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seeaddywrite · 5 years

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post-ep 4X07

a/n: this picks up at the start of the porch scene & continues on. no warnings. :)

The air is cooler than usual for a California night; Adrian doesn’t know if it’s the weather or the ice growing around his heart that makes him shiver when he steps onto Jessica’s porch. He’s been cold ever since Deran walked out on him that morning without a word, and he knows that all of the blankets and flannel in the world aren’t going to warm him, not unless they’re paired with Deran’s body heat and some sort of reassurance that he hasn’t ruined both of their lives with his carelessness and lies. He hadn’t expected understanding, or nonchalance at his confession -- Deran’s go-to emotion has always been rage, and Adrian was braced for it. For the yelling, for the fury, maybe even a blow.

As it turns out, this still silence is worse, by far, than rage. It doesn’t just hurt -- it gets into the air and breathed into Adrian’s lungs, turning him cold from the inside out. As soon as he lays eyes on Deran’s back, again, the urge to start yelling wells in Adrian’s chest. He wants to demand the other man turn around, to at least look at him while he doles out whatever punishment might be coming, but the words stick in Adrian’s throat. So he says nothing, and lapses into the same still, painful silence from that morning until Deran finally opens his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Adrian bites at his lower lip, inhaling raggedly. It takes a second to compose himself, but he explains as best he can. The tremble in his voice is barely noticeable, and he hopes that Deran is far enough away that he won’t hear it. But the longer he talks, the more desperate he gets -- Deran still isn’t looking at him, is still so far away that Adrian can’t even reach out to try to show him with actions, rather than meaningless words, that he didn’t say shit about the Cody family. Part of him screams to tell Deran that just a few hours ago, he’d demanded to be put in prison rather than to turn nark on the man he’s in love with -- but he swallows the impulse. Adrian isn’t going to guilt or manipulate Deran. He’s made his bed, and he’ll lie in it, whatever the consequences maybe. And he damn well won’t drag Deran down with him.

Finally, Deran turns around, and Adrian suddenly understands the old adage that warns to be careful what you wish for. Beneath the accusation and the anger in his expression, Adrian can read the hurt, the betrayal in his lover’s gaze, and it hits him harder than any physical blow ever could. He remembers the night before, in the shower, when Deran had just leaned into him and breathed -- the solid, honest eye contact he made when he said that he loved Adrian -- and fuck, Adrian’s knees shake under the emotional onslaught until he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep upright. Still, he takes a step forward, his main instinct still to reach out to Deran when he’s hurting so obviously, but the other man’s words stop him in his tracks.

“You’ve been lying to me for months. How do you expect me to believe anything you’re saying to me right now?”

Deran doesn’t shout, but he may as well have. The words resound in Adrian’s ears, reverberate through his bones until he’s sick with the ringing. This time, he has to lean against the closest support pillar to keep his knees from buckling and dumping him on the ground. His eyes sting, and Adrian blinks back tears furiously, because he’s not going to fucking cry. It’s a fair statement, and he knows that in Deran’s place, he wouldn’t believe his promises, either. Logic has no place in his heart, though, and Adrian aches beneath the weight of the accusation.

He can’t stop his voice from cracking when he admits that he can’t fix this -- that it’s not going away, no matter what he does. Adrian is helpless, pinned between a rock and a hard place, and there’s no escaping. He’s a terrible liar, and doesn’t have the practice Deran and his brothers do in dealing with the cops. Playing alibi, the misdemeanors he committed with Craig and Deran as kids -- none of it was on this level, and Adrian was so fucking stupid to think that he could play with the big boys. And now, both he and Deran are paying for it.

But Deran is the most confusing, complicated man Adrian’s ever met, and the vehemence with which he insists that Pope can never know about the cops, about the deal and the betrayal, gives Adrian a cautious sense of optimism. Because the only time he’s ever seen Deran get worked up like that is when he’s talking about the safety of someone he loves -- usually his family, but right now, Adrian can’t help but think it’s about him. His safety. Because they both know what happens when Pope hears that someone is talking to the cops about his family, and maybe, just maybe, Deran still cares enough not to want that for Adrian.

And that bit of optimism flourishes, becomes full-fledged hope the instant after Deran tells him that they’ll work it out, to get his shit so they can go home. Adrian swallows hard, staring at the other man in wide-eyed disbelief, but Deran never wavers under his gaze. He just waits, outwardly as calm as ever, until Adrian nods jerkily and goes back inside.

Deran doesn’t follow him, but Adrian expects that. This isn’t a great time for chit chat with Jessica, or playing games with her kids. He gives her a half-assed apology and promises to call her the next day, but Adrian can tell she’s not appeased. She hovers in the doorway to the spare room while he tosses his stuff back into bags and hauls them over his shoulder, but doesn’t say anything until he’s almost back to the front door.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, and Adrian hates the worry in her familiar face, because he knows he put it there. “You don’t have to go back to him, you know. If he's not treating you right, he doesn’t deserve you --”

Adrian shakes his head, cutting her off. He can’t bear to listen to her assumptions, knowing that she’s always going to guess Deran was the one to fuck up. She can’t stand that Adrian moved in with him after the violence and the hiding, and Adrian doesn’t know how to explain himself. He can’t tell her the truth, not without panicking her over the thought of him in prison -- so he just shakes his head again, smiling sadly. “It’s not his fault, this time,” he says quietly. “And even if it was, I’m always going to choose Deran.”

He slips out the door before she can respond, takes a deep breath, and lets Deran take him home.

******

The ride back to the oceanside house is utterly silent. Adrian refuses to risk the fragile peace between them by speaking, and it seems that every muscle in Deran’s body is tense. His knuckles are white where they clench the steering wheel, and there’s a tic in his jaw that only appears when he’s grinding his teeth. Adrian tries not to look at him, but his gaze has been pulled to Deran Cody with some impossible magnetism since he was fourteen fucking years old, and Adrian doesn’t know how to fight it.

His knees jiggle with nervous energy for the entire drive, and he has to keep his hands clasped over his lap to keep them from shaking. Why did he agree to this? Why did Deran tell him to come back if this is how it was going to be between them? Adrian couldn’t exist like this, on edge and terrified that at a single word, Deran’s going to stand up and walk away again. They can’t keep on this way. They can’t.

The engine cuts off as soon as the car pulls into their usual parking space on the street, and Deran still doesn’t look at him as he climbs out to get the bags from the back. Adrian follows numbly, grabbing a couple of them and trailing Deran as he lets them into the house. It’s dark and quiet, and Adrian takes advantage of the moment to run a hand over his face and steady himself. Something’s going to have to give between them at some point tonight -- he doesn’t know if it’ll be his sanity or Deran’s temper, but something’s going to break.

“You’re shaking.” The words, and the gentle voice in which Deran delivers them, take Adrian by surprise. He glances over his shoulder to find the other man only a few steps away, looking torn between closing the distance and enlarging it. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, man,” he continues, like he seriously thinks that Adrian’s worried about that right now. “And I told you. We’ll figure it out. Somehow.”

Adrian swallows again, and turns to face Deran fully, giving up his pretense of calm and letting every sign of fear and stress and hurt he’s been trying to hide for weeks show on his face. It puts him in a vulnerable position, makes him undeniably weak, but he needs Deran to see. Needs him to understand, because if he has to go to bed in this stifling silence, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. “And what about us?” he asks quietly, rubbing a hand along the opposite forearm in hopes that it’ll warm him up. “Are we gonna figure that out, too?”

Deran frowns, a furrow appearing between his brows. “What do you mean?”

Incredulity wells in Adrian’s chest, quickly joined by frustration that makes his shoulders tighten and lips firm into a thin line. “You won’t even look at me,” he points out, his voice wavering in a way that makes him furious with himself. “Not for more than a second. You didn’t say a word the entire ride home, and this is the closest we’ve been all day, and you’re so fucking tense you may as well be a statue. You said it yourself -- you don’t trust me. So what the hell am I doing here, Deran? Why did you even bother to tell me to come back if this is how it’s going to be? What’s the fucking point, man?” The tremor in his hands is obvious, now, even to his own eyes, so Adrian shoves them in the pockets of his jacket. He’s drained, exhausted in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever been -- stress and heartbreak aren’t a good look on him, and he desperately just wants to crawl into bed and hide from the world with Deran’s arms around him for a while. But that’s not in the cards, and now he’s started this conversation, he’s got to see it through.

Deran’s looking at him now, eyes dark in the dim lighting of the living room, and Adrian keeps his mouth shut. It’s hard to wait, makes his anxiety sky-rocket, but he’s said his piece. It’s Deran’s turn to talk, and if he doesn’t, well, then Adrian has his answer. At least his shit is already packed, this time.

“C’mere.” It’s not an explanation, or an apology, or anything that Adrian might have expected, but Deran’s arms are open, and there’s a softness to the set of his mouth that’s been missing all day. Adrian all but falls into his arms, clumsy with the relief that’s pulsing through his body, and Deran wraps him in his warmth. There’s a steady, thudding heartbeat beneath his cheek, and Adrian risks slipping a hand beneath Deran’s shirt to find the warm, soft skin of his back. They sway there for a moment, clinging to one another, and Adrian lets his eyes close, content to stay in this moment indefinitely -- but Deran’s pulling away all too soon, and the cold comes flooding back. A small noise of discontent escapes his throat, but Deran’s hand finds his. Their fingers interlock, and Adrian obeys the tug toward the bedroom without any conscious effort.

They separate once the door is closed behind them, and Adrian feels his palms start to get clammy as he glances around the room, trying to figure out what comes next. Deran doesn’t seem worried; he’s stripping his clothes off methodically on the other side of the bed, tossing them in a careless pile on the floor. Adrian follows the sharp angles of his body with his eyes, taking in the tanlines and tattoos as if he hadn’t spent the night before worshipping each one with his lips and fingertips, trying to make up for his betrayal before he admitted to it. He’d known last night that it might be his last chance, that Deran might never want to talk to him again after his confession -- but he’s here now. They both are. And as nervous as Adrian is that Deran’s about to tell him to go sleep on the couch, he can’t help but be grateful for this small intimacy.

Deran slides beneath the sheets, flipping onto his back to stare up at Adrian expectantly. There’s a weariness evident in his expression that Adrian wasn’t expecting, and he realizes, finally, that the last few weeks haven’t only been hard on him. Deran’s hiding things from his family, now, for Adrian, and he knows how that wears on him. And there’s something else, a shadow in his eyes that doesn’t fit the situation, an aura of guilt that wafts from him when he thinks Adrian’s not looking. There’s more to Deran’s hesitance and mood than just Adrian’s problems, which means the list of things they need to talk about has grown even longer. How much can they avoid before everything explodes around them?

“Come on,” Deran prompts, his voice quiet, as if he’s as afraid of fracturing the tentative peace as Adrian is. “It’s late, and neither of us slept last night.”

It’s true. They’d held each other for a while, then pretended to sleep, but the mounting tension had made it impossible until Adrian finally sat up and started talking, and the rest… the rest, they’ve already covered once tonight, and that’s plenty. So, slowly, Adrian strips off the layers of clothing he’s wearing, feeling Deran’s eyes on him the entire time. Sex is the last thing on his mind; he’s pretty sure even his insatiable need for Deran isn’t enough to get him hard tonight, but he basks in the attention anyway. Deran still wants him, is still looking at Adrian like he can’t quite believe that he’s real, and that goes a long way toward melting the ice that’s been forming around his heart all day.

He doesn’t hesitate to get into bed, but he keeps a careful distance between his body and Deran’s, just in case, until his lover reaches out and pulls him into his usual place draped over his chest. Strong arms wrap around him, and Adrian tucks his face into Deran’s neck, inhaling the familiar musk of a hard-working man. It eases the tension in his spine and he kisses along the protrusion of Deran’s collarbone without any thought. The man beneath him shivers, and a hand slides over Adrian’s hair and down to cup the back of his neck, tugging him into a kiss.

Unlike their usual battles for dominance, the kiss is soft and sweet, a reaffirmation of their bond, a reminder that the two of them are still there, still standing, and a promise to keep it that way. Adrian’s eyes slide closed, and he doesn’t open them, even when Deran pulls back to rest his forehead against his own. “It’s gonna be okay,” he breathes into the humid space between their mouths. “The shit with the cops -- and you and me. We’re gonna be okay.”

Adrian wets his lips and looks up at Deran, trying desperately to believe the words. He’s kept the faith all this time, believing that his deal with the DEA would be honored, but he’s been let down too often to think it’ll be that easy. Even with Deran on his side, Adrian doesn’t see a way out of the mess he’s made, and he can’t stand the idea that he might drag Deran into it, too. But the fact that Deran knows and is holding him anyway, that he’s making promises like that -- it warms Adrian to his core, and he finds himself hesitantly hopeful again. “God, I love you,” he murmurs. He hadn’t said it the night before, when Deran did. The timing wasn’t right; he couldn’t say he loved Deran when he was lying to him. It made the words seem cheap, fake, and Adrian refused to do it.

Now, though, with everything out in the open, he doesn’t hesitate. Even if the fucking DEA comes barging through their door in two minutes to arrest him, Deran will know how Adrian feels. He’ll have said it, told him the most important truth, and they’ll at least have that.

Deran kisses him again, just as gentle, and Adrian can feel him smile against his mouth. And if he can still make Deran smile that way, Adrian figures that all isn’t lost yet.

#my fic #animal kingdom tnt #deran cody/adrian dolan #deran/adrian #episode 4X07 spoilers

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stillbeatingheart · 4 years

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Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Animal Kingdom (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Deran Cody & Adrian Dolan, Deran Cody/Adrian Dolan Characters: Deran Cody, Adrian Dolan, Andrew 'Pope' Cody, Craig Cody, Janine 'Smurf' Cody, Joshua 'J' Cody Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, canon warnings apply, Canon Triggers Apply, So..., Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Violence, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Self-Hatred, If you are triggered by things in this show then don't read this fandom Summary:

I DON'T WRITE FLUFF

Following Deran and Adrian through seasons 1-3. Mostly canon compliant, with some fill-ins and some inner turmoil to spice it up.

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Your head is like an overripe fruit. Bursting at the stem end, starting to crack and spill out on the floor of the bathroom. Your chest is fire and your stomach is a rock. Your ribs are sharp edged, just like your boyfriend. Or your friend. Or your whatever he is. Your Deran. Just like him.

And you’ve never felt more alone in your life.

And you’re still not able to convince yourself to want someone else. To want something else. Maybe because your mind keeps returning you to Belize. With his arms around you and his head on your shoulder as the waves churned around you and the sky grew dark. As his whispers against the base of your head were truth and his life here was a lie.

#animal kingdom #deran cody #adrian dolan #deran/adrian

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captainsuke · 5 years

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had to make a choice that was not mine (had to say goodbye for the last time)

The first thing he finds, when he’s finally stopped, no more flights no more buses, taxis or any sort of movement, just him and an empty cheap hotel room, what he finds is two hundred grand packed into the bottom of his backpack and he is so mad.

That’s so illegal, he thinks wildly before laughing himself sick. Like he’s not in a foreign country traveling under a passport that’s definitely not bearing his name, like he’s not on the run from the law, like what is one more law broken?

Still. Jesus Christ Deran.

He finds the phone eventually, underneath it all. Stares at it for a long time after. Has to stop himself from hurling it against a wall.

