#Cody is in this chapter too I promise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m-robinavitch · 6 days ago

Text

if you never left.

Pairing: Andrew "Pope" Cody x Female!Reader Summary: 1995 Oceanside, California Senior year, fun and exciting- right? 18 years old and nothing can dampen your year- right? Except you've had a cute, dimply, curly haired shadow since freshman year. Cute and cocky and an ego that hasn't been flushed out by his circumstances yet. Andrew has loved you since he was 15. He knows the world is cruel and he tries to remain normal because the only thing that keeps him going right now is you. You love to hate him. You love to play hard to get but he is relentless. And the world is cruel but it can't be that cruel- right? Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Young/18 year olds in love. This is a young baby Pope fic. He masks hard. Mentions of OCD and panic attacks. Story flip flops from freshman year to senior year. Everything in italics is freshman year/past/back story as to why our idiots do something. Idiots to friends to lovers. No smut this chapter. Fluff and angst mostly. I mean- OOC Pope but this is basically AU so- fuck off ya know? Didn't even proofread so if there is a mistake just skip over it I'm old and tired.

He lied.

Andrew lied.

It wasn’t the first time he had lied to you but- it was the first time he hurt you. He promised he’d never hurt you. He swore to himself one night, watching you sleep while curled up in his jersey and an arm thrown around his waist to keep him close- he swore to himself that no matter what Smurf or Baz or even fucking Catherine says, he won’t hurt you. That you’re the one. He’ll follow you wherever you ask because all you have to do is look up at him with those pretty eyes and bat your lashes and he’s on his fucking knees for you.

But he still lied. He lied and you’re pissed and confronting him about it because after months of being together and years of knowing him- you deserve better. And he knows that.

That’s why Andrew lied. Because you were too good for all of this. You would be used, a pawn used by Smurf to dangle in front of him and if he can’t get away from this- he can fight like hell with himself to make sure that you do.

That's why he lied.

Fall 1994

God you hated him, smug little asshole with curls and a dimple that he flashes you every fucking morning. Cocky and- so fucking cute. But as much as you hated him- you jumped around with a smile on your face and his number painted on your cheek while waving your fucking pom poms in the air, getting the entire crowd to cheer and chant his name along with you. It only made you hate him more that he winked at you between plays and would point at you before running the ball down the entire field because ’this one’s for you.’ And of course everyone thought it was so romantic, the football player and the cheerleader like some damned teenage romcom. No. It wasn’t fucking cute and he was running over to you after the fucking touchdown and picking you up to spin you around and you cannot shove him away. Not yet anyway. Because your heart flutters a bit. You get flushed. You laugh in his ear and he hears it and it only eggs him in more and-

“I said don’t fucking pick me up during the games-” you shove him from his spot at his desk on Monday, hating the way he laughs when you do- forcing down the way it makes those butterflies swarm in your gut.

“I’m sorry baby-” no he’s not. He’s not and you’re trying to not smile at the way he calls you baby- softly so only you can hear it.

“No you’re not. And I said don’t call me that.” You settled into your desk- right in front of him so he can spend the entire class period torturing you. But he stands and comes to kneel in front of you- like every Monday.

“Lemme take you out- make it up to you?” Big, soft hazel eyes pleaded to you. He was being sincere. Andrew has wanted to take you out since freshman year. What started out as an innocent crush from seeing you walk into homeroom.

He didn’t want to be here. The room was too fucking loud- chairs scraping along the floor, students talking and laughing too much, the rustling of papers and scratching of pens and pencils. He felt antsy and nauseated- his backpack still in his lap like a shield to protect him from everyone else. The other teenagers who would pick up on his anxiety and use it against him. Julia was in a different class, Baz was an upperclassman, he felt alone and exposed. He was so lost in his head but when the door opened, he instinctively looked up to see who else he had to worry about. You walked in like the room wasn’t full of strangers- smiling and apologizing to the teacher because you got lost. The air suddenly felt so thick and hot that he couldn’t breathe because you were walking over to the empty seat in front of him. Andrew had that feeling in his chest that you get when you miss a step on the stairs.You hung your backpack behind your chair, the crudely sewn on patch of a sunflower on it brightened his world immediately. He could only blink up at you because before you sat you gave him a shy smile, Andrew had never seen anyone so pretty in his life. The room was still loud but everything seemed to quiet down in his mind- his chest felt warm and tight. When you turned to pass back some papers the teacher handed out, your fingers touched and he swore there was a spark. He was so busy staring at your hair, the color and the style that he didn’t hear the teacher start calling for attendance and his voice cracked so fucking stupidly that he wanted to die. But- he waited for your name. Waited to hear it and when you announced yourself- your voice swam along his mind and he didn’t realize it then but you would live in his mind forever after that first day. Because when he got his notebook out- he drew a tiny sunflower in the corner with your name right under.

Every morning you came sauntering down the halls with your books in hand and a shy smile on your lips when you would pass him and Baz that first week of freshman year- to now. Playing jump rope with that line of friends and- well more than friends. He craves any attention you give him, good or bad. And he knows you don’t hate him- not really. You liked the chase of the bad boy like this was some fucking movie. You knew he was a little dangerous. You knew his reputation- before Baz graduated he and Andrew together got into fights on the field or in the hall or the cafeteria or in the fucking classroom and the only reason they weren’t suspended or kicked out was because Andrew fucking broke the team’s losing streak his freshman year- took them to the championship game and every year since then.

“Fat chance” rolling your eyes and flicking his hand off your desk while the teacher walks in to start class.

“All I hear is there’s a chance.” He smirks, standing with a wink to sit back behind you and minutes later while the teacher drones on about Romeo and Juliet, a note slides its way between your arm to sit on your lap.

‘So a date on Saturday then?’ in his messy chicken scratch handwriting that you’ve learned to decipher over the years. Why did you smile? Why did it make your chest flutter and-

‘Fuck off Andrew.’ With a little heart at the end before you balled it up and tossed it behind you. It was the hearts that kept him coming back for more, every little heart when you write notes back with your pretty handwriting in fucking glitter gel pen. Now- if you actually meant it, he’d know. He’d leave you alone and would never bother you again. But this has been 4 years in the making and Andrew knows you by now. He knows how you shiver when he drags the eraser of his pencil along your back during class, sometimes writing little words on your skin and you try to not pay attention but you swear you can make out the letters of his name dragging along your skin. It started out as him just being annoying with it freshman year- Andrew would tap his pencil three times before circling an answer. He had to. He had to do it or he’d fail the test in his mind. It apparently bothered some assholes around you but you honestly didn’t even hear it at first. You started sitting next to him more during your classes together because some other people either got annoyed that he would tap his pencil or shoe rhythmically to ease his mind- not because you wanted to sit next to him or anything. No, absolutely not. You’d tell him your old seat was under the vent and you got cold- or you’d ask if he wants you to move and he always shakes his head no immediately.

But then- the tapping started on your back. Three times before he chose his answer- you were almost a good luck charm because after you started to sit in front of him, he never failed a test. Then he was tapping his pencil on your back every class period when there were no tests and you learned that he just wanted the attention from you- so you stopped turning around or shoving his pencil away. On hot days where you wore a tank top or the shell of your cheerleader uniform- he’d trace the freckles on your shoulders, drawing the constellations and connecting the dots. Then he started with shapes, mostly hearts and swirls on your back but- the shapes started to take form in words. Simple. ‘Hi’. ‘Cute’. ‘Mine’. Sometimes he’d lean forward and catch your ear when the teacher wasn't looking to ask you what he wrote. Sometimes he slips the pencil under your bra strap to snap the string against your shoulder.

Andrew was such an insufferable jerk because he knows you don’t actually hate him. Do you like him the way he likes you? Well he’s not entirely sure yet. But he knows you don’t hate him. You don’t hate the way he leans on your locker, waiting for you before the bell rings- asking how you slept and if you say please he’ll pick you up tomorrow morning so you don’t have to take the bus. You don’t hate the way he slides next to you in the cafeteria- taking handfuls of the chips or candy you had and looking over your shoulder at what you were reading. You don’t hate the way he finds you in the library, sitting across from you with the biggest grin because you’re partnered together for class again and he can’t wait to spend as much time with you as you’ll let him. What you do hate is the butterflies when he throws an arm around your shoulder to walk you to class- a class that’s across the campus from his class but he’ll be late for you. What you did hate was the warm tightness in your chest when he and Baz beat up the guy that wouldn’t leave you alone sophomore year, the guy that flipped up your skirt in the hall and had to eat through a straw for the rest of the year. What you did hate was the blush that would heat up your face when he’d sit next to you on the bus for away games, turning the headphones connected to your CD player sideways so you could both listen together- cheeks all but smushed together and maybe his hand would brush against yours.

You would have cheer practice outside with the team while they go over plays or runs drills or honestly fuck around and wrestle with each other. He’ll jog over to you when he’s all sweaty and wrap his arms around you or throw you over his shoulder and you shove him away or smack at him but- you’re blushing and tell yourself it’s absolutely because of the heat and that you’ve been jumping around for the last hour. Not because of Andrew. But you get him back. You wait until the coach runs a practice play and you call his name- immediately he turns to you from across the field because you’re like a fucking siren, he can’t stop himself from listening and he doesn’t hear coach’s whistle or that the play starting and he gets tackled by two of his teammates. Bitch. He loves you. He fucking loves you even as he’s lying there staring up at the clouds and wheezing to try and breathe after the wind got knocked out of him- because he hears your laugh from across the field wafting around in his head. And when he’s finally up and semi-alert he turns to you again and you wave- tilting your head like you’re fucking innocent and wave at him with a devilish smile that he adored after all these years. He’d eat shit a million times on the field for that laugh and smile. Which he has- this wasn’t the first time you’ve pulled that particular move and yet he falls for it every single fucking time because he can’t not listen to the pretty way your voice sounds when you say his name. It was the introduction to your dynamic honesty.

He had agreed to try out for the football team- Baz had all but convinced him because ‘it’ll relieve some stress bro- you can tackle and hit whoever without consequences’ and that sounded like a pretty decent offer. Getting to hit people without consequences was something he needed- because before the year started Julia had told him he couldn’t use his fists to get his point across here. It seemed easy enough. Try outs went smoothly and the coach wanted to see how well Andrew could hit and take a hit because he seemed like the perfect tight end candidate. But cheer tryouts had begun. Which he didn’t care about- not until you joined the line up of girls along the field. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe all over again. In the last month you both only interacted in passing papers back and forth- your smile was burned into his mind. You started saying good morning to him- loving the way his cheeks would get red because you thought he was the cutest boy you had ever seen. The dimple that accompanied his shy smile when you’d walk into homeroom, those fiery red curls atop his head and the soft hazel eyes that you didn’t realize followed every move you made? Andrew was so cute and you had a crush too. When you saw him on the field your heart skipped a few beats. Fuck- would he be watching you? He already was. You saw him turn and you gave this small pathetic wave because you like to consider yourself at least acquaintances at this point right? That wave. That fucking wave had Andrew’s world stop. He didn’t hear the whistle. He only felt the impact of Baz tackling him to the ground. Well- at least coach knew he could take a hit.

At games you have to fight off your feelings with a stick. Your coaches love pairing the cheerleaders with the team- tradition to have one of the players walking you out on the field every fucking game and you got paired with him every year. Okay well it wasn’t by chance.

The girls knew about the tradition. Once you made the squad you and the others were giggling to yourselves about the potential cute boy they would get to hold hands with or walk with. Your coach and cheer captain let you decide amongst yourselves- so there you sat. Huddled on the floor in the band room during lunch one day randomly grabbing a name in a hat so you can start the bidding. You wanted Andrew. You were determined to fight for him at this point. Your heart dropped when you opened the folded up paper and saw that it wasn’t Andrew’s name and jersey number scribbled on. But- you smirked. You had the ultimate bargaining chip. Barry Blackwell #13 Perfect. You didn’t see the appeal in Baz. Sure those baby blue eyes were pretty and could melt a girl’s heart- but you didn’t want him. You liked them quieter, softer, red hair with freckles and dimples. But- most of the squad saw the appeal of Baz. There were only a few freshmen girls who wanted Andrew- but you weren’t giving him up easily. You knew who sat near who. You knew who had crushes on other team members. You traded the boys around like baseball cards. You traded Baz for the wide receiver who one girl wanted. You gave her tips on what he liked because you sat next to him in biology- even promised to talk her up to him. She traded the wide receiver with you and then you got the kicker that another girl liked. The kicker that recently broke up with his girlfriend and was just lonely enough for a rebound. You traded the kicker for Andrew. Three days were spent passing the boys around. Candy, nail polish, makeup, money, clothes were traded for these boys who thought it was all random. No- this was as big as the NFL draft at the high school level. When it was all decided- all said and done, your coaches put the pairings on a sheet outside the locker rooms for all to see. You already knew who you got- but you waited to see how he’d react. Waited back behind the large football players and prayed he wasn’t disappointed. Andrew was anything but. He slowly stepped over to the list after most had cleared the way and ran his finger down the line until he saw his name. You waited. Fucking sweating and antsy but- he smiled. He smiled and bit his lip and couldn’t stop fucking smiling for the rest of the day- and neither could you.

That first game when you walked through the tunnel with him- you both couldn’t hide the tiny shy smiles and butterflies swarming around in your guts as you looped your arm into his. He had paused a bit- looking down at where you both stepped because ‘the cracks- I can’t um- it’s stupid, never mind’ it wasn’t stupid- every player had some type of pre-game ritual. He fell deeper in love that day. At 15, he was in love and melted at the way you shrugged and said it was cool- watching the way you stepped with him before making it out onto the field. He has to force his mind to listen to him- force his mind to get his thoughts together during games because he can’t let the team down. He has to throw on this persona of MVP because without it then everyone will know that underneath it- he’s unstable and damaged. He has to strip himself of his mental load and force himself to meet expectations on the field or he’ll be hated. And it’ll prove that his mind was right all along and he’s only useful when it suits other people.

You never made him feel dumb or crazy- you weren’t afraid of him like everyone else. Baz had graduated two years ago, so his only friends were either his teammates or- you? He liked to consider you a friend. He’d like to consider you more than a friend eventually but for now he’ll take your eye rolling and small smiles and rejection every time he asks you out. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say yes to him so fucking badly but- sometimes you’re afraid he just flirts with you because he wants the attention or the prize at the end. You’re afraid he’s like Baz- Baz who had Catherine in love with him since freshman year and still cheated on her every chance he got with some of the other cheerleaders. Was Andrew the same? He didn’t seem the same though. He’s never had a girlfriend since you’ve known him these years. He couldn’t. In his mind- you were all he wanted. But you didn’t know that. You just knew that he liked to flirt with you and he never gave any other girl the same attention or affection. Even when he was being smug and arrogant- he never gave anyone else on the squad a crumb of the attention he gave to you. At this point- after 4 years his arrogance was solely due to being the best player on the team and because, well he had you. Not just in his mind. To the entire school, you were Andrew’s.

You had a single date junior year. One date your entire high school career. He was a transfer student from San Diego- he didn’t know you were all but spoken for. He was cute and it was an okay date at the movies, he even opened the door for you and held your hand but- there were no butterflies. There was none of the feeling that you got with Andrew imagined would happen on a date. You didn’t even try to kiss him, you pulled back when he cornered you in his car- opening your door and thanking him before running back to your house. He didn’t call you after. He avoided you at school the next day and you were confused. You don’t want a second date but- what the fuck was his problem? All because you didn’t want to kiss him? No- no it was more than that. Because the next morning in gym class a few guys asked him about his date and he complained that you didn’t let him so much as touch more than your hand. You didn’t put out and he wasted his time and- he didn’t get to finish his ranting. Andrew had already shoved him into the weight rack and before he could do more- the coach and a few of his teammates held him back. You never heard about it. But you just know you got an angry black eyed look from that guy the rest of the year until he went back to San Diego that summer. Andrew was the only one who got jealous. He was the only one between you both who hated when someone would talk to you. No you didn’t get jealous. Not at all.

Not even freshman year, when Andrew had his locker filled with little Valentine’s letters and cute notes from girls who thought he was cute. No- you didn’t roll your eyes and scowl on your way to your own locker because he clearly had more than enough girls to divide his attention amongst. You stood at your locker that was across the hall from his- watching the letters float to the floor and turning because you didn’t want to see his smile or read them from the other girls who potentially had his fucking heart. You didn’t see him sift through them. Not because he wanted to see who they were from but, he wanted to see if there was one from you. You didn’t have the nerve. Okay you had the nerve but when you rounded the corner to his locker yesterday you saw almost a fucking line of girls doing the same. Oh. Well- yours wouldn’t have made a difference then. Which is what you were thinking now, opening your locker to grab your books for the day and- there was your Valentine. Large vibrant sunflower with a note attached to it. Your heart was swelling with happiness- giant smile when you saw it, not noticing that Andrew had thrown all his little love notes away and had stood behind some lockers to watch your reaction to his gift for you. He didn’t sign his name. He already fought with himself for a week leading up to actually deciding to do something for you. But you knew his handwriting at this point. You had started passing notes to each other months ago. You knew it was from him- little note saying how beautiful he thinks you are and how he always thinks about you. Simple. Sweet. Just like him. You had a smile on your face all day- he would do anything for that smile.

There’s a game tonight- you’re already planning your hair and makeup for the night. Uniform already on because you have to wear it all day like the football team has to wear their jerseys. And then you feel it- the eraser of a pencil dragging along the sleeve of your top. You’re glad he couldn’t see your face- glad Andrew couldn’t see the smile forming on your lips because he started to write those little words again that you try to ignore but you can clearly feel him tracing the letters of his name along your back. Minutes later you feel the note sliding between your arm and onto your lap like every day. You knew what it said. Same thing it said every game. ‘Remember our date tonight- don’t be late’ with a smiley face. He called them dates- when you and him would walk the field together hand in hand or arm in arm. He would call them dates and you would smile and your stomach would flip every fucking time. The same way his stomach would flip when you wrote ‘wouldn’t miss it- see you there’ with that little heart accompanying it.

But you were late- busy making sure your hair was absolutely perfect. Not for him. Absolutely not for Andrew. Even when you wrote his jersey number on your cheek in eye black- the same eye black he was waiting for you to apply. He didn’t trust anyone else to apply it. You were the only one who could get the lines straight- the only one who he trusted to not get any in his eyes. He was shaking his leg- antsy and waiting for you and ready to tease you for being late, but this freshman on the squad came over to apply the eye black for him and he all but jerked back. Face screwed up in disgust at the poor girl who had a crush on him- just trying to help but she didn’t know that only you were given the privilege to touch Andrew. You saw the interaction. Smiling to yourself when you had ran out from the locker room and saw your football player waiting for you- but fixing the smile because you walked over to him and grabbed his jaw roughly so you could apply the eye black in just the right way. Making him look up at you- ignoring the way his hazel eyes stared at you like you were the only person who could see him. Truly see him.

“You’re late,” he mumbled up at you- not caring how you held his jaw tightly. He liked it, in fact. He liked the way you stepped between his legs and held his face in your soft hand so he could look up at you for 5 minutes.

“Be quiet- you’ll make it crooked,” he winked at you when you chastised him. He loved the way your face was set and had a soft scowl- it was the only way you could make sure you didn’t smile at him. He loved the way you concentrated on your work. Because to him- it meant you cared. You knew he couldn’t concentrate if it felt wrong, if it looked crooked, or if anyone else drew on him. It was one of his quirks that you had come to learn from years of knowing him. Just like you’ve seen him tie and untie his cleats until they both felt the same and felt right. Seen the way he had to tap his right cleat on the 30 yard three times before every game. You’ve made sure you both don’t step on any cracks throughout the tunnel before you walk out onto the field. All of these things he absolutely must do- or they’ll lose the game. Including making sure you were the only one to do his eye black. And- making sure his gloves were right. They had to feel right- or they would lose. And if they lost then it would confirm every bad thought he had swimming around his mind. You found that out freshman year as well.

