#they have the same cowlick

[llutik]

was thinking about them... wanted to make them look similar while also making arya obviously her own person

i also tried to come up with somewhat practical hairstyle for her, since she is running around and getting mud everywhere all the time... long ribbons kinda defeat the purpose but i really like the silhouette they create

i like to imagine arya looking slightly sharper and more "wolfish"... compared to ehh. softer gentler jon. and she is much more expressive

jon has emo eyes idk ill expand on it separately

[theirondragonrants]

This is a strange late night thought so hear me out:

this Emma D'arcy

With this haircut specifically gives me.... a very specific vibe...

I can't explain how or why I got here, I just did

[kyngsnake]

I didn’t have the energy to completely redraw him, but I spruced up some old art.

[saltyb0ba]

emmet brickowski the lego movie and chai hi-fi rush would be unstoppable together. both absolute dumbasses who gather a team to take down an evil CEO (would president business be a CEO? yeah) and are all the better for it - bros who are just Normal Guys get pulled into a situation where they have to deal with it or die - they meet a girl who hides her past but needs their help - they work together and then meet More People - a member of their team joins after their home is destroyed due to Normal Guy in one way or another (for macaron it was his workplace) - a member of their team doesn't join at first but comes around - emmet needs to take down president buisness or he'll be killed, chai needs to take down kale to save the company and save himself from spectra control - ABSOLUTE BANGER SOUNDTRACKS - DIAGETIC MUSIC!!!! (emmet canonically listens to everything is awesome, chai in the intro cutscene is listening to the beacon)

oh and then angst but psshhhh nahh they're so silly

[bethiewhimsy]

joe and reki are the same breed of person.

[osamiiya]

warnings// maybe suggestive!

— — —

Blinking awake next to Osamu, who’s eyes are still closed and his breathing even.

There’s little red marks that litter the column of neck and his chest.

“Physical evidence that you love me.” He’ll murmer later, laughing slightly as he traces them with a gentle hand, eyes staring softly in the mirror.

But now, his hair is messed up, pressing against the pillow. You’re sure he’ll have the most wicked cowlick.

One arm is lazily looped over your waist, the other under your head. And later, Osamu will grumble that he’s sore, but the next time you two slip into bed, he’ll pull you into his arms just the same.

His arms tighten every time you shift, and if you shift a little too much, his own soft brown eyes will blink open, bleary with sleep and gentle with the remnants of dreams.

“Morning.” Osamu’s voice is gravelly with disuse, breathing in deeply to stretch his back.

He blinks a couple more times, before a lazy smile creeps up onto his face as he simply looks at you in his arms.

There isn’t much light in the room, a sliver of light projected on the wall from Osamu not closing the curtains all the way. And, you know it’s cold in the room, but, Osamu runs hot, and you’re starting to overheat with his body pressed against yours.

“It’s hot.” You grumble back, trying to push and wiggle your way out of his grip, but his arms tighten as a low displeased groan makes its way out of Osamu.

“Stay, please.”

And who are you to deny a man what he wants?

[dr-gaytorius]

Trimmed my hair the other day and just walked past the mirror and ig it was just the way it fell at that very moment, but I had a harrowing realization I look a bit like if jerma were like. Smooth

[muzansfangs]

We are on the same boat. If only he was less grumpy and murderous, he’d make such a great candidate for a wedding🤷🏻‍♀️❤️

Grumpy, fedora-wearing husband who begrudgingly takes photos of you on a summer holiday 🤭❤️

Heatwave.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, modern au, married couple dynamics, human!muzan, jealousy, lovesick Muzan;

Plot: it was that time of the year when you packed your stuff and travelled towards tropical destinations together. Your husband loathed the sun, the heatwaves made him particularly grumpy, especially since you wore such scandalous bikinis. However, you were too beautiful for him not to lavish.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The crystal water sparkled under the blood orange sky, the colorful lanterns around the dock and the sun disappearing behind the horizon setting off the ocean, twinkling like a starry night sky. The waves embraced the shore steadily, the cry of some seagulls in the distance cutting the sultry air of the summer evening, as you twirled around the beach barefoot.

Your laughter, the way you smiled lazily and ran your fingers through your hair to draw back a cowlick tickling your nose made it hard for him to display his perpetually grumpy face. Instead, his hand reached for his phone in the pocket of his white capri pants. He was definitely not a beach person and he hated summer with every melocule of his body, but you made that nauseating season more bearable, almost pleasant, if he had to be completely honest.

You were not paying attention to him, leading the way to your hotel instead as your bright eyes soaked in the spectacular landscape around you. Another one, he just needed to take one more picture of you.

You did not have to know.

Right, you could just go on with your walk and bless his eyes with the vision of your smile and your body, of the way the bikini you had bought complimented your curves, ‘much to his dismay’. All you had to do was live and he was happy to contemplate you, without disrupting that moment of peace.

The click of the camera broke the spell. You blinked skeptically, head turning towards Muzan in confusion “Huh? Did you take a picture of me?” you asked him, stopping in your tracks as he cussed under his breath.

Mission accomplished, but he had been caught.

“What makes you think I did? Maybe I just liked the sunset” he replied smoothly, quick to shove his phone back into his pocket, out of your reach.

You chuckled, shoulders slacking “Really? I did not know you were into photography. Show me” you chirped out, but he avoided your gaze and huffed.

He had been caught red-handed and now there was no way in Hell he was going to accept his fate and admit you were right. He loved taking pictures of you, he liked to scroll through his photo gallery and relax at the sight of your pretty face, most of the time inattetive, as Kokushibo drove him yet to another tiring meeting with a group of white-collars spluttering nonsense about economic strategies supposedly benefitting the Country.

Muzan looked up at the sky, hands into his pockets “I needed a new lockscreen” he finally asserted, watching you stroll back towards him in glee, sandals in your hands flopping together with your giddy shamble.

“Ah, I knew it! — you gloated, stopping right in front of you, smirking — If you wanted me to pose for you, all you had to do was ask for it” you said, tossing your shoes onto the sand and leisurely swinging your arms around his shoulders.

Muzan dipped his head towards you, pointy nose brushing against yours “You don’t need to pose to look good” he stated, voice lowering and taking a tender edge only you had ever had the pleasure to see.

He could be cold-blooded, unphased, a calculator but he never once lied to you. He never let you down, he never shut you out. You had the privilege to love and be loved by him, there was no way in Hell he was going to admit you had stolen his heart.

With a kiss, you melted in his arm. Your mouth sealed with his, your breaths mingling as you were teleported into your own little world for a few seconds. At least, until a crab stapled to Muzan’s toe and he groaned out in sheer irritation.

“Useless creature from Hell” he hissed, swatting it away as you bursted out laughing, your gasps and laughter warming his heart.

He was still your Muzan, grumpy and yours.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Back home and back to posting! Enjoying this small drabble on my birthday. Likes, re-posts and comments are greatly apprecciated! Love y’all,

Luce!

[birthdaycakeplate]

Every now and then, Wade comes back from ‘work’ to track Logan down to a shitty little bar on the same street as their apartment. (‘Cause sometimes he just misses seeing his Logey Bear!)

He wants to hang out, gab about the latest gossip, swaddle the other man in layers of innuendo with the dead end flirting Logan’s becoming more and more accustomed to entertaining, even if only for Wade’s benefit. (Whatever, a merc can dream this is going somewhere, can’t he?) So off Wade goes to collect him and impose his company upon him.

Logan’s just standing up from the bar when Wade walks in and spots those unmistakable kitty ear cowlicks from the back.

“Lo-Lo!” Wade beams, skipping merrily over to deliver the slap of all slaps upon Logan’s unsuspecting rear. Kneading a plush cheek like it’s a delicate cashmere for a moment.

“Hey, asshole! I told you to quit- Oh… You.”

It’s almost affectionate in a way. This kind of resignation that Logan is unfortunately both acquainted with and fond of Wade and his antics when they come assaulting him, a small smile tilting his lips. But Wade doesn’t have the time to let it go to his presumptuous head that he may be getting closer and closer to actually having a chance with this guy some day, because… who has been grabbing Logan’s ass at the bar?

Who the fuck has Logan been threatening to keep their hands to themselves?

Who is touching his Logan.

(Ps. Logan isn’t afraid of sticking up for himself or handling a handsy shithead. He is afraid of fucking things up for Wade and the others, though, so the claws stay in, and the death threats stay mild.)

