#a sliver of andrew

[kurbcotain]

Thursday behind the scenes of a photoshoot with Adam Elmakias; taken on February 24th, 2009 src, Adam Spencer / grizzledadam on flickr

[mercvry-glow]

Back again

parings. andrew "pope" cody x reader

summary. an unexpected visitor breaks into your house after having spent years locked away. unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome.

warnings. age gap (pope 39, reader late 20s), breaking and entering, gun mentioned but not used, reader and pope have a son together, cody family mention, pope is awkward af but literally when is he not, reader does not stand on business and misses pope, pope in general, let me know if there's anything else.

notes. I genuinely struggled so hard with this, but it's finally out. I love the show though and am so glad shawn is getting his flowers with how popular the pitt became. if this flops, idk how much i'll regularly write for pope but if something pops into my head or if i get more requests i'll see what i can do! as always thank you so much and any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 2800+

It was past midnight.

The waves outside crashed gently against the cliffs, the ocean reflecting slivers of moonlight. Your bathroom—marble floors, soft golden lighting, wide windows overlooking the water���was quiet except for the hum of your favorite playlist and the low hiss of the shower shutting off.

You wrapped the towel around yourself, tucking it at your chest as you padded across the warm floors. Steam clung to the mirrors, fogged your reflection. You barely glanced at it. Just another night, just another routine. Lip balm, face serum, silk robe. Everything in its place. Controlled. Safe.

Until the lights flickered.

You froze. Turned slowly. Then the hallway sensor triggered—that soft click you weren’t supposed to hear from this side of the house.

Your stomach dropped.

This was a gated home. Security on every window and door. Patrols after dark. You lived here because no one was supposed to get in.

But someone had.

You grabbed the drawer under the sink. Your fingers skimmed the handle of the pistol you never thought you’d need to use again. Heart racing, you crept to the open door of the bathroom, back pressed to the wall, breath locked in your chest.

Then you heard it. Slow, steady footsteps on the hardwood. Not rushing. Not clumsy.

Deliberate.

And then he appeared.

You nearly dropped the gun.

“Jesus—”

“Hey,” Pope said quietly, stepping into the golden glow of the bathroom like he belonged there. Like this was his house. His ocean view. His night.

You stared at him—dripping water, towel barely hanging on, heart pounding so loud you couldn’t think. He looked the same and not the same. Bigger. Leaner. That same raw, unreadable face. Eyes locked on you like they hadn’t looked at anything else in three damn years.

“How—how the fuck did you get in?” you finally breathed, voice shaky but sharp.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked around. The bathroom. The house behind you. You.

“Security’s good,” he murmured. “But I’m better.”

Your fingers tightened on the handle of the pistol.

“Put it down,” he said softly. “If I wanted to hurt you… I wouldn’t be standing here talking.”

You hesitated. Then set it on the counter with a hard clack.

“You broke into my house.”

“I needed to see you.”

“You could’ve called.”

“You wouldn’t have answered.”

He took a step closer. You didn’t move, but your breath caught. Everything about him still made your skin burn—fear, fury, and something dangerously close to longing.

“I got out,” he said. “And you weren’t at our old house. Smurf told me you moved. Gave me pictures. Told me you were doing good.”

“Pictures?” Your voice broke. “She gave you pictures?”

“Of him too.”

Your heart clenched.

“I didn’t come to fight,” he said quietly. “Didn’t come to take anything. I just… I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out here, and I didn’t know if you were okay.”

You stared at him, the towel still wrapped tight around you, pulse thrumming through every inch of your body. The man who once held you like the world might end. The father of your child. The ghost that haunted every night you told yourself you were over him.

“I should call the cops.”

He nodded. “You should.”

But you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And the silence between you burned.

You still didn’t move.

Pope stood just inside your bathroom, jaw tight, chest rising slow like every breath burned. His eyes swept over the space—over you—like he couldn’t believe it was real. Like maybe he’d dreamed this place a hundred times in a concrete cell and wasn’t sure yet if this was another one.

“Where is he?”

Your chest tightened. “He’s here, in his room.”

His brow twitched. “Here?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “Down the hall. Asleep.”

He blinked like you’d hit him.

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t see the point in running. Not when I already knew you would find us.” That landed. He looked away, jaw flexing, like he hated how easily he could’ve shown up if he’d tried.

“I figured you’d leave,” he said after a moment. “Take Danny. Disappear.”

You held his stare. “I thought about it. But… he’s got your last name. And I wasn’t gonna lie about that.”

Pope’s eyes flicked toward the hallway—like he could see through the walls. Like the kid he hadn’t seen in three years was just around the corner, breathing softly in his bed.

“Is he okay?” His voice cracked just a little. “I mean… is he good?”

You nodded slowly. “He’s wild. Sweet. Always asking questions. He’s obsessed with dinosaurs. He thinks mac and cheese is gourmet.”

A ghost of a smile touched Pope’s mouth, then faded fast.

“He’s four now?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Does he… does he know about me?”

You swallowed hard. “Only what I told him. That his dad had to go away for a while. But that he loves him.”

Pope stared at the ground for a long moment, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I never got to say goodbye,” he said.

“I know.”

“I thought about him every damn day.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to.

“Can I see him?” he asked, voice rough. “Just for a second. I won’t wake him, I swear.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve thrown him out right then and there.

But you couldn’t.

“Be quiet,” you whispered.

He followed you out of the bathroom. Every step down the hall felt heavy, soaked in everything unsaid. You stopped at the second door on the right—blue paint chipped from tiny hands slamming it too hard, a crooked dinosaur sticker stuck near the bottom.

You eased it open.

There he was—Danny. Small and soft and curled up in a tangle of blankets, one hand clutching a stuffed T-Rex, the other flopped above his head like he’d passed out mid-adventure. A dim night light lit up the corner, casting shadows over his round cheeks and dark lashes.

You felt Pope stop behind you.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. You didn’t even need to look at him to feel what was radiating off him like heat.

Grief. Wonder. Love. Guilt.

He stepped just close enough to see better—just close enough that his hand brushed the doorframe.

“I missed all of it,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah. You did.”

He stared a little longer, eyes full of something thick and breaking. Then he backed away, slowly.

“Thank you,” he said, voice shaking.

You didn’t reply. Just quietly shut the door behind you.

And for a long, fragile moment, neither of you said anything.

Eventually you had taken him downstairs, after getting dressed. You moved around your kitchen slowly, barefoot on cold tile, the silence stretching between you as the fridge door hummed and the rain ticked against the windows. You grabbed two glasses just… needing something to do with your hands.

Andrew stood near the counter, watching you with that unreadable look he always had—like he was half in the room, half stuck in his own head. 

Staring. Always Staring. 

“I drove by our old place the other day,” you said, trying to sound casual. “It was gone. Sold, actually.”

He didn’t look surprised. “Yeah. Smurf sold it while I was inside, probably after you moved.”

You blinked. “She really sold it? That was your house.”

He shrugged, something bitter flashing in his eyes. “Technically it was Smurf’s. Always was. She held the deed. Didn’t want to ‘waste’ it on me rotting in prison after you left too.”

Your stomach twisted. “Jesus…”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, like it didn’t matter. “Wasn’t much to come back to anyway.”

You leaned against the island, glass in hand. “I thought you’d still be staying there. Honestly, I figured I’d see you lurking in the backyard one day.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Didn’t think you wanted me anywhere near you.”

You gave a small, tired smirk. “Depends on the day.”

He didn’t laugh, but you saw the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. Still, he wouldn’t sit. Wouldn’t touch the water. Like he didn’t trust himself to get comfortable.

You let the silence hang a beat longer, then asked gently, “You been staying with your family?”

“Yes and no, mainly staying at a motel,” he said. 

You raised an eyebrow. “They don’t want you in the house?

“Pretty much.”

“And Smurf?”

He paused, eyes flicking toward the window. “She called it. Gave me some cash, some kid’s been staying in my room. You remember J?”

You swallowed. “Barely, but that sounds like your mom.”

He glanced at you. “You still see her?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. Holidays, mostly. She sends gifts. Makes a show of being ‘Grandma Smurf.’” You exhaled, slow and careful. “It’s… complicated.”

“I bet,” he murmured.

You met his eyes. “I don’t hate her. For his sake, or yours, I let her in. But I don’t trust her.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Another pause. Then softly, “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“In Oceanside?”

He nodded once.

You let your fingers trail the edge of the counter. “Thought about leaving. But this is where he was born. Where we held him for the first time. I didn’t want to erase that just because it hurt.”

Pope looked at you like you’d cracked something in him wide open.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your name,” he said.

“I didn’t,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted him to remember where he came from. Even if he didn’t know all the details.”

Pope swallowed hard, his voice a low rasp. “I don’t deserve that.”

You shrugged. “It wasn’t about you.”

He looked down at the floor, then back at you, and for a second, it felt like time folded in on itself. Like you were young again, still stupid in love with the broken, furious man no one else could understand.

But you weren’t that girl anymore.

And he wasn’t that guy.

Still… your voice came soft, like it always did with him.

“You should stay. I’ll set out some blankets for the guest room.”

Pope didn’t move. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You gave a tired smile. “Then don’t, Andrew.”

It didn’t take long for you to set him up, and go back to your own room. Sleep didn’t come easy after that conversation, and knowing that Andrew was in the house at your own volition didn’t do anything to ease the worry building in your chest. You didn’t know what time it was when you woke up—just that the light leaking through your curtains was soft and gray-blue, the kind that came before sunrise on cloudy mornings. Your pillow was warm. Your body was tired. But something pulled you from sleep. Some shift in the air.

Something was different.

You blinked your eyes open and sat up slowly, the ache in your chest blooming before your thoughts caught up. You glanced at the empty space in your bed. The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.

Then—faintly—voices.

You slipped out of bed barefoot once again, heart ticking fast for reasons you didn’t want to name. The air in the hallway was cool against your skin. You padded toward the stairs, one hand on the railing, every step measured like your body remembered how to be careful in moments like this.

The TV was on.

You crept down, slow and quiet, and paused just before the last step.

And there they were.

Danny curled up on the couch, wrapped in his blue fluffy blanket, head resting against a pillow like he’d done it a hundred times before. And next to him, hunched with his elbows on his knees, was Pope. Quiet, still, eyes trained on the screen—but not really watching.

He looked like he’d been sitting there for hours.

The TV played some old cartoon—one of those early-morning classics with soft colors and slower dialogue. Danny was focused, small smile tugging at his lips. Pope looked like he couldn’t breathe without permission.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Not until Danny mumbled something—“That guy’s mean,”—and Pope gave a little grunt of agreement.

Then his eyes lifted, soft hazel meeting yours.

His whole body tensed like he was about to explain himself, apologize, vanish into the walls. But you didn’t say anything. You just stood there, hand on the railing, heart breaking in slow motion.

“He couldn’t sleep,” Pope said softly. “Said he had a bad dream.”

You nodded, trying to find your voice. “He gets those sometimes.”

“I was coming down to make coffee. He was already up.”

“And you turned on cartoons?” you asked, almost smiling.

Pope looked down, a little sheepish. “Figured it was better than silence.”

You stepped off the last stair, legs slow, body unsure.

Danny caught sight of you and beamed. “He knows all of my shows!.”

“Oh yeah?” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s impressive.”

“He doesn’t know the guy with the stick though.”

Pope gave a small, amused grunt. “I got nothing.”

Danny nodded. “It’s okay.”

You stood behind the couch for a second, arms crossed gently over your chest, watching the two of them. The way Danny had unconsciously scooted closer. The way Pope hadn’t moved a muscle, like shifting might shatter the moment.

You circled around and sat on the arm of the couch, your eyes on your son.

“You okay, baby?”

Danny nodded, rubbing his eye. “I’m not tired.”

“You want breakfast?”

“Not yet,” He leaned against the pillow. “I wanna finish this!”

“Okay bossy pants,” You glanced over at Pope. He was looking at Danny like he was still trying to believe he was real. That this whole thing wasn’t some dream he’d conjured behind a motel curtain.

You lowered your voice.

“How long’ve you been sitting here?”

“A while,” Pope admitted. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You watched him a second, heart twisting in your chest. He looked more human now. Less like a ghost from your past, but still haunted.

He flicked his eyes toward you, voice quieter. “He’s good. You did good.”

You didn’t say anything for a beat. Then you nodded. “Thanks.”

The cartoon kept playing. The sky outside turned a little lighter, and things almost felt normal—Like the past three years had never happened. 

The cartoon kept playing in the background. The sky outside turned a little lighter, and things almost felt normal—like the past three years had never happened.

You sat in the quiet for a while, watching Danny’s eyelids droop again, little body finally giving in to sleep. His fingers still clutched the edge of his blanket, leaning into Pope, knowing nothing about personal space. 

Andrew hadn’t moved, barely even breathed, like one wrong shift might wake him or make you change your mind.

You turned your eyes to him, quiet. “So… are you planning on coming back?”

He looked at you then, really looked, his eyes tired and soft and full of something that made your chest ache.

“Only if you want me to.”

Your fingers tightened where they rested on the couch cushion. You wanted to say yes. God, part of you wanted to say it too quickly. But the rest—the part that remembered the weight of his family, the danger they lived in, the years you spent trying to keep Danny far away from it all—held you back.

“I don’t know if I can let you back into his life like nothing happened,” you said quietly. “Not after everything. Not if there’s even a chance they’ll pull you under again.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Pope said. No hesitation. Just that low, steady conviction that used to scare you when it was aimed at other people, one you didn’t know if you could believe. “They don’t get to have that power anymore. Not over me, not over you, and not over him.”

You looked at him for a long moment. And whatever was in his face—grit, sorrow, a promise he hadn’t figured out how to say out loud—felt real.

“I want to believe you,” you whispered. “But I need more than words this time.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I’ll give you more.”

Your eyes fell to Danny, his lashes long against his cheeks, chest rising and falling in soft little breaths.

“You scared me last night,” you said. “But not because I thought you’d hurt us, just… well—I’m sure you get it”

“I do,” Pope murmured. “I get it.”

Another long, aching silence stretched between you. Then he shifted slightly, brushing Danny’s blanket up over his shoulder with a gentleness that shattered something inside you.

“I don’t want to blow this,” he said, eyes still on his son. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

You breathed in slow. Let it out slower.

“Okay,” you said. “Then stay for breakfast.”

Pope looked at you, the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Just… don’t make a habit of breaking into my house.”

That earned the tiniest smile. “No promises.”

But the tension had cracked. The ice was melting, slowly. And somewhere in the quiet, cautious hope started to grow. The cartoon shifted to the next episode. The sun crept higher, lighting up the kitchen in soft gold.

And this time, it felt like maybe you wouldn’t be facing the morning alone.

mercvry-glow 2025

[adaysgrace]

Imagine being andrew minyard and you have all this love in you but people keep twisting it and stabbing you in the chest every time you present a sliver of tenderness. and then when you finally get the chance at having your love returned and kept safe, a sadistic asshole gets in the way but you are so desperate for the love that you will sustain the damage to your soul. and then when you FINALLY get a family, a brother and a cousin, your love comes out like blood and knives and people don't understand that, so they put you on drugs that take away your ability to love, so much so that you'd slice your cousin to bits. but the love is too powerful, always has been. so first your heart opens for this infuriatingly gentle therapist, and then this catholic girl who is just as twisted as you are, and then a green-eyed devil who shines like the sun, and then a red-headed devil who cares about you, would descend into hell for you, and suddenly love is everywhere around you and within you even after thinking maybe it was never meant for you. imagine that!

[stellamarielu]

thinking about andrew cody building a crib

Half past two in the morning and Andrew was working in the dim light of the nursery. A standing lamp in the corner of the room the only guide allowing him to assemble the crib that had just been delivered earlier that day.

Being with you had granted him more sleep than he’d ever gotten in his life, but Andrew still had trouble falling asleep some nights, especially after finding out you were pregnant.

He went through an array of emotions every single day revolving his journey into fatherhood, the rush of feelings often led him into late nights where he could let his mind wander along with his hands as he prepared things for the baby. 

Tonight was no different, sneaking out of bed long after you’d fallen asleep so he could put together the newest addition to the room next door— the crib.

He tried his best to be quiet, hoping not to wake you while he worked.

Only, your insomnia had become just as bad as his. Being seven months pregnant, you spent most nights tossing and turning, never getting more than six hours of sleep strewn together in thirty minute intervals. 

You turned over in a defeated huff once you realized you were awake again, only to find the space usually occupied by Andrew’s sturdy presence, empty. Running your hands along the material next to you— the cool, wrinkled sheets underneath your fingertips making his absence evident.

You sat up, rolling out of bed in a manner that took you twice as long as it would have months prior. Due to your protruding belly, the easiest daily activities had become less than convenient.

But once you were finally standing, you heard it— wood knocking against wood on the other side of the wall. 

Your bare feet slowly carried you to the nursery, until your body was left lingering in the doorway.

There he was— Andrew. Kneeling on the floor tightening one of the last screws on the crib that had been completely packaged in a box the last time you saw it. 

“You’ve still got two months, you know?” 

His head whips toward the door as soon as your voice squeaks past your lips, still riddled with sleep. 

“I know.” 

His response is short, but his stare is extensive as he keeps his eyes on you long after the words leave his mouth. 

He’s on the ground, peering up, studying your frame; clad in one of his t-shirts, pulling tight at your swollen belly. The evidence of both of your sleepless nights peeking out just above the waistband of your panties where a sliver of your stomach is exposed to him underneath your shirt— his shirt. 

“So then, what’s the rush?” 

The question is partially rhetorical as you all but hobble past him, finding a seat in the glider he put together last week. The recliner melts perfectly under your weight as you sit down, rocking back and forth gently as Andrew’s attention returns back to the nearly finished crib at his fingertips. 

“I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.” Focus pulls his brows together as he speaks, sending a warmth stirring in your chest. 

You watch as he tightens another screw, arms flexing and jaw twitching, and you can tell he has a million thoughts racing in his head— none of which he’d dare speak aloud. 

The pregnancy hormones currently in control of your body have your heart fluttering. It’s sight you’d never imagined, the man you love, Andrew Cody, putting together a crib at nearly three in the morning— which is why watching him nearly moves you to tears.

“She’s going to love you so much.” 

He stops; arms frozen and jaw relaxing as your words hit him, slowly melting into his ears, and sinking into the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re already such a good dad Andrew,” your voice is only a whisper as you continue to rock in the chair next to him.

“I hope you know that.”

He nods his head silently, staring at the crib ahead of him, his eyes blinking rapidly, a shaky breath pushing past his lips before his hands are back at work.

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Part IV

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Lines are crossed in more ways than one. Word Count: 6,849 (kill me) Content Warning: explicit smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), angst, comfort, typical Animal Kingdom warnings A/N: HERE WE ARE. IT'S JUST YOU, ME, AND THE POPE SHAPED WALL I'VE BUILT BETWEEN US. I screamed writing this entire chapter, so I genuinely hope you all enjoy it because I feel like I'm going to puke :) please comment & reblog

The front door had been shut for a millisecond before Hawk pushed Pope against it. 