You had a break. A quick break during the championship game that allowed you to drink water and have a breath. And- to watch Andrew pace along the sidelines. Because of him, the school's decade long losing streak was broken. Because of Andrew- the school was on top again. And he felt the pressure. Andrew felt that nagging feeling of a thousand people watching him from the stands. And his glove was wrong. His right glove was all wrong. The seams were misaligned, tied too tightly, sweaty and- they were going to lose if he couldn’t fix it. He would let everyone down if he couldn’t shut his mind up for 5 minutes- he could play. He was fine. The glove didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He wanted 5 minutes where he felt normal and didn't have a million thoughts running along his brain. He was muttering to himself to stop- didn’t see you waking over because he looked distraught. He looked panicked and- you wanted to help. You thought it was just the anxiety from the game but- it looked so much worse and you were friends at this point, right? Friends can help. He was pulling at his glove- trying to fix it and Andrew couldn’t do it without taking off his left glove. But his left glove felt fine and- he pulled back when you reached for him. Pulled back on instinct- because no one handles him gently. No one cares to be soft with him. If Baz wasn’t on the field he would have smacked Andrew upside the head and told him to knock it off. ‘Stop being fucking weird!’ But- you had this look on your face like you wanted to help him. Would you laugh? “It’s my glove,” his eyes looked almost glassy, like it was so overwhelming for him and- “Can I try?” You smiled, something soft and gentle and- held your hands up at him to show him you meant no harm or nefarious intentions. His lip quivered, he had to bite it to keep calm and he didn’t trust his voice but he nodded. Holding his right hand out to you and closing his eyes when your gentle hands adjusted the seams perfectly between his fingers- inspecting your work to make sure it looked perfect before tightening the strap around his wrist. “There. Is that too tight?” “N-no,” his voice was low, shaking his head after he opened his eyes and his breath caught in his chest because you still looked up at him and smiled like you always did. “I’m sorry. I-I know it doesn't make sense. But- but if my gloves don’t feel right then I feel like I can’t breathe and- thank you.” He wanted to melt into a puddle. He was rambling about the stupidest things. About his mental instability and- you didn’t laugh. You didn’t even stop smiling at him. You squeezed his hand and- “Good luck.” Because it was his turn on the field. And they won.

After that, every game since the beginning of sophomore year- you put his gloves on for him. The right one first, then the left. You painted the eye black on for him. And you made sure no one touched his water bottle- you lined it up perfectly with yours. You always had an extra towel- clean, just in case one of the animals on the team used his. You never rolled your eyes or were annoyed by his behavior or quirks. These little things that you learned about him in the last four years made him the Andrew that- well the Andrew that you loved. But you gave up on it years ago. You were content with being friends if that’s all he wanted- because he never truly was sincere. Right? There was always that unsaid part- in your mind anyway. But this game started like any other. After you walked out in the field with Andrew- his mask slipped on. The mask he wore had I protect him- the mask he only lets drop around you. The charm, the ego, the power- all come out when those lights shine on him. And it was still satisfying to see- because you knew who he was under it.

They were up by 10, minutes before half time- and Andrew had been the same pain in the ass as always. But one particular player on the opposing team just could not leave you alone- because he saw the way Andrew gravitated towards you. Between possessions- Andrew would watch how you’d flip or be thrown in the air. He would get lost in how you shouted for the team. Because when you’d turn- when you’d make eye contact you’d smile at him. That sincere sweet smile that you’d give him- only him. When you’d have a break, Andrew would hand your water bottle to you and say something stupid that would make you roll your eyes or shove him and- well nothing gets under a guy's skin more than flirting with his girl right? No one has really found a way to break your school’s not-so-secret weapon yet. But his weakness was the same as any 18 year old boy- Andrew’s weakness was a girl, his weakness was you. So while Andrew was occupied- the opposing team member jogged over to you, asking if your boyfriend was as rough with you as he was on the field.

“Fuck off,” was all you said. You were used to the occasional asshole coming over or trying to get under your skin. But this one was particularly annoying. Asking about Andrew, asking if he knows the way around your body and- “you’re awfully concerned about him? I can give you his number if you want? That way you can call him and flirt all you want after we beat you.” You tried to turn- tried to ignore him but he grabbed your arm tight to pull you back to him. He didn’t see your curly haired shadow- always watching in case you needed him.

“I didn’t say I was fucking done with yo-” you spit in his face. Spit and tried to pull your arm free but it only pissed him off more now because he shoved you into the ground and was about to storm off but your shadow had been watching- ready to attack because he saw red when you were grabbed.

“Are you okay?” Andrew helps you up- gentle in contrast to the fury behind his eyes. Giving you a once over before turning to your attacker. Now this wasn’t the first fight he’s gotten in on the field, no you can almost count on it being a nightly occurrence like the band’s halftime show but- this was the first fight you had been the cause of. Andrew is quick now- shoves the opposing team member away from you, pushing you behind him and asking what his problem was. You didn’t hear the response- but whatever he said had Andrew ripping his helmet off and hurling it at the offending party. Only seconds to recover but Andrew was faster, grappling him to the ground and using his helmet again as a weapon now- smashing it into the other guy's own helmet over and over again until he ripped it off of him and started using his fists to converse and explain his anger. It took half his teammates to pull him off because the other half was trying to drag the poor kid away from Andrew. The crowd was full of people yelling, cheering for Andrew or yelling about their own team as you were pulled away from the commotion by some of the girls while Andrew was shoved off the field by his coach. You friends were practically swooning over Andrew, telling you to go check on him because he once again fought for you.

Coach was pissed- obviously Andrew was benched for the rest of the game. He was running laps tomorrow morning and every morning next week. You hid behind a few lockers while his coach yelled at him- kicking the laundry basket across the room for emphasis and-

“He shouldn’t have fucking touched my girl- what did you want me to do?” Oh. He called you his girl- he wanted to protect you. It was hard to stop the way your heart fluttered- hard to shove down those feelings that you’ve fought for years. And his coach couldn’t argue with the logic of an 18 year old in what he thought was love- he slapped him upside the head and reminded him to be here tomorrow morning for laps. Only 10 laps around the track, coach was a little proud of the kid for coming out on top like he always did- a little ‘good job kid’ added in. But Andrew was still fuming- still angry with himself because he left you out there alone with that asshole and no one to protect you or keep you safe. He was kicking himself, angry for letting you down and punched a few lockers to try and calm down but- he couldn’t. He heard someone down the aisle- probably coach coming back to add to his sentence but no, it was you. Tilting your head at him because you see the anger still in his eyes- even if they softened when he saw you.

“You gonna take care of that?” You ask, gesturing to his bleeding nose while he toys with the towel in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He ignores you and asks again- watching you step over to him, grabbing the towel from his hands to clean up the blood that had run down his nose. The only good hit the asshole on the other team got before having to be taken off the field by medics. He was fine. Might have to sip his food through a straw for a while but he was okay. Andrew’s hand came to rest along the back of your thigh- pulling you closer to him while the other rested on your hip as you held his jaw gently to tilt his face up to the fluorescent lights above head so you could inspect his face.

“You know I can take care of myself,” you replied, feeling your face flush from the way he held you- his hands tightening their hold on you. He knew you could. He had seen it many times- even in his defense. It made him love you more.

Summer tryouts were for the returning players and squad. Getting you ready for the first game before the new year started. You had spent the first two months of summer running around the beach and mall with your friends and- well talking to Andrew on the phone until one of you fell asleep. You were excited to finally see him because he had been busy taking care of his brothers. Smurf had given birth to Deran and Craig needed constant attention or he would run naked and wild around the neighborhood. But he was excited to see you a month early- he didn’t think he could wait until school started. Used to his quirks and preferences- you placed your backpack next to his, water bottle next to his to minimize his teammates fucking with his shit to annoy him or get a rise out of him. Because you became a bitch- Andrew had his own persona and mask that he wore. So did you. A bitchy cheerleader because high school was hard and if you had to show your claws to get respect then so be it.

It was easy to get them to back off of Andrew if you got to them first. Yelling at them or shoving boys twice your size who became scared of you and the guard dog you had behind you. That first and last summer the soccer team had practice before the football team did- the goalie thought it was funny to kick Andrew’s helmet and backpack off the bench. He didn’t see it- he was busy running drills but you saw it. You saw it and hounded the goalie instantly with a shove and ‘what the fuck is your problem?’ He laughed as Andrew grabbed you by the waist after you slapped the goalie and- ‘call off your bitch Cody’ No more mixing teams after that. Did Andrew get in trouble after breaking the goalie’s nose and made him swallow a few teeth? Well yes, but the principal didn’t count on you blubbering and in tears in his office. Cheap mascara that you heavily applied for effect running down your face because- ‘I was so scared- Andrew was just defending me after I was pushed’ You were quickly excused- walking out and flashing a wink Andrew’s way. He fell in love.

“I know,” he winced when you dabbed at his nose, trying to clean the drying blood before it crusted over and would be impossible to clean. Under the fluorescents- his eyes looked more green, the freckles dusting his hopefully not broken nose were more noticeable. You got a good look at how much he’s changed in the last couple of years while you work to clean him up. He lost the cute baby fat from his cheeks- now had sharp cheekbones and an angled jaw. His curls were longer and he figured out how to style them and use hair gel. He had more freckles along his face from spending days in the California sun. Taller, more muscular- but still so much behind his eyes that he won’t show you. Despite how he’s changed physically, he still looked at you the same. Looked up at you with his face in your hand like you were the only one he wanted. He looked at you like you were the sun, and he would happily risk going blind to stare at you rather than look away. “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t apologize,” smiling, satisfied that his nose isn’t broken before throwing the towel in the pile of dirty laundry from the basket that his coach kicked. “Thank you.” You always thanked him. The times you knew about him coming to your aid- you thanked him and every time he looked at you like he didn't deserve your attention and appreciation. His grip tightened more, pulling you closer to him when he saw your eyes dip down to his lips momentarily, just a slight moment of weakness. You didn’t think about kissing him. You never think about kissing him. Especially now- totally not thinking about how his lips would feel against yours. He has this dazed look on his face, eyes half-lidded and in contemplation because he’s dreamt of your lips- he’s longed for a moment like this. Where there’s a possibility that you want him as much as he wants you. And for a second you lean in- just a few millimeters closer but you remember where you are. You remember there’s a crowd of people outside the locker room and any one of the players or coach could come in. And you remember who he is- he doesn’t really want this, not with you. Pulling away with a sigh, “c’mon hot shot- you have a bench to ride.” You grunt when you take his hand and try to pull him up.

“As long as you’re sitting next to me,” he smirks- laughing when you roll your eyes and knock your shoulder into his. “In my lap then?” He had to dodge his helmet that you threw at him but your face is always worth it because you smile still.

The next morning Andrew smiled to himself when your hand slipped back to slide a note his way- smirking when he grabbed your hand instead, holding tight and laughing again when you had to slap his hand away. ‘Going to the beach tonight?’ He had thought about it. Bonfire on the beach after a win was the usual but- ‘I’ll go if you do?’ You wanted him to go. You knew he hated the crowd of drunk teens but- it didn’t hurt to ask right? ‘Deal- see you there asshole’ he smiled, scribbling again. ‘Date? I'll pick you up if you say please’ With that stupid smiley face. ‘Don’t push it Andrew’ with your usual heart accompanying his name. He always pushed it- because it made you blush or smile. And when you blush or smile it has his heart do that drop that he remembers from day one.

You didn’t see him when you walked up to the group of teenagers drinking and dancing around to the music- your eyes scanning the crowd for your red headed shadow. Maybe he decided against it? Maybe- maybe he had better things to do. Or a date even? Ugh why did the idea make you sick? Why did the possibility of Andrew with someone else make your heart hurt? It didn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered since freshman year when you realized he’d never really want you- it was the chase and thrill. That’s okay- it was fun. That’s all. Right? You didn’t hear your name being called- you were so deep in your mind that you didn’t hear Zack some up behind you to throw his arm around you in a hug. Ugh- Zack. He wasn’t a shadow that you had since freshman year so much as a thorn in your side that you couldn’t get rid of. He was cute but- that’s really it. He didn’t get your brushing off of his attempts. It wasn’t like Andrew, because with Andrew there was a mutual- interest? No- no not interest. Understanding. Definitely a mutual understanding that you both wanted each other desperately were being friendly and flirtatious as a way to communicate.

Andrew finally arrived, promising Craig he’d take him to the beach tomorrow because he can’t take a 6 year old to a drunken teenage bonfire on the beach. His eyes scanned the crowd for you- looking around the group of rowdy 18 year olds for a glimpse of you. And he found you. Found you with Zack’s fucking arm around your shoulders. If Zack was a thorn in your side then he was a shard of glass in Andrew’s eye. The guy always tried to talk to you. And he didn’t push boundaries or make you uncomfortable- that was the only reason Andrew hadn’t shoved his face into the pavement. No he just made him insecure because there was always a possibility of you picking Zack over him. He figured you were occupied enough- not knowing that you had been waiting for him or praying he’d show up so Zack got the idea to leave. But- his self confidence was already fragile, cracked in every aspect and he just saw Zack as someone you needed. Someone who was stable and capable of being better for you. Andrew wanted to go home, but home had Smurf and Baz and well, he couldn’t really wallow in self pity properly so he went over to some of his teammates for a drink- something to help his mind shut the fuck up for once.

God Zack didn’t quit. He didn’t give up and no matter how you tried to slip away he followed. You were desperate and still hoping Andrew would show up for you. Zack had been rambling for the last few minutes about his SAT score and you honed in on the boy you had been searching for. Eyes sad while he sipped on the shitty beer someone managed to bring while he stood with his friends. God. This was the only way you could get Zack off your back. It had to be. You were desperate- this called for something drastic so maybe he’d leave you alone for the rest of senior year. Something drastic and unexpected that Zack has no choice but to back off. You walked away, quickly setting your sights to Andrew who was among his teammates.

“Andrew,” your tone was hesitant, almost begging him to not make this awkward and you heard your name being called behind you by Zack. Immediately Andrew had turned to you, hearing your call- he answers. No hesitation. You’re walking over to him, looking like a fucking dream in your short sundress because it’s hot and you’re on the beach and you reach up to rest your hands on his chest- his arms hanging slightly out at his sides because even after all these years he still doesn’t know what to expect from you and- you’re kissing him.

His world stops, time moves slower for him but everything around you both seem to move in hyper speed- your hands are on his chest and you both close your eyes because- oh, this was nice. He immediately throws his drink to the sand, hands coming to cradle your face- tightening and pulling you deeper into the kiss. He doesn’t even fucking ask why you’re kissing him- all he knows is that you are and he doesn’t want this to stop. Not yet. How was he such a good fucking kisser? It almost would piss you off if you weren’t enjoying it so much. Why were you even kissing him? Oh- Zack, right. You’re sure he’s got the point now, but your focus is now on the way Andrew is holding you, sighing into the kiss now and you let your hands fist his shirt because- is this what you’ve been fucking missing out on? You just thought you’d maybe plant a kiss to his lips and hold them there for a moment but- your lips are moving against his now, desperately so. Andrew is the one to pull away- he needs to breathe and figure out if you’ve hit your head in the last few moments because what spurred this on? But you chase his lips, you whine and say a little pathetic ‘wait’ against his lips before kissing him again. He could die right here. Andrew could be killed at this moment and be content with it. Your lips are so fucking soft, soft and sweet and you sigh into the kiss and no one around you makes a sound- the only thing is the sound of the waves and music from someone’s radio. Because frankly there’s been bets on how long it would take for you both to actually go out or if you’d end up killing each other first. Fuck or fight. And no one makes a sound but they awkwardly shuffle away from the scene because they’re all a little scared of both of you to interrupt or cheer- but there’s almost an audible collective sigh of relief from the entire senior class.

“Um, uh- t-that’s, that was- um, you-” he absolutely could not find the fucking words. Every single thought in his brain that wasn’t you has been lost. Every neuron has been fried and he wants to ask if this is a new development or if you were just trying something out but you laugh. Your intoxicating laugh makes him feel like he’s floating. “Does this mean I can take you out now?”

“Yes- yes you can,” because honestly what else could you say? You’ll explain the Zack situation later. You’ll let Andrew in on the details that lead up to you finally kissing him. But for right now you need to laugh and smile and pull him into another kiss because you’ve been clearly neglecting yourself from the way he tastes and feels.

“Fucking finally,” he sighs into your mouth, arms coming to wrap around your waist this time as yours come to rest along his shoulders. He didn’t want to stop kissing you. He’s afraid if he stops- then you’ll disappear or he’ll wake up from whatever sadistic dream his mind conjured up to torture him with. But he needs to stop because now that you’re officially his girl- he can’t have the assholes on the team watching him kiss you because he’s drowning in the little sighs you make against him. He’s immediately in love with the way you whine when he pulls away. “C’mon,” he takes your hand- pulling you farther away from the crowd to walk along the shore. You were floating, letting him take your hand and drag you anywhere- as long as it was with him, you didn’t care. You’ve held his hand before but- this time felt different. His hands were large and warm and almost comfortable- but he stopped walking, apologizing to you before removing his hand. You almost wanted to cry because you just had him but- he just switched the position of your fingers. He forced him to unlace his fingers from yours to adjust the position so that his were on the outside and- “it felt weird. Sorry I-” you shut him up with a kiss.

“I don’t- look,” you pulled away from him- smiling when it was his turn to whine about the kiss ending but you pressed your forehead against his, “I don’t want you to do this for me. If you don’t really want to be with me then that’s okay- we can forget the kiss and-”

“I don’t want to forget it.” Andrew cut you off, taking your hands in his after shaking his head a little which made your head shake with him. “I- I know I flirt and get on your nerves but- I’ve liked you since I met you. I’m not- I’m not really great at this kind of thing. I’ve written out how I felt over and over again- a million fucking times to try and tell you but I couldn’t believe you’d actually want me.” He kept squeezing your hands, subtly but you felt the incremental pressure of three squeezes every few seconds. His breathing was shaky and he swallowed hard because he was waiting for you to shove him away and- you pulled back to kiss his cheek. He has to be stupid- absolutely nothing in his pretty little head because there’s no way he didn’t think you’d want him. Years of pining after the boy, flirting back and sitting as close as possible and arguing over nothing so you’d get to speak with him and late night calls where you’d sometimes just do your homework together to the sound of breathing and papers shuffling- and he thinks you didn’t want him?

“Why didn’t you kiss me that spring break?” Your voice was barely above a whisper- could barely be heard over the roar of the waves. He sighed- because he knew what you were asking him about. That day still keeps him up at night. One of the biggest regrets of his teenage life because he thought you hated him for it. No- you could never.

After that Valentine’s Day freshman year, you wanted to believe Andrew liked you back. You don’t call someone beautiful and say that you constantly think of them in a note attached to a giant gorgeous sunflower unless you like them- right? So you tried- you tried to get the shy boy to open up a bit. Not mentioning the valentine but also not being subtle about your feelings for him. The Friday before spring break you bit the bullet- scribbling your phone number down for him because “a bunch of us are going to the beach next week- call me if you wanna come? Or just- call me?” You made sure to emphasize that even if he didn’t want to come, which you hoped he did, he could still call you. Did you feel desperate? Absolutely- but the blush and nod he gave you with that awkward crack in his voice made it so worth it. You waited by your fucking phone the entire weekend- taking it with you every time you went to grab a snack from the kitchen or even to the fucking bathroom in case he called. You realized you were a bit crazy when you took the fastest shower of your life and tripped over yourself to get out when you heard the ringing- only to be annoyed and told your friend you’d call her tomorrow. By Sunday night you had resigned from the fact that Andrew was going to call you. He didn’t think about you.

Only on the other side of the gender line- Andrew had dialed and redialed your number a million times that weekend. He was ready to strangle himself with the fucking cord because he couldn’t press call- he was so fucking scared and weak and he’s went over what to say to you a thousand times. He needs to do it. Needs to just get it over with but- what if you were just being nice? Just- inviting him out of pure curiosity and friendliness and not because you had as big of a crush on his as he did you? But while he stared at your number that he dialed- he finally pressed call. He wanted to hang up immediately but after the second ring you answered- telling your friend you’d call her back later when-

“Hey,” Oh- it was not your friend. It was Andrew. God he wanted to fucking vomit and hang up but you sounded almost- excited that he called?

“Oh- h-hey,” ugh you sounded stupid. So pathetic and- “what’s up?” Please hang up so you can die. But you didn’t know the boy on the other end of the phone was just as nervous as you were. Mumbling about his day or asking you about that math test that he was sure he failed. It's at least an hour of talking about- well about nothing really just laughing and getting to know each other without the anxiety of a face to face conversation. You found out he can skateboard. That he can play the guitar badly. That he has a 3 year old brother and his mom just had his youngest brother. He doesn’t have a favorite color but he doesn’t tell you that something about a sunflower yellow makes him smile. And every time you learn something new about him he asks the same about you. Can you skateboard? Play instruments? Siblings? Favorite color? Andrew wants to know everything about you. He wants to learn everything there is to know about you- the things you don’t tell anyone else. But after that hour you ask if he wants to come to the beach. He does. Only for you. You spend that morning tearing your room apart trying to find the perfect swimsuit to wear to the beach. Throwing clothes around your room, digging through your closet and drawers for the perfect one. Which you found but then there was the issue of what to wear over it, how to style your hair, what makeup- if any, do you have?

On Andrew’s side of the city, he’s doing the same. Albeit less about what he’s going to wear but more about what he’s going to do. That familiar feeling of nausea and anxiety was brewing in his gut. That sense of fear and dread came washing over him. He wanted to turn back the farther he walked from his house to the beach- every step he was screaming at himself to turn back. He did- a few times. Stopping on the sidewalk and turning around for a few steps before telling himself to shut the fuck up and stop being a bitch- well it sounded more like Baz in his head but it worked all the same. But it was worth the internal struggle. Because you immediately left your friends when you saw him, not even saying bye- just running over to him with the most gorgeous smile he ever saw. You pulled him over by his arm- asking if he wants to play volleyball or something and he can’t stop the wicked grin on his face when he asks if you’re up for the challenge. Of course you were. You and the girls annihilated Andrew and the boys- so much so that they claimed a sprained ankle and said it wasn’t fair. But you and Andrew were trash talking and using the net as a poor excuse for a buffer between you both.

