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givethemsmut · 4 months ago

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Cody Rhodes x Reader

Made of Gold | Chapter Seven

I had grown accustomed to living on Cody’s bus, exploring the city during the day and at night watching the monitors showcase his talent. I was thriving while I hit the ignore button for the millionth time on my father calling.

Shoving my phone into the back pocket of black skinny jeans with rips in the knees I headed to catering while Cody warmed up.

I had been avoiding Brandi, keeping myself on high alert, every turn backstage I was scanning the space for her. I b-lined it for the coffee when her voice sent goosebumps over my arms.

“Still around? I’m shook.”

Reminding myself I was still a few days away from eighteen I still had to channel every ounce of adulthood to argue with anyone backstage. “Sorry I made it impossible for you to shoot your shot, sweetie.”

She laughed and my eyes snapped up to hers, “You being here doesn’t stop anyone for shooting their shot. That’s your first mistake - thinking you’re his only until you have a ring on that finger.”

“I am his only, exclusively.” I quipped my words right back so quickly I even impressed myself.

She smiled, a shit eating grin, like she knew something I didn’t. “First mistake.”

Brandi left me there after her calculated attack and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed things. Cody was top dog here, talented, paid handsomely, and his body was rivaling Greek statues how could woman not be throwing themselves at him.

How could I miss that?

Wandering the maze like hallways of backstage I tried to find Cody but my mind was its own distraction. Wondering how anyone maintained a relationship with their partner on the road, that kind of trust and lack of cracks in their self esteem seemed impossible now that I knew how lingered back stage.

Coming around the corner I stopped short see Cody and his boss in a heated discussion or what looked like it. Pressing myself against the wall to listen I heard their exchange loud and clear.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Cody? She’s seriously fucking seventeen? You’ve been parading her around like a goddamn lucky charm.” Hunter, the weathered man still sporting muscles and champion rings spat in his face with his words.

Cody was fresher but none less a street dog ready to fight. “Her age doesn’t matter. She’s legal in a few days. Big deal.”

“Are you fucking insane? This could destroy your career if anyone else found out. You’re lucky it was just me.”

I watched their faces get so close I felt the weight of their argument sit directly on my chest.

All the ways I wore being Cody’s like a badge of honor felt cheap. Almost like I didn’t deserve it at all, not with people acting like I was poisoning his dreams. Everyone was trying to pull us apart and it felt like I should fall in line instead of fighting fate.

Hurrying with my cup of coffee I scurried away as fast as I could, taking shelter behind the first door I saw. Letting it close slowly, I let my forehead press against the cold door, and an expatriate sigh leave my lips.

“Well that’s one way to make an impression.”

Slowly looking over my shoulder, all the tattoos came into view and his gruff voice seemed to fill the room. “I’ll be gone in a second. I’m just hiding from your boss.”

I kept my voice casual and my body relaxed even though he only had a towel hanging around his waist. A gallery of tattoos decorating his skin, his hair slicked back and this grimace attached to his face that kind of made you want to slap him.

“You can make whatever excuse you like.”

“I’m with Cody…” I almost added duh because everyone knew Cody and by extension me as his.

His sinister laugh had me take a step back into the door. “Not friends with Cody. Not even close.” Ignoring him I clamped my eyes shut and waited out their argument when he spoke again. “How old are you? Are you his sister?”

I could feel the way his eyes were digging into me and pressuring me to answer. I rolled my eyes and yanked the door open but not before slinging a remark back. “Maybe you’re just used to old pussy.”

“Look at Mister WWE himself breaking the rules. I could almost be proud if I didn’t hate him so much.” He started pulling on his sweats under his towel and I could feel my cheeks burning.

“Mister WWE? He just came back.” I quipped at him, wholly offended and letting the door close again.

Ripping the towel from his waist I let myself analyze hin, the messy hair, and the way he was the opposite of Cody. He wasn’t all American, clean cut, he was rough around the edges.

He chuckled, pulling his cut up shirt over his head, “you don’t know him at all. How did you even meet him?”

Crossing my arms I stood there, barely grasping my coffee. “I know what you’re implying… I’m not some one night stand.”

His elbows dug into his legs as he leaned forward on the couch that sat against the wall. “You really don’t know him. He’s always been the good soldier, the golden boy here, and when he left he didn’t have to play by the rules anymore. Making us all look bad when he’s keeping a jailbait secret.”

I stood there, my shoulders pinned against the wall and my face smeared with guilt. I was too young, no matter how good I made it sound, and that could end everything he worked for.

He took my silence as contempt when he looked up at me, his baby blue eyes shimmering against the florescent lights. “The real question is what are we going to do about this.”

It wasn’t really a question, it was a clear intention that I owed him if I wanted him to keep my secret.

A secret Cody wasn’t ashamed of but his boss and career depended on me being legal.

“It’s not a big deal. I turn eighteen in a month.”

“That’s why you look as pale as a sheet? This isn’t high school anymore, babe. You’re playing with the big dogs now.” His voice was the perfect villain, laced with edge and charm.

I spewed snark, “Are you saying I can’t hang? I eat assholes like you for breakfast. Grow some tits then talk to me about holding your own in a man’s world.”

He chuckled like what I said was funny before he sat back. “Okay, spitfire, let’s see if you can hang. This is gonna be fun.”

“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes at him and cracked the door open to scan the hallway to make sure neither of them were in the vicinity.

Looking over my shoulder he waved with a big smile plastered across his mouth. “Have fun out there.”

I safely made it back to the gorilla area cluttered with monitors and tech things that kept the production going. Between his ex-finance, his boss and his enemy I ran into it felt like I had no allies here. The loneliness I didn’t feel until now felt like a weight on my shoulder I didn’t expect to carry.

Not while surrounded by people.

Without touching me I felt a hard chest scrape my shoulder blades and a warm mouth practically close over the shell of my ear. “I gotta talk to you.”

Cody’s voice was full of dark clouds and I knew it was about to pour.

All the ways we were safe in our bubble at his house no longer existed.

Taking his hand I trailed behind him, letting him lead the way with a melted expression. He lead me back to the bus and stood in the aisle with his arms crossed.

Standing in front of him I let our soon-to-be argument a wide birth. “Fucked me out of your system.”

I wasn’t going to wait for him to break it off, I was going to beat him to it.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He paused, his eyes half mast and full of unhinged rage. “Fucked you out of my system? You really think I can fuck the kind of poison you are out of my system?” His arms unfolded and his palm ran over his crotch before giving himself a hard squeeze.

I bit the inside of my cheek, staying silent while I waited for him to continue.

“Your dad called Hunter. He wanted to let him know that was kidnapping you, raping you and WWE would be found as an accomplice. As much as being told I can’t have you makes me want to fuck you more… we need a game plan. One that doesn’t involve you ending things between us.” His stern voice hit me like a pillow case full of bricks.

Taking out my phone of my back pocket, I tapped my missed calls and dialed. Telling his boss? That’s just foreplay, my dad just wanted a way to force me to call him back and it worked.

“Father.”

“Daughter,” he repeated. “Have you come to your senses?”

“What is it going to take for you to back off?” I slice my words making sure it’s all business, no pleasure.

There was a pause of silence but it felt like it was for my benefit instead. “Sweetheart, he’s taking advantage of you. I’m just looking out for your best interest.”

Fighting the urge to pace I sat down on the edge of the seat, leaning forward into my phone when I hit speaker. “You’re ruining his life. He’s not some predator, I threw myself at him numerous times and he rejected me like a gentleman.”

“I don’t need to hear all the ways he forced you to act like a slut. You’re lucky I haven’t involved the police. Get home - before I do.”

The line went dead and I fought every urge to scream when I gripped my phone so hard I was willing it to crack.

I knew we were doomed. At least until eighteen.

“I’m gonna go… he’s not going to stop until he gets his way. I’m gonna go pack.” I brushed by him, letting the reality of us set in when I closed the door behind me.

A few moments later the door sprang open and Cody was making demands while I sat on the floor with my open suitcase. “Delete your socials. All of them. Anything with your birthday that the public can access. Unfollow everyone. No one can prove shit if they can’t find you. Two can play that game.”

I looked at him confused not sure how deleting my online presence was going to satisfy my dad.

Or his job.

“That doesn’t change anything, Cody. I’m still not eighteen and too many people know now.”

I kept packing, avoidant but still filling my suitcase when Cody sat on the end of the bed. “Too many people know? Who else knows?”

I could see his eyes slant and the wonderment scatter across his features. “Some guy backstage… I didn’t say anything. He just knew. He thought I was your little sister.”

Scrubbing his face he paused before speaking again, “Who? Who was it?”

