#literally exactly the vibes I’m trying to give him

[sometimesanalice]

Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place. 

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. 

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[chloesimaginationthings]

your Jeremy seems like the kinda guy that, when he first sees scoop'd Michael, just goes "yooo sick dude!"

YOU GET IT… I’M GLAD y’all get and like Jeremy,,

[jamminvroomvroom]

let’s go ride.

LN x fem!reader

in which lando keeps getting frustrated and you wanna know why…

hiiiiii here u go! belated love day fic from me to you 💝 love u all, tysm for the love on my last few fics, i’ve had a lot going on lately so i’ve not had very much time to write but when the inspo hits….. shoutout to miss mcrae for dropping lando-coded bangers bc i literally cannot resist. might make a part 2 of all the times they get freaky in a car lmao, lemme know if you want that! likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo appreciated so lemme know what u think xoxox

proofed by my own personal goat @lavenderlando 💖

songs to set the vibes: sports car by tate mcrae, bad guy by billie eilish

warnings: 18+!! minors begone! smut, language, fluff, bit of angst bc lando’s in a mood, friends to lovers, p in v, porn without plot but there is a little bit of plot, bitchy lando

4.2k words

you sit in silence, opening spotify and preparing to fiddle with the bluetooth as he slips into the drivers seat beside you. the car door slams shut and he huffs, jawline taut with annoyance. the hood of his car is surrounded, a million and one cameras pointed at you both as he tries to relax into his chair. the engine roars to life and you side eye him.

“when are you gonna learn, hm?” you try and sound playful, teasing, but it comes out laced with a twang of scolding. lando tenses up even further, turning to glare at you.

“god forbid i go outside.” he snaps.

“give over.” you roll your eyes. “poor me, i’m famous! lando, you can’t get angry when you park in the most high profile spot on the fucking planet and your fans want to worship you.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” he sighs, white knuckles wrapping tighter around the steering wheel.

“don’t i? this has been happening a lot lately.” your voice softens, ever so slightly. “every time i’m seen with you, you lash out.”

“because i don’t want people harassing you, looking at you like some fucking commodity.” lando snarls, steely eyes locked on the supposed car enthusiasts that are slowly backing away from his parking space.

“lando, we’re friends. this has always been a thing. why is it bothering you so much now?”

you wonder if it bothers him for the same reason it bothers you.

he shuts his eyes, collecting himself for a moment. he puts the car in drive and smoothly pulls out of the space, ignores your question. you scowl at him, at this sudden childishness that has overtaken his easygoing manner in the last few months.

“fine. whatever.” you mutter, slumping defeatedly into your seat. you give up on playing music, leaving him to bask in the silence, something he loathed.

lando had switched from his usual self to this stony, irate version of him that you rarely had the displeasure of seeing, from the second you walked out of the restaurant where you’d had lunch. he was reluctant to pose for photos and sign hats, something he usually revelled in, grateful that people even wanted to see him. the swathes of fans that had gathered had irked him for once, but what really boiled his blood was the photographers that seemed to find him no matter where he chose to spend him time. so much for monaco’s privacy laws.

it wasn’t like he cared about himself, either. it was you. the way they leered, leaned close to you while he was distracted with pens being shoved in his face. it was the way their eyes dipped low, whether you were in a tank top or a baggy hoodie. it was the way they spread the false, painful narrative all over the internet that you and lando were together, which drove hoards of losers into your comment section and your DMs just to call you names.

you were not together. as much as it pained him, you were just friends.

he couldn’t exactly explain his overprotectiveness to you without getting himself into a big, tangled mess. you, being the resilient, cool as a cucumber stoic that you were didn’t care what fourteen year olds on the internet thought about you. you weren’t about to let faceless, jobless trolls ruin the friendship that you’d nurtured for years, through ups and downs, thick and thin, race wins and huge losses. but lando, god, it killed him, tore him up inside every time someone so much as looked at you wrong.

“you really don’t get it.” he says, hushed, like he’s telling a secret. you turn to look at him, tearing your eyes away from the glistening view of the marina.

“lando, tell me then. make it make sense because i’ve never seen you behave like this. they love you! least you can do is lose the attitude over some harmless pictures.”

“jesus christ, it’s not the fans! it’s not the ‘harmless pictures’! it’s these fucking creeps that follow us around just to make some money off of my own personal hell. you really don’t get it, because if you did, you’d know that it breaks my fucking heart to see the way people talk about you online, just for being seen with me. it’s my fault that you get harassed, that paps are basically stalking you now.”

he signs of his rant with a sharp inhale, one that seems to suck all of the life out of the car. you melt.

“but lando, it doesn’t bother me. i just wanna be here with you, i don’t care about the rest of it.” you coo softly, reaching over the centre console to grip his forearm.

“and i want you here. i want you with me every fucking second of the day, but i can’t cope. can’t help thinking that one day it’ll all just be too much and you’ll leave me.” he whispers.

“never. never ever ever.” you promise. your belly swirls with emotions, tickled from the inside out by butterflies that threaten to swarm.

lando breathes shakily, warmed through by the hand that rests on his arm as he manoeuvres through the twisty lanes. as he hits traffic and slows, he clocks another photographer looming on the pavement, lens aimed at his windshield. already too annoyed, he aggressively smacks his sun visor down, leaning over the console to reach yours too, pulling it down. he prays it’s enough.

“you need to relax, lan. i’m fine, we’re fine. i promise.” you reassure, but he’s breathing heavily now. “you don’t worry this much when it’s max.” you trail off.

he doesn’t know what comes over him. he spins the car into a sharp u-turn, positively speeding back in the direction you’d just come from. any mention of you and him as a ‘we’ makes him crazy, makes him utterly lose his mind, but something about your sweet, earnest voice bringing him back to reality has left him completely shaken. the sun is setting now, most people clearing out of the underground car park he pulls into to head back to their homes. he has other intentions. you don’t say another word until he pulls into a space at the back of the lot, tucked neatly into a corner.

“what are we doing?”

“need a minute.” lando rasps, forehead resting on his steering wheel, the matte leather pushing his sharp curls back. you trail your eyes over him, the way his chest rises and falls under the sweatshirt he’s wearing, the way his thick fingers curl as his grip continues to tighten.

“i’m jealous. and i’m selfish. and i’m a complete fucking idiot.” lando says, steadily, like he’s reading the news.

“you’re… you’re jealous? of what?” you’re like a deer in headlights.

“of any other person that gets to lay their fucking eyes on you.”

“what are you saying?” you whisper. the air in the car goes still, frozen. you can’t breathe.

“i’m saying… that you’re mine. and i should have made that a known fact a long time ago.” ever so slowly he looks up at you, and you gasp at the intensity of his stare. he’s gazing at you with complete conviction in his eyes, a whole lot of vulnerability mixed in with the sincerity of his words. “i don’t want anyone else anywhere near you. lose my fucking mind watching the way they look at you.”

“lando…” you trail off, eyes as wide as saucers. is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

“i know this is terrible of me, to do this now, here - to do this at all, to be honest. i know that i have no right to stake some kind of claim on you, and i know that you probably don’t feel the same, but god, i just needed you to know. if you want me to shut the fuck up or leave you alone forever then i totally get it but-“

“oh my god, are you stupid?” you shake your head, still stuck in your state of disbelief, but you muster the coherency to grip the collar of his crewneck, tug him close.

your lips meet hastily, urgently, and every ounce to tension seems to seep out of the car. he moans at the very sensation of you against him, breath caught in his throat when you lace your finger through his hair like you want to mould your faces together, never stop. his brain finally catches up, awestruck as he is, and you trade passion and saliva, bumping noses as you clash chaotically.

“i think we’re both stupid.” he mumbles into your lips. you shut him up with another kiss, fiery and needy, and his hands begin to wander. he smoothes over the back of your jumper until he finds your waist, awkward in the limited space of the front of the car, and skims his hands up until he’s made his way beneath the material and he’s gripping your bare skin.

“too forward of me to ask you to get in the back?” lando pants with a cheeky smile.

“you literally just marked your territory on me, and nearly bit a photographer. i think we’re past ‘forward’.” you deadpan.

“then get in the fucking back.” he grins, devilish and commanding. you do as you’re told, wriggling between the leather until you’re propped up against the backseat. lando follows, sitting beside you, tugs you into his lap like you’re weightless.

you can feel him beneath you, hard and wanting, and you mewl, keen into him. your breaths mingle in the nonexistent space, lips brushing gently.

“this okay?” lando’s lips ghost over yours and you lean forward, just enough to reach him. he pulls back, eyes hooded, teasing, and tuts. “use your words.”

“who knew you were such a bossy boots.” you smirk. “more than okay.”

his eyes glaze over once he has your permission, and he kisses you like you’re the last supply of oxygen on earth. he licks into your mouth, wet and desperate and you whimper as he grazes over the crease of your thigh, toying with the hem of your skirt where it’s ridden up.

“can feel you.” lando groans, pulling away to look between your bodies. “so warm for me, you like seeing me all riled up?”

you nod coyly, lip caught between your teeth, and you swear you see his eyelashes flutter.

“what did i say about words?” lando composes himself enough to tease. you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way heat rolls through your body.

“like when you get all bitchy.” you reply, rolling your hips once.

“bitchy?”

“mhm. always been so easy to toy with.” you whisper, leaning in to nose along the thickness of his neck. you drag your tongue up the vein there, feeling it pulse under your tongue. he smells like his cologne, so him, and it makes you even hotter.

“oh, so you’ve been playing with me?” he chokes out, eyes rolling back in his head at the marks you’re leaving.

“maybe a little.” you hum.

“you liked watching me get angry? pretending to be all sweet and clueless?” lando whispers, the words hanging heavy in the space between you. all you can manage in response is a mischievous smile that twists his tummy.

your hands trail under his sweatshirt, skating over the muscled ripples of his belly, ever so slightly dipping into the band of his sweats. his head lulls back, blindly holding you close while you worship him. he lets you, lets himself have this moment, thinking for so long that it would never come.

“waited so long,” your lips brush over the shell of his ear, tongue grazing the lobe. he descends into a mess of shivers. “needed you to break first. i knew you would.” you croon.

“you’ve been loving this, haven’t you?” lando starts, low and calculating. “bet you’ve been getting off on dressing like a whore for the cameras, watching me suffer.” he pieces together. your resolve cracks. “bad girl.”

the sense of control you’d briefly maintained shatters, a hand around your neck forcing you away from him, preventing your sweet torture. his fingers flex, just above your collarbone, and you swallow at the smirk that seems to engulf his entire face. he looks animalistic, crazed with a feral adoration that leaves you certain that you’re dripping all over his lap.

“i think you’ve had your fun, baby, it’s my turn.”

you whine when he drags you across his lap, back and forth until you’re squirming. his hips rut up into yours, fuelling your desire for every single inch of him.

“please, lando.” you breathe, reaching out to lace your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“let me look at you.” he demands, shutting down your intentions for more. “i’ve waited long enough for this, don’t you think?”

“so have i.” you beg him with your eyes, but give in to him nonetheless. you’re staining his lap, grey sweats darkening as your wetness pools there and he can’t help but buck up into your warmth.

“wanna play with you, baby, see how you like it.” he taunts, bringing two fingers between your legs.

he brushes his knuckles over the obvious damp patch at the crotch of your panties, lip caught between his teeth at what he finds. your soaked through, and he pinches your bundle of nerves just to watch you thrash in his grip.

“i hate you right now.” you spit through gritted teeth, but your hips can’t help but chase his hand.

“doesn’t feel like it.” he kisses you quick, loving the way you lean in for more, but he relaxes against the seat and dips slowly beneath your underwear. “fuck.”

he doesn’t have to work too hard to spread your wetness around, you’re already lathered in it, but he continues to tease, fingers gliding over your clit and through your folds.

“please.” you beg, leaning back to give him as much access as possible.

“what do you want, baby? tell me.” he urges, drawing circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

“your fingers.”

“you have them.” he barks out a condescending laugh, applying more pressure just to prove his point.

“need them inside of me.” you pant, eyes squeezing shut at his sadistic game between your thighs.

“that’s my girl.” he praises, and you curse, clamping down around him before he even gets the first knuckle inside of you.

“how are you doing this to me?” you think aloud, tears in your waterline already. it all feels far too good for a first time.

“because i know you better than you think i do.” he coos.

lando pulls you flush against him, grinding his fingers deep so that they curl deliciously against your sweet spot. his palm bumps your clit with every twist of digits and he nips over your collarbone. his tongue laves over your skin, tasting the perspiration that gathers as the car steams up around you. you’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, huddled together in the back of his urus in a dimly lit car park. thank god you’d lost the photographers.

“can’t believe we’re doing this.” you gasp, feeling your tummy tighten at the thrill of it all, of feeling your best friend work to please you.

“i knew it would happen. knew that someday i’d get to see you like this, all for me.”

“all for you.” you repeat, drunk on him as you rode his fingers. “feels so good.”

“want you to come for me like this.” lando orders, replacing the heel of his hand with his thumb against your clit. his ministrations are more controlled like this, precise, and you throw your head back in pleasure. his teeth sink in to the base of your neck, sucking softly over the bruising skin, lapping at the mark to soothe it.

“i’m so close, lan.”* you choke, riding his fingers as you near your release.

“c’mon baby, make a mess for me.” he urges, eyes locked intensely on yours. you’re enticed by the sea green storm that swirls in his irises, shrinking as his pupils blow with lust. you can’t help it, can’t delay the inevitable, and you thrash in his arms, wildly bucking your hips against his as you fall apart.

you gush all over his lap, further ruining his sweatpants but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, working you through your orgasm until you’re spent. he’s transfixed by the way your thighs glisten, by the way your release seeps through the material covering his crotch and it makes him throb.

“that’s it baby.” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. you pant, collapsing forwards onto him.

“thank you.” you whisper into his neck, and he laughs softly.

“don’t thank me, silly girl.” he coos into your ear. you pull back just enough to kiss him, taking it slow, giving you a moment to come down from your devastatingly intense high. you’re exhausted, eyes fluttering shut from the exertion, and he tucks sweaty strands of your hair behind your ears. his fingers graze your warmed cheeks, noses bumping and you take him in, carefully studying the lines of his face, the sharp slope of his nose, the flutter of his eyelashes against those ridiculously high cheekbones.

“you’re so pretty.” your voice floats over him like a delicate caress, makes him shiver. he grins at you, enamoured.

“didn’t think our first time would be in the back of my car but i don’t think i can’t wait to get you home.”

“you’ve thought about this?” you ask, bashful. he gazes up at you sheepishly.

“every night before bed.” he jokes, and you shift your hips.

you’re overstimulated, but it does the trick, the playful haze shattering, replaced by thick, charged tension.

“you gonna make that fantasy a reality?”

“yeah. yeah, i am.” he mumbles.

his hands skim your waist, pushing your jumper up as he goes higher and higher, until it’s off, chucked into the footwell. you tear at his sweatshirt until it joins your discarded clothing and explore the bronzed planes of his chest, extra sun-kissed by the trip you’d taken to dubai just a few weeks before. if only you’d known then…

“hurry.” you plead, and he scoffs, adjusting you on his lap just enough to free himself from his sweatpants and boxers, and you gawk down at what’s revealed to you.

it’s big, thick, and you sigh in relief that he’d so thoroughly stretched you out, got you nice and slick for him already.

“gonna take it all for me?” lando taunts, catching your hanging jaw between two firm fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“gonna try.” you reason, breathing shakily as you rise up on your knees. you feel the head of his cock prodding your clit, the sodden tip running along your folds until it catches on your entrance. you both hiss as the contact, his hands steadying your hips.

“you can do it, baby.” lando promises, helps you begin your descent.

“oh my god.” you gasp, sinking down slowly. “dunno if i can take it, lan, you’re so- so…” you trail off, head thrown back far enough that you miss the way he’s smirking up at you.

“c’mon baby, being such a good girl for me, i know you can take it. just a little more.” he goads, pressing each button of your apparent praise kink, and you whine, soft moans tumbling from your lips. a sense of determination becomes you, and you’re aching to take him all the way.

you cry out his name when you’re pressed flush against him, and he soothes circles into your hips, holding you close against his chest. one hand smoothes through your hair, the lace of your bra scratching against his chest as you breathe rapidly.

“well done, baby, knew you could do it.” lando praises, trailing kisses over your face. you quiver in his hold, hips wiggling ever so slightly, and he takes that as a sign. “want me to do the work, hmm? make you feel so good?”

you nod lazily, looking up at him from where your face is smushed against his shoulder, and he lets you break his rule of “words”, softened by how beautiful you look, vulnerable in his strong arms. he starts to move, fucking up into you slowly, feeling you out. you can feel him twitch inside of you, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of you, tight and warm, enveloped all around him. you roll your hips languidly, meeting his thrusts and you both moan out as the explosion of sensations unfolds between you.

“harder, lando. can take it.” you mumble, glazed over doe eyes looking into his. he tenses up, shaken to the very core by the emotional tether between you, feeling the way it grows even stronger. the one woman he’d wanted since he’d laid eyes on you, the one women he never thought he could have; his heart pounds violently in his chest.

he readjusts your hips, pushing you back so that you’re upright once more, eyes raking hungrily over your flushed body. your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties tugged to the side, cups of your bra barely covering anything anymore. he tweaks a nipple through the lace, paws at your tits until you’re fluttering around him. the cups of your bra are tugged down, resting below your breasts and he swallows hard.

“fuck me, you’re so beautiful.” lando rasps, leaning you back further to perfect the angle.

once he’s satisfied, he bounces you against him, meeting your hips with harsh thrusts, his pace unrelenting. he can see the way you pool around his base, dampening the thatching of hair that decorates his pelvic bone. you seem to chase the friction there, rutting your clit against him. sweet puffs of breath fill his ears, melodic combined with a symphony of your needy whines, continuously intensifying as he fucks you deeper and deeper.

“it’s so good.” you slur, mouth hanging open, totally unhinged from the raw pleasure that he courses through your veins.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby.” he wants to say more, but then he sees it, the way your lower belly seems to protrude with every roll of his hips. “oh, fuck.” he cries out.

“do you see that, baby? see how deep i am?” lando growls, voice rippling through your connected bodies. you glance down, and the first tears start to fall.

“oh my god.” you repeat, nothing else to say, totally braindead at the sight. your cheeks are wet with tear tracks, utterly overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you, so blissful that it hurts.

“you crying for me, baby? do i feel that good?” lando mocks, reinvigorated by the way your tears gather at your collarbone. his hand swipes messily against your throat, swiping them away, but you catch his hand, keeping it there. your eyes lock as your hand squeezes around his, a silent plea. he rocks up into you even harder, hand clamping around you neck slowly, leaving your breathless, liquid heat shooting down your spine. you can’t stop it from hitting you like a ton of bricks, can’t hold back, not when he’s making it hurt so fucking good.

“lando, i can’t- i’m gonna- fuck.” you bellow, falling to pieces around him. he keeps you propped up through your orgasm, plowing into your limp body until you’re so tight around him that he quite literally can’t keep going. he shudders, repeating your name like a godforsaken prayer as his abs flex beneath your shaky hands. you feel him filling you up, shots of warmth painting your insides.

lando lets you collapse into his arms, holding you tight as you both tremble in the silence of the car. condensation rolls down the windows, giving away your frenzied desires. if anyone caught sight of his car, it wouldn’t be hard to do the math.

