your daddy can take you to school from there tomorrow." 

Pope is surprised that you would do that for them. But he shouldn't be surprised. You seem very open to anything if it helps Lena. 

As if he couldn't love you more, you give him reasons to want you desperately. 

So, the first time you have Pope and Lena over to your place is also the first time you'll be spending the night with Pope. 

You have a rather modest apartment. Central Oceanside, easy access to work. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a cozy set up. A little messy but Pope can take care of that in the morning for you. 

Lena is fast asleep the moment you plug in her lamp beside the guest bed and shut the door. Which leaves you alone with Pope. 

And the awkward situation of whether or not you're going to let him sleep in your bed.

Thank goodness you washed your sheets yesterday…and that your apartment isn't a total mess. Pope keeps his place spotless so you feel a little embarrassed seeing your work clothes sprawling about. 

“I like your apartment.” His words ease you a bit. 

“You must be tired.” It's late… 

Pope walks up to you, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you towards him. He adores that bashful expression you make when your body presses against his. 

His voice lowers as he whispers, “I'm not tired. There's something else I want to do before bed.” 

You bite at your lip, feeling so flustered by the implication of his words. 

“Andrew, I…” You have to let him know about your inexperience. He deserves to know, to gauge for himself if he wants you despite it. 

Pope doesn't like the nervous look in your eyes. Do you not want to sleep with him? 

It would break his heart if you didn't but that doesn't seem to be the case. You're still clinging to him, your body shaking from your nerves. 

It all makes sense when you tell him, “I-I've never done this before.” 

He blinks at you, confused. Because is that the truth?

You are younger than him but he can't believe no one has ever touched you before. 

Is he really your first? 

He'll have to be your last, then. 

That much he'll make sure of now. 

By making you incredibly comfortable with him. “Then we'll take it slow. But don't push me away, please.” 

“You would do that for me?” You don't want to be a burden. “I'm sorry, it might take me a while to—”

Pope quiets your anxious thoughts with his lips on yours, kissing you with so much affection before whispering, “I'd wait as long as you need me to.” 

He hopes it isn't too long but he will wait. 

But only if he gets to make progress in the meantime. No more stalling. He wants to push forward. 

And you let him, “then I'd like to sleep next to you tonight.” 

“Is that all you'd like?” His hands slide down to grip your hips. “Can I touch you a little more?” 

“Oh god…” Your face heats up immediately and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. “W-What about Lena? She's right next door.” 

“You don't think you can keep quiet?” Pope teases you a little and he holds back a chuckle at how shocked you look from his words. 

“I-I've never—” Your words catch in your throat when Pope leans forward and kisses you on the temple. 

“I'm fucking with you.” He definitely can't do anything with you tonight. You need some time to adjust to the idea first. “Let's just sleep tonight. Can I at least hold you?” 

You nod. You wouldn't mind cuddling with Pope. It makes you nervous but you'd like that a lot. You've hugged him plenty of times and snuggled with him on the couch with his arm around your shoulder. 

It's just like that but laying down in bed, right? 

It's nothing like that. 

It has your heart wanting to burst out of your chest when you lay down and Pope pulls you against his chest, spooning you, his large arms wrapped so gently around your body, tucking you into him. You feel his warm breath tickling your ear and you bite your lip, trying not to react to how tingly it feels. 

“Is this too much?” He asks, already going crazy because your sheets smell like you. 

He wants to sleep here permanently… 

“It's okay.” You try to calm yourself down but it doesn't help that you can feel how big he is compared to you. 

It reminds you of all the times the two of you would kiss and then Pope would find his way on top of you, pinning you down with his firm body, making you imagine things you've been scared to indulge in. 

Only this time, he's behind you, holding you tightly against him as his hands glide along the fabric of your sleepwear. 

“I won't touch you directly.” He says right into your ear. “But can I do this?” 

His hands slide up to your breasts, cupping them. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, suppressing the noise your body wants to make when his thumbs roll over your nipples from over your shirt. 

Your head is swimming now…growing dizzier from his touch. 

“Andrew, wait.” You stop him, grabbing a hold of his wrist. He stops, even though he really doesn't want to…

“Sorry.” Pope knows he got greedy. 

“It's okay.” You reassure him that you don't mind. “But…I'm nervous.” 

“About?” That intrigues him. 

“What if it…feels too good and I…” You bury your face in your hands, wanting to scream. “Never mind, never mind, just ignore me—” 

You yelp a little when you feel his hard cock pressing up against your back, becoming much more aware of his sheer size compared to when you were on his lap. 

Oh, he's…really big. 

How is that supposed to fit inside of you? 

Now you're nervous about something else entirely…like why your mind went straight to the thought of Pope burying his huge cock inside of you…

“You should ignore me.” He tells you, not wanting you to feel any type of way about how aroused he is by your words. “Just let me make you feel good.” 

Your breath hitches when his hand slips under your shirt, cupping your bare breast this time. You don't normally wear a bra to sleep. Maybe you should've.

But then you wouldn't get to feel his calloused fingers playing with your nipples. 

“Oh my god…” You're squirming a little at the way he's rolling your hard nipple between his fingers. 

“Good or bad?” His voice is so low and intoxicating in your ear. 

“Good.” You stuff your face into your pillow then, letting out a tiny little scream that has Pope chuckling into your shoulder. 

“I can make you feel really good.” Pope's other hand slips past the waistband of your pants, his fingers grazing the top of your underwear. “If you let me.” 

You chew on your lip. You should say no. You should go to sleep… 

But you cave and tell him, “be gentle.” 

And now Pope wants to eat you up. 

He can't right now. It's obvious you're shy about letting him see your body, so he'll make do with touching you under your clothes. 

“Fuck.” He lets out that single word when his hand slips into your underwear and he feels how slick you are on his fingers. 

“I-I'm sorry.” You say in a light panic. “I-I don't usually get this wet—”

“Please stop talking.” He can barely hold himself back as is.

If you keep telling him things like that, Pope won't be able to stop himself from pinning you down and just fucking you until you're dripping with his cum. 

“I'm sorry.” You let out meekly, worried you've upset him. 

“No, I'm sorry.” He dips his fingers into your slick, groaning at how easily you coat his fingertips. “I feel like I could cum just from how wet you are for me.” 

“W-What?” You were not expecting him to say that. 

“You have no idea how much I've wanted to touch you.” He's not hiding it anymore, his fingers making their way up to your clit. He starts playing with it as he tells you, “I've needed this, needed you.”

Pope slides his other hand away from your breasts so he can wrap it around his cock, jerking himself off to him touching your clit. And to the little whimpers you're making from how good it feels to be touched by him and knowing how much he wants you. 

“Andrew, wait.” You grab at his arm because you're getting too close. “I'm going to cum if you don't stop…”

He growls into your shoulder blade, stilling his movements entirely. “Are you seriously going to make me stop when I'm so close?” 

You swallow at that. Is he really going to cum just from touching you? 

Does he like you that much? 

He must because he's never had so much willpower in his life. 

Pope can't ruin this, even if his whole body is tight with tension from stopping himself from bullying your clit until you're crying for him to stop. 

“J-Just give me a minute.” You then take a moment to breathe in deep, trying to mentally prepare yourself. 

It is a vulnerable thing to cum in front of someone. You've never done it before. Pope has but not really out of desire like this, though. 

You find the courage to ask him, “can we kiss while we cum together?” 

It's like you've awakened something inside of him because Pope is practically dry heaving against you. 

“You're too fucking cute.” He huffs into the nape of your neck. “I don't know how to be normal about you.” 

You think that's a good thing. It has to be, since he immediately sits up and lugs your body towards him until you're straddling his lap. 

“You don't have to look.” Pope pulls his cock out so he can stroke it easier. “But if you could help me out.”  

He puts his hand in front of you and you stare at his palm, wondering what he wants.

“Lick my hand for me.” He instructs, since it seems you need to be led.

Oh. You feel hot all over now… 

You swallow your nerves and lean forward, dragging your tongue along his hand until it's nice and wet. Then, when he wraps it around his cock and starts stroking it, the erotic sounds have your heart racing.

He groans with such need as he asks, “can I touch your pussy again?” 

You nod and he slips his other hand into your pants, sliding back to grab some of your slick before dragging his fingertips to your clit again. You brace yourself with your hands on his shoulder then bury your face into his neck, moaning against his skin, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably. 