“Here you need more sunscreen,” Andrew didn’t even apply any- he was so fucking nervous he forgot. But you were digging through your backpack for the bottle- rubbing the lotion between your palms and telling him to turn so you can get his back. He didn’t pull away when you touched him. This was the softest way someone had held him since Julia left- your hands were smoothing the redness that burned his skin, smiling to yourself as you got lost in the galaxy of freckles that dusted his shoulders. Maybe you traced them while you rubbed the sunscreen on him- definitely not writing your name on his back either. When you walked around to the front of him- his face was flushed. Andrew was burning and not from the fucking sun. Your hands on him had his entire mind screaming. Yelling at him- it felt so nice and he was doing everything he fucking could to not get excited. Even when you rubbed the lotion into his chest and arms, making the flush on his face swapped when you told him to look at you so you didn’t get any in his eyes. “C’mon- I wanna look for some sea glass.” You took him by his wrist- walking to the water with him in tow. He was still fucking dazed- he still was reeling from how you had touched him.

Andrew spent an hour following you along the tide. Holding his hands open for every bit of sea glass you found or any shell you thought was interesting. The particularly special ones he had in his pocket- the ones that you kept because they matched the colors of his eyes, green flecks around the soft amber. In his other pocket he had the ones that reminded him of your eyes. The ones you said didn’t look good enough but he wanted them- he wanted to put them next to his bed and see your eyes every night. When the sun started to set you both were still walking along the water- your friends had left and most other people from school. It was really only you and Andrew left. Every few steps your hands would bump into each other, just dancing around each other because neither of you had the courage to grab the other's hand. Not yet. God you had to do something. He spent all day with you. He got you a fucking valentine. He called you. You stopped walking, hands nervously playing with the strings of your hoodie because the spring air was chilled still- he watched you, biting his lip because he wanted to kiss you so bad but he couldn’t. Even then your hands started to play with the strings of his hoodie, panic started to rise in his chest. The second your eyes dipped down to his lips and back up into his eyes- Andrew felt fear. No matter how bad he wanted to fucking kiss you- he was scared.

“I- um, I-I gotta go-” you couldn’t even ask if he was okay. Andrew didn’t even give you a second to say goodbye or even apologize for making him uncomfortable. He all but ran from you. Not stopping until he reached the safety of his bedroom where he slammed the door shut and locked himself in. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He left you there like an asshole- left you at the beach alone and anything could happen to you because he was too fucking scared to let himself enjoy something. He curled in on himself, pressed against the side of his bed on the floor while trying to shake the way his brain was screaming at him away. Andrew felt his chest caving in on itself. He pulled at his hair and tried to manually turn his brain off like there was a switch. He couldn’t breathe. He tried. He tried to suck in as much air as he could but he felt like he was drowning on dry land. He then tried to beat the thoughts from his mind. Fists raised and tears came- muttering to himself to shut up. To stop fucking thinking even though all he heard was your voice echoed in his head. They wouldn’t stop. In his mind you were pointing and laughing like everyone had done before. You were yelling at him and shoving him into the closet like Billy did. You would never do those things. You never laughed. You never hurt him- but you didn’t want him. Look at him. Fucking weak and pathetic because a girl he liked wanted to kiss him. The face of every person who ever wronged him flashed in his mind- replaced with you.

He tried everything to calm down. Everything Julia told him to do when she couldn’t be there for him. Andrew forced his eyes opened, scanning his room- he could see the stack of CDs on his shelf, he could see the trees blowing from his window, he could see the backyard light flickering, he could see the scribbled crayon drawing Craig did pinned to his wall, he could see his jersey slung over his headboard. Andrew uncurled his hands from the fists he made, he could feel the carpet underneath his fingers, he could feel the new comforter Smurf bought him, he could feel the sand sticking to his shins, he could feel the sea glass you collected in his pockets. Andrew closed his eyes again- not as hard but enough so he could focus. He could hear Deran crying, he could hear Craig begging Smurf for some juice, he could hear the wind whipping through the trees. Tighter- he squeezed his eyes tighter and rested his head back along his bed. He could smell the sunscreen you rubbed on him, he could smell the chlorine from the pool outside. Finally he opened his eyes. One thing he can taste. Other than the blood from where he was biting the inside of his cheek- Andrew tasted the bitter disappointment of the almost kiss he had with you. He thought you deserved better. Andrew was no good for you. You looked at him like you loved him and that scared him because he didn’t know how to love.

You cried. You tried to be okay with the fact that Andrew rejected you and ran from you but- you were still a girl who got her heart broken by a boy for the first time. So you walked home and cried the entire way. Cried in your room the rest of your spring break. Ignoring the phone calls because you knew they weren’t him- and you didn't want to talk to anyone but him. But the next Monday you forced yourself to be okay. You plastered on your biggest smile and walked into home room like you didn’t spend the weekend sobbing into your pillow and hating him. Because you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t hate him if you tried because when you saw him- those sad eyes looked up at you and told you he was sorry when his mouth couldn’t. You were still a girl in love with the sweetest boy who wanted to apologize but didn’t even know the words for the feelings he had for you. You never spoke of it. You didn’t bring it up. You just turned to face him and asked if he did the reading for the week. And smiled when he told you he had some interesting sunburn patterns on his skin. You could be in love with someone who didn’t love you back. It was easy. People do it all the time. And in his mind- Andrew was doing the same thing.

“I was scared,” Andrew looked away from you, face full of regret because even three years later he’s still wondering where you both would be if he was more confident back then. Would you be together now? “I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think you actually wanted me. I- I didn’t know what I was feeling and it almost hurt to look at you because you looked at me like I was something more than who I was made to be and-” You shushed him, grabbing his hands tighter and pulling him back to rest your forehead against his.

“We can start over- okay?” He nods against your forehead- smiling as you reassure him that he didn’t miss anything. There was still time to be made up for. There was so much more he wanted to say- because at 18 years old you think you’ve met the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.

Well- he’s been wrong before.

authors note: everyone who enjoyed this horrific self indulgent mess- please thank @velvetmel0n for listening to my incessant rambling about our soft boy Andrew Pope Cody. She is the backbone of my ideas. And if you didn't enjoy this fic- don't be shy, make a request and i'll find more ways to disappoint! taglist: @foolishseven

#andrew pope cody #andrew cody #pope cody #andrew cody x reader #pope x reader #andrew cody fic #andrew cody x you #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #pope cody x you #pope cody fic #andrew pope cody x you #andrew pope cody fic #animal kingdom #my random typings

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misettemisette · 12 days ago

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Chapter 11 ➺ Not a cloud in sight

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 6K words TW: sexual content +18 PS: French writer, the players's pairings are based on rumors or invented. Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique Chapter 7 ➺ In the Haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions Chapter 9 ➺ The same struggle Chapter 10 ➺ A place for words

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“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated and buckled during takeoff.”

The plane accelerated, and Misa released a soft whine of pain. I was crushing her hand, my grip tightening in vain as I tried to focus on a magazine cover stored in the back of the seat in front of me. “Relax and simply enjoy your flight!” the title said provocatively. I was nowhere close to relaxed right now, Misa’s poor hand being the collateral damage of my fear of flying.

I had never been an air person, afraid of heights, of planes, and even of kites when I was young. My two feet always felt right on the spot, firmly on the ground or at least less than ten feet above it. I hated small, closed spaces too, so traveling in a plane was close to a nightmare. Flying with the team was always a stressful moment, especially takeoff and landing. I hadn’t found any tip to calm me, except closing my eyes and muttering some vain prayer to myself.

This time, I could at least get the comfort of my girlfriend. We never sat next to each other when traveling with the team. This was a first. A first experience I wasn’t sure Misa was truly enjoying now. Her fingers were turning white under my anxious grasp, and I couldn’t do anything else but hold my breath as the plane took off toward the sky at full speed.

“Respira, cariño. Estoy aquí,” I heard her soft voice in my ear.

I closed my eyes and tried hard to concentrate on the warm, large hand under mine. My grip loosened slightly. My palm was sweating and stuck to hers. Her fingertips attempted soothing motions on the back of my hand and succeeded at making me lose focus on the speed, the height, and the feeling of being trapped. Misa’s fingers were always distracting.

The plane stabilized, and the familiar “seatbelt is no longer required” sound rang out. My eyes flew open.

“Is it always like that, cariño?” Misa asked with a light chuckle.

I nodded, breathing deeply.

The young brunette pulled up the armrest and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. Her other hand found my chin, lifted it, and I could do nothing but dive into her brown eyes.

“I’m here. We’re going to be alright, I promise,” she said, and she leaned her face closer until her plump lips pressed lightly onto my cheek.

My eyes fluttered shut again, trying to let her cute kisses take me away from the plane. The feel of her lips ghosting all over my face sent shivers through my body, followed by the first itches of desire. Those damned lips! It was just too easy for Misa to work me up. The tiniest contact of her lips always made me want more, and I snuggled up to her, breathing in her sweet perfume. Her whole presence enveloped me and helped me relax a bit, finally.

“I bet it’s not obvious right now, but I’m really, really, really happy we’re going on holiday together, Mis’,” I murmured against her.

“Ah… I was precisely thinking I should have left you at the airport…” she joked.

“I don’t believe you, nasty girl..."

The young woman rested her head against the back of the seat.

“En verdad, I’m stressing out…”

“Oh, are you? About what?“ I asked, straightening up.

“Jenni and Codi are going to rib me day and night. Maybe even Ale will join them.“

“Why?”

She smiled shyly. “It’s been a while since they saw me with someone…”

“Oh…” I glanced down at my lap. “I hope… I mean, I hope you didn’t feel obligated to invite me after Jenni…”

“Shhhh, cállate Nicky. Don’t start with your nonsense! Of course I want you with me. Plus, you’re perfectly loca like us. You’ll blend in in no time!”

I laughed, reassured, until a turbulence sent the plane shaking madly, making me whine in terror as I buried myself back into the goalie’s arms.

***

The taxi parked in front of a large modern villa with the biggest bay windows I’d ever seen. The house was above one of the many beaches of Formentera island, framed by pine trees and colorful flowery bushes. The hard sun of noon was perfecting the chic summer decor.

We picked up our luggage and went to the front door. Misa rang the doorbell while I twisted my fingers nervously, intimidated. The prospect of meeting her closest friends was imminent.

"Están aquí, ya voy!" I heard from behind the door. I stepped aside, half hiding behind the goalie, as the door opened in front of us.

Jennifer Hermoso was one hell of a woman. No, it was more than that, it felt like a hurricane was about to sweep us both away when Jenni discovered us waiting by the front door. She flung herself at her friend, words of excitement buzzing all around.

After they parted, Jenni faced me, so tall and muscled she could have been really intimidating if it wasn’t for her large, warm smile.

"Nicky, por fin nos conocemos!" she said, pulling me into a friendly embrace.

Two other faces appeared in the doorway.

"Jenni, acaba de llegar, déjala respirar", said a blond sturdy woman who could be no one but the charismatic, famous Alexia Putellas.

The third one, Laia Codina, added, "La estás ahogando, Jenni."

But Misa interrupted the chatty women.

"Hey… chicas, hablad inglés porfi, Nicky entiende unas frases pero no habla correctamente español."

Misa’s friends nodded in agreement and we followed them inside the villa.

Three other women were waiting. After a quick presentation, I learnt that they were Olga, Kyra and Norma, the girlfriends of respectively Alexia, Laia and Jenni.

So it’s couple holidays, I thought, getting why Jenni insisted on me coming.

"Nicky!" Jenni led me to the kitchen bar. "So you snatched the heart of our bromista Misa!"

She pulled a bottle of tequila from the cupboard. The other women joined us and began fetching the different cocktail ingredients.

I drew a nervous smile. "Yeah, it’s me. What does bromista mean?"

"It means prankster!" Kyra exclaimed from across the kitchen.

Laia went on, "Chicas, do you realize Misa la malota has found a girl? How do you stand her, Nicky? Everybody here knows she’s disreputable."

With a little smile on her lips, Misa huffed and rolled her eyes as she aligned five glasses in front of the striker, who was pouring tequila into a big shaker.

"I’m keeping an eye on her", I said, looking proudly at the goalie leaning on the bar beside me, and I patted the top of her head.

The three friends simultaneously released a tenderized "Ohhhhh."

"She’s the good one for you, Misa", said Alexia.

"Yes, she hasn’t even argued with the fact that you’re a mean girl", Jenni pointed out.

"She’s got what you need, I say you should marry her now", concluded Laia.

That made me laugh, the nonsense of her friends, but especially the goalkeeper’s exasperated pout.

"I knew it was going to be like this…", Misa sighed, resigned.

"Exprime las limas, porfa", Jenni handed Misa a few limes, a knife and a juicer, "We wouldn’t let you get away without checking Nicky’s alright, we know you, hermanita", she said before turning to me, "Nickita, swimming pool or city tour this afternoon?"

"Pool’s great", I answered, too tired from the flight to really enjoy a long walk in town.

I couldn’t suppress a yawn.

"You want to take a nap? There is no rush", Misa asked me while putting the freshly pressed lime juice into the shaker.

"I’m okay, Mis'", I replied, looking at her tenderly.

Laia and Alexia leant onto the bar and whispered to each other as they watched us mischievously.

"She’s so soft when she’s talking to her."

"Look at her sparkling eyes!"

"Lover Misa is back on board!"

"Basta, chicas!" Misa grumbled, "It’s getting annoying!"

Everybody laughed, especially Jenni. "Eres imposible! You’d be doing ten times worse if you were in our position!"

The goalie shrugged and smiled naughtily and Jenni went to hug her again. "Te heché de menos, mi vaca!" she said affectionately, sending Misa softening in her arms.

"Ay! Y yo!" the goalie replied, hugging back Jenni like crazy.

In the meantime, Laia and Kyra had precisely divided the shaken beverage between the waiting glasses, and they handed each woman a cocktail.

Jenni spoke again, lifting her glass, her voice filled with cheerfulness. "Salud chicas! To love, to friendship, and to fucking great holidays together!"

We joined her in a profusion of joyful exclamations.

***

I had taken a nap after all. We had dropped our stuff in our room and I had lied down on the bed, mostly to test its comfort, but sleep had taken me swiftly a few minutes later.

I woke up after what felt like hours. The bedroom was dark and quiet. Misa had pulled the curtains, but she was nowhere to be seen. I stretched, feeling better, although a bit dehydrated, and got out of bed. I checked my phone and figured out I had only slept around forty minutes. That left plenty of time to enjoy the day.

The goalie’s clothes were resting on the armchair, her trunk had been opened, and I deduced she had gone to the pool with the other girls. I opened my own trunk and rummaged through my stuff until I found my bikini. A funny thought crossed my mind as I undressed. Olga and I were the only non-footballers in the villa. Putting my bikini on, I wondered if I felt confident about that. Probably not. Self-confidence wasn’t something that really defined me, and that was partly why Misa impressed me so much. She had the strength of someone dealing with pressure on a daily basis, someone you could rely on. Of course, she could be a little grumpy, and hot-headed, but she was never mean or disrespectful.

She had been my sweet, unbearable, thoughtful friend from the start.

I wrapped myself in my beach towel and opened the door. Happy voices and water sounds echoed from the outside, confirming they were by the pool. Eager to join everybody, I climbed down the stairs and quickly crossed the living room.

I stepped outside. The sun dazzled my sleepy eyes. They took a moment to adjust as I scanned the place.

Jenni was sitting on a sun lounger at the farthest side of the pool, completely at ease being topless. Kyra, Olga, Norma, and Laia were swimming and chatting happily. Alexia was talking to a muscular, tanned girl lying on her belly and wearing nothing more than a light green swimsuit thong. Modest, I looked away and locked eyes with the Spanish striker.

"Hola Nicky!" Jenni called to me with a large smile. "Come sit with us!"

"Cari!" Misa had flipped herself onto her back, but it wasn’t any better for my sanity because she wasn’t wearing a top either. "Nicky! Venga!"

She opened her arms, signaling me to come closer. I walked toward her, smiling timidly as I approached my gorgeous girlfriend. I laid my towel next to the goalie, who pulled me close, draping her arm around my shoulders. She pressed a soft kiss on my temple and resumed her talk with Alexia.

I blinked, dazzled again. The sun was lower but still beating down. Misa’s arms kept me pressed against her hard, blazing body. She was relaying some funny story, speaking animatedly in Spanish while stroking my hair now and then. My hand had fallen on her abs and I wasn’t daring to move it. I wasn’t daring to move at all, afraid, once again, all of this might only be a dream. Could it really be me, lying next to my girlfriend, the beautiful goalkeeper of Real Madrid, spending holidays in a luxurious villa with her friends? It still felt amazing that she had chosen me, Nicky, a simple photographer, among all the girls she could have.

Misa and Alexia burst out laughing.

"We were remembering one time at camp when Jenni and I jump-scared Alexia so much she almost threw up!" the brunette explained to me.

"It was Jenni’s credit!" Laia called out from the pool. "You, Misa, were already dying of laughter before you even pranked her!"

Everybody laughed.

"Has Misa ever pranked you, Nicky?" Kyra asked me.

I straightened up, embarrassed to be glued to the half-naked goalie now that the other girls were looking at me.

"She did…" I admitted. "Although, one time, I pranked Misa when she wanted to prank me!"

"Guau! How did you do it?" Jenni asked. I had caught the girls’ attention.

Misa had sat up as well and was smiling shamefully as I told them the story.

"It was at the Ciudad Real Madrid. I was in my car, ready to go home. I saw Misa in my rearview mirror crouching and coming slowly from behind. I was sure she wanted to go to the side and pop up by the driver window, so I let her come closer and closer, watching her in the mirror from the corner of my eye. And when she was about to jump up, I honked!"

A burst of laughter rippled through our small group.

The goalie scratched her nose, tears of laughter in her eyes. "Dios mío! I thought I was dying of fright!"

"You fell on the floor like a panicked wild animal!" I chuckled, putting my hand on her cheek. "You should have seen your face! I almost felt bad for having pranked you so well!"

"Well done, Nicky!" Kyra said.

"Sí, enhorabuena, Nickita! You’re an official member of the pranking girls now!" Jenni congratulated me.

As everybody resumed their chatting and stopped focusing on us, Misa pulled me into a hug again.

"I told you, you fit perfectly among us, cariño…" she whispered in my ear. Her soft breast brushed my back gently as she settled me better against her. Something hot and swollen grew in my throat as happiness wrapped itself all around me. I closed my eyes. My fingers found her hand and I intertwined them with hers.

Yes, all of this truly felt like happiness. Simple. Pure. Happiness.

The bliss hadn’t left me.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying the pool, dining, and chatting all together. We went to bed at a relatively reasonable hour and what a joy it was to lie down at her side in the comfy bed, losing myself in her sweet perfume. The two of us chatted a little more until it was Misa’s turn to fall asleep without warning. I had grown used to her feeble snores and stayed a moment listening to her deep breathing before putting my earplugs on.

Because of my nap, I woke up early the next morning. Again, I spoiled some minutes looking at the sleeping young goalkeeper, curled on herself, her mind lost in the peaceful slumber of a dream. Was she dreaming of football? Or of a thick waffle loaded with chocolate? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I’d never want that serene expression to leave her face. I wouldn’t let anything hurt Misa. Nothing. She was too precious…

I got up without waking her. I met Kyra in the kitchen. The Australian woman hadn’t taken the Spanish habit of sleeping late yet, and I was happy to share breakfast with someone—Misa always fasting half the day.

The other girls woke up a few hours later. Some of them went to the exercise room of the villa and some went running along the shore. After quite a fight, Misa convinced me to join the running team.

“You go jog just a bit and wait for us on the beach! Exercising is important for your health, Nicky!” she said, dragging me outside the villa.

Dating an athlete, this was bound to happen! And here I was, wearing some of the goalie’s spare training clothes, jogging slowly along the shore before noon. It wasn’t long before I was totally distanced, the footballers shrinking to tiny moving dots on the horizon.

Out of breath after only a few minutes, I hated Misa for making me run. I stopped. If I wanted to build up a healthy routine, I needed to take things gradually. Besides, I couldn’t deny exercising felt good afterward, especially when I ended up walking on the sand, listening to the sound of the waves as my heartbeat gradually slowed down.

That was when my mom called.

“Hello Nicky! How are your vacations going, sweetie?”

“Hey Mom, vacations are great!”

“You are on a Spanish island, right? And you’re coming home at the end of the week?”