Continuing to pack I stopped, kneeling between his legs, I looked up at him. “Tattoos, slicked back hair, said he doesn’t like you…”

“Phil fucking Brooks? Are you kidding me?”

Looking at his in confusion I rested my hands on his knees waiting for him to elaborate.

“He hates me. Not for the sake our keeping storylines authentic but deep fucking hate. How did he find out? What were you doing around him? He never leaves his dressing room.”

Letting my head drop and my arms press even more against his legs I explained. “I overheard your boss and I accidentally ended up in his dressing room. He was pleasent enoug.”

Not that it helped Cody feel better but I tried to smooth it over, playing it down and leaving out the blackmail part.

Standing up eruptly I stumbled backwards, catching myself on my hands, and looking up at the god like tower of his body. "I'll figure it out. I gotta get warm. I booked us a hotel already, no shows tomorrow and we could use a bigger shower. Take a rental and I'll meet you there after the show."

He wasn't so much asking but making demands. It wasn't going over my head that I was being banished to the hotel to hide out, where no one could question my age or mistake me for his little sister.

I nodded my head, agreeing, and watched him walk back off the bus from the back suite.

Continuing to pack, I filled up a suitcase with everything I needed before escaping off the bus and heading inside to snag some keys for a rental. Security looked more intimidating than most of the roster for WWE, big, burly men with stern features that begged you not to speak to them.

"Just snagging keys for a rental?" I spoke softly, hoping he didn't ask too many questions because I didn't have answers.

“Badge.”

Pushing up my phone to his face I showed his the plastic stuck inside the clear plastic case. Looking down he nodded and slide to the side grabbing a pair of keys before handing them to me.

Beeping the alarm I found the car pretty quickly, shoving my bag into the passenger seat, and climbing behind the wheel. Realizing I had no idea what hotel where or where I was going I sat there full of frustration until all of my cracked.

Startled by the knuckles tapping against the tinted window I jumped back against the soft leather. Trying to control my breath I pressed the button to roll the window down when the stranger in a cap looked up.

Revealing him and his familiar voice I let myself shift right into annoyance. “Can I help you? Phil, right?”

“You’re going to the hotel?” His eyes were bright, piercing the over cast day and I felt hypnotized.

Nodding I bite my tongue.

“I’ll bum a ride.” He rounded the car and yanked the car door open, sliding right in to the passenger seat. “It’s a mile away.”

I scolded him, “is this the favor I owe you?”

His grimace smile took up room on his face when his hand pushed his hat off. “Oh, no, sweetheart. You’ll know when I cash in that favor." Pausing only long enough to iritate me he continued, "I'm not into jailbait. Stop worrying."

"I'm with Cody."

Backing up and flooring it around the building I merged onto the street. Forcing him to cough up the directions I had no problem aimlessly driving around a strange city when he finally pointed out each turn.

Pulling into the hotel I slipped out before he could and slammed my door. I could hear his footsteps against the pavement trying to keep up with me. "Let me guess, he wants you at the hotel since Hunter found out you're under age? Out of sight, out of mind?"

I ignored him even though I already had the same thought. Standing at the desk, smiling politely, I gave Cody’a real name when the woman smiled back and came up empty.

Stepping to the side I had to call Cody, first I didn’t even know the hotel and now I couldn’t check in without whatever name he uses to check under.

It rang a few times before he answered, “What’s wrong?”

“Apparently you don’t book under your name…” I let my annoyance disappear as I spoke.

I could hear Phil checking in next to me, pouring through my ears as much as the phone.

"Is that Phil?" His voice was cut, sharp but less damaging. "Stardust, don't ask. It was a bad time in my life."

The way he trailed off made me thing there was so much more to the story. "If it was a bad time why do you use that name?"

"Don't change the subject. I thought we talked about staying away from him."

"I can't help he is at the same hotel, Cody. Don't worry, I am staying out of sight." I meant it as a dig when I rolled my eyes aggressively before dropping my phone down to the counter and hitting end call. Phil's intrusive thoughts had crept in and made a home right in my insecurity.

Not so gracefully, I gave them Stardust and she handed me two key cards. I felt exhausted when I dragged myself to the elevator, standing there I hit the button for my floor when Phil narrowly escaped being asked for photos. As the doors closed I watched their disappointment grow against their features.

“So you’re a dick to everyone. Cool.”

“Self preservation, sweetheart. If you take one photo you have to for everyone so I don’t take any. This is actually your first rodeo so I would really keep your opinions to yourself.” Crossing his arms he leaned against the rail lining the elevator.

“He’s not keeping me a secret.” I tried to sound cruel but it came out sad instead.

He silently chuckled, the way your mouth opens but you stay silent, “How long until you turn eighteen?”

“17 days…”

He laughed out loud, knowing he was right. Part of me knew too but I wanted him to be wrong. “His image is everything to him. The second you don’t comply with that good boy act, he’ll kick you to the curb, sweetheart.”

"I'm just suppose to believe you? Aren't you his enemy or whatever?" The elevator dings, the doors opening and a large family continued to pile in even though we were going up. Still waiting for my answer, Phil, better known as CM Punk, swiftly moved closer, invading every inch of my personal space.

I could smell his cologne mixing with burnt black coffee he was so close. Swallowing hard against my dry throat I tried to keep my eyes focused ahead instead of analyzing every tattoo cover his exposed arms.

"That's exactly why you know I'm not lying. He's kicked every woman to the curb for not being the perfect trophy wife... or getting knocked up... You don't strike me as the kind who sits in a hotel room waiting on some guy."

The suitecase bubbed into my leg and I felt my knees buckle as I fell right into Phil. Catching me, his arm wrapped around my waist while his hand braced against the elevator railing. "Good thing you don't know me," I quipped back.

The large family got off, we had missed our floor or maybe the elevator never got there, who knows. I was distracted by the way Phil smelled and was reading me like a book. I was drunk off it even though my heart belonged to Cody.

Pushing past him I faced the doors, leaning against the cold surface of the wall and trying to ignore him.

Phil kept his distance, taking the hint, when the doors pried open on our floor. "Alright trophy wife, see you at hell in a cell, if he lets you watch, of course."

I watched him walk down the hall, waiting for it to be a safe enough distance before I stepped out. Going the same direction I scanned the numbers on the door until I found mine. Of course his was next door.

Behind the closed door I finally exhaled in relief.

Phil had delivered the ultimate insult and I wasn’t about to let him be right.

I didn’t see Cody at all that night and when I stirred awake I felt my ass hit every hard inch of his body tucked against mine. His arm was lazily draped over my waist and our legs were one movement away from tangled when I rubbed my eyes awake.

Without a word I heard Cody’s sleepy voice, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re tense and planing an escape. I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?” His voice was soft and his eyes were still closed as I looked over my shoulder.

Twisting towards him, “I’m not a trophy wife… I don’t wanna be banished to a hotel and hidden.”

His hand hadn’t stopped roaming my body as he crept closer to me. “I’m not hiding you, I’m keeping the peace until you turn eighteen. As for trophy wife, sounds like Phil got under your skin.”

“Under my skin? How about grating every insecurity and nerve?”

Cody’s lips caught mine in a simple peck as his hand cupped my face. Pulling away only enough he whispered, “Everyone had opinions. Everyone is going to hate us, you have to ignore it.”

“Why does everyone have to hate us?” I barely managed to ask when his mouth found my neck, covering my sensitive skin in kisses.

His hand fell down my body, cupping my breasts and feeling my hard nipples scrape his palm. “Because I unapologetically want you. I’m not hiding it. People love misery, not happy endings baby.”

Cody’s hand drifted further down me until I felt his fingertips smoothing against my panty covered slit. I gasped right into his chest as my hands clutched onto him.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

My legs fell open and I was biting my lip as his fingers pushed my panties to the side. “More, please, more.”

“More what, baby?” He teased me and my hips pressed into the firm mattress.

His warm breath cascaded down my bare pussy and all of me shook. With an exhale I said, “Fuck me.”

Cody didn’t need to be told twice when he pulled down my panties, flinging them at the floor and taking up the space between my legs. The backs of my thighs rubbed against his while his hands worked over himself like a pep talk he didn’t need.

“Why do you do that? Like you aren’t hard already…”

I was hypnotized by his lazy hand jerking himself off between my legs.

“Because your little, tight, pussy gets so much wetter when you watch me baby. I need you as wet as I can get you if I want to fit…” he trailed off while lining himself up. With one hard thrust I felt Cody take up every inch of vacancy my pussy had and gasped at the thickness.

“Oh my God,” I clamped my eyes closed and moaned through the way he felt inside me.

“That’s it, baby. I love the way your pussy chokes my cock. Fuck.”

His dirty mouth only made me wetter when he held himself above me, our mouths full of friction without kissing.