“Fuck.” He grunts when he feels how swollen your clit has gotten for him. “I want to taste you so bad.” 

You definitely are not ready for that but the thought that he wants to has more slick building up between your legs. 

“Does it feel good?” He asks you, nudging you so you lift your face to look at him. “Tell me what you like. Just nod when it feels right.” 

Pope follows your cue, rubbing your clit perfectly at the same pace as him stroking his cock and you find yourself leaning in to kiss him, burying your hands in his hair, gasping against his lips when it starts to feel more incredible than before. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” He asks against your lips, not letting you answer because he keeps kissing you, stealing your breath away. 

But when you're right at the edge, you repeat the word “yes” between every kiss until you finally cum, your whole body shaking in response. And it only shakes more when Pope immediately dips his finger inside of you, filling you up. 

“Andrew—!” You gasp out his name when he curls his finger, looking for where to touch you to make you do that again. He wants to hear you say his name when you cum again. 

“One more time.” He urges you, groaning against your lips as he grips his cock tighter. “Cum for me again.” 

You do, the orgasm washing over you, your pussy clenching around his finger the way he wishes it was around his cock. He cums hard, coating his hand in his release. 

Every heavy breath he makes, you can taste it. You wonder what his cum tastes like.

What has Pope done to you? Your desires for him are growing by the minute… 

“Let me wash my hands.” He goes to move you off his lap but you won't budge. 

“Can I…” You look down for the first time, at his hand wrapped around his softening cock. It's still huge, despite having just came. “I—sorry, I don't know—”

Pope lifts his hand up towards you, showing you how the back of it is coated in his release. “Do you want to try it?” 

You nod shyly before leaning forward so you can taste him. Pope can feel his cock twitching back to life already at the sight of you lapping up his cum. 

Now he has to taste you. 

“Can I make you cum again?” He asks you when you're done cleaning his hand. 

“W-Why?” You came twice already. That seems like plenty… 

“I didn't get a chance to taste you yet.” 

“Oh…” You're even more shy now, your words coming out in little nervous mumbles, “I-I just don't know if I-I'm clean enough, I wouldn't want you to—”

“I'll just use my fingers again.” He tries to ease your nerves. “I won't go down on you tonight. But I want to. I really want to.” 

You like how vocal Pope is about what he likes. It quells the anxiety you feel at times about your relationship with him. You know he likes you but you had worried for a bit that you might have liked him a little more than he liked you. 

You're learning right now that is not the case. 

Pope likes you so much that the moment he makes you cum again from burying two fingers deep inside of you, he can't stop himself from wanting to do it again. 

“Andrew, please.” Your lower body is tingling too much from the way his fingers are curling inside of you. “I'm going to cum again if you keep—” 

“I need you to squirt for me and then I'll stop.” He can tell you've been holding back. 

“What? I-I've never—” You wriggle when he adds another finger, stretching you out even more than he did before. “Oh god, I can't—”

He can feel you tensing up so he starts thrusting his fingers rougher until you're unable to contain yourself anymore, the tension bursting completely. Pope smiles when he feels how much you've soaked his hand and likes how you're hiding your face in your hands, so embarrassed that you squirted for the first time. 

That's why he has to make you do it again. Then he'll let you sleep. 

“Please, Andrew!” You push at his arm, trying to get him to stop but he keeps fucking you with his fingers until you're squirting all over his hand and your mind has gone blank from the sudden rush of pleasure.

You grow even dizzier at the sight of him licking his hand clean, humming from how good you taste to him. 

“I want to do that again.” He tells you and you shake your head at him, making him chuckle. “I won't anymore tonight. I have to let you sleep.” 

Pope helps you to your bathroom so you can clean up all the slick that has built between your legs. If he had his way, he would've cleaned you up with his tongue but he'll shelve that for when you're ready to show him your body. A body he will surely worship the moment he gets to see it. 

But for now, Pope will enjoy holding your warm body against his while the two of you sleep. 

Something that becomes more frequent. 

You let Pope and Lena sleep over every now and then, whenever Lena wants to. The three of you have movie nights at your place. You sleep over at Pope's house when the three of you have family dinner night at the restaurant after your shift. 

They really are your family. You spend so much time with them that people tell you what a cute kid you have. And you've stopped correcting them…

Because you love Lena like she is your child. 

Pope loves how much you take such good care of Lena, always keeping her entertained, always being so beautifully kind to his kid. 

He loves you so much. 

“Can we get ice cream?” She asks the two of you when you're done with dinner tonight. 

“Only if your daddy says so.” You pat her gently on the head with your free hand, since she has your other hand held firmly in hers. 

Pope is going to pretend like hearing you call him “daddy” so casually doesn't make him want to fuck a baby into you. 

He manages to calmly say, “only if you promise to study for your test when you get home.” 

Lena nods happily, agreeing to those terms. 

The three of you get ice cream and hang out at the beach for a bit before going home. 

Home. You have so much of your stuff at Pope's house and he has so much of his stuff at yours. Same with Lena's things. 

“Do you want to move in?” Pope asks you once he's tucked Lena in for the night. 

You're unsure. You've only been seeing Pope for a few months. Isn't this a little too soon?

Pope feels like it's been too long. He still hasn't fucked you yet…

It's taking everything in him not to rush things but he wants to see you as often as he can and you moving in would allow for that. 

“I-I do but…” You don't know if it's a good idea. 

You'll start falling in love with Pope more than you already are if you live with him and see how wonderful he can be to you all the time…

“But what?” He pulls you into his arms, giving you a warm hug. “Talk to me.” 

You hug him back, sinking into the comfort of him, which gives you the strength to admit, “but I'm scared, Andrew. That I like you too much…” 

You cling into him tighter after you tell him that, nervous that he'll find you overbearing and wanting to put some distance between the two of you. 

“I love you.” Pope just says out right. 

You look up at him, your eyes wide with shock. “What did you say?” 

“I said I love you.” He leans down to kiss you, smiling when you're too stunned to kiss him back. “You're so cute. It's hard not to love you.” 

“Andrew…” Your heart is hammering so loud in your chest that you almost can't hear yourself tell him, “I love you too.” 

“Then, will you move in with me so we can be a family?” He asks, since he'd like that a lot. 

“Okay.” You say with a bashful grin and a firm nod. 

Then, Pope leans forward, whispering in your ear, “Lena has a sleepover tomorrow.” 

You know what that means and your whole body quivers with anticipation. It means you and Pope don't have to be quiet. 

Which means he's definitely going to fuck you tomorrow… 

You grip onto his shirt, your hands trembling a little. “I'm a little…”

“It's okay to be nervous.” Pope rubs your back gently. “There's no pressure. We can just do what we've been doing when we're alone.” 

“Oh god…” You bury your face in his chest. “You almost killed me last time.” 

“No, I didn't.” He says with a light laugh. 

“I came like twenty times or something crazy like that.” You grumble, remembering how obsessed Pope was with making you cum since the two of you had the house to yourselves for a night. 

“And you liked it.” He smirks and you pout at him. “Come on, you love it when daddy touches you.” 

You scream into his chest, drawing a laugh from deep in his belly. He loves messing with you and he's noticed you get so flustered when he calls himself “daddy” around you. 

At least you both are even in that sense. You have no idea how much it riles him up when you call him that unintentionally. 

“I do love it.” You say shyly, muffling your words a little. “I love you a lot, Andrew.” 

Okay, maybe Pope can't wait until tomorrow. 

He drags you into his bedroom, locking the door, before grabbing you by your face and kissing you, pressing you up against the door with his body. 

“I need you out of these clothes.” He looks at you still in your paramedic uniform since you just had dinner with them after your shift. 

“I should shower…” You've been out for more than twelve hours. 

“Then shower with me.” Pope tugs his shirt off without an ounce of hesitation.

He has seen you naked plenty of times now but he loves how shy you seem about it every time. 

Though, maybe you're shy because every time you see him naked, you have to remind yourself that this is your boyfriend and that every inch of that body is technically all yours…

“I might pass out.” You warn because you're sure the combination of steam and the heat rushing through you as you strip out of your work clothes in front of him will lead to you getting dizzy like always.

“Please don't. You're the paramedic in the relationship. I'm just a property manager who needs to take a CPR class…” He makes a lousy joke that has you giggling beautifully. “I really love you.” 