“gonna let me take you home so we can do that again?” lando laughs, breathing you in. he can feel the way your chest rumbles softly in response, hears your angelic, raspy laugh.

“gimme a sec, don’t think i can move ever again.” you groan, sighing into his chest.

you stay there for a while, basking in it, coming down. he traces shapes into the bare skin of your back; you absentmindedly trace a heart into the window fog.

when you finally manage to redress, it’s dark outside, bright lights casting patterns into the calm midnight of the marina. he holds your hand as he drives up into the heights of monaco, and you stare at the way yours fits so perfectly with his, just like how your head tucked so perfectly into the crook of his neck. you smile out the window and lando smiles at you.

by the time bedtime rolls around, you’re both well and truly exhausted. when you try and wriggle out of his grip, ready to retreat back to the guest room like a wounded animal, lando pouts - pouts! - and holds you even tighter.

“silly girl.” he kisses the words into your hairline, and drifts off to sleep.

-

hehe

-

taglist

lemme know if you wanna be added or removed! any tags that don’t work will be removed xo

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @formulaal

taglist cont. in reblogs. smooches

[gilverrwrites]

Batguys when they have for the first time a vibrator put ON THEM (their dicks) by reader during sex ( they never experienced a toy on themselves before, it was always used on their girl if they were using toys).

AND I’m the same person that send the bat guys vibrators suggestion! What if the guys thought the vibrator was only for women and they’re proven other wise 😏😉

AN: I’m not convinced of them not knowing per se, so much as they’ve just never considered it for various reasons. So, in order of understood to least understood; Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Roy

Batman:

He knows full well the effects, he’s just hates to not be in control. So when you finally pin him down long enough to have your way, it’s because he lets you. When you teasingly glide the tip of your vibe along his length he purposely bucks his hips, urging you to use it on his sensitive tip, enjoying the whole commotion more than he thought he would.

The gloriously thick muscles of his thighs tense under his own self-restraint as you finally give him what wants.

“You’re taking it so well Brucie.” You coo and he glares at you from beneath his brow, trying and failing to maintain dominance but the rest of his body betrays him; his cheeks are tinted a precious shade of red, his broad chest heaving with each shallow breath.

When you praise him again; “You’re such a good boy.” He loses it completely.

Nightwing:

100% understands, but why would he ever want to use them on himself, when he could use them on you?

Then again, you’re so cute with those big puppy dog eyes, that mischievous grin when you ask to try something on him, how could he say no? And my god, he is a sight to behold. Even having seen the effect your bullet has on you, the way it makes you wither and moan uncontrollably, nothing could prepare him for his first experience.

He’s so loud, louder than you and just as unruly. His hands gripping tight to every surface, you, the headboard, the pillows, the mattress nothing satiates him. His long legs stretch, his toes curl, hips rolling and jerking for friction as his whole body shakes. Unable to muster the normal slew of filth he typically showers you with; he pants your name between obscenely breathless moans until he cums all over himself.

Side note: I swear, put this man in a vibrating cock ring, I need it.

Red Hood:

He’s just literally never thought about it before. One night you ask him to grab something from your bedside drawer and you’re surprised when he comes back holding your wand. When you ask if he wants to try it out, this is not what he expects.

Hell, if he’s not complaining though. Jason has never seen this kind of thing in action, so he’s lounging on the bed, legs spread wide as he leans against the headboard, not expecting too much.

When you tease the vibrating head along his shaft, causing it to twitch, he laughs and jokes about it tickling, but the moment you press it to the tip of his cock his whole body trembles.

“Ah, fuck baby.” He bites his lip, trying and failing to keep his eyes from rolling back. “Right there, right there, please don’t stop.”

Arsenal:

And if I may throw a wildcard in the mix;

Roy is exactly the kind of smart but dense kinda guy who could tinker away endlessly, making the perfect toys (out of equipment intended for weaponry might I add) to meet your needs, things meant to fill you in all the right spaces, to vibrate and pulse at the strength and speed that drives you wild, without it ever occurring to him that it could be used on him too.

He’s already hard as a rock and close to the edge after you’ve gone down on him, when you show him what you’re doing he lazily mumbles “Oh come on baby, that’s not gonna do anything.”

He’s proven almost immediately wrong. He’s lovingly cupping your face or holding your hair back but when he feels the vibrating sensation on his already sensitive cock his grip automatically tightened like a vice.

The skin from his cheeks to his belly growing hotter with each pulse until his body is just a few shades lighter than his hair, he’s sweating, eyes watering, begging for release and when you grant it he nearly tumbles over, legs weak and trembling.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. I

summary: you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,002

contents: 18+/minors dni, canon typical violence, angst, break up vibes, pining, longing, intense guilt, illusions to depression

AN: taking a stab at writing joaquin bc i've quickly grown enamored with him. i'm still learning his characterization and how i'd perceive him so be kind with this first try. this is just the first part & there will be another tying things up! i hope yall enjoy and i'm so excited to be back here writing again.

vuelve a mí masterlist

It’s hard to see him like this. Truthfully,  it’s hard to see him at all. Not because of anything he’s done, not even because of how he’s changed while you were gone, but from how you changed. 

It doesn’t make much sense; you had been turned to dust. Crumbled away into literal nothingness. And yet, when you returned everything felt different. Nothing, not your passions, your job, your family— Joaquin— felt like it was yours anymore. 

When you’d come back, you felt so disconnected from everything. You questioned who you were and what your purpose was, especially since so many people in your life had carried on. 

Joaquin included. 

He wasn’t Falcon when you left. He had never touched the suit. Sure he had wanted to, he had his aspirations but you had always imagined that you’d be right there to support him. 

But here you sat. Sam called you immediately, not knowing the hospital had too. You were still Joaquin’s emergency contact— after all these years he hadn’t changed it. 

So here you sit, a book in your hands as you patiently waiting for him to wake up. The doctors assured that he would wake up, he was in critical condition but young and healthy. ‘A fighter’ they’d said.

“You came.”

His voice startles you, and you flinch slightly, losing your place in the pages.

He grins apologetically, “Sorry, querida, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes effort to not get lost in his smile, especially after thinking that you might have lost him for good. 

You fortify yourself, crossing your arms against your chest, “More than you already have?”

“You’re one to talk, honey.”

You know exactly what he means. All the abandonment of relationships, taking risks to better understand yourself. He and others have made it clear that they’re worried about you, that you aren’t the same. Confirmation of what you’re most afraid of. 

“I don’t want to argue, not when you’re like this.”

He raises a brow at you playfully, “But some other time maybe? Over dinner?”

“Joaquin…”

You watch him physically deflate and it breaks your heart. He shakes his head, giving you a weak smile, “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’d be offended if you hadn’t,” He murmurs lowly.

Something inside you flutters at the soft huskiness of his voice and you’re rendered speechless for a handful of moments. Forced to acknowledge just how much you’ve missed him. Finally, you’re able to say, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quino.”

“I don’t know, maybe something that explains why we aren’t together anymore.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not fair, you don’t understand. You weren’t gone. You got to live your life with no interruptions, with no hiccups. And I got— I got nothing. I was nothing.”

He sits up, flinching as he does. You try to calm things— you had really meant it when you said you didn’t want to fight. But when Joaquin is worked up, when he believes in something his passion can’t be quelled. Isn’t that what got him here in the first place? 

He barrels past your attempts to shush him, his gaze piercing into yours as he does. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But what you don’t understand is how heartbreaking it was having to go on without you. My life was interrupted, the love of my life was taken from me and more than ever I had to serve my country. The one person that has ever truly understood me was gone. That’s a fucking hiccup if I’ve ever seen one. So no, it's not the same. No, I don’t understand, but it wasn’t easy for me. It’s never been easy without you— not before and definitely not after.”

As you listen to Joaquin’s words, you must face not only what the two of you lost together, but what he lost on his own. His struggle, his pain, forces you to turn away from your own and see his in a new light. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after being blipped, you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. You’ve done nothing but hurt yourself and the ones you love by being swallowed by how the unknown may have changed you. 

You gave up. On yourself, on your friends and family. On Joaquin.

Your chest goes tight and you freeze as your body is flooded with emotion. It took this— him injured and angry for you to come to your senses? 

What have you done? 

“Hey, vuelve a mí,” He murmurs so gently that the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Lo siento, querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

With sharp, quick movements you wipe away your tears and stand. “I shouldn’t have come,” You repeat, stepping closer to him, resting your hand over his gently. “I’m really glad you’re okay Joaquin but I— I have to go.”

“Wait, we can talk about this, figure it out like we did before? Don’t go,” He flips his hand over in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” You whisper brokenly. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It only makes the guilt inside you plant itself deeper.

You swallow, shaking your head. Your mind is made up.  “Me being here…it’s just going to fuck up everything further. I’m sorry.

“Baby, that’s not—“

“Be well, Quino. Please,” you implore, untangling your hands and darting for the door.

He calls after you. Calls and calls, exerting effort you know his healing body shouldn’t. And yet, you can hear him trying until the elevator doors close. Something inside you continues to feel him. As you walk to your car, as you eat dinner later that night, as you crawl into your bed made for two. That yearning, that ache…it doesn’t change your mind. 

> pt. II

let me know if you'd like to be on my joaquin taglist!

[solxamber]

Fairytales and Fever Dreams - Vil Schoenheit x reader

When you decide to beg a fairy for help at your lowest point, you didn't expect that he'd decide to help you— at the cost of you making skincare for him.

You’re a mage at the academy, and life has officially declared war on you. Seriously. You’re about this close to having a full-on breakdown, the kind where they find you cackling in the library while surrounded by half-finished spell scrolls. One more minor inconvenience and you swear, you’re going to walk out onto the quad, set fire to the herbology building, and just stand there, staring blankly as it burns, sipping tea.

And why? Because you have four—count them—four finals on the same day. You don’t know who pissed in the universe’s cereal, but apparently, you’re the one paying for it.

"Okay, it’s fine," you mutter to yourself while chewing on the end of a quill. "You just need one little miracle. Just a small one. Like, I don’t know, a meteor wiping out the school. Or the headmaster spontaneously combusting. Something normal like that."

But then, you remember the rumor—the kind of rumor people whisper about when they’re this close to a mental collapse. Oh yes, the whispered tale of the fairies in the forest at the edge of town. Supposedly, if you bring an offering to the fairies, they’ll grant you a wish. Any wish. No strings attached.

You snort. It’s probably a load of magical nonsense. But considering your current state of sleep deprivation (and let’s be honest, mild hysteria), you’re willing to give it a shot. Desperate times and all that.

So, you scrape together the fanciest honey and milk your student budget can manage, which is probably a 5/10 by fairy standards but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You pack it up in a basket like some weird, broke Little Red Riding Hood and trudge out to the forest.

The second you arrive, you’re not even trying to be subtle or respectful about it. No, you go straight to begging.

“Please, fairies, PLEASE!” You fall to your knees dramatically, waving the basket around like you’re presenting some holy relic. “I’m begging you. I need help. I haven’t slept in three days, I’m running on a liter of coffee and sheer spite, and if I fail one more class, I’m gonna have to turn myself into a toad and live under a rock. Just—just one wish, that’s all I’m asking!”

It’s bad. Like, so bad, you’re half-expecting some animal to come along and put you out of your misery out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But then, there’s this rustling sound behind you, and when you look up, someone is standing there.

Correction: the prettiest person you’ve ever seen is standing there.

He’s tall, ethereal, and glowing—literally glowing, like he bathes in moonlight and stardust. His hair’s all silky and perfect, his skin looks like it’s never heard of acne, and the expression on his face tells you that he’s about two seconds away from calling security on you.

“Why, exactly,” he starts, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow that could cut glass, “are you kneeling in front of my forest and making this embarrassing display?”

You blink. Several things occur to you all at once:

1. Fairies are real. Huh. You thought you were just being insane.

2. Holy hell, he’s the most beautiful person (fairy?) you’ve ever seen.

3. Wait—his forest?

You quickly wipe the pathetic tears from your face and stumble to your feet. “A-are you… a fairy?”

“No, I’m a sentient dust bunny,” he deadpans. “Yes, of course, I’m a fairy. What are you even doing here?”

You hesitate. He’s giving off serious annoyed model on a runway vibes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hex you out of his forest or just roll his eyes so hard that you get flung into another dimension.

“I, uh… finals,” you mumble, the tears starting to well up again. “Four finals. Same day. And I haven’t slept. I’m one failed exam away from permanently turning into a raccoon.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like your existence is just too much for him. “And you thought the best course of action was to come here and… grovel?”

You nod pathetically. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to just walk away, leaving you to your breakdown. But then his eyes narrow, and he points at your backpack. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” You look down and see the sunscreen bottle sticking out. “Oh, uh, that’s just something I made. I’ve been working on a skincare formula for sensitive skin.”

He steps closer, plucking it from your bag with the grace of someone used to handling priceless artifacts. “Skincare, you say?” He opens it, sniffing it cautiously before dabbing a bit onto the back of his hand. His eyes light up for a second, and you swear you hear an angelic choir in the background. “Hm. Not bad. A bit of a lavender undertone. Smooth texture. SPF 50?”

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

He looks back at you, and for the first time since he appeared, you see the barest hint of approval on his face. “It’s hard to find good skincare products these days, even among the fairies.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Is this your life now? Trading finals survival for skincare tips with a beautiful fairy?

“Well,” he says, still admiring the product, “I suppose I could grant you one wish. One. But only if you agree to make more of these skincare products for me.”

“Really?” You blink, not entirely believing your luck. “You’ll help me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t do charity. But your skincare is adequate. And it’s not every day I meet someone this close to unraveling. It’s almost entertaining.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. “Deal. Deal. I’ll make you whatever skincare you want, just get me through these finals.”

He gives a nod, satisfied. “Then we have a deal.”

And just like that, you’ve somehow bartered your way out of academic doom with a fairy obsessed with sun protection. Let’s hope this arrangement works out better than the rest of your life so far.

Apparently, fairies like Vil don’t believe in things like cheating or, you know, the basic decency of using magic to fix your problems instantly. No, that would be too easy. And Vil—your very pretty, very exasperating new fairy overlord—has decided that the best way to help you pass your finals is to tutor you personally.

His price? One skincare product per lesson. And you, being surprisingly decent at making potions and cosmetics (alchemy major, what else), agreed because, at the time, you thought, How hard could it be?

Sweet summer child. You had no idea what you were getting into.

Because Vil? He’s not just strict. He’s villain origin story strict. His “tutoring” is so intense, so grueling, that you’re starting to wonder if he’s secretly training you for some kind of sadistic mage boot camp. At one point, you fail a poison-brewing technique, and he makes you redo it. Then again. And again. And again.

By the fifteenth attempt, you’re seriously contemplating bottling the poison and taking a little sip just to see what happens.

“Again,” Vil says, his voice icily calm, like he hasn’t just been watching you fail for an hour straight.

“I think I’m seeing stars,” you mutter, staring at the cauldron. “Should potions be giving me a near-death experience?”

“Focus,” he says, completely unfazed by your descent into madness. “If you can’t even get this basic potion right, I have serious concerns about your competency as a mage.”

You’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. One more failed attempt, and you’re going to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Or better yet—turn yourself into a toad and hop into a pot of boiling water. Anything to escape the relentless perfectionism of Vil Schoenheit.

“Maybe I’ll just hex myself into a mushroom and live out the rest of my life in peace,” you grumble under your breath as you stir the potion yet again.

“ What was that?”

“Nothing!” You stir faster.

To your utter shock, the potion finally turns the right color. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully brewed the poison, and it only took, what, half your lifespan?

Vil inspects it with a critical eye, and after a long, painful pause, he says, “Acceptable.”

“Acceptable?!” You want to scream. This is the culmination of blood, sweat, tears, and the remnants of your sanity, and all he has to say is acceptable?

“Yes, acceptable,” Vil repeats, as if your suffering isn’t the most amusing thing he’s seen all week. “You’ll need to refine your technique, of course, but this will suffice for now.”

You groan, head in your hands. “I’m going to transmute myself into a sock and live in someone’s laundry basket.”

But here’s the kicker: despite all of Vil’s strictness, he’s actually the nicest person (fairy?) you’ve ever met. You don’t know if that’s pathetic or straight-up depressing, but still, it’s true. He’s picky, yes, but he cares.

Apparently, Vil has a radar for poor life choices because one day, after what feels like your 57th failed poison attempt, he takes one look at the sad pile of instant noodles and energy drinks cluttering your desk and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

"You've been eating this?" He gestures at the disaster that is your meal—a cup of ramen sitting next to an open bag of questionable chips. His expression could curdle milk. "Do you actually value your internal organs, or are you trying to audition for the role of a trash panda?"

You blink, staring at your gourmet spread, and then back at him. "Excuse me, I’ll have you know, this is an advanced student diet. We run on caffeine and MSG."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’re not running on anything. You’re sputtering at best."

You open your mouth to argue, but then glance down at the pathetic excuse for food in front of you. Okay. Fine. Maybe you are sputtering. But what are you supposed to do, handcraft five-course meals between four finals and Vil’s poison-torture sessions?

Vil sighs dramatically, as if your very existence is a personal affront. "I’m not letting you continue this… self-destruction. You’re going to eat real food even if it kills you." He waves a hand, and suddenly a basket of the most beautiful, vibrant fruits and vegetables you've ever seen appears out of thin air. It's like the entire organic section of a high-end grocery store, but, you know, without the soul-crushing price tags.

"Where did you even get all this?" you ask, poking suspiciously at a particularly shiny apple. "Did you steal it from some enchanted Whole Foods?"

Vil glares at you like you’ve personally insulted his lineage. "I foraged it from my forest, you uncultured turnip."

You blink. "I’m a potato now, and a turnip? What’s next? Are we making a root vegetable salad?"

Vil rolls his eyes. "No, we’re making something that doesn’t resemble a cry for help. Get to it."

You sigh, but with Vil watching like a disapproving food critic, you figure you might as well try to impress him. You rummage through the basket, grab a few ingredients, and somehow manage to throw together a halfway decent stir-fry. You may be broke, but you can cook. It’s one of the few things that hasn't gone completely sideways in your life.

You serve it up with a flourish, smirking a little. "Voilà, a proper meal. Happy now?"

Vil inspects the plate with his usual level of judgment. You half-expect him to whip out a magnifying glass and start searching for flaws. Finally, he takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then gives you a rare, grudging nod of approval.

"Surprisingly competent for someone who survives on garbage," he says, in what you can only assume is Vil’s version of high praise.

"Wow, a compliment. I feel blessed," you deadpan, but you’re grinning. It’s not every day you get validation from a fairy with standards so high he probably judges oxygen.

Vil continues eating, and you join him, secretly proud of the fact that you managed to cook something that didn’t send him into a rant about toxins and poor life choices. For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, just… eating. It’s weirdly nice.

After you both finish, Vil leans back, looking mildly satisfied. "If you continue to feed yourself like a proper human being," he says, "you might actually survive your finals."