Cody fucked me until I was screaming his name and begging him to not let me come again. My legs were still shaking and I could still feel the orgasm lingering by the third time he made me come all over him.

Kissing my temple he sat back on his heels. “Fuck, I’m gonna end up getting you pregnant, I like making you come too much. Look at this mess you made all my cock, baby.”

He was looking down at himself, still hard, covered in my orgasm still and I felt the iron butterflies in my stomach flutter again.

My cheeks burned and nothing could have felt further from the truth. Cody wasn’t hiding me, he was enjoying me and the two couldn’t both be true.

After Cody showered off he headed to the gym when I got dressed to explore what shopping was near by. As I opened my hotel room door I didn’t see anyone in the hallway as I got on the elevator.

Charging towards me Phil stopped with millimeters between us, barely making it before the doors closed. “Do you think you’re funny? Fucking him so loudly I can hear you coming in my room?”

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

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xoxorealitygalore · 3 months ago

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I Love Loving You

Cody Rhodes x Black OC

Previous One-Shots: When a Man Loves a Woman and When a Woman Loves a Man

Summary: Cody and Charm Rhodes have built a life together that most people envy—a successful marriage, thriving careers, and a growing family.

Cody, Charm and their two children, Cherish, 4, and Carter, 3, were a picture of family warmth as they arrived at the State Farm Arena in Atlanta for the WWE Raw event. The camera crew had captured their arrival in a montage of talent making their way through the bustling arena, and the moment was a heartwarming addition to the show’s opening.

Charm, on the other hand, carried Carter with the same tenderness, his little legs draped around her waist while his curious eyes bounced between the surroundings, taking in the sight of all the people and excitement around him.

Once inside the arena and through the maze of backstage corridors, the family entered the talent area. The camera crew, having captured enough footage for the moment, walked away, leaving them to themselves. Charm gently lowered Carter to the ground, letting him stumble on his own two feet as he wobbled toward his sister. Cherish, already full of energy, giggled and ran toward him, her small hand reaching for his, and together they skipped off to explore the wonders of the backstage world.

Cody and Charm had long been familiar with the backstages of these shows, but it was a different experience today, as they juggled their roles as parents with Cody’s professional obligations tonight. They made their way over to a nearby area where WWE’s photographer had set up for a quick family photo session. The click of the camera was like a familiar sound, one that punctuated the life they had built together, memories in the making. As the kids posed in front of the camera, they both held a mixture of curiosity and excitement, the weight of the moment lost on them as they smiled for the lens.

After the photoshoot, Cody made his way to a separate area to sign some posters. Charm stood nearby, her eyes scanning the room, her fingers absently smoothing over the small baby bump that she had been gently protecting for the last few months. At fourteen weeks, she wasn’t yet showing much, but the pregnancy was already becoming real in every moment that passed.

While Cody signed his merchandise, Charm took a moment to catch her breath. With the kids kept busy by the excitement of the moment, she glanced around the backstage area, her gaze landing on someone familiar. The sight made her smile widely, her face lighting up with joy. It was Trinity, her best friend of over fifteen years. The two women had been through everything together—the highs, the lows, the challenges, and the celebrations—and in an instant, they were back in each other's arms, laughing and talking like they had not just seen each other a week ago.

Trinity squealed, her voice full of excitement as she rushed to embrace Charm. The moment felt both nostalgic and effortless, a testament to the strength of their bond. As they hugged, Trinity’s eyes fell to the small bump that Charm was already trying to hide.

“You’re glowing,” Trinity said, rubbing her hand over the curve of Charm’s belly. “How’s everything going?”

“Everything’s going great,” Charm replied, her voice light. “Just dealing with the chaos of life and making sure the kids don’t destroy everything in their path.”

Trinity chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m sure. These two are a handful, huh?” She knelt down to hug Cherish and Carter, both of whom practically tackled her in excitement.

“Are you wrestling tonight?” Cherish asked, her innocent voice laced with curiosity as she looked up at Trinity.

“Yes, I am,” Trinity responded, her smile broadening. “I’ll be out there, kicking butt just like always.”

“Are you gonna win?” Carter piped up.

Trinity laughed, her voice warm and confident. “Of course, I’m gonna win. I’m gonna make it look easy too.”

Meanwhile, Cody had finished with his signing session and came over to greet Trinity, his attention momentarily pulled away by the need to tend to his professional duties. “Hey, I gotta go film a segment,” he told Charm, kissing her lightly on the cheek before disappearing down the corridor.

With Cody off to work, the conversation between Charm and Trinity turned to something far more personal—baby showers. Trinity was always the one to take charge of these kinds of things, and she wasted no time in telling her best friend about her plans for this one.

“So, I’ve started planning your baby shower,” Trinity said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And the theme... ‘Third Time’s a Charm.’”

Charm raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re already planning it, and I don’t even know the gender yet?”

“Oh, it’s a girl,” Trinity declared confidently, her eyes sparkling with certainty. “You just don’t know it yet, but I do. And trust me, I already know your fourth will be a boy.”

“Wait, fourth? Are you already planning for a fourth child?” Charm asked in disbelief, her laughter filling the space between them.

Trinity’s grin widened. “Cody can’t stay off of you. I know by 2027, number four will be on the way.”

Charm giggled in agreement. “Yeah, that man loves him some me,” she said, her voice filled with affection as she shook her head.

“You two are hopeless,” Trinity said, laughing as she threw an arm around Charm. “But your baby shower will be lit as always.”

As they laughed and continued their conversation, Joshua, Trinity’s brother-in-law and another close friend of the family came into view, and the kids erupted in joy at the sight of him. Carter ran straight to him, his little arms wrapping around Joshua’s neck in a tight hug.

“Hi, Uncle!” Cherish called out as she waved from a distance, her eyes bright with excitement.

Joshua grinned and walked over to Cherish. “Where’s my hug, Cherry Bear?” he teased, bending down to scoop her into his arms.

Cherish giggled, snuggling into his chest. “Uncle Josh, you’re silly!”

“I still don’t get why he’s the only one who gets to call her ‘Cherry Bear,’” Trinity said, a playful pout crossing her face.

Charm shrugged, her own grin wide. “That’s his nickname for her. She doesn’t play about her Uncle Josh. He’s got special privileges.”

“But I was in the hospital when she was born,” Trinity pointed out. “Where’s my special privileges?”

Joshua laughed, ruffling Cherish’s hair. “Looks like Auntie Trin’s jealous of me, Cherry Bear.”

Cherish, looking concerned, quickly turned to Trinity and gave her a big hug. “Don’t be sad, Auntie Trin.”

Trinity laughed, wrapping her arms around the little girl. “I’m not sad, baby. I’m just messing with your Uncle Josh.”

As the playful banter continued, Joshua’s attention shifted back to Charm. “So, Charm, what are you naming this one?”

“Crack,” Charm replied, her voice full of playful sarcasm.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “You’re not naming my niece after crack.”

“Oh, so you think it’s a girl too?” Charm asked, smirking.

“Well, yeah,” Joshua said, nodding confidently. “It’s a pattern: girl, boy, girl, boy. So obviously, this one’s a girl.”

Trinity chimed in with a knowing smile. “See? Everyone knows you two have a pattern.”

“Are we that predictable?” Charm asked.

“Yes,” Joshua and Trinity answered.

Charm playfully pouted. “Whatever. So, what’s the plan for Saturday?” Charm asked the two.

With the Royal Rumble just around the corner, conversation shifted to the big event. Trinity and Joshua talked excitedly about their gear for the Rumble, their anticipation building as the week drew closer. Afterwards, Joshua and Trinity left to get ready for their own programs tonight.

Meanwhile, Charm took the kids around the backstage area, snapping pictures of them meeting celebrities like Kai Cenat and chatting with staff members.

Eventually, they made their way to the seating area backstage to watch the show unfold. Charm couldn’t help but be captivated as she watched Cody in the ring, his promo commanding the attention of everyone in the arena. She admired him as he worked his magic, her heart swelling with pride. As Cody finished his segment and made his way back to the gorilla position, she stood up, her eyes searching for him.

When their eyes met, she smiled, and he began walking toward her. Meeting him halfway, they shared a brief but loving embrace.

“You were great out there,” Charm said, her voice soft and filled with affection.

“Thank you,” Cody said, a grin forming on his face as he pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead, holding her for a moment longer.

“Come on, let’s get the kids and head home,” he said, offering her his hand.

The drive home was quiet, peaceful, as they settled into their routine. It didn’t take long for them to arrive at their house, and as they entered, Cody scooped Charm up in his arms and carried her upstairs toward their bedroom.

With a smile on her face, Charm wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close as they ascended the stairs. When they reached their bedroom, Cody carefully laid her down on their king-sized bed. He promised to get the kids ready for bed, and she smiled up at him, pulling him down for a quick kiss.