You feel extra shy that he says that right as you pull off the last piece of clothing from your body. 

“Come here.” He puts his hand out and you take it, letting him lead you into his bathroom. 

You've never showered with Pope before but you should've guessed he wasn't going to keep his hands off of you. Or his lips, which are plastered to yours the moment the two of you are under the shower head. 

He has you pinned to the shower wall now, holding you there as the water goes from cold to warm against his back, his body shielding you until the temperature is right. 

“I love your body.” His lips trail down from your lips to your shoulders. “Every inch of it.” 

“Let me get clean first, Andrew.” You don't want him kissing you all over while you still have the grime of work on you. 

“You're clean enough to me.” He'd eat you out right here if you let him. But he knows you won't. You're still acting shy around him. He'll help break you out of your shell slowly but surely. 

“Let's wash up.” You tell him before whispering in his ear, “and then I'll let you do whatever you want with me.” 

Pope has never showered so fucking fast in his life. You find it almost too adorable how quickly he finishes his shower before helping you so you don't take too long either, washing your hair for you while you scrub your body clean. 

Then, when your hair is all dry and you feel nice and clean, Pope practically tosses you down onto his bed and his face is between your legs in an instant. 

“Oh god, Andrew, you can't—” He can't be this eager when Lena is sleeping next door! 

He knows you're bad at holding in your voice… 

“Then scream into your pillow.” He has you face down with your ass up in a second and his tongue is on you again immediately, ravishing you like an animal. “Fuck, this is amazing, you're so wet, you taste so good, I'm going to fucking cum just eating your pussy.” 

You can hear him stroking his cock after he gathers some of your slick in his hand to use. You moan into the pillow when his tongue dips into you, the tip of it flicking at your entrance, teasing you, making you wish he would just push it inside of you fully already. His free hand moves between your legs to play with your clit and he groans when you cum on his face from the sudden dual stimulation. 

“Good girl.” He praises you for cumming. “Making your daddy proud.” 

“Andrew—!” You muffle another scream when his tongue slips inside of you and he starts fucking you with it, sliding it in and out, enjoying how slick you're growing from how good it feels.

“I want to cum on your pussy.” Pope is already close, his hand death gripping his cock, so turned on just knowing you love him. “Can I?” 

“Okay.” You don't mind since he'll clean it up before it gets into you. 

At least, that's what you thought was going to happen.

But the moment Pope cums all over your pussy, his fingers quickly push it into you, drawing out a gasp from your lips. 

“Wait, Andrew—” You bite down on your pillow as he starts fucking you with his fingers, the pace much rougher, unlike anything he's done before.

You squirt so hard that you can feel it dripping down your thighs. Your whole body is shaking from how intense your orgasm is shooting through you, the pleasure completely overloading all of your senses.

And it doesn't stop. And you can't scream for him to stop because you'll wake Lena. 

So you just take his brutal fingerfucking until you're cumming nonstop, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your toes curling, your body reeling from the constant pleasure hitting you. 

“You can definitely take me now.” Pope tells you, finally pulling his fingers free from your tight pussy. 

His cock is nice and hard again. It would be impossible not to be hard at the sight of you cumming your brains out on his fingers. 

You're still so dazed that you don't even register what he's doing until he lines his cock up with your entrance. 

When you feel the tip of him pushing into you, it's like you sober up. “W-Wait, Andrew, we can't, we don't have a condom—”

“I'm not fucking you with a condom.” Pope sinks the tip of his cock inside of you, slipping past your tight entrance, groaning when he feels your pussy around him. “I love you. You love me. We're making love. I want to get you pregnant, my love.” 

You can't even think straight. Every word out of his mouth is crossing all the wires in your brain. It's like you're short-circuiting… 

The pressure of his cock prying you apart is what keeps you locked in the moment, in the feeling of him burying himself inside of you inch by inch. 

It would be a lie if you said it wasn't amazing. 

You've never felt so full before. So utterly fulfilled before. Like this was what you have been waiting for all this time. 

“You're doing so good.” Pope rubs your back gently. “I'm almost halfway in.” 

You're unsure if you heard him right because you already feel completely full. How is there more of him to take? There's no way your body can—

Pope starts thrusting more and more of his cock into you and you cum just from the act of getting split open. Your pussy clenches around him perfectly the moment he hilts inside of you. 

“Breathe, my love.” He coaxes you into relaxing, into allowing your pussy to get used to the shape and size of him. “You swallowed me up so well. Let's see if you can do it again.” 

His words are not enough warning for him to pull out of you completely and lay you down on your back before shoving his cock back inside of you all of a sudden. 

This time, you're looking right into his eyes as you cum on his cock again. “Good girl, cumming so hard for her daddy.” 

“Andrew, let me…I need a second…” You're gasping for air, trying to find where your mind went in the pleasure-filled haze. 

It has disappeared completely, because all you want now is for Pope to fuck you. 

Especially when he starts gently kneading your lower belly, massaging you right above your womb where his cock is pushing up against. 

“Let's give Lena a sibling to play with.” Pope tells you, rubbing your soft stomach. “One that looks like you, my beautiful love.” 

You're too far gone now. 

You reach up, grabbing a hold of Pope's face and bringing him down to kiss you. You roll your hips against his, driving his cock deeper into you, wanting him to fuck you while you kiss him. Pope happily listens, thrusting his cock into you at a pace that has you moaning against his lips.

He keeps you quiet by tangling his tongue with yours, taking up space in your mouth, kissing you while he fucks you. His hands slide up to your chest, grabbing at your nipples, playing with them as another orgasm ripples through you from all the sensations happening at the same time. 

You're in heaven. You've never felt so good before. 

“I love you, Andrew.” You breathe out, all airy and full of affection. 

“I love you too.” He says back with a smile. “You are so perfect for me.” 

Just as it was meant to be. 

You stay clinging onto Pope, his lips on yours as he pounds his cock into you until you feel his warm release filling you up for the first time. It's an incredible feeling. 

One that you hope to feel all the time. 

You can't keep your desires at bay anymore… 

The moment you get home from your shift the next day, Pope is in your apartment and has you pinned to your door, kissing you furiously. You're already stripping off your clothes, tugging at his clothes, wanting him to fuck you like he has been desperately yearning for all day after last night. 

“Let me fuck you right here.” He growls against your lips, sending shivers down your spine with his words, “so your neighbors can hear how good your daddy can make you feel.” 

You're terrible at holding your voice in because you moan his name so loudly when he drops to his knees and starts eating you out right then and there. Your hand is in his hair, pulling at his soft curls. You're grinding your pussy against his face as his tongue eagerly dips in and out of you, reveling in your taste. 

“Andrew, I'm going to cum, I'm going to—” You bite down on your lip to stop yourself from waking your neighbors when he sucks your clit and draws out your first orgasm of the night. 

“Don't stop now.” Pope plays with your clit in his mouth, coaxing you back to the edge of another orgasm. “Cum all over my face, my love.” 

You can't stop yourself from listening to him, your body shaking from the pleasure he's pulling out of you. You whimper when he shoves two fingers into you, spreading your pussy wide open so his tongue has space to slip in with them. 

It's all too much—

You cum so hard that you see stars speckling your vision. Your knees are so wobbly that you can barely keep yourself up. 

“The night just started and you're already going to pass out?” Pope chuckles at your dazed expression. “Come on, let's get in the bath.” 

He had prepped a bath for you to come home. The water is a little colder than he'd like but he hadn't planned on eating you out at your front door. Next time, he'll put that into consideration with his timing. 

You don't mind the lukewarm water, though. 

Because your skin is on fire. 

Pope allows you no reprieve, his fingers lazily rubbing your clit while the two of you bathe together. 

“Andrew, please, I need to wash up…” You arch your back against his chest, your body close to convulsing from the orgasm he's building you towards. “I can't cum again, just give me a break, please.” 

“Cum one more time.” He nips at your earlobe, his words hot against your sensitive flesh. “Then daddy will let you bathe.” 

You should've known when he told you to cum, it would mean cumming hard for him. 

Because his fingers thrust into you and you're fucking screaming from how they refuse to stop moving even after you've cum. 

“Andrew!” You shout his name out of desperation, needing him to stop torturing you with his fingers but he won't. 

He just curls them deeper, teasing your womb, groaning when your pussy clenches around his fingers, milking them like they're his cock. 