“You better be serious about this, Andrew.” Hawk panted against Pope’s lips, their foreheads pressed together, noses bumping intimately. Her hands were cradling both sides of his face, grounding him, and his were holding her against his body in a vice grip. 

This was every fantasy Pope ever conjured in his teen years, every escape he dreamed of in prison. He was the proverbial dog who caught the car he’s chased his entire life and for the first time he could ever remember, there weren’t any thoughts racing through his head. It was Hawk, and purely Hawk that took residence there. The golden sun’s rays hit through the small windows that surrounded the door, illuminating Hawk’s eyes in such a way that it left Pope mesmerized. 

Pope made sure her eyes were looking straight into his before he answered: “For you, always.” There was so much more he wanted to say, what he wanted Hawk to know, but the fear of rejection weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Pope didn’t want to come on too strong too quickly, not after he was given this opportunity that came with a lifetime of degradation about his self worth when it came to her. He’d never be worthy of breathing the same air that Hawk did, and he was even less deserving of what she was offering to him. 

Pope would savor this, because in his mind it was only a matter of time before Hawk came to her senses. That’s how these things happened with him. 

Pope picked Hawk up, her legs instantly wrapped around his sturdy, muscular waist and their lips joined once more as he carried her through the house. His hands were gripping her ass under the coverup and  he couldn’t get enough of her hot, bare skin against his palms. 

“Bedroom,” Hawk murmured against his lips. Her fingers twirled and gently tugged at the hair in the nape of his neck and he groaned, his eyes shutting. His jeans restrained his cock painfully, each step getting more agonizing as shock after shock zipped through his body with each kiss and caress she gave him. 

Pope set her down on the California King sized bed and Hawk scooted back towards the plush pillows as he took his shirt off. Pope’s Dickies hung low on his hips as he kneeled on the edge of the mattress and crawled over to Hawk until he was hovering over her. 

“You want this?” Pope needed to hear her say it and to also give her an out. That sliver of doubt still lingered in his mind, but it quickly diminished the second Hawk wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

“I want you.” She whispered into his ear. Pope trailed open mouthed kisses down her neck, to her collarbones. He pulled the tie to her cover-up and let the sides slide open to reveal the black bikini underneath. Pope continued peppering kisses down the center of Hawk’s chest, then further and further down. 

Pope’s fingers slid under the strips of cloth at Hawk’s hips and gently pulled the bottoms off. He took in the view, his thumb teasing her slit ever so slightly and lifted her left thighs to rest over his shoulder. 

It had been an embarrassingly long time since Hawk went on a date, much less allowed someone to grace her sheets, so when Pope’s hot, slick mouth engulfed her clit? She couldn’t help the ground out “fuck” that left her lips as her fingers clenched through Pope’s short hair. 

Pope didn’t move the entire night. He didn’t lay awake. He didn’t wander. He didn’t leave the house. He didn’t leave the bed. He and Hawk spent hours entangled with each other last night and still, Pope couldn’t believe he was here in her bed, his head resting on her chest with his ear over her steadily beating heart as she slept beneath him. Pope’s arms were wrapped around Hawk’s waist and their legs were tangled together. One of Hawk’s limp hands was still carded through Pope’s hair, the other rested on his bicep, and Pope had never felt more at peace than he did in that moment. 

He felt rested, refreshed in a way that was so completely foreign to him that fear began to trickle in, turning his stomach. Pope’s worst nightmare was waking up from this only to be back in that cell with Vic. He unintentionally squeezed his arms and Hawk groaned softly, her fingers continued their feather light ministrations over his scalp and arm. Pope nuzzled his face further into Hawk’s bare chest, kissing the soft skin that gave him unparalleled comfort through the night. 

“Good morning,” Hawk whispered. She felt him mumble a greeting into her skin, his lips following after his words. Pope shifted to his back, pulling Hawk to his chest -making sure to keep contact with her. Her body felt like a lifeline that Pope wasn’t ready to disconnect from just yet. One of his hands hooked behind her knee, hiking her leg up over his hip so he could run his hand over her thigh. 

The sun was just starting to reflect over the endless horizon of the Pacific Ocean from its rise in the east. The view from the sliding door in Hawk’s bedroom let the pink and golden hues filter in, draping her in an almost ethereal light. Time seemed to stand still and Pope wished it could stay that way -for the world to pass by outside and for the inside to remain tranquil.

“Talk to me,” Hawk whispered against Pope’s collar bone. “What’s going on up there?” Her fingers brushed against the curling hair near his temple and he naturally tilted his head to cradle against her palm. He chased her touch, she noticed, and allowed him to catch what he was after with any fuss from her. 

“You don’t want to know.” He mumbled, breaking his eyes from hers to look out the door to the beach below. 

“I do.” She gently grasped his jaw to turn his face back to her. “Don’t close yourself off to me. I think we’re well past that point, Andrew.” Hawk linked her fingers with his. His palm was callused and scars littered his knuckles from a lifetime of violence. Freckles lined the back of his hand and crawled up his arm like he had his own galaxy woven into his skin. Hawk had trailed her mouth over so many of them, over many parts of his body, the previous night.  

“Are you sure about this? About me?” Pope didn’t trust many people in his life, but Hawk was someone who never wavered in his life. She took care of Julia when no one else did. She took care of J -a fact that Pope was slowly coming around on as the kid proved himself to the family. She took care of him while he was in prison without any expectations. She didn’t want money, flashy gifts, even credibility. She didn’t need it. She helped them because she could and most importantly, she wanted to. Hawk never shrank away from Pope’s lingering stares and never made him feel like a nuisance, a monster, a maniac. He felt like a person around Hawk and now…now she showed him what genuine intimacy felt like, and Pope honestly didn’t know if he was equipped enough to handle that kind of treatment after a lifetime of scrutiny. After a taste, he never wanted to be without it and processing that was going to take time and patience. 

“Without a doubt in my mind, Pope. Are you having second thoughts? It’s okay if you are-” 

“-No,” He was quick to answer. “No.” 

“Then what’s going on? Something is clearly bothering you and I’d like to talk about it so we can go into this with some clarity, ya know?” Hawk looked up at him with a softness in her sleepy eyes and Pope nearly broke. Again, he couldn’t hold the contact with Hawk, but she let him look away so he could gather his thoughts. “Whatever it is, Pope, I’m not going to judge you for it. It stays in this bed, under these sheets, and will never see the light of day.” Acceptance was a hard pill to swallow for Pope. Feelings were never discussed without being reprimanded for showing weakness and so he kept them in -all of them until it turned into a nuclear warhead that took out everything and everyone in his wake. 

“I don’t want you wrapped up in any of this shit.” 

“Good,” She agreed. “because I don’t want to know anything about what you guys are up to. I do, however, maintain that nothing crosses the threshold of this house, Pope. And I mean nothing. That includes the cash and the guns. All of it stays out.” He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “What else?” Hawk felt him sigh, his chest slowly lowering under her with the exhale. He said her name, her real name, and his normal frown started to reappear, tugging at Hawk’s heartstrings. 

“I destroy everything good that I touch.” Pope’s voice was so small and Hawk felt the rare vulnerability that he allowed her to see. He lifted the hand that hers held, bringing the scars up to shine in the morning light. “My entire life, I’ve destroyed everything. It’s all I know how to do. All I’ve been good at doing.” Hawk let him speak uninterrupted so he could get it out, all of the doubts she knew he was feeling about himself and his inadequacies. If he kept them bottled up, he would sabotage himself. She had seen it before and this was the only way she knew how to circumvent the situation. Pope continued,

“You’ve always deserved better than anything I could ever give you. I know that. You deserved better than Smurf. You deserved better than Julia. This family has weighed you down your whole life and now…I feel like I might be the final nail and I don’t want to be. I can’t be. That’s why I never entertained the idea that this could happen.” He glanced back down to Hawk, then back to the slider. “It still doesn’t make sense -what you see in me.”  

“I see a lot of things, Andrew. Just because you don’t see them, doesn't mean they aren’t there.” Hawk replied softly. “I’ve always had some kind of affection for you, ever since we were kids. You were always so close, but just far enough away that I didn’t think you ever saw me as anything other than Julia’s friend. But I noticed you, Andy.” Hawk was the only person to call him that when they were kids -before she was Hawk and before he was Pope. The memory tugged at something inside of him and he pushed back the sting in his eyes with a couple of fast blinks. “You were kind and protective and you never treated me the same way your brothers did, or the way Baz did. You never teased me or made my life harder. And I guess the mystery of you not saying more than five words to me at a time had something to do with it.” Hawk smiled, teasing him. He was looking down at their intertwined hands, his thumb rubbing over her much smaller, unmarred knuckles.

“I would’ve done anything for you, and I still would.” He confessed in whisper. He thought about what his life could’ve been like had he pursued Hawk when they were teens before Julia left and everything that could’ve been completely fell apart. What would’ve changed? Would Hawk have taken J in? Would she have distanced herself from the family at all? Would Pope have helped her raise the kid? He shook his head to rid his mind of the hypotheticals because they were together right then in that very moment and that’s all that mattered to him. He spent too many years of his life thinking about what could’ve been’s to waste anymore time.

“What made you change your mind about this?” Pope let Hawk’s question linger between them for a moment. 

“Selfishness.” He admitted, shame flitting over his features for the briefest of seconds. 

“It’s not selfish to want to be loved, Andrew.” Hawk brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles affectionately. “What’s happening between us now has been a long time coming. A very long time coming.” Hawk spoke softly, shifting so she could be at eye level with him. Both of her palms cupped his jaw, the overnight stubble tickled as she ghosted her thumbs over his cheekbones tenderly. His arms slowly snaked around her waist holding her bare torso to his. Where he was hard and rigid, Hawk was soft and yielding. 

Everything inside of him desperately craved what she had.

“You deserve someone who cares about you, Pope. Someone who loves you unconditionally, who would do anything for you, and who reciprocates all of those things you give freely. You’ve sacrificed so much of yourself for everyone around you to the point where there will be nothing left if you don’t pull yourself back.” Hawk kissed him, letting her lips linger. “For once in your life, allow yourself to have something that is yours and yours alone.” 

Pope pulled Hawk fully onto him. Her legs straddled his hips and she jumped forward when she felt his fingers rub her slit from behind, working her until she’s wet enough to enter one finger, then two. Hawk gasped against Pope’s mouth as he watched her come undone with hooded eyes. When Hawk was just about to push ascend into oblivion, Pope pulled out. Her walls fluttered around the empty space he left and she whined, hips canting to find his cock as a suitable replacement. 

Pope taps his tip against her, slowly pushing in until her hips are once more flushed with his. His arms hold her in a bear hug as his hips slowly bounced Hawk’s up and down. The movements are lazy and more intimate than Pope had ever experienced before, but he didn’t want to rush. Knowing she truly wanted him here with her allowed him to relax and take care of her. This wasn’t fucking. This was pure intimacy at its core and if Pope died the second he walked out of this house, he’d die a happy man. 

Hawk moaned into Pope’s neck when he shifted the angle of her hips ever so slightly. She brought one of her hands up to hold onto his shoulder and the other gently ran her fingers through his hair, paying very special attention to the curls that were growing out just behind his ear. The groan he let out nearly had her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he thrusted a little harder than he meant to in reaction. 

“Please, Andrew.” Hawk didn’t know what she was begging Pope for -love, affection, intimacy, all the above, but he would give it to her tenfold and that’s exactly what he was doing. He hiked her thigh up even higher on his hip and held it there, deepening each shallow thrust into her. His lips found hers when she tilted her head up to look at him. 

Hawk tried to impatiently speed things up, to catch the high she was chasing after, but Pope held her steady as he continued to work her into the most blissful wake-up call she’s ever experienced, one slow, shallow, meaningful thrust at a time. His breathy moans and grunts were deliciously erotic as he repeated her name like a prayer. 

Hawk lifted herself up on a shaky arm to look down at him, then down to where Pope was sinking into her. Her breasts were tilted at the perfect angle for Pope to latch onto her right nipple and he took full advantage. Hawk’s hand cupped the back of his neck, supporting him while he continued doting on her. Her breaths were coming out more ragged, uneven, and every slow thrust from Pope felt like it was going to shatter her at any given moment. He released her nipple with a pop and dropped both of his hands to her hips so he could hold her in place. 

A breathy scream left Hawk’s mouth when Pope began to piston his hips up into her, increasing his speed with each thrust. He could feel how close she was, and he wanted to get her over the edge before he came. That was non-negotiable to him. She gave him -someone so substandard who had no right to look, much less touch- her body and he would treat it with the care it deserved. The side of Hawk’s face was pressed against his chest, moaning into a near hysterical mess. 

“Fuck, Andrew. Right there,” Hawk sobbed as she fell over the edge. Pope lifted her face to look at him as her pussy fluttered around his cock. It felt like the most welcomed squeeze and the blissed out twinkle in Hawk’s eyes as she stared up at him, completely lost in their bodies, is what got Pope to follow right after her. Pope’s head tilted back, baring his neck as Hawk felt spurt after spurt of his cum flood her. 

Hawk kissed along his heaving, sweaty chest, then trailed them up his neck, to his jaw, and finally back to his lips. He held her to him, skin to skin flushed together as he stayed bottomed out inside of her, both of their hips moving ever so slightly to draw the feeling out. 

“Could get used to being woken up like this.” Hawk chuckled, resting her cheek on the side of his neck, peppering lazy pecks whenever she felt like it. Pope’s hands rubbed up and down her damp back, pulling the comforter over both of them. 

Hawk woke up alone in the bed later that morning. She didn’t expect Pope to stay rotting in bed all morning, so she wasn’t all that surprised when his side was meticulously made like he had never been there at all. She could still smell remnants of Pope on her sheets, on the pillowcases and comforter. It was a mix of his cologne and a scent that was very distinctly him. She chuckled into her pillow, then took a deep breath and stretched like a cat, her arms and legs stretched out before exhaling with a satisfied groan. Hawk laid there for a moment, a very welcomed soreness making itself known between her legs as the events of the previous night and that morning rushed through her mind. 

“Come on,” Hawk listened with a grin when she heard Pope’s frustrated voice come from down the hall. The fact that he hadn’t left yet was enough to get her to roll out of bed and get her day started. She threw on a black, lacy bralette and boy short set, then grabbed her short, silk robe off of the hook behind her en-suite bathroom door. After quickly brushing her teeth and fixing her appearance in the mirror, she made her way out to assist Pope in whatever he was trying to do. 

“Need help, birthday boy?” Pope looked over his shoulder at Hawk’s entrance. Their normal morning schedules were slightly off track thanks to their early morning activities, followed by a nap that even Pope wasn’t immune to when Hawk wrapped herself around him before she was out like a light. Pope slept more in the last twelve hours than he had in the past week and it was something he could desperately get used to. 

Hawk sashayed into the kitchen, her open robe flowing around her as she padded up to Pope on bare feet. The racy attire revealed underneath made Pope’s mouth go dry. The memory of their morning sent all the blood in his brain south. He cleared his throat after swallowing thickly, and averted his eyes back down to the coffee machine in front of him. 

Hawk placed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, her chosen spot Pope noticed, then met his lips with hers. She wrapped her arms around his shirtless waist and his hand slipped under the robe to rub her hip. Hawk let her hands linger over his warm, taut abdomen , letting them fall away as she went to the fridge to grab some eggs and a bowl of sliced fruit to make a quick breakfast. 

“Just trying to make a cup of coffee, not fly to the goddamn moon.” Pope muttered as he returned his attention back to the very expensive looking coffee machine. He pressed around the machine unsuccessfully locating how to even turn the goddamn thing on. Hawk laughed quietly and bumped her hip with his to scooch him out of the way. 

“I got it. Go sit,” Hawk directed with a chuckle, pointing to the bar stools where she usually sat. “Hungry?” Pope shook his head, his hand going to his stomach as he grimaced. 

“My stomach’s been messed up since I got out. Probably just not used to real food yet.” Hawk’s mind went to the pills she saw Janine crush up -the same pills that were in her purse. The same pills that manifested as guilt that ate away at her the longer they lingered. She had to say something and she would, but Hawk had to be careful with how she went about it. 

Smurf was her main concern. She knew Pope would be upset when he found out, astronomically so, but if he found out from Hawk…Smurf would put a target on her back and spin this in a way that would not only paint Hawk as the enemy, but would also effectively send Pope into a tailspin that she didn’t think he’d recover from, not after he bared his soul to her and showed her more vulnerability than he probably ever let anyone else see in his life. 

Pope would see this as a betrayal, and no matter how good Hawk’s intentions were by not giving them to him, she still kept her mouth shut about it. 

Any normal person could see that Pope probably needed to be medicated -as many people needed to be, but he definitely didn’t need to be drugged. He wasn’t out of control. He could make those decisions himself and Smurf didn’t have any right to make them for him, but that never stopped her before -especially when it came to Pope. 

Hawk set a cup of black coffee in front of him and loaded a couple slices of bread into the toaster next to the stove. 

“You uh…you’re not on any kind of medication, are you?” Hawk asked tentatively as she cracked a few eggs in a bowl to scramble. She tried not to be obvious, but she needed to know if he suspected anything at this point. “Sometimes they can mess up your stomach, especially if you’re not eating right to begin with.” Pope looked at her weird when she shrugged nonchalantly. He stared at Hawk like the question was so wildly out of the realm of possibility that she shouldn’t have even asked. Hawk brought the bowl to the stove and busied herself with finding a pan and flicking the burner on. “Maybe ibuprofen? Sometimes if I take it on an empty stomach I can’t eat anything for a day or two…” She looked over her shoulder to glance at Pope. 

“No, I’m not.” He responded dryly as he took a sip of coffee, watching Hawk’s every move with his full attention over the rim of the cup. 

“Then you’re probably still adjusting.” She said nonchalantly. It felt dirty and wrong, plain and simple. Her own stomach was starting to turn, twisting and flipping in the worst way as she plated the eggs, toast, and fruit before sliding a small plate over to him. 

“So,” Hawk changed the subject as she sat on the stool next to Pope. “Any plans for today?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure the guys have some dumb shit planned.” He popped a grape in his mouth, still eyeing her odd behavior. “Skydiving, paintball,” He left out the usual birthday strip club appearance. “Adrenaline junky crap. I’ll let you know if Smurf has anything planned tonight though.” Hawk noticed he had trouble maintaining eye contact when they had conversations like this. He’d look at her for a moment, then his eyes would drop as if he shouldn’t have been looking in the first place. 

Pope did the same thing that morning when they woke up together and it was so incredibly abnormal for him -at least to Hawk. Eye contact was his thing, but add on any kind of intimacy to it and he shrank back into himself. She rested her hand on his forearm that was sitting on the island in between their plates and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Well, I’d like to see you make it to another birthday, so please be careful.” Hawk joked as she took a bite of toast. His mouth twisted up on one side in the smallest grins that he seemed to save for her, then they quietly finished their breakfasts before splitting up for the day. 