The first time Deran calls, the first time the phone rings, he almost doesn’t answer it.

But he does. Presses the little green button, puts it to his ear and hangs up at the sound of Deran’s voice.

Then immediately regrets it. Then doesn’t. Then does again. Adrian doesn’t know.

The phone sits quiet for an hour, for two. It’s just past lunch time which makes it late in the night yesterday back in Oceanside, Adrian can picture the scene vividly. Deran keeping his insomnia company, smoking and holding his phone tight. Then it rings again.

This time he picks up.

Adrian doesn’t give him time to talk, says some things he doesn’t mean, a lot of things, says all the words that have been brewing in his chest, and Deran stays silent through out his entire tirade.

When he’s done, angrily heaving breaths, Deran just asks are you okay?

“Can you do anything if I’m not?”

Deran’s silent for a long time, long enough that Adrian thinks maybe he’s going to hang up. That he’s finally said the thing that makes him hang up.

But he does answer. Eventually. A quiet broken no.

The truth doesn’t make him feel any better. But it does make him feel something.

He doesn’t hang up next time Deran calls.

The third, fourth, fifth calls go like that, Deran listening to Adrian’s words, Adrian listening to the sound of Deran’s breathing,

The change of breath when something he says lands particularly hard.

The next call, he’s tired, he misses home and his sister and Deran, their house on the beach, their main surfboards leaning up next to each other, Deran’s pile of stupidly expensive skate shoes that they would both trip over at the door.

He’s lonely and tired and he just doesn’t have any stories to tell, can’t think of anything to say, doesn’t want to be the one talking today.

“What’s up with you?”

He swears he can hear Deran shrug even as he says nothing.

“No, come on man, this doesn’t work if it’s just me. It’s not just me, right?”

Deran makes a noise that Adrian hopes is him agreeing, then, finally, he speaks.

“Right, okay, okay, uhh, Pope and J are getting along? I think?”

“That’s… good?” Adrian never had much to do with Julia’s kid; doesn’t have many memories of him from when they were kids and J was toddling around the Cody house, has just the handful of times he’s been around since he came back, since Adrian and Deran got together.

(and fell apart, fuck, they’d never had any time, Adrian thinks, like star crossed lovers if he’s feeling melodramatic, cursed if he’s feeling worse. Their timing sucked from day one but sometimes it seemed like the entire universe was conspiring to make everything turn to shit, to make little mistakes and minor problems into fleeing the country and losing everything. It’s not fair.)

“Man, I don’t even know.” Deran says, but he kind of chuckles afterwards. Like maybe it wasn’t all that bad. Or maybe he’s just laughing because it doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, everything just keeps happening and they’re just trying to keep above water now.

After that it’s easier. Or something like easy. Some days Adrian talks about shit he sees, the tourists he’s overcharging to learn how to surf, the little kids that he borrows boards to when the weather gone bad and business is slow. The grandmother a couple of houses down that is always pushing food on him. She calls him Silly Boy with a fond voice, but Adrian doesn’t tell Deran that.

Other days Deran talks around stuff at home. Meanders around topics like he can’t keep his attention on any one thing. Like maybe he’s avoiding topics he thinks Adrian doesn’t want to hear about. Or things he doesn’t know how to talk about.

He says Craig’s gotta dad now, then talks about Renn introducing Nic to the ocean for an hour.

Smurf’s shrine keeps coming back he says, and Adrian remembers the pile of flowers and candles that Deran had stared long and hard at with red rimmed eyes, sitting uninvited on the side walk outside The Drop. Then he spends the rest of the phone call talking about two of his bartenders trying to pretend they’re not dating, when everyone knows they totally are.

“What do people think happened?” He asks one time, what do his friends think, his sister? The guys they’d surf with, Adrian’s regular customers, the random people who’d come up to him sometimes, who liked having a pro surfer give them advice on surfboards. What do they think happened to him?

“Ah. Ha,” It’s a weird laugh, amused, but not in a good way. “Most people think I killed you.”

Oh.

“Wow,” is what he ends up saying. Very carefully doesn’t say you did.

Which.

He doesn’t know how he feels about that. Maybe a week ago he would have said it. When he first got here he definitely would have, would have yelled it, and maybe would have found other words to throw, to hurt.

He’s not sure how he feels about the change. It’s not bad, he thinks. Maybe it’s not bad that he’s not so angry anymore. Even if it leaves only sadness behind.

He misses Deran.

Misses the quiet shyness that only he got to see. Misses the way he’d hold his head, mouth twisting into a cocky grin, eyes searching for Adrian’s because Deran always wanted Adrian to be watching. Fuck, he misses his quiet frustrated sighs. God, how can Adrian miss the look on Deran’s face when things got too much? The careful blank expression and forced stillness, fuck, he misses the bad as much as the good.

“Today is the worst.” Deran announces at the start of one call, sounding funny, like he’s speaking face down on a bed, but there’s the sound of him shifting constantly, his breath making small noises of hurt.

“You okay?”

“Some asshole prepper named Thor broke like half my ribs, so congratulations I hate those movies now too.”

“I don’t know, I kind of liked those movies,” Adrian retorts just to hear Deran make an offended noise. “All that long blond hair.”

“Yeah, well this guy was a cueball, plus he’s my cousin, well, Pope’s cousin, so there’s that.”

“Wow, okay, what?” The Cody’s don’t have family. It’s one of the weirdest thing about their fucked up family lore. Old lady Smurf just appearing out of no where, all of her sons without fathers, just another way to keep them stuck to her. (She’s dead, he tells himself, like crossing himself, sometimes he just has to say it out loud. Smurf is dead. It still doesn’t feel real.)

“Yeah they’re fitting right in, they might actually have shittier genes than us.”

“What happened?”

“Hit me with his fucking car.”

“Are you okay?” Adrian worries and Deran laughs with a hitching breath.

“Hey, you know me, I hood surfed that bitch easy.”

“Yeah? How’d you break the ribs then?”

Silence

“Didn’t stick the landing?” Adrian teases.

“Not even a good attempt man.” There’s humor in Deran’s voice at least.

“Gotta work on that.”

Deran laughs his wounded laugh and Adrian’s hands ache where they’re wrapped around the phone.

Adrian can hear a baby crying in the background, making it hard to hear the words Deran’s mumbling in his ear.

“Deran where are you?”

He doesn’t answer but there’s the sound of a door sliding open, then closed, and Adrian can hear the ocean in the background instead of a baby’s cry.

Deran doesn’t say anything.

“You should go home.”

Deran clears his throat with a swallow that sounds wet and Adrian hates that he made that happen. He’s not an idiot. Adrian didn’t look back when he walked away from Deran leaving him at the pier. But he did when he was in the car, when they drove away and all that was in the rear view was a man curled in on himself on the ground with shaking shoulders. He knows he’s not the only one that died a little that last night in Oceanside. No matter how angry he is at Deran at any time Adrian hates when he cries. Probably hates it more than Deran himself hates it. And fuck he hated crying. When he’d been a kid he’d hold his breath til he was red in the face just trying to stop hiccuping breaths from exposing him. Not that it mattered, Deran’s face is the type that all but shouted from the rooftops if he was even adjacent to tears.

“I’m making Craig pay for all the big brother bullshit I’ve had to do for the last ten years.” Deran says instead.

Adrian lets him have his deflection. Tries not to think about their house sitting empty and abandoned, while Deran couch surfs or – god forbid – moves back into his bar’s crawl space.

Not often, but sometimes it’s a lot of silence and very few words. But those words carry a lot more weight.

Adrian watches the waves rolling in, brightly colored swimsuits bobbing in the blue, phone to his ear as he listens to that familiar breathing, the wind and the crashing of waves half a world away.

“I miss you.” It’s said now, out loud with no chance of taking it back. “Even when I hate you, I miss you.”

Adrian can hear the slosh of liquid, Deran swallowing, the clink of glass against glass.

“I know I tried to say it, but I never said it.” Adrian says, even now skirting around the real words. (I love you)

Deran doesn’t say anything for a very long time, just the two of them listening to each other’s wet breathing, pretending that they’re both holding it together. When Deran does speak his voice cracks.

“I want you here, I don’t, I can’t -” Deran cuts off like he’s choking. “I keep forgetting you’re not coming back.”

Adrian doesn’t think that’s what he was going to originally say, but he lets it go. There’s things he’s tried to say, words that circle around in his head but catch in his throat. They’ve never been much good at talking, these past months is probably the most they’ve spoken since they were idiot kids wanting to spill every thought and secret to the other. As though if nothing was between them, nothing could tear them apart.

Their style of comfort - their type of communications - has nearly always been in presence and touch; Adrian with his never ending patience, his ready comfort that tied no strings, and Deran always in Adrian’s corner, always standing behind him, ready with words and fists.. They really had made a great pair, even if time had torn them apart, turned those kids into something almost unrecognizable.

Adrian leans back in his deck chair, bites into brightly colored fruit that’s even sweeter than it’s bright skin would suggest. Juice runs down his fingers and in the background kids scream and squeal as waves break against them. He’ll have to go back to work soon, feeling drained and washed out, conversations like this don’t belong in a bright day, with the heavy air and warm sun. Adrian would kill to be back on his shitty couch, Deran’s head in his lap, but the thought just makes him ache.

He has to go back to work.

There’s still questions he tries to ask.

When-? Will-? Can I ever come home?

But not everything is easier to say like this. So, yet again, things go unsaid.

He rings Deran one night – his night – when the walls are closing in, when the noises of tourists get drunk in the streets makes him want to curl up and die, or go out there and get drunker and do something real fucking stupid.

“I’m sorry, you know? I know, I, I fucked up this time.”

“Don’t, you know, just don’t with that shit.” Deran’s voice starts sharp then goes thin and small. “If anything, you know it was me, I fucked up. “

It’s easier, which is fucked up Adrian knows – he knows – but it’s easier to talk like this, where the only hard part is the days when things have gone wrong, when Deran’s voice is strained and hurt, Adrian aches with loneliness so hard that he feels physically destroyed, and Adrian has to curl around the phone in his hand to stop himself from buying a plane ticket and forcing Deran to come be with him.

“You’re not the only one that fucked up this time.”

He wonders where Deran is, the nights Deran rings he can hear the bar, or a brother, or something that he can recognize. All he can hear now is the generic sound of traffic, Deran’s shoe scuffing against the ground in a continuous rhythmic noise, maybe the murmur of voices in the distance.

“I think you’ve got some credit in the fucking up department.” Deran’s tone goes dry, like he thinks the idea that Adrian should take any of the blame is hilarious.

“That’s not how it works, Deran.”

Adrian hears the distinct bark of Pope’s voice, the words lost though the angry tone remains. Deran sighs but doesn’t answer his brother.

“Try and get some sleep Adrian,” he says.

As Deran hangs up, Adrian can hear the snarl of words not meant for him, the maybe sound of a scuffle. He doesn’t sleep for a long time, but he doesn’t go out. Doesn’t do anything stupid. That’s got to count for something.

Sometimes it’s just Deran talking shit, half formed sentences and thoughts and all Adrian needs to do is make the occasional hum and Deran will keep talking, and for awhile Adrian gets to feel like maybe it’s not all bad. But sometimes he says something important in the constant stream of words.

“Wait, did you, are you saying I could come home?”

Deran’s silent for a very long time. Like maybe he didn’t mean to say anything.

“Deran. Talk to me. Tell me.” Adrian takes a deep breath, tries not to feel anything. “Even if it sucks, you gotta tell me.”

Deran stays silent for a little while longer, but Adrian knows Deran needs time; he doesn’t know how to say things sometimes, it’s half their problems, their inability to say the things they think.

“Okay,” Deran finally says with a shuddering breath. “You’re right. It’s weird, Oceansides weird now, man. A whole lotta Smurf’s old contacts have been coming out. Since she, you know, since she’s been gone.”

Adrian makes a noise to let him know he’s still listening, hating the way Deran’s voice hesitates unsure talking about his mother. He doesn’t know what exactly went down when Smurf died. Not exactly. Knows just enough to know it was bad. Really bad. That Smurf had gone out of her way to fuck up her kids just that little bit more on her way out. Part of him wants Deran to feel like he can talk about anything with him. The rest of him wants to never hear her mentioned again, unless its a plan to dig her up and set her on fire for all the shit she’s put all them all through. For the shit that’s still tearing them apart even now she’s gone.

“People we never even knew existed. And they want, you know, the usual bullshit, money, favors, chance to say they screwed over the Cody’s.” He sounds bitter as he says it, like he’s continuously disappointed by the criminals he deals with.

“Deran.” Adrian says, trying to pull him back to focus, Deran will bitch about assholes for hours if he got started.

“There’s this fed.” Deran blurts out. “Crooked as fuck, dirty, you know? But he says. He says your deal should have stuck, like you held your end, feds should have held up theirs.”

“What’s he want?” Adrian asks, because they always want something, and he might not be able stop Deran from doing something stupid, but he can at least know what the cost was.

“Same shit, I guess.” Deran answers.

“Deran…”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I don’t know what he wants. How long it’ll take.” Deran says it like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t matter what the crooked fed asks for, like it was a done deal as soon as he knew what sort of currency was required.

It reminds Adrian of a conversation weeks ago, a short one where Deran’s voice had been half slurred with alcohol or lack of sleep (or both)

You don’t know what I’ve done, I’ve done things. Way I am now, you don’t want me anywhere near you.

And he didn’t have anything to say to it back then, doesn’t know what to say now. He doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that part of him screams I don’t care! that whatever Deran’s done doesn’t matter to him.

He’s fucked, he’s known that since he was fifteen and the two of them had nursed bloody noses and black eyes behind the bleachers at school, fucked since Deran had leaned over his bar and said you made it clear you didn’t want to hear from me with a smile on his face, like it was okay if the past was all they ever got to have.

It’s been half a year and Deran left him to fend for himself in a foreign country and Adrian still wants to know how he’s doing, still wants nothing bad for the idiot, wants to go back to those nights when Deran was relaxed enough to let Adrian wrap his arms around him, to curl around him til there wasn’t any space between the two of them.

Something that feels like it could be hope starts growing, like the unfurling petals of a flower slowly blossoming in his chest.

Adrian’s so fucking gone on this idiot that the only thing that makes all of this remotely okay, is that maybe – just maybe – Deran’s just as lost on him.

#animal kingdom #ak fic #adrian dolan #deran cody #my fic #mine #teamsuke #This is something of a fix it #I just wanted them to talk #i forgot to mention #because I AM THE WORST #@theninjazebra is a champion #for dealing with my half formed ideas and helping me fond a drection to take them

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theninjazebra · 5 years

Photo

rest of my Animal Kingdom fanart can be found Here

Part 4: Renn in my fic series - In the Wake (or In Which The Codys Kinda Hang Out And Take Turns Having Messy Breakdowns). got another 4 parts planned after this.

part 1 Pope

part 2 Deran

part 3 Craig

fic under cut -

Renn.

A house with a baby is never fully asleep. A house with a coke dealer and born thief is never fully asleep either, but in this new life Renn finds she doesn’t startle awake anymore, never too deeply asleep to be unable to smoothly tap back into wakefulness.

She can hear voices coming from the main bathroom down the hall. She can hear Nick doing his soft baby breathing in the cot, and Craig isn’t in the room. Deran must be home.

