#cooper dejean

[gisellaaa]

GO BIRDS DHEAD

pairing — Cooper DeJean x Actress!Reader

synopsis — a social media au where cooper thirsts over his celebrity girlfriend.

warnings — social media au. other than that nothing.

requested — yes!

liked by cooperdejean, madelyncline, and 2.4M others!

yourusername yeah I said go birds dickhead at the conclusion of my academy award speech. no I’m not sorry. had to support even from the stage.

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madelyncline HAHA I cracked up, she loves that boy so much she’s gettin fined for cussing on stage.

— yourusername had to. I had to.

cooperdejean absolutely ridiculously hard performance in the substance. my girl on her willpower !!

— yourusername GOOOO BIRDSSSS

user1 wait… she’s an actress and is also with my white boy of the month??? Yeah I knew I loved her for a reason.

user2 THE SUBSTANCE WAS SO FUCKING GOODNYOU DESERVED RHIS IVE BEEN WIRH YOU SINXE OBX SEASON 1

drewstarkey Congratulations!!! You absolutely deserve this. Just don’t forget about your favorite cast pls…

— yourusername as if I’d ever forget my obx babies omg

Liked by yourusername, reedblankenship, and 206K others!

cooperdejean yes I won the superbowl on my birthday but my girl just won an academy award and that’s more important.

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reedblankenship ur girl #1 Super Bowl #2… great priorities, absolutely amazing priorities.

— cooperdejean she’s literally more famous than me.

yourusername BABYBOYYYY IS A SUPER BOWL CHAMP 💚

yourusername dominating as a rookie, wow. what an absolute unit.

— cooperdejean does this mean I get a week off of doing the dishes???

— yourusername no💚!

user1 HAPPY BIRTHDAY COOPER DEJEAN UR NOT A SAFETY

user2 cooperdejeanisnotasafety. hesjustacornerwhowilllockdownyournumberone.

— yourusername I’ve played that TikTok for him like 15x tonight.

[the-offside-rule]

Cooper DeJean (Philadelphia Eagles) - Studious

Requested: yes (just in time for college starting back up)

Prompt: this ask

Warnings: none

Y/n had a reputation. Not just as Cooper DeJean’s girlfriend, but as the college student WAG who somehow balanced her coursework with every NFL Sunday. By now, fans were almost as excited to see what she wore to the stadium as they were to see the Eagles hit the field. Chic blazers in autumn, sleek trousers in winter, silk blouses tucked into skirts in spring—all with some subtle nod to Philadelphia. Emerald earrings, forest-green nails, or that one belt with the polished silver buckle in the shape of an eagle’s wing. She made it look effortless.

But this Sunday? Y/n was tired.

She tossed her pen down onto her open notebook and rubbed her temple. Three essays, two exams this week, and a research paper. No way she was strutting into the stadium like it’s fashion week today.

"Babe?" Cooper leaned against the doorframe, already in part of his Eagles gear, watching her. "You still working? We’ve gotta head out in like twenty."

"I know, I know." She sighed and swiveled in her chair to look at him. She had been staring at the open closet like it had personally wronged her in between needing study breaks. Normally, pre-game prep was fun—picking out chic trousers in just the right shade of green, matching them with a sleek coat, maybe even her little silver eagle earrings. But today? Today, she felt like she’d rather curl up in sweats and do nothing. Cooper leaned against the doorframe, already in his team gear, arms folded across his chest with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "You’ve been glaring at your clothes for twenty minutes." He said. "What did they do to you?"

"They exist." Y/n muttered, tugging on her ponytail. "I don’t feel like dressing up today. I know people expect me to show up looking like I’m about to walk a runway, but I just want sweatpants, maybe your hoodie, and some mascara so I don’t look dead." Cooper raised his brows, clearly amused. "Sweatpants? At the stadium? You?"