Weeks passed and what was supposed to be a “few days” arrangement, turned into an open ended arrangement that led into…some kind of relationship with Pope. Hawk didn’t push Pope to leave and he, conveniently, wasn’t in a rush to buy a house anymore. For nearly a month they cohabitated together, each juggling the shop, the jobs, Smurf, and anything else that seemed to get thrown their way respectively. At the end of each day, they met back home in a bubble that became alarmingly normal -dinner, a movie, cuddling on the sofa, frisky behavior befitting teenagers. All of it felt like things had always been this way. 

Hawk’s home was a reprieve for Pope. It was an escape from everything else he was dealing with when it came to his family. It was like clocking out from a shift and leaving that life behind for a few hours of normalcy. The concept was new to Pope, and like any new experience, it gave him a rush. Hawk was an extension to that rush. She brought comfort, companionship, compassion and understanding. She wanted him around and that was something he still had trouble accepting. And on Hawk’s end, everything felt natural -in its right place.

The only glaring defect in all of this was J. Hawk noticed he was avoiding the house as of recent and whether that was because of Pope or something else entirely left her worried. She’d see him in passing at Smurf’s, but even the matriarch made a comment that he was rarely there too. Any time she tried to reach out, he’d brush her off under the guise of being with Nicky or just busy. Is this what parents felt like when their kids got too busy for them? Too old to hang out? Had J outgrown her? Hawk tried to not take it personally, but it still stung. 

Things with Pope were good, steady. Living with another adult was a very new concept on her end. Dating wasn’t really in her cards when she was younger between J and opening the shop, and then keeping the shop running and juggling Julia and her brothers separately. Add on Smurf’s bullshit and by the time Hawk got home at the end of the day, her thoughts were between herself and whatever was leftover in the fridge before she crashed on the sofa. She wouldn’t say lonely was what she felt, but she did crave the idea of having someone to come home to. Little did she know that that hole in her heart was Pope shaped, and Pope shaped only.  

In true fashion, things never stayed peaceful long enough to enjoy the silence -not while the Cody’s lived and breathed.  

Hawk’s cell phone rang while she was helping Jane -now the manager of the shop- put an order together for a pick up later that afternoon. Unknown Caller scrolled on the screen and she signed as she swiped to answer it. 

“Hello?” She held up a finger to Jane to let her know she’d only be gone a minute as she shifted to take the call in her office the second she heard the automated voice on the other end.

“This is a collect call from the South Bay Detention Facility on behalf of,” “Andrew Cody” “Do you accept the charges to connect the call?” Hawk’s heart dropped. She hoped to never hear another one of these automated calls so long as she lived, much less having Pope on the other end of it, but she didn’t hesitate to accept it -not then and not now. 

“I accept.” It rang twice before it was connected. “Pope?”

“I’m at SBDF. Can you pick me up?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Hawk,” He breathed out and she could hear the agitation over the line and chose to bite back any lingering questions she had until she saw him. She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right down.”

“Listen, I know you probably hear this every time someone breaks parole, but there is no way Andrew didn’t pass that test. He’s got a stable living situation, a job, he hasn’t failed a piss test up until now. All things considered, he’s been doing really well since his release. This is abnormal.” His parole officer just raised an eyebrow at Hawk. “Could something like medication cause this?” That was the only thing she could think of. 

“Is he back on his meds?” The PO asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Hawk lied, “but I can figure it out and make sure he communicates it through the proper channels if that’s the case.” Pope’s PO sighed, saying Hawks name as he leaned against the elevated desk that took up the majority of the room. He had made visits to her home, had spoken with her before about Pope’s release, so he was familiar with Hawk. When he looked down at her, he couldn’t fathom why someone like her was involved with someone like Andrew Cody, in whatever capacity it was and she could read his expression as clear as day. 

To the PO, people like Pope didn’t change because they didn’t want to. They learned from their mistakes so they could skirt around law enforcement long enough to not end up back behind bars, but they always did. Eventually. They always ended up back in prison. It was a never ending cycle and yet, these scumbags always had a nice woman on the outside waiting to bail them out. 

“This is a warning lock up.” He warned her. “Andrew doesn’t get another shot after this. It’s straight to the judge, and then it’s a one year mandatory sentence.” Hawk nodded, the gravity of the situation well known. 

“Understood. Thank you again for giving him an opportunity. We both appreciate it.” The PO nodded to the officer at the holding cell to open the door. 

“Cody, you’re free to go.” Hawk could see Pope from where she stood. His eyes were on her and he looked furious as he took his time getting up and walking out of the jail with Hawk trailing behind him. 

“You asked me something a few weeks back,” Pope started, “It stuck out to me then and I couldn’t put my finger on why, but now I get it.” It was about a forty-five minute drive back to Hawk’s house, and they spent the first fifteen minutes in silence until Pope spoke up. “When my stomach was messed up you asked me if I was on any medication.” His eyes cut through Hawk as she drove. He saw her freeze for a moment, then she blinked herself back to the present. “Why would you ask me that?” Hawk’s throat felt like it was constricting as she tried to swallow. 

“It’s…complicated.” Her eyes flitted from the road, to Pope nervously, then back to the road. 

“Uncomplicate it.” It was a demand, clear as day, and he gave her no room to talk her way out of it. Hawk weighed her options -she could deny knowing anything or come clean and hope he didn’t absolutely lose it. He deserved to know the truth and the longer she didn’t answer, the guiltier she became. She decided to bite the bullet. Pope deserved that much. 

“…Smurf gave me a bottle of anti-psychotics to give to you.” The rising tension in the SUV was palpable. The air was thick and uncomfortable and it made Hawk want to crawl out of her skin.

“You? You?” Pope was at a loss for words. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving, and the absolute betrayal that washed over him was too much. Sensing this, Hawk took the next exit off of the highway, cutting off honking vehicles, and pulled over on the side of the off-ramp. 

“No! Listen to me, Pope!” The passenger door was slammed shut before Hawk could put the vehicle in park. “Pope!” She shouted, grabbing the bottle from her purse, then jumped out of the car and ran after him as he stalked through the open field that lined the exit ramp. 

“You of all fucking people, Hawk!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he turned and pointed at her. “All this time I thought-I thought you cared about me! But you’re just like them -you’re just like her!” His voice cracked. “None of you can stomach being around me unless I’m medicated because I’m too fucking crazy! Is that it?! I’m a monster without the fucking pills? Was this whole thing just a fucking ruse to keep me placated?!” He spat at her. 

“No!” Hawk’s voice went hoarse. “Listen to me, Pope. The bottle is still fucking full! It’s still full!” She shook it desperately. “There isn’t a single pill missing because I haven’t given any of them to you! None of this, us, was to trick you. I genuinely, with everything that I have, care about you, Pope.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?! You knew and just let this happen! I could’ve gone back to prison, Hawk!” It never occurred to her that it would pop up on a drug test and the guilt she already felt tripled. Hawk felt like she was about to start hyperventilating. 

“I thought that if I made it seem like I was giving them to you, Smurf wouldn’t, but that’s clearly not what’s happening! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, Pope! I would never do something like this to you!”

“But you did!” Hawk’s heart broke at the devastation that was clear as day on his normally hard to read face. He wanted her to see what this did to him, how this tore him apart on the inside. His hands were pulling at his growing hair as he paced the field, afraid that if he didn’t take this out on himself, he’d become the monster they all thought he was. “Once again, not a single fucking person thought about me in this! No one! Not you! Not Smurf! This has Baz’s scent all over it, so he’s probably also fucking involved! I wouldn’t put it past him.”  

Pope expected this from Smurf, even from Baz, but never from Hawk.  

“You have every right to be angry with me because I should’ve told you immediately, Pope, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t do it. I’m sorry for not saying anything. I should’ve said something. That’s on me.” Hawk was bordering on hysterics as the situation continued to spiral out of control. She took a few tentative steps towards Pope and when he didn’t walk away from her, she continued on. 

“Andrew. Please,” Hawk forced the bottle into his hand and cupped his face to bring his forehead down to hers. Pope’s jaw was set, his teeth grinding and breaths heavy through his nose. His watering eyes were unyielding as they barred down at her. His hands were balled into tight fists that he let hang by his sides, one strangling the white bottle so hard the veins in his forearm popped.  

Pope was angry, furious, but under that lay a hurt that he hadn’t felt in so long. It was a feeling that he shielded himself from due to self preservation, but as he opened himself to Hawk, he left himself vulnerable. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again any time soon. 

“I want you as you are, Andrew, not how she makes you. I know you. I know the man underneath all of the shit she’s done to you. I want you -all of you. Everything that makes you -everything good and bad.” Pope stood there, breathing heavily through his nose and his frown only got deeper. He weighed the bottle of pills in his hand, before physically removing Hawk’s hands from his face. Without a word he brushed past her to make his way back to her SUV. 

Hawk slowly trailed after him once he closed the passenger door. She took a few deep breaths to center herself and stood as tall as she could while she finished her walk of genuine shame back to the car. 

You’re just like her, Pope’s voice rang like an incessant bell in Hawk’s brain. 

Her. 

Smurf. 

You’re just like her. 

Pope’s words cut into her as they were intended to. Hawk’s hands shook as she opened the driver door and she didn’t have a single ounce of courage inside of herself to even look at Pope, but Hawk could feel the very purposeful daggers he was glaring towards her. 

“When did she give them to you?” Pope’s voice was low and gravely. The truth was going to hurt, but she realized she was only protecting Smurf by keeping this from him and that was the absolute last thing Hawk wanted to do. 

“The day before your birthday.” Still, Hawk couldn’t look at Pope. His birthday was nearly a month ago and that bottle had been festering like an open wound since. “They’ve been sitting in my purse, unopened.”

“And you’ve never thought about using them?” His tone was 100% accusatory, and he had every right to be. 

“No,” Hawk breathed out, finally looking at him. Tears lined her eyes and she wiped them away before they had a chance to drop. “Not once.” His eyes searched for the lie, for the tell that would let him know Hawk wasn’t being honest. She had been a terrible liar when they were kids, and Pope noticed that the same tells were transferred over to J, a product of just how much of J’s life was spent with Hawk. Those tells weren’t present in the car as she spoke to him, but that didn’t ease the hackles that had risen. 

“This was a horrible lapse in judgement,” She covered her face with her hands, then dragged them down. “I didn’t know Smurf was still giving you anything. You stopped complaining about your stomach, so I figured she stopped giving them to you after she gave them to me. None of that matters anymore though because the damage is done and I’m partially responsible for it, and there aren’t enough ‘sorry’s’ in the world to repair that.”  

“Start the car.” Pope’s voice was devoid of any emotion. He had already retreated into himself, the self-preservation tactic that he developed as a kid to lock everyone out after he had been hurt over and over and over again. 

Hawk bit her lip hard, blood pebbling to the surface. This was her fault. She hurt him in such a profound way and broke a lifetime of trust he built with her. She couldn’t expect Pope to forgive her when she couldn’t even forgive herself. 

The remainder of the ride was silent, reminding Hawk of their last ride from Folsom. He had been angry at her then too, but nothing like this. The drive back to her house was only a fraction of what it had been from Folsom, but the minutes seemed to stretch endlessly and she couldn’t have been more grateful to turn into her winding driveway than she was in that moment. She needed to get out of that car, to escape the guilt and the anger and the disappointment that permeated the vehicle. And as quickly as she wanted to escape, Pope was five steps ahead of her. 

He was out of the car before the wheels had fully stopped and Hawk could put it into park once she got up the driveway. He bypassed the entry to the house and went straight for his truck, key ring and pill bottle in hand with the darkest cloud hanging over his head. 

please comment & reblog :)

[pixiishi]

thinking of trans allegory neil josten. chose a new name and identity for himself and desperately wants to move forward and live his life as such. to carve a path for himself other than the one he was forced into from birth. wishing he could leave his old name and past behind.

unwilling to let others see his body, covered in scars. always opting to change alone. covering himself up as much as he can. baggy shirts and faded jeans. hiding a binder (even if in canon it isn’t that kind) with his life.

letting any of these things slip would have disastrous consequences for him. he’ll do anything to prevent that. very few get to have the truth, or even a sliver of it, shared with them. trusted with them.

because he believes it can never last. he can’t be neil josten forever.

and yet, and yet, and yet. despite the secrets he keeps, the foxes love him. they accept him and will fight for him because they are family. and even after his world ends, and everybody knows, he is able to find his way back home to them. and they are not letting go.

asking, “can i really be neil again?" and his anchor, andrew, replying, "i told neil to stay. leave nathaniel buried in baltimore with his father.” like. i’m so normal. i’m soooo normal.

[strawberrynightmere]

Could I request a smut one short between Yandere Andrew x medical student Julia!reader (where the reader is Andrew's canon ex-girlfriend) after their breakup? I'd like Julia!Reader discovering Andrew mid act (u know typical crimes done by the Graves sibling,but no Ashley there in the scene) so he has to chase her??

Yeah sure.

Night Shift [Yandere Andrew Graves x Julia! Reader]

TW⚠️: dark content, yandere tendencies, blood and injuries mentioned(?), reader is a medical student, reader takes Julia's place, non-con smut/nsft/+18, Ashley is nowhere to be found (she is mentioned), female reader (obviously), my writing,and will probably add more warnings later.

A/n: I made it vague as to what specifically she's studying as I am not in the medical field. If there is any criticism you would like to bestow upon me, please do.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After your breakup with Andrew, you thought that you were now free from the Graves siblings, especially Ashley.

Did you expect the quarantined apartment building to burn down days after you broke up with him? No, that was just a freaky misfortune.

You're too busy to care about that. Right now, you're covering a classmates night shift due to them being unwell.

The place looked like it was from a horror movie with how quiet and eerie the atmosphere is.

At least you weren't alone. One of your superiors was doing some overtime, and the night shift nurse was here too, so it's not that bad.

...

How come you can't find either of them?

It's 4:30 am, and you should be going soon, but you need to inform the nurse before leaving.

The lights on the ceiling have been flickering more than usual. You should probably worry about that. An electric outage can cause serious issues.

The lights go out as an inhumane scream shakes the whole hospital.

What the fuck was that?!

Should you be a dumbass and investigate or run away?

Fuck it, you're being a dumbass.

Where did the horrifying scream come from?

Another scream is heard.

It came from the west wing.

Got it.

Now you were quietly sneaking to your doom as monstruos screams ring from one specific room that had trails of blood coming from the floor and doors.

You really shouldn't be acting a hero right now. You should run away like a normal human would, but that sliver of hope that your colleagues are alive and need help is pushing you to the double doors.

As you are right in front of the doors, you hear faint voices coming from the other side. You crack the door a bit open and take a peak. And you did find them, tied up and lifeless looking, in the middle of a red circle. And they weren't alone.

To your horror, the two people you thought were dead and gone were standing right there, talking with a floating... whatever it is.

The thing immediately looks at you with its manu eyes, and Andrew had also turned to look at you.

Shit!

You never ran so fast in your life.

The lights kept flickering uncontrollably. You didn't dare to turn and see if they were chasing you. You know they were.

Ears ringing in panic and your life flashing before your eyes. The lights flick off as you fall to the ground. Once they flick back on, you see a pool of blood coming from the gash on your shin.

You try to crawl away when something heavy gets on your back and holds you down.

You look up to see Andrew holding a bloody cleaver. You turn away and close your eyes, accepting your unfortunate end as you hear a swing and everything fades to black.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

How you wish your life ended like that, but that would've been too good to be the case.

Now you were in some kind of motel room, tied up and gagged, face-down, and bear ass-up on the bed. One of Andrew's hands was gripping you by your ponytail while the other one was mercilessly fingering your cunt.

Muffled moans go through your gagged mouth, intensified when he sped up or added another finger.

The knot in your stomach was almost undone until he pulled his fingers out. You cried out from this empty feeling until you heard the sound of a zipper.

You feel his thick tip rubbing up and down against your clit.

"We haven't done this in a while." You haven't done it in months, and you haven't been doing anything with anyone since the breakup since you wanted to concentrate on yourself and your studies.

The tip finally drags up to your entrance and pushes in slowly.

"Mmph!" You hated when he did that. It was always on purpose, wanting you to beg. Though you can't do much of that now.

When he finally pushed his whole length in, he started off slow.

"I wanted to go and get you when I escaped."

"Mm-mph!"

He picked up his pace a bit.

"But - oh... needed to lay low for a while." He grunted the lat part.

"It... really hurt -uh! When you broke up with me like that." It's not like you could've visited him at the time, plus he should've seen it coming.

He picks up the pace again. Now, every thrust was quicker and deeper than he last one.

"Mm-m-mph!" You moan through the gag.

Andrew pulls your hair in a way so he can look you directly in the eye.

"You won't leave me now. Will ya." You couldn't concentrate on the deragdnes of his voice. You couldn't think of anything clearly. You were so close, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head.

"MmPH!" Finally, the knot in your stomack comes undone as warmth spreads through your body, and your vision becomes foggy.

You feel Andrew move lose hairstrands from your face, and gently caressing it.

"You're not leaving me. Ever."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

A/n: still not good at writing smut.

[eternallyordinary]

"He Belongs To You" - Part 22

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series masterlist<3

Summary: As Homelander’s search turns violent, you're forced to survive in silence—wondering if love will be enough to bring you home.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, Psychological manipulation, Gore / graphic violence, Mental illness, Death, PTSD themes, Suicide, Disturbing imagery, Obsession

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You

It’s been two weeks.

The longest two weeks of your fucking life.

You forced yourself to stop counting the days.

Forced your voice into silence.

Forced your mind to stop hoping that someone—he—would come bursting through that door and save you.

Where is he?

The question looped endlessly in your head, a whisper that turned into a scream behind your eyes.

You used to believe he was unstoppable. Untouchable. A force no one could stand against.

So why hasn’t he come?

The longer it stretched on, the more your thoughts twisted.

Maybe he thinks this is for the best.

Maybe he let this happen.

Those thoughts cut deeper than the chains digging into your wrists.

They're torn to shreds—skin peeled back, raw and weeping, until sinew and bone glint beneath the metal. The restraints never leave your body.

You eat in chains.

Sleep in chains.

Piss in chains.

But none of it compares to the pain of Homelander's absence.

That ache is deeper. Quieter. It settles beneath your ribs and eats at you slowly.

Maybe someone got to him. Maybe someone convinced him that what you had—however electric, however intense—was always meant to be fleeting.

"Move on," you imagine Sage whispering in his ear, cool and calculated. And you picture him listening. That old, desperate need to be accepted sparking to life again—obeying.

And just like that, the pain becomes unbearable.

You fucking miss him.

And the worst part? He’s the reason you’re here in the first place.

If he hadn’t killed Eli—if he had just shown a sliver of self-control—you wouldn’t be in this nightmare.

So why aren’t you angry?

You should be. You should hate him for putting you in this position.

For being the reason you’re trapped.

For not already tearing the world apart to find you.

But you don’t.

And that’s what terrifies you most.