“In Formentera. Yes, until next Sunday. I’ll land home at 5:30 PM, can you fetch me at the airport?”

“Of course, baby! Tell me again the names of the friends you are with? Everyone’s from Real Madrid?”

“Er… Not everyone. I’m with Misa and her friends.”

I stopped along the shore, letting the sea’s embruns blow in my face.

“Oh, your other friend’s not here… Hmm… Hayley?”

We were getting dangerously close to the point.

“No, she’s not…” I said, staring at the horizon. The sea was almost completely still, giving birth to a single wave, which died a few feet away onto the sand.

“Oh, she’s not? Only Misa then?”

I exhaled.

“Yes… Mom, I’ve got to tell you something. First, I need you to understand that it’s good but it’s complicated.”

“Tell me, baby, you’re getting me worried!”

“Don’t, Mom, I’m alright, really. Okay… I’m not… Misa’s not… Misa’s my girlfriend…”

“Oh, but that’s good! From what you told me about Misa, she’s an intelligent, healthy woman! You scared me, I thought you had some problem!”

“Misa’s awesome but I do have a problem…” I paused. The sound of the waves continued to soothe me. “As their professional photographer, I’m not allowed to date Real Madrid players.”

Right away, I felt relieved. No more secrets with my own mother. She knew everything now.

“Oh Nicky… that’s… that’s a pity. So, how are you coping? And you’re getting a promotion, right?”

“Yes. That’s the deal. Everything’s great, Mom, my job, Misa, except I’m not supposed to have both.”

“Since when did Misa and you start dating each other? Is it serious with her?”

“I really hope it is. It’s been three months now.”

“Okay Baby, wait more. Love is important, but having an exciting, well-paid job is too. Only time will test your relationship and show if it’s going to last… Anyway, I’m glad you told me. I thought you were hiding something but I wanted you to be ready to speak up.”

“Thanks Mom, I’m really feeling better.”

“I’m happy you found someone, love. And I hope I will meet Misa one day.”

“Thanks! I really hope you will! I’ll send you photos of our holidays. It’s so beautiful here!”

“I can’t wait to see. Bye, my little girl. Take care of you and Misa. I love you.”

“Kiss dad for me, I love you too Mom.”

I hung up, breathed out again, and walked toward the little group of footballers who had come back from their run and were setting their towels on the sand a bit farther down the beach.

The bliss still hadn’t left me.

***

And it never left. Holidays weren’t just holidays.

We could hold hands as our little group wandered around the streets of Es Pujols. We could lock eyes or murmur something silly in each other’s ear without thinking about it looking suspicious. We could dance, pressed together in a tender make-out at the club, surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about Real Madrid or who was kissing its goalkeeper. We could cuddle whenever we wanted, provided we could tolerate the unceasing mockery from her infernal friends. In fact, those friends really made me feel comfortable, teasing me like I had always been one of them. And after a day or two, even Jenni’s amused gaze began to feel like a caring presence.

But the best part of it all was being with her, all day, all night, day after day. There were no goodbyes, no time apart, no in-between moments. Just moments with my girlfriend, living with my girlfriend, and enjoying every little bit of it, from the burned toasts she prepared for me in the morning to her loud snores forcing me to wear earplugs every night. It was like an endless day off in Madrid where we had a whole island to explore as a couple, surrounded by friends, with no other task than planning our next cruise or booking a local specialty restaurant we wanted to try.

Slowly, I got it. Here, we were free. Free to be lovers. And I realized being Misa’s girlfriend was like the waveless sea of Formentera, flowing peacefully.

***

“…and they found the guilty vein and burned it,” Misa finished, smiling mildly at my astonished expression.

I shifted my position on the stone bench, crossing my legs, the screeching of cicadas filling our last night on the island.

“And it healed your tachycardia?”

“Yes, I was healed and able to play football again!” she concluded with a small laugh, like going through awaken heart surgery at the age of thirteen was no bigger deal than buying bread.

I was gagging, impressed by her courage at such a young age and by the strength and determination it had given her since.

“Wow, I’m speechless. You already loved football back then.”

“Football is my passion for life. I can’t live without it. Like… you couldn’t live without chocolate chip cookies.”

I slapped her shoulder, chuckling. “You’re just bummed because you can’t eat my biscuits!”

“I swear you have a problem with sweet food, Nicky! Your cupboards are always full, stuffed with several boxes of the same biscuits. It looks like a shop!” Misa laughed, looking at me tenderly. “I’m telling you, you’re addicted to sugar. I should call you Azúcariño from now on.”

“You would not!” I giggled, moving a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I surely would, Azúcari.”

Misa pulled me into her arms, love in her eyes so visible I blushed, grateful for the darkness of that part of the garden. The brunette was already laying small kisses all over my face, making me laugh again, something in me purring deliciously at the feeling of being loved so much.

“You’re so sweet, Mis’,” I said, wrapping my arms around her broad, comforting shoulders. “You’re right, I’m addicted. To you. You’re my dark chocolate chunky cookie, strong and sweet.”

Misa and I looked fondly at each other for a moment, our shiny eyes reflecting the moonlight. My fingertips traced random shapes on her nape.

“I forgot to tell you…I’ve subscribed to a tattooing course! It comes with a kit and all the supplies to get started!” Misa announced with excitement.

“Wow! That’s great, baby!” I said, beaming with pride.

“Yeah, I’m so happy about it! Although… I’m stressing a bit about the drawing part,” she added, a little embarrassed.

“You should take drawing classes too, then! When I was in art school, my drawing level was so bad I gave up. But I’ve always wanted to learn. Maybe we could do it together?”

Misa’s eyes brightened before she pouted. “Qué buena idea! But… soy muy mala. I’m so bad at drawing…”

“I’m sure you can do it! You’ll improve no matter where you start. We’ll encourage each other!”

“You’re right. We’re going to do it!” she declared, swelling her chest with pride. “Te quiero, Azúcari…” she said, then softly pressed her lips on mine.

“I love you, Misa,” I responded with a smirk, before we lost ourselves in a long kiss.

As we deepened the kiss, music began to echo from afar and I tried to pull back, only to feel Misa’s strong hands holding me firmly in place.

“Más…” she whispered.

“Everything is ready!”

I jumped at the sound of Jenni’s voice nearby, followed by the rustling of leaves. The tall, lean silhouette of the striker appeared behind us.

“Hola, tortolitos! Stop your crap and join the party!”

“Party!” Misa sprang to her feet at once. “¡Vamos, Nicky, yeahhhh!” she shouted, running toward the house.

Jenni and I both rolled our eyes. “Misa…” we giggled in sync.

When we reached the pool, Misa was already dancing like a beast with Laia, Kyra, and Norma, their voices outshouting the music. Jenni was quick to join them, while I preferred to sit in a lounge chair beside Alexia and Olga, watching the dancing footballers with a motherly smile.

“They’re always so wild,” Alexia laughed.

“Yeah, they’re having so much fun,” I agreed, my eyes glued to Misa’s bouncing figure, more excited than ever.

“And you, Nicky, are you having a good holiday?” Olga asked.

I sighed in contentment. “Perfect.”

Alexia chuckled softly. “Good. I’m happy for you two. I hope you’ll find a way around the work problem,” she added a bit awkwardly.

My heart tightened. Of course Misa had told them about the clause. I was still searching for something to say when two large hands pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the dance floor.

“You have to dance to this one! it’s Formentera by Aitana! So on point!” Misa shouted, hopping in place as she pushed me into the middle of the dancing girls.

Soon, their energy swept me up, and we all sang in a chaos of off-key notes.

Porque desde que estás aquí Aquí cerca de mí Que tú eres mi baby Ese recuerdo de tenerte sin ropa…

We danced for hours, song after song. Time didn’t seem to exist as the party stretched into the night, cocktails and beers refilled as soon as they were emptied.

Time didn’t exist when Misa was putting on a show, dancing and singing badly just to make us laugh. Every passing minute made me fall even more for her silly, radiant personality. I was falling so deep as our bodies pressed together on the dance floor.

“Te quiero a ti… Let’s go upstairs. We’ll say we’re tired.” the brunette whispered, a burning glow in her almond eyes, and I shivered, realizing just how badly dancing and drinking with her had worked me up...

I pushed Misa against the bedroom mirror. Our room was a fair distance from the party, and we had closed all the doors we could. The air was warm and heavy with humidity inside the villa.

My fingers slipped under her T-shirt and rose along her spine to reach the hook of her bra. I pulled her clothes off, stepped back, and took in the half-naked figure of the goalkeeper. A smug smile spread across Misa’s face as my gaze grew heavier with desire. She grasped her shorts and slowly pushed them down to her ankles before stepping out of them. She dared to stay there a moment, in front of the mirror, her reflection showing me her bare body from every angle.

I reached out to her, pressing against her again.

“You’re fucking gorgeous…” I whispered against her lips.

I was already damp between my legs as Misa led me to the bed, lying on her back before swiftly pulling me over her. I chuckled at her eagerness, taking off my top as I straddled her.

“I was dying to do that for hours! You were so pretty on that bench…” she panted, working to undress me. But she froze when she pulled my panties down. “Uh, um, mierda… Nicky, you’re having your period…”

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” I moaned, jumping off her and heading to the bathroom. “Fucking shit! No!”

“Madre mía! Not on our last night together!” Misa groaned from the bedroom.

“That’s not fair!” I said. My underwear was completely ruined. “Er… I’m so sorry, Mis’. Can you fetch me a new pair of panties, please…?” I asked, embarrassed.

“Sí, claro. No te preocupes, Nicky, no pasa nada.”

She slipped an arm through the doorway, handing me a black boxer, and I began to change in a hurry.

“We could go in the shower…” Misa said through the door.

Coming back into the bedroom, I discovered her sitting at the edge of the bed, naked, looking at me expectantly. My core already screamed for her touch.

I stepped between her legs, looking down at her pleadingly.

“My period started strong. I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” I said, bending toward her lips and stopping just short. “Besides, I want you more than anything else tonight.”

The brunette’s hands fell on my nape and pulled me into a feverish kiss. My stomach swirled lightly, aching to take care of her as we crawled back onto the bed, careful not to break our passionate make-out.

As I settled myself properly over her, the goalie let out a small whimper and closed her eyes. Her fingers sank into my hair, deepening our kiss. I spread my legs slowly, opening hers wide at the same time. Misa released another whine and squirmed. The quickening rhythm of her breathing encouraged me to stay like this, edging her a bit more. I sent a finger tracing the shape of her abs and felt her hips bucking over nothing.

“Nicky… you want me to be as frustrated as you?” she whined as my palms brushed the insides of her thighs, going, but very slowly, toward her intimacy.

Her hips wiggled again, accompanied by a low moan.

“Just wet a little more for me, my love,” I teased, not really minding if she caught the play on words. The young woman pulled my lips against her neck and sighed. I took my time licking the soft skin there and ended by nipping her earlobe, sending a shiver along the goalkeeper’s spine.

“Nicky?” she sighed softly.

I stopped, looking at her pretty face. “Yes, baby?”

“I want you… with the strap we brought,” she said, a smug smile spreading across her features.

I moaned, her demand sending goosebumps all over my body, and rose at once to retrieve the precious item.

I opened the drawer, searching toward the back of it, my hand falling on a suggestive shape wrapped in silky black fabric. I swiftly pulled out a purple toy and a harness.

Misa stretched lasciviously as she watched me put on the harness, securing the toy in place before coming back onto the bed over her. Her hooded eyes kept looking up at me expectantly, yet her movements guided my body down, her hips directing mine until the end of the strap rubbed against her.

Our lips met again, our ragged breathing syncing with the way our hips moved in anticipation. I led the strap lower, lining it up with her entrance.

"Listo?" I murmured, making sure she still wanted it.

"Sí," she sighed, wrapping her arms around me, and I began to push very slowly.

The goalie whimpered, her grasp tightening around my shoulders. I kissed the corner of her mouth, pushing deeper. Misa’s lips parted in a loud cry, her back arching when my hips finally met hers. I waited for her to get used to the feel, our faces pressed together in a tender kiss, and then I slowly pulled out.

Her hands raked down my back, holding me closer as I pushed in again. I slightly quickened the pace and she whimpered louder, her hips moving in rhythm. As she arched more, her head fell back onto the pillow, her arms raised and her fingers digging into the fabric. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent and letting her hear just how turned on I was by making love to her like this.

I was far beyond the point of excitement, something hot and swollen growing inside me again, as my love for Misa overflowed around us, bonding us more deeply than the strap between our bodies.

Her shallow breaths brushed my face, escaping her lips with every thrust. I gazed at her, overwhelmed by the bliss written across her features, until a high-pitched moan slipped from my mouth. Misa opened her eyes, two dark pools reflecting my own need. She pulled me into a rough kiss and flipped us over.

I froze for a second, taking in Misa’s muscular thighs straddling me, the V-line stretching across her stomach and meeting on her pelvis, just above where the strap disappeared between her legs. I moaned, my core burning. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her small breasts, bouncing slowly with the gentle rocking of her hips, while she held herself against the headboard with her strong arms…

“Fuck!“ I blurted out.

The brunette whined. “Sí…” she sighed, “Fuck… me… cari…“

My hands fell on each side of her waist instantly and I resumed thrusting. As soon as I moved, her cries echoed again through the bedroom, higher pitched now, almost pleading. Combined with the way her fingers clenched the bed frame, I could tell she was very close.

When I started to pound faster, Misa stopped moving, arching desperately to chase her release. She went silent, her entire body swaying above me, clinging to the toy. Driven by her erratic breathing, I kept filling her, and then her thighs began to tremble.

"Dios mío!" she cried, her beautiful face twisted in an unbearable amount of pleasure. "More! Hostia!"

I was panting now, my legs felt shaky but I held on, trying to keep a steady rhythm, giving her everything I could. I held her waist firmly, then slipped a finger through her folds, my small caresses on her clit guiding her until she reached her orgasm.

A long cry broke from her lips, her brows knitting tight before her whole body relaxed in release as a final thrust pushed her over the edge. She moaned again and again, louder each time, her gorgeous body writhing with enjoyment until she collapsed onto me.

I wrapped my arms around her as her whimpers faded, softer now.

My embrace tightened desperately. "I love you so much," I whispered, my eyes burning at the sight of her falling appart with pleasure.

Misa freed herself from the toy and rolled onto her back. I took the harness off and crawled back to her face. My heart was drumming in my chest, worn out from effort and emotion. I kissed her cheek, my palms stroking her recovering body with all the tenderness I could offer.

The goalie turned back toward me, her breathing still shaky and her eyes shut tight as she nestled her face against my chest.

“Humm, love you Nicky,” she whispered, her lips slightly trembling. “You make me feel so good, and safe.”

I pressed her closer, not bearing the tiniest space between us, my heart bursting with overwhelming feelings. Misa’s words felt like a gift no one had ever given me. A tear fell from my eye before I even knew what was happening, landing softly on the woman resting in my arms.

She looked up at once, tender at first, then confused when she saw I was crying.

“It’s alright,” I smiled, my voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone. You’re so special, Misa, and you make me feel special too.”

Misa’s fingers delicately wiped the tears off my face, her lips pressing gently on my collar bone.

“You’re going deeper than the strap…” she chuckled, her own eyes shining.

She sank back into our embrace, holding me tightly. I wouldn’t have moved an inch away from her anyway.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like this, but we had fallen asleep for a long time before our bodies finally parted.

When the light woke me up in the middle of the night, I realized we hadn’t pulled the curtains. The full moon was high and bright in the cloudless sky. Tomorrow, each of us would return to our families for the rest of the holidays. Misa and I would not see each other for weeks.

I went back to bed after closing the curtains, pressing my face between her shoulder blades. I started drifting back to sleep, her snores welcome tonight, knowing I was going to miss even that in a few days.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

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cj-kenobi · 6 months ago

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Sunflowers and Water Lilies

Chapter 1 - aetara dosu (what could happen if we could meet)

It's finally finished. Behold the niche codywan narrowboat / canal pub au! It's on ao3 here :)

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi has resigned himself to a quiet life travelling the canal network alone, aside from the presence of his neurotically anxious dog, Boga, working hard to avoid Anakin's anger at something that happened years ago while keeping distantly in touch with his small handful of friends. That is, until a broken water tank on his narrowboat leads him to meet Cody, the handsome owner of a canalside pub. Obi-Wan tries desperately not to reveal too much about his history with Anakin to Cody, all while finding himself drawn closer and closer to the man.

or, the extremely niche british countryside codywan au fic I have been writing for almost three years where Obi-Wan owns a narrowboat, Cody owns a pub, Anakin has anger issues and everyone gets to be happy in the end I promise.

Plus a little bonus art just for tumblr under the cut

#fanfiction #fanfic #cal writes #codywan #codywan au #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #cal draws #my art <3 #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #ao3 links #ao3 fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom

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karmacharmeleon18 · 2 months ago

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I was re-reading the part where Jean and Jeremy adopt Jab (❤) and realized Nora gave us two little hints that Jean habitually texts Renee to tell her/ask her about random stuff, and not just when he's in distress

And then there's this bit here back in chapter 15:

Jean was upset about the bruises on Jeremy's neck. Maybe he texted Renee to ground himself. Or maybe it was Cody, since right after this he asks Jeremy to tell him about his past (which is not something he'd discuss with Renee, I don't think)

Or maybe he didn't text anyone, just thought about it because he wanted Jeremy to make good on his promise to tell him the truth, and he wanted to reach out to someone to calm down, but Jeremy came back too soon

Anyways I can't believe Nora kept Jean's conversations with his friends from us 😭😤

#jean moreau #jeremy knox #renee walker #jerejean #cody winter #aftg #tgr #tsc

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theladyofshalott1989 · 12 days ago

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🌈️ Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week: Day Seven!

Prompt: The Future

"And Now I Hear a Symphony (Or, Damien's Vows)"

[ AO3 Link ]

Synopsis: Damien's vows to Sebastian on their wedding day.

This is a bonus chapter for the second long-fic in my "Like Moths to a Flame" series, but it can be read as a standalone.

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 894

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Male MC (Damien Evans)

Tags: Fluff; Wedding; Vows; Established Relationship; Companionable Snark; True Love; Soulmates

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who followed along this week. And thank you once again to @hogwartslegacyprideweek for planning the event.

The banner below includes all of my own sketches of Sebastian and Damien on my "Corinne learns how to draw" journey, which I started nearly a year ago now.

The first part of the title comes from the song "I Hear a Symphony" by Cody Fry.

Sebastian, or shall I say, Bash?

From the very first words you spoke to me, I knew it was you. Don't worry, I fully realize it took you a while to come to the same conclusion. I won't hold it against you. You had more important things on your mind, after all.

And yes, I truly mean it when I say I knew it was you. Not that I ever thought we had a future ahead of us, as I was still under the deeply unfortunate impression that my attraction to the same sex was forbidden and dangerous, akin to committing murder, if my father had anything to say about it. One of many reasons why he is not here today, but I digress…

It would take a few weeks for me to realize that horrible assumption of mine was, in fact—miraculously!—not true. At least not here, in the marvelous, magical wizarding world.

But when I did learn I was allowed to appreciate you, allowed to see you as more than just a friend, allowed to want to be with you, that thought became so much clearer. It was you, and only you. Despite everything.

Okay, there might have been a moment or two, or five, when I was rather cross with you. You know which moments I am referring to, so I won't embarrass you, not on our wedding day—I'm not that ignorant , ahem—but I could never stay mad at that delightfully freckled face of yours for too long. Especially when I could always read how flustered being in my presence made you, even when you were fighting your feelings. Yes, I know you fought me for a while there. Don't look so shocked.

How did I know? Because I knew that feeling all too well. Attraction of any sort was not something I could express for the first fifteen years of my life. Not outwardly. For fear of ruining my life. Not that I had much of a life ahead of me in the Muggle world. They wouldn't allow it.

But then, you . You, Sebastian. Yes, you, in all your unending charm, your delicious sense of humor, your deep devotion and unshakeable loyalty, your, well, everything. Handsomeness, included, of course. But that was—is still—a given.

I know you're likely blushing right now so I will pause. Everyone, please hide your eyes for a moment; Sebastian would much rather get caught in the Restricted Section of the library than have someone watch him having an emotional outburst, so look away. Are you looking away? Okay, good. Pausing…. now.

Alright, that's enough time. Are you ready, Bash? I'm going to assume that's a yes. Prepare yourself.

Sebastian Nicolas not quite (yet) Evans-Sallow—thank you immensely for agreeing to have my surname come first, by the way; it has a better ring to it—I truly do think I was made for you. Let's say there is a God up there in the sky, one kinder than I grew up learning about and worshipping, or, better yet, maybe Merlin really is an all-knowing deity watching over us, chuckling when we use his name in vain. Wouldn't that be quite something?