It should be his cock inside of you. 

Fuck it, it will be. 

Pope picks you up out of the bath. You're clean enough. He doesn't care to wait anymore. 

You're thrown down onto your bed and he climbs on top of you, lining his cock up. You wouldn't be able to stop him if you tried. 

He sinks every fucking inch inside of you until your body can't stop shaking from how good it feels to have the love of your life buried so deep inside of you. 

“Say you love it when your daddy's cock kisses your womb.” He rolls his hips, pushing the tip of his cock right at the entrance to your womb, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head from the rush of pleasure. 

“I love it—” You can't barely speak the rest of the words because he keeps pounding the tip of his cock over and over again at that spot until you're squirting all over him. 

“You really love it, don't you?” Pope rests his hand where your clit is. “Let's hear you scream my name.” 

He starts rubbing your clit at the same harsh pace as he thrusts inside of you and you fucking burst. It's like an avalanche. Each orgasm is followed by another, each building in intensity, each causing your head to go stupid. 

All you can think about is cumming. 

Pope loves the sounds you make when you let go, when you allow yourself to just feel good and not care about anything else but the way he's forcing your body to feel. 

“Tell daddy what you want.” Pope pinches your clit, drawing a moan from your lips. “Come on, my love. Say it.” 

“I want your cum.” You finally admit it. “I want my daddy to put a baby in me.” 

“Yeah?” He's going to go fucking crazy now. “Is that really what you want?” 

You nod then beg, “please, I need it now, Andrew.” 

Pope has never cum that hard in his life. He fills your womb so completely that some of his cum leaks out of you even though his cock is just resting inside of you. He likes the way you're spasming beneath him, cumming uncontrollably from the feeling of his cum inside of you. 

It makes him want to do insane things. 

Like when he slips his cock out of you and replaces it with his fingers, only to bury his face between your legs too. 

You're gasping for air the moment his lips seal around your clit and his fingers start fucking his cum deeper into your pussy. You can't even tell him to stop. You're not able to form words. 

You're just a moaning mess, the sounds leaving your lips surely worthy of a noise complaint. 

But it's okay. 

You're moving in with Pope soon. You won't need this apartment anymore. 

So who cares if your neighbors know your daddy is making you cum your brains out right now? 

“Let me see it.” He has his eyes glued to your pussy, to his fingers bully your insides, forcing you closer and closer to another unbelievable orgasm. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum.” 

You cry out his name when you squirt all over his fingers, your orgasm blinding you, your vision going fuzzy, your cum mixing with his as it spills out of you.

Pope flips you onto your stomach in your daze and you're immediately shoved into your mattress by his cock roughly thrusting into your still squirting pussy. You've surely soaked your sheets now because every thrust has you drenching your thighs with your release. 

“I can't, I can't—” You can't possibly cum anymore. 

You'll go crazy if you do. You'll never want this to end if you do. 

That's the goal for Pope. 

To make you dependent on him for pleasure. To have you crave what only he can give you. 

“Hush, my love.” He says sweetly as he rubs your back, lulling you into a sense of comfort. “I'll show you what your limits are.” 

Your limits being getting fucked all night long until you're dripping between your legs, spilling his cum out of you with every slight motion you make, your mind and body wrecked with endless amounts of pleasure. 

You wake up to Pope kissing every inch of your body. You feel surprisingly clean. 

Did he bathe you in your sleep? He must've. You were so tired after getting wrung out. You can barely remember anything that happened after he snuggled you so lovingly after fucking you so roughly. 

“Glad you're not working for a few days.” Pope is hoping you'll get pregnant soon so you won't have to work much at all. 

“I don't think I'd be able to work if I was scheduled.” Your legs feel like actual jelly… 

“I'm sorry, my love.” He comes back up to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest. “I got carried away, didn't I?” 

You lean into his chest, breathing in the smell of him that you enjoy so much, then let out a little sigh. “It's okay. I…liked it.” 

Pope might as well ask you to marry him right now. 

He hasn't gotten a ring yet, though. He'd want to do it properly if he did. 

He'd want to ask Lena just to be sure she's ready for you to become her new mother. 

She is. Of course she is. 

Lena loves you. Almost as much as Pope does. 

“I like seeing you happy, dad.” Lena leans her shoulder against his arm, her small hand held in his. 

“Would she make a good mom for you?” Pope asks again just to be sure. 

She nods, smiling all big and cute at him. “And now you guys can finally kiss!” 

He bites back a laugh. 

Little does she know, the two of you have done much more than that already… 

a/n: okay so like you know this could've been way more wild but then I just felt so mushy…and I wanted to write happy!pope so there he is. he’s a girl dad who loves you sm. gosh I could just drown in how cute he is with lena! 

Cycling through the Folsom database, you chose Andrew on a whim, in between puffs of a joint. His mugshot was interesting. He looked angry— who wouldn’t be—, but there was a subtle sadness behind his eyes that you could catch through the black and white grain. You even joked to your friend how cute he was, that he had guard dog face. 

You decided to handwrite it, thinking it would be the least effort you could put in what might be the worst written letter of your life. You wrote the usual “Stay Strong” spiel every example letter you found on the internet started with. 

Throughout the letter, you found yourself trailing off, telling him meaningless information— the weather outside, what songs you listened to sounded like. You tried asking about himself without being too insistent or nosy, though you weren’t even sure if you’d hear back. 

Finishing the letter unsurely, you attempted a friendly goodbye, trying not to seem like you looked down on him or pitied him in any way. 

Respectfully, Yours

You didn’t expect to hear back. 

Two weeks or so passed and an envelope from Folsom found its way into your mailbox. Having forgotten about the letter due to your event-heavy week, the government-style envelope scared you. Sure, you skipped Jury Duty once to go Cabo on Spring Break, but that didn’t warrant a direct summons from jail.

With the furrow of your eyebrows, you tore open the envelope and realized it was from Andrew. His handwriting was neat and meticulous, not messy and boyish like you thought it would be. The weight of the graphite, though, was heavy and strong, like it had been yelling at you.

Thanking you for the letter, he said he was surprised to hear from a stranger. He told you about his family, his mom and brothers, without any explicit details. You mentioned the beach and sunshine in your letter, and Andrew mentioned salt air in his, dropping that he’d grown up in Oceanside.

His letter was quite brief, sentences cut short and proper specificity thrown out the window. He didn’t say much about his conditions but he did end the letter with a

I hope to hear from you again soon. I don’t get many letters.

His slight vulnerability hit your heart with a pang. The honesty from him seemed like he really did need someone to talk to. You could’ve mistaken it as classic sympathy, but something tied you to him.

So, you wrote again, not as an assignment but just for you. Maybe you were lonely too, but a little letter could do no harm.

You told him how the initial letter was for a class, apologizing for formalities. You gave a neutral comment on his family, sharing about yours too. 

Andrew? Isn’t that too formal? Andrew. I feel like I’m scolding you just writing it. Is Andy okay? I hope it is. I won’t use it if it isn’t.

Although he basically had your home address, you shared that you also lived in San Diego, attending the public university. You told him about your classes, your favourite simple things in life. He seemed to enjoy it when you described your scenery to him, so you did. 

Writing back, he said he didn’t mind if you called him Andy. He said that no one really called him that, that his nickname back home was “Pope”— without an explanation. He shared that he didn’t finish high school, again, without an explanation, and said that you must be smart.

The letters flowed, maybe once or twice a month. Check-ins, details about your friends, things Andrew missed about the outside world, postcards, printed photos of the city, doodles of Rottweilers and Pitbulls in the margins (from you). 

You even threw in a photo your friend took of you on Crystal Pier. Wide smile, eyes squinting, skin glowing, and the waves rushing down below. Quickly and dismissively, Andrew had slipped that he thought you were beautiful, which made you blush. (Strangely, this was the most action you were getting lately.) 

Though he didn’t say, he pinned that photo of you up in his cell, and threatened anyone that commented or looked too close. He called you my girl, letting everyone interpret it as they would.

Eventually, it became a weekly thing.

Something about your gel pens scratching across the paper felt romantic to you. You felt like you were waiting for your husband to come back from war. Only, that wasn’t the case. On the off-chance you mentioned it, your friends never failed to remind you that you were writing to a dangerous man in his 30s that was locked up. It only thrilled you more.

