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I Only Threw This Party for You
🤍 Summary: A little New Year's one shot I thought of while listening to Party 4 U by Charli xcx
🤍 Pairings: Cody Rhodes x Female Reader
🤍 Warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI!, Explicit Suggestive Content, Strong Language/Profanity, Alcohol Consumption, Emotional but Cute
🤍 Word Count: 1.3k
🤍 Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! This one is for all of you 🤍 let's all leave this fuck ass year behind and look forward to better days ahead.
You didn’t care about New Year's Eve. But your friends did. Sometime in the last two weeks, your indifference had snowballed into a full-blown party.
Everyone was here. Everyone except him.
You sipped your drink and let your eyes scan past the gold balloons and neon lights flickering across dancing bodies. Past the guy in the corner who’d been trying to make eye contact with you all night.
Still no sign of him.
The music thumped, the liquor flowed, and somewhere in the corner of your mind, the same thought kept spinning like a record.
He’s not coming.
You tilted your head back to take a shot and let the bass drown it out.
“You okay?” someone asked, shouting over the beat.
You nodded automatically, flashing a smile. “Totally.”
Lie. But you sold it anyway.
You hadn’t stopped checking your phone. Or the door. Or the time. Deep down, under the glitter and carefully applied lipstick, you were still that girl with one stupid wish.
Let him show up. That’s it. Just show up.
You slipped out and told no one. Just snuck through the door, through the hall and up the stairs, to the rooftop. You walked straight into the cold.
The air bit at your skin. The wind picked at your hair. The city spread out below you. From up here, it was quieter. A little less fake. A little more room to think.
You leaned against the railing and looked up at the sky.
Empty.
Just like this moment. Just like you.
You exhaled bitterly, and let yourself feel it. The disappointment. The ache. You’d thrown this entire night together like a net, cast wide enough in hopes that maybe he would walk through that door.
But now he hadn’t come at all.
You leaned against the railing and closed your eyes.
“Hell of a party.”
His voice starled you so badly, you were terrified to believe it was even real. But real he was, standing right there in the doorway. His hands were in the pockets of his tailored slacks, jacket unbuttoned, blonde hair a little mussed from the occasional sharp wind.
Your eyes went wide. “You came.”
He shrugged, walking toward you with that cool confidence that always made your pulse skip. “You didn’t think I would?”
“I wasn’t sure,” you admitted.
“I was.”
You tried to breathe. More than anything, you tried to hide the fact that your heart was hammering in your chest like it was trying to break free.
“You’re late,” you whispered.
He stopped just in front of you. He was close enough that you could smell the clean spice of his cologne and the warmth of him baked into the fabric of his jacket. The heat of him chased the cold off your skin.
“I know.”
And then he leaned in, just enough to say it low against your ear, “If I’d shown up any earlier, I wouldn’t have made it through the night without doing this.”
The words hadn’t even cooled on his breath before his mouth found yours. Fast and certain, like he’d already made the decision before he even climbed those stairs.
The kiss tightened your chest and unraveled everything else. You inhaled sharply through your nose, hands braced against his shoulders, fingers bunching the fabric.
The kiss tilted. He chased it. Now there was only the heat of him pressed against you. The taste of him, bittersweet from whiskey, clean from mint, familiar and brand new.
His hands didn’t fumble. One slid up the side of your neck, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. The other hand curved around your waist. His tongue swept against yours. Your pulse responded like it had been waiting all night to be summoned.
You didn’t mean to drag your fingers up into his hair, but you did. You didn’t mean to roll your hips against the line of his thigh, but your body had already made the call.
It wasn’t performative. It was chemical.
He tasted like everything you shouldn’t let yourself want, and everything you couldn’t stop craving. The rooftop lights buzzed overhead, catching the gold in his hair and the hesitation in his eyes.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to come.”
You laughed quietly. “You seriously don’t know by now?”
“I know what I want. But I didn’t want to assume I was invited to be anything more than a name on your guest list.”
You met his gaze, throat closing on every word. “I only threw this party for you.”
The words were out before you could stop them. Just the honest, stupid truth.
He froze. Then he stepped closer, hands bracing against the railing on either side of you. “You what?” he asked.
“You heard me.”
He stared at you like he’d never seen you before.
“All of this—” you continued, voice shaky. “I thought if I gave you enough reasons to show up, maybe you would.”
His fingers curled into fists. His head dropped, like he was trying to hold himself back.
“I needed to know if I mattered,” you whispered.
Cody looked up. Something in his expression broke wide open with surprise.
“You matter so fucking much.”
Then he kissed you again.
It wasn’t careful or shy.
It was all the missed chances. All the almosts. Unspoken feelings and texts that always stopped one word short. It was every time you’d looked across a room and caught him already watching you. It was every breath you’d held when he was near, hoping, waiting.
His hand slid into your hair, the other grabbing your hip, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved over yours, undeniable.
Behind you, the city shimmered, reflections of the light flickering in his blue eyes.
You glanced down at his watch. "11:59."
Ten. His lips found your neck, open-mouthed and slow, tongue flicking against your pulse like he was seeing how fast he could made your heart race. “I was scared I wouldn’t get here in time.”
Nine. His hands dragged under your coat, across your hips, greedy with friction. “I didn’t want to ruin it," he continued.
Eight. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until your hips brushed, until you felt how hard he was already. “I’d take you right here,” he whispered, low and teasing. “Don’t think I won’t.”
Seven. His mouth trailed lower, teeth grazing your collarbone. “You want that?” he murmured against your skin. “Want me to ruin that pretty little dress before the year even starts?”
Six. You couldn’t speak. You just nodded. He groaned in your ear in response.
Five. You felt his thigh slide between yours, parting your legs slightly. His hands curled tighter around your waist, holding you where he wanted you.
Four. He looked at you now, eyes heavy-lidded with everything he hadn’t said all year. “I want you shaking for me.”
Three. You exhaled shakily. “Stay.”
Two. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
One. He leaned in, so close his words melted into your mouth before he kissed you. “Every second after this? Yours.”
Midnight.
“Happy fucking New Year.”
His lips crushed into yours. Below, people shouted with joy and confetti started to fall like snow.