Because the longer you’re without him, the clearer it becomes—

You don’t love him less for this.

You need him more. You love him more.

And you can’t help but wonder—if you make it out of here alive, which is a major fucking IF at this point—what comes next?

Because being loved by Homelander isn’t just dangerous.

It’s a target. It’s a curse wrapped in devotion, sealed with blood.

Will someone come for you again? Will they come for your dad?

You're so worried about him.

Is he okay?

Is he worried sick?

Does he even know you’re missing?

You tell yourself it’s better if he doesn’t. Maybe he just thinks you’ve gone off-grid for work or training or something ridiculous like that.

But then—what if he does think you’re ignoring him?

What if he’s sitting at home, phone in hand, wondering what he did wrong?

And if he doesn’t know… does that mean no one is looking?

That tug-of-war plays out endlessly in your mind, looping, unraveling you little by little.

You work yourself sick with it—spinning through guilt, fear, what-ifs—until your brain short-circuits and finally, finally drags you into sleep.

Or until Andrew comes down the stairs with a yogurt container and a bottle of water, smiling like he’s your best fucking friend in the world.

Like this is normal.

Like he hasn’t been keeping you in the dark for fourteen days.

You’ve learned how to smile through it. Learned how to wear your fear like a second skin.

You nod when Andrew talks about Eli, eyes wide, pretending to be engaged. You hum softly when he asks you to—just the way he likes it. Calm. Sweet. Contained.

You even pretend to care about his endless, rambling stories—the ones he says he hears from the dead.

He offered once, casually, to pull in your grandparents. Said he could “channel them” for a chat, like it was a parlor trick.

You smiled, shook your head. Declined graciously. Because they can’t see you like this. Not like this. And more importantly—you don’t trust him. He’s a fucking psychopath. But every so often… he tugs at your heartstrings.

You’ve started to learn things about his life—details you didn’t ask for, but ones he gives freely, like he’s aching for someone to hold the weight with him.

The woman who helped him kidnap you? The one who screamed in that alley before the needle was jabbed into your neck? She was his girlfriend. Long-term.

They met in the psych ward. A “facility for gifted minds,” as he puts it. She was part of the plan. They were supposed to finish this together. Finish you, maybe. And then disappear—off the grid, off the map, run away into some twisted version of the sunset.

But instead, she panicked. Took the subway back to the psych ward. Never looked back.

He hasn’t heard from her since. Doesn’t know if she made it. Doesn’t know what the hospital staff thinks happened. And that realization? That he’s truly, deeply alone? It crushes him.

His parents died in a murder-suicide while Eli was at college. His father pulled the trigger. Andrew blames himself for it. Thinks the pressure of raising someone like him—someone broken, someone unnatural—drove his father over the edge.

You catch yourself saying it one day, voice soft:

“They chose to inject you, Andrew. You didn’t ask for this. Your powers aren’t your fault.”

And you mean it. In that moment, you mean it.

Because if you squint hard enough, if you blur the horror around you... you can almost see a version of him that isn’t a monster. In another life, maybe you could’ve been his friend.

And that thought hits you in a way you don’t expect.

Because when the time comes to kill him so you can get out of here?

A small part of you might actually be sad.

—

Homelander

Homelander stares at himself in the mirror—something he’s done since he was a child.

Not just to admire himself—though, let’s be honest, he’s always been confident in his appearance, maybe too confident. He enjoys looking at his reflection. Always has.

But it’s more than that.

Because for as long as he can remember, his reflection has been his only friend.

The only one who never left.

The only one who always looked back. Never looked away.

The only one who could talk to him without flinching.

He thinks back to when he was a child—when he was still just John.

Back before the cape, before the fame, before the world called him Homelander.

Back when they burned him, stabbed him, drowned him—

All for test results.

He remembers the first time he really saw himself in the mirror. He was seven years old.

His face was blotchy from crying. His lip was split. There were bruises on his ribs, purple and green and yellow.

But the boy in the mirror looked back at him with something different. Something calm. Something stronger.

And then—he spoke.

"It's okay, John. Don't cry."

The reflection’s voice was soft. Familiar. Almost kind.

"Maybe one day, you and I will have a family. Maybe all these things they make us do—maybe they’ll just be cool tricks. Tricks we can show a little brother, if we get one. Like how long we can hold our breath underwater. Wouldn’t that be cool?" So don’t cry, John. It’ll be okay."

He can still remember the taste of his tears.

The salt drying on his cheeks.

The way he nodded to the mirror—believed it.

Because, back then? It was the only voice that ever told him he’d be okay. The only voice that gave him any hope.

So he waited.

God, he waited.

For years, he held onto that fantasy like it was gospel.

That one day, the door would open and a smiling family would walk in.

A dad to teach him how to ride a bike.

A mom who packed lunchboxes and kissed scraped knees.

A little brother who’d look up at him with wide eyes and say, “Show me again! Show me how long you can stay underwater!”

But no one ever came. No one ever saved him. It was just him and his reflection. Always.

But now?

Now, even that’s fractured.

Because right now—he and his reflection are enemies.

Enemies locked in a silent war.

Because what kind of god, what kind of man, can’t even find the one person he swore to protect?

What kind of protector lets you stay missing for two weeks?

He’s searched everywhere.

He’s ripped through Vought blacksites, underground bunkers, and abandoned research labs. He obliterated a remote airstrip in Alaska after hearing a whisper about a transport going off-radar—killed the entire crew before they could blink.

Tore apart a Vought exec’s penthouse in Dubai because her assistant once dated a supe with teleportation abilities. Left her pinned to the ceiling like art.

He collapsed a mile of sewer tunnels beneath Chicago chasing a heat signature that turned out to be a runaway feral hybrid test subject. It screamed like a child. He killed it anyway.

Burned a former supe rehab center to the ground in rural Arizona when a former patient claimed he “saw a girl with your voice.”

Every lead ends in ash.

Every whisper of your name turns into screams.

And still—he hasn’t found you.

Not yet.

He slams his fist into the sink, granite cracking beneath his hand.

“Where the fuck are you?” he growls under his breath, eyes burning into the mirror.

No answer.

Not even from the one who used to speak back.

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tags: @raginginkedslut @lilyalone @emily048 @helreyy @forest-green-1994 @harlowedoktravelsthemultiverse

[spider-stark]

THE B-SIDE

pairing: andrew detmer x reader

summary: the boys stop by the record store you work at

word count: 1.9k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Matt Garetty was a repeat customer at The B-side, a record store only a few miles down the road from your shared high school 

It was also your weekend job. 

And Matt Garetty was also a pain in your ass. 

Every time you heard his shitty Corolla trundling into the lot, you’d consider how fast you could race across the store and flip the faded Open sign to Closed. 

On this particular day, misty and boring, you heard the engine’s familiar hack and decided to try your luck. 

The store wasn't too big, but then again, distance wasn't the challenge. It was clutter—the endless rows of low shelves, boxes stuffed with vinyl and cassettes. You cried halfway to the door, your elbow ramming into a CD display. Another few steps, a glance out the window, and your Converse stuttered against the 90's carpet. 

For once, Matt Garetty hadn’t come alone. 

Steve Montgomery slid from the passenger seat, stretching arms-over-head. His puffer coat rode up, revealing the polo beneath—and a sliver of smooth, lean-muscled skin. 

Despite what the saliva pooling in your mouth might suggest, you did not have a thing for Steve. He was Samantha’s boyfriend, which stuffed him in a box labeled: Strictly Off Limits. But, even if that weren’t the case, you’d never actually go for him. 

You’ve never been into jocks. Even the ones as pretty as Steve. 

Of course, that didn't stop your neck from craning for a better view of the G-rated peep show. You didn’t have to want Steve to admire him, to recognize he was the effortless embodiment of cool. 

Unlike Garetty, who was currently fighting a losing battle with the backdoor handle. 

Frustration urged the idiot to prop a sneakered foot against the slick car. He managed one, two, three earnest tugs before losing grip, his foot sliding so that he almost fell right on his ass. Amusement sputtered past your lips. 

Loser. 

Before Garetty could give it another go, Steve kindly nudged him aside. 

The door yielded to his magic, star quarterback touch. Garetty’s Oh, what the fuck! seeped straight through the layer of wall and glass dividing you. Steve’s answering grin was cocky, leading to an open palm swinging at his head. He ducked, and in a blink, both boys were chasing each other around the car, shouting jeers over laughter. 

Correction, you thought, half-smiling. Losers. 

Having abandoned your goal of locking Garetty out, you were about to head back to the counter. As you turned, a bit of motion held you back. 

Andrew Detmer stumbled from the backseat, tugging his zip-up sleeves over his hands. He frowned at the sky, the rain—but not at the two boys goofing off around him. He looked nervous. But, then again, he might always look like that. 

You wouldn’t know. 

It was rare that anyone saw him without a camcorder where his face should be, a glass lens to separate boy from world. 

Beyond the basics, you knew nothing about him. 

But you wanted to. 

Really wanted to. 

With a few mumbled words, the other boys ceased their chase. Steve slung an arm around Andrew's shoulders, shaking him as he spoke. Nervousness turned to nauseousness. As Garetty stomped across the lot, Steve dragged Andrew along, forcing him to keep pace. 

Whirling back to the display you'd messed up, you scrambled to restore the CDs to some semblance of order. By the time the door chimed, you'd already rushed back to the counter, leaning against its surface. 

“Honey,” Garetty sang, striding inside. “I’m home!” 

“Well look who it is,” you cooed. “I was starting to worry I’d make it a whole shift without seeing your ugly face.” 

Glaring, he did a piss-poor imitation of your voice—Lewk hew it eez!—before sticking his tongue out like a brat. Your nose wrinkled at the sight. It was a sickly shade of neon green. 

“Jesus, Garetty. Do you not brush that thing?” 

There was a faint redness to his cheeks. “We got slurpees,” he defended. 

“Looks like you got a disease.” 

A scoff. “It doesn’t—y’know what? Fuck you, actually. It’s green apple.” 

“Sure it is.” 

“It is!” Garetty argued. As if struck by some magnificent idea, his lips curled into a milk curdling smirk. “Wanna taste?” 

Your face dropped. 

No— 

         no  no  nono

absolutely NOT! 

But it was too late. 

Garetty moved fast. A blink and he'd cleared the space between you, thrusting halfway over the counter. His tongue was out, waggling at you through a chorus of gross, exaggerated sounds. A squeal tore from your throat as you scrambled back, pressing flat against the wall. 

“Garetty, I swear–” 

“Come on!” With his tongue out, it sounded more like Tum awhn! “You don’t wanna try?” 

“In your drea–eugh! Stop moving it like that!” 

Eyes rolling, he gave in and tucked the green monster back in its cave. You didn’t move from the wall, not with him so close, still leaning over the counter. 

“Fun sucker,” he declared. 

You flipped him off and, in return, he flashed a crooked grin. 

Jackass. 

“Remind me,” Steve mused, lingering near the entrance. A short step behind him, Andrew was still fumbling with his sleeves. “How old are you two?” 

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Don’t put this on me! It’s not my fault Garetty’s got the mental age of a twelve year old.” 

“Oh, that is so not true!” 

“Says the boy who almost assaulted me with his disease ridden tongue.” You leveled a stare at him. “Do you know any adults who would do that?” 

“Okay, first of all?” He lifted a finger, his expression dead-serious. “It’s 2012. You can’t just throw the word ‘assault’ anymore! And you would know that if you were as emotionally mature as I. Second,” another finger, the corners of his mouth twitching, “we both know you would’ve liked it.” 

You should’ve let it go. That was the smart thing—the mature thing to do. 

Instead, you kicked back to good ole’ middle-school petulance. 

You looked past him, brows drawn as you asked Steve, “Do you hear something?” 

Garetty’s expression went flat. “Seriously?” 

“Oh, definitely,” Steve nodded at you, playing along. “Ya know, now that I’m thinking about it, I was hearing the same thing the whole ride here. Just like this constant buzz?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” 

“Okay,” Garetty huffed. “But somehow I’m the twelve year old, right?” 

Steve hypothesized, “Maybe we have that thing!” He pointed to his ear, glancing at Andrew who clearly didn’t want to be involved. “What’s it called again? Tetanus?” 

You laughed. 

The joke was obvious. Steve was gunning for valedictorian. He definitely knew the difference between tetanus and tinnitus. But, before Andrew could mutter just that, Garetty had already thrown his hands up. 

“You know what?” He gave each of you a look. Yours seemed especially sulky. “Fuck you guys. All of you suck.” 

Steve’s voice was warm, placating, “It was just a joke, Matt. Lighten up, yeah?” 

But Matt didn’t lighten up. In fact, he was already stomping toward the back of the store to mope over a box of records until time to leave. 

You cupped a hand around your mouth. “The philosophical douchebag section’s the other way, Gandhi!” 

With his back still turned, Garetty gave you the finger and kept walking. It was the closest you’d ever get to a victory trophy in this little on again, off again fight of yours. 

You treasured it deeply. 

“So,” you relaxed against the counter. “What brings you to B-sides, Steven? And please, don’t tell me you’re panic-shopping for Samantha’s birthday.” 

It was tomorrow, and the sanctity of girl code meant you'd have no choice but tell her if he'd put off getting a gift. 

Steve clicked his tongue. “Do you really think so little of me?” He joked, ambling closer. Andrew shuffled right behind him, his head low—a dim star caught in the sun’s orbit. “No,” Steve continued, “I know better than that. I got my shopping done months ago—straight from the list, just how Sammy likes it.” 

Impressive. 

“Sounds like you’re a shoo-in for Boyfriend of the Year award, then.” 

“Ah, I don’t know. The year’s still young.” He gave you a wink that made your brow furrow. “Maybe by the end of it you’ll find me some competition.” 

You made a point not to look at Andrew. 

“Doubtful,” you told Steve, as un-morose as you could make it. 

You didn’t need a boyfriend—

Watery eyes flicked up in a half-glance. Nervous. Easy to miss. 

—but needing wasn’t the same as wanting. 

Before you could dwell, Steve changed the subject. 

“Hey, you like all that grungy alternative shit, don’t you?” 

You stared down at your shirt, the wash-faded image of the Around the Fur album cover. “Obviously not.”  

“Great!” 

Steve reached behind himself, guiding the flickering star into the spotlight. A pink flush dusted Andrew’s cheeks. He’d almost tripped over his own feet. 

“So does he,” Steve said as if it meant something grand. You flinched when he smacked the counter, exclaiming, “There! Now you two have something to talk about.”

Before you could speak—think—Steve had already slipped toward the back. He settled next to Garetty, who was scowling over a box of second-hand cassettes, pretending not to eavesdrop. 

Your mind raced, pulse quickening. Did Samantha…?

You didn’t realize your mouth was open, your jaw a broken hinge, until Andrew dared a glance up. Your eyes met, and—

Blue. 

Like crystalline lakes and rushing streams, cool water crashing over warm skin. 

You had to force your mouth shut, ignoring the dry stick of your tongue. 

“I—uh—Sorry—” His attention darted, nervous fingers fiddling with his sleeve. “Matt was right, and this—this was stupid.” 

A question bloomed up your throat, but the answer had already taken root in your mind. The dots connected. Why Garetty hadn't come alone, why Steve was so insistent, why, for once, Andrew wasn't hiding behind a lens. In the end, they all spelled one name: 

Samantha. Your best friend. The only one who knew about your crush on Garetty’s cousin. Samantha, who, apparently, had pissed all over girlhood-sanctity by blabbing to her boyfriend. 

That little– 

“Lhabia.” 

You blinked. “Sorry?” 

Andrew froze. He looked every bit like he’d swallowed a mouthful of pins, debating whether you’d notice if he threw up on the floor. 

“Samantha’s party,” he blustered. “Her birthday, tomorrow, it’s… Tomorrow.” The words hung between you; more question than statement. 

Confused, you told him, “I think we need to backtrack.” 

“Your shirt, it’s… Deftones, that album—Lhabia’s my favorite song off it.” His head shook, lips curving into something faint, a smile tinged with self-deprecation. “I realize now that I probably should’ve just… said that to begin with, maybe.” 

You laughed, because yeah—he definitely should’ve said that. 

“And Samantha’s birthday?” you asked. 

“Steve said you don’t usually go to her parties,” Andrew explained. "Not the big ones, at least, and they're all kinda big, but—I don't usually go either, cause I'm not so... party. But Steve's making me and," he drew an overdue breath. Admitted, "He won't let me walk away without asking you to come with us. 

Behind him, several CD’s up and flung from their display, jostled by some invisible force. You jumped—but Andrew didn’t even flinch. 

“Come with me,” he mumbled, correcting himself. 

Your attention split. Across the store, far from the display, Steve squealed as Garetty smacked him on the back of head with an old record. In that moment, long enough only to think: You break it, you buy it, Andrew took your distraction as something else. 

“You can say no if–” 

“No,” you spoke too quick, saved it with, “I meant yes! I’d love to.” 

Shock, disbelief, joy, more disbelief—they registered on his face all at once. 

“Okay,” he said airily. “Cool. Then I’ll, uh, I’ll see tomorrow?” 

A nod, the best you could manage, before Andrew hurried back to his friends and left your head spinning. 

You were going to kill Samantha. 

After you thanked her.

a/n - wrote this for myself, but i figured you guys could read it too (if anyone is still active in the chronicle fandom, that is). i put the pairing as andrew x reader, but I can't deny that there was weird chemistry between the reader and matt

anyways, thanks for reading and happy thirteenth birthday to chronicle!

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XV)

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Hi! Here is new chapter! New Year’s Eve is upon us… let’s see what happens!! ;)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3646

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Edge

Time and again, time and again I tie My heart to that headboard While my quilted cries Harden against his hand. He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets In water? Over Mother’s lace I watch his drive into the gored Roasts, deal slivers in his mercy… I can feel his thighs Against me for the children’s sakes. Reward? Mornings, crippled with this house, I see him toast his toast and test His coffee, hedgingly. The waste’s my breakfast.

Louise Glück, The First Five Books of Poems

The plan was simple.

Or rather… it wasn’t simple, per say, but it was feasible. Which, considering that you were attempting to make your ex fall in love with you again after he dumped you to get engaged to another woman… was already quite an achievement.

You looked at Andrew as he stood next to you. He had arrived late, had apologised profusely. You were annoyed, but you reckoned that you would have to grow used to this detail about him. He simply was always late to everything, it seemed.

