Popeās love language is eating you out again and again until youāre screaming and then putting you ass up, face down on the bed and absolutely railing you until you both come.
warnings: angst, drug use, blood, fighting, a lot of cursing, no use of y/n
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Youāre lying on the couch, watching a documentary show about con artists (something you find particularly funny, given whose house youāre in), and youāre trying your best to relax. Youāve smoked what is definitely an unhealthy amount of weed, at this point, hoping that it might at least make you forget about the throbbing pain in your everything (it has not), and youāre about two seconds away from going to find Craig to ask him if he has something stronger when you hear a commotion outside.
The boys are fighting, you think to yourself. At least you know where Craig is.
You slowly struggle your way up off the couch, hindered more now by the weed than the pain. Youāre hoping itās just another one of their shouting matches, so you can get in and out relatively quickly, but youāre always prepared for an all out brawl when it comes to them. Theyāre like a pack of feral dogs, sometimes, and you really donāt have the capacity for that, today. You can feel the anger beginning to tickle at the back of your brain as you head toward the source of the noise.
Itās not like youāre above the violence or anything. You grew up with brothers, too, and it wasnāt uncommon for you to get into similar scuffles, both with each other and with anyone else that pissed one of you off. It was something you and Pope shared, and was in fact how youād met. Youād been absolutely wailing on some guy probably twice your size outside a bar (you donāt even remember what heād done to piss you off). He was, in that moment, simply too stunned to fight back, but it didnāt take long for him to rally. Pope, thankfully, had jumped in when he saw your fortune turning, and had continued your violent assault on the poor man.
Love at first fight.
Thatās why you got along with the whole pack plenty well, most of the time. You had become an honorary Cody brother after youād started dating Pope, and they definitely knew how to have fun. Like most brothers, though, they were also really good at pressing your buttons, whether they were fighting with each other over something incredibly stupid, or they had just decided it was time to annoy you specifically.
Considering youāre already overstimulated and feeling like shit, at the moment, you think they could simply breathe in your vicinity and it would piss you off.
When you finally find the source of the commotion, Craig is, unsurprisingly, the target of Popeās violence, though heās definitely not innocent in this fight. Heās still egging him on, even as Pope manages to get an arm around his neck. Deran and J are, very unsuccessfully, trying to break them up, their attention focused mostly on trying to pull Pope away. You can feel the individual strings snapping, one by one, on the rope thatās holding your final nerve in place. Your head starts to throb even more than it already had been.
āANDREW!ā you yell.
Not a single one of them seems to notice, which pisses you off even more. Unfortunately for you, that causes the last crumbs of reason you have to abandon you, swept out by a wave of anger. Without thinking, you charge directly into the fray, and before any of them even have a chance to process your sudden presence there, youāve grabbed hold of Popeās shoulder.
Donāt get in the middle of a dog fight, you think, as you feel his elbow make contact with your face.
It was a little kernel of wisdom that your dad had imparted upon you when you were a kid. He had a couple of dogs that were as dumb as rocks, and they somehow got even stupider when they were left alone together. Sometimes, theyād also get into little scuffles, and the first time youād run to split them up, your dad had stopped you and given you that bit of advice. Better to let them duke it out, heād added, even if one or both end up dead, than to become part of the fight. You should have heeded his words, you think, especially considering how much the Codys reminded you of those dogs specifically.
There are no thoughts after that, just a ringing in your ears. You feel that last nerve snap away, and any remnant of self-control is gone. Youāre also hit with a wave of adrenaline, likely the only thing keeping you upright at the moment, and you feel yourself explode. You only got knocked back a few steps by the hit, so youāre on Pope before anyone can even blink. You grab him by the scruff, pulling him back away from Craig, your nails digging into his skin as you do.
āENOUGH!ā you yell.
Pope freezes completely. Craig frees himself and puts a couple arms length of distance between them. You pull Pope closer to you.
āWhen I tell you to stop, you fucking stop,ā you growl into his ear.