[conchiferrous]

lineup but i had 2 cut it into pieces #verticalwebsite but you get the idea

[IMAGE ID, IMAGE 1: A fan lineup of Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, and Sanji, in that order, all post time skip. They are drawn in a cartoony art style and deviate quite a bit from their canon designs. Luffy is looking face forward at the viewer, smiling widely, and holding a peace sign towards in front of him. He's a little shorter with cartoonishly large eyes, ears, hands, and feet. Zoro is standing with his chest puffed out to the side, fists clenched, and glancing over at the viewer. There are no major changes to his design, though he has a mullet for some reason. Nami is smiling, mouth open, and holding her clima tact with Zeus emerging out of it and floating over her head. She's drawn to be more chubby, freckled, and has a cowlick in the shape of a stem and leaf. She's wearing a green button up, that isn't buttoned at all, exposing her black sports bra and stomach. She's wearing white jeans with a berri belt buckle and her regular sandals with heel shoes. Usopp looks a little confused, and is holding the kuro kabuto, with a small plant head attached like when he uses the grow up kabuto move. Usopp's eyes are cartoonishly large and the top of his hat covers the top of his eyes slightly, acting as a second brow. Instead of a long thin nose, he's drawn with a shorter fatter nose that connects directly to his top lip, almost as if his head was a sock puppet. His skin is colored much darker than an in the anime. Sanji looks at the viewer, annoyed, holding a cigarette in one hand, and resting his other wrist on the elbow crevice of his opposite arm. He is drawn with a short torso to make his legs look longer and more spindly, with cartoonishly large hands and feet. His hair is drawn more curly to make his eyebrow, and colored a strawberry blonde. IMAGE 2: Continuation of the lineup, this one has Chopper, Robin, and Franky. Chopper is looking at the viewer, facing forward, and holding a rumble ball in his hoof. He's been redesigned to have smaller eyes and a wider nose, thick human like eyebrows, and a tricolor fur coat of brown, darker brown, and cream for the chest. His hat remains the same, and he's wearing a pink tank top that says "Yay" on it and his magenta pre-time skip shorts. Robin is standing and a three quarters angle, glancing over at the viewer. She's been redesigned to have more jagged hair with cartoonishly large hands and feet to contrast her thin limbs. Her clothes are mostly the same as her default outfit, with the jacket redesigned to have longer sleeves and show less cleavage, the pattern on her skirt simplified, and her legs and feet are drawn as if her pants and shoes are one and the same. Franky is standing face forward, smiling widely, sunglasses on, head cocked to the side, and doing a thumbs up with one of his mini hands. Simplistic chest and stomach hair have been added, matching his hair color. The chest hair is in the shape of a star. His shoulders have been completely recolored to be black with a red stripe, white lettering, and have blue flame decals on them. He's wearing his default pre-time skip shirt and black speedos. IMAGE 3: Continuation of the lineup, this one has only Brook and Jinbe. Brook is playing his guitar, has his mouth wide open, and cocking an eye at the viewer. He's wearing his sunglasses, but they're pulled down to show the tops of his eye sockets. He's wearing his default outfit, the only changes are that the back of his suit is ragged and his pants are a bit scuffed. The floral pattern on his pants have been simplified as well. Jinbe is standing with his arms hanging down, looking to side at nothing in particular, mouth slightly agape. He's wearing yellow and white robe and purple cape from the wano arc. White spots are speckled across his cheeks, sides of his neck, backs of his hands, and tops of feet, meant to resemble the spots of a whale shark. His hands have a more paw like appearance with the fingers thicker and tiny claws sticking out. END iD]

[fkapple]

What was it like for Emily to grow up with Haley?

Hmmmm. I guess....I imagine it was pretty chill? My head canon is that they're about 5 years apart- enough of a gap that they weren't in school together at the same time and kinda always ran in different crowds doing their own thing.

I don't see them fighting per se, more Haley giving Em attitude and it just rolling off Em's back cause she doesn't take Haley seriously, lol. They probably fight more as adults as they reconnect and try to understand each other...but middle school era Haley most certainly gave a lot of sass to Em for being weird.

If there were any big conflicts, it was from them stealing each others clothes- Em knew Haley would say no on principle while Haley hated admitting she liked something Em had.

From left to right-

Lil Haley and Em- Haley looked up to her and Em loved the role of big sister, hence the cheesin'. She hand sewed the patches on the knees of her jeans, which she was very proud of.

Middle school/high school era- what's more middle school than rolled up cartoon print PJ pants lol. Em found that shirt in the little boy's section and had to have it. I imagine her hair is largely cowlicks and kinda explodes if cut short. She's also still learning sewing/construction so not at the point of wearing her own clothes.

HS/college era- Haley definitely brought lunch to school in a paper bag with a shirtless dude on it and spent a ton of time in the mornings straightening her hair, while Em was contending with unnecessary belts and owls on everything. She understood it aesthetically but still wished there were more exotic options for when you had to put a bird on it......

[resident-idiot-simp]

Wolverine with animal like ears under all that hair

THERE COULD BE EARS UNDER THERE ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

It starts with small movements that don't seem very... hair like. Wade is immediately suspicious but desides this is a mystery he must solve.

It's a late night when he figures it out. Logan had just jumped awake from a nightmare and Wade is trying to calm him down. His hair is flatter then normal the two cowlicks pinned down abnormality.

Wade runs a scared hand through his hair hesitantly in an attempt to ground him (not completely convinced he won't be shish kabobbed)

He feels....ears??? He places his hand back to double check he hasn't lost his mind and sure enough fluffy ears.

Logan seems to have come back to himself around the same time and jumps back with a snarl and Wade is just staring with the stupidest expression on his face he just knows it.

The ears are pinned back and it makes Wade want to cooe with him. "Not a word!" Logan growls claws appearing to emphasize the threat.

Wade can't quit smiling this Is the best possible thing that could have happened. He knew he was just a kitty down in his heart.

"That's adorable." Wade lands on saying and Logan rumbles in his chest in warning.

Wade ignores it just reaches out to pet them before his arm gets skewered. He curses and glares. "OH COME ON I find out you have animal like ears and I'm not allowed to pet them? This is just cruel!" Wade cries indignantly.

Logan is unfazed still looking pissed and Wade tries again this time managing to get a hand in his hair and a light scratch on an ear before he is thrown off the pullout and Logan is on top of him.

Wade fights and somehow managers to get both of his hands to where he wants them and starts to scratch like he would an animal.

Like magic Logan damn near collapses and starts a rumbling purr. Wade has never been prouder in his life.

Logan is leaning into his hands insistently and Wade is more then happy to comply.

[sometimesanalice]

Give Me Your Hand {Here Is My Heart}

Summary: You and Bradley have been dating for a couple months now. You want him and he wants you. And it’s getting harder and harder to keep your hands off of him. So what is holding you back?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 9K

Warnings: Fluff, Pining, and Smuttt

(This will be a 2-Part series for characters in the “Like I Can” Universe. It can be read without reading the original series first.)  PART 2

You’ve seen Bradley’s thick, wavy hair in various stages throughout your life. He has a little cowlick tuft in the back that would always pop up if it was cut too short. You’d seen it in high school when he used a little too much product like most boys did at that age. You’d seen it smashed and sweaty from being trapped under a baseball cap for too long.

However, for all the ways you’ve seen it over the years, his hair mussed by your own hands is easily one of your very favorite looks on him.

There is an open bottle of some random red blend you had picked up from the grocery store on the table, you had been more drawn to the label than what was inside of it. Your glasses were mostly untouched, the only clue about whose belonged to who was the imprint of your lower lip left behind on the rim from your lipstick that’s long worn off from your mouth.

And you are straddling Bradley’s denim clad lap enthusiastically making out on his probably-from-Ikea-but-still-very comfortable dark gray couch. The short skirt of your flirty little ruffled red dress sliding higher and higher up your thighs with every movement.

Your hands are undoing what minimal styling he had done to it before you had gotten to his place that evening, while his large ones are everywhere. Traveling the length of your back, squeezing your hips, running over the outsides of your calves. 

It has been almost a couple of months since you had been set up by the Daggers on those truly terrible dates. At the time it seemed like a fun idea to go on all those blind dates, until it wasn’t. 

That is, until Bradley. Being with him had made it all worthwhile. 

There have been plenty of dates since then. Nights out. Nights in. Nights spent laughing at the Hard Deck with his friends. But they all end the same. With Bradley kissing you goodnight. 

In the Bronco.

At your door. 

At his. 

You haven’t stayed the night, not once. Not even after the time where you both fell asleep tangled on his couch. You had woken up it find it was nearly 3 A.M, and even then you still made it a point not to cross the threshold into his bedroom. Even though you wanted to.

The way his mouth is moving against yours is nothing short of sinful. He is so good at making you breathless. So good at making you blush. Having him like this is more than you ever thought you’d get, its deliciously thrilling being the one to pull the low moans and satisfied sighs from him. 

It is almost too easy with Bradley. You’d never let yourself think about forever at this point in a relationship with anyone else. He made it so difficult for you to keep your head on straight when he looked at you with such dizzying adoration. 

It was getting harder and harder not let yourself think about Bradley being the one for all of your last-firsts. Even as you tried to take things with him day by day, moment by moment.

How that evening out on the outdoor terrace could have been your last-first date. That pretty green dress you’d worn, now tucked away in your closet protected in its garment bag, felt special in a way you weren’t sure you were ready to look at too closely.

How that kiss against his Bronco in the parking lot near the beach afterwards could have been your last-first kiss.