She contemplates going back to sleep, but a check of her phone says Nick will be up for a feed again soon. Renn sighs, gets out of bed, finds a clean enough hoodie of Craig’s and walks on cold feet down the hall.

The scene in the bathroom is becoming familiar. Craig trying to wrestle Deran out of dirt, blood, and vomit stained clothes and into the shower, Deran hopelessly insensible, possibly crying, slurring dark shit when he could even form words. It used to be the other way round, Deran never really having an appetite for this kind of oblivion, preferring pure adrenaline and a bit of weed to soften the crash. There was a time, when he was .. 13? 14? he would get shitfaced on whatever he could get his little grubby hands on and Renn would help Craig wrestle him home. Hopefully this too would pass.

“Hey, I’m going to feed Nick in sec, you need anything?”

Craig startles, looks up. “Nah, we’re good. Sorry about this. Again.” Deran takes this opportunity to lurch forward and split his lip on the edge of the bath, feeling nothing. Craig swears.

“It’s ok.” She means it.

***

She ends up having to walk her baby up and down the road in front of the house to get him to settle again. Craig swears by it, says the sea air has healing properties.

Renn still can’t quite believe she’s playing house and babies with Craig Cody. And that she doesn’t hate it, that he isn’t fucking it up so far. Oh, it isn’t easy, and she has a hefty rainy day fund stashed away for the second it doesn’t work out. Nights like these, with fussing babies and little brothers keep them up, it’s tempting. Cut, run again. See if her cousins have any work going.

But she won’t. Can’t. There isn’t a word for what Craig is for her. Never safe or stable enough to last long, but always a shelter when she’s needed it most. And though they had never been exclusive, he is the only man she’s fucked in years. Who knows, maybe this will be different. A baby, no more Smurf…

Nick finally stopped grizzling, and they headed inside. The house is quiet when she gets in, Deran curled up unconscious on the couch in a t-shirt four sizes too big. Craig is still awake when she slips back into bed.

“You were right, that sea air really does the trick.”

Craig hums and curl around her. “Yeah, he loves the ocean. Can’t wait to get him on a board.”

“Not long before he can have his first swim.” An idea strikes her, she turns in Craig’s arms and looks up at his closed eyes. “We should do something for it. It’s almost like a baptism or a christening or something, right? But better. I don’t want him in some church, and your family isn’t religious, are they?”

Craig smiles, open one eye. “Fuck no. I mean, Pope maybe, when he feels like it. But I like your idea. Will be nice to have a celebration.”

“We could invite my cousins. They haven’t met Baby Nicolas yet.” Craig gives her a look.

“They know he’s my baby?”

“I don’t think they’ll be surprised. They were never going to hurt you. I’ll never hurt you, baby.”

Craig buries his face in her hair. His breath deepens and she’s just starting to drift back to the shallow sleep that’s become her new normal when Craig mumbles into her hair, “I’m worried about him. It’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah. He’ll pull through again. You’re doing fine.”

“Why do you put up with all our stupid Cody shit? You just had a baby.”

“It’s fine. I kinda expected it would be hard for him.”

Craig pulls back, suspicious. “Why?”

“Craig, I know, ok?” Craig frowns, is clearly trying to work out how to lie to her face, but Renn stares him down. She feels like a monster when Craig buries his face in her hair again, goes very still, and then a fine tremor starts in his hands and then down long limbs, to his whole body. He isn’t crying, but she thinks it’s because he doesn’t know how to cry about this. This dark, hopeless thing he’s carried for his brother for so long.

She remembers, like it’s a photograph, Craig’s face that night.

Renn usually tried to avoid the Cody house, but her living situation had been in flux for a couple days and crashing there had been the easiest option. She just hid in Craig’s room, avoided the rest of the family and Craig brought her food. Just like old times.

It had been very late, or very early, after a nice day. Lazy and hot, too buzzed and fucked to be worried about much. She had his complete attention, both of them lost in a warm dark world of their own.

They hadn’t heard the door to the shared bathroom open over the music - not loud, but enough to mask most noise elsewhere in the house. But she had heard Deran, calling to Craig, standing still and not-right in the doorway, half hidden in shadow. His voice had sounded… she didn’t know. Wrong.

The effect on Craig wasn’t like anything Renn had seen before or since. Suddenly sober and closed off from her, solely intent on getting her out and shielding Deran from her sight. The only clear look at Craig’s face she had was of soul deep heartbreak and despair.

Everyone had an opinion on how Smurf was with her sons, but Renn had seen it. She had spent the next two nights sleeping in a friend’s van and Craig had avoided her for months after.

“I don’t think you remember, but that time I stayed at the house…”

“I remember. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Yeah.”

Craig didn’t save her from her mother’s house, but did provide enough to keep her going until her Uncle Nicolas could come, sweep her up, give her shelter and a means to never need her mother again. And here in the dark, smothered in the Cody’s secrets, she couldn’t be more grateful.

***

Renn usually woke first to enjoy the secret morning time to herself. Just enough time for coffee and the ever present roar of the surf. Go through the night’s messages, work out who wants what when and plan the day accordingly.

The couch is empty when she gets up, but a groan and the sound of the toilet flushing means Deran has stuck around this morning. The look on his face when he emerges says that he won’t be ready to go anywhere for a while yet.

Renn makes herself some coffee, sets some water in front of Deran where he’s slumped at the kitchen counter avoiding her gaze. She gets why he’s embarrassed, but really, come on, they’d both seen so much worse from Craig over the years. Fuck, Deran had probably seen worse from her.

“So Craig and I talked last night. Think we might do a thing for Nick’s first swim in the ocean.”

Deran cracked an eyelid at that. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Dunno yet. Just invite people down to the beach. Get him his first wet suit. Probably want a party after. Wanna host?”

Deran looks confused, not ready yet to think. “My house isn’t that big…”

Renn fails to not smile. “No, at your bar, dumbass.”

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds cool.”

At that moment the bedroom door opens and Craig staggers past with an indignant Baby Nick in one arm, retrieves more towels from the hall closet and shuffles back to the en suite, muttering darkly about showers needing to change the sheets in the crib.

Deran groans and slinks back to the bathroom.

Renn pours herself another coffee and pulls out her phone. She’s going to need to work out a date for this thing first.

#my art #animal kingdom #animal kingdom tnt #Renn #sorry for shit writing #most if this was written and proofed after midnight #and i'm very bad at picking up mistakes #in the wake

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jinxedambitions · 6 years

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Seeking Comfort

Characters: Deran/Adrian Summary: Deran's upset, so he seeks out one of the only people he knows will give him comfort without any strings attached.

A/N: This is a short fic I’ve been tossing around in my head since I watched the premiere. It takes place after the events of the season 3 premiere, and it contains spoilers for the episode, so it’s under the cut. Or you can read it on Ao3.

[Read on Ao3]

“Baz is dead.”

It wasn’t the sort of revelation Adrian was expecting when Deran showed up at his apartment at three in the morning, looking crushed. It was especially surprising since Deran couldn’t have known he was home yet, which either meant he came hoping Adrian would be home, or he came despite knowing he might find the place empty.

Adrian also wasn’t expecting the hug that followed as Deran practically stumbled into his personal space. Adrian caught him in what was probably the most gentle contact they’d shared since they were kids. He felt like he was holding a cracked vase, praying it didn’t suddenly crumble in his hands.

“I’ve got you,” Adrian whispered, pulling Deran inside and facing little resistance from Deran.

“Someone shot him,” Deran mumbled as they walked to the bedroom.

Adrian didn’t say anything. Deran wouldn’t appreciate the customary “I’m sorry.” It would just seem hollow to him. Smurf had bred that sort of empathy out of them to isolate them from everyone but family. If no one could understand what the Codys were going through, then they’d only have each other, most importantly Smurf, to rely on.

For a fleeting moment, Adrian wondered how Smurf would handle this, but he dashed that poisonous thought from his mind. Smurf would twist even this to her advantage, gaslighting her children into believing whatever lies best suited her in regards to Baz’s death. Just as she had done with everything else.

It had to be enough that Deran came to him. It had to be enough that Deran had stepped outside the safety of family and wound up on his doorstep. Deran would show him what he needed even if he didn’t realize he was doing it.

“Pope’s going nuts...more than usual. He and Baz...they took care of each other. Pope did time for him, and now he’s dead. And Craig…” At the mention of his favored brother, Deran cracked. The shell-shocked voice became a full, agonized moan.

Adrian wasn’t certain if Deran was imagining what it would be to lose Craig or if something about Craig’s reaction to Baz’s death broke him. It didn’t really matter though. It was just the thing that tipped him over the edge he was already on.

“Craig’s headed off with Renn again. Things are too heavy here,” Deran said, touching his lips like he could literally hold the emotion inside if he tried hard enough.

“He’s not leaving you, Deran,” Adrian said, realizing that Deran felt abandoned even if he was unwilling to admit it to Craig.

“I know,” Deran muttered. “He’d wanted to leave before…” He paused, unable to say it aloud again. “Doesn’t stop it from sucking.”

Adrain sat beside him on the bed, keeping his space not because he wanted to, but because he wasn’t certain that Deran wouldn’t lash out. So, he was taken completely by surprise when Deran leaned over and placed his head in Adrian’s lap.

Adrian’s eyes widened for the briefest moment as Deran seemed to burrow into him, seeking comfort. He pulled himself together quickly before Deran could think the contact was unwelcome, and he let his hands fall to Deran’s shoulder and hair, stroking him soothingly.

“He’s dead,” Deran all but whimpered as he clutched at Adrian’s legs.

Adrian gave up trying to figure out what he was supposed to do and hauled Deran into his arms as he laid back on the bed.

Deran didn’t resist Adrian’s move, instead he shifted up the bed with him until they were lying side-by-side. Adrian faced him, letting their legs twine together, and pulling their chests close until they shared each other's breath. Deran’s came in hitching gasps as his arms wrapped around Adrian’s waist.

“We fought...the last time I saw him, we were fighting. All of us.” Deran’s words were hardly audible between them, and the choked emotion behind it tore at Adrian’s heart. This wasn’t a side of Deran he saw very often.

“It’s not your fault, Deran,” Adrian promised, pushing several rogue strands of hair out of Deran’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Deran mumbled, pressing his runny nose to Adrian’s neck.

Adrian wrapped his hand around the back of Deran’s head and cradled it to him. Then he wrapped his other arm around the small of Deran’s back, letting it rest beneath his t-shirt, giving them skin-to-skin contact.

“It’s going to be okay,” Adrian whispered, rubbing small circles at the base of Deran’s spine.

Deran clung to him even tighter as he continued to purge the emotions he’d undoubtedly allowed to build up inside for longer than Baz had been dead. The emotional storm lasted for hours, and Adrian weathered it silently, continuing to cradle Deran to him until he ran out of tears.

The sun was slowly rising when Adrian finally felt the tension slowly bleed from Deran’s body, and sleep took him. Adrian remained awake a while longer, just listening to the quiet cadence of Deran’s breathing.

Baz was dead, and Smurf was in prison. Things were changing rapidly, and it worried Adrian. Deran was just beginning to get settled into himself, and Adrian feared this could drag him right back into the thick of the family drama.

Adrian felt himself tear up at the thought of losing Deran. It was always a possibility if a job went wrong, but this made it all the more real.

Eventually, Adrian fell asleep as well, and when he woke he was alone on the bed as though the previous night had never happened. There was only a message on his phone to confirm it hadn’t been a hyper realistic nightmare.

Deran: Sorry. I had to get to the bar for a delivery. I didn’t want to wake you because you probably needed the sleep after dealing with me.

A separate message, sent nearly twenty minutes later simply read: Thanks.

Adrian smiled as he put his phone down. Thanks. Maybe Deran wouldn’t return to is old ways.

#animal kingdom #animal kingdom tnt #deran x adrian #deran cody #derdrian #jinxed fanfiction

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 3 years

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Writing Idea: You (reader) having a moment with Craig before a family dinner.

Content warnings: Smut, licking, explicit language

Dripping wet I stepped out of my shoes before making my way towards Craig's room. Why did I even bother to take a shower today?, I asked myself while wringing out my hair over the towel I had used just a few hours before Baz had the great idea of throwing me into the pool. Smiling softly over that thought I peeled myself out of my soaked jeans first, before pulling Craig's shirt over my head.

"What a nasty girl you are, huh?"

I turned around. With my ears occupied by the sound of wet fabric clinging to my body I hadn't noticed Craig coming after me. He was grinning from one ear to the other as he moved toward me and reached out to take a hold onto my hips.

"To my defense: I had no clue that he wanted me to nick that car, okay? Baz told me something about running errands."

I returned his bright smile and continued with taking off my underwear. Intrigued by that, Craig's eyes followed my movements and stopped at my breasts as I was about to free them from a drenched bra that was starting to grow cold around my skin.

"Hey!", I poked jokingly "My eyes are up here, dummy!"

Him curling his lips just a little had me knowing what was on his mind.

"Nuh-uh...Janine's got the dinner almost ready and we don't want to be late for that, do we?"

I rose my eyebrows and tapped his chest in an admonishing manner that was greeted by Craig pouting and throwing me a pair of the best puppy eyes he could muster.

"Oh c'mon...", he groaned softly "We still have like 20 minutes and I really think that you have earned yourself a little something something today."

To support his intentions a little more, he let his fingers wander over the outlines of my silhouette, leaving my damp skin with goosebumps all over. Gently brushing his hands over my back and shoulders, Craig pulled me in closer and lowered his head to place delicate, soft kisses on my neck.

"Craig, please..." I whispered, with my voice getting halfway lost in the cozy fabric of his mokka-brown hoodie. I loved that piece of cloth not just on him, but also to wear it myself. Snuggling one half of my face onto it I let my hands slip under it's seam for my fingers to play over Craig's lower back.

"Please, what?", he murmured whilst joyfully nibbling at my ear "You know, that's still plenty of time to make you happy, babe."

His warm breath stroking my skin lulled me in quite a bit and I contemplated giving in to his offerings.

"You sly, seductive idiot, you." I moaned, as I felt his hands glide towards my butt, enclosing it with a firm grip.

"Is that a Yes?"

Although I couldn't see it, it was obvious that Craig was back at grinning widely.

"Maybe...", I answered, taking in a deep breath of his cologne "If you tell me what you have in mind to make me happy."

"Hmm...how about you make yourself comfortable on my bed and I'll show you?"

With one last, well placed kiss on my neck he released me from his embrace and waited for me to pick up on his suggestion.

I gladly obliged to it and got myself onto his bed, the messy blankets curling underneath my back. Watching me getting a comfortable rest on top of the sheets, Craig approached the bed himself, without taking off any of his clothing. That came as a surprise, because I had much rather expected him to be out of his clothes before I had even lowered my head down to the pillow. Instead, he climbed on top of me, purring a soft: "Close your eyes." I did and just a moment later I felt Craig's lips caressing my collarbone. Starting from there, he left a trail of kisses and occasional, playful bites down my body, which had me shivering in anticipation ever so slightly. Not only did his lips brush over me, but also strands of his hair that went astray from a poorly put together bun.

Working his way further down south, Craig's hands lovingly caressed the delicate insides of my thighs, making me long for his touch even more by the second. I could feel his breath breezing over my trembling stomach and I found myself very drawn to the thought of just grabbing his head and jamming it inbetween my legs, yet I enjoyed him worshipping every inch of me like that. He made it all about me, which I liked a terrible lot.