Then, you started venting to him, telling him things you had a hard time saying aloud. Letters got deep, talking about your mental state and how you felt isolated. How much you loved San Diego, but was homesick half the time. How you craved proper human connection past fleeting moments at parties or networking around campus.

Andrew answered without judgement. He didn’t have much advice to give, but nonetheless offered his listening ears, or eyes. You never asked, but he told you about the bank robbery, how long they’d keep him in. Again, no details, you figured it was for safety. He told you about jail, the food, the walls, the boring days— nothing that mattered. He said he doesn’t get many visitors and how that made him feel even more lonely.

You shared how you wished you could visit, and you meant it. 

You were acting like one of Andrew’s friends, and not some stranger that wrote to him for a school project. You wished him a happy birthday, as he did you. Although small, you continued sending photocards, ticket stubs to movies you saw, sometimes a lipstick stain if you were feeling cheeky. You grew so attached, yet you didn’t even know him.

One month in particular was rough. Having all your midterms condensed into two weeks drove you insane. You spent most of your time at the library, then holed up in your room if not. All your time went to studying, working, then exhaustion. 

After your last midterm, your friends had mentioned Wine Wednesday and you jumped on the opportunity to go outside, only on principle.

The night was rough. Your friends had met some other people they knew at the party, and you trailed along like a beaten down horse. It was nice meeting new people, but you didn’t get comfortable. You got tipsy, though in a way that was no longer fun. When your adrenaline crashed, you decided it was time to take yourself home.

Missing your bed, you quietly toed into your apartment, locking the door behind. You thanked the gods that your roommates were on their own planets and far from your orbit. You just needed one cigarette, then to collapse and leave everything to the morning.

In your room, you reached for your light switch as you placed your keys on your table. You were mentally drafting how you’d change into your pyjamas, then head to the balcony. 

As you looked up, you saw that the articles of clothing that you had thrown around in search of an outfit hours prior were neatly folded on the bed. In fact, your room was about 50% less messy than you left it. A man had been sitting on the foot of your bed, perfect posture, dark clothes, and watching you.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You flinched as soon as you realized. Your eyebrows furrowed, more angrily than scared this time. You figured it must be a guest of your roommates, they were always bringing interesting characters over. You peered back into the common room, like you missed something, then dipped your head back to look at him. “Who the fuck—“

“You didn’t write last week.” His voice was simple yet gruff as he spoke, standing from his position. He didn’t come towards you and his arms remained at his sides, hands empty and unthreatening.

“What?” You decided you were too tired for this bullshit, sometime in between your breaths. It took you a second, but you squinted your eyes at him when you realized, “Andrew? What the hell are you doing here?”

His name on your tongue struck him harder than he thought it would. He’d lie awake some nights, attempting to give a tone and pitch to you. Were you sweet? Did you have a harsher voice? Or maybe you were loud and obnoxious (he didn’t like this one much, but decided he could live with it). He replayed what he thought your voice sounded like a billion times in his head, but it never matched up to the real thing, to this. 

Andrew would read your letters to himself as if you were reading them aloud to him. Your writing led him to believe you didn’t sound dumb or obnoxious, maybe expressive, maybe relaxed at times. He never really settled on one thing, as your syntax changed day-to-day when he imagined you. What mattered wasn’t the persona he placed you in, just that it was you. 

“You didn’t write last week.” He repeated. 

You placed him side-by-side to his mugshot in your head. His hair was now short, untamed, choppy. His puppy dog eyes looked sweeter in person, even though there seemed to be heat behind them. The crease between his eyebrows was his most distinct tell to you, as was the flat line of his mouth that bordered on upset. He had a dimple on his left cheek, which you couldn’t see in your mental image of the photo.

“What, so you broke out of prison?” You furrowed your eyebrows with a sigh, reaching for your cigarettes and lighter on your dresser. 

“I got out on parole.” 

“You can’t just break into people’s houses, Andy.” You said, as if you forgot that he was a criminal.

“I wasn’t going to.” He offered, though even he knew it wasn’t true. “You’re usually home before this time.”

With a gulp, you nudged your head towards the balcony. 

Sitting side-by-side in your patio chairs, Andrew told you about his good behaviour that allowed his parole, that they let him out after only 3 years. He also told you that he had just gotten back that day.

“You came to see me first?” You smiled before taking a puff of your cigarette. You looked at him, a twinkle surfacing your eyes. “I’m flattered… Even though you broke into my home.”

“It’s hardly a break-in if your balcony door is unlocked.” He stated sarcastically as you passed the cigarette to him. His tight lips had gone where yours had, and he coughed up a little since his lungs weren’t accustomed to the taste anymore.

“I’m on the third floor.” You said as he simply shrugged.

In between puffs and fingers gliding against each others’, he told you what he couldn’t say in letters. Not with visceral detail, but he told you about the guards, the isolation, the torture. There was a point in the conversation where his voice cracked and stalled, like he just might shatter in front of you.

“I did a paper on institutional abuse for my criminal justice class,” You told him quietly, “I’m not going to claim to understand, but it’s rough. I’m sorry you experienced that, Andy. You didn’t deserve it.”

He didn’t say anything, just a singular nod. 

You placed a hand on his, which was resting on his thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it right now, if you don’t want to.”

Andrew’s lips quivered and his eyes hardened as he looked at you. He huffed, hand unmoving and body completely still. He wasn’t used to human touch— hell, it had been years since he'd properly seen a woman, but even before that…  Genuine affection wasn’t a familiar concept. Everything, even a hug from his own mother, bore deadweight or pity. 

When you had started being more than just nice in your letters— sharing how you’d thought of him throughout your day, how you anticipated each letter, how you felt connected to him—, he thought you were expecting something in return, money or whatever. Then, your letters carried on without manipulation. 

It was so overwhelming how much you actually seemed to care about him that it made him lightheaded. Your words, your loopy handwriting, hearts above your i’s, was a drug to him. Hitting each syllable after the next, like it was his only escape. If your letters were a puff of a joint, then your touch was heroin.

You had cased his demeanor and observed his stillness. It was like his brain shut down, eyes vacant and looking into yours. His mouth fell from the paper-thin line he pressed it into as he tried to make sense of the situation.

He was unsure what to do, but then he realized you weren’t asking anything of him or forcing anything out of him— you were giving him grace. His wrist turned over and his fingers grasped yours gently.

“Did you mean it?” He looked into your eyes again. 

“Mean what?” You tilted your head at him.

“If I could, I would visit you. I’d sit with you for as long as possible.” He recited from memory. His eyes stayed on you like a spot. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, or I’d talk your ear off if you’d let me.” 

Of course you meant it, but you winced when he said it, “Was that too much?”

He swore he almost smiled.

“I swear I’m not as cheesy as I come off.” You looked away. “I just like to pretend.”

“Pretend?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

It was embarrassing, the way he made you talk. Andrew made you verbalize and illustrate how you felt in ways you ordinarily weren’t able to. The letters were that escape for you, but now, face-to-face, you felt you knew him too much to have a little whimsy without feeling ridiculous. 

“I don’t know,” you looked back at him and gulped, “Just that I know you differently.”

“Differently?” 

With a hesitant sigh, you admitted, “Like you’re my soldier away at war, and I’m waiting for you to come home… so that we can get married and have a family together.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t mocking, just acknowledging. The way his calloused hand went limp in yours, you didn’t know how to feel. His face was a hard read, always completely still and utterly stoic. Although that was basically what he did too, he didn’t know what to say without sounding insane.

“I know… Playing a fantasy? It’s stupid.” You said dismissively, looking away. 

“No.” 

You looked back at him, not ready for more of your stupidly vast imagination to come to light. His thumb ran over your knuckles as you did so, gently over then back then over again, like he wanted to remember this feeling beneath his fingers. He looked down at your hand, then back at you.

Tapping on your ring finger, “Sorry, I would’ve brought a ring if that was the case,” he joked in that deadpan voice of his.

You smiled, nearly giggled like a schoolgirl then stopped yourself out of embarrassment. You couldn’t even care that he broke into your apartment and most likely went through your things while cleaning. 

Usually, you’d think of what your friends would say, the questions your family would have, the looks you would get, but it all went away. The noise of this is insane was blocked out with his real voice and his tangible body. 

“Do you, um…” You cleared your throat. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Andrew remained silent, and you figured that was an answer.