"Yeah, well, if I keep spending time with you, I might also survive on sheer fear," you mutter.

He smiles, that rare, dazzling smile that makes your brain short-circuit for a moment. "Fear is a good motivator. But I expect more than just survival from you. I expect excellence."

You groan. "You know, for a fairy who showed up because of my embarrassing begging, you sure do expect a lot."

Vil just smirks. "You begged for help. I’m making sure you don’t embarrass yourself further by failing."

"Touché," you admit, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth to avoid further conversation.

You know, maybe being insulted by the prettiest fairy in existence while eating fresh, organic food isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you.

But soon enough, it was back to work. After the food debacle, you whipped up a fresh batch of moisturizer for him. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before, so you’re not expecting much.

Then Vil tries it. And his entire face lights up like you’ve just handed him the elixir of eternal youth.

“This is… impressive,” he says, his voice soft with genuine surprise. “It’s incredibly hydrating, and the texture is—” He pauses, then flashes you a smile that’s so dazzling, it practically sparkles. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

And then, out of nowhere, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

You freeze.

Your brain flatlines.

“Wha—Did you just—?”

Vil pulls back, completely unfazed by the fact that he just KISSED YOU. “If you continue to make products of this quality, I may have to keep you around longer.”

Your heart is still trying to restart, but you manage to nod. “Yeah… yeah, sure. Skincare. I can do that.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is real life or if you’ve just died and gone to some bizarre, fairy-run skincare hell. Because if that’s what’s happening, it’s starting to feel weirdly okay. Especially with the way he’s smiling at you.

And as you walk away, still reeling, you catch yourself thinking, Is dropping out of the academy to become Vil’s personal skincare maker really such a bad idea?

Honestly? With a smile like that? You’re starting to think it’s the best idea.

You’ve finally survived—ahem mastered—the hell that was poisons and advanced magical theory under Vil’s terrifyingly perfect supervision. You can now confidently brew lethal concoctions and analyze obscure spells without mentally cursing out every deity you can name. That’s progress. But of course, your next subject is Magical Beasts, and because life apparently hates you, it’s your worst one yet.

When you express this to Vil, expecting some helpful advice or perhaps even a break (hah, wishful thinking), he just waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll ask a friend for help,” he says simply.

And that’s how you end up in the presence of the most extra fairy you’ve ever seen in your life. (Okay, you’ve met a grand total of two fairies, but still.)

The fairy in question bursts into your study room in a whirlwind of sparkles and sheer chaos, trailing a cloud of rose petals and the distinct scent of overly expensive perfume. He’s tall and elegant, his wings shimmering with iridescent hues, and before you can so much as blink, he’s speaking a mile a minute in a mix of French and pure gibberish.

“Mon cher! Quelle horreur! This room is an insult to aesthetics! Non, non, I simply cannot work in these conditions!” he cries dramatically, gesturing wildly at your meticulously organized notes.

You blink. “…What?”

But he’s already prancing around, rearranging your books and scattering glitter like some kind of deranged fairy godmother. Then, with zero transition, Rook starts rambling about magical beasts and their habitats in a way that has your head spinning. One minute he’s critiquing your choice of ink color (“Black? How dull!”), and the next he’s rattling off obscure beast facts with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated professor.

“The Hippogriff prefers moonlight baths! Ah, and the Knarl must be serenaded with music, or it will—how you say?—stab you!” he chirps, waving his delicate hands around in a way that seems more dangerous than helpful.

You’re sitting there, bewildered and slightly concerned for your sanity. “Wait, wait, wait, so—hold up, what do I do if a Knarl shows up in the daytime?”

Rook stares at you like you’ve just asked if water is wet. “Why, you run, of course!” Then he bursts into laughter, as if this is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve lost count of the number of strange and sometimes horrifying tidbits he’s thrown at you. You’re pretty sure you’ve somehow become an expert in magical beast theory without consciously realizing it, and the sheer absurdity of the situation is enough to make you feel like your brain’s been hijacked.

“And that,” the fairy declares with a dramatic twirl, “is how you tame a Chimaera!”

You blink, staring at your notes, which are now a colorful mess of drawings, beast diagrams, and snippets of what you hope are actual instructions and not just fashion advice. “…I feel like I’ve learned a lot. But also absolutely nothing.”

“Perfect!” he crows. “You have done magnifique!”

Before you can process what the heck just happened, you decide to thank him the only way you know how: by giving him a small, beautifully-packaged vial of a custom serum. You’ve worked hard on this formula, combining the best of alchemy and skincare magic, and as soon as you hand it to him, his eyes go wide.

“Pour moi? C’est incroyable!” He clutches it dramatically to his chest, as if you’ve just gifted him a crown jewel. Then, without warning, he’s leaning in way too close, inspecting your face with an intensity that borders on obsessive. “Mon Dieu, you are a true artiste! So beautiful! So—”

“Excuse me,” a low, frosty voice cuts in.

You turn just in time to see Vil gliding over, expression smooth but eyes narrowed. With the grace of a professional diplomat (or maybe a particularly possessive cat), he slips between the two of you, placing a firm hand on the other fairy’s shoulder and gently guiding him away from your personal space.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rook,” Vil says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We appreciate your expertise, but I believe that’s enough for today.”

Rook pouts but finally relents. He throws one last, longing glance at your serum and then at you, as if you’re both equally captivating. “Ah, c’est dommage… I shall return!” With that, he flits off, leaving you standing there, more confused than ever.

You turn to Vil, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… thanks?”

But Vil isn’t looking at you like a savior. No, he’s looking at you like you’ve just betrayed his entire bloodline.

“Excuse me,” you ask, blinking in confusion. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You,” Vil says slowly, his voice dangerously soft, “are my skincare human.”

You stare at him. “Um. What?”

“Mine.” Vil’s gaze flickers pointedly between you and the direction Rook flew off in, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not agree to share your talents with anyone else.”

Oh. Oh.

“Vil,” you say, a grin spreading across your face despite yourself. “Are you… jealous?”

The way his expression shifts from imperious to indignant would almost be funny if it weren’t so incredibly satisfying. “Jealous?” he scoffs, tossing his hair back with a haughty flick. “Don’t be absurd.”

You glance pointedly at the pink tips of his ears, which are steadily darkening into a bright red.

“Riiight,” you say slowly. “Totally not jealous at all. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not,” he insists, crossing his arms, but his voice is just a fraction too defensive.

“Sure, sure,” you say with a mock-serious nod, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s just that, you know, your ears are kind of giving you away.”

Vil sputters, shooting you a glare that could melt glass. “You—!”

“I’m just saying!” you chirp, smirking as you lean back. “I’m your skincare human. Got it, boss.”

He narrows his eyes, but the flush on his ears betrays him. “Remember it,” he huffs, turning sharply on his heel. “And don’t you dare give away my products to anyone else without consulting me first.”

You watch him stalk off, your grin widening. Maybe studying under Vil isn’t so bad after all.

Finally, your last subject: Offensive Magic. You’re almost at the finish line, but there’s one little problem. Apparently, dueling Vil or Rook is a fast track to the afterlife, and you aren’t too keen on becoming a cautionary tale.

That’s how you find yourself facing off against the youngest of the bunch—a fairy named Epel. He looks as thrilled to be there as you are, which is to say, not at all.

“Vil made me do this,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

You quickly realize that Epel’s main emotion is mild resentment, which honestly? Relatable.

The duel begins, and you’re expecting something simple—maybe some low-level spells, something to pad out your barely passing grades. But then Epel smirks, lifts his hand, and suddenly, half the field explodes in a brilliant display of magic that has you rethinking your life choices. Like, seriously reconsidering everything that led you to this exact moment.

You’re left standing there, jaw practically on the floor as bits of dirt rain down around you. “Holy shit,” you breathe. “You’re so cool.”

Epel freezes. His eyes dart to you, clearly shocked by the praise, and he suddenly looks a lot less surly. “...Really?”

“Yeah! That was amazing! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

He rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I’ve been practicing…”

And just like that, you’re friends. Bonded over the mutual understanding that Offensive Magic is both terrifying and awesome when Epel’s involved.

Later that day, after a lesson where you actually didn’t almost explode yourself (personal growth!), you, Vil, and Epel are lounging in the forest. Rook’s off doing...whatever mysterious thing he does, leaving you all in relative peace. You’re casually chatting about the lessons when Epel, totally offhandedly, drops the biggest bomb of the century.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty lucky the king of the fairies decided to help you out.”

You blink. “The what?”

Epel gives you a look like you’ve just asked if the moon was real. “The king of the fairies. You know, Vil.”

You almost choke. “Vil’s the king of the fairies?” Your voice cracks like you’ve hit puberty again.

Vil, lounging nearby, doesn’t even flinch. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“NO. YOU DIDN’T.”

“Well, now you know.”

You stare at him, mind reeling. “I’ve been—wait—what in the Sevens—you’re the king of the fairies? And you just—casually tutor people? Like it’s no big deal?!”

Vil sighs, flipping through a book as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not obvious!” You’re flailing at this point, and Epel is snickering behind his hand, clearly enjoying your existential crisis.

Vil’s still cool as a cucumber, but when you stammer, “No wonder you’re the most beautiful fairy I’ve ever seen,” you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk on his face. He straightens up just a little bit, clearly preening at the compliment.

Rook suddenly appears out of nowhere, laughing like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his life. “Ah! How charming! Our humble little mage finally sees the light!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up. “This is too much. My brain can’t handle this.”

The lesson ends, and you decide to thank Vil the only way you know how—by crafting him a night cream as a parting gift. You’ve gotten pretty good at making skincare, and you can tell he’s been eyeing this particular blend.

But then, in a rare moment of what can only be described as vulnerability, Vil hands you the jar and says, “Could you…apply it for me?”

You freeze. “Huh?”

He’s holding it out to you, but he’s not meeting your eyes, and—wait, are his hands shaking? You squint. Is he nervous?

Nah. Can’t be. Vil doesn’t do nervous.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to overthink it. You take the jar and start gently massaging the cream into his flawless skin. Vil closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s almost…peaceful.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

You smile to yourself, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside him. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

What you don’t realize is that this was your last lesson. Vil knows this. And for some reason, it’s hitting him hard. He’s spent all this time tutoring you, teaching you everything he knows, and now…you won’t need him anymore. You won’t come back. You’ll pass your exams and move on with your life, leaving him behind. And the thought of that—it stings more than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, you’re completely unaware of his inner turmoil, humming to yourself as you finish applying the cream. “There you go. All set!”

You stretch, packing up your things, already mentally planning your next skincare batch for him. “Well, I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Wait.” Vil’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. You blink as he suddenly pulls you into a hug, catching you completely off guard.

“Uh…Vil?”

He’s holding you tightly, and when he speaks, his voice is a little sad. “Good luck.”

You frown, confused. “Why do you sound so sad? I'll pass my exams for sure after all your help.”

He doesn’t respond. You shrug and hug him back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Alright, see you later, drama king.”

And with that, you stroll off, leaving Vil standing there, still holding on to the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Rook, watching from a distance, smiles knowingly. “Ah, how bittersweet…”

Epel just rolls his eyes. “Man, this is like watching a soap opera.”

You passed your exams. Scratch that—you topped them. You’re basically an academic legend now, leaving everyone wondering what kind of ancient god you made a pact with. The professors are whispering your name like you’re some ancient prodigy who’s been secretly acing exams since the dawn of time.

Naturally, you’ve decided to celebrate by making your magnum opus: the most legendary lip balm the world has ever seen. The kind of balm that could revive a dying star, or, more realistically, soothe the chapped lips of a certain fussy fairy.

With your glorious lip balm in hand, you set off to the forest to see Vil. The path is familiar, and yet, today something feels... off. The trees look droopy, the flowers are wilting—like someone forgot to water this whole section of the forest.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, stepping over a vine that looks like it’s given up on life. “Did everyone just forget what hydration is?”

When you reach Vil’s cottage, your gut instinct kicks into overdrive.

Something’s wrong. Really wrong. Your heart is racing. You knock once. Twice. Still nothing. Panic sets in, and before you know it, you’re knocking the door clean off its hinges in your haste.

“Oops,” you whisper, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you see someone on the bed. It’s Vil, and he’s looking about as far from his usual flawless self as you’ve ever seen. He’s feverish, pale, and frankly, it kind of looks like he's dying.

“Vil!” you rush over, shaking him gently. He opens his eyes, squinting at you like you’re an overly bright light in the middle of his fever dream.

“I didn’t know hallucinations could be so vivid,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

“What hallucinations? I’m real!” You’re practically crying now, shaking him harder. He just smiles faintly, completely convinced that you’re some fever-induced mirage.

Fantastic. Not only is he sick, but he also thinks you’re a figment of his imagination.

Frantically, you start brewing a cooling potion, your hands shaking as you mix the ingredients. Vil just watches you with a dazed, slightly amused expression, like he’s impressed that his hallucination has such a good grasp on potion-making.

“I’m real,” you repeat, as you pour the potion down his throat. He gives a tiny nod before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Cue full-on panic mode. You don’t know what’s happening or why Vil’s like this, so you do the only thing you can think of—you send a carrier pigeon to Rook, because of course fairies don’t have phones.

Rook shows up in record time, practically gliding into the cottage like some kind of majestic hunting bird. He takes one look at the pitiful scene—Vil feverish and weak, you hovering like an anxious mother hen—and smiles.

“Oh, he’s heartbroken,” Rook declares, as if that explains everything.

“Heartbroken?!” you echo, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “I saw him two days ago, and he was fine. How could he be heartbroken in two days?!”

“Ah,” Rook says, his eyes twinkling with dramatic flair, “fairies can only fall in love once, and when they do, they fall hard. He thought you wouldn’t return after your exams. He was suffering in silence, believing you’d move on without him.”

You stare at Rook, dumbfounded. “Is he blind?!” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been horrendously in love with him since day one! How could he not notice?”

Rook just beams at you, like you’ve confirmed his favorite romantic theory. “Ah, l’amour. So tragic, yet so beautiful.”

At this point, you’re ready to throw your hands up in frustration. How does Vil not notice? You’ve been making him skincare products, practically living in his cottage, and hovering over him like a lovesick puppy. Could he really think you were just going to leave? But of course, Vil—being Vil—had assumed you’d outgrow him and move on to something better, leaving him behind like a discarded serum bottle.

With renewed determination, you take care of Vil, nursing him back to health with potions and plenty of water. You even manage to coax him to eat something other than the fairy equivalent of air-dried kale. Slowly, he starts looking more like himself, his fever fading and his color returning. But when he finally wakes up, fully lucid, his eyes widen in shock.

“You... you’re real?” he whispers, staring at you like you’re some miraculous vision.

“Yes, I’m real,” you huff, crossing your arms. “And I made this.” You pull out the lip balm you’ve been working on, your prized creation. You swipe some on your lips and then lean down to kiss him.

Vil blinks, stunned into silence. After a moment, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s... a surprisingly effective balm.”

You grin, feeling the tension melt away. “Maybe you should test it again.”

Vil wastes no time, pulling you in for another kiss, his lips soft and cool from the balm. He kisses you a second time, then a third—because, well, it’s important to make sure the balm has long-lasting effects, right?

But then, you pull back slightly, the grin slipping from your face. “Vil, I... I passed all my exams. I even got an offer to move to the capital.”

Vil’s entire body tenses. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten slightly as his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear? Dread? Whatever it is, it’s like a storm cloud settling over him.

“Oh.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. “I see.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself so carefully, as if preparing for you to tell him you’re leaving. That you’re going to take the offer and disappear from his life, just like he feared. He’s already trying to let you go, even as his hands tremble slightly against your waist. It hits you all at once—how terrified he must have been, thinking you’d leave him behind.

For a moment, you just watch him, your heart aching at the sight of his barely concealed distress. And then, finally, you say, “I declined the offer.”

Vil’s breath catches. His eyes snap up to yours, wide with disbelief. “You... you what?”

You smile, leaning in closer. “I declined. I’m not going anywhere, Vil. In fact...” You take a deep breath, your grin widening. “I’m opening a skincare shop right here, on the edge of the forest. And I’m going to live here. With you. No arguments.”

For a moment, Vil just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Then, slowly, the tension in his body dissolves, replaced by pure, unfiltered relief. His hands, which had been shaking moments ago, steady as they pull you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You’re staying?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m staying,” you confirm, your heart swelling at the way he’s holding you, like he’s afraid to let go.

Vil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, you almost miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, drama king.”

Vil huffs out a small, breathy laugh, pulling you down into the bed with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. For a moment, everything is still, peaceful, as you lie there together, tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you says a word, content just to hold each other, the weight of the past few days finally lifting.

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by Vil’s side, where you’ve always belonged.

I'm so deeply in love with this man it's kinda embarrassing

Masterlist

[cvnt4him]

HI I saw your fic abt izuku being really nervy with touch but now can you do one where his girl “bsf” (us) is rlly touchy and they always do couple stuff so casually and everyone is like “y’all are literally dating” and he insists “nahhh this is what bsf do” and we are like “he doesn’t know he’s my bf yet” kinda vibe? Idk if this is coherent at all but yk I’m just a girl

Oh I like the way you think.

This is what friends do.

They snuggle up close to each other, bodies flush against one another. Izuku 10% believes, that this is indeed what best friends do. He holds you close, ketting you scoot back into him, your ass right up against his pelvis. He shudders resisting the urge to let his hips buck up against your ass.

But this is what friends do, they cuddle close and look into each other's eyes longingly. The dark room consumes the both of you whole, his hand finds itself way to your cheek gently rubbing it while you whisper something to him. Everything you say unfortunately goes unheard, he's too busy trying his hardest to get a good look at you underneath the moonlights glow.

It's all okay. This is what friends do. They kiss each other on the cheek, or on the foreheads, or even sometimes the nose. They kiss each other in these places to make their friends know they're loved. It's even okay for them to occasionally kiss the corner of the others lips.

Izuku was nervous, your touch was warm literally burning his skin. It's like in whatever place you touch it vibrated and turned pink, he didn't know what to do. His face was hearing up, your face was so close to his he just didn't know how to react. He felt your breath on his face, you were so close to him it made him shiver. Finally you stop just an inch away from your lips touching, he gulped audibly and tried his hardest not to freak out.

“ goodnight zu.”

You say in a whispered tone, gently kissing the very corner of his lips making him gasp while you did so. You give him a small smile before snuggling close and lying your head on his chest. His breath was shaky and his whole face was beet red, luckily it was too dark for you to notice. He sighed and laid his chin atop of your head closing his eyes and getting ready for bed.

Although if you asked izuku he would be quick to say "you're just best friends!" He'll admit there are some things that make him question your relationship. One time you both were out with friends at the movies, he bought you a ticket and some snacks for the both of you to share, plus you were wearing matching onesies. Everyone was quick to comment on it and how cute you both were but he was quick to shut it down.

“ oh c'mon, we're just friends! right y/n?”

“ yeah guys, we're seriously just besties at best. He just doesn't know he's actually my husband yet.”