You practically throw him forward as you let go. Thatās when you finally notice the blood streaming down your face.
āFuck,ā you say, grabbing hold of your nose to stem the flow.
Pope finally turns to look at you.
āShit,ā you hear Deran say from somewhere behind you, āIāll go get a towel or something.ā
āWay to go,ā Craig says.
āShut the fuck up and take that stupid fucking face of yours somewhere that I canāt see it,ā you say to him. āAnd maybe chill the fuck out, like I was trying to do before thisā¦fuckery.ā
It comes out very nasally, considering the current placement of your hand on your nose, so it doesnāt really have the level of authority that you were hoping for. You stare Craig down, practically daring him to say something about it. He just stands there stupidly, definitely looking as if heās debating whether itās worth it or not to quip back. You decide to cut the debate short before he can even consider which of your buttons he wants to press.
āJ!ā you yell, still staring at Craig.
You donāt even have to say another word, and J is doing his best to herd Craig away. Deran shows up a moment later with a full size towel, one that looks like itās going to make Smurf very mad when she finds it covered in blood. You take it, anyway. Itās barely out of Deranās fingers when he flees back toward the house, right behind the other two, not wanting to catch any shrapnel from whatever is about to happen.
You donāt know how long you stand there, after that. Youāre bent forward with the towel pressed into your nose, half of it dragging on the ground. Eventually, the blood stops flowing, and youāre able to stand at a normal angle, again.
Popeās still standing where you left him, looking at the ground. Instead of a feral mutt, he now brings to mind a frightened little puppy thatās about to piss on the floor out of sheer terror. Some part of you is quite proud of being the source of that terror.
āIām sorry,ā he says.
You think he might actually be on the verge of tears.
āI didnāt mean to,ā he continues. āI swear, I didnāt mean to.ā
You want to leave him there, crying, feeling like heās some kind of monster. You want to deny him any chance of the forgiveness he so desperately seeks from you. You want to be cruel.
You donāt want to be Smurf.
āI know,ā you eventually say.
It comes out harsher than youād intended.
āI know,ā you start again, trying to put a softer edge to your tone, ābut I still donāt really want to see your face for awhile.ā
You can see him shrinking into himself. It always amazes you how small he can become. Thatās another thing you have in common.
āIām notā¦,ā you start.
You sigh. You can tell the adrenaline is already starting to wane. Your head is throbbing worse than ever, now, your face feels like itās been caved in, and youāre pretty sure the blood loss is starting to catch up with you.
āI canāt do this right now,ā you say. āI need toā¦I need to lie down.ā
On instinct, you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. More pain shoots through your face. You pull in a sharp breath. It definitely feels like itās broken, another thing you donāt have the capacity for, right now.
You watch him shrink further. You know youāll forgive him, eventually, and you also know youāll have to spend countless hours trying to convince him that heās not a monster for this. That he really didnāt mean to hurt you. That you played an equal part in the events by blindly running in while fists were flying (that truly was incredibly stupid of you).
But you also know that you really do not want to see his face, right now, or anyone elseās, for that matter.
āJustā¦weāll talk later,ā you say. āMaybe stay away from Craig for awhile. I donāt know, go for a walk. Go see Lena. Something thatās not here.ā
He nods, still looking at the ground. He looks so pathetic, and now you kind of want to hug him. Instead, you step forward and gently take hold of his chin. He flinches at the contact, and it makes you feel like the monster that he probably thinks he is. You tilt his head up until his eyes are at the same level as yours, though he refuses to actually make eye contact.
āWeāll talk,ā you say. āI justā¦I donāt want to say anything Iāll regret, right now.ā
He nods, your hand still on his chin. He continues to look anywhere but your face. You eventually let go and walk past him back into the house.
The other three idiot mutts are hanging out around the kitchen, now, and theyāve started drinking. Brilliant, you think, adding alcohol to the situation will definitely make it better. Craig starts to move, like heās ready for round two, but stops when he sees itās you. Youāre glad you sent Pope away. You think you might have actually killed one of them if theyād started up again after all that. You throw the towel vaguely in Deranās direction as you walk through the house toward the bathroom to clean yourself up.