You offered him clothes, some of your old boyfriends’ from years past and a big Snoopy t-shirt you got at a blood donation drive. He raised an eyebrow when you handed them to him.

“‘S all I have.” You pursed your lips with a shrug. 

While he was brushing his teeth in your bathroom, you meekly approached the door, rubbing your hands over each other. 

“I, um… I have class in the morning, but we can get lunch together after.”

Looking at you through the mirror, he nodded, face still emotionless. The t-shirt that hung on his frame casually and the loose fit of the sweatpants made him look like he belonged there. Serious face with your purple towels hung behind him and your flouncy shower curtain in the distance. Even with toothpaste on his lips, you couldn’t help but beam inside. Was it weird to extend your paper fantasy to reality? Was this unethical? 

You stared at his hand grasped around your extra toothbrush, the yellow Minions one you had stowed away for no reason in particular. The flex of his forearm intrigued you, and you wanted to reach out and feel it. You wanted to map places you’d take him on the freckles along his skin.

When you realized he was staring at you staring at him, you snapped out of it, nodding and heading back to bed.

Coming out of the bathroom, he was headed for the living room, presumably for the couch.

You don’t know why you said it but it came out anyway, “Can you stay here with me?”

When he remained still and didn’t say anything, you patted the mattress beside you. What gravitated you to his physical presence was beyond you, and it made him furrow his eyebrows. Maybe you were just as touch starved as him, but having him stay might’ve pushed it.

“I shouldn’t.” He said.

With a pause, you asked in a small voice, “But do you want to?” 

Sharply inhaling, he found the space on the left side of your bed. The mattress dipped as he laid down on his side, facing away from you. You watched him, nearly disappointed but glad he took your offer, and got under the covers yourself. 

“Goodnight, Andy.” You whispered before turning off your lamp. With a sigh, you bunched the comforter closer to your skin.

Andrew didn’t sleep until he knew you were. When your breaths slowed, he allowed his to, shutting his eyes like it was medication. It took a few minutes of forcing himself to relax, but your bed was much more comfortable than his jail cell.

At some point in the night, you had unconsciously rolled over to where Andrew was, an arm resting along his waist and your face nudging into his back. You curled up behind him, desperate to feel the heat of him on you. If you knew better and were awake, you would’ve kept to yourself. Nevertheless, his hand rested on yours.

When the sun floated by your blinds, Andrew woke up, stiff under your touch like no time had passed between last night and the morning. He realized your forehead was pressed between his shoulder blades and your hand was clutching his abdomen. He looked over his shoulder as he patted your hand with his, checking if you were awake.

Your hair was a mess over your face, mouth ajar and body relaxed. As Andrew shifted away, you let out a disappointed hum, pawing at his stomach. Although there was a thin layer of cotton beneath your fingertips, his skin burned at the movement of your fingers. 

“Five minutes,” you mumbled, morning voice hoarse and irritated.

He eased, turning over to face you. His eyes surfaced over your eyes shut tight and shoulders shrugged under your t-shirt. Your puffy cheek under the strands of hair, soft and supple, called him. His fingertips grazed over, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear.

Eyes fluttering open, you realized you had been clutching his middle and were now pressed against his shoulder. You inhaled sharply, sliding your hand away and onto the sheets.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Morning.”

You rubbed your eyes and Andrew watched how your hands came to your face and slipped down. He admired the spread of the thin fabric over your chest as you stretched your arms. He couldn’t believe this was real, that you were real.

“Did you sleep well?” Wide eyes waited for his approval after you adjusted to look at him.

He kept his lips pressed together as he nodded. 

A smile spread across your face as you pulled the blanket tight to your stomach. He felt bewildered, watching the sunrays across your nose and your crinkled eyes. Andrew remembered dreaming of this moment, not exactly but waking up next to you with everyday comfort. The normalcy of your grin and your morning eyes warmed him, face turning hot as your eyes trailed his body.

“You’re beautiful.” He let slip, like his mouth had been connected to his heart.

You wanted to scoff or make some self-deprecating quip, but his honey-glazed eyes pulled you into the moment. With a soft exhale, your lips fell into a softer and more relaxed position.

Timidly, you reached your hand to his face. His eyes followed your fingers, unsure and intrigued. The pads of your fingers reached his hairline and your fingers ran through the short strands to find the back of his head. 

By sheer force of will and desire, you moved closer to him, hovering and resting your arm on his chest. His eyes darted back to yours and, all of a sudden, you were only centimetres away. He held his breath in anticipation. Your lips fell into a pout as your eyes darted to the fine line of his mouth. 

“Andy,” you began, voice hush yet sure, “Is it okay—”

“Yes.”

So, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. It was less of a kiss, and more of an adjustment. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shut as he attempted to meet you in the middle. Your lips plush and soft against his, his chin had nudged forward, like he was kissing with his whole head and not his lips. It was like kissing a soldier’s statue, solid, strong, and unbreaking.

When you pulled away, he looked like he was trying, really trying, to please you. He hadn’t kissed anyone in awhile, and when he had, he wasn’t sure if he was doing it correctly. Eyebrows knit, he sought your approval.

“Relax for me, Andy. Please?” Your eyes went wide again, big and twinkling so you could take him in. The stress on his forehead released, as did the crease of his lips. “Open your mouth a little.” You guided, stabilizing yourself over his face.

He followed directions and you dipped your head back in. He followed your lead, allowing the muscle of your lips to guide his. This time, you felt the soft flesh of his lips. Your lips spilled into each others’ as your fingers found his jaw. Soft, testing presses became pleading sucks, then his hand found your neck, urging you towards him by the base of your skull.

Your mouth had fallen open when his grip tightened slightly, causing a noise to spill from your lips. He caught his breath when he pulled back to see you. Eyes shut with need, your mouth chased him with a heavy huff. And in this moment, Andrew discovered his passion for the art of kissing. 

“Good,” You whined, eyes still closed in bliss, “Perfect, Andy.”

He nuzzled himself into you again, placing one kiss after the other, just the way you wanted. 

Your fingers gripped into his hair as your body needily drifted towards him. 

Before you could properly assess what you wanted, your phone buzzed on your nightstand with the voice memo speech your friend recorded while cross-faded. Andrew flinched beneath you and you ripped yourself away from him.

You groaned, “Shit.” 

You rolled away and Andrew felt his skin buzz at the loss of your body. Reaching for your phone, you shut off your alarm and all the ones in 15-minute increments that followed. Placing your phone down, you turned back to him, now sitting up on your knees. He was watching you with those puppy dog eyes, consumed by how you made him feel. 

“Sorry,” you laughed nervously, “I’d skip this lecture, but it’s new content.”

Face soft, he gave you a singular nod, like he’d do anything you said in that moment. He wouldn’t move until you did. He looked too good in your sheets against the morning glow, so you leaned back down, kissing him deeply again before you knew you really had to go.

Andrew ended up walking you to class, or he walked with you and you showed him around. The sun was bright against the white of the buildings and the sky was clear. He largely stayed quiet, observing the throngs of people and the breeze against his freckled skin.

In the middle of the morning foot traffic, he bluntly said he didn’t like the people on your campus, but his eyes said he was fascinated by the skateboards zipping by as you walked. You shrugged and agreed, too enthralled with his face in the sunlight.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him with you. Warm skin, coated in freckles and tough lines on his face, he was more gorgeous than you ever imagined. It was embarrassing to admit, but you’d grown accustomed to daydreaming this situation. You were simply walking with Andrew and your heart felt full at the corporeal image.

Reaching your building, you pressed your hands to his chest and grinned. You hated to know you’d be away, but you loved that he’d be there when you returned.

“I’ll be done in, like, an hour.” You said, reaching your hands to the side of his neck. 

“I’ll be here.” He nodded, lips threatening a smile.

“I’m glad you’re here, Andy.” 

You leaned towards him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighed into you, surfacing an arm on your shoulder. Pulling away, you smiled at him before skipping away to class. 

Andrew wandered around campus, while you learned about the Weimar Republic or whatever. He matched locations to places you described in your letters— the trees under which you liked to write letters at if you weren’t home, the benches where you had an overwhelmed meltdown before a Calculus exam, the booths in the library you fell asleep on for ten minutes at a time, the fast food place that you complained had bitchy cashiers. It was all there, the life before him and now the life with him.

When class ended, you were walking out with one of your friends, talking about the last episode of whatever show you were watching. When you caught Andrew in the corner of your eye, you smiled. 