He took his time and I traced every delightful touch in my mind, that got wiped clean of every other thought than Craig giving me a steamy good time.

His soft, gentle lips played around my upper thighs, ever so slowly getting closer to my almost achingly needy pussy.

Then, finally, I felt the tip of his tongue where I desperately wanted it to be. In little circles it teased my throbbing clit and I could tell that I was so wet already for this little intermezzo to leave blankets and sheets stained with my juices. A deep sigh emerged from the very bottom of my lungs as Craig amplified the pressure of his tongue, parting my lips and licking over my all too sensitive entrance. I squirmed in sheer pleasure as he pushed his tongue inside of me to get a full taste. Twisting and twirling it, he ate me out as if that was his sole purpose. Entertaining that atmosphere a little further, I let my fingers sift through his hair only to grab a good fist full and direct his pretty face closer.

"Don't you dare to stop..." I moaned, as I enjoyed his upper lip massaging my clit. Carefull as to let nobody else notice what we were doing in here I tried to keep quiet while I let myself flow with the waves of arousal and lust Craig was gifting to me so generously. The feeling, that had started as a tingling sensation, grew up to an all consuming buzz within my body at a very rapid pace. All of my muscles seemed to clench and tighten around his tongue, that was ever so eagerly exploring my insides. The imagination of Craig getting his face all soaked and wet to pleasure me got me more than just hot and bothered. It made me whimper out his name with a shaky voice, demanding him to keep on doing his magic on me. To that he gladly obliged and wrapped his arms around my thighs to pull me closer. Resting my calves on his shoulders I arched my waist his way. My whole body felt close to exploding into a thousand shards and splinters. Pressing ourselves against each other I almost doubted that he was still able to breath, but that was a risk both of us were willing to take. My fingers buried themselves in Craig's soft hair as I bit my lip, trying not to cave underneath his loving touches, which almost got too much to handle at this point. I got so lost in the act of breathing and existing in this moment that I successfully lost track on how firm I must've been tugging at Craig's utterly messed up bun that got destroyed eventually as I recognised the thin, used up elastic snapping within my grip. That hair tie wasn't the only thing to finally give in and snap, because my trembling body decided to do the exact same. Contracting over and over around Craig's tongue, waves of relief rushed through my muscles. Like a temporary pulse that was taking the wheel inside of me, the tides of my orgasm shook me and I pressed my lips onto another to keep this little happening here a secret to the rest of the residents in this house. The walls surrounding us were thin and everybody frequenting these premises a hyper vigilant nature.

After my mind and body agreed on coming back to planet earth, I opened my eyes to take a look down my naked and now partly dry body. Craig had his face leaning onto my thigh, smiling at me while tugging strands of shiny brown curls behind his ears. His beard was glistening wet and him wiping over it with his hand didn't do much to help with that.

"Happy?" He asked with a husky voice that revealed his own desire to continue with this situation.

"Oh... very much so.", I returned, smiling brightly "But what about you now?"

He shrug his shoulders and nodded towards the yard.

"I guess, we'll have to take care of that later, huh? I don't want to upset anyone with going straight for dessert without paying attention to the main course in the first place."

He winked an eye at me and rose himself from the bed, taking an amused look down his hoodie that had dark, wet spots splattered all over the neckline.

"You should probably change into something else, hm?"

"You think so?" He giggled and pulled the fabric over his head to throw it in an already overflowing laundry bag.

"Oh, just a suggestion." I mumbled whilst checking out a shirtless Craig, who had me pondering whether to just skip the family dinner. He caught my dreamy gaze with a smile and teased: "Nuh-uh....we don't wanna be late for dinner, do we?"

#craig x reader #smut #AK #ben robson #Spotify #animal kingdom #craig cody #craig cody crack #that mokka-brown hoodie #i swear it makes him look like a cuddly bear #Animal Kingdom #animal kingdom tnt

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thesportssoundoff · 6 years

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“A great HW fight, a few great prospects, Jimi Manuwa and .500″ The UFC returns to the UK Preview

Joey

March 11th, 2018

Fights: 12 (11?)

Debuts: 5 (John Phillips, Charles Byrd, Magomed Ankalaev, Hakeem Dawodu, Dimitry Sosnovski)

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 4 (Rustam Khabilov OUT, Stevie Ray IN vs Kajan Johnson/Dmitry Prohebetz OUT, Dmitry Sosnovskiy IN vs Mark Godbeer/Alex Reyes OUT, TBD IN vs Nasrat Haqparast/Elizeu Zaleski OUT, Brad Scott IN vs Jack Marshmann)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 5 (Fabricio Werdum, Alexander Volkov, Jimi Manuwa, Jan Blachowicz, Stevie Ray)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC: 2 (Terrion Ware, Paul Craig)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: 7 (Fabricio Werdum, Alexander Volkov, Jan Blachowicz, Leon Edwards, Peter Sobotta, Mark Godbeer, Kajan Johnson)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2016 (in the UFC): 18-8

Alexander Volkov- 3-0 Fabricio Werdum- 3-2 Jan Blachowicz- 3-2 Jimi Manuwa- 2-1 Tom Duquesnoy- 1-1 Terrion Ware- 0-2 Leon Edwards- 4-0 Peter Sobotta- 2-0

Too High Up- Terrion Ware vs Tom Duquesnoy

Terrion Ware is the sort of fighter every MMA organization loves to have. He's a guy who can test your prospects, give them a few unique looks and test what guys can and can't do. Thus far, Ware has given some dicey moments to Cody Stamman and Sean O'Malley so you know he can be your prospect tester dijour. The problem is Ware is fighting third up on the card vs Tom Duquesnoy in a fight entirely designed to get Duquesnoy back on the right track. I'm not opposed to young fighters getting opportunities to rebuild their stock because it's just smart business but Duquesnoy-Ware should not be third fight on the card. Thus far Ware's agent has got him on International Fight Week, the co-main event of an FS1 card and now this premier slot on Fight Pass. Dude's out here putting in work.

Too Low- Danny Henry vs Hakeem Dawodu

In his UFC debut, Canada's top prospect gets what is the usual "hyped guy debut" fight---a really fucking tough matchup where nobody respects his opponent. Henry is a former AFC champ who debuted vs Daniel Teymur and had a hellacious war with him in a FOTN bonus earning win. Henry looked huge for 155 lbs so lord knows what he'll look like at 145. Henry is a flawed fighter who Dawodu should be able to style on BUT there are no guarantees under 155 lbs and Henry has a lot of tools (power, size and cardio) which should give Hakeem some issues. This fight should be on the main card.

Stat Monitor for 2018: Debuting Fighters (Current number: 6-9): John Phillips, Charles Byrd, Magomed Ankalaev, Hakeem Dawodu, Dimitry Sosnovski

Short Notice Fighters (Current number: 6-2): Stevie Ray, Dmitry Sosnovski, Brad Scott

Second Fight (Current number: 8-9): Oliver Enkamp, Danny Henry, Nasrat Haqparast

Cage Corrosion (Current number: 5-9):

Undefeated Fighters (Current number: 11-8): Hakeem Dawodu, Dmitry Sosnovski

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- I'd actually like to begin by doing a bit of an exercise if you'll so indulge me. There are 17 European fighters on this card from top to bottom if you remove the in limbo fight for one Nasrat Haqparast. Removing the debuting fighters, that number drops to 15. Of those fifteen fighters, how many of them are some combination resulting in 2-2 in their last 4 fights?

Jimi Manuwa Jan Blachowicz Danny Roberts Jack Marshmann Brad Scott Paul Craig Stevie Ray

So of the fifteen fighters on this card from Europe who have set foot in the UFC octagon, seven of them are 2-2 in their last 4 fights. That fifteen also includes guys like Tom Duquesnoy, Alexander Volkov and others who don't even have a four fight minimum in the org.

The point was to illustrate the challenges of the European fight scene. MOST of these guys fight in Europe and the UFC goes to Europe, what, six times a year? That leaves these guys taking fights outside of Europe but never in America; like Mexico, Canada or Brazil primarily. That creates a pretty weird dynamic where most of these fights are outside of their comfort zones and on the road in enemy territory where they're really just there to be "an opponent." All of this leads to an erosion of fan support as more and more European fighters get smelted out of their home markets, creating the illusion that they're just not good enough. It all leads to a challenge of balancing the desire to showcase international fighters in front of their fans with the fact that there are X amount of cards to fill up with guys who have to fight X amount of times across X amount of dates. When SO many local fighters are in a state of "win one, lose one, win one, lose one" there's no semblance of momentum.

2- What fighter in Fabricio Werdum's past does Alexander Volkov best represent? I can't think of somebody who he's faced who provides the combination of workrate, size and striking depth that Volkov has. That's not to say Werdum can't win (or won't win) but I'm at a loss for a real good comp for Volkov.

3- It's amazing the level of durability Fabricio Werdum has displayed throughout his career. Not even looking at the level of growth he's displayed as a fighter, we're talking about a guy who has fought at a high level since at least 2007 when I first got reintroduced to MMA. He's fought everybody under the sun and only two guys have managed to put him down and out; Stipe Miocic and JDS. That includes fights with Overeem (three times), Cain Velasquez, Mark Hunt, Fedor, Big Foot, Andrei Arlovski, Big Nog (twice), Travis Browne (twice) and Gabriel Gonzaga. All of that is to lead into the obvious; at SOME point this dude is going to crack. He's over 40, fought three times last year and might fight three more times this year given how often the UFC calls upon him. It's just the nature of the human body to EVENTUALLY erode from prolonged damage. Volkov isn't blessed with the one hitter quitter that can put a dude out on impact but he is very active and aggressive. It probably wouldn't happen early but if this fight drags, accumulation of damage could be a serious problem.

4- So this main card is actually not bad considering it's a European Fight Pass card. Werdum/Volkov is a really good HW fight (and the winner probably is facing the winner of Lewis/Ngannou for a #1 contender spot), Blachowicz/Manuwa I was an awful fight but this is a relevant fight between big dudes at 205 lbs including one dude who will always be a "maybe sorta" #1 contender type because he creates highlight reels. Peter Sobotta vs Leon Edwards isn't the world's sexiest fight on paper but Sobotta has really turned his career around since coming back to the UFC and he seems really confident in his hands right now. On the other hand, Leon Edwards has lost his fight finishing spark but still has fights which suggest he's growing somewhat as a fighter. Even Duquesnoy/Ware should be tons of fun. The prelim slate is just so "UFC Fight Pass in Europe" level that it really dampens the excitement. Brett Johns getting on this card wouldve been huge for him.

5- Jan Blachowicz has sort of had a chance to mentally reset his stock on the lower half of the 205 lb division and gets rocketed RIGHT back up the top of the division. Blachowicz has really struggled around this level with losses to Pat Cummins (in a fight he could've won), Jimi Manuwa (fight he should've won), Alexander Gustafsson (in a fight he probably shouldn't of taken) and Corey Anderson. The level of competition there is pretty intense and it's not like Jan has been completely outstyled in those fights. He's just NOT on that level (or wasn't enough to win those fights). He gets a second crack at Manuwa now.

6- I'm really beginning to lose faith in Danny Roberts as a prospect. On the regional circuit, he always seemed to put himself in various states of peril but it seemed to be more out of inexperience. In the UFC, he's continued to put himself in bad spots defensively and his chin has been cracked on a number of opportunities. Dominique Steele had him hurting in a bad way, Mike Perry finished him in a fight where Roberts just couldn't get out of the way for a fifteen minute period, Bobby Nash had Roberts all sorts of thrown off before Danny Roberts finished him off and Nordine Taleb finished Roberts in violent fashion in December. Roberts draws Swedish karate ace Oliver Enkamp in a pivotal fight for both guys.

7- Can Leon Edwards somehow finish Peter Sobotta and keep pace with the other 170 lbers who seem to all be getting their careers on the right track?

8- If Leon Edwards wins, do they try to put him vs Ponz in Chile? I really like Edwards but since nearly finishing Claudio Silva and smelting Seth Baczynski, he's had 6 fights and gone to a decision in all but one of them. There's really no reason somebody with his tools should be so....not fun. His fights are heading in the opposite direction at a time where Kamaru Usman, Darren Till, Ponz, Max Griffin, Elizeu Zaleski, Jake Matthews, Mike Perry and others in that "fun new WW to care about" are all having damn fun fights.

9- All Magomed Ankalaev has to do is finish his fight and be the savior of 205 lbs. It's not asking too much.

10- Alright Mark Godbeer, what stupid shit you gonna get yourself into this time?

11- So about the Godbeer fight, maybe this exposes my lack of knowledge but I could not tell you the differences between Dmitry Sosnovskiy and Dmitry Poberezhets, the guy who was originally scheduled to fight Godbeer. The UFC seems to have like a bevy of heavyweights who they signed but can't seem to actually get to get into the cage, it's almost infuriating if you're one of those OCD guys who wants to keep up with everything going on.

12- Stevie Ray getting a new contract to try and smelt Kajan Johnson is very UFC of the UFC. It's almost like a Batman TAS plot from the Joker.

Must Wins

1- Fabricio Werdum

I feel like all of Werdum fights are must win given how much trouble he seems to bring with him. The last time we saw Werdum, he was throwing boomerangs at folks and shouting out Chechen warlords while also decisioning a very good HW in Marcin Tybura. The time before that he took a fight on thirty minutes notice vs Walt Harris and was caught on camera using the unacceptable f word in Spanish like six times. Werdum vs Volkov is a great HW fight that pits the old dog in the race vs the seasoned in his prime pro who is peaking. Good fight but a must win for the always controversial Werdum.

2- Tom Duquesnoy

This entire thing is tailor made for Duquesnoy. He's getting a guy coming off two losses who is a glorified opponent. He's in Europe, he's on the main card and this entire showcase is built to make him look good and like the star. He truly cannot fuck this up.

3- Magomed Ankalaev

Mr. Ankalaev, I do not know you. I do not necessarily believe I have to know you at this point. All I know is you're a new light heavyweight. God speed, my dude.

Five Can't Miss Fights

1- Alexander Volkov vs Fabricio Werdum

2- Tom Duquesnoy vs Terrion Ware

3- Hakeem Dawodu vs Danny Henry

4- Jack Marshmann vs Brad Scott

5- John Phillips vs Charles Byrd

#MMA #UFC #Fight Pass #Manuwa #Blachowicz #Werdum #Volkov

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animalkingdom-an0nymous · 6 years

Text

Bacardi and Brawls

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise. Also, shoutout to @allaboutjoecole for hyping me up about this for the last 3 days. You’re the real MVP.

TW: Assault

“Jump, jump, jump, jump!” Everyone was shouting and chanting as I stood on the edge of the roof overlooking the Cody pool.

The summer night air was warm and buzzing with electricity as everyone drank and smoked below me, below us. Craig stood to my left, shirtless and wet from repeatedly jumping in the pool and trying to convince me to do the same. I stood there in my faded denim shorts and red bikini top, my stomach rolling as I looked down. I hate heights, I hate heights. Everyone was chanting, telling me to do it, Deran standing on the diving board with a bottle of tequila in his hand.

“Don’t be a pussy!” he shouted, cupping a hand around his mouth to be heard.

I was usually fine at Cody parties. Having known the family for years, I’d swing by whenever my parents were fighting or I just needed a place to crash for a few days. Most of my teen years were spent drinking by the pool or smoking a joint with Craig in the living room. It always felt like home to me.