After he left to tend to the kids, Charm made her way to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she returned, she found Cody starting to take off his suit. She smiled and called out to him.

“Go take a shower, and when you’re done, I’ll give you a massage,” she said, her voice warm with love.

“Sounds perfect,” Cody replied, his eyes soft with affection as he gave her a quick nod before heading toward the bathroom.

And just like that, the day came to a close. Another chapter in the journey of their busy, yet beautiful life.

Next: I Love Loving You (Two)

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misstallulah · 1 month ago

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"𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙’𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑝𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑛𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛."

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

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y4-mama · 17 hours ago

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REQUESTS ARE OPEN:

Please specify anything important you want added as well as a main idea/plot, i’m not that creative😭 (height, size, race, etc)

I am a black plus sized woman so lots of my works will cater to that

Fluff is my specialty, that does not mean i won’t do angst it just won’t be good

OTHER INFO:

Requesting other marvel characters or wrestlers is ok, it just might not be as good characterization wise

i will NOT do any smut or anything of the sort seeing as i am a minor and i just don’t like smut

WHO ILL WRITE FOR

WWE:

Jey uso

Jimmy Uso

Roman Reigns

Cody Rhodes (occasionally)

Randy Orton (occasionally)

MARVEL:

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Joaquin Torres

Miles Morales (both 1610 and 42)

Thor (requests only)

OTHER:

Clark Kent (Henry Cavills)

Barry Allen (Grant Gustin)

Stiles Stilinski

#jey uso fluff #jey uso fanfic #bucky barnes headcannon #joaquin torres x reader #bucky barnes x reader #clark kent x reader #jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso imagine #roman reigns fluff #roman reigns x black reader #barry allen imagine #stiles stilinski #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #thor odinson x reader #steve rogers fluff #cody rhodes fanfic #randy orton x reader

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joannasteez · 9 months ago

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starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity

size

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?...

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'.

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree.

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'".

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice.

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction.

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me".

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would".

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you".

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go".

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm.

"did i wake you?", you ask.

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning".

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention".

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips.

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion.

"how does it feel?"

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine.

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it".

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare.

"thank you for being here".

"of course".

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other".

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it.

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore.

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin.

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin.

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth.

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires.

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still.

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early".

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business".

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then".

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later".

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order.

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe".

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear.

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could".

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well".

"you really did".

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks.

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm.

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless.

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious".

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever".

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way".

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time.

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird.

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden".

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe.

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am".

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug.

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact.

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand.

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same.

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay.

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze.

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again".

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them".

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious".

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me".

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you".

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits".

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs.

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two".

"oh fuck you punk".

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all".

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think".

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment.

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him.

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision".

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body.

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day".

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea.

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy.

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination.

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire.

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you.

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him.

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory. his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily.

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words.

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star.

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from.

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call.

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare.

"have breakfast with me", he starts.

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body.

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate".

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?"

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine".

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do.

"can you not?"

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space.

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop".

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right".

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat".

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it".

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about".

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him.

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart".

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment".

"then give me a time and place".

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings".

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin.

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things.

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still.

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd.

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek.

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves".

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back.

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens.

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd.

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze.

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe.

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking.

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone?

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me.

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television.

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you?

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here.

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling.

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection.

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news.

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually".

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough.

"what'd he say to you?"

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv".

"well it feels pretty damn personal".

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?"

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so.

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks.

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win".

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own.

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match.

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match.

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too.

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival.

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy.

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego.

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason.

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition.

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel.

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?"

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody".

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning.

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body.

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him.

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me.

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment.

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars.

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory.

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach.

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be".

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land.

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all.

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection.

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear.

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get.

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world.

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe.

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself.

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment.

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while".

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it.

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them.

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable.

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes.

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought.

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls.

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance.

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine.

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth.

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half.

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit".

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife.

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days".

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself.

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips.

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it.

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same.

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'.

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth.

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest.

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again.

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over.

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ".

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs.

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again".

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over.

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too".

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you.

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly.

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit.

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering.

"how do you want me?"

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress.

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful.

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead.

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips.

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion.

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole.

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly.

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums.

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal.

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy.

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume.

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones.

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process.

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart.

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk?

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy.

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed".

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable.

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing".

"unfortunately?"

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence.

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?"

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure".

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it".

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?"

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over".

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways".

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are".

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table.

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves.

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere.

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same.

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help.

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in".

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good".

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus".

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing.

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true.

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that".

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it".

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace.

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly.

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..."

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear.

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up".

"will do".

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time.

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area.

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?"

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling.

"time and place sweetheart".

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mamirhodessxox · 1 year ago

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😭😭 need a fic of him just in interrupting reader while baking ( reader could be a baker and trying new recipes to add to their menu )

Cherries On Top

Cody Rhodes x Baker Fem!Reader

Desc: Y/N is trying to focus on adding new sweet treats to her bakery’s menu but her husband tends to be a distraction.

Contents: Fluff, Cody being a little annoying but in a tolerable way, SMALL indications of smut, Y/N being a lil cutie Patootie!

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa @kabloswrld @claymoresofinfamy23 @jeysbvck

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Before Y/N & Cody established a relationship between them Y/N had a small little bakery filled with alll sorts of sweets & treats! Once a month she would spend an entire day whipping up pies & cakes and many other scones & sweets to add on the menu at her little bakery & do cooking youtube videos & Today was that day.

Y/N was in the middle of recording in the kitchen, Cody would walk by every now and then or stand behind her and watch over her shoulder to see what she was doing. But then he became more vocal.

She was currently working on a bourbon pound cake. “Don’t you need measuring cups for this part?” He questioned while his hand ran up and down her back while his wife shrugged “I’m just gonna add like a few shot glasses worth of bourbon.” He shot open his eyes and looked over at her camera set up and shook his head dramatically “She’s gonna get me drunk with a cake.” Since he was video bombing Y/N she decided that she would put him to a little work and start stirring the cake mix while she poured bourbon into the mix very carefully & poured him a small shot as a reward which he pridefully took

Y/N was instructing her future viewers how to carefully put the mixture into the pan & how long to leave it in the oven but Cody randomly popped back into the kitchen “Check out my gun.” She looked up as he interrupted her speech & smiled “It’s a salt shooter my dad got it for him.” “Maybe next time I make steak I can season salt onto it with my cool gun yeah?” She shook her head “No because you’re gonna break something. Just use your hands.” He glared for a second and sassily shook his head “I won’t break anything.”

6 minutes later Y/N worked on another small pastry while the cake was in the oven & suddenly the lights started flickering & she laughed a little before he walked back into camera frame “What are you whipping up now?” “Blueberry crois-“ “Hold on wait I have a quick question what did 50 cent do when he was hungry? 58.” “Your not funny.” He shrugged with a smug smile “I’m actually very funny.” She hummed nodding slowly “whatever helps you sleep at night my love.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at a bowl full of flour.

Hmmmm…….

Interesting…..

What if he just….

“CODY GARRET RUNNELS GODDAMNIT I’M GOING TO KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!” Y/N stood there frozen as he actively poured flour over her head while letting out a mischievous laugh “uh ohh she said the full na-“ she splashed him in the face with water “well deserved.” She glared up at him & picked up her bowl filled with yet to be stirred eggs while grinning to herself as her husband backed up and raised his hands in defense “No…Y/N….” She squinted and nodded “your right that would be to messy.” She sighed while he let out a chuckle of relief but she caved & poured the eggs all over him making him gasp and look at her while she giggled & grabbed the flour bag before shaking what remained inside all over him before he turned starring at a glass of milk that sat on the counter next to one of the bowls it was supposed to be inside of.

Eventually she gave up on the video she tried making & giggled while playfully kissing her lover while he grinned biting her lip a little & grip at her waist “You sure you don’t wanna take it any furth-“ she nodded immediately and pulled away before prancing up the stairs to get clean “C’mon Codes your filthy.”

This was just the Cherry On Top for Cody, he immediately tossed away the kitchen towel & followed behind her before giving Y/N a light smack on the butt chuckling

“The shower is your best idea yet sweetheart.”

“Pervert.”

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givethemsmut · 6 months ago

Text

Cody Rhodes x Reader

Made of Gold | Chapter One

Summary

I was hellbent on finding love in all the wrong places when I tripped over the one person who wasn't buying the rebellion act.

He saw right through me...

Details

Cody Rhodes X Reader

Enemies-to-Lovers

Age Gap (taboo)

18+ (Trigger Warner applies)

WWE mixed with real life

I don’t own WWE characters, IFKYK, etc.