"What?" She defended, standing up. "Is there a law against girlfriends dressing like actual college students once in a while? I just don’t have the energy to plan an outfit today." He looked her up and down almost with pity. "Don’t get me wrong." He chuckled, pushing off the doorframe to come closer. "I think you’d look good in a trash bag. Just… you know the cameras are always looking for you now. They’ll probably be confused." Y/n smirked, tugging open his closet. "Good. Let them be confused. I can't get distracted by cameras and stuff today." She pulled out one of his oversized Eagles hoodies, the light grey one with the crisp logo across the chest, and held it up. "This one’s mine for today." He watched her pull it over her head. "That’s my lucky hoodie."

"Since when do you have a lucky hoodie?" She scoffed. "Since you started wearing it." Y/n’s head snapped up, narrowing her eyes. "You've noticed?" She asked. "Notice? You think I haven’t been wondering where my favorite hoodie disappeared to last week? Or my beanie?" Y/n grinned sheepishly. "Well, its not yours anymore." She teased, pulling her hair free from the collar and tying the sleeves loosely around her shoulders so it looked almost intentional. Then she grabbed her grey sweats and a fitted black bodysuit, balancing comfort with some structure. A sweep of mascara and tinted lip balm was all she could muster before shoving her laptop and notepad into her leather purse. "Damn, you look fine." He said, prompting a twirl from his girlfriend. "You are incredibly biased, though."

"Yeah, but I’m also incredibly right." He reached for her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Wear whatever makes you feel good. It’s a game, not a fashion show. Though, full disclosure, I do like when you wear my hoodie." Cooper said as he leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, shaking his head with a grin. "You’re really about to cause chaos out there, you know that?" Y/n shrugged, slipping on her sneakers. "Chaos is part of the job description, isn’t it? Besides, I’m still bringing my laptop and notes. Some poor fan will snap a picture of me doing econ problems while you’re on defense and it’ll go viral. Outfit doesn’t even matter."

The second they stepped out of the car and walked toward the stadium, the familiar hum of camera shutters started. Y/n felt Cooper’s hand brush against hers before settling at the small of her back, guiding her toward the players’ entrance. "Y/n! What’s the outfit today?" One photographer called. Another shouted, "Sweatpants, really? That’s the fit?" Cooper lowered his voice, leaning close enough for only her to hear. "Told you they’d be confused." Y/n bit back a laugh. "Wait until they realize I’ve got your hoodie on. Half of Philly is gonna want to buy this exact one." That made Cooper grin. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Bit of both." She teased, and they both broke into giggles just as another cameraman shouted. "What’s so funny?" He said. "It’s an inside joke!" Y/n called back, waving them off. Cooper just shook his head, still smiling. At the players’ tunnel, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Alright, same as always. Don't drive yourself crazy, enjoy the game, I love you." She smiled, standing on her toes to kiss him quickly. "M'kay. Love you too."

Inside the suite, it was routine for Y/n. "Hey, Charlie." She said warmly as she passed the guest list stand. "Afternoon, Y/n." Charlie greeted, checking her in like always. She continued down the hall, stopping by the snack stand. "Hi, Tom.C

"Good to see you, Y/n. You want your usual?" He asked, already reaching for the trail mix, m&m's and pretzels. "Please." She said with a grateful smile before heading into the DeJean family suite. The space had become her little sanctuary and for good reason too. Cooper decided to implement rules to the suite whenever Y/n was around; no shouting or screaming unless there's a touchdown. Yes you could talk, but don't be too loud.

She set her purse down on the same chair she always claimed, unpacking her tools of war: the six pastel highlighters, her battered but reliable laptop, her thick notepad already covered in notes from the week, and her favorite pen. She lined them up with precision, the same way she did in her campus library. She whipped out her phone to reply to her mom, but instead saw she had been mentioned in a lot of instagram and twitter posts.

|| User304 She’s a real one. Homework at the game?? Queen.

|| eagleswagfan forget designer fits, THIS is the move. She’s just like us but better.

|| coopdejean101 The hoodie. The sweats. The multitasking. I’m obsessed.

|| User101 She’s literally in sweats and still better dressed than me on my best day.

|| User836 Normalize showing up comfy to support your man. Queen behavior.

|| dejeanfan This is peak real-college-girl lifestyle and I’m obsessed.

