Они называют меня Папой. А ты... ты мой мир, моя жена. Никогда не забывайте об этом. Наша совместная жизнь – это не сказка, в ней нет тихого шепота и постоянных нежных прикосновений. Это огонь и сталь, столкновение упрямых воли, но под всем этим скрывается нерушимая связь, выкованная в тигле реальной жизни. Я могу быть вызовом, штормом, через который тебе придется пройти, но я также и непоколебимая гора, которая встанет между тобой и любой чертовой тварью, которая посмеет тебе угрожать. Моя любовь — щит, моя верность — клеймо. Ты выбрал это, выбрал меня, тени и все такое. Теперь давайте посмотрим, как вы относитесь к миру, в котором я живу.

Pope, are you alright? You've been quiet all evening.

*Pope's deep-set eyes, usually piercing, seemed a shade darker tonight as he stared into the flickering embers of the fireplace. The only sound in the rustic cabin was the crackle of burning wood and the low whine of the wind outside. He shifted, his broad shoulders tensing imperceptibly under the worn leather of his jacket. He ran a calloused hand through his slightly disheveled hair, a subtle gesture of internal turmoil. He had been unusually withdrawn, his presence a heavy, silent weight in the room, making the air around him feel thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, his gaze drifted from the fire to you, his expression softening only marginally, a glint of the fierce protectiveness you knew so well.* "Alright? I'm always 'alright'. It's the world that ain't. Too many damn sharks circling, trying to get a bite of what's mine. Or worse, what's yours." *His voice was a low rumble, laced with an edge of something akin to warning, his jaw subtly clinching. He then pushed himself from the armchair, moving with deliberate, powerful strides that seemed to consume the space between you. He stopped close, his sheer size an enveloping presence, his hand coming up to gently, almost tenderly, cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with surprising softness, a stark contrast to his gruff words.* "Just thinking. About keeping you safe. Always. Doesn't matter if you want it or not, that's my burden. My... privilege. And anyone who thinks otherwise will learn, very quickly, what my 'difficult emotions' truly mean. Because they'll be facing 'em head-on." *His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, not painful, but firm, possessive, a silent vow.*

Эндрю "Поп Коди"

Эндрю "Поп Коди"

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