But I never went up on the roof.

I’d never been on a plane, never liked being up high because all I could think about was slipping and falling, splattering all over the ground like an egg falling off the kitchen counter. But, apparently, after multiple shots of Bacardi and quite possibly the fattest blunt I’d ever smoked, I was feeling ballsy enough to climb up on the roof with the help of Craig. Now that I was up high and overlooking the party though, I was stuck. Frozen in my spot. The only way to get down was either the ladder in the back or by jumping in the pool. Both of those sounded like terrible options.

Craig ran his fingers through his sopping brunette hair and scrubbed a a hair over his face. “Come on, you have to give the people what they want. Isn’t that right?” He shouted the last part and everyone cheered and hollered.

Man, that Bacardi was about to come back up in a bad way.

“Craig…” I trailed off, my voice barely above a whisper. “I- I don’t think I can do this.”

He threw an arm over my shoulders and pulled me against him. I stiffened, not wanting to move at all as the ground began to tilt under me, the vertigo setting in. Jesus, why do they think this is fun? I wondered for the umpteenth time.

“Listen,” he started, leaning down so his nose was pressed to my temple and his lips were at my ear. “All you have to do is take three steps and jump. Pretty fucking simple, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” I practically growled and finally looked at him.

Craig’s skin was warm and wet, navy swim trunks hanging low on his hips. A thin silver chain hung around his neck, beads of water dripping down his deliciously hard chest. He looked good, really fucking good.

It was no secret I was attracted to Craig and it was no secret that he was attracted to me. Physically, he had the body of a California surfer who spent his entire childhood outside, but emotionally he was ten types of unavailable and I was not getting myself tangled up in that web. Plus, our personalities were too similar. If we ever ever dated it would end in homicide or suicide and, again, I was not getting myself tangled up in that web.

“Listen,” he started, pulling me against him tighter so that my body was squished against his side. “Don’t get mad at me, okay?”

I looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Mad? Why would I get mad at-”

My sentence ended on a shriek as Craig yanked me up a little so that my feet were no longer touching the spanish tile roof and he thrust us forward, flying over the edge. It felt like I was falling for hours until everyone’s cheers were cut off, water engulfing me. My eyes squeezed shut, water filled my mouth, and I kicked my legs, needing to breathe.

When I finally emerged from the water everyone was laughing and cheering, including Craig, who was looking at me with that stupid grin.

“See?” he said with a laugh. “It’s not so bad!”

My blood was boiling and I lunged at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and dragging him towards me. “I’m going to fucking murder you!” I shouted, slapping at him and yanking his hair. “Why would you do that? Why the fuck would you throw me off the roof? You dumb motherfu-”

Craig pushed us forward so that we were both submerged in the water, his arms securely wrapped around my waist. We were in the deep end, neither of us able to stand, and my legs wrapped around his waist as we came up for air, both of us gasping and spitting water out of our mouths.

“Don’t be mad.” He laughed breathlessly, one hand dropping down to grab my ass, the other still around my waist while I wrapped myself around him. “Admit that you had fun or I swear on Smurf’s fake tits I’ll drown you.”

I should have been weirded out by Craig talking about his mother’s breasts, but I’d been around for so long that it just seemed normal.

“Fine.” I finally relented, pushing my wet hair out of my face. “It was fun.”

It was true. The rush of flying over the edge like that had been better than any high I’d ever felt. Moving through the air so smoothly and landing in the cold water of the pool had been a shock to my system in the best possible way. There was a small part of me that wanted to do it again, but I’d never tell Craig that. If I did, he’d have me up on that roof again in less than thirty seconds.

“I need more blow,” he finally said casually, letting go of me as I unwound my legs from around his waist. “I’ll come find you soon, Y/N.”

Craig and his coke, I thought and shook my head, swimming to the edge of the pool where Deran was waiting for me, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He reached a hand down and I grabbed it, allowing him to hoist me up and out of the water. Plucking the cig out of his mouth, I put it between my lips and took a long haul before blowing the smoke right in his face. “That’s for calling me a pussy.”

He laughed, taking it back from me. “I didn’t call you a pussy. I said don’t be a pussy.”

I wrapped a towel around my shoulders, shivering as the night air hit my wet skin. “Hey, can I borrow some sweats? I didn’t bring anything.”

“Sure. I think there’s still some shit left in my old room.”

I nodded my thanks before turning away, heading into the house and trying to move through the crowd, getting bumped and shoved along the way. J was in the kitchen holding Nicky’s hair while she puked in the sink and I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Tough break, bro. Find a girl who can hold her liquor.”

“Fuck you, bitch.” Nicky coughed before puking again, her whole face turning red.

Making a face, I winked at J and earned a smile. Poor kid had been through so much with his mom OD’ing on the couch right next to him and then getting thrown into the crazy Cody life. He was sweet, smart, and most certainly nothing like Craig or any of his other uncles. J was a quiet boy and I’d liked him instantly, part of me wanting to shield him from Smurf.

Not that I hated the matriarch of the family. But I knew how manipulative she could be, had seen it firsthand while the boys were growing up. I always had an eye on her whenever she was around, a thick tension following her into whatever room she walked into. Smurf was the kind of woman who would stab you in the back while shaking your hand.

I headed down the hall towards Deran’s old room, knocking on the door first- this was a Cody party, afterall. They usually almost always ended in some sort of fuckfest with people having sex or threesomes- sometimes even foursomes- in any empty space they could find. When no one responded I opened the door a crack, peeking in and making sure the coast was clear before entering and closing the door behind me. With Deran now living above the bar the room was almost empty except for a dresser, his old bed frame, and some boxes that looked to be half filled with junk that he’d collected over the years.

I searched through the drawers, hating the feel of cold denim against my skin. Finally, after finding a pair of baggy black sweats, I shimmied out of my shorts and put the pants on, pulling the soft material up my legs and yanking on the drawstring, tying it tight. Looking at myself in the mirror above the dresser, I dragged the towel through my hair, trying to dry it quickly before combing my fingers through it. Mascara was smudged under my eyes and I knew I looked fucked up. I was fucked up. But hitting that cold water had sobered me up enough to know that the party was getting a little too rowdy and I should go home soon.

A knock on the door made me jump, but before I had the chance to open my mouth and say that it was occupied, someone was coming in.

“Come on in,” I mumbled under my breath before turning around to see who it was.

Tall and blonde, he practically screamed “fratboy”. He was carrying a handle of vodka in one hand, using the other to open the door. When he finally looked up, I was standing there with my arms crossed.

“Oh, hey, the girl from the roof.” He jerked his chin at me in recognition.

“Oh, hey, the random guy I don’t know.”

He laughed before closing the door behind him. “Nice attitude. This room’s occupied?”

I shook my head. “Not anymore, I was just leaving. Have a blast, man.”

Gathering my shorts and towel, I headed towards the door only to have Tall Blonde step in front of it. “Hey, what’s the rush? Have a drink with me.” He held up the bottle and smiled.

“Nah, I’m good. Vodka makes me sick. You have fun, though.”

I tried, again, to walk around him and he, again, blocked my path. Unease settled in my stomach and I clenched my belongings tight to my body, over my chest. Tall Blonde noticed, eyes moving from my face to down below my chin. “Red looks good on you. What’s your name, baby?”

I rolled my eyes, using a facade of false bravado as I squared my shoulders. “My name is none of your fucking business and I’m not your baby.”

He raised his eyebrows, glaring at me. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is that I’ve tried to leave. Twice. And you’ve blocked the door. Twice. Now please, for the love of God, get out of my way, drink your vodka, and leave me the fuck alone.”

He took a step forward, towering over over me. I felt small, intimidated, scared because I was in a dark room with a man I didn’t know. A man who was looking at me the way a lion looks at a gazelle. He was looking at me like I was his prey.

“You’re a little bitch, you know that?”

I cocked my head to the side, smirking even as my heart was racing. “But less than thirty seconds ago I was your baby, right?” I sidestepped him, heading for the door. Wrapping my hand around the knob, I pulled the door open only to have Tall Blonde press his hand against it, firmly shutting it and trapping me between him and my escape.

He was breathing against the back of my neck, the scent of cheap vodka radiating off him hard enough to make bile rise in my throat. My anxiety was at an all time high and I tried to force myself to breathe and calm down. I knew how to defend myself. I could handle this.

“Get your hand off the door or I’ll beat the shit out of you so badly your own mother won’t recognize you.”

He laughed, stroking his hand down my bare back and toying with the strings of my bikini. “Don’t get so worked up. I just want to have some fun.”

I turned quickly, dropping my belongings and shoving my hands against his chest only for him to grab my wrist and drag me farther into the room. “Let me go!” I shouted, wincing as he practically crushed my wrist in his grip.

Tall Blonde hauled me against his chest, dropping the vodka bottle and letting it smash to the floor where the glass shattered into millions of pieces. I turned my head to the side, trying to scream when I felt him begin to kiss my neck, toying with the string of my bikini again.

“No! I said no!” I shouted, shoving and pushing before rearing my arm back and flinging it forward, my fist connecting with his mouth. Letting me go suddenly, I tripped over my own two feet and fell to the floor, something sharp piercing my stomach. Broken Glass

“You fucking cunt,” he growled, holding a hand against his mouth as he reached for me. I clawed my way up, running to the door and throwing it open before bolting from the room with Tall Blonde right on my heels. “Get the fuck back here!”

I needed help.

I need Craig.

I was afraid, genuinely afraid. In my entire twenty five years on the planet I had never been attacked by anyone. A man had never put his hands on me or hurt me, but this asshole went and ruined that.

Pushing through the throng of people, everyone seemed to be too inebriated to realize how distressed I was. Nicky was no longer puking at the sink, but I could see J just outside by the pool with Deran. Tall Blonde was yelling behind me as I ran outside, nearly tripping and falling as Deran turned around, eyes widening when he saw the tears in my eyes.

“Where’s Craig?” I shouted, looking around wildly. “Where the fuck is Craig?”

Just then, the man I needed the most walked up to us casually, clearly high as a kite. “What’s with all the yelling? Y/N? Why are you- is that blood?” He looked down at my stomach.

I glanced down. There was a pretty severe cut across my abdomen, blood trickling down into the sweatpants I’d borrowed. I began speaking a mile a minute. “This guy trappedmein Deran’s room andattackedme and then I fell and cut my stomachonavodka bottle. He just-” I stopped when an arm wrapped around my elbow, tugging me back.

“You’re gonna pay for that you little bitch.”

Tall Blonde was bleeding from his mouth and it looked like his lip was split pretty bad. Good, I thought to myself, no longer afraid when I had three out of six Cody’s ready to go to war for me.

I turned to Craig who was already throwing his hair up into a bun. Deran was doing the same thing. “You do this to her?”

The guy let me go and took a step back, seeming to realize who he was about to go up against. “Hey, man, I didn’t know she was yours. I didn’t mean to start any shit.”

Craig nodded, scratching at his scruff covered chin. “But if you’d known she was mine, you wouldn’t have put your hands on her?”

Tall Blonde must not have been alone as two other guys who looked exactly like him stepped forward. “We got a problem, bro?”

Craig laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know, bro. You tell me.” And then, without warning, Craig pushed me into J before slamming his fist into the guy’s face, knocking him back. “We got a fuckin’ problem now?”

J unzipped his hoodie, wrapping it around my shoulders and pulling me off to the side as Tall Blonde and his friend both went after Craig. Deran was quick to jump in, grabbing Tall Blonde by his shirt collar and swiftly punching him in the gut. I flinched, wanting to look away but unable to as Craig hit the guy in the face again. Blood was pouring out of his nose as he tried to block Craig’s punches.

The party had stopped with people watching the impromptu brawl that was currently happening next to the pool. Deran took a rough hit to the gut that had him doubled over and he quickly rebounded, shoving into the guy so hard they toppled to the ground. It was a tangle of limbs as the guys tried to fight back, yanking at Craig’s hair and scratching.

“You wanna scratch me? Huh? You little bitch, I’ll fuckin’ destroy you.” Craig was growling in the guy’s face before he stood, grabbing the college aged guy by his t-shirt and hauling him up. He shoved him backwards, wiping the blood from his mouth. “You come back here again and I’ll shoot you right in that little prick of yours. Get me?”

The guy looked barely coherent, stumbling around before walking off, presumably to leave.

Deran was busy chasing the third guy off, following him out through the garage with threats of violence that even I couldn’t repeat.

Which left Tall Blonde. He stood, blood dripping out of his nose and his left eye almost swollen shut as he glared at me. Craig walked over to him, chest heaving as he breathed through his nose. He scrubbed a hand through his hair before throwing his arm over the guy’s shoulders as if they were old friends. He pointed to me. “You said she’s my girl, yeah?”

The guy nodded, clearly defeated.

“Okay, now look at her and tell her you’re sorry.”

J chuckled next to me and looked down at the ground.

Tall Blonde was fuming but repeated the words anyway. “I’m sorry.”

“Now tell her no means no.”

The guy’s face was so red he could have been confused with a tomato. “No means no.”

“A little louder for the people in the back.”

“No means no!” Tall Blonde shouted the words and everyone began to laugh, including myself.

Craig turned to him then, whispering something I couldn’t hear. A moment later, the guy was gone, having disappeared through the throng of people that surrounded us.

Deran swooped back in through the garage, a bottle of something magically appearing in his hand. “I thought this was a fuckin’ party! Let’s get back to it!”

The fight forgotten, everyone returned to what they were doing; getting fucked up. I was silent, shaking as Craig walked up to me. I squared my shoulders, telling myself that everything was okay, that I was okay.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded my head, unable to look him in the eye.

He pulled me towards him, crushing my face against his bare chest. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. J, go make sure Nicky isn’t drowning in her own puke somewhere.”

He led me to his room, pushing past people in the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of Bacardi on the way. My side hurt from where I was cut and there would be hell to pay if I needed stitches. Seriously… there would be hell to pay. My health insurance didn’t kick in for another month.

Once we were in his room I let out a sigh of relief, happy to be away from all the noise. I sat on the edge of his bed while he disappeared into the bathroom, coming back in with a towel and rubbing alcohol.

“Take the hoodie off.” He knelt in front of me.

“If you think you’re putting rubbing alcohol on this you’re out of your fucking mind.”

Craig let out a laugh, his eyes bright. He was fucking wired and I was at least sixty percent sure he wouldn’t remember a thing about the fight tomorrow. I took the hoodie off, but not before taking the towel from Craig and wiping gently at his mouth, trying to get the blood off. Sober or not, he was always swooping in and saving the day like some coked out Batman with mommy issues.

While I cleaned up his face, he lifted the bottle of Bacardi and brought it to my lips, tipping it. “What a gentleman.” I laughed and took a sip anyway, appreciating the way the rum burned my throat.

Craig stared at me, a soft smile on his face that had my stomach doing flip flops. What the fuck is this? I thought to myself, dropping the towel. I thanked my lucky stars that all of this happened at the Cody house. They protected me, cared for me. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that they would never let anything happen to me.

“Thank you for tonight,” I whispered, taking another sip of the rum.

“You can make it up to me later.”

“Or, I could make it up to you now.” Before he had the chance to respond, I leaned forward and threaded my fingers through his thick hair, pressing my lips to his.