Tons of Smut

Waiting on the side of the road for my bestfriend I knew tonight wouldn't be any different than any other night. We were walking, talking, trouble.

We both would escape our ivory towers where we were forced to wear uniforms to school and behave like the young ladies our parents believed us to be. Together we would sneak into bars and clubs just to get a taste of freedom. Something we weren't going to have until we turned eighteen and left our toxic mansions behind.

Yardbird was a popular bar in Georgia, full of cigar smoke and people trying to feel more important than we actually were. Everything was leather, broken in and full of sin. There were privacy greens and a giant bar. Getting in was easy but not getting thrown out was our problem.

Slipping inside past the security guard that my fellow wild child had fucked made it easy. Our pinkies lacked around each other’s before we grin in each other’s direction. This was where we parted way, making our own trouble, finding someone to love us the way privilege didn’t.

The only difference between us was I was a virgin who liked the chase more than the end game.

Standing at the bar, I ordered myself a vodka soda with cranberry and watched the bartender’s eyes shift down my body strategically.

My cleavage was on display in a low cut bodysuit and my tight black jeans showing off the curves I had. It wasn’t much but I had a butt that sat high and taunt.

“Drink is on me, beautiful.” Laying it on thick, I smiled back but I wasn’t willing to settle.

I had a little game with myself, I would scan the bar and look for the one person I knew would be hard to get and that was my target.

He was blonde, not naturally but bleached, toned muscles that resembled a Greek God instead of a muscle head, surrounded by friends, and I knew I had to have him. He wasn’t flirting with girls or even looking. I wanted the one person who didn’t want to be wanted.

Twisting towards the second bartender I whispered loud enough to hear over the music. “Who is that? People are starring.”

“Cody Rhodes, signed to WWE. They’re celebrating. Wanna send over a drink?”

Bless bartenders for their bad ideas that sound so good when you’re desperate for it to go your way. “Bottle of your best tequila.”

His eyes widened, “That’s $300, easy.”

Slapping my black card on the bar top he suddenly had no more questions. My privlage came with funds, it was the least they could have done.

I sat at the end of the bar, watching him deliver the expensive bottle and point to me at the bar specifically. Ignoring the credit I waited for Cody to swoop over when I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

Setting the heavy bottle down his voice felt like an old song you vaguely remember. “I can’t accept this. It’s an expensive bottle but thank you.”

“I heard you were celebrating. It’s not a big deal, keep it. You deserve it.” I smiled sweetly, pushing the bottle closer to him.

His blue eyes sparkled in the dim light and I felt myself swoon when he leaned into me, “You look a little young to be here. Stay out of trouble.”

He completely chalked me up to a child when he took the bottle back to his table, dismissing any flirting and nothing pissed me off more. No one ever asked me my age before, let alone cared. The fact that he cared about me being too young to be chewed up by the men here only made me want him more.

That’s when I knew if I wanted him I had to get his friend’s attention. It wasn’t hard when Layla and I started dancing together, holding our second drinks, and swaying our hips against each other. There wasn’t really a dance floor at this kind of bar but we made one anyways.

After the song ended, we took a seat at the bar, just waiting for them to bit the way they always did.

My second drink in I could feel the buzz working its way up my body, starting a small fire inside my stomach when one of his buff friends stood next to me. “Another drink of whatever she is having.” Pausing, he looked down at me from his tall height, “Absolutely beautiful”

Offering a smile you couldn’t resist I twisted in my seat, my legs colliding with his and his hand slipping up the outside of my thigh.

I let my eyes look around him, trying to find Cody, and see if he was watching. Coming up empty I slipped off the barstool, my ass pressed against his crotch and grabbing my leather jacket on the back of the stool.

Cody was sitting a few seats down, surrounded by friends, when I noticed his eyes glued to me. Giving him a mischievous smile, I spoke to his friends even tho my eyes were locked with Cody’s. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Standing up when he heard my words, I tried not to look accomplished when he stomped over to me. “Austin, a word.”

“Seriously, dude? I’m a little busy right now.”

He looked right at me, “She’s under age. You’re stupid but not that stupid.”

His friend was too drunk to even care. “It’s one night, bro. Don’t worry so much.”

The weight of his arm slung around my neck felt like a work out when he started to lead us to the door. Cody’s hand on his shoulder stopped us again, “See the blonde at the end of the bar? All yours. She’s already primed. This one is mine. Throwing his hands up like Cody’s word was law he moved on without so much as an apology. “Where do you live? I’m getting you an Uber.”

“No, thanks. I’m having too much fun ruffling your feathers,” I said before shooting back another shot. I was way more tipsy than I had ever been before and trouble felt a lot more dangerous with Cody’s hand around my arm. “I saw you watching me.”

“More like protecting you. These guys aren’t boyfriend material. How old are you anyways?”

“Keep it down, buzzkill.” He dragged me to the side of the bar where the entrance to the bathroom was hidden. It was perfect place to not be seen. Pushing me against the wall, he crowded me, our bodies almost touching. “No one is looking for a boyfriend,” I snapped back.

“How old are you?” He asked again.

“Almost legal. A few months away doesn’t change how tight my pussy is.”

I watched his throat bob with a hard swallow. “Not my type, I prefer legal.”

“Then why were you watching me all night?” The shots were half the reason for my sharp tongue when I kept poking the bear.

“Because I feel bad for you. I used to be you. Fighting against all the privilege just to make them pay attention more. Hoping a string of wrong guys pisses them off so you choose to be a slut. Am I close?”

Chewed up and spit out the same way he claimed to be protecting me from.

“You’re an asshole,” I wanted it to hurt but I knew it didn’t hurt as much as his words. Pushing past him, I didn’t even look back as the sting of failure settled in.

The cold air of evening hit my face but it wasn’t enough to sober me up. The bell above the door chimed when I looked over my shoulder to see Cody bringing me my leather jacket. “Let me take you home at least.”

I knew there was a sliver of hope and the liquid courage was only cheering me on to make bad decisions. “I’m the F150 across the street.”

Cody’s big ass truck sat along the curb all murdered out, completely black on black. Opening the door for me I climbed in thankful I was wearing pants tonight otherwise everyone would have gotten a show.

My hand found its way to his thigh and I watched his head drop forward in frustration. “I’m just driving you home. That’s all.”

“What if I’m already a slut? What if you aren’t the only older guy I’ve been with?” My hand didn’t leave his thigh, sneaking high and high while he drove.

“Doubtful. What are you, in high school? Why don’t you find yourself a jock boyfriend?”

I sighed loudly, taking my hand back, “Not my type. The next hotel is fine.”

I knew I couldn’t go home like this and I was used to crashing at hotels instead of going home. Every weekend was a blur of mistakes and men that I would never follow through with. I would get right up to the line only to call it a night.

“Hotel? I’m not leaving you in a hotel. I might as well let Austin take you back to his place then.”

“Maybe you should have. I’m not going home wasted, hard pass. It’s either your place or hotel.” I said sternly while gazing out the window.

Making a hard U-turn against the gravel he headed the opposite direction. “I’m not fucking you. Let’s make that clear right now. I’m not leaving you at a hotel to get date raped by some perv.”

“You sound like a lot of fun…” Sarcasm dripped from my mouth as he kept driving towards his home. Once we finally got there he parked in the driveway of a cute house with brick accents and a big yard. Rounding the car he opened the door for me and helped me down like a gentleman. Something about him didn’t just make my panties wet but my heart speed up.

“Welcome to my house. There’s some guest rooms you can use for the night or the couch if you prefer.” Unlocking the door I walked into a complete bachelor pad full of wrestling memorabilia, family photos framed on the walls, and minimal decor the way a woman’s touch provides.

Dropping my bag on the kitchen island I slipped my jacket off. “Can I barrow a shirt?” I bridged the gap between us and my hand pulled his shirt like I wanted his.

Leaning into me, his mouth found my ear and he whispered, “Nice try but you’re not going to break me. I can control myself.”

Rolling my eyes I sighed internally, annoyed more than ever. He left me there to go grab a shirt when I twirled around aimlessly, snooping, taking in his home until I ventured up the stairs.

Catching a glimpse of Cody, adjusting his fresh sweatpants and still shirtless. I wanted to watch but the other part of me wanted to crawl into his bed. Leaning against the door frame I scared him, making him jump, “Jesus, you’re practically perfect. You said I reminded you of yourself. What does that mean?”

His square jaw tensed and his baby blues seemed cloudy, “Yeah, the pressure of a successful family. To be like them, to bee perfect, to make a name for yourself but don’t forget you’re a legacy. The way they want to take credit for who you are but not actually raise you. My father is a legend in WWE and so is my brother… believe it or not, I know exactly why you’re acting out.”