Izukus eyes were blown wide as you walked past him slurping a slushie, mina follower you giggling you both had started whispering and huddling together talking about something. Izuku would be lying if he said he didn't want to know. Some of the guys were so quick to tease him asking him questions like "when you two got married" and "if you'd let him hit yet".

While sitting down and watching the movie you sat next to mina mostly just talking rather than watching, izuku sat next to bakugou and denki with kirishima sero and todoroki behind them. Izuku was just above you, yet you were so good at whispering he couldn't exactly make out what you were saying, but trust his nosy ass wanted to know.

“ so you're telling me you've NEVER thought about fucking y/n? like not even once?!”

Denki questioned midoriya with a box of Pocky in his hands, izuku was chewing on some twizzlers and nearly choked at the absurd question.

“ w- what?! no! of course not! we're seriously just friends okay?”

He was quick to shut it down. Huffing as he leaned onto his best friend slightly, the blond looked down to the green haired boy who's eyes were trained on you and what you were showing mina on your phone. Katsuki scoffed which involuntarily caught everyone's attention.

“ if yer’ gonna pretend like you don't want ‘er at least stop staring at her like you wanna fuck ‘er.”

It made all the boys laugh, and tease izuku he was so red and just didn't know how to react. Now his best friend was teasing him? It'll never end. With an annoyed sigh izuku stood and excused himself from the rather noisy group. He walked past you and mina grabbing your attention, mina pointed at him and pushed you to follow him. You did exactly that.

Following behind him you see him walking to the boys bathroom and just before he could go in you yell out "boo!" Making him let out a high pitched noise, causing people to look in your direction. He was so embarrassed he covered his face with his hood and grabbed you by your arm and pulled you inside and closing the door behind you. Luckily you were also wearing your hood so no one could exactly tell you weren't a guy.

“ I'm sorry I'm sorry! I didn't expect you to get scared like that hahaha!!”

You say to him with faux apologies, he was red and embarrassed, that adorable little pout forming back on his face. He was so prone to doing it all the time it's like it was just a default setting for him.

“ y/n!!”

The way he whined your name was just too cute. You were dying of laughter, holding onto him while he buried his face in your neck huffing and breathing into it. Once he smelled your perfume he calmed down a bit, your scent was just so soothing to him. Your laughter began to cease as you swayed in his arms. His eyes closed as he just held you there, he moved slightly shifting his nose to bury itself deeper into the crook of your neck, sighing heavily creating a warmth there.

You hum and scratch his scalp lightly, his hoodie falling off as you did so. He was just too cute for this world sometimes. Being a pouty little shit. You pull back a bit making him groan lowly while staring daggers into your eyes, he was annoyed. Not necessarily with you but with how everyone kept saying you two should "just get together". Or how you're "literally together". It didn't help that you played along with them and called him your husband.

The only thing running through his mind is what if he had actually liked you. What if he didn't know if he liked you. What if he hated the way you make him feel, how you'd touch all over him leaving your scent all over his clothes or his sheets like you'd just had sex or something..

“ zuku, what's the matter?”

He didn't answer. Too busy looking deep into your eyes, they way they looked up into his. That little sparkle in your eyes, it drove him crazy. The things the guys were saying earlier were replaying in his head as he took a good look at you and how you looked in this baggy onesie. Without a thought in mind he grabbed you by your neck and slammed you against the wall, pinning you to it and pressing his rough lips against yours.

You were surprised but welcomed it completely, his other free hand had roamed your body moving to your zipper to unzip it. Once he got it done he slipped his hand past the fabric and underneath the tank top you were wearing below the onesie, he felt your bare boob and squeezed it, moaning into your rough kiss.

It was sloppy and heated. Your teeth had accidentally clashed against each others, he was just so eager and angry he didn't know how to feel or act. The kiss began to get rather spit filled, saliva seeping through your lips and spilling at the corner of your mouths. He groaned into it as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. He was aggressive with the squeezing, never letting up.

Your hands soon wrap around his neck pulling him even closer into you. He breaks the kiss momentarily to catch his breath, his eyes still closed as he does so. He finally removed the hand that was groping your boobs to hoist your thigh up, he gave it a quick squeeze before gripping your neck tighter and craning your neck to the side, he had access to your neck and attacked it. Leaving heavily pigmented marks, he moved fast and claimed every spot he could with his mouth.

He groaned against your skin and breathed in your scent, absolutely getting drunk off of the taste of you. He was in between your thighs and took it as a sign to grind against you, he pushed you more against the wall while he roughly humped you. He groaned into your ear making your eyes roll. The friction felt nice but it wasn't enough for you.

You pushed him away making him scoff in annoyance, he was so sexually frustrated he just wanted to use you to get off. You clouded his thoughts more than hed like to admit and people were always telling him to fuck you so when he was finally trying to you push him away?

You unzip your onesie more revealing your shorts that were beneath, you reach back for him and pull him into you. Izuku was surprised but quickly understood, he grabbed you by your thighs and picked you up holding onto you tightly and he smashed his lips back with yours.

You both moaned into it and let your tongues swirl together swapping each others spit, izuku was so needy he had sat your body down on the sink and pulled you closer so you could wrap your legs around his waist. After you did so he was quick to grind into you again, he rubbed his hard cock against your clothed cunt as roughly as possible.

You could feel him much closer to your heart now, little mewls escaping you. His fingers hooked at the side of your shorts and tugged them down, the second he got them off he moved his kisses down and began kissing your thighs. It made you gasp at the sudden attention, he was staring right up at you through his lashes, moving inward towards your inner thighs licking and sucking all across them.

No words were needed, he knew you wanted him just as bad as he needed you. With nothing needed to be said he began kissing your clothed cunt, eyes rolling at the smell of you. He started sucking the cloth into his mouth trying to get as much of your essence into his mouth before he fully devoured you. He moved you now soaked panties to the side and finally stuck his face into your heat.

Izuku licked sloppily into you, not going into it with much thought just messily eating you. He licked and slurped all that he could, letting his fingers also get some action. He pulled his mouth away to let his fingers tease your slit making you whimper, he loved the noises you made for him. The sounds of your cunt squelching as he shoved his fingers into you, letting them bully their way inside of you. and the little mewls you let out, your hand trying to cover your mouth to not make any nose to catch any attention.

He lifted your leg and placed it over his shoulder and buried his tongue back inside of you, his fingers were still going to work as he made sure to give as much attention to your clit as possible, kitten licking it to tease you. He knew what he was doing and it showed. How did izuku know this much about eating pussy and how to make it feel nice?

Hes only had one other girlfriend that you've known of. You tried to piece together whatever you could but it's like he was trying to get you to lose your mind. He curled his fingers just right making you feel the familiar cook in your stomach turn, everything was coordinating correctly you could feel your high approaching. Izuku knew you were close and wanted you to cum, he wanted to taste your cum so badly. He wanted to be the reason you came.

“ c'mon baby, cum f’me.. get it all over me..”

His speech was slurred, his eyes were slightly rolling backwards as he slurped as much of you up as he could. You came hard on his tongue and fingers yanking and tugging into his hair making him groan into your cunt while licking your clit, he kept eating you despite you cumming the extra stimulation had you shaking and throwing your head back. The moan you let out was too loud you both knew it was, izuku couldn't care though. He finally had you where he knew he wanted you, he had wanted you for so long and hated when people would ask questions about his feelings for you.

Of course he wanted you, of course he wanted to fuck you. He loved you so much and not just as a friend. Not as a 'best friend', more than that. He wanted you to be his and he hated the thought of anyone else having you. he wanted to be so possessive over you. He wanted you to want him.

Izuku took one last lick before coming up, he crawled back up to you and gave you a sweet kiss. His lips and tongue were contaminated with your flavour, you could taste yourself on his lips and didn't know how to feel about it.

You both left the bathroom and hurried back to the group only to find that the movie had long ended, they all looked at the both of you and just snickered and laughed. you two hadn't noticed that you looked a damn mess, izukus hair was messy and your onesie was halfway zipped, you both were out if breath and izuku was extremely red.

“ what?”

“ what...?”

You both questioned in union, everyone just bursted out laughing as you all walked out of the movies. You two hadn't realized how fucked up you both looked so you were just confused. Izuku still couldn't shake what just happened however, he no longer cared about what everyone was snickering about. He'd just eaten you out and you were acting like everything was normal.

Your scent was most likely still lingering on his breath, and you were just acting like everything was normal. Izuku left out a shaky sigh, he had no idea where this would lead but he was glad he got to taste you. He wouldn't mind doing it again either.

Is this what friends do?

AN: this was kinda rushed but I js wanted to get something out

[leovenuslatina]

𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒏 ✶⋆.˚

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

THIS READING IS 18+ MDNI

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

💓what you FS does to turn you on💓

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

-trying something new here-

₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊this is just a reminder that tarot isn’t permanent or set in stone YOU decide how your life goes no one or nothing else now take a deep breath and choose the pile that calls to you ₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊˚⊹

(dont worry i’m still answering asks ill just i’m sending them privately now)

💋 tip ur reader 💋

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Pile One - Ace of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Knight of Wands, Six of Pentacles

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

- Right off the bat your FS is always horny i don’t even know what it is it could be you or it could be that they just have so much pent up energy and you’re the only one he feels comfortable letting it all out with.

- there’s so much wand energy here and i keep hearing that song “thinking with my d!6k” like literally he just cannot keep it in his pants for you.

- to turn you on he gets all up in your space he’ll come up behind you and grind himself on you make sure you feel just how excited or horny he is for you

- your FS will whisper all the things he wants to do to you and what he wants you to do to him he’s very good at telling you what to do. very dominant

- your FS will give you gentle touches all over your body he’ll tell you how pretty or gorgeous you are and how much he’s so in love with you

- he’s very obsessed with being touchy-feely with you to turn you on

- he may even give you long massages to turn you on. he’ll probably want to relax FA you and make you guys feel close he wants you to know that it’s not just about sex when the two of you are being intimate he genuinely just loves being close to you 🥹💓

- to turn you on he’ll hold you very close he’ll definitely loveeeeeee love love having you in his lap. i just keep seeing his hands all over you. squeezing and touching and grabbing at whatever they can.

- i’m also getting your FS is such a freaking tease ! to turn you on your FS will literally touch you all over EXCEPT for exactly where you need him most.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pile Two - Page of Wands,Queen of Wands, The Fool, Judgment

ᡣ𐭩₊˚.⋆⁺₊

- Your Fs is very golden retriever vibes when they wanna turn you on there’s sloppy kisses all over your face and neck they’ll tell you how much they love and miss you and how they want to be near you and in you.

- their hands will be all over you trying their hardest to get your close off when he’s wants you to want him they’ll be so rushed to get you under them

- the two of you will have a very exciting and active sexual relationship and you’ll always be all over each other people around you think it’s gross but you guys are just so physically attractive to each other.

- to turn you on your future spouse will use your kinks and fantasies to his advantage he knows them very well because he knows you very well and use them to get you in the mood

- they’ll use your fantasies and kinks to get in your head and make you melt under him

- Pile 2 your FS will take turning you on as a game (not in a bad way) they’ll think it’s so easy to get you all excited and needy for him.

- they take a really relaxed approach to turning you on he likes to take his time he likes to make you feel as needy for him as he can as much as possible

- i think your FS knows you so so well that they’ll know all the little things that turn you on

- for example if you like his arms he’ll like roll his sleeves up slowly or if you like his voice he’ll whisper random things in your ear you know just to get you going

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pile Three - Justice, King of Cup, Page of Cups

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

- Your FS IS FINE ASF 😤😤 like literally straight outta romance novels like riding on a white horse shirtless kind hot 🥵

- they’re very equal when it comes to freakin anything you do to them they’ll wanna do to you but 10000x better

- i think you’ll always be pretty turned on when you’re with or around your partner just because of how beautiful they but to get you going anymore they’ll pretty much follow your lead

- your Fs is the type of person to mirror you exactly they won’t do anything they think you don’t like or aren’t 100% into

- Your FS may or may not be your first sexual encounter or partner if so they teach you and show you what kinda things you like and they’ll help you explore your sexuality in all ways

- if your FS isn’t your first time they will definitely be your best and will show you just how good sex can be

- To turn you on your FS they will massage you calm you down relax you.

- you maybe the kind of person that has a specific set of needs before hopping right into bed and your FS will be very understanding about that

- Your FS Will always make sure you’re comfortable and happy and consenting before getting anything started

- Your FS is very understanding about any sort of situation you come from they won’t judge you or make you feel bad for your past or anything you make like or want him to do for you or with you.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

[saigethearies]

osamu and you leave your daughter with her uncle atsumu for the weekend. chaos ensues.

___

“i woulda felt better leavin’ her with kita or aran.”

you let out a snort at your husband’s statement. “over your own brother? her blood relative?”

you and osamu were driving to a weekend getaway in the mountains. while the two of you were excited for a break and some quality time, there was no denying that there was some apprehension in the car.

it was the first time you’d be away from your baby daughter. as great as a vacation sounded, it would be a lie to say the two of you weren’t reluctant to go.

in order to ease your nerves, a suitable babysitter was chosen.

only osamu didn’t have a lot of faith in your choice.

“exactly, he’s ma brother, so ‘m the only one who understands just how much of ‘n idiot he truly is.”

“but you saw how happy he was to offer to watch her! atsumu loves being a uncle, he won’t half-ass taking care of her. besides, if he ends up needing help your mom is just a call away.”

“ma’s hostin’ her book club this saturday, she can’t just drop everythin’ if tsumu’s dumbass ends up needin’ help.”

you let out a sigh. “samu, just try and relax. i’m sure everything over on his end is fine.”

____

“COURT BABY! COURT BABY! COURT BABY!”

hinata and bokuto chanted as they watched your daughter crawl across the shiny floor of the msby practice gym.

having grown tired of the play mat and toys her uncle atsumu had laid out for her, the little one decided exploring her surroundings would be far more exciting.

“she’s crawlin’ earlier than most babies would,” atsumu chimed proudly. “must’ve got ma athlete genes.”

sakusa rolled his eyes from behind the fake blonde.

“she’s really going fast! let’s time her to see how quick she can move!” hinata suggested, fascinated by the little human on the ground.

“we’re supposed to be doing passing drills-“

“GREAT IDEA HINATA!” bokuto shouted.

“i give up,” the masked brunette said, moving to sit down on the bleachers since apparently no one was going to actually bother to follow instructions.

atsumu smirked while watching his teammates fawn over his niece. he knew it would be a good idea to just bring her to friday practice. the vibe for fridays was always a little more laid-back, and he knew having a cute little baby around would earn him brownie points with his excitable teammates. who didn’t love babies?

his brown eyes shifted over to sakusa momentarily, who was gazing at his niece with a look of disdain on his face.

okay, maybe he didn’t enjoy kids, but the rest of the team sure did!

“hey hey hey, baby miya! let’s see how quick you can crawl to your uncle tsum-tsum!”

atsumu grinned, moving to kneel on the ground so he can encourage his niece to move towards him. seeing the familiar face of her uncle- who shared a face with her father- had her happily babbling away as she pushed towards him.

“awe, she’s trying to talk!” hinata cooed, lip wobbling as he watched the precious exchange.

“alright, everyone,” a voice boomed. everyone turned to see a muscular figure with a head of spiky black hair enter the gymnasium.

“your coach asked me to come over to ensure you boys were actually practicing,” iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer stated. “i have some specific stamina exercises i want everyone to participate in. we’re gonna start by-“

movement in the lower peripheral of iwa’s vision caught his attention and the former ace found his gaze turning toward the floor.

“…why the hell is there a baby here?”

“don’t fuckin’ curse in front’a ma niece!”

“you just- nevermind,” iwa grunted, trying to be as patient as possible considering there was a literal infant present.

slotting his clipboard into the junction of his shoulder, the athletic trainer bent down to gently pick up your daughter. balancing her on his hip as if he’d done it a million times before, he turned back to the team.

“alright, jumping jacks and high knees, i want those heart rates getting up!”

before atsumu could open his mouth, iwa shot him a pointed look.

“i’ll hold your niece, miya, now get moving.”

the squeaking of shoes against the linoleum floor began to sound off. after ensuring everyone was properly following his instructions, he turned to the baby in his hold.

everyone knew iwaizumi was tough, but few knew how much of a complete softie he could be at times. giving your daughter a small smile, he lifted his hands to wave his fingers at her, to which she smiled back and tried to mimic his movements.

he let out a light laugh. “motor skills coming along there, i see-“

“iwaaaaa-chaaannnnn,” a voice sounded off from behind him.

iwaizumi froze. that voice, that stupid nickname, he knew it from anywhere. he began to turn his head to look behind him, gradually as if he was moving in slow-motion.

there was no way…

“guess who flew all the way from argentina to surprise you with his presence,” oikawa boasted as he stepped into the room. “that’s right, me-“

the seijoh grad fell silent as his chocolate colored eyes fell on the small human in his best friend’s hold.

oikawa blinked once. twice. three times. then-

“since when did you have a kid?”

“tooru, this isn’t-“

“how could you keep this from me?”

“will you please just-“

“a whole child? when?”

“shittykawa just shut up-“

“STOP CURSIN’ IN FRONT’A HER!”

“-and listen to me for a second!”

oikawa finally stopped his tirade, moving towards iwaizumi to study the baby in his arms. he bent down to be eye level with her, the both of them staring at each other curiously.

the brunette hummed to himself, reaching a finger out to poke your daughter’s cheek. “she doesn’t look like you.”

“wow, what an observation, it’s almost like she’s not my kid.”

“then who’s is she-“

“she’s my niece,” atsumu growled out, pushing oikawa away from the baby he was prodding at. he fixed the other man with a glare, well aware of who he was and what position he also played. the fact that this potential rival thought he could casually touch his flesh and blood had the fake blonde heated. “i’m takin’ care’a her for the weekend, which means i ain’t letting no lesser setter lay’a hand on her.”

“lesser setter?”

“oh boy,” iwa said, moving away from the two ego-fueled players. he could tell they were about to scuffle and he couldn’t let a baby be anywhere near that.

placing your little girl safely to the side, iwa crouched in front of her, sounds of “never saw ya at spring nationals” and “let’s see what your stats are, huh?” airing in the background.

“you stay right here, i’m gonna go get them to knock it off.”

standing a few meters away from all the chaos, sakusa watched as iwaizumi tried to wrench the two setters apart. sighing, he shifted his gaze to your daughter sitting unattended on the ground, babbling at nothing in particular.

sakusa grimaced. he really didn’t like babies. they were so…germy. and gross. but, he supposed the babies themselves couldn’t really help that fact. it wasn’t their fault they were so little and had such new immune systems.

a shadow then loomed over your daughter, bokuto and hinata standing over her. now that iwaizumi was too distracted to lead them in workouts, the two’s attention was back on the infant.

“i know!” bokuto exclaimed. “let’s do passing drills with baby miya! we can pass her back and forth to each other!”

“she’ll feel like she’s flying! like she’s a little crow!”

“or an owl!”

“you two will be doing absolutely no such thing with this child,” sakusa interjected, scooping your daughter up and going to sit down on the bench with her.