How whenever you mustered up the courage to finally give yourself to him entirely that it could be your last-first time.

But one of you had to be the practical one. One of you has to keep their feet on the ground because the other literally as his head in the clouds on a daily basis. You felt constantly at war with bullet pointed logic of your mind and the whatifwhatifwhatifs of your heart.

When Bradley dropped you off back at your car after your post-oceanside-dinner-milkshake-run, he asked you out again for the next weekend. Claimed he wanted you to have a second first date with him, even though you both already were planning on meeting your friends at the Hard Deck the very next night. 

His smile had been so sweet and his eyes so sincere there was no way you were going to turn him down. Even if you didn’t think you needed a second first date with him when the first had been one for the books. 

Bradley’s burning lips work their way down your neck. His hand at the base of your neck keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The delicious drag of his mustache along the sensitive skin of your throat makes your toes curl. His hot mouth sucking softly at your pulse point before laving it with his tongue. Can he feel how fast your heart is beating?

For your second-first date, the only feeling that had been coursing through you that day had been pure excitement knowing it would be Bradley knocking on your door. 

And when he picked you up, he arrived with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a bottle of your favorite champagne in the other.

There was an undeniable giddiness that evening, but also a tentative shyness between the two of you as you sat across from each other at one of the many seafood restaurants that dotted the boardwalk. The table had felt almost too big, since the two of you were both a little too in your heads. 

“Why did it feel easier last time-”

“I feel like I’m on an interview-”

After a couple awkward stops and starts, you both just looked at each other and had to laugh about it. It was better when you moved your place settings and slid into the spot next to him. When his leg nervously bounced under the table, you were close enough to rest a hand on his thigh. 

“Have I told you how pretty you look?”

“Only a few times now,” you replied as you nudged his foot with yours, “But I like hearing it.”

And then slowly but surely the nerves and awkwardness melted away as you two settled into the familiarity of each other. You did call him “Rooster” a couple times on accident, and he ended up almost telling you the same story twice before he realized it halfway through the second time. But it was a comfortable kind of bumbling as you explored the newness of this part of your relationship together.  

Afterwards, he had suggested taking a walk along the beach, you’d readily agreed at the thought of the sand beneath your toes and your fingers tangled between Bradley’s.

You didn’t walk very far before a large canopy made entirely out of thousands of string lights caught your eye. The area was roped off on the beach halfway between the boardwalk and the ocean waves. People were already milling about, some brave souls already dancing away as the final rays from the sunset illuminated them in a golden red light. 

“C’mon, kid,” he’d said already tugging you along with him by the hand, “Let’s check it out.”

“Bradley, I don’t know. This looks like some kind of private event.”

It didn’t click until he was pulling out his phone with the tickets already pulled up and ready to be scanned that he had planned it all along. 

“I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” you told him with a grin on your face as you waited in the line to exchange your shoes for a pair of light up headphones.

“Have you now?” He was looking very pleased with himself as he slid an arm around you, tucking his hand into the back pocket of your jeans.

“I thought you said you were done with surprises,” you asked teasingly, smoothing down the front of his Hawaiian shirt. Enjoying the way his stomach tensed beneath your hand. 

“Now, where the fun in that? I think I like surprising you,” he murmured into your ear.

When you made your way to the front, he slipped the headphones over your ears before pulling you to the side, bending down to roll up your jeans a bit and then doing the same to his. 

The sand was still warm for the sun under your feet, and the twinkle lights were picking up the golden strands in Bradley’s wavy hair. He was so handsome and he was all yours tonight.

The two of you had the best time as you bounced around between stations, the colors on your headphones changing from blue to red to green as you told the other one to change over whenever a familiar song came on as the inky night settled around you.

You had danced with Bradley plenty of times of the years, like at school dances and at your mom’s second wedding. However, it was always the goofy and fun kind of dancing between friends. Where he would spin you until you were doubled over in laughter or where you’d compete to see who could pull out the most ridiculous moves.  

His fancy footwork and carefree exuberance still amused you to no end, but it was also the good kind of different the way he wrapped his arms around you from behind. You’d felt a good kind of free in the way you let your hips move against him without overthinking it. It was the good kind of exciting the way he feathered kisses down the side of your neck when the music playing through the headphones slowed down.

The two of you moving in sync and touching each other in ways you haven’t indulged in before, a little sweaty and out of breath. You had never felt so truly lighthearted and uninhibited as you did as you danced the night away with Bradley, as he shimmied with you, as he twirled you about, as he held you close. 

By the end of the evening, your cheeks were hurting from the wide smile that hadn’t left your face once the whole night. 

And there was no hesitation in the way you pulled his face to yours as people danced around lost in their own moments on the beach under the twinkle lights and moonlight that night. As you got lost in him.

The rough denim of his jeans between the soft skin of your thighs has you desperate to move against him for more. His fingers are playing with the frilly chiffon fabric of the red dress you bought forever ago and completely forgot about in your closet. You wanted to be as bold as the color you were wearing, to take the lead and slide his hands up your dress to where you both really wanted them to be. Instead you trail your lips long the strong line of his jaw, reveling in the way he sighs your name.

The next date you had planned. 

And the only thing you had told him about it was what time he should expect to be picked up. 

At the time he’d grumbled something about his mom raising him as a gentleman and that meant always picking the girl up. To which, you had retorted that Carole told you not to take nonsense from any man, and that included her son. Phoenix had clicked her glass with yours at that.

Bradley was notoriously bad a keeping a secret, excluding when he had planned that first date, but he was even worse when he was the one being kept in the dark. Needless, to say you thoroughly enjoyed teasing him that whole week before your next date.

And if he ran his hands more over your body as he tried to get you to give him even the smallest of hints, you couldn’t say you minded. 

You’d stopped by his favorite deli on you way home from work and ordered a couple of those giant sandwiches that were piled high with all the cold cuts and too many toppings, along with a few containers of different sides to round out the meal. Your fridge had been stocked his favorite beer from your last grocery run, so you’d grabbed a few cans of those and some sparkling waters and put those in your cooler basket with the other sweet treats you had already bought before you’d quickly changed and left to go pick him up.

You’d barely had the car parked in his driveway of his condo before he was opening the door and throwing his large body in your car.

“It’s not too late to let me drive, kid,” he’d said in greeting, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You really liked this part, the casual physicality of his affection. You liked it a lot.

“Oh please, you just want me to tell you what we’re doing,” you countered, as you backed up and pulled on to the main road. “Plus, I don’t see what your problem is. I drive you around all the time when the Bronco is getting a tune up.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s in the shop. I am physically pained to be in a Honda Civic,” he complained, as he shifted from side to side and moved the seat back trying to get more comfortable. Ever the drama queen.

“Hey, it’s a hybrid! I’m saving the planet,” you lobbed back at him, “How much fuel does your F/A-18 go through?” 

“It’s boring.” There was no missing the derision dripping from the word.

Such a little car snob.

“I think you mean it’s practical,” you replied primly. “I’m not going to apologize for having a car from this century, Bradley.”

“Is it even safe to be this close to the ground?” he groused as he looked at you from over the top of his sunglasses. 

“Well, my lease on this is up soon and I have been thinking about getting an all-American whip,” you paused for a moment as he perked up at the idea of that, “Do you think I would look cute in a Jeep?”

The taunt landed just the way you hoped it would when he groaned and clutched his heart.

“My girl is not driving a Jeep. That’d be like sleeping with the enemy!” he dramatically bemoaned, “The Bronco would stall out of spite knowing you’re driving the competition.”

You hoped he didn’t catch the way you’d clamed up. How your hands had tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles standing out in contrast against the paper-thin skin there.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t slept with someone on the first date before. And while you knew it was a matter of when and not if, you were still having a hard time wrapping your brain around the fact that you would be having sex with Bradley Bradshaw.

But there was fucking and then there was whatever this was. 

It already felt different with him than anyone else you’ve dated before. It felt like it would mean more with him and you couldn’t pretend you weren’t anxious about it.

This was Bradley.

Bradley.

Who had always made it to your tennis matches wearing the t-shirt he had made that boldly sported your last name across his chest after you had complained that the boys’ teams always better funding and therefore got better apparel. He was always the loudest person in the stands, except for your moms when they overdid it on the Sauvignon Blanc.

Bradley.

Who had always sent you your favorite kind of flowers to be delivered on your birthday and never failed to FaceTime with you regardless of where he was in the world or what time it was where he was stationed.

Bradley who was looking so handsome next to you in your practical Honda Civic wearing a snug light blue button up shirt and smelling really good. Woodsy with the tiniest hint of citrus.

With his tousled sun-lightened curls and warm brown eyes. His strong, sturdy nose. That mustache that had no right to look so perfect on his face. You’d liked every version of him you’d know throughout your life, but this one next to you? You lo--

“Light’s green, sweet girl.” He was wearing that little half smirk of his. The one that was entirely too knowing, and that looked entirely too good on him.