Tossing me a fresh shirt I caught it, walking over to the bed I pulled my phone from my back pocket and pushed my jeans down my legs. My thong only flattered my curves more when he turned around quickly. Not wearing a bra, I unclasped the bodysuit and pulled it off down my legs exposing my c-cup breasts. “I just want to forget, pretend a hotel is my home, be free.”

“Few months, right? You will be.” He peeked, peeling his eyes open to check I was wearing his shirt.

I sat on the end of his bed, opening my legs and hoping it was enough to finally break him when he sauntered over to me. “Even if you were twenty three like me, I still wouldn’t fuck you the way you want. I only fuck girls who leave in the morning and your father would probably love me. I’m bad for your plan to piss them off.”

“Suit yourself, Cody.” My hands pressed against his chest, “It’s not everyday you get to deflower a virgin.”

Leaving his room I stopped on the stairs when I heard him muffle a groan. Smiling to myself I skipped down the stairs and crashed on his couch. I expected him to be up before me but maybe he was simply sleeping in when I decided to let my hand trail down my stomach to the front of my panties.

I had the wildest dream last night, soaking my panties and I couldn’t help but touch myself. I was beyond ready to ditch the virginity but not for anyone, I was Hellbent on Cody now.

His brown leather couch engulfed me, sitting in with my fingers teasing my clit through my panties. A soft moan escaped my lips and my hips chased my fingers even more. I didn’t even hear the door close when Cody walked into the open concept space.

“Whoa. Fuck.” He stopped with a scuff of his sneakers and I had to get my breathing under control. “Are you trying to kill me? Do you know how fucking hard it is to sleep upstairs knowing you’re down here in a fucking thong and my shirt and not fuck you? I have a contract to think about, not going to jail for fucking someone in high school.”

Peering above the back of the couch, I watched Cody brace the kitchen island and let his head hang. “Six months until I’m eighteen doesn’t change anything. I’m not miraculously a different person. All it means is I’m horny as fuck.”

Just starring at me he cleared his throat. “Please put your panties back on so I can take you home.”

Slipping my panties off I fingered the string, draping it over his shoulder. “Protecting me from you isn’t going to protect me from fucking anyone else. Don’t worry, I called an Uber already.”

Pulling my jeans on without my panties, stepping into my heels, and grabbing my stuff I headed outside to flag an Uber down I hadn’t called yet.

I started walking while I waited, avoiding standing in his driveway, and all I could think about was Cody half naked. All I wanted to do was lick every muscle on his body. He could say no now but he wasn’t going to say no forever.

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

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mamirhodessxox · 1 year ago

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@alyyaanna

@mini-rhodes

@claymoresofinfamy23

@southerngirl41

@jeysbvck

@kabloswrld

@femdisa

Go wild

Reblog if I can go on your page and write stupid things in your ask box whenever I'd like to.

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misstallulah · 5 months ago

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"𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑅𝐾𝑂: 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑖𝑡, 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢."

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Check out the full image at the link below to see every detail:

🔞FULL IMAGE

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mamirhodessxox · 7 months ago

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LIKE C’MON Y’ALL PLEAASE

this is what it feels like to open your notifications after you posted what u thought would be a banger but youve only gotten 1 like

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joannasteez · 1 year ago

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almost blue (1)

pairing: cody rhodes x black reader warning: explicit descriptions of violence and sexual activity. minors please do not interact. readers eighteen and older interact only please. descriptions of alcohol consumption and the use of deadly weapons. authors note: JOHN WICK AU!!! so excited to share this! i had this sorta kinda in my back pocket for a while, while trying to build up tanks of blood, which you can find to read here. not everything in this is super true to the world of john wick but the most im using as inspo is the aesthetic anyways. also a one off mention of john wick lol. that and some of the names for certain things. italics in the beginning represent flashback perspective music inspo: almost blue by chet baker word count: 4800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae

new york. the continental hotel and it's flatiron shape. september 2019. the rain, this soft unsteady pitter patter. a gentle gray coloring the sky. the air cold and biting. the city filling its brim with a sleepless droning.

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—gold trim and blood red carpet floors—bath water disturbs till its sloshing to overtake the tub. a messy spill against the floor. his lips working over yours. fingers kneading deep enough into skin that it stains with the print of his touch. nails tender in his hair and your body melting in till the heat of him breaks over your skin. his everything settled into the wisp and charm of your voice as his pleasure becomes whole. too great.

—but his memory tires from old moments like these, a shell of itself as it attempts in vain to restore to it's former glory. has been in a perpetual state of exhaustion for sometime. but this straining is singular. a throbbing at the forefront of his skull. a tight pulling pain at the nape of his neck till it's creeping wild at the tip of his spine. forcing him to grow ill as he works to reminisce. body wistfully undone. and what words do the men of our time say about insanity? to be in a perpetual state of trying, doing, in hopes of something new. and so on he went, flirting with this disaster, this run of nostalgia, so much so that memory has forsaken him, taking these little complexities —the new york rain and the taste of your lips— along with it.

but cody can handle the load and reload of a glock 26 as fast as he does it well. a deft maneuvering before the barrel raises and he pulls the trigger, the recoil driving sharp. a bullet through the skull and the splattering of blood. whoever meant to kill him, now dead in his wake.

but what cruelty this is. a traitor to his own body. living with nothing but the means to kill and tattered memory. with him still, only, all of the things left unsaid—

you'd smelt of vanilla. the yearning about his tongue deep and yet to be settled. his lips a shadow as they feathered against yours. his questions overdone with a frightening passion. "where are you ten years from now?"

your fingers slipped over his skin, as easy as they would over porcelain. a delicate taking over wet soapy muscle till it clawed over his shoulders and against the heat of his cheeks. "somewhere warm and comfortable. retired".

where ever you were, is where he wanted to be. "am i with you?"

a reversion, just barely perceptible, but there all the same. something like fear, like hesitation, pushing against a situational sort of tenderness in your eyes. the warmth slowly but forcibly outdone by the cold. lukewarm. just like the fate of too old bath water. not enough of either extreme. lukewarm.

"seems more like a question for you to answer".

"answer it anyways".

and he couldn't feel your lips anymore. too much air, too much distance. caution thick. woven about your words. the tones. the inflections. "ten years from now, you'll be somewhere as warm, as comfortable and retired too".

"am i with you?"

to draw such a long length of need into the air. passions and hopes and dreams. cody knew. it would've been easier to take the sear of a bullet, the ripping tear in of a knife or the crack of something blunt and unforgiving to his skull. those things easier than the down trod of such a silence. your eyes having gained more and more distance. fear peaking soft and brown before the quick slip over of indifference. like you didn't care for his whispered words sounding too much like forever. and recovery from bullets and knives and blunt force was tedious. sewn up skin and the reformation of fine motor skill. but this. the way you suffered him to feel the drift away of your body and the simple, delicate, eager push in of your touch. something in his heart—amongst the lukewarm water—failed. this low dropping into a less lively place.

new york. the continental hotel and its flatiron shape. june 2024. a peak of the sun amidst more grayish than white clouds against an icy pale blue sky. the air breezy with a teasing smell of rain. like a stray tendril before some great unraveling. the city as sleepless as it's ever been.

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—scarlet sage in bloom and the ever present air of readymade violence—cody sips at a short glass of brandy. an edgy spike to his tongue as it settles. everything of the continental he possessed now lost to time and the overwork of his sore tired memory. lost to a bout of corrosion done by words left unsaid. because he did not remember your answer after the persistence of his "am i with you?” all thats left, this great blurring. of words and the finer littler complexities. your lips and your eyes and the soft ways of your touch. and maybe it came to be this way for good reason. using such a burn to his ego to fuel the fire of his rage. revenge for memories unforgettable. around the glass of brandy, his hands feel stronger. less careful in how they hold. caution be damned. he sips again to finish. his finger buttoning his suit jacket, making way from the bar and across the communal space of the hotel.

warmth at his ear and a twitch in his trigger finger. something like eyes resting over him. watching him.

he continues to a connecting hallway. elevators and mosaic floors. maybe the brandy wasn't the best idea, but neither was coming to such sacredly awful ground. lovers trauma and all that bullshit jazz.

the fourteenth floor is quiet. his steps carpeted by soft wool. a second twitch in his trigger finger that leads into the sharp driving heat reminiscent of staggering gun recoil. a sweet burning in his arm, the muscles knowing, remembering. but he has nothing of use on him. nothing to snuff out and quiet that vicious call of death. his hotel room styled with a modernistic flare to it's luxury. clean and unadorned. a simple reflection of his own style thankfully, but nothing extravagant to weaponize. he would have to, if needed, to make due. a slim ball point pen, sleek and multifunctional, rests next to a complimentary bottle of wine. "enjoy your stay", in cursive. cody feels the warmth at the tip of his ear again, something greater than a simple bout of paranoia. his fingers slip the pen into his pocket, a reversing in his steps to triple check the locking function of the room doors.