“but ki-“

“no.”

he wasn’t a fan of babies, but considering your daughter’s uncle was currently holding oikawa in a headlock, sakusa figured he could keep an eye on her for just a few minutes. it wouldn’t be too much longer before iwa finally decided he’d had enough and smacked the shit out of both of them.

hearing a little gurgle from below him, the brunette cast his eyes downwards. your daughter’s sight was transfixed on him, a smile coming onto her face when she saw she had the spiker’s attention.

from behind his mask, sakusa felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

okay, maybe babies were a little cute.

[wwccol]

The Signal: Gotham’s Daylight Guardian

The Batfamily is trying to unravel Duke's "daytime crime-busting secret" only to discover that it's literally just Duke being Duke—and looking like a terrifying eldritch being—it’s brilliant.

Tim: "Okay, I’ve been running the stats. Crime in Gotham during the day has dropped by, like, 40%. That’s not normal. Something’s going on."

Jason: "I say Duke’s been moonlighting as a Jedi or something. There’s no other explanation."

Duke: "I swear, I’m just... out there, doing my thing. Nothing fancy!"

Dick: "Right. Which is why we’re all suiting up and following you tomorrow. For science."

The next day, the Batfamily gathers on a rooftop near Wayne Tower, decked out in their suits, ready to tail Duke as discreetly as possible.

Jason: "Alright, Narrows, go do your thing. We’ll stay out of sight."

Duke (rolling his eyes): "You guys are making this way weirder than it needs to be. I’m just... patrolling."

Dick: "That’s exactly what makes it suspicious. Go on."

Duke sighs, mutters something about how everyone’s being dramatic, and leaps off the rooftop.

The rest of the Batfamily follows at a safe distance, blending into shadows and keeping tabs via comms. At first, everything seems normal. Duke stops a mugging with a quick intervention and moves on. But as he continues, they start noticing patterns .

Witnessing The Signal in Action

A small group of teenagers loitering in an alley suddenly stiffen as Duke lands silently on a nearby fire escape. He doesn’t even say anything—just crouches there, watching.

Teen 1 (terrified whisper): "Did you see that? Oh my god, it’s looking at us!"

Teen 2: "What is that thing?!"

The group scatters like frightened birds.

On another street, a man about to break into a car looks up and sees Duke silhouetted against the sunlight. The golden glow of Duke’s eyes intensifies, and shadows seem to curl unnaturally around his frame.

Car Thief: "Nope. Nope. Not today. I’m going back to Metropolis."

He drops his crowbar and sprints away.

From a nearby rooftop, the Batfamily watches everything unfold.

Tim: "Okay, I don’t get it. He didn’t even do anything that time."

Barbara (from the comms): "I checked the cameras. He just landed on a fire escape and... stared. Is this his whole strategy?"

Steph: "Wait, is this some kind of Jedi mind trick? Duke, are you secretly psychic?"

Duke (on comms): "No! I’m not psychic. I don’t know why they’re freaking out!"

Jason: "I’ll tell you why—they think you’re a demon, dude. You’ve got the whole Lovecraft vibe going on. Look at you! You’re like a glowing shadow monster on top of a building."

Dick: "He’s not wrong. You’re giving off serious 'guardian of the apocalypse' energy."

Duke: "You guys are exaggerating. I just look... cool. Right?"

The Batfamily decides to test the hypothesis. Jason volunteers to get closer for a better look, pretending to be a random pedestrian.

He casually strolls down the street, glances up at Duke on the rooftop, and immediately freezes. Even Jason—who routinely faces death and chaos—is struck by the sheer wrongness of Duke’s appearance. It’s not that Duke’s doing anything malicious. It’s just... unsettling.

Jason (into comms): "Okay, yeah. It’s definitely the eldritch horror thing. My fight-or-flight reflex just kicked in, and I know it’s him ."

Duke: "I still don’t see it!"

Barbara: "Hold on. I’m recording this. I’ll pull up the feed so you can see what Gotham sees."

Back in the Batcave, Barbara plays the daytime surveillance footage on the main screen. The Batfamily watches in stunned silence as the video shows Duke leaping across rooftops. In the broad daylight, his glowing golden aura seems magnified. His shadow stretches unnaturally, flickering like it has a mind of its own. His eyes gleam with an unearthly intensity, and he moves with a predator-like grace that’s both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Dick: "Wow. You’re like Batman’s scarier, solar-powered cousin."

Steph: "Or the protagonist of a found-footage horror movie."

Tim: "Oh my god. Duke... you look like the final boss of a cosmic horror video game."

Jason: "No wonder Gotham’s criminals are freaked out. You look like you’re about to drag their souls into the void."

Duke (finally seeing it): "...Oh. Oh no."

Duke leans against the console, burying his head in his hands.

Duke: "I thought people were just scared of, like... the idea of a Bat vigilante. Not me personally. "

Tim: "I mean, technically, it’s still the idea of a bat vigilante. You’re just the daytime version. And the daytime version is... apparently an eldritch sentinel."

Bruce (stepping in): "This works to our advantage. Fear is a powerful deterrent."

Duke (sarcastically): "Great. My entire crime-fighting persona is an eldrich nightmare… That’s not weird at all."

Later

The Batfamily decides to lean into Duke’s unique abilities. They even brainstorm ways to amplify the effect subtly (glowing lenses for his mask, playing up the shadow distortion) while ensuring Duke feels supported.

Bruce: "You’ve turned daylight into an ally in a way no one else has. Use it."

Duke: "Yeah, but... can we not make me look like the end boss of Gotham?"

Jason: "Too late, man. It’s perfect."

As they laugh and tease Duke, he starts to accept his role as Gotham’s daytime terror—a protector like no other. Though, deep down, he secretly enjoys how effective it is.

Extra

Scenario 1: The Hallway Horror

It’s late at night, and the Batfamily is scattered throughout Wayne Manor. Jason is heading to the kitchen for a midnight snack when he senses movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns to see Duke standing at the end of the dimly lit hallway, perfectly still.

Duke’s golden eyes are glowing faintly in the dark, his shadow stretching unnaturally along the walls. Jason freezes.

Jason (startled): "Jesus Christ, Duke! What are you doing?!"

Duke: "I was heading to my room."

Jason (still on edge): "Well, don’t stand there like a damn ghost! You scared the crap out of me!"

Duke raises an eyebrow.

Duke: "You’re literally a guy who sneaks up on criminals for a living. How did I scare you? "

Jason grumbles as he stalks off to the kitchen. Later, he tells everyone at breakfast that Duke’s "eldritch hallway act" nearly gave him a heart attack.

Scenario 2: The Living Room Light Show

The family is hanging out in the Wayne Manor living room after a patrol. The lights are dimmed, and everyone’s winding down. Duke is lounging on the couch, half-asleep, when Tim notices something strange.

Tim: "Uh... Duke? You’re glowing."

Everyone turns to look at Duke, who blinks in confusion. Sure enough, his golden aura has started to flicker faintly in the dim room. Shadows from the furniture stretch and bend toward him like they’re being pulled into a vortex.

Dick: "Okay, that’s... unsettling."

Steph (grinning): "Is this your way of telling us you’re secretly a nightlight?"

Duke, now fully awake, tries to suppress the glow. But the more he panics, the brighter his eyes get, until Jason hurls a throw pillow at him.

Jason: "Turn it off! You’re gonna summon Cthulhu in the middle of movie night!"

Bruce walks in, sees the chaos, and just sighs.

Bruce: "No eldritch summoning in the living room. Take it to the cave."

Scenario 3: Shadow in the Batcave

Tim is working late in the Batcave, surrounded by monitors and gadgets. He hears footsteps behind him and assumes it’s Bruce.

Tim (without looking): "Hey, can you hand me the—"

He turns around to see Duke standing there silently, his glowing eyes piercing through the shadows of the cave. Tim yelps and nearly falls out of his chair.

Duke (startled): "Whoa! Tim, it’s just me!"

Tim (catching his breath): "Don’t sneak up on people like that! You’re like a freaking cryptid in here!"

Duke smirks, but when he steps closer, the shadows behind him flicker unnaturally.

Tim: "Nope! Nope! Back up! You’re officially banned from the Batcave after dark."

Scenario 4: Bedside Terror

Damian wakes up in the middle of the night and spots a tall, shadowy figure standing silently by his bed. He grabs his katana instinctively and swings—only to realize it’s Duke, glowing faintly.

Damian: "Thomas! What are you doing?"

Duke (guiltily): "I, uh... thought I saw a shadow move in your room. Turns out it was just me."

Damian groans and flops back onto his bed.

Damian: "Next time, announce your presence before you scare someone into an early grave."

Scenario 5: The Kitchen Incident

Steph and Damian are in the kitchen arguing over the last cookie Alfred made.

Damian: "It’s mine. I called dibs."

Steph: "You can’t call dibs on dessert, Demon Spawn!"

As the argument escalates, the lights flicker, and a low hum fills the air. Both turn to see Duke standing in the doorway, his eyes glowing faintly. The refrigerator light casts long, exaggerated shadows across the floor, making Duke look ten feet tall.

Duke (deadpan): "Why is it always the cookies?"

Steph and Damian scream simultaneously.

Damian (recovering, annoyed): "Tt. That was unnecessary."

Steph: "Duke, I swear, one of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack."

Scenario 6: Midnight Training Gone Wrong

Dick decides to train late in the Batcave, running through an obstacle course. He doesn’t realize Duke is also there, watching from the shadows. As Dick flips off a beam, he catches sight of Duke perched on a ledge, his glowing eyes tracking him like a predator.

Dick slips mid-flip and lands on the mat with a thud.

Dick: "DUKE! Why are you lurking like that?!"

Duke hops down gracefully.

Duke: "I wasn’t lurking. I was observing."

Dick: "You were lurking. Your shadows were doing the creepy tentacle thing again!"

Duke glances at his shadow, which does seem to be moving independently, and shrugs.

Duke: "I can’t control that all the time. Besides, you’re supposed to have situational awareness."

Dick: "Not for you ! You’re worse than Bruce!"

:D!!! lol posting here but I also posted on AO3

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[luvmahae]

masterlist — previous — next!

the brisk morning air brushes your skin as you stand in the driveway, staring down your so-called best friends with a mix of disbelief and betrayal. you cross your arms over your chest and scowl at chenle, who looks way too smug for your liking.

“let me get this straight… i can’t ride with my actual besties?”

“we called dibs on jisung. sorry, not sorry.”

“don’t get me wrong, i love jisung… but why?”

renjun steps in, giving a casual shrug. “don’t take it personally. he’s just… a vibe.”

unbelievable. 

“wow. so, because jisung is ‘a vibe’, i have to suffer?”

“suffer? y/n, you’re about to have the most memorable car ride of your life. you’re welcome!”

oh zhong chenle, you are so dead to me.

your gaze shifts toward the so-called chaos car, where mark is leaning against the driver’s side door, jaemin is hoisting his duffel bag into the trunk, jeno is snacking on something (probably a protein bar), and haechan is fiddling with his phone, queueing up songs for the road trip. 

the sight alone makes you sigh in exasperation, already feeling the headache forming from just looking at them.

“and where exactly am i supposed to sit?”

“in the middle, duh. you’re the smallest.”

“i literally hate you guys so much right now.” 

mark perks up as you approach, offering an apologetic grin.

“we love you though!”

the chaos begins the moment you wedge yourself into the backseat, cramped between jeno and haechan. 

you press your palms into the leather seat, trying to avoid touching either of them more than necessary. it's a futile effort—every time the car shifts, your shoulders brush against haechan's, his presence like a spark you can’t ignore. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but he’s too focused on his phone. you can see the small smirk playing on his lips as if he knows exactly how this whole situation is making you feel.

“why do i have to be in the middle?”

“because you’re the smallest. we needed someone to fill the gap.”

“great. thanks for that jeno.”

“don’t act like you’re not enjoying the company.”

“i’m loving every second of it.” you deadpan, hoping to avoid it all. 

from the front seat, mark chimes in. “everyone ready for the road trip?” his voice is upbeat, but you can tell he’s aware of the growing discomfort in the backseat.

you don’t answer immediately. instead, you stare out the window, wishing you had more space. your frustration grows with every inch you’re forced to share with haechan and jeno.

“alright, let’s settle this once and for all. best zedd song. go.”

of course, jaemin jumps in, grinning. “beautiful now is the best. classic.”

“please… there is only one right answer and that’s clarity.”

the argument quickly escalates, the debate filling the car as you zone out, your exhaustion catching up with you. you hadn’t realized how tired you were until now. your head begins to sway, fighting the urge to fall asleep. before you can stop yourself, your head droops to the side and lands on jeno’s shoulder. 

for a moment, everything quiets. he freezes but then relaxes, his arm subtly draping over you.

haechan’s voice breaks the silence, dripping with something you can’t place. 

“nice of you to choose jeno.”

you don’t open your eyes, keeping your voice low. 

“shut up.”

jeno shifts slightly to make you more comfortable. “you good?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

you nod off, the noise of the argument fading into the background. haechan doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his eyes on you.

somebody... anybody... please save me!

the car finally comes to a stop, jolting you awake. your head jerks up from jeno’s shoulder, and for a moment, you feel a wave of disorientation before the cabin surroundings come into focus. the others are already stretching and getting out of the car, but you can’t help the awkwardness that lingers between you and haechan.

jeno glances down at you with a soft chuckle. “you okay there? looks like you needed that nap.”

you nod, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, avoiding haechan’s gaze entirely. “yeah, sorry about that,” you mumble, quickly unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of the car after him.

“alright, everyone grab your stuff,” chenle announces, already pulling duffel bags from the trunk. “the cabin’s just up this path.”

as everyone gathers their belongings, haechan lingers near the car, his eyes flicking to you every so often. you keep your focus on your bag, determined not to give him the satisfaction of catching your attention.

“here, let me help,” jeno offers, effortlessly lifting your backpack. he flashes you a grin that’s almost too perfect, and you can’t tell if he’s being genuinely nice or just enjoying how haechan’s jaw tightens at the sight.

the group starts trekking up the gravel path toward the cabin. it's picturesque—tall pines frame the horizon, and the golden hour sunlight casts an ethereal glow over everything. chenle and ningning are already bickering over which room they’re claiming, while karina and mark walk ahead, discussing the best way to make s’mores.

you trail behind with jeno, haechan close enough that you can feel his presence but not close enough to force a conversation. every now and then, your arm brushes jeno’s as he walks beside you, and you swear you can hear him scoff under his breath.

by the time you reach the cabin, the sun has dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. the cabin is even more stunning than the photos—two stories of rustic charm, complete with a wraparound porch and a hot tub out back.

“okay, first things first!” mark exclaims, dropping his bag in the entryway. “we need to figure out room assignments.”

“dibs on the biggest room!”

“absolutely not! whoever rooms with chenle, good luck!”

“wow, nings.”

“there are four rooms, so i’m thinking the girls can share the master,” karina says, scrolling through the cabin’s listing on her phone. “any objections?”

“none!” ningning links her arm with yours quickly. “we’ve done this a hundred times at home. easy.”

you nod in agreement, relieved to have a built-in safety net. sharing a room with karina and ningning feels like the only scenario where you can truly relax this weekend.

“what about the rest of us?” mark asks, looking around at the guys.

“well… you guys are on your own to decide that!” karina grins as she hauls her bag up the stairs toward the master bedroom, with ningning and you in tow.

now that the room situation was settled, everyone began unpacking and settling in. chenle, renjun, and jisung headed towards the room with the bunk bed and a single twin bed, quickly claiming their spots. renjun took the lower bunk, preferring the ease of access, while jisung reluctantly climbed to the top bunk, muttering under his breath about his luck. chenle tossed his bag onto the twin bed by the window, clearly pleased with his choice.

jeno and jaemin moved to the second room, where two full-sized beds were neatly set up on opposite sides. jeno immediately claimed the one closer to the door, while jaemin sprawled out on the bed closer to the window, scrolling through his phone as if he owned the place.

haechan and mark made their way to the third room, which had two twin beds placed parallel to each other. mark set his bag down on the bed nearest the wall, while haechan dramatically flung himself onto the other bed.

with everyone settled, the cabin quickly filled with the sounds of unpacking, muffled laughter, and footsteps exploring the rest of the space.

after a chaotic round of mario kart and a heated game of uno that ended with ningning declaring herself the undisputed champion, the group’s energy finally started to wane. one by one, everyone decided to call it a night, retreating to their rooms with mumbled goodnights and lingering laughter echoing down the hall.

as the laughter died down, the house fell into an almost peaceful silence, the kind that only comes after a night of unrestrained fun.

you tossed and turned beneath the covers, your mind racing in a thousand directions.

you glance at the clock. 3 a.m and you’re still awake.

with a frustrated sigh, you throw the covers off and slip out of bed, being careful not to wake the girls lying next to you. the cool air of the cabin greets you as you step into the hallway, your bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. you quietly make your way down the stairs, heading towards the living room.

the fireplace in the living room crackles faintly, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the space. you step in and take a deep breath, drawn to the warmth it offers. you walk to the couch, grabbing the thick blanket draped over the armrest and wrapping it around your shoulders. you settled down in front of the fire with your knees pulled up to your chest.

it was just the sound of the fireplace and your own thoughts tonight— or so you thought.

haechan stands at the bottom of the stairs, his hair disheveled from sleep, still wearing the same hoodie he’d had on earlier that evening. 

“couldn’t sleep either?”

“yeah… just one of those nights, i guess.”

he steps further into the room, the floor creaking softly beneath his feet, and pauses for a moment before sitting down beside you. he doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there, his presence unexpectedly comforting in the stillness of the night.

for a few moments, neither of you speaks. the only sound is the crackling of the fire in front of you, the soft glow of the flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. he shifts slightly, his gaze flicking to the fire before settling back on you.

“i didn’t mean to… mess things up y/n,” he says, his voice low, the words coming out slower than usual, almost like he’s weighing each one. “i know i’ve been a dumbass, and i shouldn’t have let things go the way they did.”

you don’t respond right away, unsure of how to react. the apology feels different from how he usually talks. no jokes, no distractions. it felt genuine this time.

“i just didn’t know how to fix it. i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you finally look at him, really look at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the guarded walls you’ve built up start to crack. the sincerity in his eyes catches you off guard. he isn’t perfect, far from it, but in this moment, he’s trying.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, a little softer this time, his gaze searching yours for something, anything at this point that will tell him he’s not too late.

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything unsaid settle between you. the fire crackles softly, its warmth offering comfort. you nod, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“i know.”

for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the fire and the quiet hum of the night. he swiftly pulls out his phone, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. when he turns it toward you, you raise an eyebrow.

“i made this for you. a playlist. i was going to send it, but then… i don’t know. i just never did.”

“a playlist?”