You had blinked at him a few times before you had realized you’d been completely caught checking him out. And it wasn’t until the car behind you honked that you were startled out of your Bradley filled mental wanderings.

Thankfully you were saved from further jokes at you or your car’s expense as you pulled into the parking lot of the library, happy for the distraction from your earlier thoughts.

“Do you have some books you need to return?” he asked a bit perplexed, his eyebrow knitting together. 

“Nope,” you answered. Sending him a smug wink as you reached over to click the button to unbuckle his seatbelt. 

He wasn’t the only one who could plan a surprise in this relationship. 

And in the midst of your self-satisfied musings, you had somehow missed the way he had rounded the car until his big hands were on your waist. Then he was turning you around and crowding you against the side of your very practical car.

“This ok?” he rasped questioningly against your ear, stroking your side.

You nodded rapidly. All words had escaped you the second he had pressed his broad, hard body against yours.

It was a miracle you didn’t drop the basket in your hands when his mouth collided with yours, his lips leisurely gliding over yours. You were still getting use to the sensation of his rough mustache on your delicate skin, but you liked the feel of it. 

You liked everything about him.

He pulled away after a few moments, nudging your cheek with his nose, “Hey, you good?”

There was a moment when you thought that maybe he had noticed the way you’d froze in the car when he had made that joke. He knew you so well, but even that felt like a stretch.

“Just peachy,” you replied, as you leaned in for another quick peck. But just as you tried to pull away, he tugged you back in.

“’m not done kissing you yet.”

“Bradley, come on,” you laugh breathlessly, the grin on your face derailing any further plans he had for your mouth. 

“Or, hear me out,” he mused, as he trailed a finger down your arm, until he reached your hand to take the basket from you, “We can make out against your car. Seeing as we’re already very good at that.”

“Nuh-uh.” You shake your head at him. “There will be no more making out.”

“At all?” he coaxed. His thumb sneaking under your top, stroking the skin above your hip.

“For the next couple of hours,” you amended. “Are you going to be trouble?”

“Only the good kind, I promise.” He was wearing that cheeky smile that always left you feeling a little flustered. Threading your fingers together with his free hand, he gestured for you to lead the way. 

You pulled him along with you as you followed the other groups of people who were making their way the same direction around to the back of the library where the large section of grassy lawn was located. 

“Last chance, you sure you don’t want to go make out in the stacks?” he teased as you passed by the entrance, giving you a heated once over, “You always were such a good girl in school, Miss Valedictorian.”

It made your cheeks warm at both the idea of him pressing you against the shelves and from him calling you a good girl. And you were almost tempted to let him have his way. To let him pull you out of the line you were waiting in in favor of finding out what his mouth tasted like in some quiet, dusty corner of the library. 

“Behave, this is an all ages event,” you reminded him, and yourself. He held up his three fingers in Scout’s promise. But you knew better, recognized what that smirk he was wearing meant, so you met him half way, “If you’re good, maybe we can do that for our third date.”

You had felt your pulse radiate through your whole body when he leaned in close and murmured, “I can be good for you.”

A pointed cough jolted you both out of the moment, you had been so wrapped up in him that you had completely missed that the line had moved. Muttering a sheepish Sorry, you tugged a shameless Bradley along with you to catch up with everyone else. 

When you made it to the front of the line, he tried to fish out his wallet before you could reach yours to pay the suggested entry donation fee. The volunteer chuckled as you tossed the blanket you were carrying at your troublesome date’s broad chest. And then you handed over the cash you had withdrawn from the ATM earlier in the day, plus a little more.

You were a patron of the literary arts, after all. A humanitarian with a point to prove. This was your date you had planned for Bradley, you would be the one sweeping him off his feet tonight.

The big screen they had set up gave it away, but you refused to tell him what movie was playing that evening even as he made guess after guess as you wove your way around people to find an unoccupied spot in the grass.

You kept him busy by having him smooth out the blanket until there were absolutely no wrinkles, and then distracted him with all of his favorite goodies as you unpacked them out of your cooler bag. Thankfully, it wasn’t too much longer before the event’s coordinator was welcoming everyone since you had run out of PG-rated ways to keep Bradley diverted without spoiling the evening’s featured film.

When the opening credits had started rolling for Singin’ in the Rain Bradley had turned to you, his wide grin lighting up his whole face. 

“I love this movie,” he said excitedly.

You smiled back at him indulgently, as if you didn’t already know that. However, you still had felt very pleased with yourself that he was so thrilled as you passed him one of the massive, overly filled sandwiches along with a beer. 

You had forgotten to pack some extra plates to put the sides on, so you and Bradley passed the containers of creamy potato salad, tangy coleslaw, and cold tomato salad back and forth. Occasionally feeding the other bites in between watching Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor’s antics on screen. 

A little while later, the two of you had cozied up on the blanket, the leftover food pushed off to one side. Bradley had pulled you into the space between his legs, encouraging you to rest your back against his sturdy chest. You had never felt as perfectly content as you did sitting there wrapped up in his arms sharing a bag of gummy bears and the other boxes of movie candy you had packed as the warm California breeze washed over you.

You had been surrounded by families and other couples, but the way he rested his chin against your shoulder and hummed along with Gene Kelly singing “You Were Meant For Me” was for your ears only.

There isn’t anything in this world that feels as good as Bradley’s wet lips sliding over yours. Nothing as exciting as wondering where his hands will roam to next on your body. Nothing as devastating as when he teases down the strap of your dress off of your shoulder with his nose as his mouth purposefully works along your collarbone.

Ever the gentleman, he’s never pressured you, or even brought it up. You know he is waiting for you to make the move, to let you be the one who sets the pace. To let him know when you’re ready to take that next step with him.

And you want to. You really want to. Even now, you can feel how enticingly hard he is beneath you as you moan into his mouth. 

You know that you’re the one holding you back. 

The one holding the both of you back. 

And you know exactly why.

The closest you two even got to toeing that line into something more was the night you got back home after spending a few days on the East Coast for a work trip. 

Bradley had wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you were getting in late and didn’t want him to lose out on the sleep that he needed to stay safe doing his job. He only let it go once you had promised him you would text him when you landed and got home in one piece.

You had been getting ready for bed after showering off the plane from your body, slipping on an old shirt you had recently rediscovered buried in the back of your dresser when your phone had lit up. And you really shouldn’t have been surprised to see Bradley’s name on your screen well past 2 A.M, but your heart still fluttered seeing his name pop up.

“Yes, Bradley?” you answered with a playful lilt in your tone. 

“Hi, kid,” you could hear the soft smile in his voice, “Did you make it home ok?”

“I did, but what are you still doing awake? You’ve got that new training program that starts tomorrow, and roosters aren’t known for being nocturnal creatures.”

“She’s got jokes, ladies and gentlemen,” he deadpanned flatly before tentatively continuing, “You said you were going to text me when you landed. But my phone has been suspiciously silent.”

You didn’t know if that swooping sensation in your stomach had been from feeling like you’d let him down or from the fact that he was calling you this late because he was worried about you. That he had stayed up wanting to hear from you because you mattered to him. You that you were in his 2 A.M thoughts. 

“I figured you’d be asleep, and I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted self-consciously as you puttered around you room, putting away a few of the things from your suitcase.

And it had been the truth. You had typed out a message when you were waiting in the ride share pick up area with your carry on, but ended up deleting it not wanting to bother him or disturb his sleep. 

“Nah, you’d never bother me. I was waiting to hear from you. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyways, not with you being flown around by some random pseudo-captain airline pilot wearing a pair of wings with a brand logo on it.”

The men you had dated in the past had always said the same thing without really meaning it, sending halfhearted thumbs up when you’d let them known you got home after a date or landed safely after a work trip. But Bradley wasn’t like those men, he truly meant the things he said because he cared.

“Not the branded wings,” you teased, before softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, sweet girl. I’m just happy you’re home. You free dinner tomorrow? I want to hear all about your trip.”

“For you? Yeah, I think I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said contentedly before pausing for a moment, and you heard rustling on the other end of the line, “So, what are you wearing?”

You burst out laughing, as you finally crawled into your soft bed, grinning wildly, “Bradley Bradshaw, you did not just ask me that!”

“What?” he asked innocently, his chuckle giving him away. “How about this, you tell me and I promise to never bring up the fact that you have contributed to any prematurely gray hairs that might have sprung up in the last few hours.”

“A silver fox Bradley Bradshaw?” Now that was something you were very much looking forward to seeing one day, “Be still my heart.”

“Chances are you won’t have to wait long,” he joked.

“Well, it’s funny you should ask,” you mused as you look down at the threadbare shirt you had on, “Because I am currently wearing a very old Cardinals Baseball shirt.”

He had given it to you after they had won the State Championships his junior year as a thank you for all the time you had spent helping him practice after school and on the weekends leading up to the playoff games.

“You’re messing with me.”

“I would never joke about Washington High school pride.” He laughed at that, because really, when were you not teasing him?