and he shouldn't be so wound up should he? conducting business was, is, has always been forbidden on hotel grounds.

his fight or flight saying otherwise. breathing over his skin overwhelmingly warm. lingering wearily. intuition always a nagging son of a bitch but never wrong. it's never failed him.

cody showers, stands amidst the icy rain of too cold water. cody showers, because warm baths terrify something in his body. the possibility of turning stale and lukewarm. too distant and uninviting to be either extreme. like eyes and soft lips he can barely form well enough to reimagine.

and the bed sheets are welcoming. slipping along his skin with a delicate relief. but still, something feels wrong. a heaviness to the air that precedes this faithful old tryst with life. with death. the ring of his phone working to unburden him suddenly, but for only some seconds. the number blocked. he answers, rushing to fish that ball point pen from his dress pants. sleek and multifunctional in his grip. but the urgency in his maneuvering cuts short with the slip in of something dangerously angelic. memory sore and exhausted no more, but now rushing back to him fervid and unrelenting. a tender charming tone in his ear that disrupts the stalwart build of his resolve. september 2019. june 2024. five years of an almost complete pain. icy feeling wind with the teasing of a torrential down pour. almost there but not quite. the anger and the pain never red enough. the sadness almost blue.

"the loft in tribeca" you start. cody commits it all to memory. the words, the tones, the inflections. shuffling to rough his pants on. pen in his pocket. phone wedged to his ear as his fingers rip off the casing of a pillow. body easy as it maneuvers to protect his six o'clock, leaning against the wall. his eyes scope along the room. an over examination. waiting. "if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there".

the call drops.

the slow unlocking click of his hotel room door. his muscles burn with remembrance. eyes sharp. his ears attune. the shells of them warm. cautioned steps approach the entry way of the bedroom but they fail to go unnoticed. thudding against the soft carpet. and if not for the possibility of his demise, cody would laugh. surely this was amateur hour. boots and inconspicuous were no more suited together than suede in the rain. and he'd made that rookie mistake before. back when he was a rookie. but the high table were no idiots, sending rookies to bring his head in, unless they hated him that much and felt he should feel the brunt of that hatred with some disrespect. and disrespect it was.

cody's breath holds. his head thumping against the wall before he makes a swift crouch to his knees. a gun rounding the corner, and a bullet flying aimed for where his head had knocked in. a simple quick diversion. nothing special or particularly extravagant, but enough to give him seconds to maneuver. and oh this is disrespect in deed. dominik mysterio the source of his current heavy breathed, adrenaline rushing circumstance. cody knuckling the hold of the still upward pointed gun with a punch before another sinks into domink's abdomen. a short grunt breaking from the scrappy, ill-sophisticated, mullet wearing piece of shit. and surely dominik is more of a piece of shit when his heavy boot toughs into cody's jaw. racing for the gun.

but cody is quick. has felt and faced harsher things. if anything, its more of an irritation he feels than a full measure of pain. it was hard maintaining good skin considering the life he led. he spits against the carpet. iron on his tongue. red staining the clean line designs. he reaches for dominik's leg just before he's in reach of the gun. pulling him near and flipping him over quickly. a rough hand in the silk of domink's mullet as he rains down punches with the other. cody ill satisfied as he hears the sloppy singing of grunts from the younger mysterio. and as his frustration mounts, swindled by the audacity of the high table, dominik gains an advantage. his hips shifting up to propel cody, his arms lean and tight and trapping over cody's and rolling.

"you three piece suit, hugo boss wannabe wearing motherfucker", dominik's face bloody and angry. his fists balled and quick as he comes down against cody's face.

the impression of the pen presses into cody's thigh. memory and dexterity working like a trained muscle. amidst the barrage of fists, cody reaches for the sleek ball point pen. clicking the tip and rushing it into dominik's side. harsh vicious stabs till the pain takes hold enough for him to hesitate. plunging the inky tip into his neck, where blood flows to gush. breaking up out of his skin. choking on air and the pain of a slow to come death.

"bulletproof three piece suits asshole", cody roughs out. kicking dominik for satisfaction.

if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there

the loft is the same. unadorned by that uncanny but natural weathering of time and neglect. warm homely autumn inspired tones with splashes of green and hand carved wooden furniture. cody ever the horrendous sucker for hand carved shit. an intimate union of labor and passion. ever the reflection of a once lively relationship. carefully cultivated, ending poorer than a bastard dying with his eyes wide open. because when you go that way, you deserve it. but cody? his passions didn't deserve that violent abrupt end. and yet here he is, creeping past the entrance. a painful stuttering of footfalls as he goes. muscles sore and his skin on fire.

dominik mysterio was a warm up. a warning even. the call must've went out. a bounty worth enough for people to try him. the train ride to tribeca interestingly violent. a woman with a knife, a man with a gun and another thinking his bare hands were some great unstoppable force. and no, cody did not make quick work of them. not as quickly as he would've liked. but he managed. and at the very least, he'd suffered a slitting cut to his cheek and a laceration to his chest. that piece of shit running the blade right through his tattoo. some maybe secondary bruising and a bad headache. but he's not dead. not like the idiots that tried and failed to kill him.

the loft, much like the continental hotel, is agreed upon neutral ground. a place for trysts and the sharing of information. or rather, thats what it used to be. now, cody isn't so sure.

and his limping is pathetically loud. shoes a heavy clack against the floor. makes him bristle annoyed. you stand just behind the kitchen island. wine bottle opened. a glass in hand as you sip. more beautiful than he remembers. soft looking still, your eyes casting over the rim as you sip, undeniably deceptive.

a gun lays easy on the coffee table sat between two couches. too easy. but his displeasure gets the best of him. he shifts for it quickly. a swift up of his hands positioned about the gun, aiming for your face.

you knew his whereabouts. so much so that you knew the whereabouts of the people trying to kill him. taking the chance to trust could cost him his life. and cody quite likes his life.

"you had me scared a little bit". a gentle float of words. a finger dancing along the rim of the wine glass. a daring stare down the barrel of the gun. "i thought you got bested by a second rate mysterio". and when cody doesn't move, captured by pain, caution and the mystique of your presence, your eyes roll. his form fixed and perfected. trigger finger cool, but his heart unsure. "cut the melodrama. put the gun down cody".

"you knew i was being followed", he clips. jaw tight.

"i mean...duh...", you give. dry and teasing. finishing your wine. "half of that was me, and lets not be silly", covering the length of distance between your bodies slowly. a stalking patience. a fierce feline approach. "you shot a bullet through the skull of one of thee most important men. finding out don't come cheap when you fuck with the high table".

"everybody seems to forget I had to bury my father", the barrel of the gun kept high with perfect aim as you near closer. "killing that sack of shit was just me evening the score".

"i didn't kill your father cody".

was that sincerity? empathy? a sudden waft in of warmth after years in the cold. it felt unreal. true but unreal. and he was sure it wouldn't last.

"obviously", cody bites out.

your forehead nestles against the barrel of the gun. his memory overwrought. his senses in a frenzy. a horrible mixture in his skin of pain and elation. steeped with the fear of having to endure another sudden vanishing. angry that such an endurance was his portion in the first place.

"so then why is the gun still pointed at me?"

his fixed form eases. your hand slipping the gun from his hold gently. fire over his skin as you touch him for the first time in five years. a deft maneuvering about the cold heavy metal to expose the contents of the magazine. amusement coloring your eyes and spreading over your mouth for a teasing little smile.

"they're blanks anyways", emptying the magazine as the faux bullets fall to the floor. your hand settling down the gun and its magazine on the coffee table. leaving him in an exasperated awe as you head toward the kitchen. "just wanted to see how thin your patience has worn".

your chin jutting over to the couch. hands full of medical supplies as you pad over to him softly. his body aching and slow as it rests into the tender leather seating, but moving without delay still. always under the gentle charm of your voice, his being falling under this servile sort of subjection. making him bristle silently within himself. all that time and distance amounting to nothing for his resolve.

cody surrenders. mind over matter no longer needed. succumbing to the full weight of his pain. hair messy with red droppings of other peoples blood. his muscles sore and the hammering about his skull diligent and taunting.