“yeah. thought you might like it. it’s just songs that… reminded me of you.”

you glance at the phone screen as the first few notes of a song begin to play. it’s familiar, and it feels like it belongs in this moment, the soft melodies enveloping you both. you close your eyes for a moment, letting the music fill the space between you, the tension in your chest slowly unwinding.

without even thinking, you lean your head against his shoulder. the touch is soft, tentative, but it feels right. he stays still, his warmth grounding you. he gently places his hand over yours and gives it a light squeeze.

the warmth from the fire, the music, and the simple closeness between you both settle into something almost peaceful. the weight of everything that’s happened between you two, the fights and the misunderstandings, feels a little more manageable in the quiet of the night.

he doesn’t say anything more— he doesn’t need to. the music speaks for him.

in that moment, you both sit together, letting the world outside fade away.

wc: 2.1k

notes: long awaited update... :D finally done with this sem!! on a small trip rn and ill be back on mon <3 taglist is also closed!! thank u to all the ppl who asked to be apart of it!!

taglist: @4amirwin @wonbin-truther @hearts4hee @jungaji @sundamariis @urlovelily @n0hyuck @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @luvvhaechan @douqhnxtss @tynlvr @haesluvr @hcluvie @pinknjm @nanaxwi @catpjimin @slayhaechan @awktwurtle @myfavoritedelusion @stqrgr7 @t-102 @jianreadsaus @haechanhues @gomdoleemyson @hyuckmoon @haechology @mystverse @hyuckies18 @sunflowerbebe07 @jae-n0 @onlyforyoukook @yizhrt @gwookie @zzzmrk @kukkurookkoo @nightcat101 @tinyelfperson @haefelt @haechsworld @tenjyucat @worldwidecutiemaya @sunghoonsgfreal @snoopyjimin @ypoom151999 @meowtella @honeynanamin @haechanmybaechan @nctrawberries @nosungluv

[snailmail444]

Hello!

Found you through my gorgeous friend @maylilithreign, who I adore enormously!

It's so lovely of you to open up your asks!

I just read your head canons about the bachelors. Our good doctor Harvey is my man.

I have a couple of asks.

Firstly, what are the bachelors favourite positions?

Secondly, the bachelors are in the mood for a little action. What are they going to do to seduce their significant other?

Thank you so much! <3

Bachelors Favorite Positions and Seduction Techniques

18+ 🌱 MDNI 🌱 NSFW

You 🤝 me

Loving Libby

Gonna try and mesh these together because I want it all in the same post lol okay here we go 😈 NSFW under the cut!

Harvey-

💚 When Harvey’s in the mood, I imagine he doesn’t just ask outright

💚 He’s gotta feel out the vibe first. Make sure you’ve had a good day, that you’re not tired or otherwise turned off because he’s considerate like that

💚Kind of a doctorly approach you know? Your feelings > his needs

💚 Once he’s ascertained that you’re good, he’ll start with a little shoulder massage or a foot rub. Something to get his hands on you and make you feel good, but definitely not platonic sort of touches.

💚 Kisses your calf or your neck and asks if you want him. Lord help !!!!

💚 As for position? Well since he’s the horny one he gets to have his favorite :3

💚 Missonary king. He likes how versatile it is, and that it’s comfortable for you, and he gets eye contact.

💚 win win win. He stays winning in this position

💚 Loves to use the eye contact to his advantage. Mr Soft Dom

💚 :3

Elliott-

❤️ Elliott isn’t often desperate horny

❤️ He gets worked up a lot and is almost always dtf, but rarely is he climbing the walls

❤️ So when he is losing it…well

❤️ The MOMENT you get home he’s covering your body with his, pressing you to the door and licking into your mouth

❤️ Voices his need in the spaces where he’s supposed to breathe

❤️ As for his favorite position? It’s literally right there

❤️ Your back to the door or the floor of the entryway or the couch if you two can stumble in

❤️ So it’s whatever is beneficial to that. Your legs around his waist or you bent over the nearest surface, etc

❤️ Place over position

❤️ Passion passion passion

Alex-

🤎 The shyest of the lovers I think

🤎 He just wants to be nice and sweet and he doesn’t know exactly how to ask for sex or initiate unless the mood is right

🤎 He’d probably try to ignore the horny away, but that doesn’t work LOL

🤎 One kiss and he’s panting and rocking against you like the needy guy he is

🤎 You have to ask him if he’s horny, and he’ll give you a shy kinda grin, his cheeks red but his eyes excited because he’s gonna get to fuck lol

🤎 Cowgirl king. Save a horse, ride Alex (I should be put down)

🤎 Loves seeing you on top, but it only

takes a little before he wants to show off by fucking hard from underneath. Core strength icon

🤎 Either of you can set the pace this way, and he loves that

🤎 Hon ment for Missionary because I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again Alex is a ROMANTIC AT HEART!!!!!

Shane-

💙 Now Shane. I’m thinking he might show off a bit to try and seduce you

💙 Pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, something that puts those farm muscles to work 😍

💙 Tease! Tease! He’s teasing!

💙 Probably flirty/compliments too

💙 I totally see him once he’s comfortable in a relationship falling back on all his old high school gridball pickups

💙 I’m sorry I just think man’s got game once he sobers up

💙 So it’s easy to tell because he’s trying to Impress

💙 DOGGY!!!

💙 I know this isn’t a particularly fresh take, but he’s sooooo hitting it from the back. It’s just the truth

💙 Loves it because it’s so hot to him to watch your face buried in the covers as you slur out moans for him

💙 Probably switches a few times throughout though

💙 He loves to manhandle you what can I say

💙 Mating press hon ment

Sam-

🩷 He’s so easy and also horny all the fucking time

🩷 Dudes libido is off the charts first and foremost. So jot that down

🩷 So when he wants to fuck he typically will press his body all up against yours

🩷 Presses up on your back while you’re cooking, grabs your hips, pulls you into his lap

🩷 Big on physical touch, this guy

🩷 As for position? Hehe

🩷 His favorite is whatever you tell him to do. Doesn’t have any preference because oh man! He’s getting to hit! Sweet!

🩷 Does have an affection towards cowgirl because it’s the easiest position for someone else to dominate him in

🩷 Being so serious he’s suuuuuch a sub he wants to be controlled hardcore

🩷 So if his pleasure is completely contingent on what you give him? Well

🩷 😏

Sebastian-

🖤 Another shy boy !!

🖤 But also the most likely to out and out ask for what he wants

🖤 So a lot of the time he ends up just blurting it out

🖤 You’ll be watching TV together or something, reading, whatever

🖤 And out of nowehere he’ll ask if he can give you oral

🖤 King oral fixation wants his mouth on you now!!

🖤 And what are you supposed to do? Say no??

🖤 That’s his favorite, though I’m not sure it’s a sex position

🖤 Man just really loves giving head, okay?

🖤 If you’re in bed he’s probably jumping the covers, but he also might sneak a hand down there while he’s enjoying his meal because he is LOVING! IT!

🖤 Finishes in his boxers when you finish in his mouth, so it counts

[preeningpisces]

Geto NSFW Headcanons

Im gonna try not to be biased because this is my main bitch right here 🖤

Lemme know if you want me to elaborate or write about any of these headcanons

(literally any ask about Geto will make me do somersaults—backflips, even)

18+ content below the cut, mdni, implied chubby f!reader

Pre-Incident

꩜ Geto is interesting because before he snaps and after he snaps feel like two different vibes in regards to sex

꩜ Doting, almost like a service-dom. He likes taking care of you, but he also prefers to have control. Though not so controlling that he can’t ever be submissive

꩜ Major smooth-talker, like Gojo said, he has a silver tongue. Likes a mixture of praise and degradation. The degradation is usually teasing, and doesn’t extend past the usual slut, whore, etc. range…usually

꩜ Sometimes it comes out corny tho lmfao pls roast him when it does

꩜ Good at making you feel sexy. The type that will kiss you all over, giving extra affection to areas you aren’t as fond of. It’s difficult at first, but with time you become more comfortable

꩜ Very sensual, and intimate. He has good self-control, & is very patient so he can draw things out & drive you crazy. Like he can spend all-too-long just toying with your mouth, denying you the kiss you so desperately want. Barely brushing your lips and teeth with his thumb, before pinching your tongue between fingers. Wowee

꩜ Refuses to kiss you after absorbing curses. Even though no one else can taste them, the thought of tasting like that is enough for for him to refuse; he doesn’t want you to go through it too. Also, tasting shit-vomit in your mouth doesn’t exactly get the schlong schlinging, yknow

꩜ I suspect absorbing curses gives him an immediate surge of negative emotions, so he usually needs space. Sometimes he just wants to hold you, or be held, in silence

꩜ Can be surprisingly playful in bed

꩜ Really likes fucking you from below. Smooshing your soft breasts and stomach against him, and feeling your weight on top of him. Holding you still so he can rail you while whispering sappy, dirty shit in your ear. I’m passing out someone help

꩜ I’ve been poisoned by the perv!geto fics on here, and can’t see him as not being a secret pervert. Just slightly. It takes a while for him to reveal that side to you, since he tries to appear refined and respectable

꩜ Definitely the type that likes music in the background; I see him as someone who cares about music a lot in general. You know he likes you if he’s sharing song recs

꩜ Lots of playlists, and even has a few sex playlists with different moods. Usually prefers things that are chill, but has a few harder-hitting songs—this is why he needs the playlists, lol. He doesn’t like when the vibe changes too much

꩜ One time you sneak Cbat onto his playlist & make him laugh so much he loses his boner. At that point did you really win? Hmm?

꩜ Tbh he’s got game & is aware of it. You gotta humble him occasionally or else he becomes insufferable

Post-Incident

꩜ This Geto is a lot more self-centered, aggressive, and sadistic in bed. I wouldn’t say he’s a tyrant tho

꩜ Will legit punish you when you disobey, no funishments here. Big into humiliation

꩜ My heart is telling me shibari, especially the kind that can be hidden beneath clothes. Particular about the color, and will pick ones that flatter your skin tone. Obsessed with the way the ropes pinch and dig into your soft body. He’ll bite and squeeze the parts that spill over the ropes

꩜ One punishment would be walking around secretly tied up, but the style where one of the ropes rubs against your pussy as you walk. It sounds nice at first, but that bitch is gonna chafe for sure

꩜ He’s more selfish than before, yes, but he still maintains a proclivity for doting—we all see how he spoils his daughters! It’s like, he gets his turn first, and when it’s your turn, it's your turn. Multiple orgasm king. He’ll do it until you’re sobbing tho, so pray for your pussy

꩜ Loves making you choke on his cock—gets kind of intense with the bjs. Mfer needs to chill (and buy you some throat lozenges)

꩜ Doggystyle is his favorite without a doubt, he just wants to pin your face to the bed and watch your ass bounce

꩜ A lot of the previous stuff is still applicable to some degree, but I think he has a lot less patience at this point, and is waaaay more into degradation & domination

꩜ He gets legitimately mean sometimes lmfao it’s like you gotta have 2 safewords: one for physical intensity level, and the other for bullying level 😭

꩜ Would he sleep with a non-sorcerer? Honestly, I can’t decide. If he did tho, he would be SO FUCKING MEAN I don’t even want to think about it !!!

꩜ Does he use monkey in bed unironically?? Chat pls advise

[motherismotheringggg]

scripted desire pt. 2

(the finale)

read part one here!!!

summary: based on this request linked here, essentially cooper gets to work his celebrity crush and has to navigate doing a sex scene together

type: cooper koch x fem! reader (i know cooper is gay, this is just fiction pooks)

tags/warnings: 18+, penetration (p in v), oral (f! receiving), creampie, angst; back and forth between reader and cooper’s POV, the reader will be in red and anything in the past (in the context of the story) is indented

author’s note: i’m quite literally so sorry it took me OVER A MONTH to get this done but i hope you all like it!!!!

word count: ~10172 (good lord)

tag list: @purple-1995 , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @sharonusworld , @violetidk , @melaninjhs , @emluvsuxo

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Cooper ran a hand through his already tousled curls, glancing around his apartment for what felt like the hundredth time. The coffee table was wiped down, the cushions on the couch had been fluffed and repositioned, and he’d vacuumed earlier—twice. He tugged the hem of his shirt, debating whether to swap it for something else. Casual but not too casual. Cool but effortless. God, why am I like this?

Your text saying “on my way” had come through almost twenty minutes ago, and ever since, he’d been pacing like a madman, obsessively checking that everything was perfect. The faint aroma of the takeout he’d ordered lingered in the air—Thai food, your favorite. The wine was chilling in the fridge, and he’d even lit a candle on the windowsill, though he worried it might feel too much like he was trying.

Filming had been going on for three months now, and during that time, what had started as a friendly dynamic on set had grown into something more. Every scene you shared seemed to deepen the connection—whether it was the playful banter your characters exchanged or the raw, emotional moments that required complete vulnerability. You pushed each other, fed off each other’s energy, and every time the director called “cut,” you found yourselves laughing or dissecting the scene together, eager to make the next take even better.

Off-set, the bond had only strengthened. Cooper showed up at your trailer every morning with coffee and breakfast, even on days when it meant dragging himself out of bed before sunrise. You repaid the favor by ordering lunch for him on his long shooting days, sneaking into his trailer to lay it all out neatly so he could eat between takes. It was little things, small routines that felt easy and natural.

But the connection was truly solidified after the first time you invited yourself to Cooper’s place after filming one day.

The two of you sat in your trailer, killing time while waiting to see if Ryan was going to call you back for reshoots. You were stretched out on the couch, your head resting on the armrest, legs casually draped across Cooper’s lap as he sat in the corner of the couch scrolling on his phone.

“The weather is so perfect today,” Cooper said, glancing out the window at the blue skies. “I’m excited to actually get home and use the rooftop deck for once. My new furniture came this week, and I haven’t had a chance to sit out there yet.”

You shot up, your feet sliding off his lap as you turned to face him. “Wait, is it the set I showed you from Amazon?”

He grinned, pulling up his phone to show you a picture. “Yep, this one. It’s even better in person.”

You grabbed the phone from his hand, studying the photo with a grin. “Oh my God, this looks so good, Coop! It’s giving, like, coastal rooftop vibes. I’m love it!.”

“Well, technically, you did good,” he said, leaning back into the couch. “You’re the one who recommended it.”

You handed his phone back and smirked. “Exactly. And since I recommended it, I think I should get to break it in with you.”

Cooper’s breath caught for a moment, his mind immediately registering the double entendre. He tried to play it cool, but the faint flush creeping up his neck gave him away. “Uh, yeah, that sounds... fair.” He chuckled, hoping it sounded casual.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal spiral, already moving on with an idea. “Perfect, because there’s this new Thai place that just opened near you. I’ve been dying to try it, and it can be my treat. Plus,” you added with a grin, “I have a new wine I’ve been saving for someone to try with me. Consider it a housewarming gift for the furniture I picked out.”

Cooper’s brain short-circuited. She’s coming over. Oh my God, she’s coming over. Is my place even clean? Did I take out the trash? What if I didn’t flush the toilet before I left this morning? He felt heat creeping up his neck at the mere thought, his mind running wild with every possible thing that could go wrong. Did I put the laundry away? Or is it still sitting on the bed?

Before he could spiral further, your voice broke through his thoughts. “So, what time should I come over?”

---

The rooftop was everything you’d imagined and more. Cooper’s new furniture fit perfectly into the space—a sleek outdoor sectional, a chaise lounge, and a low coffee table, all framed by a wrought iron railing that overlooked the city skyline. The warm glow of the string lights you’d helped him hang crisscrossed above, casting soft golden hues across the space. Potted plants and small lanterns added to the cozy atmosphere, and as the sun set, the soft pinks and oranges of the horizon melted into the deep blues of twilight, transforming the rooftop into something out of a dream.

The outdoor table was sprawled with takeout containers, half-empty wine glasses, and the bottle you’d brought, its label peeling slightly from the condensation. Music played faintly from a speaker in the corner, a mix of mellow indie tracks and 90s R&B that matched the chill vibe of the evening.

You and Cooper had been talking nonstop—sharing stories, cracking jokes, and diving into details about each other’s lives that made you feel closer with every passing minute. He told you about his brother’s embarrassing best man speech at a wedding last year, and you countered with the story of the time you accidentally texted a very private complaint about an ex to your boss instead of your friend. You’d laughed until your sides ached, and at some point, the distance between you had naturally closed.

You weren’t the type to get touchy when you were drunk, but thw wine played it’s part tonight. You started the night in one of the armchairs, but at some point, you’d migrated to the chaise lounge where Cooper was stretched out. Now, you were lying between his legs, your back resting against his chest as his arms draped loosely over the sides of the chair. It was innocent enough—two friends relaxing after a long week—but the warmth of his body against yours and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest made you feel... something.

The city below was quieting down, the hum of traffic fading into the night as you both stared up at the string lights above. The silence between you had gone on for a little while, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, even soothing.

“It’s getting pretty late,” you murmured, your voice soft as you broke the quiet. “I should probably get going. I’ll just Uber home and come back for my car tomorrow.”

You felt Cooper shift behind you, his voice a little firmer now. “You’re not taking an Uber home alone at this hour. No way.”

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him, catching the serious set of his jaw. “Coop, I’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he countered, crossing his arms in mock seriousness. “You’ve had wine, it’s late, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Just stay. You can sleep here.”

You tilted your head, giving him a teasing grin. “Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate ploy to get me to stay longer so you don’t have to clean up by yourself?”

He smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to the offer. But mostly, it’s because I’m a gentleman.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. If you insist, Mr. Gentleman.”

The two of you gathered the leftovers and headed back down to his apartment. The narrow stairwell was dimly lit, and the old wooden door that led into the hallway stuck as Cooper tried to push it open.

“Stupid thing,” he muttered, jiggling the handle.

You stood close behind him, the space so tight you could feel the warmth radiating from his back. The scent of his cologne—fresh and woodsy—lingered in the air, making your head spin slightly.

“I’ve got it,” you said, stepping closer to help, your hand brushing his.

“It’s fine, I—” Cooper glanced back at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a second too long.

You hadn’t really thought about Cooper like that before—or at least, you’d tried not to. He was sweet, sure, and definitely attractive, but he was also the guy who never crossed a line, no matter how much you jokingly flirted with him on set. He’d always been so respectful, and you wanted to follow his lead. But now, with the wine flowing through you and the way his lips parted slightly as he turned back to the door, you couldn’t help but feel... intrigued.

Finally, the door gave way, and you both spilled into the hallway with a laugh. Cooper handed you a T-shirt to change into once inside, heading off to his bedroom while you ducked into the bathroom. The shirt was huge on you, brushing just above the bottom of your thighs as you adjusted it in the mirror.

Alright, nothing wrong with setting the bait just a little, you thought with a smirk as you ran your hands over the fabric.

When you came back into the living room, Cooper was already on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He glanced up as you walked in, his eyes flickering to your legs for the briefest of moments before he cleared his throat.

“Shirt fits okay?” he asked, his voice casual.

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied, settling onto the couch beside him.

The two of you talked for a little while longer, the conversation slowing as Cooper let out a yawn. You stretched, glancing at the couch. “You wouldn’t happen to have a weighted blanket, would you? I’d love that for the night.”

Cooper chuckled, leaning back. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, come on. I can’t kick you out of your bed,” you protested.

He smirked. “After the fight scenes today? You need all the cushion you can get for your back. Trust me.”

You grinned, trying to play it cool but unable to resist joking. “You know, we’ll have to get comfortable sleeping with each anyway, might as well start tonight.”

His laugh came out nervous and uneven, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, you have a point.”