Craig froze for the briefest of moments, inhaling sharply through his nostrils before he snapped out of it and kissed me back, arms wrapping around my back and holding me against him. I kissed him hard and he was just as intense. It was all tongue and teeth and harsh breathing. I was fucking living for it. I loved the way his long tongue devoured my mouth and the way he bit my lip so hard I wanted to slap him.

I’d always heard that Craig was rough in bed, now it was time to find out.

Maybe it was all the weed I smoked, maybe it was all the booze I drank earlier in the day. Hell, maybe it was the fact that I’d literally just been almost raped and Craig was there to protect me just like always. But one thing was certain; I wanted him.

“Your stomach,” he mumbled against my lips as I trailed my mouth over his cheek and down his jaw, nipping at the skin there.

I pulled back and looked down, wiping the towel against the slice across my stomach. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, the cut not nearly as bad as I originally thought, and I looked up at him again. “It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

The words were barely out of my mouth before Craig was yanking me up by sliding his hands my armpits, forcing me to stand before manhandling me into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist the way they did when we were in the pool. He slammed my back against the wall, not even trying to be gentle and I absolutely loved it.

I could taste the blood in his mouth as he kissed me. He was so forceful that the kiss literally pushed my head back. Threading my fingers through his hair, I tugged hard and earned a delicious groan that went right to my core. His hands gripped my ass so hard it hurt and I began to grind against him, my hips moving and undulating against Craig’s stomach.

“Eager little thing,” he laughed into my mouth, pulling back to look at me with a hooded gaze. “You need a good, hard fuck?”

I nodded my head, not caring how desperate I seemed.

The cold chain of his necklace pressed against the place between my breasts and he looked down, staring at the way my nipples hardened under the thin material of my bathing suit. “You know you have the nicest tits? I spent years jerking off to the thought of those tits.”

I was truly taken aback. High Graig had a tendency to be overly honest, but I never thought he’d be that honest. But if the truth was coming out…

“The first time I touched myself I thought of you,” I whispered against his lips before tugging harshly on his bottom one, yelping when he smacked my ass as hard as humanly possible.

“Fuck.” He growled and hauled me up higher, wrapping an arm around my back as he used the other one to reach up and rip my bathing suit up, exposing my breasts to him. He was eye level with them, hoisting me up higher on the wall.

I loved the way Craig touched me. He was rough, uncaring if he left bruises on my skin just as long as he got his way. He sucked my nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard I cried out and tried to yank him off me, but he was relentless. His teeth grazed over the sensitive bud and my entire body stiffened, tears springing to my eyes. It felt good and it hurt all at once.

I fucking craved that.

“Do it again,” I moaned, my nails scratching at his broad shoulders, legs shaking from squeezing his waist so hard.

He laughed against my breast and I felt it low in my belly. God, Craig was going to fucking destroy me and I was going to let him.

I never thought I’d be another notch on Craig Cody’s belt. But in that moment? I didn’t give a shit. I just want him. I wanted more. After what happened with Tall Blonde, I wanted control of who touched me, who fucked me. I needed it.

Craig turned then, walking us over to his unmade bed before tossing me down on it, eyes glued to my breasts as they bounced when I landed on the mattress. “Turn around,” he said, hooking his fingers into my waistband and yanking Deran’s sweatpants down my legs, exposing my bare pussy to him.

I obeyed, quickly throwing my flimsy bikini top over my head before turning around. His large hand connected with my ass as I got up on my hands and knees, the slap echoing throughout the room. I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to cry out. He did it again, laughing when I lurched forward.

“Look at you,” he said in a mocking tone. “Spread out on my bed like a little slut. You want my cock?”

“I want you to put your money where your mouth is. I thought you’d be better than this, honestly.”

Craig slapped my ass again before I’d even finished talking and I couldn’t help but cry out. He kept hitting the same spot and he knew he was hitting the same spot, laughing. Craig liked the fact that he was hurting me and the thought was oddly sexy. I was wet, could feel it dripping down my thighs even as tears sprang to my eyes at the stinging of my ass.

“What?” I asked and looked at him over my shoulder, a sly smirk on my lips. “Big man’s got nothing to say?”

Craig lifted an eyebrow and reached out, wrapping my hair in his fist and tugging so hard my scalp ached. I was on all fours, my head leaned so far back it hurt my neck. But he didn’t stop, just kept pulling and pulling until I was whimpering and my hands were gripping at the black sheets. The angle was so difficult that my body was as tight as a ripcord. I couldn’t do anything other than stare at him, our eyes meeting as he leaned over me.

“You ready to shut your mouth?”

I couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t hide how needy I was. The sarcasm was gone, as was my need to be in control. “Yes,” I finally whispered.

Craig finally let go and shoved my head forward roughly, my face landing in a pillow. “Keep your head down and spread your fucking legs. Do it. Now.”

I spread my legs as wide as possible, exposing myself to him. Things were quiet for a minute and all I could hear was the sound of my breathing and blood rushing in my ears. I was expecting him to just pull his swim trunks down and ram his cock into me… but I was wrong.

The bed dipped under his weight and my body stiffened. I felt like I could barely breathe as I waited for his next move, the anticipation killing me. His arms wrapped around my thighs, spreading me wider before he licked a fat stripe from my clit all the way to my ass, my mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“Craig!” I tried to rear up, lifting my head off the pillow. No one had ever eaten me out from behind. I’d done a lot, but in my mind shit like that only ever happened in porn.

He unwound his arm from one of my legs, pressing it between my shoulder blades. “I told you to stay down.” His voice was firm, gruff, and leaving no room for argument.

I tried to open my mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to, that we could just fuck, when he licked me again, dipping the tip of his tongue inside me. The only sound that made it past my lips was a crude moan, my face falling into the pillow.

I could feel Craig’s facial hair against my inner thighs and it heightened everything as he licked and slurped like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. I bucked back against his face when he attached his mouth to my clit, assaulting the bundle of nerves by flicking his tongue again and again while my eyes nearly rolled back in my head.

“Oh… oh my fucking… fuck.” I gasped as he pushed two long fingers inside me. Like most guys, I expected him to start slow and let my orgasm build. But I never should have assumed that Craig would be like most guys. He started hammering away, curling his fingers and pulling them almost all the way out before jamming them back in and making my toes curl. He was hitting every spot, not leaving a single part of me untouched.

The only sounds in the room were my moans and the wet sounds of Craig finger fucking me into oblivion.

“Please make me come.” I punched the mattress desperately, teetering right on the edge. I yelped when he sank his teeth into the delicate skin of my inner thigh, biting down savagely while he thumbed my clit, rubbing furious circles while I shook like a leaf, completely at his mercy.

“Look at how fucking wet you are,” he admonished. “You’re dripping down my fuckin’ wrist, babe.”

I wiggled my ass in the air, grinding as I chased my orgasm.

Craig laughed at my desperation but I was too close to give a damn. “Come on then. Work for it. Grind against my hand. God, you’re so fucking nasty.”

I was moaning and whimpering, my stomach tightening and my toes curling as my orgasm began to wash over me. It started off like any other, but then Craig began to jackhammer his fingers into me and I screamed. Loud. My whole body convulsed and my eyes squeezed shut, my back arching as my climax ripped through me. It was violent and beautiful and exactly what I needed.

He didn’t stop until I was done, pulling his fingers out of me and trailing the wet digits up my thigh as a reminder of what had just happened. I was basking in the blissful, post-orgasm glow when he roughly rolled me onto my back and slid a hand under the back of my neck, pulling my head up and holding his wet fingers against my lips.

“Suck them,” he said, a smirk playing at his lips as he coated my mouth in my own juices. Holding eye contact, I opened my mouth and sucked his fingers into the back of my throat, releasing them with a pop. My body was deliciously relaxed as I looked up at Craig. His long hair was falling into his face and his lips looked red and wet. I wrapped my fingers around the silver chain around his neck and tugged him down, pressing my mouth against his while he covered my body with his.

I could taste myself in his mouth and it was sexy. Dirty. He slid his tongue against mine, angling his head so the kiss went deeper. His hard cock pressed against my hip and he pulled back, making a point to look down at the tent in his swim trunks and then look back up at me again, a smirk on his face. I laughed, reaching out to cup him, and he pulled back, hopping off the bed.

I sat up, confused as he grabbed a chair from the corner and brought it to the center of the room before shoving his shorts down his legs and kicking them away. Craig’s cock sprang up and slapped against his abdomen, long and thick with pre-cum beading at the tip.

He made my fucking mouth water.

I crawled across the bed as he sat on the chair, gripping himself at the base while he watched my breasts dangle. “Come sit on it.” He palmed himself, stroking up and down slowly while I watched. He was completely fucking shameless.

Getting off the bed, I walked to over to him, standing between his outstretched legs. He looked up at me cockily, leaned back in the chair and waiting. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to let Craig Cody fuck me. I knew the kind of person he was, knew that he went through women like some people went through beer. There would always be a different one and never the same one twice. But you know what? I didn’t give a shit.

Because I wanted my world rocked.

I wanted people to know that I’d fucked Craig and wouldn’t just disappear after. I’d still be around because in the morning we’d laugh it off and never speak of it again. We’d still be friends.

Best friends.

I swung my leg over his lap while he held himself still. Swallowing and trying not to show how nervous I really was, I lowered myself, feeling the blunt head of his cock split me open. My mouth fell open, my brow furrowing as he invaded me and stretched me open. “Craig…” I breathed, struggling.

“I said sit.” He growled, gripping me by my hips and forcing me down the rest of his length. I gasped, instantly trying to back off but he held me still, gripping my hips as hard as possible.

I could feel him everywhere. He was so deep I swore I could feel him in my stomach, pushing up against me, leaving no part of me untouched. I braced my hands on his broad shoulders, getting as comfortable as I could with his cock pressing up against my cervix.

He began moving my hips for him, pulling me forward and pushing me back, looking down at the place where we were joined.

“Look how fucking wet you are,” Craig mumbled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as I got more comfortable with moving around.

Eventually releasing his shoulders, I leaned back, bracing my hands on his knees as I started moving back and forth on my own, throwing my head back with a long, drawn out moan. He stretched me in the most delicious way and every time I pushed back onto his cock his pelvic bone hit my clit. “Oh, fuck. So good. So fucking good.”

He laughed as he thrust up, pushing so hard that my feet came up off the floor. “Knew you were gonna be good for me.” He repeated the motion and I dug my nails into his knees, aching.

We stayed like that for a while, pushing and pulling, letting it build up and then slowing back down. It felt like it was going on forever and I lost all sense of time, only caring about right now and living in the blissful moment with Craig.

Eventually though, he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me against him, my breasts pressed against his chest as he stood from the chair, my legs locking securely around his waist as he backed me into the wall like before. He pulled out almost all the way before thrusting back in to the hilt, a garbled screaming tearing itself from my throat.

“That’s what I wanted,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do it again. Scream for me, Y/N.”

He kept doing it, thrusting in so hard it hurt. But I wanted it to hurt. I didn’t want him to stop until I was crying and begging, and even then I think I wanted him to continue. His balls slapped against my ass as he pounded into me, burying his face in my neck and biting the skin there, growling every time I clenched around him.

“Fuck, Craig. You gonna come for me?” I whispered shakily in his ear, my nails raking down his shoulders and chest, angry red marks following in their wake.

My words only spurred him on, his thrusts getting harder and sloppier as he slammed me against the wall. I could feel the familiar build up in my lower stomach, my moans getting louder as I sank my teeth into his lower lip, Craig’s hand reaching up and grabbing my hair again, grunting against my open mouth. I was about to tell him that it was fine, that I didn’t need to come again when he released my hair to slide a hand between us, thumbing my over stimulated clit again and tearing my orgasm from me.

I tightened around him.

My body shook.

My eyes rolled back and I saw stars, gushing around Craig to the point that my climax was dripping down his balls. I couldn’t even cry out this time around, my body too spent to do anything other than take what he was giving me.

He kept thrusting after I was finished, chasing his own release while I hung around him limply, my legs quaking and burning from exhaustion.

“Come for me, Craig. Please. Please.”

He groaned against my mouth. “Where you want it?”

I licked into his mouth, loving the taste of him. “In my mouth.”

He smirked. “Dirty little girl.”

“You love it.”

Craig’s arms loosened around me and I slid down his body, dropping to my knees in front of him while he jerked himself off over my face. Uncaring about the fact that I looked like a pornstar who had just been thoroughly fucked, I looked up at him, batting my eyes innocently while sticking my tongue out, opening my mouth wide. It didn’t take long for him to finish, his cheeks turning red and his brow furrowing as he slapped the head of his cock against my tongue a few times before holding it there.

The first spurt of come landed on my tongue and I moaned, wanting more. Craig’s whole body was tense as he came, looking down at the way his come coated my pink tongue, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to catch his breath.

“Swallow,” he commanded, his voice deep.

I did as told, swallowing and then flashing him a smile before laughing. He started laughing too, and then we were both laughing at how crazy the whole situation was.

“What did we just do?” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face before grabbing my hand and hauling me to my feet. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

I tilted my head to the side and ran my fingers over green-purple skin around his eye. “The same could be said about you.”

My friendship with Craig was special. Growing up, we’d each gone through friendships and relationships that never lasted. But we always did. No matter what. Craig was the definition of a ride or die friend. I was well aware how lucky I was to have him.

He turned, grabbing something. I was about to ask him what he was doing when he turned back to me, squirting something across my stomach. “Craig!” I howled, feeling like the nearly forgotten slice on my stomach had been lit on fire. I reached forward and punched him as hard as I could in the shoulder as he held the open bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“What?” he yelled back at me, rubbing his shoulder. “Figured I’d get you while you had your guard down.

“Fuck you,” I said, eyes narrowed as I made my way over to the bed. I was preparing to but my bikini top when Craig waltzed over and ripped it out of my hands, plopping down on the bed in all his naked glory. “Can I have my top?”

“You’re not gonna spend the night?”

I suddenly felt self conscious, not sure how to answer. He wanted me to spend the night? In his bed with him? I’d spent the night at the Cody house any times growing up, but usually always on the couch unless I’d drunkenly passed out in his bed. “Here?” I finally asked.

Craig laughed, twirling my top around one finger. “Unless you’d rather sleep with Pope. But he might kill you.”

I laughed and crawled across the bed, keeping a safe distance and grabbing the blanket, pulling it up. “Fine. But don’t hog the bed.”

“Don’t snore.”

“I don’t snore, Craig!”

“Yes, you do. You snore fuckin’ loud.”

I threw a pillow at him before regarding him seriously. “Thank you for tonight. You know, with that douchebag and everything.”

Craig tucked an arm under his head and looked over at me, blue eyes searching my face. “Listen, I get that I’m an asshole. But I’d never let anything happen to you, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

I smiled softly, exhaustion taking over. I could barely keep my eyes open as I reached out, lacing our fingers together. “You were there. That’s all I care about.”

#animal kingdom #animal kingdom tnt #ben robson #craig cody #cc #fic #smut #one shot

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running-on-fanfiction · 5 years

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Can you write a J Cody imagine with the reader being his twin sister and the prompt 23. “This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” And 59. “You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn.”? Thank you

You looked around the hall making sure you didn’t wake anyone up, before knocking on J’s door.

You heard a few groans, followed by a long line of fucks, before the door swung open. J, was not a happy camper, but you could push his buttons all you wanted. He would never do anything.

“You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn, sis.” He mumbled as you pushed passed him. You could see a little lump on his bed and knew that it was most likely the new flavor of the week.