I'm rambling, I know. Where am I going with this anyway, you ask? I promise there's a point. It's: whatever deity is up there, if at all, when they made me, they picked out my eye color, my hair color, my arse—yes, I know it's your favorite—my gender, just for you. Yes, yes, I know you also find women attractive and you would have loved me even if I were born female, but that's beside the point.

Even if this is all just random chance and no one created us, so to speak, I'd like to think that something knew our lives would one day cross and we'd find each other here, now, with our family and friends celebrating our joined hands in marriage. Even if that something was just chance. In fact, that might be even more astounding.

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Which I'll do. In a moment. I'm not quite done yet.

Sebastian, Bash, my great love, I know our future together is bright. You, a professor already, even at such a young age, me, now co-owning Spintwitches, and Anne and Ominis, so close by, within walking distance of our cozy little home. We already have so much going for us. What more could we ask for?

I know you know this already, but I love you. Immensely. So much it hurts some days, mostly on the days you make it difficult, which does still happen from time to time, yes, but I know there will never ever be a day I stop loving you. And that's not just a fact, but a promise. I hope you never doubt it; I hope you never doubt me.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for forgiving me when I made mistakes, of which I, too, have made a fair few of, as we all have. Mistakes are a part of life, after all. But you and I choose to be better every day, and that's what makes all the difference.

I love you, I love you, did I mention I love you? …I love you.

Okay, that's all. Let's get married now, shall we?

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy pride week #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x male mc #sebastian sallow x m!mc #sebastian sallow x damien evans #hogwarts legacy mc #damien evans #like moths to a flame series #burning bright #corinnewrites

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givethemsmut · 8 months ago

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Cody Rhodes x Reader

Made of Gold | Chapter Five

Reaching below the driver’s seat I heard the lever snap while he pushed himself back. Leaning over the wide console separating us, his lips pressed against mine.

A few sweet kisses and our mouths were opening enough to slip our tongues to each other. Warm and wet I couldn’t get enough of him.

An accidental moan slipped from my mouth and I felt his hands guide me to his lap. Climbing over the console I gathered my dress up to my hips, showing off a lace pair of panties.

“God damn,” he said before helping me settle on top of him.

My heat collided with his crotch, every hard inch trying to bust through his zipper. “Cody,” I whimpered like he planned to toy with me.

I felt his knuckles work between my thighs as the small dress zipper gasped and I felt how free he was against my panties. I nearly collapsed against him, my legs still shaking, all of me physically begging for him to fuck me again.

“Take your time baby, I know I’m big.” His instructions seemed important when his fingers pushed my panties to the side and his tip smeared against my clit. I was soaking wet for him when I lowered myself slowly, ignoring the pain of being stretched to accommodate his size.

He did promised to ruin me… and he was for anyone else to enjoy me without feeling the imprint of him.

My hands reached out for him, clutching onto any part of him I could, bitting my lip to muffle the painful whimpers spewing from my mouth.

His lips planted soft kisses down my neck, my collar bones and chest as much as he could while I trembled on top of him. “I know baby, I know, it’ll feel good soon.”

Swaying my hips over his lap I started to grind into him, finally adjusting to his girth.

“That’s it baby. Just like that. Fuck…” I watched Cody try to stay composed as I rode him but failing. It felt powerful to bring someone like Cody, all masculinity and muscles, to the edge of reason.

I don’t know what possessed me when I tried to catch my breath enough to say, “I’m falling for you too.”

Our mouths collided and his arms wrapped around me, urging my pace to kick up while I nearly came.

Fisting the material of my dress he buried his face in my neck, “I’m not wearing a condom. I need you to come baby. I’m too close.”

My hands on either side of his neck I painstakingly dragged my hips over his lap, my legs still quivering, my nipples still daring to scrap against his vest I flashed him a small grin. “It’s not like I’m gonna get pregnant from one time… I just wanna feel what it’s like…”

His hands latched around my hips, holding me down against his lap and his eyes locked on mine. “You just got to experience sex, I’m not knocking you up.”

My tongue liked his perfect, prevalent, jaw before I plead my case. “I don’t want to be pregnant. I just wanna fill what it’s like to make you come because of me, not your hand.”

I was virgin but not blind. Cody finished himself off after he made me come for the fifth time, making a mess on the inside of my thigh. I wanted to be the reason he came this time.

“You think you weren’t the reason I came last night?” My hips lazily swaying on top of him.

Nodding silently I waited for him to kiss that wound.

His blue eyes hadn’t shifted away from mine, still locked, “You can’t be serious. Your legs were open, your pussy was so wet, the way you panted my name, the way you watched my hand barely touch myself while I came - fuck. I’ve never came that hard in my life. I wanna enjoy you before I have to share you with someone else. I wanna have fun with you first. God damn it, I’m gonna come. Fuckkk.”

Holding me in his grasp, he buried his chest in my chest and I felt the ecstasy of coming immediately as he filled me.

Letting my head tip back I held my breath, soaking in every second of his orgasm sitting inside me instead of splashed on my thighs. “Oh my god,” I whined.

Jerking inside me still his hands only gripped tighter while he rode it out. “My neighbors might hate us now.”

I smiled knowing they probably would. The gated community scream safe and PG yet we were fogging up the windows and not muffling a single moan in his driveway.

Carefully putting himself away I felt his hand brush my sensitive pussy and nearly gasped all over again.

“Now you see why I didn’t want to go home,” I whispered.

His square jaw tensed at the thought of me going home, “I don’t care what he said about either of us. We both have a past, it can stay in the rearview where it belongs.”

Carefully removing myself from his lap and trying not hit the horn on the steering wheel I fell into the passenger seat with a laugh. “I just care about this version. Are you sure it’s okay I stay with you longer? Not exactly normal.”

Getting out and rounding his car to open my door I waited for his answer, “Versus the alternative? No, you’ll stay here and when I leave on Thursday you’ll come with me. I have a personal bus, plenty of room.”

“Leave Thursday?” Suddenly I got anxious, nervous even.

Taking my hand he lead me inside, “For Smackdown, it’ll be my debut back at WWE. I figured you wouldn’t want to stay here alone.”

I had pushed that reality out of my mind. I was prepared to have Cody take my virginity but I hadn’t planned on sticking around after that.

“Oh, work, of course. I can just stay here. I don’t wanna make any problems for you.” The self conscious wave nearly drowned me when I placed down my stuff on the counter not realizing we never actually ate at dinner.

Raiding his fridge, I pulled everything I needed to make a creamy pasta and the steaks to jazz it up. Making myself comfortable in his unused kitchen I went to work, cooking somehow calmed me. Both of my parents were always away on vacation or business trips, always leaving me to fend for myself.

Sitting at the island he watched me buzz around the kitchen. “Problems for me? How would you be doing that?”

“It’s your debut… we’re still figuring it out, I’m underage still, my dad just declared war. I don’t want to be distracting.”

“You’d be distracting if you weren’t by my side. I don’t want you here all alone. I have a bus, we’re on our own island babe.” He stood up, coming behind me and wrapping his arms around me. “I want you there.”

The nerves wrapped around every sane part of me when I agreed to join him on the road. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, I knew nothing about this world or how to fit in.

The entire week I researched the roster, the company, the girlfriends and wives trying to prepare when there was no preparing when the bus parked at the venue. Everything felt electric, larger than life, when we walked through the tunnels filled with employees of WWE.

Squeezing Cody’s hand I made sure my pace matched his as he strutted through in his full suit. I made sure to pack everything my mother would approve - everything with a label that screamed old money.

Every female I saw was in designer, full glam and intimidating as fuck. He was surrounded by beautiful woman for his job and I’m just the taboo fuck.

A new person shaking his hand around every turn we took, welcoming him home in this profound way. “Welcome home?” I whispered as his hand squeezed mine.

“My father and brother are a WWE legacy, I left all that to prove I was good enough to carry that name. I proved it and now I can come back home on my terms.” His face lit up when he spoke and you couldn’t help feel inspired.

Leaning in without thinking I let my lips peck his, “Welcome home then.”

Quickly pulling back slightly I looked around for anyone looking at us when I realized we were finally alone. “I don’t care who sees. You’re mine.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck I pulled him closer, feeling our mouths smile over each other’s before brushing up the heat between my legs. “Don’t tease,” I begged as I felt my ass hit a huge black trunk.

Cody’s hands easily lifted me up, my ass teetering on the edge, my legs spread apart enough to let him fill that space. My hands unbuttoned his shirt until it hit his vest, wanting more of him in the worst way.

“I have a dressing room… somewhere… fuck… I’m never gonna get tired of this.” His voice was full of sex appeal, rough around the edges, enough to fuck me right here backstage where anyone could catch us.

“Don’t stop,” I begged exasperated enough to feel my chest flutter and his fingers found my slit drenched panties. The oars of his fingers applied just the right amount of pressure that drove my hips forward, chasing his touch.

I was a mess on that trunk tucked in a dark corner of the venue.

Reaching my hand out my palm collided with every hard inch of him. Pouring mouths into each other’s mouth I silently begged him to fuck me. “Baby… baby… we can’t. Not here.”

Kissing up from his chest to his jaw I felt his breath hitch, the one sensitive spot on his body I had found. Smirking to myself I closed my legs around him, my knees brushing his hips in his sweats before his head fell between us, defeated. “You’re killing me…”

“I’ll be quiet,” I teased. “It’s been forever. I need you.”

“Forever, huh? Yesterday is forever?” His arrogance stroked he cupped my face forcing my eyes up.

Shaking my head yes I palmed him through his pants. “I always want you. I don’t care where we are, who sees, who cares.”

Dropping his hands I felt his fingers nudge my panties to one side before I them slip inside me. With a gasp my back arched, pushing myself further into him. “You want everyone to know you’re mine?”

Shaking my head I buried myself in his chest trying to muffle exactly how good he felt.

“How do you feel so good?” I moaned through the words, dragging every vowel and trying to stay composed.

His mouth covered my neck, leaving kisses, “You’re made for me. This pussy is molded to me.”

Taking pity on me his fingers pinched my clit sending chills down my spine when I clutched onto him for dear life.

“That’s it baby. Come on my fingers, I want to taste you.” He purred the words into me.

Just as I was about to come we heard a deep growl of a voice echo with the venues open ceiling. “Cody, we gotta talk about your entrance.”

Stopping short it looked like he hit a brick wall when he saw us pressed together out of breath and common sense. Keeping his head down he stood there waiting for Cody.

His fingers came up between us as his mouth closed around his two fingers that were just inside me. “You taste like my new favorite addiction.”

“Cody,” he scolded like we were love drunk teenagers.

“Find catering, all the girls hang out there. I’ll be quick.” Pecking my lips he pulled away and I felt the cold absence hit while I came down from the high of him.

Everything about him was predatory: his smile, his baby blue eyes, the way his taunt muscles were always golden, and the way you knew he didn’t view himself as the good guy. Something about him told you to be careful, watch for land mines, and shame on you if you get hurt.

Snatching my mini bag, I strutted back the way I saw them go, asking every person where catering was until it seemed simple enough to find.

Cody was right, everyone gathered here like a water hole and I quickly felt out of place.

A beautiful woman noticed me, quickly linking arms with me and dragging me over to her friends. “I’m Raquel, I’ve been with WWE for years. Are you new?”

She grilled me with all the questions you ask someone you’re just meeting. All the how’s, why’s, and where’s like you have to know every detail about them before you decide if you like them or not.

Her friends were equally as gorgeous, all toned, and in deigned clothes. Introducing myself carefully to each one I made sure I made myself likable for Cody’s sake. I didn’t need to make friends but Cody deserved the simplicity of blending in.

Raquel stopped short before she introduced the last girl, “This is Brandi.”

The entire group seemed to go silent enough to hear a pin drop when I awkwardly smiled through it trying to realize whatever had happened. “I don’t get it, what happened?”

Brand, the ebony beauty, locked eyes with me before speaking. “They’re all awkward because I’m Cody’s ex.”

I stood up straighter, smile bleeding my face. “Oh. Fun.”

Raquel’s hand rubbed my back like it was heartbreak to hear he had a past, an ex. It was news that she worked here but we both have a past we want to keep buried for as long as possible.

“He wasn’t a virgin when I met him… this isn’t ground breaking, guys. Maybe that you work here but not groundbreaking. Have you seen him? He’s gorgeous.” I blushed at my own words trying to figure out why her working here bothered me so much.

He knew and dropped zero clues for me to pick up.

Maybe we needed to dig up our past to have any future.

Requested Tags:

(if you want to be tagged please let me know in the comments)

@alyyaanna

#fanfic #fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe #cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes fanfic #cody rhodes imagine #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes

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artemisdesari-blog · 3 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

Snippet from chapter 133 of Careless To Let It Fall, because I'm actually pretty ahead of myself but need to exercise restraint for a change.

“What happened, Myles?” Cody’s voice emerges from the vambrace as soon as the call connects. “It’s me, Dearest,” Obi-Wan says. “There’s been a development and I need you to put the Mandalore plan into action. As far as the investigation is concerned I’m guilty of organising the bombing and it isn’t looking good. It’s time to leave.” “We’re not leaving, Obi-Wan,” Cody insists. “There’s proof you didn’t organise the bombing, we just have to find it.” “Myles is working on it,” Obi-Wan promises, sounding far calmer than he actually is. “And the Council has no doubt of my innocence. But you must take the 212th to Mandalore. This is the excuse that they need to put Tarkin in control of the 3rd Systems Army and Mouse has said that they’ll kill you if they have to so that they can achieve it. If they do that–” “If they do that everything we’ve been working towards will go up in smoke,” Cody says, sounding resigned. “What about Ahsoka? Is she in danger?” “She’ll leave with me,” Myles promises. “And I’ll bring your squad back too.” “And you, Obi-Wan?” Cody demands. “What about you?”

#obi wan kenobi #commander cody #careless to let it fall #ao3 #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #star wars #codywan

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shootingstarpilot · 2 years ago

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A scene that will only be referenced in the next chapter, but I was overcome with the urge to write it out anyway:

Boil catches Stitch's entry onto the bridge out of the corner of his eye.

He elbows Waxer, grinning. The kid's got a pair of crutches under one arm, and they'd both noticed the way the Commander had been leaning on the holotable, stubbornly ignoring the General's not-so-subtle disapproving look and the chair Waxer had fruitlessly nudged into place behind him.

This is going to be a show.

Stitch scans the bridge, eyes narrowed, until he catches sight of the Commander. He walks forward, stopping a few respectful feet behind him, and--

waits.

Thirty seconds pass.

Then a minute.

More and more eyes are landing on him. Poorly-muffled giggling blooms across the bridge.

"Hi, Stitch," Waxer says cheerfully.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says politely, his gaze flickering sideways in acknowledgement before returning to Cody's back.

Cody's shoulders slump.

Eventually, the holocall ends. General Kenobi is the first to turn around.

"Hello, Stitch," he says, smiling faintly. "Can I help you?"

"No thank you, sir. I'm waiting for the Commander, sir."

There's only so long Cody can avoid turning around, and he knows it. With a long, deep sigh, he turns.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says brightly, and thrusts the crutches forward. "You forgot these."

"Those aren't mine," Cody says immediately. "I left mine in my office. I'll grab them after."

"These are yours," Stitch says patiently. "I put a sticker on them when Helix first gave them to you. See?"

He points. Cody leans forward, searching despite himself--

His expression flattens out.

"It's a lightsaber," Stitch says helpfully. "Needle made it. He said you'd forgotten your crutches before, and I thought a sticker would be helpful for you to remember which are yours. Helix says taking initiative is a good thing."

"I... see."

He still doesn't take them.

Stitch sighs. "Is this because Helix yelled at you for kicking droids again, and you don't want to prove him right?"

"No," Cody grinds out, and Waxer muffles a wheezing laugh in Boil's shoulder. General Kenobi's expression is carefully blank.

"Is it because--"

"They're uncomfortable," Cody sighs. He lowers his voice, conscious of their delighted audience, and there's a ripple of coughing and clearing of throats as people turn back to their assigned tasks. "They-- my shoulders keep cramping. I need to be able to fire a blaster, Stitch. I'm minimizing my movement as much as possible, I promise."

"Uncomfortable," Stitch echos, looking baffled. "Why didn't you say so, sir? Give me-- ten minutes, please. I can fix that. I'll be back soon. Can you sit down in the meantime, please?"

"I'll make sure he does, Stitch," the General interjects, and Stitch nods seriously.

"Thank you, sir," he says, and nods at them both before vanishing out the door.

"You're enjoying this far too much, sir," Cody hisses, as Kenobi carefully helps him settle into the long-ignored chair.

"My dear Commander," Kenobi says, laughing, "I'm simply glad it's not me this time."

Cody's glare could incinerate a Hutt. The General remains cheerfully unaffected.

When Stitch returns, he brings with him a painstakingly adjusted pair of crutches. Layers of cotton batting is tied carefully to the pads, and the grips have been adjusted a few levels upwards.

"Try these, please," he says, handing them over.

Cody reluctantly accepts them. "All right. Later, when I--"

Stitch is looking at him very expectantly.

He sighs. "Yes, Stitch."

He levers himself to his feet and takes a few halting steps. Boil watches, fascinated, as astonishment flickers across his expression before it settles into a quiet resignation.

"This-- is better," he mutters. "Very much so."

Stitch beams. "Thank you, sir! And you'll make sure to use them until you're cleared?"

"Yes, Stitch."

"And you won't forget about your follow-up tomorrow? You can have a juice box. Or a pudding cup. You can choose. Needle got some."

Waxer coos. Cody glares at him.

("That's KP duty for you," Boil whispers. "Just you wait.")

"I won't, Stitch."

"Good. Thank you, sir. And- Helix told me to tell you that you- that you're lucky you got me and not him, sir, because he'd be, um- a damn sight louder, sir, because he's got no patience for- for idiots, sir."

A beat.

"That's from him, sir," Stitch repeats anxiously.

Cody sighs. "That's all right, Stitch. Well done."

Stitch brightens immediately, rocking back on his heels. "I'll save you a chocolate pudding cup, sir, if you like. Those ones are the best, so they tend to go fast."

A smile flickers across Cody's face. "Thank you. I'd appreciate it. You're dismissed."

Stitch salutes-- shiny little tubie, small gods-- and vanishes out the door.

Kenobi has given up the game entirely, now, and is grinning broadly. Cody turns on him immediately.

"Stop that."

"Stop what, my dear?"

"The thing you're doing with your face."

"Smiling?"

"Smugly. Yes."

"I'm just pleased with our medics' professionalism, Commander."

"I've got two dozen witnesses to that for the next time you try to dodge them."

"Noted. Can I have your pudding cup?"

"No."

#shoulder the sky #stitch the medic #codywan #teasing is a perfectly valid love language

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lysistratawrites · 3 months ago

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all or none (chapter 4)

Hold on to what you have and never let go.

Pairing(s): Original female! Character x Joel Miller, Maria Miller x Tommy Miller

A/n: finally they get to jackson! 🥳

Warnings: canon violence, swearing, maria bitchin’ around (promise i’ll be good to her in future chapters), angst, fluff, smut

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @maegelletargaryen @daryltwdixon @mmkkzz @isla-finke-blog

Cody is a shit show. So do Laramie and Cheyenne. The list reduces itself by the minute.

Around the worn out map sit the three of them, eyes upon the lines, the names of the places they have already been crossed with an old pen Charlie wonders how it works after a whole life in desuse.

“Why don’t we try Jackson? We can follow the river and see if Tommy’s there.”

They had gone too far up North after running away from their shattered hopes in form of a myriad of infected in each and every town. Even a small tribe by the border with Montana had told them that the vast majority of Wyoming was decimated, reduced to the screeches of clickers and runners, but something on Joel’s gesture had pushed her to stay quiet and keep going on.

“If we stay out of the forest we may be an easy target, but at least the chances of running into anything there are low” Charlie bites her inner cheek, thoughtful, her finger gently tracing the blue line of the river until reaching the town. “I say yes.”

When she raises her gaze, Joel’s somber eyes are upon the map, his left hand clenched into a fist, his chest slowly going up and down in a controlled breath. The last time he heard about his brother was months ago, the radio signal coming from a tower well guarded by a bloater who had managed to take a place among her cruelest dreams despite having reduced him to a mass of flesh, blood, fungus and bullets.

The next days they do as Ellie had proposed, no sign of anybody during their trail. They keep following the river’s course, finding any kind of shelter by the time night falls upon them, making them curl around a small fire to not get frozen by the time dawn throws any light on that damned forest.

It is in one of those shelters, a small cave pretty close to the river, when the weight of their trip really starts to take its toll on them.

They had been talking around a small bonfire, eating a rabbit Joel and Ellie had killed during the lessons he had been giving her about hunting after a myriad of pleas. Only when Ellie is sound asleep—countless hours awake at night have given her the chance to know when the girl is truly resting—she turns to face Joel, his attention outside of their improvised little shelter.

“Spit it out.” Charlie mumbles, loud enough for Joel to hear but not for Ellie to wake up.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Joel’s gaze is far from her, but at the same time she knows he can’t be closer.