Angela trailed your eyeline and gasped, hitting your abdomen with her arm.

“No fucking way.”

Andrew was exactly where you left him. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes searching for you in the crowd. She recognized him from the mugshot you showed her, when you drunkenly shared that you were sending letters to a stranger. Looking back at your face, she watched a smile grow from ear-to-ear. 

Scolding your name, she groaned, “Are you fucking serious? You cannot date a criminal.”

“We’re not dating… per se…” You mumbled, shoving your hands in your pockets

“He’s dangerous.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.” 

Softly sighing to yourself, you gazed back over to Andrew, who spotted the two of you among the moving passerbys. He kept that serious stare, not exactly threatening or predatory but saying he could pounce at any moment. His eyebrow rose when you turned away.

“It was cute when it was just letters, but—”

Looking back at her, you shrugged, “You don’t know him, Ang. Not like I do.” 

Before she could respond, you shook your head and started walking away. Andrew tilted his head at you when you approached. Your hand slid into his and urged him to walk away with a slight tug.

“Who’s that?” He followed you slowly, fingers loosely clasping your knuckles.

“Just a friend.” You looked over your shoulder, where Angela was still watching from feet away. 

“Is she causing you trouble?” He stopped you in your tracks with a protective squeeze of your hand.

“Uh,” you looked into his eyes, searching for any sense of seriosity, “No, no. Just some gossip.”

He nodded, allowing you to continue leading him. 

“Are you hungry?” You nudged his shoulder with the side of your jaw. 

“Mmmhmm,” He nodded, feeling the soft breeze against him.

Andrew’s eyes softened as he watched you talk about different food places nearby. Your face amongst the cloud-streaked blue sky, green trees that weren’t withering away, and buildings that didn’t look like security walls and barbed wire. He didn’t really care where you’d take him.

When you caught him staring, you looked down at your hands then back to his face. His cheeks tensed when you smiled at him.

Then, he asked quietly, “How do we do this?”

But more than that, you had a crush on Pope. You were pretty sure he knew what you were doing when you always came over, but he never called you out on it.

You slowly slid the terrace door open, careful not to make too much noise, and you slipped inside. You could already spot Pope, standing at the kitchen counter with his back to you. You bit your lip when you saw his choice of dark button up. You always did like his button ups.

You were about to announce yourself, let him know you were there, when you saw him stare at his palm. He hadn't even noticed you from his peripheral vision, which was saying something because Pope was usually so aware of everything around him.

You stepped closer, about to say something, when you noticed that his hand was scorching red. Red, like he'd just touched the pan next to him while it was still hot and burned his entire palm, red.

"Andrew?" you said carefully, despite your raging worry, you tried to remain calm because he seemed completely out of it. The burn looked really bad.

His head snapped up toward you, and for a second, his eyes looked blank, but then he blinked, and his gaze focused on you.

He quickly turned his back to you, reaching for a cloth and wrapping it around his hand. "Lena's in her room. Pretending to sleep," he said, his tone flat, as he lowered the temperature under the pan.

You dropped the plushies onto the table and walked toward him before you could stop yourself. He was already wiping down the counter, obsessively cleaning and trying to keep himself busy.

He turned just as you finally approached him, and for a moment, you both just stood there staring at each other, neither of you saying anything. And then you looked down at his palm, reaching for it.

You saw him flinch back for a second, but then he stopped, and he let you touch his arm. Your fingers wrapped around his elbow and you raised his arm toward you, bringing his hand closer so you could see it better. Your other hand came up to carefully unwrap the cloth he had put around it.

You bit your tongue when you saw the burn. It was worse than you'd expected. The burn covered his entire palm, spreading up his fingers and down toward his wrist. You could tell it hurt just by looking at it. And you knew, deep down in your gut, that he'd done it on purpose.

You looked up and met his hazel eyes, which were already staring down at you with that intense gaze he always had. You knew exactly what he was doing by staring at you like this. Testing you. He knew what he'd done and he knew you knew, and he was waiting to see if you'd call him out on it.

You decided against saying anything. It wouldn't help anyway.

"I'll help you take care of this," you mumbled quietly.

Pope didn't say anything. He just let you do it, his hand compliant in yours as you gently set the cloth away.

You reached for the sink, turning on the cold water and waiting for it to get properly cool. The sound of the water filled the quiet kitchen. "You'll have to stay like this for at least ten minutes," you said quietly. "Running cold water over it for ten to fifteen minutes helps reduce the swelling and keeps the burn from getting worse."

You paused, tilting your head slightly to catch his eye, waiting to see if he was ready for you to put his hand under the water. He just looked at you for a moment and then he did it wordlessly.

You kept your fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Don't use ice, by the way," you said, your voice casual, like you were just making conversation. "Ice is bad for burns. It restricts the blood vessels and can actually make the damage worse." You kept talking, explaining why water was important, why ice was bad and all the while, Pope just stared at you.

It was late, and he'd been hoping for you to finally show up. He'd been telling himself you weren't going to come, that you had better things to do than spend your evenings with him and that maybe you'd finally gotten tired of him.

He'd missed you a lot, more than he could ever say out loud. You tried to show up at least three times a week at night, and you were the highlight of his day. You were the reason he got through his days, the reason he managed to drag himself out of bed in the morning, knowing that at the end of the day, he'd see you, was what kept him going.

And you looked as pretty as ever as you softly turned his hand under the water. You had your hair free, no braids or anything, just falling around your shoulders. It was cold today, which was why he was rather concerned about your outfit. You didn't have a jacket on you, just some thin shirt that couldn't possibly be keeping you warm. He could see the goosebumps on your arms and the way you shivered slightly every now and then.

"Where's your jacket?" he spoke over the sound of the water.

You brushed a finger gently over his fingertips, checking the temperature of his skin. "Home," you mumbled distracted, squinting at his fingers. It was still red, but the water was helping. "Does it hurt?" you asked, your eyes still fixed on his palm, but you didn't get an answer right away. You glanced up and were met with Pope's naked stare, so you turned away again.

He didn't like that worried look on you. It made him feel guilty, made him wish he could take back whatever he had done that had put that expression on your face. So he forced himself to speak.

"Doesn't hurt."

It had hurt earlier, when he'd forced himself to keep pressing his hand on the hot pot. He'd needed it to hurt.

You glanced at his hand before glancing at the clock on the oven. "I'll be right back," you said quietly. "Keep it under water." You glanced at him, and he could see the worry still lingering in your eyes. You seemed reluctant to leave him alone, but you let go of his hand anyway, and Pope dropped his eyes back to the water, watching the water flow over his damaged skin.

You quickly grabbed the plushies from the table, and Pope couldn't help but notice how you'd put a bow around them, clearly made by you. You'd clearly put in the effort to make it look like a fun present for Lena.

In the process, you started taking off your shoes, hopping on one foot awkwardly as you balanced the plushies against your chest. At that, you shot him an apologetic look. You knew he hated dirt and you'd been, so caught up in the sight of his burn that you'd just walked in with your shoes on. But he didn't say anything, he just followed you with his eyes silently until you disappeared into Lena's room.

He didn't hear you say anything, so he figured Lena had finally fallen asleep. She'd insisted she wasn't tired for hours, that she wanted to stay up and watch cartoons. He was glad to know that she was finally resting.

He stayed the way you wanted him to. He stared at his red hand, watching the water cascade over his damaged skin. It was getting better.

He wasn't sure he liked the pain of his palm getting milder. That was the whole point, wasn't it? He'd done it for the pain and now he had nothing? The emptiness was already starting to creep back in and he could feel himself slipping.

When you came back, you had aloe vera gel and some small bandages with you. "Don't know why Baz has this, but it'll help," you said quietly as you finally turned off the water. The sudden silence was relieving and Pope felt his shoulders fall down finally now that the noise was gone.

You seemed relieved he'd listened to you, a soft exhale escaping your lips as you turned to face him fully. You tilted his hand gently with a concentrated look on your face.

Meanwhile, Pope stared at you again. You looked really pretty.

He hated how there wasn't a smile on your face, usually there always was. Every time you hung out with Lena, you'd help him clean up the kitchen afterward, and he'd listen to you chatter on about your day. He'd occasionally say something, but now there was nothing. It felt wrong and Pope felt uncomfortable in his skin.