You immediately regretted saying it, heat rushing to your cheeks. Why did I lay it on so thick? you thought as you stood to head upstairs. It’s clear he’s not into that. Or maybe... he’s just not into me.

“I’m joking Coop,” you stood front the couch, feigning nonchalance, “thanks for letting me kick you out of your room for the night.”

He called out “goodnight as you headed up the stairs and you responded back with those thoughts swirling in your mind, you trudged up the stairs, the oversized T-shirt swaying softly against your legs.

---

The second you climbed into the chaise with him, Cooper’s body went stiff, every nerve on high alert. It wasn’t the first time he’d been close to you—on set, the two of you had plenty of moments that required touching, leaning into each other, and sharing intimate glances. But this? This was different. It was quiet, real, and the wine wasn’t helping.

Over the past few months, Cooper had essentially mastered the art of acting normal while being completely overwhelmed by how much he was in love with you. He’d trained himself to steady his breathing, to regulate his heart rate when you got too close. He’d learned to make sure his palms weren’t clammy whenever you grabbed his hand to drag him to another part of set or shared a private joke. He’d perfected the casual laugh, the easy nod, the reassuring smile—all the things that kept you blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside him.

But tonight, with you nestled between his legs, your back pressed to his chest, and his fingertips lightly grazing your arm as if they belonged there, it was almost too much. The way your head rested against him, the way your laughter had softened into something quieter—it felt romantic. And for a moment, he let himself enjoy it. He let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, you felt it too.

And then you came downstairs in that shirt.

When he first heard your footsteps on the stairs, he’d braced himself, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight of you. The oversized T-shirt barely skimmed the tops of your thighs, the curve of your perfect ass peeking out just enough to drive him crazy. Something primal surged through him, catching him off guard.

He wanted you. Right then and there, he wanted you in a way that was overwhelming and consuming. He wanted to cross the space between you, scoop you up into his arms, and carry you back upstairs. He wanted to throw you down on his bed, pin you there, and make you his.

The longer he stared, the worse it got. His eyes trailed from your long, sexy legs to the way the shirt swayed with each step. He imagined those legs over his shoulders, your thighs trembling as he buried his face between them. He imagined bending them back, spreading you wide as you took him fully, your voice gasping his name. He imagined you straddling him, your hands on his chest as you moved, slow and deliberate, driving him out of his mind.

He clenched his fists on his lap, forcing himself to look away before you could catch him staring. His jaw tightened as he tried to rein in the heat spreading through him. He hated this. Hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about you this way. Hated that you were right there—so close, so effortlessly beautiful, and so completely off-limits.

You were his friend. His coworker. And he knew you appreciated him as just that.

Even when you made jokes about sharing a bed for practice, he knew it didn’t mean anything. It was just you being playful, the way you always were. But God, did it kill him every time you said something like that. It was like dangling a dream in front of him that he couldn’t have.

When you’d gone upstairs earlier, he’d felt relief. But now, sitting here with the sound of your soft footsteps shuffling around above him, he hated himself for passing up the invitation you’d all but handed him. You’d practically given him the green light to share the bed—to be closer to you—and he’d chickened out.

Cooper leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the faint sounds of you settling upstairs. The weight of his unspoken feelings pressed down on him like a brick. He hated this. He hated wanting you so much it hurt.

----

The small office was cozy but cluttered, filled with mismatched furniture and a lingering smell of lavender. You and Cooper sat on a worn couch, waiting for the intimacy coordinator to arrive. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, but the anticipation was palpable. This was the day you’d finally start mapping out your scene—a pivotal moment in the story, and one that had loomed in the back of your minds since you first read the script.

When the coordinator finally walked in, she was everything you might have expected and more. Her look was delightfully granola: baggy, billowy clothes in earthy tones, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and, of course, a pair of well-worn Birkenstocks. She kicked them off almost immediately, wiggling her toes against the hardwood floor. “I like to feel more connected to the space,” she explained with a serene smile as she settled into an armchair.

You exchanged a quick glance with Cooper, suppressing a laugh as she pulled out her notebook.

“Alright,” the coordinator began, flipping to a fresh page. “Before we get into choreography or specifics, I like to start with comfort levels. Let’s talk about how you feel about your own bodies—not just on camera, but in real life.”

Cooper leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’d say I’m pretty confident with my body,” he said, his voice calm but thoughtful. “Growing up, I was lanky and awkward, so it took a while to feel comfortable in my skin. But once I started working out, it helped a lot. It’s not just about how I look—it’s about feeling stronger, more capable.”

You nodded, smiling at him before adding your own response. “For me, it’s been more of a journey. I’m a bigger girl, and that wasn’t always easy to embrace. But being around people who actually valued me—not just for my body, but for who I am—made all the difference. I’ve worked through a lot, and I’m the most confident I’ve ever been now.”

Cooper turned to you, his warm brown eyes softening. “I didn’t know that,” he said, his voice quiet but full of genuine care. Without thinking, you reached over and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The coordinator smiled knowingly, her gaze flicking between the two of you. “There’s a strong connection between you two,” she said, jotting something in her notebook.

You felt Cooper’s hand squeeze yours briefly before he pulled it away, and though you noticed, you didn’t react. The moment lingered for just a second before the coordinator continued.

For the next hour, you and Cooper talked about your on-screen experiences. He’d done more nudity, you’d done more sex scenes. Your experiences balanced each other out in a way that felt natural, and you both laughed over anecdotes from past projects—like the time Cooper had to lie naked on a freezing cold floor for hours, or when you had to make out with an actor who’d eaten garlic knots right before a scene.

Then came the choreography.

Sex scenes look so intimate and natural on screen,” but in person? They’re anything but. It’s a dance—a mix of choreography, lighting, camera angles, and making sure everything looks right for film. Some things we can improvise for realism, but a lot of it is planned down to the smallest detail.

You practiced straddling Cooper’s lap at least twenty times, adjusting your positioning for the best angles. You rehearsed how he’d remove your shirt over thirty times, making sure the motion was fluid and natural. But it wasn’t until the kiss—the kiss—that the scene took on a life of its own.

It was the climax of the story, a moment where your characters bared their souls to each other. The coordinator told you to let it flow, to stop if you needed to, and to trust her to course correct.

You were in Cooper’s lap again, your shirt off and your lacy bra barely covering your chest. His hands rested lightly on your waist, and his gaze flickered nervously to the coordinator.

“Loosen up,” she said gently. “You’re doing great, Cooper, but you need to relax.”

Cooper hesitated. He was afraid to relax. Afraid to let go of the control he’d clung to since the moment you entered his life. Because if he did, every single feeling he’d buried—the longing, the need, the desire—would come rushing out, and he wasn’t sure he could hide it anymore.

You leaned forward slightly, your hands on his shoulders, grounding him. “We’ve got this,” you murmured, your voice low and steady.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t like the other kisses your characters had shared. This one was hungry, desperate, your tongues tangling as you pressed closer. Your hips rocked steadily against his lap, and his large hands gripped your torso, sliding up your sides and down your back.

The kiss was everything it needed to be for the scene—and more. For a brief moment, Cooper forgot where he was. Forgot the lights, the cameras, the crew. It was just you.

And that was the problem.

He felt it before he could stop it—the telltale heat, the rush of blood as his body betrayed him. He was getting hard, and there was no stopping it. He knew that in seconds, you’d feel it, and there was no way he could let that happen.

Cooper pulled back abruptly, his breathing uneven as he gently moved you off his lap. “Maybe, uh, maybe we should try this standing,” he said quickly, his voice tight.

The coordinator raised an eyebrow, amused. “Standing? For a car sex scene? That would be... interesting.”

“You’re both doing great,” she added, smiling. “Let’s take a quick break and regroup in a few.”

Cooper was gone before you could say anything, practically storming out of the office. You stayed behind, talking about the scene with the coordinator and not focusing on the sudden change in energy.

----

By Thursday, you’d all but convinced yourself that Cooper was avoiding you.

It started subtly enough—small things that, at first, you chalked up to coincidence. Instead of bringing you breakfast himself, he started handing it off to an intern to deliver. Between takes, he wasn’t lingering on set, sharing jokes or teasing you about forgetting your lines. Instead, he’d retreat to his trailer, barely glancing your way as he passed. And after work? Nothing. No texts, no memes, no TikTok links. Radio silence.

At first, you tried not to take it personally. Cooper was allowed to have bad days—or even bad weeks. You reasoned that maybe he was tired or overwhelmed. But as the days stretched on, the oddness of it all settled into something heavier.

What the hell is his problem? you thought as you stared at his latest text—a curt “No thanks!” after you’d offered to buy lunch for both of you.

By the end of Thursday’s shoot, you were tired, frustrated, and more than a little upset. You’d been close to Cooper for months now, relying on the easy rhythm of your friendship both on and off set. And now, just as you were gearing up to shoot the most intimate scene of the entire project, he was acting like... this? It didn’t make any sense.

Ryan called everyone into a huddle to wrap up the day, his energy as commanding as ever. You found a spot near the back of the group, scanning the crowd until you spotted Cooper. He was standing far from you, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the ground.

“Alright, listen up!” Ryan said. “The studio’s doing some maintenance tomorrow, so we’re all getting the day off. Enjoy your Friday. Recharge. But—” he added, his tone firm—“I need everyone here bright and early Saturday. We’re filming the big one. You know the scene I mean.”

You nodded along with the rest of the group, your stomach tightening at the mention of the scene. You glanced at Cooper, but he didn’t look up.

After the huddle broke, you headed back to your trailer to pack up your things. You were trying to shake off the lingering frustration when you caught sight of Cooper outside, moving quickly and quietly toward the studio lot. He glanced around, clearly trying not to be noticed, before ducking into the passenger seat of a car you didn’t recognize.

It clicked all at once. Maybe he has a girlfriend.*

The thought made your chest tighten, not completely with jealousy but with a strange, sinking feeling. It all made sense now—his awkwardness during the sex scene practice, the way he’d been pulling away from you, the tension in his body every time you got close. If he was seeing someone and your friendship had blossomed too fast, too intensely, it would explain everything.

He’s probably just trying to define boundaries with this other relationship, you thought, your earlier anger morphing into understanding. The sex jokes you’d made, the rooftop hangouts that stretched late into the night—those things probably felt like lines being crossed to him, even if you hadn’t meant them that way.

The weight of it followed you home. As you got ready for bed, you debated whether to text him. You didn’t want to make things worse or seem like you’d uncovered some big secret. But you also didn’t want to leave things unresolved, especially with the big scene looming over you both.

You grabbed your phone just before climbing into bed, deciding to send a message. Keeping it light felt like the best approach.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I’m happy for you. And I’m sorry for crossing any boundaries. Hopefully, me, you, and lucky gal can all do a rooftop hangout soon!!”

You hit send and stared at the screen for a moment before setting the phone down.

*There,* you thought. *Ball’s in his court now.*

---

Cooper saw your text the instant it came through, the screen lighting up his darkened room like a beacon. The soft ding shattered the quiet, cutting through the heavy silence he’d been drowning in all week. He stared at the words, rereading them until they blurred at the edges. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, wanting to reply immediately, to say something—anything—that would keep this fragile thread of connection intact. But the weight of everything unsaid kept his fingers still.

He’d turned off his read receipts weeks ago, claiming it was for privacy, but tonight, he was grateful for the buffer. You wouldn’t know how long he sat there, staring at your message like it was a lifeline. You wouldn’t know how much it meant that, after the way he’d been acting, you still wanted to reach out.

The guilt clawed at his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Payton had driven him home from set that day, and the entire ride had been a disaster in his head. He hadn’t stopped replaying the moment in the intimacy coordinator’s office—or more accurately, the moment he’d ruined everything.

He’d wanted to kiss you. God, he’d wanted to kiss you. Not just because the scene called for it, but because every fiber of his being had been screaming to close the gap between you and finally show you how he felt. To let his hands roam your body, to pour every ounce of his frustration and longing into a kiss that would leave no doubt in your mind.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he’d pulled away, stumbling over a half-baked excuse about standing choreography and all but sprinting out of the room. It wasn’t the kiss that had scared him—it was the thought of what you’d think if you’d realized how much he’d wanted it. He’d been terrified that you’d felt his erection during the scene, that you’d think he was gross or unprofessional or just another actor who couldn’t separate work from reality.

So he did the only thing he could think of to protect himself and, in his mind, to protect you too—he distanced himself.

That night, sitting in Payton’s passenger seat, Cooper had finally cracked. He spilled everything to his brother—the scene, the kiss, the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the guilt that gnawed at him for how he’d acted. He admitted that he had no idea how to fix it, no idea what to say to you now.

Payton listened patiently, letting him get it all out before shaking his head. “Man, icing her out was the top 10 stupidest things you could’ve done,” he said bluntly but not unkindly. “You’re acting like you’re the first guy in history to fall for someone they work with. Just text her. Clear it up. She deserves that.”

Cooper groaned, throwing his head back against the headrest. “Yeah, okay. And what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know we’re friends, but I’m gonna do that guy thing where, after you’ve built trust with me, I’ll tell you I’m in love with you and want you sexually’? That won’t send her running at all.”

Payton laughed, shaking his head. “You could maybe *not* phrase it like a serial killer. Just tell her you’re sorry for being distant and you’ve had stuff on your mind. It’s not that hard, Coop.”

But it was hard.

By the time Cooper got home, he was too wound up to do anything but collapse on the couch. He spent the evening aimlessly flipping through channels, snacking on crackers and sipping wine, trying—and failing—to gather the courage to text you. Every time he opened your thread, the words he wanted to say felt wrong or inadequate.

When he finally dragged himself upstairs to bed, it was nearly midnight. He lay on his back, phone in hand, scrolling to your name again. Your last message glowed softly on the screen, and he stared at it until his eyes burned. He thought about calling you, about telling you everything, but the fear of saying the wrong thing paralyzed him. Once again, he did nothing.

Friday morning came and went, and still, the words eluded him. He told himself he was giving you space, that it was better this way, but deep down, he knew he was fumbling the friendship. He hated himself for it, hated the way he was letting his fear keep him frozen.

By midday, he was lying on the couch again, scrolling aimlessly when his phone vibrated in his hand. Your name popped up on the screen, and his heart stopped.

“If you’re not busy, are we doing our Friday night sesh lol?”

The text was simple, nonchalant, and so perfectly you. Relief washed over him, warm and heavy, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Even after the way he’d acted, you were still reaching out. You were still trying to keep the connection alive, and here he was, barely holding it together.

For a long moment, Cooper sat there, staring at your message. A part of him wanted to ignore it—not because he didn’t want to see you, but because he was terrified of messing up even more. But then Payton’s voice echoed in his mind: “Just text her. She deserves that.”

Taking a deep breath, he finally typed a response.

“Yeah. Come over whenever you can!”

His thumb hovered over the send button, his chest tightening as the weight of his feelings threatened to crush him. Finally, he hit send, watching the message disappear into the ether.

He set the phone down on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch as he tried to steady his breathing. And now, all he could do was wait.

---

Even before your eyes opened Friday morning, you were already expecting a reply from Cooper. Some part of you just knew he would’ve texted you back by now—confirming that he was seeing someone, apologizing for being weird, and putting all of this to rest.

But when you rolled over and grabbed your phone, the screen told a different story.

There were a few Instagram notifications—likes on a recent post—and a couple of mentions on Twitter from fans speculating about the show. But nothing from Cooper.

Your heart sank, a dull ache settling in your chest. You felt silly for being so hopeful, for thinking he’d reply as quickly as he always used to. If he does have a girlfriend, you reasoned, then technically, I can’t be mad at him. But that logic didn’t stop the sting. It still hurt.

You tossed your phone onto the bed, burying your face in your hands with a groan. “Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, but the pep talk didn’t do much to lift your mood.

You spent the morning moping around the apartment, picking up clutter here and there before sitting back down, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. The knot in your chest tightened every time you thought about Cooper, about how things had shifted so suddenly between you.

By midday, you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. Sitting around wasn’t helping, and you needed to clear your head. You grabbed your bag and keys, determined to shake off the heaviness.

The sun was warm on your skin as you walked through downtown LA, the familiar buzz of the city wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You stopped at a nearby coffee shop, ordering your favorite drink and savoring the slight bitterness of the first sip. You sat outside for a bit, watching people go by, their lives unfolding in a way that made your own worries feel small.

You didn’t even notice the paparazzi at first. It wasn’t until someone called your name, camera in hand, that you realized you’d been spotted. You forced a smile, raising your coffee cup in a mock toast as they snapped a few pictures. It was part of the job, and while it wasn’t your favorite part, you knew how to play the game.

From there, you wandered into a few stores, picking up a couple of things that caught your eye. Retail therapy wasn’t a cure, but it was a distraction—and today, a distraction was exactly what you needed.

Being outside, away from the quiet of your apartment and the constant swirl of thoughts about Cooper, helped you breathe a little easier. By the time you were heading home, the sting of the morning had dulled.

And as you climbed the stairs to your place, a thought struck you: At the end of the day, you and Cooper are friends.

Friends have awkward moments. Friends sometimes need space. And whatever was going on between the two of you, it didn’t have to be the end of your friendship. Neither of you had done anything wrong, so there was no reason for things to stay weird forever.

The realization didn’t erase all the hurt, but it gave you clarity. You could move past this.

Feigning bravery, you grabbed your phone as you kicked off your shoes. It was Friday night, after all, and Friday night meant one thing: your weekly hangout with Cooper. You’d made it a tradition, and you weren’t about to let a few days of awkwardness ruin it.

Opening your messages, you typed out the text and hit send before you could overthink it:

“If you’re not busy, are we doing our Friday night sesh lol?”

You set your phone down, exhaling deeply. Whatever happened next, at least you were trying. At least you were giving him the chance to meet you halfway.

And now, all you could do was wait.

----

It was a little after 8 when you got there, and Cooper had already turned his bedroom into a war zone. Clothes were scattered across the floor, his bed buried beneath rejected options that didn’t pass the “effortlessly casual” test. He didn’t want to look like he’d tried too hard—because trying too hard would suggest something—but he also didn’t want to look like a slob. He did all that just to finally settle on a simple gray muscle tank and sweat pants, but as he stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem, he started second-guessing everything again.

What was he even going to do when you got here? Should he act normal and pretend nothing was wrong? Should he apologize for being distant? Try to patch things up and keep being friends?

Or should he just tell you how he feels?

No. Absolutely not. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

But then there was the issue of the text you’d sent last night. The one that suggested you thought he had a girlfriend. How could he clear that up without spilling everything? He didn’t want you thinking he was lying or sneaking around, but explaining it meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close.

Before he could spiral any further, the doorbell rang, and his stomach dropped.

You were here.

Walking down the stairs to open the door, Cooper felt like he was heading into a first date instead of hanging out with someone he’d spent almost every day with for the last four months. The feeling annoyed him, made him hate how much power his own emotions seemed to have over him. You weren’t a stranger. You were you. And yet, seeing you standing there on his doorstep still sent a pit straight to his stomach.

When he opened the door, it hit him again. You looked amazing, even in something as simple as jeans and a t-shirt. The faint scent of your perfume reached him as you stepped inside, and he fought the instinct to pull you into a hug. Normally, you’d hug him or give him some casual pat on the stomach, but this time? Nothing.