“You and your brooding face know. You’re pretending around Ellie. I know Kansas Cit—”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He is frowning, his jaw clenched as he seems to fight back something she doesn’t quite know.

“You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually.”

“Charlie, please.”

When he turns to face her, the dim light of the fire casts sharp shadows across his face, revealing what words cannot.

…

They had heard the stories about ‘the river of death’, and they had thought it had to be a joke, a folktale to push any daring raiders back, but one thing is to hear about it and another one is to actually see it.

Once they get to the upper part of the hill they give themselves enough time to observe the image before their eyes, the bluest waters any of them have seen, the falling snow giving the landscape an eerie touch, the looming threat of death hanging silently in the air.

About a mile away, a dam seems to break the atmosphere, to give a false sense of normalcy. It stands as a monument to human ingenuity, but it does little to calm the unease gripping their hearts.

“Dam.” Sentences Ellie, raising both eyebrows, the roaring of the water almost covering the sound of her voice.

“You’re not Will Livingston.”

“Nobody can.”

Nobody to be seen on that side of the river, nor on the bridge, nor even the other side. It feels like nature has just made disappear any trace of humankind in that small area of the country, and, despite the supposed safety feeling it could give her, Charlie finds out that she has grown to dislike being that far from people.

“Argh, I’m so hungry!” Ellie groans as they are about to cross the bridge by the dam, breaking the restless silence.

“I know, I am too.”

“Okay, next squirrel I see I’m totally shooting it.”

If the girl is trying to lift their spirits, she seems to fulfil her purpose effortlessly.

“Let’s get past this place, then we can scrounge up some food.”

“Well, if I starve, you’re responsible.” A sort of a smile curves Charlie’s lips.

It has stopped snowing by the time they have reached the other bank of the river, landscape faded to white and cold.

“You think this is the river of death?”

“That’s bullshit… Right, Joel?”

But Joel stays silent for a while, and Charlie knows he is pondering about the legend of dead bodies spread along the banks of the river, a frontier between terror and wildness and a relative peace tarnished with the plague.

“Of course that’s bullshit.”

They would have walked a bit more than a mile among Ellie’s terrible jokes—a hopeful attempt to keep the spirits high—when a small party, no bigger than four people, rushes into them, horses quickly gathering around them, circling them, guns trapping them in an alleyway with no exit.

Raising their hands at the band of strangers, Joel unconsciously motions for them both to stay behind him at the same time Charlie does something alike with Ellie, leaving the kid between their backs in an useless attempt to keep her safe.

“We’re just passin’ through.” Joel almost seems like he knows they have no escape, his voice sporting a subtle hint Charlie hates with all her being.

They just cannot fight them, not without getting any loses in the attempt.

One of the strangers just observes them, silent, his rifle lazy pointing at them, his eyes stuck to them.

Stuck to Joel.

“Lower your guns” he says with a raspy voice, almost commanding, forcing Charlie to pay special attention to him, her eyes upon him as he lowers the scarf around his face without haste, tough eyes softening. “I know him. That’s my goddamn brother.”

The man climbs down the horse in a swift move, rifle forgotten by the horse’s saddle, and Joel’s expression shifts from one of guarded hostility to shock in just an instant, raised arms quickly dropping to his sides, disbelief etched across his face, closing the distance between him and Tommy with hurried steps.

“Fuck, Tommy” Joel mumbles as he wraps his arms around his brother, welcoming his touch when he does the same.

It looks like Joel has took about fifteen years out of him.

“Is that…?” Ellie mutters by Charlie’s side, curious eyes observing the scene.

“It seems so.”

They both stay aside, observing the bothers in silence, letting a sort of jealousy cling onto them at the fact of Joel being able to enjoy what they don’t have the chance to, to finally put a face to the looming presence of Tommy Miller.

When Joel introduces them both to Tommy, it takes them a moment to react, to shake off the bewilderment and muster a smile. Charlie extends a hand and offers him a nod.

“Let’s go home. You girls are hungry?”

…

What awaits at the other side of the big heavy doors is something none of them could have imagined, and their eyes roam over the shiny street lights, the appealing streets with roads of houses well kept, the myriad of eyes upon them as Tommy shows them a part of Jackson on their way to a place he called ‘The Tipsy Bison’.

Only the soft grasp of Ellie’s hand on hers grounds Charlie, pushing herself to look at the girl with a soft smile upon her face, her own hand gently squeezing Ellie’s in return.

It is all so different, so far from the stillness of Lincoln, the chaos of Kansas City, the uneasiness of Cody or Laramie. Tommy calls it home, and Charlie barely registers when he talks about an empty house they could use near his place.

The smell of hot food pushes them inside the Tipsy Bison, and before Charlie can react, the three of them are almost forced to sit down at a table by Tommy and a woman known as Ol’ Sue, little but full of energy and warmth. Only when she leaves three steaming bowls of stew before them, Charlie allows herself to lose some manners and quickly attack the food like it is the last proper meal they had in a long time.

Charlie lifts her gaze from the plate when a female voice approaches them, and the sight of a woman being maybe too warm with the youngest of the Miller brothers makes her nudge both Joel and Ellie, who are almost as lost as her with the delicious stew, possibly the first proper meal they have eaten since they left Lincoln.

“Guys, manners” Charlie mutters as her eyes land on Tommy and the woman. “Sorry…”

“There’s more if you need it.”

“Thank you. It’s been a while since the last time we ate like this.”

Ellie stuffs her mouth with food again as Charlie and Joel try to not seem rude. It takes Charlie a mighty effort to not give up and ask for a second round as she picks some bread and breaks it into tiny pieces, dipping them in the rests of the meal, quickly using them to clean the bowl.

“This is fuckin’ amazing. Charlie, why don’t you ask for the recipe?”

Joel throws the girl a glare as he apologizes. Clearly they are not role models there in Jackson.

“If you girls like it that much, I can go with you to ask Ol’ Sue to teach you how to cook it.”

Charlie’s gaze lands on the woman, who has now taken a seat at the other side of the table, next to Tommy, her eyes upon the three of them, but specially upon Joel and Charlie.

“Thanks, ma’am, we’re grateful for your hospitality and all, but it’d be nice to have a moment here maybe just for family.”

Charlie can’t help but look at Joel, softly, when he just brushes her knuckles the moment he talks about family. He rarely likes to show that closeness among strangers.

“Well… Maria is family, actually.” Tommy’s face reflects the uneasiness of the moment, of having to tell his brother that he had found a proper life after having gone separated ways.

The three of them have different reactions, going from Ellie’s sparkling sass to Joel’s silent frown, passing from Charlie raising both eyebrows in surprise.

“Congrats” she nudges Joel, trying to make him react. “Joel,” she mutters “say congrats.”

“Congrats.”

What a surprise.

…

Tommy and Maria give the three of them a tour around Jackson, and turns out that Maria is one of the leaders of the commune, her father having been one of the first people to put his focus on that little town at the feet of the Grand Teton Park.

Maria leads the group, giving all basic information they are supposed to need, because she assumes they are staying despite the cautious glares she has been throwing to Joel at the Tipsy Bison.

“Holy fuck, this place actually works.” Charlie mutters, meeting Tommy’s proud smile as he turns back to face her, almost like he took part rebuilding the town.

“Everybody contributes to the maintenance of the commune” despite the initial distrust Maria causes on her, Charlie cannot deny the leadership that emanates from her. “Greenhouses, kitchens, hunting, repairs, watching by the gates, working on the dam, patrolling the surroundings. Everyone has something to do.”

By the time they get to the stables, with Ellie distracted with a brown foal that seems to have grown fond of her maybe too quickly, Charlie’s gaze meets Joel’s for a moment before landing on Maria.

“Sign me up for patrols” she sighs, trying to not land her gaze on Ellie. “The sooner, the better.”

Both Joel and Maria seem to want to object, each one with their own reasoning, but it is Tommy the one to actually accept her decision, landing a hand on his wife and his brother in an attempt to ground both of them, to show Charlie his true self, even to try and gain her trust.

“I’ll talk to the boys, sure they’ll like to have new faces around. Got any experience?”

“Ten years patrolling at home. I cooked, fixed stuff, tended the chickens, hunted, patrolled. Just gimme something to do.”

“Charlotte—” Maria’s voice changes, far from the authority she is, possibly trying to connect with her and give her an opportunity.

“Charlie” she snaps back, slightly tilting up her chin.

“Okay. Charlie” she concedes, that is something good. “Usually newcomers spend some time getting used to how the commune works before taking part in its maintenance. There is no need to rush.”

“Please, indulge me.”

…

They are given a pretty house close to Tommy and Maria’s, two floors and a wooden porch in need of mending, the paint faded here and there along the façade betraying the time it has been with nobody to live in it—but it is pretty, it has what it needs to become a home.

With Joel and Tommy on their own, it is Maria the one to show them the way, to even go to the council building to take the keys of the place and give them the whole bunch of keys.

“Holy fuck! Hot water!”

It is not until they are left alone that they think about taking a shower and start exploring the place.

But first things first.

“Are you guys sleeping together now that you have a bed?”

To avoid any fighting, the both of them had gone into the shower together, maybe too thrilled for having hot water and proper towels to use for the first time in months.

“I guess” Charlie shrugs her shoulders as she rinses Ellie’s hair, the smell of strawberries filling her nostrils. “Gotta ask Joel.”

“Why botherin’? He’ll say yes.”

A soft smile tugs from Charlie’s lips.

“Gotta choose one of the other rooms for you, dawg.”

“Definitely the one furthest from yours.”

They both laugh.

By the time they both are out of the shower, towels forgot aside as they put on some clothes Maria has taken the liberty to leave on the closest room, Charlie can’t help but notice Ellie’s eyes stuck to her side, to the ugly scar long forgotten.

“It’s pretty old, don’t worry about it.” Charlie puts on her bra as she talks, trying to avoid thinking about that night, about Frank’s steady fingers trying their best to heal her in the middle of darkness.

“How—”

“Raiders. It was only me, Bill and Frank to take care of the place and they were a lot. Things got a bit messy and I ended up bleeding up the dinner table.”

Ellie frowns, softly biting her lower lip like she finally gets the answers she silently searches.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not now. I’m okay.”

They certainly are not used to that clinginess, but Ellie cannot help but leave the sweatshirt aside and just go where Charlie is, her arms surrounding her in a tight hug, her face hiding against her chest.

…

The note had been a disturbing invitation, but with Joel and Tommy still together, something deep inside pushed the girls to cross the street and come into the house with the lights on, the door unlocked for them to come into.

“Hello? Maria?”

The place is inviting. Warm and cozy, it surely looks like a home should do, its walls clad with memories and the smell of the hearth wrapping it all, making them forget about the chill of the night, the snow lazily falling and covering it all in cold white.

They leave the entrance behind and when they come into the living room, both of them spot a simple memorial, two names written on it with dates below each one: Kevin and Sarah. Charlie clenches her jaw when she sees the dates under the second name, and something deep down twists and turns, leaving her floating in something disgusting.

“Oh, there you are” Maria’s face reflects cordiality, even a sense of familiarity Charlie is not ready to feel yet. “Clothes okay? Boots?” Both nod in agreement. “Sizes alright?” Another nod from them. “Do you girls want some tea or something? Who’s been cutting your hair?”

“Professionals” Ellie bites back, earning a nudge from Charlie. “What?” Both exchange looks. “We went every week to a salon to get fancy haircuts.”

Another nudge, and Maria manages to convince Ellie to only trim the ends.

“Touch me with those scissors in hand and it’ll be the last time you have hands.” Charlie answers when Maria insists on doing the same to her. It is true that her hair has seen better days, but she wants to be the one to fix it, not a stranger who she’s just met a couple of hours ago.

Maria serves them some tea with cookies, a snack while they are there.

“So, you are sisters? You look quite alike.”

“No. Just met some months ago.”

“And how did you end up here with a man like Joel?”

It is true that Maria’s tone reflects a but of curiosity and some instincts of protection, but Charlie decides she dislikes it.

“He’s not a bad guy” Charlie looks at Maria, who is carefully cutting Ellie’s hair, almost like if she was her own kid. “He cares about us.”

“I don’t mean it. But I think you girls don’t know who he is.”

“Oh,” this time is Ellie the one to stand up for Joel “we know what he did the years he was with Tommy after all went to shit. He did what he had to, that’s all.”

Before being a smuggler, Joel had been a raider during the first years after the outbreak, along with Tommy and other people—Tess would join them later, close to Boston, where Tommy would meet Marlene and deflect their group as well, in this case for a dream too brilliant and too far to achieve. He had told them some details during their trip, a part of him fearful of their possible reject.

“All I’m saying is that you must be careful. Sometimes the biggest pain comes from the people we trust the most.”

“Can’t remember how many people I’ve shot down to defend my kin. Does it make me a bad person, Maria?” Charlie looks at the woman, chin held high and a proud look upon her eyes.

Charlie is sit on one of the kitchen chairs with an arm upon the table, the fist clenched so hard the knuckles have turned white. There are so many things she can tell that woman that may start a rabid fight she would gladly get into… But a part of her knows that the best is to keep herself quiet, to show a temperance she is not sure she truly has, and to secure a place for her, Ellie and Joel in that haven among death and destruction.

When Maria suggests them to go to the movie night afterwards Charlie can’t help but gladly accept, mainly to escape that house. She knows she will have to work hard to tolerate the presence of that woman around.

Once they are at the common house, she gently lays a hand upon Maria’s arm, calling her attention.

“Need a talk. Alone.” They go to a side of the building once Ellie has gone into it, a weird movie on the screen that Charlie has not heard about. “Look, I’m thankful for your hospitality and that, and I wanna start giving my best to the town, but there’s something we must clear. Now.” Charlie clenches her jaw, taking a deep breath to avoid getting into a fight that is not convenient in that moment. “Right now you and I are strangers to each other, and what you said about Joel makes me wanna punch you in the face because I love him. A lot. I know about his past, and I just don’t care.”

“Charlie—”

“Please, lemme finish” Charlie raises a hand, gently, trying her best to be polite, to show the manners Bill and Frank raised her with. “We’re gonna see each other a fuckin’ lot, and despite my feelings right now towards you, I think the best is to get to know each other better. I already like Tommy, he seems a nice guy with a good heart. I’m only asking you to give us a chance before startin’ to talk shit ‘bout Joel or me.”

Maria takes a deep breath, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as she observes Charlie for what seems the longest second of history. Around them people gather to come into the building under the premise of some distraction, or just to talk under a roof and also take care of their kids. None of them seem to notice the stranger under an old brown coat and a dark beanie fighting hard to assume her oncoming future.

“I would gladly like to get to know you better.”

…

His hands are shaking as he talks, memories of past mistakes coming to life with the faces of dead people, some beloved and some not.

“Joel.”

“I just need you to protect her. That’s all I’m gonna ask of you for the rest of my life.” He mutters, almost embarrassed of the tear that rolls down his cheek, his body being the first to recognise his own vulnerability.

Around them not even a sound dares to disturb. He had read about the movie night in one of the posters on the boards around the town. A perfect moment to avoid any unwanted questions.

“I’m not who I used to be. I almost got both of them killed and I couldn’t do a thing. I saw a man shit down his own brother before threaten to do the same to Charlie and I couldn’t move.”

Joel raises his gaze towards his little brother, and the look upon his face reveals the raw discomfort of reality.

“Sometimes fear crawls inside me, and I just can’t breathe” his voice is a trembling mumble, he isn’t sure how he manages to make it sound. “I fear they’ll suffer because of me. I… I have dreams. Bad dreams.”

“Tell me ‘bout them.”

In the middle of the night, with the dim lights of the lamps casting shadows upon both of them, Joel hesitates before speaking. His voice is barely a whisper, as if uttering the words aloud might give them power.

“Can’t remember them. When I wake up I know that I’ve lost.” He pauses, the weight of the unspoken pressing heavy on his chest. “Please, Tommy. Promise me.”

…

By the time Joel gets back home, she has already lit the hearth, a proud little smirk tugging from the corners of her lips. Charlie had ransacked the wardrobes of the whole house looking for clean pyjamas for them three, leaving Ellie’s and Joel’s on their beds, ready for them, while she had settled with plaid bottoms and a cotton shirt, keeping her feet warm with grey woollen socks. When she hears the entrance door, she stands up and paddles to where Joel is, her steps barely making any noise with the socks muffling them against the floor boards.

“There you are” she gently cups his face with both hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his cheekbones. “Wanna see the house?”

Joel’s eyes roam around the place, his brow slightly furrowing, before observing her, almost like wanting to remember every single detail of her features and commit it to eternity.

“We’re alone?” He mumbles, and it seems he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of the place.

“Ellie’s at the movies. Can you believe she’s already making friends?” Charlie chuckles and Joel’s lips curb into a soft smile “I saw her talking with a couple kids, they seemed nice. Maria’s watching her, so we’ll get a while for us.” One of her hands leaves his cheek and instead unbuttons his coat, without any hurry, leaving it by the hangers next to the entrance door before taking him by the hand. “Come.”

Joel doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t even say a word. Only when they are upstairs Charlie truly sees the shift upon his eyes.

“Love…” she mutters.

“I need you.”

There is no need for anything else. Joel leans in and kisses her, tenderly at first, and only when she responds with equal intensity, the kiss deepens, echoing all the unsaid words between them. His hands quickly find her waist, the warmth too pleasing to ignore, fingers too tempting as they trace a long forgotten way down her skin, knowing perfectly the path, making her squirm as her mouth leaves his, lips trailing his jaw on their way to his neck, to that spot she found years ago and kept deep down in her memory.

“Darlin’…” he breathes as he gently tilts his head to let her do, realising how much he has missed her touch, her lips upon his skin, the feeling of her body pressed against his, soft and familiar.

“Indulge me” she mouths against his collarbone, nuzzling the hollow just below as her fingertips create a path up his spine under the flannel, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The thrill of having his rough fingers gently caressing the skin below her navel only compares to the countless fantasies she has lived back in Lincoln under the protection of the night, when her own hands roamed free over her body, and her mind just pretended that it was Joel who touched her.

They part as soon as they reach their bedroom, Charlie’s fingers gently unbuttoning the flannel and unzipping his trousers under his attentive look, his eyes never leaving her figure as she slowly peels away the layers separating them, savoring every second. When her hands gently tug from his trousers to pull them down, her attention goes to his underwear, fingertips getting between skin and cloth with loving care, driving it down as she kneels before him, slowly, hands quickly going to his length and cradling it before starting to tugging it up and down, treating it with an extreme care, almost an object of adoration.

“No.”

Her lips have just started to pamper it when a rough hand gently lands on her cheek, and when she looks up to his face, something stirs deep down, committing to memory that half lidded gaze of his when he just refuses to have her kneeled before him.

The moment she stands up again his big hands just roam free under her clothes, and she closes her eyes in delight, having missed such an intimate yet so daring touch. When he takes off her shirt without any haste, the moment he takes to observe at her half-nakedness feels greatly eternal, a hint of adoration upon his gaze.

“So fuckin’ perfect.”

When she lands on the bed, her pants are already half down her thighs—the absence of panties being ignored by both of them—, and it only takes a pull to get them to her calves, only for her to get rid of them with a kick as he takes off the t-shirt he wore under the flannel, his eyes never losing her, like wanting to carve her image to his mind, to save even the tiniest detail for times of need, for when he cannot look around and see her, stretch his arm and find her.

When he lays on top on her, both arms placed on her sides in search of support she quickly cups his face with both hands, a loving smile grazing her lips before his mouth descends upon hers, claiming her in a kiss that speaks louder than words ever could. Despite the care both of them touch each other, it is all teeth and tongue, thirst driving them both, all emotions past and future pushing them to search the other with hopes of finding warmth, comfort and solace.

And they just do not know they already have all of that in the other.

“Joel” Charlie breathes when he nibbles just below her jaw, peppering little kisses down her neck as one of his hands abandons her side, driving his cock to her folds, coating it in her arousal, only leaving it to brush the rough pad of his thumb over her clit, a touch delicate but at the same time insisting, searching with a hint of desperation to tear those pretty sounds he likes from her mouth.

The moment he pulls his hips forward, the delicious stretch combined with the constant little circles that his thumb is making and the feeling of his scruff by her collarbone make her squirm, give up to the oncoming bliss, painfully pleasant as he keeps an steady pace, for once giving himself the chance of taking as he just gives, because she deserves everything.

His name falls from her lips as a broken chant as he pulls her to that white hot ecstasy she has missed for so long, reaching it not once but twice before his pace falters for a moment, and his lips return to hers searching for that sweet nectar, her hands pampering every inch of skin they can reach, encouraging him to take as much as he needs, to find his shelter in her.

A broken sob escapes her mouth, his cock gracefully brushing that specific spot that had made her see a myriad of starts for the first time years ago, her cunt gushing over his length as his pace falters to a stop and he fills her to the brim, a grunt falling from his lips, half muffled by her soft skin.