When you didn’t say anything more he’d pressed, “Wait, seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” you purred smugly, playing with the frayed hem of the shirt.

“I want to see it.”

“Are you asking me to send a photo of myself in bed after 2 A.M?” you asked with faux shock, “Sir, I am a lady.”

That made him snort, “There wasn’t anything ladylike about the way you took down that burger the other week. But seriously. You’ve got sixty seconds, kid. Otherwise I’m coming over there to see it for myself.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. His demand made your heart beat faster in your chest, the two of you had never done anything like this before. 

“Ok, ok. Give me a moment.” 

Working quickly knowing Bradley wasn’t one for idle threats, you positioned yourself where his shirt is clearly visible, but also featured a glimpse of the top of your thighs and a hint of the smirk on your lips. Satisfied you sent it off to him and put the phone back up to your ear.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out incredulously. You didn’t know if he meant to say it out loud or not, but you’d felt the heat work its way in your cheeks all the same.

“Come on then, Bradshaw. You’re up. Tit for tat as it was.”

“I didn’t realize tits were on the table,” he rasped lowly.

You were thankful he hadn’t made this a FaceTime call, so that he didn’t see the way your jaw dropped.

There was a thrumming working its way through your body. There wasn’t anything explicitly dirty happening, but it felt deliciously thrilling all the same. It was exciting doing this with him.

“Nuh-uh, rules are rules. You’ve got sixty seconds,” you tell him, trying to sound more in control than you felt.

A few moments later you see the notification pop down, and you click into the text. The first thing your mind registered was his skin. 

So much golden skin. 

He was leaning against his head board, navy comforter bunched around low on his waist. His hair was a little mussed, and his mouth was pulled to one side in a half-smirk. He was just so handsome, you could even see the fine trail of hairs that led to his---

“Goddammit, Bradley!” you’d exclaimed putting him on speaker, so you could still hear him without putting your phone back up to your ears since you were too busy staring at the picture he had just sent. “Are you kidding me? This is some serious one-handed fodder!” 

You could hear his booming laughter on the other side.

“Happy now?” You could hear how pleased he was with your reaction in his voice.

“Truly, the happiest. You have no idea,” you replied, albeit a distractedly, “But, full disclosure? I am going to be gazing at this so disrespectfully after we hang up.” You’ve never been so bold before, but everything about that moment had been electrifying with him. Because of him.

“Enjoy your one-handed fodder, kid. But full disclosure?” his voice was teasing as he used your own words against you, “You’d need to use both hands. I’m glad you’re home, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, sweet girl.”

He hung up on you without waiting for a response as you gaped into your home screen.

As images filled your head of what it would look like to have both of your hands wrapped the length of him, you let your fingers trail down your stomach and under the waistband of your underwear.

You had already lost a lot of sleep thinking about Bradley. Dreaming about how it would feel to be naked and pressed close along his body. He runs so warm normally, would he be even hotter to the touch as you both rocked against each other? You wanted to know the sounds he made when he came.

Too desperate to come to bother reaching for your vibrator, you had propped your phone against your spare pillow looking at that photo of him cozy and warm in his bed, and with your other hand you easily slid two fingers into yourself. Circling your clit with one hand as you worked yourself with the other.

You wanted his fingers. You wanted his mouth. You wanted his cock. You wanted all of him.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself think about Bradley. His molten brown eyes. His strong forearms. The tantalizing veins of his thick neck. The way his mustache feels against your mouth when you make out in his Bronco. The powerful grace in the way his body moved during a game of dogfight football.

You imagined him unreservedly and unabashedly. 

Above you. 

Below you. 

Behind you.

You came like a flash. Back arching as you spasmed against your own fingers while thinking about his.

And a few minutes later, just as your heart rate had settled back down and you were about to turn your light off, you got a text from him.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝. 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘, 𝚔𝚒𝚍.

Which promptly had you tossing your phone away from you as you squealed into your pillow. 

It was so easy to lose yourself in his kiss, breathing in each other’s air. Your mouths are drawn together like magnets. His hands are high on your ribcage, his brave thumb caressing the underside of your breast. You are dizzy off of the feeling of his tongue stroking yours.

There is an earnest yearning in the way you both kiss each other. In the way you touch each other. It’s almost like you’re trying to make up for something. 

“I can feel you thinking, sweet girl,” he says a little breathlessly as he pulls away from your mouth. His lips are swollen and his hair is a wavy, brown mess. “Am I not going a good enough job over here?” 

You know he is teasing you, but you can tell that he is giving you the gentle opening to talk about what distracting thoughts are pulling you out of being in the moment with him.

“I was just thinking about when you picked me up in your old Montero for the first time. You were leaning against it like my very own Jake Ryan,” you tell him as you place kisses across his cheek.

Not exactly the truth, but you don’t want to ruin the mood by telling him what was really on your mind. Not when you wanted to make him feel just as good as he was making you feel.

“I loved that car,” he moans lightly as you kiss along his jaw, his hands sliding up your back.

“I know,” you hum against his ear, “You didn’t talk to me for like a week when I spilled my milkshake in it that one time.”

“I should have kept that car, she was a classic,” he sighs as he leans his head against the back of the couch to look up at you. His hands skimming up and down the sides of your waist, still hard beneath you.

“You know, my parents still think I was some kind of manual stick-shifting wunderkind,” you tell him grinning down at him. Your thumb tracing the long scar there under his Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have taught you how to how to drive when you were fourteen,” he says with fondness. The grin on his gorgeous face nothing short of sheepish, “Your mom can never know. I still want her to like me.”

You smile briefly thinking about him teaching you in the afternoons after school when neither of you had practices to attend in the abandoned parking lot across town. 

How he had patiently taught you how to shift from neutral into first even after stalling out multiple times in a row. He had done his best to hid his wincing from you when you inevitably managed to grind the gears because he didn’t want you to feel bad about it. You can still remember how loudly he whooped for you when you managed to start it and get it moving in one go. Afterwards, he had taken you to the ice cream place to celebrate, that time with him in the driver’s seat. 

When you had finally gotten your learner’s permit your parents had called you a natural. And you had immediately known that there was no way you were ever going to tell them you’d learned from Bradley. That was a secret just for the two of you.

“You know,” you muse toying with button on his shirt, “Sixteen-year-old me would probably be losing her mind knowing that I get to make out with you anytime I want.”

“Huh, that so?” he smirks, a hand coming up to play with the ends of your hair, “Did you have a crush on me, kid?”

For the most part, before getting together you had been good about keeping your feelings for Bradley purely platonic. Except for a couple of slip ups here and there over the years, like that time at the Hard Deck after seeing the team play dogfight football for the first time. But that was another secret that you were never going to give up easily. 

Your friendship with him had always meant more to you than anything else.

“Mm, I wouldn’t call it a crush. What I had was a lot of hormones, and it didn’t help that you were pretty.” 

He had always been cute, even as a gangly teen whose arms and legs never seemed to be in sync, but the man looking up at you now was in a league of his own. His warm brown eyes were slightly hooded filled with mischief and something more.

“And now?” Bradley asks teasingly, his other smoothing up your back to press you closer. He leans forward to kiss the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“Now?” you breathe out, as his mouth moves up along your neck, “Now I still have a lot of hormones, think you’re very handsome, and definitely have a crush on you.”

“Good,” he murmurs as his teeth graze your jaw.

“What about you?” you gasp, melting into him further. You want to keep him talking, so you don’t think about how you want his mouth on other places. He is so hard, so warm, and you want him so bad. 

But for as much as you wanted to strip off your clothes and his to let him have his way with you, it was the last boundary between being just friends and this. It wasn’t something that could ever be undone. And you wanted it so bad, it scared you just how much you wanted that kind of permanence with him.

It’s been almost two months and you’ve had him for years, but you want him like this forever.

“Yeah, there’s been a few times when I’ve caught myself thinking about you in less than friendly ways. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and funny,” He squeezes your waist, before admitting, “Always felt guilty when it happened though.”

He had thought of you too. 

Why did that make your chest hurt? Could you have been doing this for years?

“Tell me,” you quietly urge, running your fingers through his hair encouragingly, “I want to know.” 

You were desperate to know.

“Do you remember that house party we went to that Spring Break you visited me during my senior year at UVA?” he asks, letting his hands lightly trail up and down the tops of your thighs. 

You could have been doing this for years.

You didn’t trust your voice not to wobble and betray you, so you nodded your head instead.

“I had gone in to get us a couple more drinks, and when I came back out there were so many more people in the backyard than there were when I left. I mean, I was probably a little drunk, but it was packed,” he told you as his thumb rubbed small circles near your inner knee, “I remember looking for you when I got distracted by a great set of legs in pair of frayed denim shorts. And as I was working out how I was going to play it as I made my way over to her, she turned around.”

It wasn’t a secret where this was going. You knew what the ending would be before he even started telling you the story. Yet, you were still hanging on his every word with bated breath.