The lack of touch stung more than he cared to admit.

You started making small talk as you slipped off your coat, your voice light as you talked about your Uber driver and how they’d missed the turn to his street. Cooper nodded along, but his nerves were all over his face, and he could feel it. The tension in the air was suffocating, even though you were trying to fill it with conversation.

“I’m making dinner,” he blurted, his voice louder than he’d meant. He cleared his throat. “Uh, if you want to sit here on the couch, I just have to grab something from upstairs.”

You nodded, smiling faintly as you settled onto the couch. Cooper didn’t wait to see if you’d say anything else—he turned and bolted up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest.

Once in his bedroom, he started pacing. He rubbed his hands over his face, muttering under his breath as he tried to calm the frantic thoughts running through his head.

Why did I tell her to come over? he thought, dragging a hand through his hair. I don’t even have a good explanation for her.

He glanced at the clothes still scattered across the floor, stepping over a pile of T-shirts as he paced back and forth.

She’s going to ask why I’ve been distant, and I’m going to make it worse. I’ll ruin the show, I’ll ruin this—

He stopped mid-step, shaking his head as if he could physically dispel the anxiety gripping him. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to make everything normal again. But how? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t dig him deeper into the mess he’d made?

Cooper stood in the middle of the room, staring at the wall like it might offer him some magical solution. The silence upstairs was broken only by the faint sound of you shuffling around downstairs, probably settling into the couch.

----

Getting out of the Uber made your stomach churn, and you weren’t even sure why. This was Cooper—your friend, your Friday night hangout buddy. Nothing was different, right? But as you walked toward his door, the trembling in your hand when you reached for the doorbell told a different story.

When Cooper opened the door, you instinctively inhaled, a witty line ready to spill out as you leaned forward to give him a hug, but his body language made you pause. He didn’t lean in or even shift toward you. He just stood there, stiff and awkward, his usual warmth replaced by something that felt… off. You swallowed the hug and stepped inside, brushing off the sting.

His apartment was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the stove fan in the kitchen. The silence pressed down between you, like you both wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start. Trying to break the tension, you launched into a lighthearted rant about your Uber driver getting lost, your tone playful and exaggerated.

But Cooper wasn’t biting.

He gave you half-smiles and short answers, avoiding eye contact as if looking at you might crack him open. His usual charm felt buried under a thick layer of nerves, and just when you were about to ask if everything was okay, he blurted out, “I’m making dinner if you wanted to sit here on the couch, I just have to grab something from upstairs.”

It was so abrupt that it almost made you laugh. “Uh, okay,” you said, setting your coat on the armrest as you perched on the couch.

You watched him practically bolt up the stairs, his footsteps echoing overhead. For a few moments, you sat there, trying to piece together the puzzle of his behavior. Was it still about the intimacy coordinator practice? Or maybe… was it something else?

The sound of muffled shuffling pulled your focus, followed by Cooper’s hushed voice. At first, you thought he might be on the phone. But as you tilted your head and angled yourself to hear better, it became clear he was talking to himself.

And not just about anything—about you.

Your heart raced, a mix of curiosity and anxiety bubbling to the surface. You didn’t want to startle him, but it was clear that the two of you couldn’t keep dodging whatever this was. Quietly, you made your way up the steps, the wood creaking slightly under your weight.

His bedroom door was ajar, the soft light spilling into the hallway. You knocked lightly, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

“Hey, Coop,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

He turned sharply, his wide eyes meeting yours like you’d just caught him robbing a bank. “Yeah, I’m great,” he stammered, his voice unconvincing.

You stepped inside, leaning your back against the door and crossing your arms. “Cooper,” you said with a teasing smirk, “for such an incredible actor, you’re a terrible liar.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the tension in his shoulders melting as he let out a soft, nervous chuckle.

“It’s been unfairly long since we laughed. I can’t stand it,” you said, trying to ease the tension.

Cooper nodded, letting out a long sigh. “You’re right. I—I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“For what, exactly?” you pressed, your tone gentle but firm.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. When you mentioned the idea of him having a girlfriend, he froze, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he walked over to the bed, sitting near the top so he could rest his back against the headboard.

You stayed by the door, watching as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he exhaled and said, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. Internally, you were beaming. Thank God.

“Can you come sit next to me?” he asked, his voice soft.

You crossed the room and climbed onto the other side of the bed, sitting with your legs tucked under you. Trying to lighten the mood, you teased, “So, you just make all your friends think you’re mad at them to keep things interesting?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I—” He closed his eyes tightly, like he was bracing himself for impact. “Y/N, I’m just gonna say everything I need to, like word vomit, because if I don’t, I might actually throw up.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Go ahead,” you said gently.

He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed as the words spilled out of him. “Ever since I saw you in Kindred Spirits, I’ve had the biggest crush on you. And every day since then has felt like a dream because not only are you captivating, but you’re so kind, and sweet, and funny. And I knew I was in love, but then you started coming over, and it made it impossible to ignore.”

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words tumbled out.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “And I know it’s probably gross, and I’m so sorry if that’s weird, but that’s why the sex scene marking was so overwhelming for me. Because I didn’t want to be that guy—the movie set creep who can’t keep it together. But it’s not just about control. It’s about you. I want you. And I get it if you don’t feel the same way, but I—”

“Cooper,” you interrupted, your voice soft but steady.

His eyes shot open, panic flashing across his face as he looked at you.

You paused, unsure of how to respond, but the way Cooper's eyes searched your face so desperately for reassurance made your heart ache. He looked so vulnerable, so raw, and you wanted to find the right words to ease the weight on his shoulders.

"So, this has all been because of the scene?" you asked gently, keeping your tone light to relieve some of the pressure. "I mean... I already imagined you liked me-because I liked you."

His eyes widened at your admission, his lips parting in shock, but you pressed on. "But I thought it'd be tacky to date your co-star, you know? And you're nervous about getting hard during the scene?"

The redness that spread across his cheeks was answer enough. He couldn't speak, but he shook his head furiously, as if trying to deny it, even though it was clear you'd hit the mark.

"Honey, that's natural," you said softly, letting a playful smile tug at your lips. "We're going to be so padded up, we won't even have to worry about that."

You reached out and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against the faint stubble along his jaw. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his tension melting under the warmth of your palm.

Relief flickered in his eyes as if the weight of his confession had finally been lifted.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence hung in the air, charged with an energy that neither of you dared to break-until you did.

"…Do you wanna practice the scene?" you asked quietly, but with intention.

Cooper's eyes snapped to yours, wide and full of surprise. "Practice," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... do it for real?" His voice cracked slightly, his neck craning forward as if trying to confirm he hadn't misheard.

You nodded, your gaze steady. "This way, we can get all your nerves out of the way. And," you added with a sly wink, "we both get what we clearly want."

His face flushed deeper, and for a moment, he just blinked at you, his lips forming a silent are you sure?

But you were already standing, sliding your jeans down your legs in one smooth motion.

Cooper sat frozen, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes traveled up your body. You crossed the room to the bed, climbing on and straddling him just as you had during the rehearsal. His hands instinctively rested on your thighs, and you could feel the heat radiating from his palms.

"Okay, so remember," you said, your voice calm but slightly breathy, "pull the shirt over both arms, not one at a time."

"Slow and with eye contact," Cooper murmured, his voice steady but soft.

"Exactly," you said, smiling at how well he remembered.

He nodded, his fingers brushing the hem of your shirt as he carefully lifted it up. The cool air hit your skin as he pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in a lacy pink bra. Cooper froze for a moment, his eyes sweeping over you.

"Okay," you said, your voice a little shakier than before. "Now for the kiss."

Cooper nodded, his hands still resting lightly on your hips. "I think we should start slow," you directed. "And then pick up the pace."

"Okay," he breathed, unable to say anything more.

You leaned in first, your lips brushing his gently.

The kiss started soft, hesitant even, as though you were both testing the waters despite having kissed countless times on set before. But this wasn't a scene. There were no cameras, no lights, no crew. Just the two of you alone in his bedroom.

The kiss deepened naturally, growing more intense with every passing second. Cooper's hands tightened on your waist, his fingertips pressing into your skin as though anchoring himself to the moment. Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer, and you felt his breath hitch when your chest pressed against his.

His lips were warm and urgent against yours, and the way he kissed you sent a rush of heat straight through you. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hands slid up your back, his thumbs grazing the band of your bra.

Your hips rocked against him, the motion slow and instinctive. Cooper let out a deep, throaty groan against your lips, and you couldn’t ignore the hardness pressing against you. The sensation made you bolder, and you rode him harder, your movements drawing an almost guttural sound from his chest.

His moans turned into low, needy grunts, his hands sliding back down to grip your hips. He didn’t just steady you—he guided you, his grip firm and deliberate as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him beneath you.

“Take my bra off,” you whispered against his lips, your voice soft but commanding.

His eyes darted to yours, wide and hungry, before his fingers moved to the clasp at your back. He fumbled for only a moment before freeing you, and the lacy fabric fell away, leaving you bare before him.

Cooper’s chest heaved as his gaze swept over your exposed skin. His pupils dilated, his breathing quickening as though he couldn’t fully process the sight of you.

He leaned back in, capturing your lips with his as his hands moved to your breasts. His fingers worked expertly, rolling your nipples between them with just the right amount of pressure. The sensations sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you let out soft moans into his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in the moment.

His kisses grew more urgent, his lips trailing down your neck in a path that left your skin tingling. He paused to suck gently at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp.

“Cooper,” you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips continued their descent.

When he reached your breasts, his tongue flicked over one nipple before his teeth scraped it lightly, sending a chill down your spine that left you feeling numb in the best way. Your back arched instinctively, pressing yourself closer to him as your hands tangled in his hair.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and you couldn’t help the way your hips continued to grind against him. The friction between you was electric, building a heat that threatened to consume you both.

“Just like that, Cooper,” you moaned, your voice dripping with need.

Cooper’s lips found yours again, his hunger for you palpable in every kiss, every soft graze of his tongue. “Y/N,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and dripping with need. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his forehead almost touching yours. “I need you,” he confessed, his gaze dark and unwavering.

“Take off your pants,” you replied, your voice steady but heavy with anticipation. You held his gaze, matching the intensity radiating off him in waves.

Cooper stood from the bed, his movements quick but deliberate. He pushed his sweatpants and briefs down in one motion, and his hardness sprang free, standing proudly before you. For a moment, you simply took him in, your eyes roaming over his body, every inch of him completely enthralled by you.

Without breaking eye contact, you slipped off your panties and tossed them aside. He stood frozen, watching you, his chest rising and falling as his breaths grew heavier.

You knelt on the bed in front of him, pulling him back into a kiss that left both of you gasping for air. Your hand trailed down his torso, wrapping around his length as you stroked him with deliberate, measured motions.

Cooper groaned into your ear, his head tilting back slightly as he breathed heavily, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice shaky with need. “I want you so bad.”

You kissed him deeply, cutting off his words as you guided him back onto the bed. He laid down beneath you, his head resting against the pillows, his eyes glued to yours with a mix of awe and anticipation.

You climbed on top, straddling him as you positioned yourself over him. The room was thick with tension, every movement deliberate and charged. You could see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched slightly as he waited for you to close the distance.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, your wet heat enveloping his tip. Cooper let out a loud, guttural groan as his head fell back against the pillows, his hands gripping your thighs as if to ground himself. The sensation sent a shudder through you, and your back arched instinctively, your body adjusting to the feeling of him stretching and filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice ragged.

You let out a soft moan as you took him fully, your hands bracing against his chest. His skin was firm and warm beneath your palms, his body sturdy enough to support you completely. You rocked your hips slowly, savoring the way he fit perfectly inside you.

Cooper’s hands found your waist, his grip firm as he guided your movements to match his. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You feel so good, Y/N.”

His eyes flicked down to your breasts, which moved with every motion of your body. He reached up, cupping them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he watched you ride him with unrestrained admiration.

Your head tilted back, a moan slipping past your lips as the sensations built. “Cooper,” you gasped, your voice thick with pleasure.

He groaned in response, his hips bucking slightly beneath you as he moved with you, completely lost in the rhythm of your bodies.

You reached for his hands, intertwining your fingers with his as you shifted your position. Leaning forward slightly, you began to bounce on him, the new angle sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of you.

The sound of your skin meeting filled the room, accompanied by the symphony of your combined moans and the breathless gasps of each other’s names. The intensity between you was overwhelming, your bodies completely in sync as the tension continued to build.

“Y/N,” Cooper groaned again, his voice deeper now, tinged with desperation. His grip on your hands tightened as his hips drove upward to meet your movements, his need for you consuming him entirely.

Your pace quickened, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you chased the high that seemed just out of reach. Cooper’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze full of adoration and unspoken promises as you both climbed higher and higher.

You continued bouncing on Cooper, feeling the waves of pleasure build inside you with every motion. The tension coiling in your body was undeniable, and you knew you were close—so did he. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements as your pace quickened, your breath hitching with every bounce.

The intensity grew until your legs trembled with the effort, and you slowed, needing a small break. Cooper, sensing your need, reached up and pulled you down for a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a way that left you breathless.

“Lay down,” he murmured, his voice husky with need.

You obeyed, your body melting into the mattress as he trailed kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and along the curves of your body. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat in its wake, making you shiver in anticipation.

When he reached your center, he paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a smoldering intensity. His lips brushed against your most sensitive spot, sending a jolt through your body that made your back arch off the bed.

“Cooper,” you gasped, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, diving in fully as his tongue worked you with precision, licking and sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your moans filled the room, your thighs trembling as he devoured you like a man starved.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against you, his voice vibrating through your body.

You barely had time to respond before you felt him slip a finger inside you, his movements slow but deliberate. Your hips bucked against him, your hands tugging at his hair as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable height.

“Fuck, Cooper, I want you so bad,” you moaned, your voice breaking.

He stopped licking you for a moment, focusing entirely on the slow, intentional pace of his fingers inside you. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Say it again.”

“Cooper,” you whimpered, your voice trembling, “I want you so bad.”

“Again,” he growled, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

You repeated it, again and again, each confession carrying more intensity than the last. Your voice became more desperate, and with each word, you felt yourself teetering closer to the edge.

“Cooper, please,” you finally begged, your voice cracking. “Fuck me, baby.”

In an instant, he was over you, his body moving with an urgency you hadn’t seen before. He angled himself at your entrance, his tip slipping in easily, the sensation making you gasp. He exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours as he pushed in deeper.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained as he fully seated himself inside you.

Your back arched, your body adjusting to the fullness of him as he began to move. His thrusts were steady but firm, his body pressing against yours with every motion. His biceps rested on either side of your head, framing you, and your hands reached up to caress his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with emotion.

Cooper adjusted his position slightly, spreading your legs wider to deepen the angle. The new depth sent a shockwave through you, and you cried out his name, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“Cooper,” you moaned, your voice trembling. “I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he grunted, his hips rocking into you with renewed determination. “I want us to finish together.”

He lowered himself, hovering just above you as he maintained his rhythm. His breath was hot against your neck, and you felt his body tense as he worked to keep his pace steady.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Cum inside me, Cooper.”

Your words sent him over the edge. His thrusts grew erratic, each one more desperate than the last, until finally, the both of you came undone. Pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your moans mixing with his deep groans as he spilled into you, filling you completely.

His body collapsed against yours, his chest heaving as you both caught your breath. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of your breathing, the intensity of the moment settling into something quieter, more intimate.

Cooper rolled onto his side, pulling you close as he lay next to you. You turned to him, leaning in to kiss him softly, your lips brushing against his in a way that felt unhurried and full of meaning.

He rested his head on his hand, his other hand lazily tracing small circles on your shoulder. For a while, neither of you spoke, just basking in the afterglow.

When you finally broke the silence, it was with a teasing smile. “What?” he asked, his cheeks flushing as he caught the look on your face.

“If this doesn’t help you with the scene,” you joked, “I don’t know what will.”

Cooper laughed, his wide smile lighting up his face as he leaned in to kiss you again. “You’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

“You love it,” you shot back, grinning.

And he did. He loved everything about you.

For the rest of the night, you stayed wrapped up in each other, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, replaced by something new.

[chaoticrockmusic]

彡Allies (or Roommates 😉)彡

Synopsis; Basically, reader with Deadpool's personality

Warnings; Deadpool's personality.

“Can you stop bouncing around for one damn second?” Logan growled, his claws halfway extended as he glared at you.

You peeked out from behind a tree, grinning like you’d just found a box of explosives labeled do not touch. “Stop bouncing? Bouncing on what exactly, honey badger? You naughty bear! But anyways, bouncing is literally my thing. Well, that and making grown men cry. Speaking of which, do you need a tissue for all that gruff man pain you’re radiating?”

Logan ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “I should’ve left you back at the mansion.”

“You say that every time, and yet, here we are. Together. Like peanut butter and jelly. Or whiskey and bad decisions. Or—you’re gonna love this one—claws and quips.” You spread your arms dramatically. “See? Perfect pair.”

Logan glared. “I’ll give you ten seconds to start acting serious before I—”

“Snikt me into ribbons? Oh, Logan, you romantic devil.” You clasped your hands over your chest, batting your eyelashes. “You’re always threatening me. It’s like foreplay.”

He groaned audibly and turned back to the trail, trying to ignore you.

“Aw, don’t walk away, sugar bear!” you called, jogging to catch up. “We’re just getting to the good stuff. I had, like, three more zingers about your height lined up. Oh, wait—four if you count the one about the step stool.”

Logan didn’t even pause. “I’m too old for this.”

“You’re right. You are ancient.” You walked backward in front of him, ticking off points on your fingers. “Wrinkles, grumpy attitude, that permanent smell of cigars and regret—classic ‘dad who went out for milk and never came back’ vibes. Except you came back, and now we’re stuck with each other. It’s poetic, really.”

Logan stopped, his claws popping out with a loud snikt.

You held your hands up. “Whoa, whoa. Easy there, Freddy Krueger. I’m on your side, remember? You handle the claws, and I’ll handle the witty one-liners.”

“You mean the non-stop verbal diarrhea?” Logan growled, his claws retracting.

“Potato, po-tah-to,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, you love it. Admit it, Logan—you’d be bored out of your mind without me. Who else is gonna make jokes about your weird fetish for flannel?”

Logan’s lip twitched—just barely—but you caught it.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, pointing at him. “You’re smiling. That’s it. I’ve broken the Wolverine. Next stop: Hallmark movies.”

He turned and started walking, muttering, “I need a drink.”

You zipped in front of him again, walking backward with your hands on your hips. “You’re stuck with me, bub. Just think of me as your wise-cracking, ridiculously attractive conscience. Except I don’t actually care if you do the right thing, as long as we get to blow something up along the way.”

Logan gave you a long, tired look. “You keep this up, and I’m gonna let the bad guys have you.”

“Aw, you say that now, but wait until I save your hairy butt with my ingenious improvisation skills. You’ll be begging to team up with me again,” you teased, leaning in with a wink.

“Not a chance,” he replied, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You love me!” you called after him, skipping to catch up. “Admit it!”

“Shut up,” Logan muttered, though he didn’t sound entirely convincing.