He is about to pull out after a moment so long as it is delicious, and the only thing she can think about is to not let him go, to relish in his warmth and give up to the pleasant feeling of him that close to her. So she just gently pushes his rear with her heels, her legs surrounding his waist as her body opens up to his touch, one of her hands landing on his salt and pepper locks, fingers burying in, gaze half hooded in the aftermath of bliss as he hides his face in the crook of her neck.

“Please.”

#aon4 #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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superlarva · 2 years ago

Text

Modern AU kid Domino Squad! Cutup (back left), Hevy (back right), Fives (front left), Droidbait (front middle), Echo (front right). I felt the need to make them all look different since quintuplets would be a bit out of place in a modern AU, so Cutup, Hevy, and Droidbait are adopted.

Okay, I know it's been a few weeks, but I promise I'm still here and still working on Raising Dominoes. Life's just been super busy and I had to put in extra hours at the lab these past few weekends.

Anyways, here is Chapter 11 - Memories. And on a Saturday, not a Sunday! :)

Prologue: 00 Previous chapter: 10

Summary: Rex battles guilt and Echo recalls the events leading up to his hospitalization.

CW: Child abuse, death, death of children, guilt, missing limbs, hospitals, explosions. Heed the warnings on this one, friends. It's not a fun time for the boys.

Chapter 11 - Memories

Rex woke from an uncomfortable sleep as the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the hospital room. He had not had the heart to separate the twins while they were sleeping, so he had hunkered down in the chair by the boy’s bedside for the night. Now his neck and back ached and he had pins and needles in his legs.

A quick look at the boys and he could see they were still sleeping. In the night they had drifted away from each other. Fives was now sprawled out on the bed, lying on his stomach like a starfish, leaving Echo a tiny sliver of space, and even that was invaded by Fives’s elbow.

Rex smiled to himself and gently moved Fives’s arm to his side so the boy would not accidentally take out one of his brother’s eyes. Luckily the kid was out cold and did not stir at his touch.

Now that he was up, Rex stretched and lazily strolled across the room to the window. Cody would have loved the view. The sun peaked between skyscrapers, casting the streets below in harsh shadows and warm light. From the way the whole city was bathed in orange it looked like a mild autumn morning despite the frigid temperatures Rex knew were on the other side of the glass.

He did not know how long he stood there, staring out the window and watching the cars march by in the lines of morning traffic like ants. He let his mind wander freely, enjoying the peaceful quiet of dawn. His brain had been working in overdrive constantly the past four days, always worried or planning. It felt nice to turn it off for a few seconds, doing a hard reboot and getting himself back on track.

Eventually the sound of the door opening caught Rex’s attention. Kix nodded to him from the doorway and strode over to the bed to change out Echo’s med bag.

“Hey,” Rex called softly, abandoning his post by the window and moving to stand beside the doctor. “Shouldn’t you be at home? It’s Saturday.”

Kix shrugged, focused on checking up on Echo, “I guess I picked up an extra shift.”

“What about Dogma and Tup?”

“Jesse’s got them,” Kix shrugged again, his tone nonchalant. He scrawled something quickly on his clipboard and then turned to Rex and nodded to the door, “Let’s talk outside.”

Rex followed Kix outside Echo’s room without complaint, and sat when Kix motioned to a bench in the hallway.

Kix sat next to him, sighing heavily, and running a hand through his intricate buzzcut, “Echo’s doing really well. Even better since you and Fives arrived.”

Rex nodded.

“If everything continues to go well, we should be able to discharge him this Wednesday. We have to ween him off the meds and make sure he won’t be in too much pain when you take him home. At this point, that’s really all he’s here for. The medication, sterile environment, and so that we can monitor the healing process.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?”

Kix smiled, leaning back, and resting his head against the wall, “That’s one resilient kid you got, Rex. It’ll take time, but he’ll be alright.”

“Good…” Rex trailed off his mind already whizzing over a million different questions. What if he was not? What if he healed physically, but could not mentally or emotionally? What if he hated him? What if he’d never be able to gain the kid’s trust? What if-

“Rex,” Kix laid a hand on Rex’s violently bouncing knee, and Rex instinctively jerked away from the touch. Kix frowned, retracting his arm, “More importantly, are you going to be alright?”

“‘More importantly?’” Rex scoffed. He turned his head away from Kix, choosing to focus on the checkered floor pattern instead. Echo was the one in the hospital, not him.

“Yeah, ‘more importantly,’” Kix hunched over, bracing his elbows on his knees before lowering his voice and continuing, “Listen to me, Rex. I don’t know a lot about what those boys have gone through, but if it’s anything half as bad as my boys—and I’m confident it’s worse—you’re going to need to be strong for them.”

Kix’s eyes flicked over to Rex to ensure his friend was still paying attention, “You’re going to have to show them they can trust you over and over and over again. And once you think they finally do, you’re going to do something that’s going to mess it all up. You’re going to have to start from square one.”

Rex was about to interject, but Kix held up a hand, “Listen, I’m telling you this because I want you to be prepared. I want this to end well. For that to happen, you need to show them how to be strong and learn to trust again. You won’t be able to do that if you let yourself get overwhelmed.”

“I-” Rex stuttered, voice caught in his throat, leg bouncing erratically again. He shook his head as if to shake unpleasant thoughts from his mind.

“Please don’t live in the past, Rex. Please. I don’t want that for you, and I don’t want that for your boys.”

Rex turned to Kix, eyes full of desperation, “How? How can I not live in the past? Look at what she did to them! Look at what I did to them! I should have been there. If I had been there-”

Rex broke off, hands trembling in his lap, a pained smile stretching across his face.

“You have to understand it’s not your fault. I know that’s hard, but what happened to them is not your fault. It’s not.”

Kix paused for a second, letting Rex meet his eyes before continuing, “What will happen to them will be. So, let’s make sure that it’s your fault that they smile. That they laugh and play and miss you when you’re gone. Make sure it’s your fault they’re happy.”

Rex shook his head, “And if I can’t?”

“You can. I know you can. And Cody and I will always be here to help, okay?”

Rex shrugged.

Kix nudged him in the arm, a slight smile spreading up the corners of his mouth, “Heck, even Jesse wants to help out. He’s been complaining that he’s the only one that hasn’t met them yet.”

Rex let out a clipped chuckle at the idea of his twins meeting Kix’s younger brother, “Yeah, okay.”

Echo woke to an aching pain coursing through his body and a familiar white light as he blinked himself awake. He must have overdone it during training yesterday. Must have hit his head too with the way it pounded.

He could feel the warmth of Fives’s body next to his left side just like every morning, but the space on the cot to his right was cold and empty. Where was Droidbait?

Echo reached out to feel for his younger brother but retracted his arm when all he found was a fistful of air.

Gone.

The world pitched around Echo. He blinked trying to block out the blinding light and sinking feeling in his gut and focus. He felt sluggish and fuzzy like he had been sedated, but he could not remember doing anything wrong. No, if he had done something bad, he would be in isolation. It would be cold and dark, and Fives would not be beside him.

Then Droidbait must have been in isolation. What could his youngest brother have done? Why could he not remember?

His head, right. His head. He must have hit his head.

Echo reached over to Fives, about to shake his twin awake when he stopped, pulling back his arm as if it had been burned.

Something was not right.

The light was slowly turning from the intense white to a warm orange as his eyes adjusted. It looked like sunlight. But that could not be right. There were no windows in their room, just a single exposed bulb that’s harsh light reflected on the white floors and walls.

No. This was wrong.

Echo tried to sit up, tried to look for Droidbait, Hevy and Cutup as his eyes gradually focused on the room around him. Tried to make sense of the bed he was on and the machines surrounding him.

He could not. Could not sit up. Could not see his brothers.

Then he could not stop himself from remembering.

Remembering Hevy’s plan.

They were going to escape. Going to climb over the wall during their morning drills. He had thought it was a bad idea. Mom told them not to go near the citadel walls. She had warned them bad things would happen. Cutup said she was probably lying. He had said she would not be watching. Echo did not agree.

She was always watching.

Droidbait was scared. He had said over and over that he did not want to go. That he was afraid. That they would not make it over the wall. That she would find them even if they did.

As soon as the drill started Hevy had grabbed him. Dragged their youngest brother after him. Cutup had followed just behind, leaving Echo to wake up Fives.

Fives never woke to the alarm. Echo thought the flashing red lights and the incessant ringing would have been enough to wake a dead man, but Fives never so much as stirred. Echo had to shake him.

Fives had not been sure about Hevy’s plan either. He had said that even if they cleared the wall and made it down to the other side, what would they do next? Where would they go? But when the time came, he was on board. If Hevy and Cutup and Droidbait were doing it, so was he.

If Fives was doing it, so was Echo.

They had run down the hall and out through the normally bolted shut doors. The doors outside only opened during morning drill. Echo knew. This had not been the first time they had tried to escape.

By the time he and Fives had made it out into the yard, his adopted brothers were already scaling the wall. Cutup was nearly at the top and Hevy was helping Droidbait a few feet below.

No one had stopped them.

Fives ran to the wall. Echo followed.

They were doing this now.

No turning back.

About halfway up Echo heard the first explosion. He heard Droidbait screaming Cutup’s name. His voice had been laden with fear and grief. He heard Hevy yelling at Droidbait, begging him not to move. He heard Fives whimper quietly next to him.

When Echo pulled himself up onto the top of the wall he saw Hevy crouched next to Droidbait’s foot. He saw his youngest brother’s eyes wide with terror, staring at the place where the explosion had been. He saw the pile of rubble. He saw Cutup’s eyes staring blankly up at the sky from under the settling dust.

Hevy had turned to him and Fives and moved aside so they could see the dark olive cylinder resting under Droidbait’s foot. Droidbait stared at the rubble, repeating Cutup’s name over and over, his voice hollow and quiet.

Hevy had hesitated looking from their baby brother’s foot to his lost expression before turning back to the twins.

“You take him and you go,” Hevy had ordered.

Echo watched as he yanked the mine out from under Droidbait’s foot and curled his body over it in one fluid motion. He had been trying to stop the explosion from harming anyone but himself.

It had not worked.

Hevy was blown back towards the twins, a mess of blood and flesh. Droidbait was pushed backwards from the force and teetered on the edge of the wall.

Fives screamed and rushed forwards, reaching out a hand.

He had not been fast enough.

Droidbait fell.

Echo remembered the sound it made when his little brother hit the ground.

He doubted he would ever forget.

Echo did not remember much after that. He must have stepped on one of the mines as well, considering the state of his body. He looked over at his brother, making sure his brother really was as unharmed as he had seemed the day before.

Fives seemed fine, and Echo closed his eyes again to block out the too bright light before they flew open in surprise as the door to his room creaked open.

That man was standing there, the one who had brought Fives. The one named Rex. He looked like the other one—Cody—but with shorter blond hair instead of the longer dark curls that matched him and his brother.

Cody had come a lot to visit. Echo barely remembered much from the past few days, but it seemed every time he woke, he had been there, sitting at his bedside, quietly reading a book of some sort. He had thought Cody was his dad at first. It made sense, they looked just like each other, and why else would anyone take an interest in him.

When Echo had asked, Cody had smiled and said that his dad was taking care of Fives, that he was his uncle, that his dad’s name was Rex.

Rex.

His dad.

The guy had seemed nice enough yesterday, but Echo knew better than to believe his charade. Besides, Echo did not want a dad. He wanted his brothers back.

Echo must have let his face show too much disgust when Rex came into his view, as the man quickly rushed to his side, “Are you okay?”

Echo narrowed his eyes. Rex sounded like Fives any time Echo or one of their other brothers got hurt during drills. His voice was soft and gentle, even caring, and Echo was taken aback. It sounded genuine.

“Fine,” Echo mumbled, voice scratchy.

The man hovered awkwardly by the side of the bed for another moment before nodding and sitting slowly in the chair, “Your brother’s still sleeping, huh?”

Echo nodded, waiting for the command to wake his twin and rob him of a few more precious minutes of sleep.

It did not come.

Instead, Rex passed a small book to Echo, and pressed a finger to his lips, “We’ll have to be quiet, then.”

Echo watched as Rex took out a book of his own and flipped to a page in the middle, his head bowed as he read silently. The boy looked down at the book clutched in his hand. It appeared to be some sort of fiction book based on the colorful cover.

Echo snuck a glance at the blond man. He was still engrossed in his novel. The boy cautiously opened to the first page, chancing another look at Rex. Just because he was handed the book did not mean he was allowed to read it. The blond man looked up at the sound of the page crinkling, met his gaze for half a second, flashed a quick smile, and then went back to reading.

Echo followed suit.

Maybe his dad was not so bad.

Just maybe.

@marierg @stressed-cherry @ffdemon @renton6echo @bambambunny @tearfulsolace @rndmpeep @brokenphoenix99 @nerdy-valkyrie @xylionet @tazmbc1 @eyayah123 @the-bad-batch-baroness @sarcastic-nebula @ihaventpickedausername @sexysmeagolshitposting @emma-1409 @marcadamia

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adhd-coyote · 7 months ago

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Last Chapter of I Will Wait today, along with the first two chapters of Part 4 of the Don't Give Up on Me series, 'Cause I'm Not Giving Up

Chapter 22: When the Chips are Down Chapter Rating: Teen Summary: Fox's chip is out, and now everyone knows what's on it. Content Warnings: Sci-Fi Medical Jargon, Anxiety

"S'mone tell Thorn not t' steal my mug," Fox mumbled, and his eyes fluttered open. Then abruptly closed them. "Too bright, turn off th'sun." Obi-Wan gave a wet giggle. Apparently the drugs used to keep Fox asleep during the surgery made him a little less serious than usual. "I'll be sure to tell Thorn that, next time I see him," he promised.

And Part 4!

Chapter 1: No Need for an Alibi Chapter Rating: Teen Fic Summary: The death and fall of the Sith's almost-empire. And the aftermath that follows. Content Warnings: Food Issues, Off-Screen Vomit, Anxiety

Cody immediately went to make some caff and tea, while Fox took a moment to look around. “Your bed really does look like a nest,” he commented. Obi-Wan huffed. “What can I say? It’s comfortable.” "Tooka," Fox teased, voice fond.

#don't give up on me #fic update #my writng #fanfic #star wars #the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #commander fox #codywan #codyfox #foxywan #cody x obi wan #cody x fox #fox x obi wan #clone troopers #fanfiction #cloneshipping #coruscant guard

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stripeydani · 1 month ago

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Good Things Chapter 7 is up on AO3.

...finally 😂 Gosh I'm sorry this took so long. I've been having a rough time with writer's block and real life so writing has been slowwww. But Backlash gave me an idea for the next chapter so it motivated me to get through the abject misery of WrestleMania 😂

John wins, but at what cost?

I promise things will get a little less bleak eventually. John just needs to hit that rock bottom (no pun intended) first! Come back soon Cody, I can't keep you guys apart for too long 😭

As always, thank you so much to everyone who's commented or Kudos'd this fic. I appreciate you all so much!

#dani writes #good intentions fic #codena #codyjohn #johncody #lets get messy booooys #i didnt want to watch the match again so i just went internet hunting for screenshots so theyre more pro than my usual xD #(also ow my feelings)

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archivewriter1ont · 3 months ago

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⭐️⭐️ lets hear a director's cut on anything you want! whatever story/scene you've been dying to talk about :D

Thanks for asking!

That would be THE FAULT IN OUR TIMELINES!!!

My sister Archivewriter99 has recently become obsessed with this fic again and is now the main person I am writing it for. I know some people are probably thinking I've forgotten about that story but it's impossible when the biggest motivation for me to finish it lives in the same house as me. 😂

I am DYING to actually post this fic, because as soon as I sit down to write it, it consumes me and refuses to let me stop thinking about it. I've promised myself that I won't start posting chapters until it's completed, though, because I want to get it as right as I possibly can before sharing it.

I usually don't write "dark" fanfic, though I have other projects that do handle some pretty serious subject matter, so this is probably going to be the most angsty, shadowy fic I've ever posted. The first two chapters are pretty black and white for Hunt, and the next two chapters are the same for the Batch, but beginning in chapter five everything is going gray, gray, gray until even Hunter isn't always sure which is the real him, what reality he is actually supposed to be inhabiting.

Also (and this is a new tidbit, so I'll tag @littletroggo 😁) I really enjoy mapping out Hunt and Rex's interactions. In the other 48 timelines (there is a reason for the number) Hunter doesn't know Cody as well as he knows Rex. He never met the commander on Kamino, so in all the other time streams, Rex is Hunt's ori'vod figure. Because he's never been in a timeline when that was not the case, Hunt is having some issues related to this present Rex -- mainly regarding the fact that in his original timeline, he never got to apologize for what he did in his grief and insanity (which you can read about here) and that is eating him up from the inside. That leads to a lot of defensive anger on Hunt's part, and for a while Rex just cannot understand why this dude has such a problem with him. Then when he finds out, he has a whole new understanding of what Hunt has been through and is even more conflicted on how to handle the situation.

During Faults, I hope to write the detailed view of how each of the Batch + Rex react to this new, older Hunter. They each have a different reaction and separate ways of coming to terms with this alternate brother (and some never do) but his appearance certainly makes them see their Hunter in a different light. They see what lengths he would go to -- what he has gone to -- to try to save them, even if he knew it was too late. They get to see what impact their deaths would have on him, how he would handle grieving them as individuals and as a squad.

Then they also get to see what makes him different from Hunt entirely, in EVERY timeline, but alas, I can't say that yet...

[sorry if that was jumbled y'all I'm typing on my phone]

#the bad batch #the fault in our timelines #fault in our timelines au #sort of au #tbb fanfic #tbb hunter #tbb hunt #crosshair and hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #captain rex #star wars #sw tbb #tbb echo #big bro rex #feral hunter

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unintentionaloracle · 2 days ago

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Stress Toy-Chapter 5 [Fic]

(This is an ongoing fic: first chapter here, previous here)

We're more than halfway through part one, people! Hooray!

Summary: Unable to hook up like usual, Cody and Drew instead opt to catch up with each other and talk about their pasts: their past relationship, their relationships after, and the...choices made in their careers.

(Mention of past Rhodow)

Chapter 5- Pillow Talk

“Hey, Drew?” Cody asked, pulling away from their lackadaisical make out.

“Hmm?” Drew replied, nuzzling his neck.

“I'm kinda...not in the mood tonight. Sorry...”

Drew sighed with relief, sitting up. “Honestly, I can't get into it, either. I was about to ask if you weren't feeling it, too. Though I have one question...”

“Yeah?”

“It's the eyepatch, isn't it?” Drew teased, pointing to the offending accessory. He almost had to give Damian some credit for getting the jump on him and putting him through a windshield. That is, if it weren't for him sneak attacking him like a coward instead of facing him man to man like he asked. And of course, the glass in his eye (and other parts) denying him both the celebration at the pub he wanted and a hookup with Cody that night.

Cody shook his head, cupping his cheek and stroking his thumb against it (while being mindful of the patch). “No, the eyepatch is badass. It's not you, I promise. I just...I can't get into it, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Drew said, slumping a bit. He was being honest about not feeling it tonight, too. The European Tour took a lot out of him (probably Cody, too), and he was still feeling some aches from the windshield. But he still enjoyed their hookups and didn't want to run the risk of Cody getting “bored” with him. What if he called it off? What if he went back to The Rock about his offer? What if he lost his title shot?

“But I don't want you to leave!” Cody blurted.

Drew froze, a little bewildered. Was that...a heat rising to his cheeks?

Cody looked flustered. “I mean...that doesn't mean I want to be alone tonight. If you want to still stay the night, I'd appreciate it.”

Drew smirked, stroking Cody's face. “Adorable. Alright. Sleepover it is.” He said with a shrug, getting up to shimmy his jeans off before falling to the other side of the bed.

“Thank you,” Cody said with a soft smile, removing what remained of his clothes (save for his underwear) before crawling under the sheets of his hotel bed.

As Drew joined him under the covers, he had to note it was a nice room, even in the dark. It really paid to be the world champion and top guy. It was a perk Drew missed from his first two title reigns (and Damian and Punk denied him for his third). The city looked beautiful from up here, too. And the light that crept through the curtains glimmered beautifully off Cody's title.

One day, this is gonna be mine, again.

Cody settled against him. Drew held him, running his hands along the Nightmare’s skin soothingly. It felt so soft, much like his lips were. Had always been.

“Do you still do that whole “Dashing” morning routine you used to do?” He asked idly, almost as soon as the thought had crossed his mind. He ran his fingertips along Cody's back.

“What?” Cody asked, adorably confused.

“I was just wondering. I mean, I'm usually out of here before you need to get ready for the day, you know?” Drew explained with a shrug. “Like, I know you don't shave every inch of your body anymore,” he carded his fingers through Cody’s chest hair. “Thankfully. But the rest...”