“You turned around. Couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize you in that moment. And the way you smiled at me,” he reaches up and cups your cheek, his thumb lightly tapping on the spot where your dimples lived, “God, I still remember, it hit me like a suckerpunch. Your hair looked so pretty under the string lights they had put up.”

“They were the shitty red and green Christmas kind,” you whisper. 

You remembered that party, it was one of the last times you got to spend uninterrupted one-on-one time with him before he joined the Navy. Before your friendship turned into a long-distance game of catching up and phone tag.

“They were and probably a fire hazard too,” he confirms softly with a chuckle, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you gaze at each other. “I felt so bad afterwards that I had been checking you out. Like I was taking advantage of our friendship somehow.”

This was a new kind of openness between the two of you in this little moment of transparent honesty. A reminder for how well you know each other that there are still new things to learn. 

“I remember when you picked me up from the airport, I think it was like the first time we’d seen each other in person in almost a year. And I had this moment when I saw you waiting for me that realized that the boy I had grown up with was very much a man,” you sit back a bit to better look at him, his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. “But god, Bradley, now? Now, you’re devastating.” 

You wanted him to have these parts of you, to fill him in on the things he didn’t know, the things you kept close to your heart. It was your story, but it belonged to him too.

“C’mere,” he murmurs as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck pulling you back into him. Your mouths are a whisper away from each other as you share the same air, and he is looking at you with such open want, “I didn’t realize until recently how much time I spent trying not to think about you like that when you first moved here. And now that I can, you’re the only thing that’s been on my mind. You’re so fucking distracting, sweet girl.”

If you thought you were needy before, now you felt like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin if you didn’t get your mouth back on his right that very second. 

He meets you half way for a desperate kiss. It’s hungry and open-mouthed. You come alive under his touch, his kiss energizes you in a way that no drug or stimulant ever could.

Your hasty, frantic hands landing everywhere. Never content to linger in one place for long. Not when you have so much of his body you are dying to map with your hands. With your mouth. You want to touch him everywhere. You want to taste him everywhere.

You nibble on the fullness of his lower lip, seeking entrance into his warm mouth. He opens for you without hesitation, his tongue ready and waiting to welcome yours. You can still taste the juicy, full-bodied red on him from that long-forgotten bottle of wine.

He says your name on shattered breath, pulling away only long enough to place wet, hot kisses down your neck, down your chest. Your hands are buried in his hair, clutching at his sunkissed waves.

“This damn bow,” he rasps as he roughly pulls at the little bow at the center of your flirty red dress as if it has personally offended him by its very existence. Once untied it reveals a bit more of the swell of your breasts to his eager eyes. 

Your skin feels almost a size too small for your body, and your throat is tight with want. His kisses were like champagne going straight to your head. His hands are the only thing you want touching you.

You don’t mean to let your hips rock against the firm swell of him, but his resounding groan is quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. And you know in that moment you need to hear it again, and again. So you roll your hips once more, intentionally this time.

Bradley’s low moan of pleasure makes you feel heady and reckless. You lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. His hands fly to your ass, sliding under that frilly dress, grasping you with greedy hands when you kiss a spot behind his ear. Even in your frenzied state you file away his response to that for later.

And then you are lost in the feel of his mouth. Of his hands on you. Of your hands on him. Of the taste of the skin of his neck. Of the feeling of the zipper on his tight jeans hitting your clit just right as you writhe on top of him.

It starts as a shiver that makes your whole body erupt in goosebumps as he encourages the rolling of your hips against him. You’ve never felt as cared for, as safe as you do in his arms.

The tingling sensation begins at the base of your neck and like a flicker start it shoots down, down the entire length of your spine setting off in your cunt in spectacular electric bursts.

You spasm deliciously and devastatingly against nothing with Bradley pressed thick and hard against the center of you. The shockwaves gripping your body as you’re left gasping and panting into the hollow of his throat. 

“Did you just...?” he asks urgently. You can’t speak yet so you nod vigorously into his neck. “Fuck. That’s so hot.”

Pressing closer, you try to hide from the intensity you know you would find in his eyes. Burying your face further in his neck as you try to catch your breath. You breathe him in in hopes that his soothing cedar scent will help settle the rapid beating of your heart. 

“Sweet girl, please. C’mon, I gotta see you,” he murmurs desperately. He pulls his head back a bit trying to create more room to get a look at you, attempting to coax you out by brushing your hair back, “I need to see it. Please. Let me see your face.”

You can feel how turned on he is, can hear it in his voice. And you’re feeling truly shy around Bradley for probably the first time in your life.

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d sound like for weeks,” he tells you with such soft sincerity.

“Bradley,” you whisper finally pulling away from the sanctuary that is the crook of his neck. His heated gaze roams your face, drinking you in. He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, this thumb skimming your lower lip. There are a thousand different emotions coursing through you and you know he can read them all. 

“God, you’re so beautiful. Talk to me, please,” he breathes, “What’s going through your mind? It’s just me.”

You have been so careful trying to skirt around this conversation. It has been the elephant in the room after every date, every heated make out session, every honeyed goodnight kiss. 

And you want him too much to keep avoiding this, even though it scares you.

“That’s just it, Bradley, it’s you!”

“It’s me?” he asks confused.

“Yes! It’s you, it’s me, it’s us. It has never been like this with anyone else. I have never felt like this with anyone else. And the way you look at me sometimes, it’s overwhelming.” You were still feeling flustered from your surprise orgasm, and you know you aren’t expressing yourself clearly. But you feel so flayed open before him.

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, “If this is too much for you, we can slow it down. Or if you aren’t feeling it, we figure out how to be just friends again.” He can’t hide the wince on his face as he says it, but you know he honestly means it. “It might take me a couple of decades to forget the way you sounded just now, but we would figure it out together.”

“No, I don’t want that. Don’t you get it? I feel the complete opposite, and that’s the problem!” 

“Ok, wait. You just came on my lap, sweet girl,” Bradley’s voice is unmistakably proud, even as he breathes out raggedly. “I’m trying to get my thoughts in order over here. Because that was the best thing I’ve ever heard and I’m having trouble getting my head on right to talk about this. So as much as I love having you on me, we have to readjust before we can continue.”

You make a noise of protest as maneuvers you both so that he is stretched out across the couch, while you’re nestled securely against the back of his couch and half draped over him.

“Let’s try this again,” he says rubbing small circles on your back, “I don’t want to mess this up by not knowing exactly where we stand with things, you are too important to me. Are you worried it’s going to be weird or that it’s not going to be good?”

“No.” That legitimately never even crossed your mind. But now a seed of doubt had been planted in your already anxious mind, “Are you?”

“Not even a little bit,” Bradley tells you with a shake of the head, “I know it’s going to be good.”

“That confident about your sexual prowess, huh?” It felt easier, safer to make a joke.

“Well, yeah. There’s that,” he hums with a half smirk, “But it’s you and me, kid. It’s gonna be good. How could it not be?”

There’s something about his steadfast sureness that warms your chest.

“Can I tell you what I’m worried about?” He waits for your nod of confirmation before continuing, “I’m worried about how I am supposed to function afterwards. How am I supposed to just get up and go to work in the morning after I’ve had you in my bed? Because once I get to have you like that, I’m never going to stop wanting more with you.”

And there’s the longing again, that pull in your stomach. You want him too, you want him too.

You are comforted knowing that he has things that have been on his mind too, that you’re not alone. Even if the two of you are concerned about two different things. And it was only right that you let him in, you could be unreservedly vulnerable for him. 

“Bradley, it’s been so incredibly good with us. But I’m so afraid that once we take this step, that all I am going to be thinking about is that we could have been doing this for years. That we could have had each other like this for years.” Even the idea of it hurts your heart, at the glimmer of the possibility that you could have gotten to this point with him sooner. “And I don’t want to have any regrets about the way our story has gone up until this point. But I especially don’t want to have any regrets about missing out on time with you.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead in understanding. 

“Let me ask you this then, would you trade any of it?” he asks as he slides a hand around your neck to tilt your head up to look at him, “Any of the adventures we had when we were younger? Or the weekend visits? Or any of the late-night milkshake runs for it?”

You knew the answer immediately, “No. No, I wouldn’t trade a thing.”

“Then we’re right on time,” he promises sincerely as he skims his thumb along the line of your jaw. “We’re right on time, sweet girl.”

It’s so perfectly Bradley, the way he knows exactly what your heart needed to hear.

And all the extra pressure you had been feeling releases from your body because it’s Bradley.

It’s just Bradley. It’s just you. 

It’s just you and Bradley. 

It’s been that way since you were kids. 

You’ve had him as a friend. You still have him as a friend. But you also get to have more. 

Of course, it’s going to be good.

Of course, it’s going to be right.

Of course, there were going to be what if’s. It was inevitable.

What you weren’t going to do is let yourself dwell on what-could-have-beens or regrets because you have him here and now. And that is more than enough. 

It’s everything. 

You untangle yourself from him to stand up as he watches you apprehensively. Waiting to see what your next move will be.