“I do!” You smiled holding up a can of shaving cream, a razor, and a pair of scissors.

“Craig, and Deran passed out.” You checked the clock by your twin brothers bed. “An hour ago, meaning that they are deep in sleep, meaning it’s time to get them back for the other night.”

J, yawned as he looked at the contents in your hands. He already knew what the plan was but he rather hear it.

“And we are going toooo...”

“Shave Deran’s face and Cute Craig’s hair.”

“This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.”

“HOW!” You said a little too loud. You and J looked over at the lump on the bed, before earning a stink eye from your twin.

“Deran lives for his facial hair, and Craig is going to shit bricks after his poor baby is cut off.” J giggled at your movements as you talked.

“Anyways are you in or not?”

“ Of course I’m in.” J smile, grabbing the shaving cream and razor.

“Yes!” You whispered yell. “I’ve always wanted to cut Craig’s hair.”

“I think he might die without it.” J mumbled as he shut the door behind you two.

“Even better!”

J laughed “You are so evil, sometimes.”

-Julianne

P.S. Sorry for the wait. My cat was totally against me writing today.

Blurb Time (Any Fandom)

#finn cole #finn cole imagines #J Cody #j cody imagines #animal kingdom imagine #animal kingdom

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thefancyspin · 5 years

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Hello

By the time Adrian pulls into the Cody’s driveway he’s sent Deran three texts, called him five times and let a voicemail twice. His hands are shaking on the steering wheel and whatever he ate this morning - he doesn’t remember now - is about to fight its way back up.

He’s okay, he’s okay, he has to be okay.

“Where is he?” he demands when Craig comes out of the rolling door, his hands up and that stupid ‘lets not be crazy’ face on. Adrian pushes past him.

“He’s alright, man, he’s doing fine.”

“Where the fuck is he, Craig?”

Before Craig can tell him, Adrian hears Deran calling to him quietly from his old room and he rushes in there. He thought he could do this. He thought he could hold it all together. Get his name clear, keep Deran out of it, and just let him do his own thing.

But this is too much.

“Oh, shit,” he says, and doesnt bother to fight back the tears, falling onto his knees and then into Deran’s lap, where he’s sprawled out on the bed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Deran says croakily, sounding like tears aren’t far for him either. “I thought you’d be gone a few more days, I thought - ”

“That I wouldn’t notice?“Adrian hisses, sitting up enough to look at Deran’s face. He’s black and blue with a puffy eye, a swollen mouth, and grazes that stretch down under his t-shirt. Adrian’s seen him after a lot of jobs - even back before he knew what those jobs were - but this has to be the worst he’s seen him.

"My phone got fucked in the chase, and I - ”

“Chase? Car chase?”

Deran sighs guiltily, letting his head fall back. “They had security we didn’t know about man, I don’t know, I guess Smurf fucked up, or, or - ”

“Oh, fuck this, Deran,” Adrian bites, wiping at his wet face and standing up, jittery with his rage. “How much longer do we have to sit around waiting for this shit to be over? How much do you have to lose? A limb? Your fucking life?”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was solid. The plan seemed simple. We - ”

“Deran.” Adrian turns around to see Pope looming in the doorway. He’s always left Adrian feeling unsettled - threatening without even acknowledging his presence - but he’s too angry right now. He’s more scared of losing Deran than he is of his crazy fucking brother. “Shut up.”

“It’s fine, Pope. Just leave us alone.”

“It’s fine?” Pope growls back, stalking into the room. “We’re officially at large and you want to tell your pretty boy all the fucking details?”

Adrian’s on the brink of telling him to go fuck himself, but Deran’s already there. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What if Smurf finds out, huh?”

“Who’s gonna tell her?”

“You’re stupid. You’ve always been so fucking stupid about this guy. If he breathes a word - ”

“What?” Adrian hears himself yelling, hating this house and this family and this stupid fucking argument - like Adrian hasn’t had years to flush their whole organisation down the fucking toilet. “You’re gonna kill me?”

Pope smashes him back against the mirror so hard Adrian feels it crack. It knocks the wind out of him, his eyes watering again, and it occurs to him he’s never been this stupid, this reckless. Pope has a forearm against his throat and could have his dead body on the floor in a few seconds flat.

“You got no idea,” he hisses, staring Adrian down like an animal of prey. Adrian knows that’s true. He sleeps in the same bed as Deran every night and couldn’t begin to imagine what he does. But he knows it’s nothing compared to Pope.

“Let me go,” Adrian tries to say, voice restricted and clawing hands pretty much useless.

“You think you’re gonna get out of this? That he is? No. This is it. You’re stuck here now.”

“Pope!” Deran yells from across the room - up but shaky, a gun in his hand and pointing at his brother. “Let him go.”

Adrian’s still trying to catch his breath, relieved when he feels Pope’s grip loosen on his arm. He doesn’t let go entirely, giving Adrian one more look before turning to his brother. “Really? You’re risking it? For this?”

“Really.” Deran cocks the gun. “If you ever touch him again, I’ll empty this gun in your face.”

Pope’s expression doesn’t change but he steps back anyway, giving Adrian room to move. “You’ll reget this,” he says, and Adrian feels it tremor down his spine. “You think you can trust people but … you’ll regret it.”

When Pope’s gone, Deran just stares at Adrian for long moments, chest heaving. “You okay? He’s not himself now, he doesn’t mean - ”

“I’m fine.”

Deran throws the gun aside and collapses onto the bed, whining and groaning as he tries to get comfortable. He’s probably got severe straining, some broken ribs - a whole heaps of things he won’t get checked out. He can’t.

“Deran - ”

“Adrian,” he says back softly, and despite all the bruises and contusions Adrian knows he’s sincere. “I’m really sorry, man. You don’t deserve this shit. Any of it. I’m - I just need you to come here. Please? Just come here and be with me. I need you.”

Adrian finds he has no fight left in him, kicking off his shoes as he heads over, settling on the bed and letting Deran curl in to him. He kisses the top of his head.

“I need you, too,” he tells him honestly, quietly, his hands clenched with the fear of it. How can he need him, want him, love him so much for so long? How can he continue to bear it, over and over again? “You gotta stop this, man, please. You gotta stop.”

“I know.” Deran fists a hand in Adrian’s t-shirt, somehow manages to fit even closer, fusing them into one. “I know.”

#adrian x deran #animal kingdom tnt #my writing #fic prompts #long post

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rosiep66 · 7 years

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"THE GREAT GATSBY" (2013) Review

"THE GREAT GATSBY" (2013) Review Before the release of Baz Luhrmann's 2013 adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's 1925 novel, "The Great Gatsby", there have been three previous movie adaptations and a television movie version. None of these versions have been well received by the critics. Even this latest adaptation has been receiving mixed reviews. I must admit that I had been reluctant to see the movie, myself. But dazzled by the movie's MTV-style trailer, I decided to see it for the sake of the visual effects. Many who have read Fitzgerald's novel or seen any of the previous adaptations, know the story. "THE GREAT GATSBY" told the story of a mysterious young millionaire named Jay Gatsby who settles in a large house in the fictional town of West Egg (for the noveau riche), on prosperous Long Island, during the summer of 1922 - the early years of the Jazz Age. Narrated by Gatsby's neighbor; the well-born, yet impoverished Nick Carraway; audiences become aware of the millionaire's desire to woo and win back the heart of Daisy Fay Buchanan, an old love he had first met during World War I and Nick's cousin. Unfortunately for Gatsby, Daisy is married to one of Nick's former Yale classmates, Tom Buchanan, who comes from old Chicago money. Tom is engaged in an extramarital affair with one Myrtle Wilson, who is the wife of a gas station owner located in the Valley of Ashes - a stretch of road between Long Island and Manhattan. Gatsby invites Nick to one of his nightly lavish parties, given to impress Daisy, who lives across Oyster Bay at East Egg, a neighborhood for those from old money. Nick learns from Jordan Baker, an old Louisville friend of Daisy's, that Gatsby would like him to arrange a meeting with his former love over afternoon tea. The two former lovers reunite on a rainy afternoon and re-ignite their love affair that eventually ends in tragedy. If critics were hoping that Baz Luhrmann would produce and direct a flawless or near flawless adaptation of Fitzgerald's novel, they were bound to be disappointed. "THE GREAT GATSBY" is not flawless. There were times when I found the movie a bit too melodramatic - especially during the party sequences. And I never saw the need to open the film with Nick Carraway being treated for alcoholism in a sanatorium. Luhrmann and the movie's other screenwriter, Craig Pearce, apparently included the sanatorium additions to transform Nick's character into some F. Scott Fitzgerald clone. The movie even ended with Nick's written recollections being given the title of Fitzgerald's novel. Frankly, I found this dumb and unnecessary. I also found the party sequence held by Tom and his married lover Myrtle Wilson at a New York apartment rather frantic. I realize that Nick became drunk at this party. But this scene proved to be one in which Luhrmann's colorful style nearly got the best of him. I suspect that many expect me to complain about some of the music featured in "THE GREAT GATSBY" - namely the director's use of hip hop music. However . . . I have no complaints about Luhrmann using modern day music in a film set in 1922. For some reason I cannot explain, I believe Luhrmann and composer Craig Armstrong did a pretty bang-up job in blending their occasional use of modern-day music with some of the movie's scenes. There were also complaints that Catherine Martin's costumes were not a complete accurate projection of 1920s fashion. I did notice that although the movie was set in 1922, the clothes seemed to be a reflection of the mid or late period of that decade. Then I saw images like the following:

Or images like the following for the male characters:

I had wept with exultation and joy at my first sight of Martin's costumes. Her costumes for this film are some of the most gorgeous I have seen in a period drama in quite a while. Absolutely . . . bloody . . . gorgeous. The moment I set eyes on those costumes, I realized that I could not care less whether her work was an accurate reflection of 1922 fashion or not. Martin also served as the movie's production designer. If there was any justice, this would earn double Academy Award nominations for both her costumes and the movie's production designs. Baz Luhrmann filmed "THE GREAT GATSBY" in Australia, which means that he and his crew had to re-create 1922 Long Island and Manhattan from scratch. Martin was basically responsible for the movie's early Art Deco look - especially for scenes set in Gatsby's East Egg manor, his Manhattan speakeasy, the Manhattan restaurant where Nick and Jordan met, the Buchanans' East Egg home and especially the bleak-looking Valley of Ashes, the location of George Wilson's garage and the infamous Dr. T. J. Eckleburg billboard. Needless to say, I was more than impressed. I was dazzled. I have been so busy discussing the movie's technical aspects that I failed to say anything about Luhrmann and Pearce's adaptation of Fitzgerald's film. I have already expressed my displeasure at their attempt to transform Nick Carraway into some kind of Fitzgerald clone at the movie's beginning and end. But aside from this faux paus, I feel that the two did a pretty damn good job. Were they completely faithful to the novel? No. Did this spell disaster? For some moviegoers and fans of Fitzgerald's novel, it did. But I do not share their feelings. I do not demand that a movie or television production re-create a novel or play in exact details. That road leads to insanity and sometimes, disaster. Aside from what was done to Nick's character at the beginning and end, the movie featured a few other changes. In this movie, a grieving George Wilson learned from Tom Buchanan that Jay Gatsby owned the yellow car that killed Myrtle at the former's gas station. Unless I am mistaken, Tom had conveyed this news to George, when the latter paid a visit to his East Egg mansion in the novel. The movie featured flashbacks of Gatsby's life in North Dakota and his years spent with a millionaire named Dan Cody. But Gatsby's father did not make an appearance near the end of the movie (for which I am utterly grateful). Did these changes bother me? Nope, they did not. I was too busy admiring the energy that Luhrmann injected into Fitzgerald's tale. This was especially apparent in the pivotal scene featuring Gatsby and Tom's showdown over Daisy's affections in a Plaza Hotel suite. The scene crackled with emotions and an energy that seemed to be either lacking or at best, muted, in other adaptations. More importantly, Luhrmann and Pearce's screenplay finally lifted a fog and allowed me to fully understand and appreciate Fitzgerald's tale for the first time. I am afraid that the previous two adaptations (1974 and 2000) had bored me to the point that the emotions and theme behind the story had failed to elude me in the past. And that is the best part of Luhrmann's adaptation. For the first time, I finally understood the pathetic nature of the Jay Gatsby/Daisy Buchanan love story. And I am being complimentary. A movie review would not be complete with a discussion on the performances. Leonardo DiCaprio became the fifth actor to portray Jay Gatsby aka James Gatz. And as usual, he was magnificent. In fact, I believe his Gatsby was the best I have ever seen on screen. He managed to maintain the character's mystery in the movie's first half without eliminating any of the character's strong emotions. Despite the attempt to transform Nick Carraway into a Fitzgerald clone, I had no problems with Tobey Maguire's portrayal of the character. In fact, he did an excellent job of conveying both Nick's observant nature and emotional attachment to Gatsby, while injecting a bit of warm humor and slight goofiness in the role. I realize that Maguire and DiCaprio had been friends for over two decades. I suspect that friendship made it easy for the pair to convey the growing friendship between Nick and Gatsby. Carey Mulligan gave an exquisite performance as the quixotic Daisy Buchanan. Mulligan made it easy for viewers to understand how Gatsby fell so hard for her. She perfectly conveyed Daisy's superficial idealism and warmth. But Mulligan also skillfully allowed Daisy's more unpleasant side - her selfishness, mild snobbery and lack of courage - to ooze between the cracks in the character's facade. Joel Edgerton really impressed me in his portrayal of the brutish Tom Buchanan. In the actor's first scene, I felt as if he was laying it a bit thick in conveying the character's unpleasant nature. But Edgerton quickly grew into the role and portrayed Tom's brutality with more subtlety. He also did a great job in portraying the character's surprising talent for manipulation and genuine feelings for the doomed Myrtle. For the role of Daisy's Louisville friend and golfer Jordan Baker, Luhrmann chose Australian-born stage-trained actress named Elizabeth Debicki for the role. And she did a pretty damn good job. In fact, I thought Debicki did a solid job of conveying Jordan's fast-living and cynical personality with great skill. Isla Fisher knocked it out of the ballpark as the fun-loving Myrtle Fisher. Not only did she gave a first-rate portrayal of Myrtle's garishness and warmth, but also the character's grasping ambition and desperation to escape from her stagnant and dull marriage to gas station owner George. Myrtle is not highly regarded by many Fitzgerald fans. But Fisher made it easy for me to feel some sparks of pity toward the latter's situation regarding her marriage to George. Speaking of the latter, "THE GREAT GATSBY" marked the third period drama in which I have seen Jason Clarke. His role as the pathetic George Wilson is a bit smaller, but Clarke made the best of it, especially in two scenes. One scene featured Clarke perfectly conveying George's clumsy attempt to toady Tom for a business transaction regarding the latter's car. And in another, he did a beautiful job in portraying George's pathetic grief over a woman who had stopped loving him a long time ago. This movie also marked a reunion for Clarke and Edgerton. Both had appeared in "ZERO DARK THIRTY". I also want to point out Amitabh Bachchan's much talked about portrayal of Gatsby's gambling friend, Meyer Wolfshiem - a fictionalized take on gambler/gangster Arnold Rothstein. No only did the actor looked unusual, he gave a lively, yet brief performance that I found quite captivating. And Jack Thompson gave a quiet (almost speechless) and subtle performance as Nick's psychiatrist Dr. Walter Perkins. STAR WARS fans should take note that eleven years ago, Thompson portrayed Cliegg Lars - father to Edgerton's Owen Lars - in "STAR WARS: EPISODE II - ATTACK OF THE CLONES". I am the last person who will ever claim that this latest version of "THE GREAT GATSBY" is perfect. Trust me, it is not. But it is a very entertaining film that I believe captured the emotions and theme behind F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel better than any previous adaptation. More importantly, director Baz Luhrmann injected style and energy not only into the story itself, but also its visual look and the first-rate performances from a cast led by Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire. I would have no qualms about watching this movie over and over again.