You look at yourself in the mirror.
āJesus,ā you say.
Youāre a fucking mess. Blood all down your chin, down your shirt, and bits of it on your shorts. You think that you should probably take a shower, but youāre getting dangerously closer to passing out as each second ticks by. You clean yourself up as best as you can, stripping down to your boxers. At this point, all youāre really focused on is making sure that the quickly drying blood doesnāt leave you feeling gross and itchy as you try to fall asleep. Youāll lose your mind if the sensation keeps you awake for one second longer than you want to be. Itās not long before you simply call it good enough and head back out toward the kitchen.
āOne of you owes me an oxy,ā you say to the room.
āI thinkā¦ā Craig starts.
āDonāt,ā you say, cutting him off. āYouāre not very good at it. Oxy. Now.ā
He definitely looks like heās about to start a fight with you, this time. You maintain eye contact, hoping heāll blink before you start to pass out.
āFine,ā he says.
You walk to the fridge as he disappears and grab a can of diet soda. You crack it open and lean back against the counter while you wait for him to return. The other two stand there in an incredibly awkward silence, drinking their beers as you wait. It doesnāt take long for Craig to get back. He silently sets a pill down on the counter next to you and walks back to where heād put his own drink. You throw the pill back and wash it down with the soda as you start to head toward the bedroom.
You know mixing oxy with some blood loss, a lot of weed, and possibly a mild concussion is about as smart as you running into the middle of that fight, but then again, you came out of that alive, in the end.
āYou better not start another fucking fight while Iām trying to sleep,ā you say as you walk away.
āI didnātā¦ā you hear Craig start to say, but then you hear what sounds like a slap, and he stops talking.
āWhat the fuck was that for?ā you hear him say, faintly, right before you close the bedroom door.
You donāt even bother finding new clothes before you climb into bed. You crawl across, exhaustion starting to hit you like a brick wall. You curl up in the corner on your side of the bed, the same way you do on those nights you have to sleep alone, but donāt actually sleep, because Pope is out there putting himself in danger to make sure you donāt have to worry about anything.
Fuck.
You know he wouldnāt want you to forgive him on account of that alone. He doesnāt do it because he expects something in return. He does it because he genuinely loves you and wants to make sure that you never have to go without, like youād had to do many times while you were on your own.
It was also something Smurf would expect, for her children to forgive and forget any of her transgressions simply because of all she had done for them. Pope would rather you never forgive him at all than treat you the way that Smurf treats him.
None of that helps you feel any less guilty about sending him away like that. It swims through your mind as the exhaustion and the drugs bring you closer and closer to unconsciousness. You know itās going to haunt you, even in your sleep, but you also know that itās too late for you to do anything about it now.
You can only hope he doesnāt do anything stupid before you can apologize and talk him down from the spiral that you know heās going through.
Iām not sure if this will be helpful to anyone, but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction. Yes you will naturally get better at writing and finding your voice the more you do it but you do not have to be or become a professional level writer to enjoy writing and sharing fics. Itās common to hear people praise fic writers by saying their work is better than published books, and while I think this comes from a good place, thatās not the norm or expectation. There is also a sentiment that fic writing is āgood practiceā for becoming a better writer or doing something else later, but if fic is the only creative writing you ever do that is literally okay. Your technical skill does not mean you cannot have fun and build community with your writing, or that other people cannot love and find meaning in your work.
you think that you're so alone in the world then you read literature from hundreds of years ago and you realize that other people have always felt this way
i canāt say shit about liking a character that acts slightly in a very specific way without being hit with a tidal wave of āof course you wouldā to live is to suffer
My toxic fandom take is that I think that it's awful how much we can talk to creators and get answers from them word of god style. We should be out here in a godless place rooting for scraps of lore in the media like truffle pigs out in the fields
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