He was wearing contacts today, instead of his glasses. You had noticed that he did whenever he would see Sam, probably because she preferred him without his dark brown spectacles. And he did look handsome tonight, dressed in all black, from suit to shirt and leathered shoes, with his hair tied in a bun, but still… you missed the softness that came with seeing him in glasses. You didn’t know why you felt like that. Perhaps it was because you were so used by now to see him almost every day wearing them, may it be at work or when you planned actions related to your exes, or when you simply spent time together. Maybe it was the familiarity that had grown with this sight that you missed now. Perhaps you just found him even more handsome with glasses…

You pushed the thought away, looked for Frank through the crowd. Frank and Sam were hosting, in the flat they had moved into about a month before. And it ached to see pictures of the two of them sprayed on the fridge in the kitchen. Your collection of books was gone, leaving shelves empty in the living room but for pieces of decoration and more pictures of the happy couple that tore your heart apart. There was music playing, some playlist found on Spotify, without a doubt, music you would find in a club, a music meant to party. You saw Andrew staring at the empty shelves as well, at the absence of records too; you saw his small frown as he spotted the laptop that was the source of the music. You guessed he thought the quality was terrible, but then again, you guessed he didn’t like the music in itself very much either. You imagined Frank sitting in a room to listen to old jazz records, the way you knew Andrew did sometimes, he had told you so much himself. You couldn’t picture it…

But then you looked at the pictures more carefully, and couldn’t imagine yourself in them either. They seemed to have been everywhere together. Rafting, climbing, swimming, jumping, sky-diving even… there was no museum, no cityscape, no quiet woods, no sunset over a beach. There was adventure, and thrill, more so than you could ever handle.

Was that what Frank wanted? What you couldn’t offer? Did you need to become adventurous to keep him?

Would you ever be happy if you became an explorer instead of an academic?

Were you not an explorer already anyway? You had travelled to other cities, to other countries, had moved to places where you knew no one to settle and work. You learned every day, you grew, you tried to keep your head above the water. And you went on walks in nature, you swam into the sea, you made friends and lost some along the way. Was it not enough? Did it not take enough courage already to simply live your life?

“Are you ready?”

You turned to Andrew, your partner in crime for the night. You had to move the bottles of champagne around so Andrew could find them and save the day. And then he would shine by remembering Sam didn’t like champagne…

You nodded, moving towards the kitchen.

“How do we get everybody out?”

“I can handle that,” you assured him with a mischievous wink and smile.

Indeed, there were only men in the kitchen at that moment, gathering ammunition in the form of drinks and shots for the night.

Easy peasy…

“I mean… I do believe the dress is a little much,” you told Andrew loudly enough for all four men present in the kitchen to discreetly eavesdrop on the conversation.

Andrew blinked, but played along the best he could, although you noticed the way he was shying away as a couple of men turned to the two of you without trying to be discreet. He blushed, bent his shoulders to seem smaller than he truly was.

“Really?”

“I mean… Andy… you can see her full tits at this point…”

You saw the four men exchanging glances, and hurrying outside the kitchen.

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Was that really that easy?” he asked out loud.

“Men…” was your only response, along with a roll of your eyes.

Andrew chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Are we truly that shallow?”

“Most of the time!”

You hurried to close the door, and you and Andrew hid the bottles in a cupboard, getting them out of the fridge. You were so scared of being caught that you were going too fast, almost dropping a bottle, but catching it right before it would hit the ground.

“Calm down, we’re good,” Andrew spoke in a whisper, although he kept on glancing towards the door.

“There’s no lock on that door! Anyone can come in at any moment!”

“We won’t get caught.”

“And if we are?”

“Then we’ll say it was a joke.”

“It will be so bad…”

“We won’t get caught.”

But then there were footsteps in the hallway. Two bottles left in the fridge. Andrew and you exchanged a terrified glance.

“Shit!” you both cursed at the same time, grabbing the bottles in a hurry, pushing them in the cupboard and slamming the door.

The handle moved…

Your reflex was to get closer to Andrew, to grab his hand and hold tight. He didn’t push you away, merely gasped, although you weren’t sure whether it was because of the door now beginning to open or because you were now so close to him you were basically pressed to his chest…

“Why the fuck is this door clos…”

Some people you didn’t know opened the door then, stared at you and Andrew first in surprise, and then they refrained a laugh…

You looked up at Andrew, who was staring with wide eyes at the door. You seemed only then to notice your proximity, the way you literally held onto him.

You gasped, took a couple of steps back, until your back bumped into the fridge. A hand appeared out of nowhere to slip between your head and the piece of furniture.

“You’re alright?” Andrew asked in a weak voice, clearly embarrassed by the whole thing and still high on adrenaline from your stupid plan. You nodded, moved away from him, from his palm that still cradled the back of your head…

“Fine, fine… we should…”

You hurried out of the room, away from Andrew and the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch against your hair and…

You were interrupted in your busy thoughts by Frank’s voice coming from behind you.

“Y/N! Andrew! I’m so glad you could both come!”

You spun around, noticing only then that you were back in the living room, Andrew following suit.

“Thanks for inviting us! Great party!” you complimented.

It was hard at first to regulate your breathing, to hide that your heart was beating at a thousand miles a minute. After all, you had almost been caught, and then… these people would think that you and Andrew had locked yourselves in the kitchen to… Oh, God… if Sam and Frank learned about this, all your efforts would go to waste…

“Argh! Thanks! Trying my best as a host!”

“Well, you’re doing a great job so far. I think it’s better to have this party here, rather than in a club.”

You regretted your words as soon as they passed your lips, knew you had made a mistake.

“We couldn’t book the place we wanted, had to settle on doing this at home instead,” Frank answered with disappointment apparent in his eyes and tone.

“It’s still very nice,” Andrew politely smiled.

“Well, I should get the champagne ready, it’ll soon be midnight!”

You and Andrew exchanged a look as your ex moved away from the crowd again, aiming his steps towards the kitchen.

“Phase one…” Andrew gave you a wink; you chose to ignore your heart’s response to his gesture.

“Time to save this party, Andy,” you teased, and he gave you a thumbs up that was so adorable, you had to blink.

Perfect plan.

Indeed, the look on Frank’s face when he discovered that the bottles had been misplaced was priceless. He called Sam for help, they looked for the bottles, didn’t find even a trace of them.

Andrew opened the right cupboard, the one where you had placed the bottles earlier, and called for Sam to show that the champagne was there.

“Oh! God! Thank you, Andy!”

He was granted a warm hug, one that made him close his eyes for a second, you noticed the relief that was written all over his features at the physical contact. He blushed as she kissed his cheek, and he was beaming when she pulled away. He gave her his bottle of prosecco, instead of waiting for midnight as it was planned, he simply couldn’t wait. She blinked up at him, gave him a warm, grateful smile.

“You always remember that,” she whispered under her breath, but you heard her words still. Frank heard them too, and you saw him glaring at Andrew.

It was working. Your crazy plan was working. Sam was still gravitating around Andrew, they were smiling. There was a pinching feeling tugging at your heart, and you ignored it. Jealousy was such an ugly feeling. And anyway, you couldn’t be jealous over Andrew effectively getting closer to Sam again, his success would be shared soon, as you hoped your plan would work for Frank and you as well. It would. You would have success, just like Andrew… that was why you were a little jealous, surely, after all…

Only, it didn’t work. It didn’t work, because instead of you pouring your glass over Sam, Sam accidentally poured her glass onto you.

You weren’t sure how it all happened. You were looking away from Andrew and Sam, staring at Frank who was laughing and joking with a friend nearby, being a perfect host. And all of a sudden, you felt something cool sipping under the fabric of your dress, turned to see Sam apologising.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy, I… I didn’t you see you there…”

You looked down at the damage, she offered to lend you some clothes immediately. You noticed how Frank’s gaze softened at her words. And you hated it. You hated her. You hated him. You hated this party and the coming of a new year and the beginnings it announced. You didn’t need a new beginning, you needed the continuation of what you used to have. And this party, this awful party where you barely knew anyone, and you weren’t having fun at all, and…

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine. I… Actually, I don’t feel very well, I think I’m gonna go home.”

You saw Andrew’s frown, the one that formed at your words.

“Already? I’m sure we can fix this!” Frank argued, and you almost yielded.

“I’m not sure we’re the same size…” Sam mumbled.

When you looked into her eyes, you knew she had done it on purpose. You knew she had poured her drink over you deliberately, perhaps because of the way you looked at Frank, or perhaps because you had come with Andrew. You didn’t know why. What was for certain was that she had ruined your dress to make you go home, and you weren’t stupid, you knew what it meant, and you weren’t up for a fight, not when Frank looked at her like that, with love…

“You could still try some of Sam’s clothes on! I’m sure we can find something,” Frank argued, trying to hold you back.

You slowly shook your head.

“I have some clothes in my car, you could change,” Andrew offered, his gaze pleading now.

You noticed how he flinched when your eyes met his.

“It’s okay. I feel a little sick anyway. I think I’ll go home.”

Frank grabbed your arm as you took a step towards the door.

“Stay at least till midnight! There’s less than an hour left! You can leave after we’ve opened the champagne, yeah?”

You wished you could have said no. But Frank’s eyes in that moment…

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you yielded, making him grin.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

There was such gratefulness in his gaze, something tender, almost pleading, and you fell for it, you couldn’t help it. You had fallen a thousand times over for it.

You heard Andrew heaving a sigh behind you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but Frank was swiped away by a guest, one of your former ‘friends’, and you were left staring at the blank space he had left behind.

He was moving away, leaving you behind…

Andrew and Sam were talking, you stared as she clung onto him for a rather long time. Andrew kept on nodding, let her do most of the talking. You didn’t notice the glances he threw your way, you were too busy looking for Frank again.

You checked the time after a long while spent doing meaningless chit-chat with strangers and people you had met a couple of times before. Ten minutes to midnight.

You looked around at the loud room. Conversations, exclamations, laughter, loud music that banged in your head, hitting your skull with the heavy kick of drums. Light, glitter, colours, beautiful dresses. Frank talking with some of his colleagues he had invited, paying no attention to you. Andrew talking with Sam and smiling sweetly at her.

You looked down at your glass, a drink half-empty already, studied the stain that spread across the fabric of your dress. You had felt beautiful while getting ready. You didn’t anymore…

You could have been with your real friends, with your family… what were you doing here, during those last minutes of a dying year?

You didn’t say a word to anyone as you put your glass down on the nearest table, made your way through the crowd, grabbed your coat in the closet by the door. No one noticed you leaving anyway. Frank didn’t spare you a glance. You were leaving, and no one noticed, because no one fucking cared…

“Y/N?”

You froze, a few steps away from the elevator, your hand already rising towards the button to call for an escape.

Slowly, you turned around.

Andrew was standing in front of the door to Frank’s and Sam’s apartment. On the threshold, standing still, he was staring at you with a questioning stare.

“Where are you going? You’re alright?”

You were too stunned to answer, remained frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your finger still erect towards the elevator…

No one had noticed you leaving, no one…

Someone did…

“Y/N? You’re okay? Are you really sick?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’m just… I just want to go home. I just… I need some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, did a terrible job at hiding your tears.

He held a finger up.

“Give me a minute. Just one minute. Don’t leave without me!”

“Andy…”

“One minute!”

He looked at you with something expectant in his eyes, almost begging…

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

He grinned, the brightest smile you had seen on his features throughout the entire night.

He disappeared into the flat again, you waited for him for a minute, and then another, hoping he would come back, hoping he wouldn’t leave you behind, hoping Andy wouldn’t leave…

But then the door was opening again, he was stepping outside while putting on his coat. He had a couple of plastic cups in his hand along with a half-full bottle of champagne.

“You should stay,” you told him, speaking in a jolt, making Andrew freeze before he would reach you.

He blinked, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You… you don’t want to talk to me?” he asked, looking down at his feet before you could answer. “I can just listen… I can be quiet if I’m boring…”

You frowned at him, taken aback by his answer.

“What are you talking about? You’re never boring, what…?”

He looked up at you again, blinking, trying to gauge your reaction.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“I just meant… that Sam was spending quality time with you, you… it was working for you tonight. You should stay, use that chance to talk to her and make her see the truth. Besides, it’s…” you looked down at your watch. “Two minutes to midnight. Don’t you want to be with the people you love most for the final countdown? Don’t you want to enter the new year with Sam?”

You saw Andrew blinking, but couldn’t read through his expression. It wasn’t blank, nor emotionless, but it remained unreadable.

Slowly, he walked over to you. He raised his hand, called for the lift without saying a word.

You stared at him with tears in your eyes.

The doors opened with a ding, you didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at the sound. Andrew stepped inside, caught your soul as he looked into your eyes when he turned to you.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You followed him.

Not a word was spoken as the doors closed, as the cabin went down the shaft, as it stopped with a gentle shaking of its cables. You stepped onto the freezing street in silence, looked at Dublin empty in this quiet neighbourhood. There were lights at every window though, some of them were open on laughter and joy and loud shouts and music that flooded into the quiet night. Far away, you could hear the whisper of traffic and honking cars, making noise while awaiting a beginning.

Andrew poured you a drink while the seconds ticked away, fluttering and fainting into the past. A past that lingered in your present still. Would it always be there, haunting the seconds to come, and the minutes they would build, and the hours, and the days, and the years?

Andrew handed you a glass, put down the bottle by his feet. You were standing under a tall oak tree, planted there in the middle of the city, a square of fertile soil in the void of manmade roads. Andrew stared at a flower that grew there, at the foot of a lamppost, just a weed growing despite the concrete.

He looked up with a tender smile on his face, raised his glass.

“Sláinte,” his voice rose above the first number of the countdown.

“Sláinte,” you answered with a smile of your own, a gesture that started shy but that grew stronger the longer you looked up at him, at the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch as his palm rose to cradle your face.

Five!

The shouts echoed from everywhere around you, deafening even if they were quietened by windowpanes. You heard the quiet gasp Andrew took before downing his whole glass, and you did the same. Your gaze met the stars that hung up there, on the firmament, for a moment, while your head was tilted back to drink the last bit of the cold buzz in your cup, to gather the tingling of bubbles on your tongue. They looked distant and cold, reassuring somehow. They were always there, always shining, even after they had died. The image you saw was millions, maybe billions of years old. The past was even up there, in the sky. And yet the moon shone for a new night.

Four!

You giggled as you swallowed, looking at Andrew again. And he did too, his cheeks flushed by alcohol, by the cold too. The tip of his nose had reddened as well. The lamplight was golden on his eyelashes.

Three!

“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” you asked out of the blue, blaming the liquor you had been steadily drinking throughout the evening for the incoherence of your words. “I thought you liked them better than contacts.”

Two!

“Sam prefers when I wear contacts.”

You reached up to touch his cheekbones, to let your fingertips graze over the soft skin, along the sharpness left by the bone under it. He closed his eyes, gasped when you brushed his eyelids and lashes.

One!

“I think you should wear whatever you like. Although… I love your eyes. And you look soft with your glasses on. It makes me feel safe.”

He opened his eyes again, stared at you as your hands moved down to rest on the edge of his jaw, pinkie fingers barely skimming over his neck.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Andrew leaned down to press his lips to your forehead. You closed your eyes under the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his beard…

You felt dizzy as he kissed you, staying against your skin for too long, pulling away too slowly. You wished he hadn’t stopped…

He gave you a tender smile as he looked into your eyes again.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

You smiled, grinned even. You reached up, going on your tiptoes to drop a long, tender kiss on his cheek. It landed by the corner of his mouth.

“Happy New Year, Andy.”

[winningmymind]

Part 2 ficlet of my aftg au post ft Kevaaron and Andreil. Part 1

Aaron rarely interacts with his classmates. The feeling’s mutual. He doesn't talk to them and they don't talk to him. Unless it's absolutely necessary.

This Friday’s an important immunology exam, and since they're all future wannabe doctors that should get used to working with people they don't like nor care for in order to properly treat patients—Aaron and his classmates are forced to make contact on occasion for the greater good.

“Study group? Library. Usual spot.” 

A giant of a man cautiously approaches Aaron like he's a feral animal primed to attack at sudden movements once the professor dismisses their seminar. He shares a couple lectures and labs with Aaron. Unsurprisingly, he’s also deathly afraid of Aaron. After losing at rock-paper-scissors the giant, sadly, is tasked to offer Aaron the invite.

Aaron boredly stares up at him while zipping up his backpack. He purposely doesn't blink, after all he has a reputation to maintain, and watches how the shaky mask of cooperation cracks into slivers of fear and regret on the giant's face.

“Depends. Is Katelyn gonna be there?” 

Aaron’s hospitable enough to look away, attention glued to the exit doors, giving his cowardly and scholarly peer time to sigh a breath of relief now that he's not subjected to piercing hazel apathy.

“...Yes?” Wrong answer.

“Then, no.” Is what Aaron wishes to say because it's risky to be in vicinity with his ex outside of the unavoidable STEM department. If word gets out, Andrew might actually kill her for being near Aaron again and they can’t afford another murder case trial.

Unfortunately, Katelyn's managed to get the top scores on every immunology exam to date, so against better judgment, Aaron replies through clenched teeth with a “Sure. I'll be there.”

He ignores the obviously muted cheers and gasps of shock when the giant gives the lingering study group a double thumbs up from a couple desks away. Aaron rolls his eyes hard and quickly marches off to the doors, through the halls, to the split campus pathways. The only reason the rest of the premeds are tolerating his existence is because Aaron has made the Dean’s List every semester with his GPA. He’s useful to keep around, even at a distance, and Aaron doesn’t mind that all his relationships are purely transactional sans Nicky. That’s normally how life operates, right?

Contrary to popular belief, he and his twin Andrew are not close whatsoever like the rumors suggest. Any brotherly love between them is laughable. As far as Aaron knows, he and Andrew hate each other, and it all began with a letter.

“Yo! Aaron!”

Just his luck. He really wanted to take a comatose nap in his dorm room before Exy practice, but of course, he’s accosted by the most irritating duo in the world.

“Fuck off, Kevin. Josten.” Aaron politely greets, his leisurely stroll enhancing to a speedwalk. Worth an E for Effort when up against speedster strikers.

“Are you really gonna make us chase you?” Neil flawlessly matches Aaron’s pace, coming up on his left side.

“You’re done with classes, yeah?” Kevin takes a place at Aaron’s right.

How frustrating. Aaron sandwiched between the Exy freaks. Unable to outrun them. Makes Aaron madder when he realizes this is the same type of tricky play he and Nicky or Matt do to immobilize rival teams attempting to score on Andrew. 

He snarls. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not.” Neil instantly counters, evilly snagging onto Aaron’s backpack, and it’s like he’s tugged on a dog leash with how Aaron is jerked to a stop against his will. Neil responds to Aaron’s scathing glower impassively and says, “We know your schedule. You’re most definitely free after 1pm on these days.”

Curling an eyebrow, Aaron growls. “Stalking me now, Josten. Wrong twin.”

“Right twin.” Neil lets go of the backpack and pockets his hands in his jeans. “Come to night practice with us.”

“Never.” 

Aaron rejects without thinking it over for a second. Not even for the fact that going above and beyond for Exy is a betrayal to his character. It’s simply because he takes pleasure in not bending backwards for the Foxes’ latest recruit.

Kevin wrings his wrists, taking the opportunity to slide his appreciative eyes up and down Aaron’s body from head to toe while he’s distracted staring daggers into an unphased Neil. He doesn’t get this attraction business, Kevin’s seen Andrew in all black all the time, but when Aaron wears an all black ensemble it is bewitching. 