Standing in front of Bradley, you hold his gaze as you find the zipper on the side your little red dress. All concern leaves his face as you draw it down slowly before him. He doesn’t blink as you let the silky fabric skim down your body, puddling at your feet. And then he is looking at you with open awe and longing. 

Stepping out of it lightly, you confidently make your way to the stairs towards his bedroom.

“Well, are you coming?”

PART 2

Not to worry, friends! There is more to come! After all, we have to find out what happens once she goes up those stairs!

To those who like to spice up their life a la the Spice Girls, I’ve got more headed your way (and by more, I mean smutttt)! I have a taglist, so let me know if you would like to be added!

I wrote this as a birthday fic for the one and only @gretagerwigsmuse​! (Surprise! See I can be sneaky, even if you already knew about it, haha!) It may be a little late, but I hope it was worth the wait!

Mood board for Part 1

(This is written for part of my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

You can check out my other fics here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @chicomonks 

[dira333]

Sound of Silence - Aone x Reader

Someone, please hand me my Aone - tagging @lemurzsquad and @fuzztacular

There’s a wide berth of empty seats around the man. 

He’s tall, with white hair and the scariest scowl you’ve ever seen on someone’s face.

You walk a little closer, grab a handle not too far from him.

You don’t want him to think that you want to talk - hell no, not at seven in the morning - but you don’t want him to think you’re scared of him either.

He doesn’t seem to notice, so there goes your overthinking.

-

He walks down the same street as you and neither his white hair nor his height help him blend in with the masses.

Suddenly, he stops.

You don’t mean to catch up to him, but you do, stopping just a few steps behind him without meaning to.

You can hear a little kid crying and it’s hard to make out in the hustle of morning commute but you think it might have dropped its plushy into the thick shrubbery this coffee shop calls decoration. 

“Here,” you hear a deep voice say, can’t help but watch as the man pulls the plush out with ease - not at all caring about the branches scratching up his arm - and dusts it off gently, “Everything’s fine.”

He turns to hand the plush - an awkward mix of glitter and snail - back to the child. One look at his face and the crying gets even louder. Oh. Oh no.

“Now, now,” you step in, your voice sweet despite your annoyance. You hate crying kids. “No need to cry. This nice man just saved your little snail. What’s their name, huh?”

The kid, who from this angle looks clearly like a little girl, wipes their nose on their sleeve and blinks up at you. “Gary.”

“Gary, huh?” You cringe inwardly at the name. “How sweet. See, Gary is fine. Our dear friend here saved him.” You turn to take the snail plush from the man, his face close to yours from how he’s bent forward. 

His face might be intense, but his eyes are different from this close. His hands are warm, the skin rough against yours as he hands you the plush. Warmth pools in your stomach and you have to swallow thickly as you turn back around, hand over the plush, and sigh out in relief when the child’s caretaker finally realizes what’s going on. 

“Thank you,” the man says behind you, his voice so deep you feel it vibrating in your bones.

“Anytime.”

“My name…” You turn back, too aware of yourself and him, the space between you and the space around you and- “is Aone.”

“Hi,” you swallow again. He bows. His hair looks soft, like fluffy clouds on a summer day. 

When he comes back up you can see a clear question in his eyes and you find yourself telling him your name without meaning to.

“I need to get to work,” he points out and you straighten. 

“Right, yes, me too.”

To make it even more awkward you keep walking in the same direction for five more minutes only to realize that your office is right across from the construction company he walks into.

-

Every single morning when you step onto the train he’s standing in the middle of the train compartment, leaving the seats for others to take.

Every single morning you take the handle closest to his - without being too close - and try to stare out the window.

It’s nice, not talking. 

You’re not shy, per se, you’ve just always preferred silence.

If only you could keep your eyes on something else things would be perfectly fine.

But you can’t.

It starts with his hair, perfectly dishevelled and different every time you see him.

Today he’s got the faintest hint of a cowlick on his left side. Your hand has reached out before you’ve realized, tucking the rebelling strand behind his ear.

He smiles, just a minute twitch of his lips, but it leaves your knees a little wobbly.

His arms are nice too, thick with muscle, tensing ever so slightly when the train’s coming to a stop and you’re both rattled where you’re standing.

But you like his eyes the best, how expressive they can be even when scowling.

“You good?” You ask quietly when he twitches, looking off to the side for a second. 

He nods, but it doesn’t look convincing. 

“You sure?” 

“Headache,” he explains, stepping to the side when someone walks past. 

The guy, barely older than you, ill-fitting business suit and messy workfolder telling you more than enough, still manages to tumble into Aone.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going,” he asks, tone sharp. Aone’s face twitches again, and a part of your brain tells you that the lound voice probably isn’t helping his headache, but you’ve already started talking.

“Tell that yourself, you mole.”

“Hah?!” He turns to you, clearly surprised someone’s talking back at you.

“Yeah, I was talking to you, you asshat. We’ve been standing here, minding our business for half an hour. It’s not our problem you went out drinking last night and only realized this morning that your presentation isn’t ready yet.”

He pales, stutters something unintelligible and presses his work folder against his chest, almost tripping over his feet when the doors open and he’s pushed toward the exit.

“Sorry,” you turn back to Aone who’s looking at you with a question in his eyes. “I hate guys like this.”

“You can be very mean,” he points out, but he doesn’t sound scandalized. It’s more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you agree, not willing to apologize for it, “I know my face doesn’t fit my tone but that’s not my fault, is it?”

“No.” He smiles again but it’s gone in a heartbeat when a rather sharp stop rattles the two of you again. He’s clearly in pain.

“Do you want to sit?” You ask, pointing your chin at a single free seat at the window. “I know a trick. I’d have to touch the back of your neck though.”

Aone hesitates for a second before he nods. “Alright.”

You follow him to the seat, let him sit down before you step directly in front of him. It’s a little less crowded over here, the older gentleman on his left and the teenage girl on his right absorbed in their phones. 

“Can you hold me?” You ask, voice low. “I’ll use both hands to press into your pressure points so I can’t hold onto the handrails.”

His hands, warm and large and strong, take a hold of your hips and you swallow thickly.

“Lean your head forward. You can rest it against my belly, I don’t mind.”

It’s like that, his temple pressed into your belly, your fingertips digging into the warm, soft skin on his neck, wisps of his hair caressing your skin, that you realize a thing you should have noticed weeks ago: You want him.

You could have stayed like this forever, held up in place by his strong arms while giving back the only thing you can give at the moment. 

But your stop arrives sooner than you want it to and even though you take your time smoothing your hand over his head, a gesture too loving for the short time you know each other, you have to take a step back.

-

There’s something in his eyes that you cannot translate and not enough time to keep looking.

You have to get to work and he has to get to his.

Your stomach is filled with a fizzy warmth and you wonder if it’d be too forward to take his hand.

Aone stops you right where your ways part, one hand on your shoulder.

You can tell that he’s working on the words, mouth not yet moving the way he wants it.

“Aone,” you say, swallowing the nerves, leaving the words on your tongue. “Go out with me? Please?”

His lips twitch into a smile, the biggest you’ve seen on him so far. He nods and moves as if to bow only to press his temple against yours. 

It’s oddly endearing.

Oh…

-

“Visitor!” Someone yells when you open the door to the Gym. 

You’re wearing a pair of kitten heels that you love, the clasp the most annoying thing and you’re not willing to bend down and open them just to walk barefoot on the dirty gym floor, so you stay where you are, in the open door.

Takanobu’s at the other end of the wide space, listening to a guy. From here it’s hard to tell but the way he’s leaning in you’d say he’s agreeing with him.

“Are you looking for someone?” A guy you don’t know comes over. “We usually don’t have visitors as pretty as you.”

“I’d call that a skill issue,” you tell him plainly, “I’m just waiting for Takanobu. But I’m a little early, so all’s good.”

“Aone?” He blinks in rapid succession. “Why?”

You give him your best unimpressed stare. It doesn’t succeed. Damn your sweet features.

“Aone?” Someone asks from the other side of the Gym. You look over to see him jogging toward you.

You can’t help but start smiling, lips pulling upward despite the long day pulling on your limbs.

“Hey,” he doesn’t pull you in, knowing well how much you hate being hugged when he’s all sweaty. But he presses his temple against yours in the sweetest - and sweatiest - greeting. His nose taps against yours too and you can almost read the “Boop” in his eyes.

“I’m going to be ready in a minute,” he promises, “Do you wanna sit down?”

“I don’t want to take off my shoes,” you explain, “It’s no big deal.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but another voice cuts him off.

“Aone? Who’s that?”

Takanobu turns, mouth working with no words coming out yet again. You haven’t been dating for long and you wonder if this is the first time he gets to introduce you as his girlfriend. 

You give him a second to gather himself but when still no words come out, you realize he’s fighting a losing battle, overthinking instead of speaking.

“You must be new,” you address the guy instead, “I’m his girlfriend.”

“Girl-” his jaw is open, “Friend?”