#The Great Gatsby #the great gatsby 2013 #gatsby #F. Scott Fitzgerald #baz luhrmann #catherine martin #the roaring 20s #leonardo dicaprio #Carey Mulligan #tobey maguire #joel edgerton #elizabeth debicki #jason clarke #isla fisher #jay gatsby #daisy buchannon

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jodyedgarus · 5 years

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Patrick Mahomes Is Proving That QBs From Gimmicky College Offenses Can Succeed In The NFL

When the Kansas City Chiefs drafted Patrick Mahomes 10th overall in the 2017 draft, scouts lauded his work ethic and impressive arm strength — but they still had doubts about Mahomes’s NFL future. It wasn’t personal; it had to do with the high-flying college offense Mahomes played in at Texas Tech and old misgivings about how quarterbacks from pass-happy systems would translate to the pros.

All of that seems silly now, of course. In truth, Mahomes came along at just the right moment: the moment when NFL teams are finally embracing offensive elements they used to consider mere collegiate gimmicks. Now Mahomes and his MVP-caliber performance through eight games have the potential to forever eradicate questions about air-it-out college passers.

The history of college QBs with video-game statistics traces its way back decades before Mahomes lit up Big 12 defenses for 5,052 yards as a junior for the Red Raiders in 2016. According to Sports-Reference.com’s data, the first modern1 major-college quarterback to break 4,000 yards in a season was BYU’s Jim McMahon in 1980 — one of multiple passers to crack the milestone in Provo under the guidance of innovative coach LaVell Edwards. (Robbie Bosco, Ty Detmer — three times! — and Steve Sarkisian would also break that barrier over the next decade-and-a-half, while future Hall of Famer Steve Young barely missed it in 1983.)

Around the same time, other similarly pass-centric offenses were piling up big numbers, too. As the 1980s came to a close, Houston run-and-shoot passers Andre Ware and David Klingler racked up stats that still defy the imagination. That same offensive scheme would migrate to the NFL in the 1990s and find new life in the 2000s with Hawaii coach June Jones, who turned Warriors QBs Timmy Chang and Colt Brennan into ultra-prolific passers. Elsewhere in the spread, Utah’s Scott Mitchell had a field day in Jim Fassel’s wide-open system in 1988, while Drew Brees, Chris Redman and Tim Rattay thrived in the ’90s while running various versions of the single-back scheme championed by coaches such as Purdue’s Joe Tiller.

And we haven’t even gotten to the quarterbacks who played in the air raid system of Hal Mumme and his many proteges. The air raid borrowed elements from both the run-and-shoot and Edwards’s BYU offense, forging a passing playbook that has obliterated opposing defenses. Playing for Mumme at Kentucky, Tim Couch threw for 4,275 yards and 36 TDs in 1998, while Kliff Kingsbury joined the 5,000-yard club directing Mike Leach’s Texas Tech offense in 2002. Leach was just getting started: From 2002 to 2008, five different Red Raider QBs broke 4,000 yards and 30 touchdowns, with Graham Harrell tossing for 48 TDs and 5,705 yards (second-most in the FBS modern era) in 2007 and fifth-year senior B.J. Symons, Kingsbury’s former backup, going for a ridiculous 52 scores and 5,833 yards (first in the modern era) in 2003.

Leach was no longer in Lubbock by the time Mahomes arrived on campus — the coach had moved to Washington State, where he’s been rewriting the Pac-12 record books — but the young QB learned from the next-best thing: Kingsbury himself, now Texas Tech’s head coach. Kingsbury is part of a whole generation of quarterbacks-turned-coaches who came up in the air raid and spread it like wildfire across the college and high school ranks. Coaching the Red Raiders, he helped Mahomes become one of the most prolific passers in Big 12 history.

As the author S.C. Gwynne wrote about in his excellent book “The Perfect Pass,” these similar (yet distinct) strains of aggressive passing all came together to change the sport forever, dragging it out of an antiquated era of primarily run-based football and making it into the aerial showcase we see today. Nowadays, the college game is a passing game, one in which 86 percent of snaps come in the shotgun, and even Alabama — long religiously balanced on offense — is averaging nearly 350 yards per game in the air.

Just how much have extreme pass-first philosophies taken over college football in recent years? Kingsbury became only the third modern member of the 5,000-yard club (joining Detmer and Klingler) when he broke that barrier in 2002. Sixteen years later, the group has expanded its membership fivefold (including Mahomes), with current Leach QB Gardner Minshew on pace to join this season as well.2

But for all the collegiate success these prolific passers enjoyed, pro front offices became fearful of handing them the keys to an NFL offense. And not without cause: In the 1980s and ’90s, a number of the wide-open college passing game’s early adopters were picked highly in the draft, at least partly on the basis of their big NCAA numbers — and few were especially successful in the NFL. BYU’s Marc Wilson and McMahon, Houston’s Ware and Klingler, plus Trent Dilfer (who played at Fresno State under Tiller’s mentor, Jim Sweeney), Ryan Leaf (who starred at Washington State under spread-passing guru Mike Price), Kentucky’s Couch and Marshall’s Chad Pennington were all taken among the draft’s top picks. Pennington and McMahon had the best careers of the bunch with more than 60 points of Approximate Value (AV) apiece — the mark of a solid, if not Hall of Fame-worthy, career — while the rest went varying levels of journeyman or bust in the NFL.3

(Young, it bears mentioning, is a special case. Because he went to the USFL out of BYU, he was selected in the NFL’s supplemental draft, so he doesn’t get lumped in with the group above. Young easily had the best career of any pass-happy college product since the 1980s.)

Most stat-stuffing college QBs of the 1980s-90s fizzled out

Career NFL Approximate Value (AV) for college passers who had at least 150 more adjusted yards per game than the Division I-A average and played in a notable college offensive system, 1975-2000

Best College Season NFL Draft Player College System Year Yds TD Year Pick NFL AV Chad Pennington Marshall Spread 1999 3799 37 2000 18 62 Chris Redman Louisville Spread 1998 4042 29 2000 75 10 Tim Couch Kentucky Air raid 1998 4275 36 1999 1 32 Tim Rattay La. Tech Spread 1998 4943 46 2000 212 13 Ryan Leaf Wash. St. Spread 1997 3968 34 1998 2 1 Danny Wuerffel Florida Fun ‘n’ gun 1996 3625 39 1997 99 6 Josh Wallwork Wyoming Spread 1996 4090 33 — — 0 Mike Maxwell Nevada Pistol 1995 3611 33 — — 0 Trent Dilfer Fresno State Spread 1993 3799 30 1994 6 60 Jimmy Klingler Houston Run and Shoot 1992 3818 32 — — 0 Craig Erickson Miami-FL Spread 1990 3363 22 1992 86 22 David Klingler Houston Run and Shoot 1990 5140 54 1992 6 11 Ty Detmer BYU Vertical 1990 5188 41 1992 230 15 Andre Ware Houston Run and Shoot 1989 4699 46 1990 7 5 Anthony Dilweg Duke Fun ‘n’ gun 1988 3824 24 1989 74 4 Scott Mitchell Utah Spread 1988 4322 29 1990 93 53 Robbie Bosco BYU Vertical 1984 3875 33 1986 72 0 Steve Young* BYU Vertical 1983 3902 33 — — 171 Jim McMahon BYU Vertical 1980 4571 47 1982 5 71 Marc Wilson BYU Vertical 1979 3720 29 1980 15 40

* Selected in NFL Supplemental Draft

Sources: pro-football-reference.com, sports-reference.com/cfb

Over time, the prevailing notion became that a quarterback’s college statistics were as much a liability as an asset, a sign that some coach’s gimmicky scheme had propped up a mediocre talent, giving him numbers he had no real business producing — ones that almost seemed like they were specifically designed to deceive scouts. And in fact, Mumme did base the air raid in part around the notion of making an elite quarterback talent unnecessary for passing success. “If he could design a system that featured passing and could be run by average or sub-average football players who could not throw like Dan Fouts or Jim McMahon,” Gwynne wrote of Mumme’s philosophy, “he could truly change the game of football.”

Eventually, NFL teams all but gave up on drafting air raid or run-and-shoot products. When Kingsbury broke the 5,000-yard barrier, all it got him was a lousy sixth-round draft slot. (Unlike that other Patriots sixth-round pick, Kingsbury’s career transitioned to coaching not long thereafter.) Chang and Brennan combined to throw 248 college touchdowns at Hawaii … and neither threw a pass in the NFL. Likewise, Symons and Harrell both nearly cracked 6,000 yards in a season … and Symons wasn’t taken until the eighth-to-last pick of the 2004 draft, while Harrell wasn’t drafted at all. The system was unstoppable, but the players in it were easily brushed off.

For most of the 2000s, big college numbers got you nowhere

Career NFL Approximate Value (AV) for air raid or run-and-shoot passers who had at least 150 more adjusted yards per game than the Division I-A average, 2000-07

Best college Season NFL Draft Player College System Year Yds TD Year Pick NFL AV Graham Harrell Texas Tech Air raid 2007 5705 48 — — 0 Chase Holbrook NM State Air raid 2006 4619 34 — — 0 Colt Brennan Hawaii Run and shoot 2006 5549 58 2008 186 0 Cody Hodges Texas Tech Air raid 2005 4197 31 — — 0 Sonny Cumbie Texas Tech Air raid 2004 4742 32 — — 0 B.J. Symons Texas Tech Air raid 2003 5833 52 2004 248 0 Kliff Kingsbury Texas Tech Air raid 2002 5017 45 2003 201 0 Nick Rolovich Hawaii Run and shoot 2001 3361 34 — — 0

Sources: pro-football-reference.com, sports-reference.com/cfb

Here’s how Gwynne summarized the attitude surrounding air raid passers by 2008, the season in which Leach and Harrell’s Red Raiders pulled off a monumental upset over No. 1-ranked Texas: “The proof that this was a ‘system,’ commentators all agreed, was that hardly any of Leach’s players, and none of his quarterbacks, ever made it in the NFL,” he wrote. “They were merely products of a scheme that magically spun dross into gold, mediocre quarterbacks into NCAA record-holders.”

Because of that perception, the early to mid-2000s were a wasteland for QBs from wide-open college offenses. Some more traditional spread passers got more traction — Byron Leftwich and Rex Grossman were both first-round picks out of vertical passing systems in college, though neither ultimately lived up to early expectations. A feedback loop was established in which the shortcomings of past system passers were used as an excuse to discount current ones, whose lack of NFL success was in turn held up as further evidence that the model simply couldn’t work in the pros.

But more recently, the tide has begun to turn in favor of the college spread passer. First, Sam Bradford of the Oklahoma Sooners — where Leach worked as offensive coordinator in 19994 — was picked No. 1 in the 2010 draft. Bradford wasn’t highly regarded out of high school, either, but he passed for 4,720 yards and 50 touchdowns while leading the Sooners to the 2008 BCS title game. More importantly, he had the size and other attributes to quell concerns about the system he came out of. While Bradford’s NFL career hasn’t quite lived up to the expectations of the No. 1 overall pick, his acceptance by the scouts — and his subsequently decent NFL career — began to usher in the era of collegiate system passers as legitimate NFL prospects.

Around the same time, the NFL itself began to change. In a shocking upset in 2008, the Dolphins famously used the Wildcat — a literal college scheme — to run roughshod over the New England Patriots. Spread formations featuring the shotgun and/or the so-called 11 personnel — one running back, one tight end and three wide receivers — started being used on the majority of NFL plays. The lines between “pro-style” and college offenses began to blur even further with the quick success of mobile, read-option QB prospects such as Cam Newton, Colin Kaepernick, Russell Wilson and Robert Griffin III, each of whom thrived with plays that borrowed heavily from university playbooks. While defenses ended up adapting to some of these innovations — and Griffin and Kaepernick’s careers have fizzled due to, respectively, injuries and politics — the Philadelphia Eagles used college-style run-pass option tactics to win the Super Bowl with a backup QB in February.

As Kevin Clark recently wrote for The Ringer, the NFL’s scheme wars are over, and the spread — with its influences ranging from Edwards at BYU to Tiller at Purdue, Jones at Hawaii and Mumme at Kentucky — won the day. Against this backdrop, former big-number college passers have begun to thrive at the game’s highest level. Case Keenum, whose resume in Houston’s air raid system included a 5,631-yard, 48-TD season in 2011, went from an undrafted backup to one of the NFL’s best passers last season.5 Jared Goff, who starred in Cal’s “Bear raid” offense under coach Sonny Dykes (a Leach disciple), has a 104.6 passer rating and a 19-4 record over the past two seasons with the Los Angeles Rams. Oklahoma product Baker Mayfield parlayed his college performance in Lincoln Riley’s system into the No. 1 overall pick in the draft; he’s currently holding his own as a rookie with the Cleveland Browns.

All of this might culminate in the success of Mahomes, whose 22-AV pace this year would place him second only to Steve Young (peak AV: 23) among the best NFL quarterbacking seasons by pass-heavy college-system products. Between Mahomes’s own considerable skill set, the amazing amount of talent around him in Kansas City and the coaching genius of Andy Reid — himself drawing on many tricks and ruses from the college game — the Chiefs’ young passer is off to maybe the best career start of any quarterback ever, establishing himself as the MVP front-runner in the season’s first half. In the process, he may be driving the final stake into the heart of the myth that crazy college passing stats are the harbinger of NFL failure, or that playing QB in a wide-open scheme makes you unfit to run an offense in the pros.

If so, it would be the crowning moment of a trend decades in the making. We can trace the rise, fall and return of the spread-system quarterback prospect if we map out the career-high AV and draft value invested in FBS (or Div. I-A) passers who averaged at least 150 more adjusted passing yards than the NCAA average in a season and played in an air-it-out college scheme — whether it be the air raid, run-and-shoot, spread option, single-back, Fun ’n’ Gun, pistol or BYU vertical offense:

After the stellar success of Young and some decent seasons by Mitchell and McMahon, the failures of Klingler and Ware set off a long drought for prolific college system passers. But the recent rehabilitation of the archetype is evident on the right side of the timeline, with Mahomes currently soaring highest.

Fewer than 10 starts into his pro career, it may yet be premature to anoint Mahomes as the college-style passing attack’s permanent NFL savior. But as systems such as the air raid spread further throughout the college ranks, and as NFL teams show more and more willingness to embrace those same offensive concepts, it seems likely that traditional concerns about spread-system quarterback prospects will fade into oblivion. All it took was four decades of ups and downs, changing schemes and adapted attitudes — and miles and miles worth of college passing stats.

from News About Sports https://fivethirtyeight.com/features/patrick-mahomes-is-proving-that-qbs-from-gimmicky-college-offenses-can-succeed-in-the-nfl/

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