“S’not stalking, by the way.” Kevin unhelpfully elaborates. “We know your classes because I’m literally your roommate. I see your calendar.” He fails to mention that he double checked with a talkative, unsuspecting Nicky earlier.

“And I’m the honorary roommate.” Neil adds on to Kevin’s excuse.

Aaron loathes that he has to take turns to scowl at them both. “You’re only honorary, Neil, because Nicky likes your company, Kevin and you are a packaged deal, and Andrew finds you interesting.”

“He thinks I’m interesting!” Damn. Aaron shouldn’t have said that. 

Neil’s entire demeanor changes. Spine straightened. Voice curious. Blue eyes widened and sparkly. He’s perked up like a pet being praised by its owner. Aaron considers murdering Neil for the umpteenth time in months for that reaction.

“You don’t have to do anything at night practice, Aaron. Just come along. For moral support.” Kevin gets them back on topic, sensing Aaron’s thinning patience.

“No means no, Kevin. Or should I tell Andrew you’re being pushy?” Aaron doesn’t mean to weaponize his twin in such a way. 

He only desires for the two thorns currently in his side to leave him alone. Unlike the others who got the message in a heartbeat and backed off to live another day, Kevin’s an anomaly when it comes to survival skills. Especially when it’s about bothering Aaron.

The former Raven turned Fox wormed his way through the cousins’ nearly impenetrable barrier to somehow be in their volatile favor. Kevin’s persistence left the other Foxes, Coach Wymack, and even the cousins themselves appalled. Perhaps, it was due to Kevin’s unusually rough upbringing for he imprinted on Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky (mostly Andrew though) like a baby duckling seeking safety and shelter. 

Kevin was so used to never being alone with the Ravens or Riko, that it made a smooth transition for him to latch onto how familiar the cousins’ dynamic is; being stuck together no matter how begrudged.

Aaron has no idea why in the hell Kevin believes Andrew and Aaron are safe when he knows the rumors are real. The Minyard twins have blood on their hands and they have no qualms about callously killing the same people over and over if given the chance. He figures Kevin has one too many screws loose to notice he’s not in good hands.

“No need for threats,” Neil cuts in at Kevin’s speechlessness. “We’re not empty handed. Do you accept bribes?”

“I’m listening.” Aaron squints suspiciously.

“I’ll check your Calculus I homework answers all the way to finals.” Neil can see Aaron’s hardened eyes flicker with confliction.

The Foxes know Neil’s a whiz at math. That he’s a weirdo that signs up for math as an elective because it’s fun to him. By no means is Aaron struggling with equations, he’s good at it, but to his discontent, Neil is the better mathematician of them. It’d be invaluable for Aaron to have an ace up his sleeve in Neil pointing out mistakes for him to correct before it’s too late to fix.

“I can just sit and do whatever?” Aaron wants to swipe Neil’s cocky expression off.

“Wait? You’re for real?” Kevin lights up and Aaron feels bad that the paparazzi aren’t around because they’d make a fortune snapping a shot of the Queen of Exy’s awestruck face. Aaron decides that looking at Kevin is a less annoying option than looking at Neil’s ugly mug.

“Don’t make me change my mind.” Aaron tells Kevin and digs through his backpack to shove his finished homework into Neil’s chest so harshly that Neil is knocked back a tad.

Without saying a goodbye or see ya later, Aaron abandons Neil and Kevin on the pathway. Neil forgets to shout a standard insult, prepared to ruin Aaron’s peace at any time or day, yet his eyes are entrancingly preoccupied at the papers of lengthy equations. Kevin triumphantly smiles, eyes remaining on Aaron fleeing the scene.

“This is a good start. Getting Aaron to agree.” Kevin turns to Neil.

“Told you I’m a genius.”

“Let’s not jinx it. We’ll see how tonight goes.”

Neil spares Kevin a glance. “It’ll go how I planned it.” He gives pause before adding with a shrug, “Hopefully.”

tagging list @icangotwiceashigh @little2nerdy @a-had-matter @luadusk

OPERATION: The M In Minyard Stands For Mine!——is officially a go.

Part 3

[ellswritings]

You Never Noticed Pt. 2

Drew McIntyre (Andrew Galloway) x reader

TW: Regular wrestling violence and angst. That’s all <3

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, @mightypocketcow, @mortimertheduck, @mimisweetz, @lilywitchcollective

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

They say time heals all wounds, but Y/N wasn’t sure that was the only reason why things healed. If she had left it all to time, she would still be wallowing in the fact that she lost the love of her life. That she had to walk away from a life she worked so hard to build with a man she loved more than anything in the world. But she refused to be some sad story. She refused to let people look at her like a victim from a sad romance movie.

So while time has helped ease the ache, her determination to be better for herself, to continue moving forward also helped start repairing the gaping hole Cody left in her heart.

Y/N smooths over her royal blue pantsuit, just a sliver of her stomach showing from where her shirt and pants split. Her heels are silver, only about three inches tall so she didn’t risk breaking her ankle. She felt good, put together. They had a show in a few hours here in Chicago and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. With the Royal Rumble and Elimination Chamber coming up, she had to make sure everything was in order. That storylines were ready, qualifying matches went smoothly, and that confrontations got the necessary pop needed to bring more ratings to the show.

A knock at her office door pulls her attention. She barely glances up, gathering papers and checking something off her clipboard. “Come in.”

A small creak as Andrew steps in with a bouquet of dark dahlias and different assortments of darker flowers to accompany them. Y/N stops what she’s doing, a small smile taking over her face as he walks in. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She asks, rounding her desk to give him her undivided attention. “You’ve got at least forty-five minutes before call time.”

“I know,” Drew nods, his own smile forming. She looks good. The iconic SmackDown blue looked absolutely stunning on her. He could finally feel the warmth she always emanated coming back to her. She might not be fully at ease, but something definitely changed, and it was for the better. “But I figured I could come in a bit early and drop these off,” he gestures to the flowers in his hands. “I saw them and they reminded me of you.”

Drew holds out the bouquet and watches as Y/N’s eyes soften, the tension in her shoulders melting like ice under sunlight. She takes the flowers delicately from his big hands, lifting them to her nose to inhale the subtle, dark sweetness.

“These are beautiful, Drew. Dark dahlias?” she asks, voice bright with surprise. “You know those are my favorites, right?”

“Aye,” he says, a little smug, a lot fond. “I pay attention, lass. Not like some people.”

She lets out a real laugh at that, the kind that lights up her whole face — the kind Drew has been trying to coax out of her more often lately.

“Thank you. Really. They’re perfect.” She glances around her office — a pop of vibrant blue and black flowers now cradled against her crisp white shirt — and Drew follows her gaze.

His eyes catch on the trash can tucked behind her desk. He tilts his head, peering inside. A handful of other bouquets are stuffed down there, petals bruised, stems bent, satin ribbons half-crushed.

“Christ…” he mutters, flicking his eyes back up to her with a teasing glare. “You openin’ a funeral home I dinnae know about?”

Y/N huffs out an exasperated laugh, rolling her eyes as she carefully sets his flowers on her desk. “Yeah, I wish. Wanna guess who they’re from?”

Drew doesn’t need to guess. He’s heard enough voicemails and seen enough desperate texts flash across her screen during flights to know exactly who keeps trying to buy his way back in.

“Right,” he growls, his smile thinning. He crosses his arms, filling the room with protective heat. “One day he’ll learn you can’t fix a shattered heart with overpriced roses, eh?”

She watches him — the faint glint of possessiveness in his eyes, the stormy edge he only ever shows when he talks about Cody. It makes her stomach flutter in a way she’s still learning to trust again.

“Don’t worry,” she says, voice softer now. “I won’t let him manipulate me with pretty things. Not anymore.”

Before he can answer, there’s another knock. A young production assistant sheepishly pushes open the door, balancing yet another bouquet — white lilies this time, with a gold ribbon.

“Ms. L/N, um, delivery for you. Again.”

Y/N raises her brows, but Drew’s jaw ticks so hard she swears she hears his teeth grind.

“Just — here, give it,” she sighs, taking the arrangement with more annoyance than emotion. She marches it right past Drew, lifts the lid of her trash can, and drops the whole thing in without ceremony. The assistant stares wide-eyed. Drew just shakes his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his clenched fists.

“You’re a menace, lass.”

“I’m resourceful,” she corrects, smug. She turns back to him, plucking his bouquet from her desk and carefully arranging it in a clear vase she keeps for exactly this reason. “Yours stay. The rest? Garbage. I hate wasting pretty flowers — but I hate wasting myself more.”

Something flickers in Drew’s eyes then — respect, warmth, a fierce promise she knows he’ll keep whether she asks or not.

She places the vase next to her computer, the deep, inky blossoms standing proud and lovely against the mess of scripts and call sheets. It makes her office feel softer. Safer.

“There,” she declares, brushing her hands off like a job well done. “Now I can actually enjoy the ones that matter.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice so it wraps around her like a secret. “You deserve more than flowers, Y/N.”

She tilts her head at him, heart tripping a little at how sincere he looks. “You think so, huh?”

“Aye,” he says, his accent thicker now, eyes bright but steady. “Deserve more than what he gave ye. More than the scraps he left behind. Deserve someone who sees you. All of you.”

She swallows hard, her throat tight with something that feels dangerously like hope.

“Drew—”

But he breaks the moment with a boyish grin, his big hand coming to rest warm and wide on her hip — just for a heartbeat. “But we’ll save that talk for another day, aye? For now — come see me kick some arse kicked, will ye?”

She laughs, grateful for the tease. For the way he never pushes, never demands. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Did you get new gear?”

He puffs out his chest dramatically. “Custom made. Might show off a wee bit of thigh, just for you.”

“Oh, please,” she teases, rolling her eyes as her smile tugs wide and genuine. “Chicago’s not ready for that much pale Scottish leg.”

He laughs, rich and warm, and leans in just enough to press a feather-light kiss to her temple. It’s the kind of touch that asks nothing, but says everything.

Just then, another knock — but this time, a production hand calling for final checks.

Drew squeezes her hand once, rough thumb brushing her knuckles before letting go. “I’ll see you out there, (e/c) eyes.”

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N feels something like excitement in her chest instead of dread.

Flowers or not — she’s blooming again.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Y/N walked through the halls of the backstage area with a newfound confidence in her step. She stopped, answering questions people had for her, telling people where they needed to be, sending her assistants to run out the freshly printed call sheets and scripts so the Superstars had enough time to adjust to the last minute changes.

“Ms. L/N, did you approve the pyro changes for Solo’s entrance?” one tech asked.

“Already done. Check your email. If it’s not there, come find me in Gorilla in ten,” she said, patting his arm before moving on.

Her assistant jogged up, slightly out of breath, handing her a fresh stack of call sheets hot off the press. Y/N flipped through them, making sure every name was where it should be, every cue tight.

“Go. Hand these to catering and props first. Then go track down creative in the truck — tell them I’ll sign off on the last run-through myself,” she instructed.

“Look at you, boss lady,” Tiffany teased, holding out one of the cups. “Vanilla sweet cream cold brew, extra shot — because I know you’ve been up since five.”

Y/N chuckled, taking it gratefully and letting the cold cup press into her palm. “You’re a lifesaver.”

They fell in step together as Y/N took a sip, her clipboard tucked under her arm and her fingers already shuffling through the new scripts Tiffany had spotted. She squints at all the papers, “More rewrites? Seriously?”

“Just minor stuff. Timing tweaks for Cody and Solo’s face-off, a promo change for Madeline,” Y/N said lightly, almost too breezy — the only hint she wasn’t as untouched as she pretended. “I want to deliver these myself.”

They turned the corner — and the warm ease in Y/N’s face flickered for a split second before snapping back into place.

There he was. Cody. Hood up, hunched forward on a production crate like he’d forgotten how to sit up straight. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks — haunted eyes rimmed red, a fading bruise on his cheek from Monday’s brawl still dark under the lighting. Next to him, perched so close she was practically breathing for him, Madeline leaned in, her voice syrupy and useless.

“Cody, so I was saying if we shift my entrance pyro it’ll—”

But he didn’t hear her. He only saw her — Y/N, bright and commanding, Tiffany laughing at her side, life and light he hadn’t touched in months. His heart stumbled in his chest at the easy warmth of her smile — even if it wasn’t for him anymore.

“Y/N—” He stood too fast, scripts nearly toppling from his lap.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. She stepped up, business-like but somehow painfully gentle — the softness that used to be just for him now cool and distant.

“Script updates,” she said, voice smooth as glass. She handed Madeline’s first, careful not to look at her longer than necessary, then turned to Cody — and this close, he could see the faint shimmer in her eyes. Not tears. Not anger. Just gone. The last tether between them, cut clean and professional.

“Kevin’s cue moved up by forty seconds. You’re hitting the final spot alone. Make sure you’re clear on your marks. Got it?”

He swallowed, trying to find words. “Y/N… can we—”

But she was already shifting away. “Don’t be late for your cue, Cody. We’re tight tonight.”

Her hand brushed his knuckles as she passed the paper to him, and for a heartbeat, he almost begged her — right there in the hallway — to forgive him. To despise him. To come home. Anything but this polite distance.

But she was gone, drifting back to Tiffany’s side. And before she and Tiffany could take two steps, Drew emerged from catering, all confident shoulders and that easy grin that used to be Cody’s trademark.

“Hey, lass,” Drew rumbled, the affectionate lilt just for her. He bent his head to greet her, the warm hush of his brogue low and private as Y/N’s smile bloomed wide — wider than the polite one she’d just given Cody.

He watched her lean into Drew’s side without thinking. Watched her tension dissolve, her laugh bubble up unguarded and real.

And it shredded him.

Beside him, Madeline tsked under her breath. “Pathetic. Look at her with him. Did you really think she’d sit around waiting for you to crawl back? She’s not stupid, Cody. Drew’s been there every second you weren’t.”

He shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Shut up, Madeline.”

But she just lifted her chin, vicious in her hurt. “No, you shut up. You want to hate me, fine. But I didn’t make you ignore her. I didn’t make you chase ‘understanding’ when you had a woman who would’ve given her life to see you happy. She’s his now — maybe not officially, but soon. And guess what? He deserves her more than you ever did.”

He barely heard the rest. His eyes stayed locked on Y/N, laughing up at Drew, her clipboard forgotten as she gently swatted Tiffany for making some teasing comment. For a heartbeat, her head tilted back the way she used to with him — that soft, unguarded trust that once made him feel like a king.

His throat closed up. His hands shook around the script he suddenly didn’t care about.

He’d given that up for the cheap thrill of being understood by a girl who didn’t matter. And now he was a ghost at the edge of the warmth he once called home.

Madeline’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and final. “You’re gonna watch him win, Cody. And you won’t even be able to blame anyone but yourself.”

And for the first time, he didn’t argue. He just watched Y/N walk away with Drew — and understood that maybe losing her forever was the price for never seeing what he had right in front of him.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The show was going well so far. They were about thirty minutes in and all of the changes have gone over smoothly. Y/N stands in Gorilla, closely watching one of the monitors as The Motor City Machine Guns finish their confrontation with DIY for the tag titles.

Y/N smiles at how well the promo is going, setting them up for their match at the rumble in a few weeks. The Machine Guns music hits and then they move to a quick commercial break.

The Machine Guns and DIY duck out of Gorilla, clapping each other on the back and thanking Y/N before heading off to peel off their tape and grab water. She watches them go, pride swelling in her chest as the next segment’s countdown pops onto the monitor.

“Alright, people, let’s tighten up!” she calls to the headset crew, shifting her clipboard under her arm. “Melo and Jimmy, you’re up next — five minutes to curtain, you hear me?”

A voice crackles back in her earpiece, “Copy that, boss lady.”

She grins at the nickname, jotting a quick note on her copy of the call sheet. She barely has time to check the next camera feed before a junior production runner — Justin, fresh out of Full Sail — jogs up beside her, slightly breathless and clutching a freshly printed call sheet that looks like it’s been triple-checked.

“Uh, Y/N? Can I…? Sorry—” he pants, then holds up the paper between them. “Am I losing my mind, or did the main event change? Because Kevin and Cody’s confrontation is showing up for the second hour, not the final segment. And then it says you’re… you’re closing the show? And that you’ll also be interrupting Madeline’s promo?”

Y/N lifts her brows innocently, the edge of her mouth twitching with mischief as she flips through her clipboard to her own master script. “Everything’s correct, Justin. Kevin and Cody are getting their thunder earlier tonight — they’ll still set up the Rumble spot. But I had something better in mind for the last twenty minutes.”

Justin squints at the new music cues highlighted near the bottom. Y/N L/N — entrance theme. His eyes flick between the paper and her, mouth falling open a little.

“But… you? Are you doing a promo? Or—”

She just shrugged, grin lazy but eyes sharp, cutting to the monitor where Madeline was in makeup getting final touches for her big moment.

“You’ll just have to wait and see with everyone else,” she said, brushing past him with a conspiratorial pat to his shoulder.

The crew member stared after her, slack-jawed, as she strode off — a woman on a mission. If only they knew:

She’d trained every sunrise, stayed late every night, took every test and pushed every boundary. She’d traded tears and blood and her own fear of stepping back into that ring — all for tonight.

Because tonight wasn’t just about running the show. Tonight, she was the show.

And Madeline had no idea what storm was about to hit her.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Gorilla was buzzing with producers and road agents trying to keep the show tight, but Y/N hardly noticed any of it.

All she could see was him — Drew McIntyre — tearing the roof off the building with Damian Priest in the ring. The crowd roared with every power move, every lariat that rattled Damian halfway across the mat. Y/N didn’t even realize how close she was leaning to the monitor, lips parted in quiet awe.

Somewhere behind her headset, Jess murmured, “You’re drooling,” but Y/N just shushed her, never taking her eyes off the screen.

She adored watching him like this — untamed and commanding, every inch the Scottish warrior they built him to be but somehow still hers in the stolen moments between the chaos.

In the ring, Priest hit him with a South of Heaven chokeslam — only for Drew to kick out at two and a half. The entire arena popped as Drew rose, face storm-dark with resolve. Y/N bit back a grin when he hit the ropes, Claymore out of nowhere, nearly decapitating Damian clean.

The ref counted — one, two, three. The bell rang. The crowd lost its mind.

Backstage, Y/N let out the breath she’d been holding, her hands resting on her hips, a giddy laugh spilling out before she could help it. Drew’s music thundered through the monitors as he stood on the turnbuckle, roaring back at the fans, every bit the king they deserved.

Minutes later, the curtain parted — and there he was: sweaty, breathless, championship weight replaced by pure pride. He barely glanced at anyone else, ignoring the stagehands congratulating him as his eyes found only her.

She crossed her arms, trying to hide how she was beaming. “Took you long enough. I was about two seconds from getting in there myself.”

Drew wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with his wrist tape. “Oh, aye? That what you’d call it? A rescue mission?”

She cocked a brow. “Someone has to make sure you don’t embarrass us on live TV.”

His laugh rumbled out, warm and sharp as he crowded her space just a little — enough to make her pulse skip. “Darlin’, if you’re planning to wrestle again, at least warn me first. I’ll get you new gear. Something with my name on it.”