"my pain has always been a funny little joke to you".

you pull the coffee table closer to the wide spread of cody's legs. your own slipping over to straddle the strength of one of his thighs. your body warm and comforting against his skin. an old feeling blooming in his chest. you were doing this on purpose. he's sure of it. to see him waver and yield to the charm of your presence. gentle touch dabbing to rid his cheek of dried blood before you went about cleaning the wound. his fingers itching to form to your body, desperate to push dull nails into your skin again. to form in and caress with the intent to renew his memory.

your eyes flit to his crotch. "its a lot more than little. give yourself some credit", you muse. applying butterfly stitches.

the air is thick. forces him to maintain a steady breath. memory overwrought once more. a mighty rushing in that heats him whole. your hands working his button up open. the lax take of your palm to his belly forcing a throb to the crux of his thighs. the closing in of the distance makes for easy intimacy. a registration of the lesser noticeable, more complex things. the prick of your nails telling familiar stories, as they work to rid him of the shirt all together. tender and caring, similar to how they used to be. your eyes roaming and thinly glazed over. he spares a glance at the wine bottle. halfway done. your ministrations functional but indulgent of the moment. of his skin.

a quicksand sort of state of affairs. if he doesn't pull himself together now, he would fall into you. full consumption. and he can't possibly risk his life because he's half hard and overdone with sentiment.

"how long have you been following me?"

you apply something like a salve after cleaning the nasty chest wound. an anesthetic. how sweet of you. to suddenly take his pain into consideration.

"a few months".

"why am i not dead?"

your body adjusts a top of him. somehow closer. your knee nearly running into his crotch. "yet", you give. beginning the process of suturing. "the question everyone wants to know is why is cody rhodes not dead yet". breaking shortly to peer over him. a full examination it seems. heat rising in his cheeks. "cause he's no john fuckin wick. so why is he still here". pressure of the needle feeding into his skin. your lip tucking under your teeth in full concentration. "people don't know resilience is the bane of even your own existence. a little meat puppet made to take push pins".

he scoffs. "this doesn't feel like a compliment if it is".

you finish off the suture. a hesitant but delicate maneuvering off his thigh to rid of the medical supplies. the heat of you gone in an instant. "its an observation". the uncorking pop of that half drunken wine bottle. a generous crimson pour that you sip at.

"on what basis exactly?"

a whipping swing of kitchen cabinet doors. a bottle of brandy and a short glass. for him it seems. and the pained parts of him grow excited at the possibility of a simple taste. anything for a temporary fix. something to numb the burn in his bones.

"very close encounters".

and no you don't dip into the leather to sit beside him when you return. you assume a much more compromising position. a full straddle of his legs as you gift him his little amber colored remedy. and if at any moment he ever thought he needed it and actually didn't, let this be the moment where that edgy spike to his tongue becomes essential. something to help him as he searches for a secure hold at control. and of course he drinks it all. an easy burning slip against the back of his throat as he feels the heat of you settling back into him. once dormant urges awakening in his fingers. supple thighs lined up over his kevlar woven dress pants. the baggy button up you'd decided was good enough for his visit thin and something like revealing. the other details left to his imagination. and God was that prone to running at any moment. tripping and falling away from him well enough till his crotch became to uncomfortable to bare the perfect fit of his pants. your empty hand returning to where it'd been. roaming tenderly against slow but steady bruising skin. his nose picking up the sweet wine on your breath. the glaze about your eyes. thighs over him, clenching slightly.

"you were always a little too indulgent with the wine", cody gives.

your eyes flitting to his crotch again. bulge more prominent. the teasing of your nails inching over past his navel. your throat humming. "and you with me".

"don't think much of it". an attempt made in vain he thinks. feeling the hard throb of himself as soon as the words leave him. "it tends to happen. adrenaline from almost dying multiple times", his thigh knocking up into yours to grab at your attention. tipsy eyes drifting to the cold blue of his. "now spill. why am i still breathing?"

"because the number isn't high enough yet". another sip of wine before turning to rest it at the table. your hands free to run over the muscle of him. about his shoulders till your thumbs are caressing at his nape and the hard cut of his jaw. and that nearly drives him to insanity. the weight of you resting right where he pulses with life. "i take your head now, i'd be settling. and the game of it all ain't that fun right now anyways. its too amateur hour-ish for me. i wanna battle it out with the adults".

"im flattered", cody deadpans.

you smile. thumb soothing over his lip. "as you should be".

"why else", the pulse about his blood wild. an unadulterated beating that coaxes to life the run off of his imagination. his touch a staggering grip at your jaw. pulling your eyes to him. lowly sat pretty brown eyes with a penchant for doing him inexplicably dirty. but they draw him in all the same. his stomach empty. filled with nothing but the slosh of brandy. cody feeds into the daze of it. the possibility of a buzz. your lips a breath from his. desire on your tongue by way of the sweet smell of wine. "talk".

your hips shift over him. a rut into the fabric. friction to appease the ache, he's sure of it. thin panties and the desperate curl in of your nails. running into his scalp. trying to persuade him with tender touches and the charm of such wanton need. and its working. fuck, itsworking well. had worked some time ago and doing well now just the same. because cody, despite such deadly skill, was not immune to this type of torture. could not battle it with stalwart patience or dapper precision. and as you rut against him again, mind clouded by wine and your own intent, his fingers burn to touch you more. not so simple and plain but disgustingly greedy. his lips smooth against the seam of yours. amber brandy and red wine a near perfect melding together.

"fuck", you relent. your nose knocking soft into his. laughing with a wry sort of amusement. "it would stroke your ego to a nice little finish if i did say it wouldn't it?"

cody hums. slips his hold till its anchored about your neck. measured in its pressure. his tongue licking to wet his lips. the slight of it forcing a tremble into your body.

maybe his suffering isn't a lonely one after all.

you whimper. taking a hard swallow.

"vindicate me", cody rasps.

your struggle is apparent. surfaces with a tear that stains your cheek. body undone by the defeat of such an intimate admission.

"i miss you", fragile and nearly unclear.

he smiles mirthless against the soft ways of your skin. his nose buried into the dip of your neck. "i don't trust your sentiment".

"it's true cody".

"she says, after admitting she wants to kill me".

"better me than someone else". your fingers abandoning him to grip into the leather of the couch. a tight take to it that fastens your body into him. your mouth lax as your lips slip over his. the tease of a kiss filled with too much tension to bare. "touch me", you give. a plea and a command all the same.

his fingers working in swiftly, a firm obedience, cupping your cheeks to steady the wild go of your tongue as it snakes to slip at his. a frail whimper singing from your chest and the return of your sharp nails. digging against his scalp to bring him impossibly closer. nearly suckling his tongue whole as your hips rut at him again. a less cautious shifting as you look for harsher friction. the pain of a murderous sort of labor and the pleasure of touching you again warring over the tenderness of his skin. coaxing him to groan and wince. strong, tired fingers forcing your hips to rock over him. an easy, stable grind along the hard bulge of his cock that leaves you living without the proper brilliance of words. reduced to the struggle of too pleasured moans.

your teeth prickling and sharp as they snag against his lip. fingers deft, undoing his zipper. the heat of him hard and throbbing dangerous. his headache out done by more pressing matters, hazy and his senses going numb with lust. palms persistent, sinking into supple flesh. and fuck does it feel good. even better when his patience thins. fingers stretching the fabric of your panties till they tear. the slick way of your arousal making for an easier pace. a sweet teasing slip through your slit. his imagination wild and unfettered. even the thought of slipping in to have his full way with you enough to twist the base of his belly. groaning into your mouth.

fire in his fingers as they pull against the fat of your ass. sweltered skin sweet in his palms. forming with every push and spread and pry that he gives.

your mouths depart. a hesitant slipping away. breaths heavy. your face hiding in the dip of his neck. your pussy messy. bewitching even as you grind mindless into him. an undulating heat over his skin. "cody", a mantra as it travels to slight the beating of his pulse.

the tell tale trembling in your body. a breath away from bliss. and he can feel the build in his bones. the return of an ache thats been transformed. throbbing and restless. an urgency he works to relieve. and with it so does your mouth. less desperate to consume him. melting to linger at his lips. breathy and stuttered.

"right there angel", he gives. a whisper against your lips. corralling the last bits of resolve to break. your hips stuttering but caressing faithful still. coming undone. rutting greedily to grasp at the last bits of pleasure.

and here he finds that charming sort of relief. an unfurling warmth about his skin. snatching your body into him as he strokes against you and throbs, coming undone. release pooling and spurting against the baggy button up you'd worn to tease him with.

your lips finding his again. needy still. and he accepts without wait. ready and willing. your moaning along his tongue delicate and wispy. reminiscent of a memory once forgotten. new york. september 2019. cody cups your face again. thumbs dusting over the apple of your cheeks. on a mission to stain himself with this moment. sweet red wine mixed with aged brandy.

she was getting to be a lil too long so i had to break her up! but how do we feel about our little hitman?

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