“Yes, yes, I know you’re unfamiliar with that term, but they exist, don’t worry. Now, if you’d be so nice and get going? We were having a moment here.”

Takanobu touches your shoulder slightly, just a soft touch of his fingertips but you can already feel yourself relax under it, tension slipping off like a too big coat.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, “I didn’t mean it like that. Long day.”

“Ah,” he chuckles nervously, “I get that. Umm, I’ll get going then. See you around, I guess?”

-

“Cat’s don’t like me,” you explain when Takanobu holds up the tabby he just lured down from the tree. “I’d rather not come closer. I don’t like getting scratched.”

The kitten doesn’t even look that mean, at least from this far away. 

She enjoys the strength of his arms just as much as you do, rubbing her small head against his chin in a way that’s making you jealous… of the cat.

Takanobu holds out his hand, luring you in just like he’d done with the cat minutes before.

You sigh, stepping a little closer. You don’t want to spook the kitten.

His hand takes yours as soon as you’re close enough, bringing it up - to press a kiss against your knuckles.

Heat floods your face, warmth spreading through your body. He smiles that tiny smile you’d almost miss if you didn’t look right and leads your fingertips to gently pat the kittens head. She purrs into the touch.

You’re still warm and tingly all over by the time the kitten finally decides it’s time to head home - you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have dropped her on his own any time soon - and your hand is warm and safe in his hold as you walk on, enjoying the silence together.

“Do you have cats?” You ask when the restaurant - you picked tonight’s spot - is coming into view.

He shakes his head.

“Do you want cats?”

He nods.

“Dogs too?” His hand twitches around yours and you smile.

“I draw the line at three pets, okay? And we need at least one that likes me too - and I mean, without you meddling.”

Takanobu stops on the middle of the sidewalk, eyes full of a question you don’t need translating. 

He closes his eyes when you bring your other hand to his cheek, curls into the touch just like the kitten had. You love him. You love him. You love him.

The truth hammers around your head with the beat of your heart. 

All you need to do is tell him.

And you’re not even scared. 

But words have never been your language, you think, and get on your tiptoes to reach his lips.

And it’s no surprise, no great revelation. Kissing Takanobu is like loving Takanobu, like knowing him and touching him and longing for him. 

It’s warm and strong and safe… and quiet.

But you’ve always liked Silence more.

-

“You’re late,” a voice calls out when you step into the Izakaya, Takanobu’s hand on your shoulder as he walks in right behind you.

“No, you’re just early,” you point out, “Didn’t know you were so eager to meet me.”

“Not you, just Aone,” the guy sticks his tongue out at you and you turn slightly.

“Futakuchi?” You ask and Takanobu nods.

“No fighting,” someone with fluffy black hair calls out from the other side. “Moniwa,” Takanobu explains before you can ask. 

Moniwa seems to realize just a second later, almost throwing his glass off the counter.

“Hey! You made it.”

You immediately tense when he widens his arms as if to hug you. Takanobu steps in front of you, arms outstretched like a traffic policeman. You can’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay,” you tell your boyfriend, taking his hand, “Introduce us, huh?”

So he does, using as little words as possible.

“How did that happen?” Futakuchi leans into your space, just far enough away not to touch you. You appreciate it. “Did he scare you into dating him?”

Takanobu bristles slightly and you squeeze his hand.

“Actually it was the other way around.”

“She bites,” Takanobu jokes. You snort but it takes his old team about half a minute to realize that their friend just used humor for the first time.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Futakuchi drawls and you nod, sending him a sweet smile.

“Don’t worry, even the Titanic had some people on board. There’s still hope for you.”

His face falls when he realizes what you meant. 

-

It’s pretty late when you step back into the cool air again, the alcohol coursing through your system keeping you warm. 

Takanobu’s steps have gotten slower, the alcohol clearly even affecting him. The week must have started catching up with him too and you squeeze his hand a little tighter in yours, telling him without words that you know and you understand.

“Want to take an Uber?” You ask, “I think we could splurge a little today.”

He hesitates for a second before he nods. You pull your phone out, quick to navigate through the app.

“Five minutes,” you tell him, directing him to a small bench, “Let’s sit down until then.”

“What did you think?” Takanobu asks, leaning into you. “Of your friends? They’re nice. They don’t ask too many questions, I like that.”

“Futakuchi does.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay when he does it,” you think out loud, “He’s one of this annoying-charming people. He’d loose all his charm if he stopped being annoying.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” He takes your hand, presses his lips against one knuckle after the other, “Or you can tell him yourself.”

“You know,” you say after a moment of Silence, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, fingertips following the curve of it down to his neck, caressing the slight stubble that’s forming on his chin. “When we get home I’ll tuck you in.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I could spoon you too, you know. Be the big spoon this time.”

“The big spoon?” His eyes are closed now, a private little smile on his lips. 

“Well, how else am I going to be able to press hundred kisses onto these strong shoulders?” You ask, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a little shy. 

His eyes don’t open, his smile doesn’t move but his hand squeezes yours, one, two, three times.

He’s never needed much words to tell you what he wants to say.

I. Love. You.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[eyedrateanatomy]

IM CRYIGN

out of context shit i wrote on discord

[londondungeon2]

went to the doctor and came back with the test results on jade leech. (headcanons/exploration from canon)

1. doesn’t like strong scents and stays away from most colognes/perfumes. if he is going out to a certain high-quality function, he might wear body mists or perfume oils to give off a certain air of maturity. finds anything heavier than those two alternatives gives him a migraine. a book that would interest yet disgust him is perfume: the story of a murder by patrick süskind.

1.2. despite the constant ‘i must cut off my nose if i smell anything stronger than a candle’ feeling he carries with him, he really does enjoy the plain smell of his loved ones. just a whiff of floyd or azul’s sweat and his own tension melts away. would bury his nose in their neck throughout the day for a quick refresher if he wasn’t so guarded around the public’s eye.

2. picked up his potionology expertise from azul. when they were kids, they often brewed potions together to give certain ‘poor unfortunate souls’ their end of the bargain when azul’s UM was still underdeveloped. azul was always a little bitter his potions never turned out as flawless as jade’s and jade is aware of this sentiment.

3. is known to take strolls around campus after hours and often finds himself caught in conversation with the ghosts in the portraits. during the daytime, jade will exchange a few pleasantries with them — which does not make sense to azul or floyd because he’s never interacted with them before?? how are they on such good terms?? jade likes to keep them both in the dark for how the relationship between him and the portrait ghosts was fostered.

3.2. speaking on his strolls, jade often spies malleus doing the same thing yet has yet to make conversation with the young prince. it is not out of fear but rather respect for knowing when one is enjoying their peace. jade often regards malleus with the sentiment of most teenage girls have for their favorite characters: i need to put him under a microscope.

4. his first meal with mushrooms added (lets place him around first year, after winter break) made him violently sick. it was one that he had picked on his own during a night walk, and he added it into a soup because he has seen (yet not tried) those served in the cafeteria like so. due to them being so poorly undercooked, it caused major gastric problems for him. since then, he’s been enthralled and smitten with fungi <3

4.2. speaking on the note of him being sick, i imagine he really enjoys the sensation. now! he doesn’t purposely get sick, that would ruin the ‘authenticity’ of it. but he enjoys the feeling of his body under the weather, something different from the normal 98.0 Fahrenheit, somehow a virus has slipped through his clean and disinfected body and that’s exhilarating.

5. his hair bounces up and has cowlicks in it exactly like floyd’s does. he takes to gently combing and gelling down those in the morning, but when he takes off his octavinelle hat, some will resurface over time. every time floyd goes to ruffle his hair, his wrist is swiftly caught and squeezed by a gloved hand.

6. is known to like quiet, dark, and cold places. it is hard to find such places in a college like night raven but mostro lounge’s walk-in freezer has all THREE of these attributes. has on more than one occasion scared an employee because he sits in the corner, doing homework in the pitch-black dark, and all they can see is the light from his left eye. his reputation keeps anyone from seeing this as odd rather than sinister.

7. is most certainly lying about his UM. always the wolf in sheep’s clothing, he likes to be seen as helpless and he adores being underestimated. sniffle sniffle poor me, my UM only works on one person at a time sniffle sniffle and it is not even a guaranteed thing.

8. has a vigorous appetite and enjoys a wide variety of foods, but has found his favorite fruit to be oranges. he enjoys the sensation of opening them and peeling slice by slice. additionally, vitamin C promotes healthy blood vessel function which works well for a jade with POTS, a headcanon siphoned off this ao3 work.

9. since he does not have the perfect memory like his twin brother, he takes to writing down information about the student body in multiple folders. is always on the lookout for new information and slipping secrets that people whisper in the hallways.

9.2. sometimes gets distracted listening in on other people’s conversation if a topic piques his interest. if he is in a conversation with another person while this happens, he turns it on them, maybe you weren’t paying attention to him … how rude of you.

10. homestretch … last headcanon … [pukes blood and dies before i can say it]