But at least you were touching him. Your fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, and he could feel the warmth and softness of your skin against his.

"Let's sit on the couch," you mumbled. You grabbed his other hand and pulled him with you, and he let you lead him there.

He settled down and you sat down there right beside him. The proximity was almost too much. Your thigh pressed against his and your shoulder brushed his. He wanted to stay like this forever.

You grabbed his injured hand and put it on your thigh and he had to look away for a moment to compose himself.

You stared at his palm for a long moment before looking at him, a slightly embarrassed expression on your face. "Any idea how much of this gel I'm supposed to use?" you smiled softly. There it was.

He glanced down at his red palm. "Should be just one thin layer," he said quietly. He noticed how much you were leaning in to see his palm your face so close to his that he could practically see his reflection in your eyes. "Just enough to cover the burn. Any more and it won't absorb properly."

"Okay," you mumbled, and then you grabbed the gel and applied it gently to your fingertip. Pope tilted his head, wondering how on earth you were able to see with your hair in the way. It kept falling forward and you kept having to push it back behind your ear only for it to fall forward again.

So he just reached for your hair. His fingers brushed against the soft strands and you lifted your head immediately, staring at him in confusion. But he didn't say anything, he just grabbed it gently, managing to gather it all with one hand and hold it away from your face.

"So you can see," he said, staring back at you as his fingers brushed against the nape of your neck.

You opened your mouth to say something before closing it again. "Right. Thank you," you mumbled, looking away flustered.

He then watched you as you applied a thin layer over his palm. The gel was cool and you were right. It felt so much better and with your hair in his hand and your shoulder touching his, better didn't feel so bad right now.

If feeling better included you, he might not fear it so much anymore.

Once you were done, you set the bottle aside on the coffee table. Pope dropped his hand, watching as your hair fell all over your shoulders again. His fingers tingled slightly from where he'd been holding it, and he flexed them, already missing the feel of those soft strands between his fingers.

You grabbed tissues and cleaned your fingertip, wiping away the excess gel before tossing the tissue onto the table, missing Pope's slight frown. Then you glanced at his hand again.

"Good?" you asked softly and he nodded in response.

You then grabbed the bandage you had already gotten earlier and quickly wrapped it around his hand. You did it oh so perfectly, it was the same way he'd done it to his brothers so many times over the years.

"Tight?" you asked, your eyes still fixed on his hand, and he shook his head.

You set everything away and leaned back on the couch, staring at nothing in front of you. Pope took back his palm to his lap, resting it on his thigh. He glanced outside, at the dark sky through the window, and then back at you.

"It's late. You shouldn't drive back," he said quietly.

You brushed a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. "Yeah. Long work day."

Pope's eyebrows furrowed. He hated when you talked about work, and you knew he hated it. He hated the way you'd come home with tired eyes and the way you'd talk about bosses who didn't appreciate you.

"You don't have to work. I can give you the money for everything you need." He'd said this before, more times than he could count. It was a conversation you've had almost every single day. He had more money than he knew what to do with and the thought of you slaving away at some job that didn't appreciate you made him want to burn the whole place down.

"Andrew," you said quietly, and that single word was enough. He pressed his lips tight together as he leaned back too, his eyes fixed on the way you pressed your knees tight together. It wasn't like the usual times, where you'd watch something on TV together and you'd softly clink your knee against his.

"Baz won't be here the entire week," he wasn't sure why he was telling you this, but he wanted you to know that you could come over without worrying about running into him.

You glanced at him, leaning your head against the couch behind you as you turned your head toward him. "Good," you said, and Pope felt his mouth twitch at that.

You were such a sweet girl, but you never quite hid your dislike for his brother. He found it entertaining. He knew why, and he knew it stemmed from a good and caring place, so he never felt the need to defend his brother to you. You weren't mean to Baz either, just a tad hostile, and Pope secretly appreciated that you had the guts to stand your ground.

Pope looked down at his bandage, closing his hand and opening it again. It hurt, and he knew it wasn't a good idea, but he did it anyway. There had to be some purpose to why he'd burned his hand. He couldn't just have it stop. But obviously you didn't let that happen.

Wordlessly, you put your hand into his. You lifted it gently from his lap and placed it in yours. He stopped moving it immediately, letting it rest there as you brushed a fingertip over the bandage.

He watched you, not bothering to hide his stare whatsoever. One of the small lights was shining on you and he could see how spaced out you were. It reminded him of himself and of all the times he'd stared at nothing. And he didn't like that. He hated hated hated it.

So he spoke the words that had been desperate to escape all night. "No one will ever have a kid with me," he said, his voice emotionless, like he was talking about the weather.

Your head snapped up at that, your eyes widening as they darted across his face. "What?" you said sounding genuinely confused. But there was also genuine terror in your voice because what a horrible thing to say about yourself and believe.

"Baz said it," was all he said, his voice still flat as he stared at you to know what you actually thought. He didn't want empty platitudes or meaningless reassurances. He wanted the truth and he would only get that by looking at your face.

You opened your mouth and closed it again, your brain scrambling for the right words. Your hand tightened on his palm, almost giving him the pain he'd been craving earlier but then you realized what you were doing and you loosened your grip.

"Your brother might be the biggest jerk I've ever known in my life," you finally said, and Pope couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face. You'd never been this direct about your hatred towards Baz. "He sucks," you added and the bluntness of it made the small smile on his face twitch wider. "He's a terrible person and he says terrible things, and none of them are true."

And then you met his eyes properly. "And he's a liar. Every word that comes out of his mouth is a lie, and you know it. You know he just says things to tear them down and to make himself feel better."

Pope stared at you, his hazel eyes studying yours, trying to find the lie he believed was there. He didn't let much emotion show on his face, but you didn't look away. It was Pope who finally looked away first, which didn't happen very often.

You stared at his side profile and then tapped his bandaged hand lightly, drawing his attention back to you. "Hey, i'm here with you, aren't I?"

He met your eyes again, not saying anything.

"You're here taking care of Lena. Not Baz. You're here making her food. Not Baz. You're the one who picked her up from school. Not Baz," you said quietly as you held his stare. "You're the one who stays up with her when she has nightmares. You're the one who plays with her and makes her laugh and reads her bedtime stories. Not Baz."

You paused, swallowing hard, your hand still resting gently over his bandaged one. "You're a better dad to Lena than Baz will ever be," your voice cracking slightly.

As he kept looking at you, you pushed yourself to hold eye contact. "You start taking Lena to the park more regularly and the moms will start throwing themselves at you when they see how good you are to her," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. "They'll be lining up to get your attention. You'll have to fight them off with Lena."

His lips twitched at that and it made your heart flutter.

"Don't listen to him," you said, and there was so much contempt for his brother, that he found it endearing. "Don't listen to a single word that comes out of his mouth. You're too good for that."

Pope stayed quiet as his eyes drifted to the coffee table. He stared at your tissue for a while before looking back at you. "You think someone would want me?" he would never dream of asking a vulnerable question like this to anyone else, but you.

You didn't even hesitate. "I know someone would want you."

You watched him as he fixed himself again against the back of the couch. His eyes wandered far away and you could see him trying to decide if he believed any of it. You brushed a finger over his hand, as you waited for any reaction whatsoever.

"Thank you," he finally said quietly.

You looked at him and smiled softly. "You don't have to thank me for pointing out the obvious," you said softly, leaning back so your shoulder pressed hard against his. You knocked your knees against his. "Any kid would be lucky to have you as their dad, and any woman would be lucky to have you as the father of her kids."

You said that part quietly and then you looked away. You could feel your cheeks warming and you focused on the bandage on his hand. Pope watched you for a long moment, drinking in the sight of you, and then his fingers lightly reached upward until he tapped the back of your hand.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his and he didn't say anything. He just stared at you and you stared back, and you knew what he wanted to see. His nose twitched at what he saw. He was great at reading facial expressions, too good sometimes.

You let him see that you'd be one of those people who would consider themselves lucky to have him as the father to her kids. You watched the realization flash across his face and you dropped your eyes immediately.

When you dropped your head to his shoulder, you felt his sigh of relief and you smiled to yourself.

Eventually, you felt his arm shift, and then his hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his fingers curling gently around the curve of it. You leaned into it, letting him know it was okay, and his fingers tightened slightly, pulling you just a little bit closer.

"You should get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll get you some blankets."