She smacked his arm, fighting a smile. “Yeah, because that’s the biggest problem with me jumping back in — the wardrobe.”

Drew didn’t flinch; he just looked at her with that impossible fondness that made her stomach do a foolish flip. “For what it’s worth, you’d look lethal in black and blue.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her cheeks warmed betrayed her. “Stop. You did amazing out there. Seriously. You make this look easy.”

He dipped his head, voice softer now, just for her. “Means more coming from you than anybody else out there.”

Her breath caught, and she hated how easy it was — how easily he got under her skin, how easily she wanted him to. Before she could answer, a voice cut through:

“Yo, Drew! Interview in five!”

Drew held up a hand without tearing his eyes off her. “One sec!” Then, to her — “I’ll see you after?”

She nodded, fighting the grin tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. Go do your thing, superstar.”

He leaned in like he might kiss her temple — then seemed to think better of it, brushing a knuckle along her jaw instead. “Try not to fall for anyone else while I’m gone, eh?”

She gave him a pointed look, stepping back with a laugh. “You wish you were that irreplaceable.”

He only chuckled, shaking his head as he jogged off toward his next segment — leaving her behind with warmth in her chest she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Meanwhile, behind a stack of flight cases, Cody watched it unravel — the easy way she leaned in, the mischief in her grin, the way Drew looked at her like she was something precious. Something worth fighting for.

Once, that was him. And now he’d give anything to feel it again.

It wasn’t long before Madeline’s music hit. Her segment was next and Y/N couldn’t hide the small smirk that covered her face. She quickly hid it before anyone noticed as the newbie finished her journey to the ring.

Madeline strutted lazy circles in the middle of the canvas, her smug grin practically trademarked by now. The audience buzzed with a sour mix of jeers and half-hearted claps — the rookie’s arrogance had become a weekly irritation fans loved to hate.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, mic propped under her chin, soaking in the cheap heat like it fueled her.

“Y’know what I love about SmackDown?” she purred, pacing closer to the ropes. “It’s my show now. I am the hottest thing to happen to this division since ever. And don’t get me wrong — Tiffany Stratton is cute. Blonde, marketable, all that. But we all know she’s not in my league. No one is. Not on Raw. Not on SmackDown. No woman in this company could even come close to my level of greatness.”

Corey Graves rolls his eyes, “Someone cut her mic, please. For my sanity.”

A few fans booed louder. Madeline mocked a pout, then flicked her wrist dismissively. “Aw, hush. You’ll thank me when I save you from another glittery promo about how ‘prettiest gets the belt’ or whatever. Unlike some people around here—” she paused dramatically, smirking toward the hard cam, “—I don’t hide in an office pretending to still be relevant.”

Michael Cole tenses along with the rest of the crowd, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “Ohhh, she better watch herself now…”

Madeline leaned over the top rope, sneering at the front row. “Face it — this entire locker room is soft. The so-called ‘queen’ of SmackDown? Paper crown. No guts, no hustle, just riding old stories and bigger names to keep her paycheck fat. If she had any backbone left, she’d be standing right here with me—”

Graves shakes his head so aggressively that even the live audience who can’t hear what he’s saying know how much he disapproves. “Don’t say it, rookie. Don’t poke that bear.”

“—but we all know she doesn’t have the guts to lace up and do this anymore.”

The booing got loud enough she had to raise her voice. “So get comfy, people — because when I take that title off Tiffany? You’re gonna see what a real champ looks—”

BOOM!

The speakers cracked like thunder as the opening riff of “Welcome to the Jungle” ripped through the arena — a low, dangerous guitar that made spines straighten and the roof nearly fly off.

The tron flashed: Y/N — The Boss.

“OH MY GOD— WAIT A MINUTE— IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?!” Michael Cole practically leaps out of his seat, professionalism be damned.

The crowd erupted. Grown men leapt over each other for a glimpse as Y/N strode onto the stage — not in a business suit, but in her custom gear, hair down, eyes locked on Madeline like she’d found her next meal.

Corey stares on, jaw slack, “No way— no way. Nobody said she was cleared! She hasn’t wrestled in years!”

Y/N didn’t hurry. She high-fived fans along the ramp, pointed at a sign that read ‘Y/N RUNS THIS HOUSE’, and smirked when the camera caught the absolute chaos her mere presence caused.

Madeline’s eyes were saucers, all color draining from her face.

Cole’s chuckles manage to make their way to Y/N’s ears “Madeline just realized she booked herself a one-way ticket to hell.”

Y/N circled the ring once, savoring every second of the roar, then slid under the ropes and sprang to her feet like she’d never missed a day.

A stagehand tossed her a mic — she caught it midair without even glancing. She stepped close, so close Madeline flinched backward.

Her tone was soft, lethal:

“Hi, Maddie.”

Madeline swallowed, voice squeaking: “Wh-what are you doing? This isn’t your—”

Y/N leaned in, grin sharper than any blade: “Shhh. Let the grown-ups handle this.”

“I’m getting chills, Cole. Absolute chills.”

Y/N circled her prey, slow and deliberate, her words crisp enough to hush every seat in the arena. “You’ve spent weeks barking from this ring about what this roster lacks. How you’re its savior. How there’s nobody left with enough fire to put you in your place.”

She paused, tilting her head, eyes bright with mischief and venom both. “Well, princess — surprise. You ran your mouth so loud you woke up the one bitch who built the house that you’ve been stomping through like you own it.”

Madeline tried to cut in — Y/N flicked her hand dismissively, the crowd popping.

“You think I’ve been hiding? No. I’ve been working. Healing. Getting ready. And tonight? I’m not your boss. I’m not your headline. I’m not your cautionary tale. I’m your main event.”

The crowd exploded. Chants of “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” rattled the barricades.

Y/N stepped in close again, lowering her voice just enough to make every front-row fan lean in: “You want respect? You want my spot? Earn it. Because for one night only, doctor’s orders be damned — I’m cleared. And I’m gonna remind every single person here what happens when you mistake kindness for weakness.”

She flicked her mic to the mat with a satisfying clunk, never taking her eyes off Madeline’s horrified face.

“Main event. Me. You. And when I’m done? You’ll remember exactly who made this ring worth stepping into.”

Cole’s fist shoots in the air as he celebrates along with the crowd. “SHE SAID IT! Y/N IS FIGHTING TONIGHT! THE BOSS IS BACK, BABY!”

Y/N backed up, arms wide, a cocky grin blazing as she basked in the roar — then turned her back on Madeline with absolute, deliberate disrespect. She paused at the ropes just long enough to mouth to the nearest camera:

“Watch this.”

She dropped to the floor and strode up the ramp as Madeline scrambled to pick her jaw off the mat, the arena chanting her name like gospel.

The second Y/N stepped back through Gorilla, the world seemed to slam to a standstill.

Producers, camera crew, stagehands—everyone turned in a ripple of stunned silence, part disbelief, part raw, unfiltered awe. She didn’t pause to drink it in; she just handed off her mic to a frazzled assistant, gave a tight nod to a flustered producer whispering “Holy shit, you’re actually cleared?”, and kept moving down the hall like she’d just clocked out of a board meeting, not turned the main event upside down.

A familiar voice thundered down the corridor before she even rounded the next corner:

“Y/N! Lass—what the hell did ye just do?!”

Drew appeared out of nowhere, boots scuffing the floor as he skidded to a halt in front of her. He still had his match tape on one wrist, a half-crushed water bottle forgotten in his other hand. His eyes flicked wildly from her face to her ring gear to the crew peeking over crates behind her.

“Oh my God, Drew, breathe,” she teased, but the laughter in her chest trembled under the residual adrenaline.

“Breathe? Breathe?” He spluttered, voice thick with his rolling burr as he herded her a few steps out of earshot. “Woman, ye told me ye were doin’ segments tonight—segments, not headline brawls in front o’ fifteen thousand rabid maniacs screamin’ yer bloody name!”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle that slipped through anyway. “I mean… surprise?”

He gaped at her—then dragged a hand down his face, huffing a half-laugh half-growl. “Aye, surprise. Ye nearly gave me a heart attack, ye know that?”

He glanced around them, lowering his voice, eyes locked to hers with that earnest concern only he could pull off in a hallway full of chaos. “Y/N… ye can’t pretend this is nothin’. This is big, lass. It’s… it’s personal, aye? And that worries me.”

She softened, her fingertips brushing over the edge of his jaw, just enough to ground him. “Drew. It is personal. But it’s not reckless. I needed this. I needed this—me. Not for him. Not for anyone. Just to remind myself that I can still do this, that I’m not some sad story stuck behind a desk forever.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a frustrated exhale, but his hand came up, covering hers on his cheek. “I know. God, I know, darlin’. I just… ye know I hate seein’ ye hurt. And if I thought—”

She cut him off with a soft, crooked smile, leaning in to press her forehead gently against his chest. Her voice muffled against the cotton stretched over his solid heartbeat. “If you thought I was still tangled up in old ghosts? Drew… look at me.”

She tipped her head back up, catching the storm behind his eyes. Then she rose on her toes and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek—just shy of his lips, deliberate, soft enough to steal his next breath.

“It’s you who makes me feel safe enough to do this,” she murmured. “It’s you I want waiting for me when I come back through Gorilla. Understand?”

His throat worked around her words; his free hand found the curve of her waist, big palm splayed wide like he could shield her from the whole damn world.

“Aye. I understand. Just… promise me ye come back in one piece, aye? So I don’t have to climb in there after ye and break every rule that was ever wrote.”

She barked out a laugh, high and bright, the tension crackling between them as warm as it was charged. “Deal, Big Man.”

He didn’t move when she started to step away—his hand lingered at her hip, thumb rubbing a quiet circle that made her heart squeeze in a way she hadn’t felt in too long.

Then, over his shoulder, she caught a flicker of movement: Cody Rhodes, half-hidden behind a curtain of crates, eyes locked to hers and Drew’s hands on her body. Regret carved into every exhausted line of his face.

She met Cody’s stare for half a heartbeat—then turned her back on him without another thought, her focus already on Drew again.

“Go on, then,” Drew rumbled, a wicked gleam returning to his eyes. “Go show the wee gremlin what happens when ye poke a lioness.”

She winked, curling her fingers around his wrist for one last squeeze, and as her good friend Liv Morgan always says, “Watch me.”

And she slipped away, her grin sharp and sure, leaving a smitten Scottish giant watching her like she’d hung the stars herself—while a man who’d once held her heart realized he’d lost far more than he could ever win back.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The arena lights dipped low as Madeline’s theme hit — glittery pop with an edge, echoing her cocky rookie swagger.

But tonight, something was off. She stepped out onto the stage with her usual smirk, soaking in the half-boos, half-hyped reactions... but there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her nerves.

She’d read the updated run sheet — MAIN EVENT: MADELINE vs. ??? — but not even in her wildest nightmares had she pictured this.

Her eyes darted toward the ring crew, the commentary desk, anywhere but the curtain behind her. She jogged down the ramp anyway, tossing her hair, climbing into the ring with a forced flick of confidence.

She perched herself on the second rope, rolling her wrists, her pretty mask of smug confidence pulled too tight to hide the jitter in her eyes. She glanced once more at the ramp as the ref checked her boots — but no amount of pep talk could steady the quiver in her gut. The rumors said Y/N hadn’t wrestled since she broke her back all those years ago. There was no way she’d risk it for her. Right?

Then the arena lights dropped to a simmering hush — a single beat of silence before the familiar guitar riff hits the speakers like a thunderclap.

Thousands of people lost their minds at once.

Y/N walked out through the blinding spotlight, a storm wrapped in gear she’d sworn she’d never wear again. No one in that building — no producer, no script, no roster sheet — had this on their rundown. Only she did. And it was hers alone to give.

Michael Cole’s voice rose above the thunder of the fans: “Corey, this is happening — the boss, the heartbeat of SmackDown, is stepping back in the ring after so many years on the shelf—”

Corey Graves could barely be heard over the roar. “And with a broken back in her history, Cole! This is insane. This is reckless. This is... God, this is perfect!”

Y/N didn’t jog or grandstand. She stalked to the apron with a single-minded focus, pausing only to slap palms with fans pressed against the barricade, one little girl bursting into tears when Y/N bent low to ruffle her hair. She hit the apron, locked eyes with Madeline, and vaulted over the ropes so smooth you’d think gravity liked her best.

Madeline’s mouth moved around a curse, but the bell rang before she could find words.

They circled. Slowly at first — an unspoken dare between two women who couldn’t be more different: one all bluster and borrowed status, the other forged in agony and years of lost time.

Madeline lunged first, predictable and sloppy. Y/N side-stepped, spun on her heel, and whipped her into an arm drag so clean it drew cheers all by itself. Madeline popped up only to catch a stiff forearm to the jaw — then another. Y/N forced her into the corner and lit her up with a machine gun flurry: elbow, elbow, backfist, snap kick to the gut.

Corey barked through a grin, “Look at her move, Cole! There’s absolutely no ring rust in sight! No hesitation — she’s calling every second in real time!”

Madeline, in a flash of desperation, raked her eyes. The crowd booed viciously as she yanked Y/N into a DDT attempt — but Y/N twisted free, rebounded off the ropes, ducked under a wild clothesline and slammed a running knee flush against Madeline’s cheekbone. The rookie crumpled to her back, dazed.

Cole nearly wheezed into his mic. “This is a masterclass — years out, and she’s teaching the kid what it means to fight for your life!”

Backstage, Drew McIntyre stood stone still beside the curtain, arms folded so tight his knuckles blanched. There was a tremble in the corner of his mouth — equal parts pride and pure dread. Not far away, alone in the shadows, Cody Rhodes leaned against a crate, hollow-eyed, watching the woman he’d once called home carve her legacy back open without him.

Madeline crawled for the ropes, desperate to bail. Y/N was on her before she could think — grabbing a handful of hair, whispering something venom-soft against her ear that turned the girl’s face to stone. Then she hurled her halfway across the ring with a snap suplex, the canvas rattling under the impact.

Madeline tried to swing wildly again, panic in every twitch. Y/N ducked, scooped her up across her shoulders in one smooth deadlift. The crowd rose to their feet as realization spread like fire.

Corey’s voice cracked. “She won’t— that’s her spine, Cole—”

She did.

Y/N planted her boots, hoisted Madeline’s dead weight, and spun into a rolling Death Valley Driver so clean the front row physically recoiled. Madeline bounced off her shoulder, hit the mat hard, and flopped to her stomach.

Cole could barely be heard: “She said she wanted closure — this is surgical, Corey. This is personal.”

The arena rumbled with the pulse of thirty thousand stomping feet, chanting her name like gospel.

Y/N didn’t waste time. She hauled Madeline up by her wrist — no wasted words, no mercy. She spun her in tight, hooked both arms behind her back in a butterfly clutch, then lifted and twisted, driving her into the mat with a vicious corkscrew sit-out driver that rattled the ring ropes.

Corey all but screamed: “EULOGY DRIVER! THE EULOGY DRIVER! COVER HER, Y/N—”

She did.

One.

Two.

Three.

The bell rang so sharp it sounded like a starter pistol, but no one moved except Y/N. She stayed sitting for a heartbeat, chest heaving, hair damp and sticking to her neck — staring at her own hands like she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to feel them do this again.

The ref grabbed her wrist and hoisted it high, but she was already rising, climbing the second rope and bracing one boot on the turnbuckle. She scanned the ocean of faces and pointed at her heart — once, twice — then out at them.

Drew backstage pounds his palm against the wall and laughing through gritted teeth, relief and awe tangled on his face.

Cody sank down against the crate he’d been leaning on, hands buried in his hair, a man watching every ounce of warmth he’d thrown away return stronger without him.

Back in the ring, Y/N stood on the ropes, a storm in human form, a lesson in survival and rebirth — living proof you don’t bury a woman like her.

Not while she still breathes.

She could still hear the final three-count echoing in her bones. Madeline had crawled out of the ring minutes ago, battered and shell-shocked, escorted by medics who barely bothered to hide their smirks.

But Y/N didn’t see any of it anymore.

She stood alone under the blinding white of the spotlight, chest rising and falling, strands of hair sticking to her sweat-slicked cheeks. The ref pressed her championship mic into her palm — the house lights dimmed except for one golden beam that followed her as she stepped to the center of the ring.

The noise was deafening, but somehow she found a hush in her chest big enough to fit every word she’d carried for years.

She brought the mic to her lips, voice still rough from grit and adrenaline.

"I know what some of you are thinking," she began, pacing a slow, deliberate circle so the whole building felt her eyes on them. "Why risk everything for this? Why fight tonight, when the doctors told me I'd never walk right again, let alone run these ropes?"

The crowd roared — YOU STILL GOT IT! chants bouncing off the rafters like thunder. She cracked the smallest grin, eyes glassy, soaking it in.

"I spent years telling myself the same things you told me: that I was better off behind a desk. Safer. Smarter. That this — this ring, this life — was something I could just bury under paperwork and fancy suits."

Her voice caught for a heartbeat, just enough to draw the entire arena closer.

"But the truth? The truth is... I was scared."

A ripple of silence fell, so heavy it almost hurt to stand in it.

"I was scared I wasn’t enough anymore. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not worth enough." She laughed, bitter but free, as if she couldn’t believe she’d ever been so small in her own mind. "I let people decide what I deserved. I let one person make me forget who I was — not just in here, but out there too. And I won’t do that again."

Drew backstage was frozen mid-breath, eyes shining in a way no man that big should ever let people see. Somewhere off to the side, Cody buried his face in his hands, shouldering the truth in front of millions.

Back in the ring, Y/N planted her boots firm against the canvas, lifted her chin, and looked straight down the lens like she was staring right at every person who’d ever lost themselves.

"So hear me when I say this — whether you love me, hate me, or don’t know my damn name: Never let anyone decide your worth. Not your boss. Not your family. Not the person you share a bed with. Because the second you do, you forget how to stand alone."

She jabbed a finger into her own chest, voice rising above the roar.

"I broke my back. I lost everything I thought made me… me. And tonight? I took it all back — not for them. Not for him. For me."

The audience was on their feet now, stomping, screaming, some wiping tears they’d never admit to.

She lifted her free hand, palm open, showing the hard lines and faint tremble of a fighter reborn.

"This is proof. Proof you can fall apart, and build yourself back better. Proof you can lose yourself, and find a version so unstoppable, they’ll wish they’d buried you deeper."

Her grin sharpened, that old spark back like a wildfire behind her eyes.

"I’m not your victim. I’m not your boss tonight. I’m not your heartbreak or your pity story. I’m the woman who survived the worst days of her life— and walked back in here on her own two feet to remind you that you can too."

She paused, let the storm of cheers crash over her, then added one last promise, quiet but razor-sharp.

"And if you ever forget it—" She smirked, a dare in her teeth. "You know where to find me. I’ll remind you every damn time."

She dropped the mic at her feet, the final thud swallowed by the roar of her people — their people. She threw her arms wide to the sky, every vein alive with the ache and the triumph of being enough.