“Oh,” Cody shrugged. “I mean, I hadn't really thought about it...I don't think I go as far as I used to,” Cody chuckled. “I remember you hated it...”

“The results? No. The process and hours it took in the bathroom when I needed it? Yes,” he stated. Not to mention the state you'd leave it in sometimes. But I do kinda miss the flavored hydrating lip gloss.

“You didn't want to join in on my grooming tips, either,” Cody recalled.

“You wanted to cut my hair for one because ‘“Women” prefer their men to have short hair!’ I was down for a lot of things for you, Cody. But not that.”

“I was young and stupid!” Cody lamented. “And I thought you'd look good with something short.”

“I would not have.”

“Oh, I agree now,” Cody conceded as he ran his fingers through Drew's hair reverently, making Drew's head loll back. “I also didn't think you'd say no.”

“Mmm, I usually didn't because I didn't want to screw things up,” Drew stated. “Considering...” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably at what he'd almost let slip.

Cody stopped his strokes and tilted his head. He started trying to fill in the blanks. “Drew?” He waited for a response. When he got none, he spoke up. “Was I...your first guy?”

Drew’s face burned again. His pride ached. It was half the truth, but he couldn't say the other reason he hardly said no to him when they were together. It might ruin what they had now if Cody knew. “Yeah...”

Cody’s eyes widened. “...Oh my God, so many things make more sense, now! Like how awkward you used to be in bed!” He smacked his chest. “You should've told me!”

“I was also young and stupid, Cody,” Drew reminded him. “I figured two egomaniacs like us were clearly gonna be together forever, and that someone as incredible as me could surely work it out as I went...”

Especially with those “critiques” of yours...

Cody sighed, now he looked uncomfortable.

“Well...clearly you have...” Cody joked after a beat or two, cutting the awkward tension. “Because damn, Drew...”

Drew smirked. “Yeah, you can thank the Indies for that. Had a lot of fun there.”

Cody smirked back. “With anyone I know?”

Drew shook his head. “I don't kiss and tell, Cody.”

Cody’s smirk became a wicked grin. “Fair enough. I'm gonna assume it was Jo–”

“NO!” Drew exclaimed, making sure he did not say his name so he’d appear. “I would never!”

Cody laughed. Drew, once he got over his disgust at Cody's suggestion, found himself smiling genuinely. He was being honest when he said he liked when Cody pushed his buttons back. And he was cute when he laughed.

“And how about you, Cody?” Drew asked. “Anyone after me? Or did I render you unable to love again with my terror at going down and inability to last long enough to take our trunks off our “first time” at Night of Champions?”

Cody chuckled. “There were a few...”

“Ted?” Drew suggested.

“No!” Cody said, face scrunching in confusion. “It was never like that with Teddy...”

“Sandow?”

A fond smile grew on Cody's face. “Yeah. It's funny, I think we tried to be lowkey, but we were also really obvious about it.”

“You made a formal announcement that you were splitting up,” Drew said simply. He had to admit, he'd been a little irritated at the time. Sure, they were long broken up by then, but it was still more than he'd got when they'd broken up as a team and a couple. (Especially the lovefest after announcing they'd dissolved their team and their assurances to each other that they were still best friends.) And Drew hadn't even betrayed him!

Cody chuckled. “Right. It just didn't work out, ya know? I wish we hadn't ended like we did, but don't regret our time together, you know? And I think I kinda needed it before...”

“You had an ongoing mental breakdown and painted yourself silver?” Drew said.

Cody frowned. “Yeah, that.”

“Hey, it's okay. You weren't the only one doing something weird before they were out the door.”

“Right, Mr. “I'm In An Air Guitar Band”. Honestly, I don't get what possessed you to do that,” Cody said.

Drew shrugged. “Quarter life crisis? “My career is going nowhere, might as well do this, who cares anymore?” Honestly, even I don't remember,” he said. Then he chuckled. “But I do remember thinking if they'd let me do my “solo album”, or the dumb song I'd been working on, it'd have turned things around...” He joked.

Cody raised an eyebrow. “You wrote a song? For air guitar?”

“Unfortunately. In a brief bout of angst about my ex...” Drew stated, glancing at him.

“Oh...” Cody seemed to shrink.

“Relax, it wasn't exactly a biting takedown. It sucked and even my bandmates knew it. And I was over it pretty quickly,” Drew said. It was the rare time he'd admit someone else was right.

“...Can I hear it?” Cody asked. “Just a little bit?”

Drew snorted. “Really?”

Cody smirked. “I need to know if I could've sued for libel,” he teased.

Drew laughed. “Well, I only really remember one part, but...”

Cody looked at him, sitting up slightly as he rested his chin on his hands. He batted his eyelashes at him. Drew rolled his eyes.

“The things I do for you...” He cleared his throat and begrudgingly warbled in a low voice: “And now it couldn't be any clearer./The only thing you love is your mirror...”

Cody bobbed his head along, grinning. Drew turned red.

“And I forgot the rest, but I would’ve had a sick and badass air guitar solo by yours truly. Like I said, it sucked.”

Cody laughed. “Ah, I don't know. I'm sure if you gave it another shot, it'd work...”

Drew looked him in the eyes, and he seemed to be sincere. His gaze lingered, maybe too long. Cody’s lingered too. There was something in the air that hung heavy between them. Drew started to reach for Cody's face to cup his cheek. Cody blinked, shaking his head and breaking the spell.

“I think we should go to bed.” Cody said, pulling away.

“Ah,” Drew said, feeling a pang of disappointment. “You're probably right...”

Cody turned his back to him, snuggling up in the blankets. Drew did the same.

“...Drew?” Cody asked.

“Yeah?”

“...This was nice...” Cody said.

“Yeah...” Drew said. “We should do it again sometime...”

“Definitely,” Cody replied.

Drew tried to sleep, but had trouble doing so until he felt Cody hold him from behind. He didn't know if he was asleep or not, but he didn't care. The closeness was nice.

It was enough.

[To Be Continued]

#wwe #drew mcintyre #cody rhodes #codytyre #the oracle writes

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joannasteez · 1 year ago

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tanks of blood (6) - the trouble was always here - part two

pairing: biker!roman reigns , biker!cody rhodes (mentioned) warning: mentions of violence and explicit descriptions of blood. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. roman talk to someone without being a jerk challenge. slight non-con moment but turns consensual quickly (its a kiss)! authors note: if ya'll ever watch sons of anarchy... you’ll know, im stealing little pieces of plot lmaooooooooo. imma give yall a spicy little flashback after this, i promise. will also attempt to not make the following chapters as long. just so that they remain relatively digestible. i'm working on being more precise with words. all the medical stuff in this chapter is half done research and my own brain. this chapter picks up where i left off in chapter 5. ALSO… if you want or dont want tags on this fic let me know! word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

-wednesday night. the first week in june-

that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. having to suffer as a lone soldier amidst silent dinner table battles. displeasured dispositions and their eyes performing like the greatly sharpened edge of well smithed daggers. and then came compromise, toiling through the thick of it to wave it's white flag. a surrender of a promise. your mother and fathers union holding as much sanctity as a soon to die vehicle's tank, holding its last dregs of oil but whose fuel gauge reads empty. running still, a quick speed into the darkness, wheels tired and the road too coarse to bare. an abrupt end of the engine as it slips against the asphalt at full speed. a collision terribly par for the course. their rings fettered to their fingers, pretty diamond but a prison, making forever impressions upon the skin. that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. dying with the useless wear of wedding rings, and redeclaring itself with the overwear of leather kuttes.

because there was more to the life than just that simple enthusiasm for motorcycles. your father transforming before the eyes. leather slipping over his shoulders, not so dissimilar to the tough metal, shrilly chime of chainmail. custom rings taking their homes over the marred skin of his knuckles. fingers worn and always just barely healed. scarred from one brutal splitting open after another. his eyes working to harden. the keys to his bike clutched in hand.

"should i be worried?", your mother asking right on time. examining his pace. the work in and change over of his demeanor.

and he never answered. never dignifying her question enough to speak to it. because then the trouble would be true, so much so that it would live, breathing well to make room in their home. no. KG, your father, only ever lingered by the door, a slip in of hesitation before he turned to kiss your mother gracefully. the small appearance of a forever ago passion. an i love you without the weight of words. and then he went, heavy steps leading out the door.

so its almost second nature. those faithful coming together of words. cody slipping on his leather near the door. shoulders squaring as the material adjusts to his body. demeanor unsoftened. the ease of the words as they leave you filling your stomach with a burdening weight. memory working tedious and so terribly true.

"cody, should i be worried?"

he sighs. cold blue eyes hesitating enough to take the time to commit your face to memory. his palm warm as it cradles your cheek. kissing you firmly before he leaves.

-early friday morning. first week in june-

there was, is, and will never be a time too early or too late for violence. for blood and that faithful nerve warp of adrenaline. and maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. old, early moments in your youth, piercing your fathers skin with a needle, sewing together split skin as he washed his tongue with the burn of his favorite liquor. a warmth in his belly till the pain from the prick of your fixing turned numb. a simple pressure in the skin there at his arm, turning inevitably, to pressure in his leg, a slit at his thigh from a brawl with which he gave no further information. bruises and gashes and deep cuts to him, more by the day, by the year. near quiet grunts and the emptiness of the house loud enough to swallow you both whole. cleaning his marred skin and bandaging the area's as best you could. the slow to ease push and pull of his breaths. his hands smelling like iron as he cradled your face, mouth kissing your forehead. "thank you", but a whisper, before falling into sleep.

maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. the color of blood and caked earth, the silver of knuckle rings and the black of over worn leather more familiar than summer green trees.

text message | cody r: in an emergency. need your help.

it shouldn't come as a surprise, but the sudden rush takes you all the same. a deep plunge of the heart in your chest, something odd creeping beneath the skin and fevered steps. making to call cody quickly. a ring, and then a second, before he's answering. breaths labored some as he goes. "can't say much about it but it's medical. how soon can you get to the clubhouse?"

you assess the long hallway. the trauma unit, quiet. a squeak in your sneakers that makes you cringe as you move to collect things. only minutes from the end of your shift. "uhm, in like twenty minutes". a series of grunts and yells that indicate the messiness of a situation he's all to willing to abruptly rope you into. "cody what's going on?"

he sighs. his patience a thinning thread. "what did i say before about becoming an accessory?"

"you gotta give me something", you stress. continuing an awfully secretive journey to where you could gather some other helpful supplies. "i can't just show up not knowing what for".

"think the worst".

"that doesn't help-"

the call dropping on his end. the angst sticking to your skin making room for an easy to settle in frustration. like you were an early twenty something again. attempting too diligently to remedy that divorce of ignorance and bliss. a tedious washing away and stitching together, performing so well now that the pungent smell of iron threatens to stain your skin again. and here does the soldier pay the price for wielding a double edged sword. for pensacola was home, is home, and forever will be home, the desire to return running too wild beneath the skin not to act on it. but there are things here. vicious rumblings above sunburned asphalt and the bitter steeping of blood between the cracks. the dross and the dregs that stick so loyally to the air and the skin just after a brutish performance of chaos too commonplace to live without it.

trouble taking up permanent residence, riding in over the clouds and rolling in with the heat.

and the clubhouse looks haunted amidst the beginnings of the friday summer sunrise. the dark colored build of it dreary against the beauty of the sky. the heat yet to reach its full potential but your scrubs and the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift do all too well of making you live with that thin sheen of sweat breaking over your cheeks. your car parked not too far from the clubs neat line of stationed bikes. true in how they've always done well to remind you of the clubs presence. after so long, living here and far away, that grimy power behind the roar of an engine, ever inescapable.

the clubhouse doors swing open as you make to leave your car. a small bag of supplies in hand as you rush up. cody's hand slipping at the low end of your back to guide you in. a small "thank you", leaving him breathy as you make way to pass through the double doors of the "church". a room that never seems to lose its luster from the looks of it. the sanctity of their meetings as important as the shine of a new chrome fender finish. men and their worried eyes flitting over your entrance as you approach the church table. seth laid out face down, with his pants at his ankles. his skin wet with sweat and an awful paleness. bloody cloths surrounding him and randy's finger lodged in where all the blood could possibly be spewing from. a small metal tin cup resting in the corner, holding the whole of a bullet.

dean taps seth's cheek. waking him up a little less than tenderly. "look alive sweetheart, the doctor is here to see you".

"nurse", you correct, to which dean just winks.

cody and a host of club members file out through the double doors much to your pleasure.

initial shock of your current state of affairs rolling off your shoulders as you settle into the routine of caring for the wound. gloves slipping on before you're tossing the box to dean. his take up of them swift and unquestioning. because it was never unusual to spend a night—especially in their youth—caring for cuts and bruises and wounds, before turning to do the same for another. a task as regular as breathing air.

seth groans. the drawl of it stressing the pain in his leg. "i don't know if you've noticed but i went to some extreme lengths to see you", he jokes. his little laugh coarse and overworked by the weariness of getting shot.

you laugh. an attempt to break the over work of tension in the air. "what an interesting way of saying you love me seth". sliding up to stand next to randy. his demeanor as quiet now as it was during richie's funeral.

you look to dean. "once randy removes his finger, you're gonna help me pack the wound, and then i want you to keep pressure on it till i'm ready to wrap it".

"you know what you're doing?", randy asks. the dark color of his eyes disrupted with little slivers of worry.

"no randy, i just wear the scrubs for fun". peering up at the hard set of his face. older now but his visage still holding that silent menace to it.

"can we banter when seth isn't bleeding out by the pint?", dean asks. so obviously done with the whole situation.

"on my three", you start. the both of them coming to a shared focus. "one...two...three".

thick blood springs upward, randy's finger dislodging quick. dean rushes in with your guidance, packing the wound as instructed. your hand taking the reins of the procedure as you allow dean a moment of reprieve. the little levee of seth's composure rupturing as his body goes taut, his mouth loose and lax as he curses his fill into the shined up wood of the church table. groaning wearily as dean holds the pressure against his legs, randy lifting it casually, allowing you to wrap the middle of his leg with a fresh dressing. a dead silent relief settling the room then after, before you're moving again. running on the extra dose of adrenaline.

you discard your gloves, peeling them off your fingers. picking through your bag to give dean a bottle of pills. "vancomycin, it's an antibiotic", you start. "give him two now and another two later tonight. keep going with that dosage for no less than a week".

"our lovely little savior". dean's boots heavy as he closes the distance to kiss your forehead. "thank you. go get cleaned up".

randy gives a quieter acknowledgement. a simple nod of appreciation that does you just fine. the double doors of the church room creaky as they swing with your exit. all the worried faces you'd met upon your arrival, taking up every inch of the clubhouse. their bodies drowsy and torn through by the chaos of an oh so terrible possibility.

your feet mindless as they walk down the infamous hallway gallery of framed photos. your last walk through of the area filled with a particularly horrible play of strife. twisting the knob of one of many of the little dormitory rooms to access it's bathroom. a deep breath releasing as you make to wash your hands, a slow thorough trail up over your arms to rid your skin of seth's soon to dry blood. your scrubs somewhat ruined and your shoes showcasing nasty little streaks of red.

but it is only exhaustion that takes you so brazenly. a sleepy sinking feeling in the body and nothing else. hands used to providing all the remedy's it can.

well maybe not nothing else. a fast to slip in weariness amidst the quiet. because he couldn't be too far away, lurking to siphon what he could again of the air about you in a means of suffocation. that faithful ability once upon a time, a favorite of yours for how sweetly it sought to consume you, now possessing a quality that unfurls something disdainful in your belly. a prick of a man seemingly beyond reproach, what with his positioning among all the others. surely it was never your simple exit making him this mountain of hubris, that streak of his character impossible to climb and overcome for the sake of reasoning with him. or even for the lesser sake of some cordiality. it was so obviously everything else—the grime and the chaos—giving the once duller edge of his pride a sharper corner. enough to will him into an endless keep of a grudge.

heavy thudding steps strip you clean of wandering anymore into thought. it seems even thinking of the devil causes him to appear. his disposition reminiscent of some weeks ago. shoulders squared and seeming too tall for you now to bare without feeling small. and he says nothing, attempting to take his kutte off without the inconvenience of pain but he grunts regardless. grimacing as he rids himself of his shirt as well.

a gash running against his naked arm, almost like it's purposefully found a heap of muscle to tear into. wanting to humble the strength of him. blood caked and running down tawny skin.

"i got grazed".

voice tired but oddly delicate. like the weariness of it is making him just that more fragile.

you point to the bathroom, eyes never really having the courage to part from him. "sit over there".

and your feet rush. tunnel visioned as they make to gather whats left of your little collection of supplies. fingers feeling less sure, and your body teeming with something akin to an unworkable angst. a realization long ago understood, and buried for the sake of a then wanted peace, unearthing itself to bring about a renewed sense of understanding. for he has always been the manifestation of this double edged sword. of home and of violence. wielding itself always but never one without the other. the slip of his skin over familiar in its warmth. doing your resolve the greatest amounts of violence as you clean his wound tenderly. the double edge of him piercing so well that you feel the damning effects. his eyes sharp, cutting over your face in a silent means to examine. like the appraisal of a curious stranger attempting to settle within themselves the validity of your existence.

the soft tender pads of your fingers remember him well. gloves and all. slight throbs that liven the nerves.

"you came straight from work", more like a statement than a question.

"i did".

he flinches. his arm flexing as he bares the pain. "thank you for being here", he gives. “for seth", like a thankfulness that includes him would hurt his pride too much to be made known.

"i'm sure that took a lot to say", you joke. feeling light in your head. drained of the will to keep up a proper guard. "you’re welcome though".

a hum of an acknowledgment is the only thing he gives you. and in an effort to savor the easy going nature of the moment you keep yourself occupied with dressing the wound splitting his skin open. your work of caring for it doing well enough that the bleeding has stopped. memory faithful as it nags, the wound of a forever ago accident pulsing to life about your hand. the scars there still, though faded, serving as a reminder of the former things. the heat of him, then, different as it sought to consume. brazen in how it dared to bring about affection. not like now, this flame threatening to flare, to show the lengths and widths of its destruction.

you finish. gloves in the waste basket. making tedious work of washing your hands. to rid the skin of such an indicative sensation.

his body does well in blocking the bathroom door. the whole of him bigger than the last time you saw him. scrutiny set some in his gaze. trailing over the ink that lays permanent at your neck.

"you still have it"

"it's a tattoo". feigning nonchalance as you dry your hands. "you never really plan to get rid of them".

he smiles mirthless. "well y'know, i figured a cover up, for you, would be worth the pain".

as in, forgetting him would be worth the pain. which couldn't be more further from the truth.

"and here i am doing a nice thing", laughing tired. "still gettin hit with the bitterness", a slow easy step that leads you closer to him. the own brazen make of your actions suffering you to fall into the scent of him. the note of it strong even as it lives amidst the pungency of blood. "you got some audacity too though, considering i could've half assed that clean up enough for a little infection to settle in".

"but you didn't".

"and why do you think so?"

creaks against the floor. the weird pitch of it roughing up against your bones. his body closer, forcing your back against the wall. his thumb reaching to graze against the ink tattoo at your neck. pulse thrumming harshly at the play of his touch.

body outdone by history.

and the way he holds you here, cradling your neck just at your nape. keeping you where he wants you to be. his eyes falling over slowly—at your nose and your cheeks and your lips—lingering as if he's gone down the path of a deep remembering.

"for the same reason you still got the ink".

unable to ever let yourself part with it, with the history staining your skin. the prick of a needle and the pain of it made simple for a full and the most earnest performance of devotion. your breaths shallow, overwhelmed by the thought and the domineer of him.

his thumb running to sweep at your skin. hot with an intention you can't place.

you make to warn him. “roman-”

but his tongue is quick, works with a faraway familiar passion as it curls between the soft seam of your lips. exhaustion and adrenaline, an effortful pair as they go about the task of stripping away your resolve. a return of this sudden fever of a feeling as your tongue makes to snake against his. lapping lazily, a mindless seduction as you fall into old ways. his throat groaning, surely taken by his own bout of reminiscence. nails racking dull over his naked skin, over the taut muscle at his belly. his palms cradling your face to deepen his kiss in spite of the pain. leaving you little room to breathe, his body fastening you harshly to the bathroom wall. making to suffocate you with the flick of his tongue and the fire of his touch.

his teeth prick you mean, biting into the supple flesh of your lip. suckling the pain with the tender pull of his mouth.

the harshness of it causing a whimper to break. instinct taking hold. subdued in an instant.

and it is only when he breaks for breath that you remember where you are. pushing at his tired body enough for a full separation.

you leave saying nothing. out of the bedroom, down the hallway and through the clubhouse doors. letting the silence of it speak for you.

lol we might need a roman pov after this huh… smh

#tanks of blood #reminder #eventual poly v relationship #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #cody rhodes #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes x reader #biker au #randy orton featured #seth rollins featured #dean ambrose featured #joannasteez

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