Somewhere just beyond the barricade, a kid lifted a hand-painted sign that read simply: “She’s Still Here.”

And she was.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Backstage felt like a living heartbeat the second she stepped through the curtain.

Crew members clapped her on the shoulder as she passed, a few newer recruits beaming like kids who’d just met their favorite superhero. A veteran ref barked, “Hell of a return, boss — didn’t think you had that left in ya!”

Y/N just laughed, breathless, raw in the best way. She let them slap her back, let them tell her she hadn’t lost her edge — and deep down, for the first time in years, she actually believed it.

Her eyes found Drew first. He stood just beyond the crowd, arms crossed, looking equal parts awed and ready to wrap her up in bubble wrap forever. But beside him, half-shadowed near a stack of flight cases, was Cody.

He looked out of place, older than he’d looked an hour ago. His hoodie was still up, but it couldn’t hide the bare grief on his face. The second her eyes met his, something old and splintered twisted in her chest — but it didn’t drag her down this time.

She knew what she had to do.

She offered Drew an apologetic smile, soft and fleeting, before she angled toward the man she’d once thought she’d grow old with.

Cody straightened, like he’d been bracing for this moment and failing miserably all the same. His lips parted, no words ready.

She beat him to it, voice gentle but firm. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His throat bobbed. “You— you were incredible out there. You always are.”

She huffed a small laugh, tired and tender. “Thanks.”

A beat. His hands flexed helplessly at his sides. “I… I’ve been trying to find the words for weeks. I don’t even know where to start. I—”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t mean to cut him off so gently, but her heart wouldn’t let her do it cruelly. Not to him. Not after everything.

“I do, though,” he insisted, eyes pleading, rimmed red. “I messed up, Y/N. God, I messed up so bad. I thought… I thought you’d always be there. I thought what I felt for you couldn’t fade — but I forgot how to show you. And now—”

She stepped in, close enough to smell the same shampoo she’d bought for him, back when they were a home and not strangers.

“Cody…” Her voice cracked but didn’t break. “A part of me will always belong with you. You know that, right? I thought you and me… we were it. The forever kind.”

A breath caught in his chest — agony and hope tangled together.

“But…” She swallowed, forced herself to say it. “I can’t do forever with someone I don’t trust. I can’t give you everything when I know deep down I’d never believe I was enough again. I’d question every smile. Every late flight. Every new face. And you don’t deserve that, Cody. Neither of us do.”

His mouth opened but nothing came out. So she kept going — she had to.

“You want me to believe you’d never stop loving me again. But I can’t. Because I know now you can. And I can’t spend the rest of my life bracing for when it happens next.”

A flicker of defiance flared in his eyes. “You think he won’t screw up? That he’s perfect? He’ll let you down too—”

She laughed, low and sad, cutting him off with a shake of her head. “Drew’s not perfect. God knows he drives me insane. But he listens. He notices. He doesn’t flinch when I break apart. And he never makes me question if I’m enough. Even when he’s angry, I feel safe with him. When’s the last time I felt safe with you, Cody?”

He had no answer. His jaw worked silently before he rasped, “So that’s it? He wins?”

She stepped closer, voice gentle but unyielding. “No. I win. Because I chose myself for once. He didn’t win me — I’m not some prize. He’s just… here. Steady. If he stays, he stays. If he goes, I’ll still be whole.”

He followed her gaze over her shoulder. Drew waited, pretending not to stare but failing miserably — protective and patient, a stone fortress with soft eyes only for her.

And for Cody, it all clicked. The way she stood taller now. The way she smiled more. The way she didn’t shrink from her own worth anymore.

He swiped at his tired eyes. “You deserve that. All of that. I should’ve… God, I should’ve seen you before I lost you.”

A ghost of that old warmth passed over her face. “A part of me will always wish you had. But I’m done building homes in people who don’t know how to hold them. I hope you find peace, Cody. Real peace. Not just someone to fill the silence.”

He laughed, a broken exhale. “And him? He’ll give you that?”

She looked at Drew again, really looked. “I hope so… but if he doesn’t… I’ll be fine. Because now, I know I can stand on my own.”

Cody’s eyes glistened with defeat and reluctant gratitude. He laid a palm over his heart like he could hold her ghost there forever. “Tell him… tell him thank you. For taking care of you the way I should have.”

She squeezed his arm once, soft but final. “Tell him yourself someday. I think you two could stand to be friends again.”

And then she stepped back, leaving Cody to his ghosts and regrets — and walked toward the man who’d been her soft place to land when everything else burned.

Drew didn’t ask what was said. He just opened his arms and let her melt against his chest, his voice rumbling in her hair: “You good, sweetheart?”

She smiled, eyes misty but sure. “Yeah. For the first time in a long time… I really am.”

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The hotel lobby hummed with the usual late-night shuffle of staff and a few bleary-eyed travelers dragging luggage, but for Y/N, Drew, and Jess, it felt like walking through a bubble — safe, glowing, almost dreamlike after the adrenaline of the show.

Y/N’s hoodie was zipped to her chin, hiding the ring gear still peeking out at her hips. Her hair was damp from the quickest post-match shower of her life, and she looked fresh-faced and tired all at once — but alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Jess kept glancing between her and Drew like she was watching the final scene of her favorite slow-burn movie. She nudged Y/N’s shoulder, unable to hold back her grin.

“Seriously, I’m never gonna shut up about tonight,” Jess said, hugging the catering coffee cup she’d snagged on the way out. “Seeing you in the ring like that… it was everything. I used to sit on my bedroom floor in my mom’s old T-shirts pretending I was you.”

Y/N laughed, nudging her back. “Well, now you get to see the chaos up close, so be careful what you wish for.”

Drew barked a laugh beside them. “Chaos? Nay. That was art. Ye made her look like a fool and kept yer back intact. If I wasn’t already terrified of ye, I’d be now.”

Jess snorted. “Speak for yourself, Highlander. I’m still scared of her.”

Y/N shoved her lightly. “You’re scared of spiders, Jess.”

They reached the elevator, waiting as it hummed down. Jess peeked at the glowing floor numbers and sighed dramatically. “Ugh, my room’s like five floors up from you two. Who did the booking this week, Satan?”

“Blame the travel office,” Y/N deadpanned, then she hugged Jess, squeezing tight enough to feel the younger woman’s giggle against her shoulder. “Go sleep, you menace. And hey — thank you. For everything tonight. You’re a pain in my ass but you’re my pain in the ass.”

Jess smirked, eyeing Drew pointedly over Y/N’s head. “You take care of her tonight, okay, big man? She’s got a bad habit of bottling things up and pretending she’s titanium.”

Drew, without missing a beat, rumbled, “She’s no titanium. She’s diamond. But aye — I’ll mind her. Off ye pop.”

Jess made an exaggerated “aww” face, then waved them off as the elevator dinged open, carrying her to her own floor and leaving the two of them alone in the hush of the hallway.

The walk to their rooms was slow, both dragging their feet like neither wanted to reach the inevitable parting. Drew carried her overnight bag even though she’d protested twice.

“You know you don’t have to baby me, right?” Y/N teased as they turned the corner toward the quieter wing of the hotel.

Drew glanced down at her, amused. “Oh, lass, I’ve seen ye suplex a woman half yer age. I ken ye don’t need me tae carry yer bag. But let me, aye? Humor me. Makes me feel useful.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re more than useful. You’re… you’re too good to me sometimes.”

Drew glances at her, his eyes softening as they met hers. “Ye say that like ye don’t deserve it. Like it’s a favor, treatin’ ye well.”

Y/N didn’t respond, just a small smile being painted across her lips. They ended up pausing at a vending machine; Drew eyed the options like he was solving an ancient riddle.

“You know you’re not actually hungry,” she teased, folding her arms.

“Aye, but I like pretendin’ I am. Stalls the moment I have tae say goodnight.”

She laughed softly, nudging his hip with hers. “You’re a sap.”

“And you love it,” he fired back, eyes sparkling as he finally gave up on the vending machine entirely. He shouldered her bag again without asking and resumed the slow stroll down the quiet hallway.

Y/N caught herself studying the veins in his forearms, the gentle slope of his nose, the little cut near his eyebrow still taped from tonight’s match. It made her chest ache, sweet and sharp at the same time.

“You were brilliant tonight,” Drew murmured, breaking her quiet inspection. “At Gorilla, I kept thinkin’… ‘That’s her. That’s the woman I’ve always seen — even when she couldn’t see it herself.’”

Her steps faltered; her throat worked around a knot. “Drew…”

“Nay, lemme say it. Ye were more than brilliant. You were fearless. Brave. And I don’t mean just in the ring — though, you nearly gave me a heart attack with that suplex— but afterwards. The way you spoke, the way you owned what was yers. I can’t tell ye what that did tae me.”

She smiled shyly, fighting the burn behind her eyes. “You’re making me blush, Galloway.”

He lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “Good. Ye should. You deserve to feel worshipped a bit more often.”

The warmth in her gut tangled with something like fear — fear of messing this up, of leaning on someone again, of letting herself need him too much too soon. She caught his hand, squeezing it as she pressed it to her cheek.

“Drew… I just– I need you to know that I don’t want to run from one thing straight into another. I gave everything to someone who… who didn’t know what to do with it. I can’t do that again — not to you, not to me.”

His thumb traced her temple, tender. “Then don’t. I’ll wait. I’ll be whatever ye need me tae be. Friend, shoulder, bodyguard. Hell, I’ll carry yer bags forever if it means I get tae walk beside ye like this.”

Her breath hitched — a tiny, startled sound she barely managed to muffle with a quiet laugh. “How are you real?”

He shrugged one shoulder, playful, but his eyes were earnest. “Not real, love. Just yours. Whenever ye want me.”

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, feeling his heartbeat under her palm where it pressed against his chest. The hallway was so quiet she could hear their breaths mingling.

Then, a whisper: “I do want you. More than you know. Just… let me want you slow. Let me get this right.”

His mouth curved into a promise and his hand slid to cradle the back of her neck, reverent. “Aye. Slow. Careful. No rush. But right now—” His voice dropped, warm and husky as the edge of dawn. “Right now, I need tae kiss ye, lass. Tell me no and I’ll stop.”

She opened her eyes, let him see all the gratitude, the fear, the hope glimmering behind them. She didn’t say no.

Instead, she pushed up on her toes and found his mouth with hers — soft, searching at first, then deeper, her fingers twisting in the collar of his hoodie as if she could memorize the feel of him this way. Drew sighed into it, a low rumble that made her whole body lean closer.

When they parted, breathless, their foreheads stayed pressed together. She giggled, cheeks flushed, voice raw but happy.

“Okay. So much for slow, huh?”

His grin was boyish and so heartbreakingly gentle. “Ach, we’ll pace ourselves tomorrow. Tonight… tonight I just wanted tae know how ye taste when ye choose me.”

She gave him a playful shove, still tucked safe inside the circle of his arms. “Spoiler alert — pretty sure I like you, Galloway. There’s nobody else I’d want to pick.”

He chuckled low in his throat, brushing his lips across her temple. “Aye. Good. Because next time? I’m not askin’ permission.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, light and mischief dancing in her own. “I can’t wait.”

In that moment — hallway, exhaustion, adrenaline and all — they both knew: whatever pace they set, they were already exactly where they were supposed to be.

[thh-r]

The city choked. Each explosion - a dying breath, torn from a ravaged chest. Neil pressed his back against the icy brick of the cellar, feeling the cold seep into his bones, as if the fear itself was becoming part of him. Escape. Escape from his father, the general obsessed with darkness, for whom his son was merely a pawn in a mad game. His father would find him. Not for forgiveness, but for punishment, for example - that was the most terrifying.

He gripped the pistol convulsively, his fingers numb with cold. A boy, not a soldier. Prey, not a hunter. But his father's gaze, as cold as a winter wind, left him no choice.

A creak. The sound of a bone breaking, one he heard too often. The door opened a crack, letting in a sliver of light and plumes of frosty steam. A silhouette emerged in the opening.

Neil tried not to breathe. Not now, when he’d only managed to get further away from the crowd of soldiers who knew him better than he knew himself.

The silhouette froze. A pale face, dusted with snow, framed by light hair. Eyes - like shards of ice, cold and empty. A uniform. A German soldier.

Neil wasn't ready to go back to his father. Back to the ranks. Those eyes were looking at him. At him, when he so desperately wanted to live. He had no strength, his hands wouldn't obey. Noise and nothing else in his head. To live. The pistol felt too heavy, just like it had as a child on the training ground, aimed at the soldier's heart.

"Don't shoot," – a voice, hoarse from the cold and fatigue, said unexpectedly. "Don't shoot, please. Let me die on my own."

Neil didn't believe a single word.

"You're the enemy," – he hissed, spitting the words out like the bitter smoke of heavy cigarettes.

The soldier nodded. "To me, you are too. But I can see in your eyes that we share the same goal."

An explosion. The cellar shuddered, dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. No screams, no. There's been no one here for a long time, it's being cleared. In another day, the Red Army will poke around here.

"Deserter?" – Neil tried to hold the pistol steady, but his hands were shaking. His lungs were tearing from the air, as if a pile of shards had been poured into them, and they were cutting him from the inside. The new overcoat, recently stripped from some officer's corpse, didn't warm him as well as it should.

"No. A spineless man of the system. Andrew Minyard" – he took a few steps towards the wall and collapsed onto the concrete floor next to Neil, who pressed his gun hand to his chest.

Andrew took out a pack, flicked out a cigarette. A match flared, illuminating his face for a moment. He raised it to his lips and took a drag. Clouds of smoke, mixing with the frosty steam, drifted in the musty air. The smell of tobacco, sharp and pungent, overpowered the stench of dust and death.

"My father's a general," – Neil whispered, pressing his head against the wall. – I was supposed to stand by him, to carry the faith. Neil."

Andrew released a plume of smoke, watching as the ash, like snow, fell to the floor. The smoke burned his lungs, bringing at least some warmth. "My father forced me to come here. He's proud that his son is killing for the Reich. But I'm tired of the blood, of the filth. I wanted to live. My brother wanted to live. But..." – he trailed off, his lips closing around the filter, the words weren't necessary, Neil understood everything from his eyes.

The explosions were becoming quieter.

"Switzerland," – Neil said, remembering his mother's quick, insistent words.

Andrew stubbed out the cigarette, grinding it into the wall. "Anywhere. Just to be in silence."

Neil stared at Andrew, trying to discern the truth through the haze of vapor.

"What if I bring death down on you too?" – Neil asked, although he knew that Andrew had no choice.

Andrew shrugged. "Then we'll die together."

The war roared outside. In the cellar, two ghosts, two lost souls, were deciding their fate.

Neil held out his hand. "Then let's go."

Andrew took his hand and felt a warmth he'd

almost forgotten, a roughness from deep scars. "With you."

The snow swirled, covering the ruins. Two silhouettes in the gloom – enemies or allies? Reflections of shattered walls and desires in their eyes. Ahead – only darkness and the unknown. But perhaps, there, beyond the front line, something awaits them that can melt the ice that has burrowed under their skin, down to the very bones.

My channel: https://t.me/D_WAYMAK_SEX

[sidneylover122]

Or Nah

Warnings! Smut, G!P Y/N, Cursing

Y/n Andrews has been friends with Veronica Lodge since Veronica arrived in Riverdale. They became even closer when Archie, your brother, started dating Veronica. Over the time that you and Veronica have been friends, you had developed a crush on Hermione, Veronica’s mom. You knew that it was bad to have a crush on her best friend’s mom and married. Although, you couldn’t control the fact that you liked her. When Veronica’s dad came back in town, from prison, it hurt you. You hated the fact that your sliver of a chance with Hermione was now gone. Then, Hiram started making Archie do jobs and he then started making you do them. Although, Hiram was your brother’s boss, and Hermione was your boss.

One day, she had a job for you. She told you to meet her at her apartment. She told you that Hiram and Veronica weren’t at home. You were kind of weirded out by this, but you could never tell her no. You got to the apartment and waited for her to let you in. When she did, you were surprised to see her in lingerie. She closed the door behind you, and she had this predatory look on her face. She looked like she was about to eat you alive. You asked, “What is the job you had for me?” She said “I need you to pleasure me.” This shocked you but also enticed you. You wanted her. You needed her, and you couldn’t deny her request.

You began to take your clothes off as you leaded her to her bedroom. You were excited for what was about to happen. You closed the door and pushed her against it. You began to kiss her with passion. You had already taken off your jacket and shirt. She began to unzip your pants and pull them down. She then climbed on the bed and pulled you down on top of her. You told her to take off the rest of her clothes. You then stuck two fingers inside of her and thrusted it. You began to slam it into her at a fast pace. You watched her face contort in pleasure. At this point, you didn’t care about Hiram and the fact that you were sleeping with his wife. You cared about Hermione more than he did. You heard her moan and gasp. You then moved your fingers side to side. You heard her whimper. You loved her reactions and you wanted more. You then added a third finger and began to speed up your pace. She screamed “Y/N!” as she came.

You then flipped her so that she was on top of you. You then grabbed her and put her pussy on your mouth. She moaned as you began to lick her. She tasted so good. You then stuck your tongue inside. You thrusted it in and out to make sure that she felt good. She whimpered at the overstimulation, but you couldn’t care less by how cumdrunk you’ve become. You kept eating her until she came all over your face. You licked her clean. She moved lower so that she was cuddling you. You asked, “Did i pleasure you enough?” She said, “Yes, that was better than Hiram ever did.” You laughed and cuddled into her. You’d finally gotten the woman you needed.

[goneinsecondsxo]

here to ask about the andrew and jean fic bc babies <3

nic <33

there are so many things i want andrew and jean to talk about. but one of the things id love is to see them talk about neil and jeremy. as ive said to anyone who’s heard my jean+andrew thesis, they have so much to teach each other, and have this weird innate understanding of each other for two people who do not interact much. within that understanding i think it would be fascinating for them to talk about jean’s feelings for jeremy. bc andrew knows something unsaid is going on between them, and jean sees how andrew and neil move like they’re caught in each others gravity, and imagine them acknowledging those things with each other. jean would lowkey be so annoyed at first but then i can see him opening up to andrew about his feelings, bc he’s finally allowing himself to consider it!! ugh i just would love to see them talk about it like i can picture how it would go in my head so vividly😭 and also like the neil and jeremy of it all is only a sliver of the things i want to make them talk about i could yap forever actually

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Ocean Beach, San Francisco . . :: Photo: James Fox

* * * * *

“Our view of life is but a sliver of light in the thick, velvety darkness. […] Remember that any summary of life, even a well-written biography, fails to capture the details that comprise a life: the quiet evenings by the sink, the way a person smiled or laughed, an April sunset turning crimson behind a row of beech that sets them into a reverie of childhood, which is, itself, misremembered, since accessing a memory changes its form.”

— Andrew Bertaina, from “Home Burial,” The Chattahoochee Review (vol. XL, no. 2 & 3, Fall 2020) [memoryslandscape]