Y/n smiled, then tucked her phone away and went about her routine like muscle memory. Before settling in, she returned to Tom to fill her water bottle, then made her way back to her seat. She pulled her special glasses from the case, blue-light frames to save her eyes from the glow of her screen, and pushed them up the bridge of her nose. Within minutes, she was exactly where she wanted to be: tucked away, hoodie snug, laptop glowing, pen tapping lightly against paper as the stadium buzzed outside.

By the time the first whistle blew, she was leaned back in her chair, typing away—hoodie tied casually around her shoulders, sweatpants tucked into her sneakers—looking like she could ace an exam and watch a football game at the same time.

The game buzzed on, the crowd loud enough to rattle the glass walls of the suite. Y/n was hunched over her laptop, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands as she highlighted a passage in neon pink. Every so often, the roar of the stadium broke her concentration.

Then, midway through the second quarter, the cameras panned across the crowd, searching for the usual sideline stars and family suite reactions.

And then—her.

The feed cut to Y/n, sitting cross-legged in her seat with her laptop propped open, pen tapping against her notepad. The hoodie sleeves draped over her shoulders, her blue-light glasses catching a glint of stadium light. She looked up only when she heard the crowd’s sudden change in noise—the soft, amused cheer that swept around the stadium. Her face filled the jumbotron.

"Oh, God." She muttered, immediately pushing a hand through her hair with a nervous smile. With nowhere to hide, she gave the crowd a little wave, cheeks heating up as she mouthed, hi.

On the sideline, Cooper had been in his bubble—helmet off, towel around his neck, eyes scanning the field for the next play—until one of his teammates nudged him hard in the arm. "Bro, look!" Cooper blinked, following the pointing finger up toward the jumbotron. And there she was. His girl. Hoodie draped around her, glasses perched on her nose, smiling like she had no clue the whole stadium had fallen in love with her at that exact second. And his grin spread slowly, not the cocky kind, not the playful kind he usually wore, but soft. Like he’d just fallen for her all over again.

The cameras, quick to catch a reaction, cut from Y/n’s shy wave to Cooper’s expression on the sideline. The stadium erupted again, some fans laughing, others cheering louder than before. Y/n glanced up at the screen, realizing what had just happened. Her heart gave a little squeeze as she saw Cooper’s grin magnified across the stadium.

On instinct, she lifted her hand, blowing him a kiss from her seat. Down below, Cooper, without hesitation, waved up at the suite and returned the kiss. Even though he could barely see her face through the lights and glass, he knew she was doing the same.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The game wrapped, and the stadium slowly emptied, but Y/n kept to her little routine. She packed her laptop away, capped her highlighters, and tucked her glasses back into their case before slinging her purse over her shoulder. By the time she made her way outside the players’ tunnel, the night air was cool against her cheeks.

A small crowd of fans was gathered near the barricades, waiting for autographs, photos, and just one more glimpse of their favorite players. When they spotted her, the volume rose instantly.

"Y/n! We saw you on the jumbotron!"

"You’re gorgeous, girl!"

"Fit of the season, hands down!"

Y/n laughed, cheeks warming as she lifted a hand in a wave. "Thank you! You’re all too sweet." She said, genuinely touched. A few people even shouted encouragement about her schoolwork, which made her grin even wider. "I’ll try to ace my exams for you guys, too!"

The security team shifted slightly as the players began filtering out, but the crowd’s cheers surged when Cooper finally appeared. Helmet tucked under his arm, hair still damp from the shower, he spotted Y/n instantly. Without hesitation, he made his way straight to her. "Hey, you." He said softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her lips, the kind that said I missed you, even though you were just a few hundred feet away the whole time. The crowd behind them erupted—half cheering, half awww-ing.

Y/n smiled up at him, nudging his side as they started walking toward the car together. "You know, you stole the show on that jumbotron." She said. "Me?" smirked, tightening his grip around her waist. "Pretty sure you’re the one everyone’s still talking about." She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "Whatever you say, Coop."

[lap90]

The Breakup, The Touchdown & The Shade - LN1

served with: lando norris x fem!ex!reader x cooper dejain x fem!reader chef's note: Lando wins. Cooper stays. And Y/N finds herself somewhere in between closure and something real. Because sometimes, letting go isn’t loud. Sometimes, it looks like eye contact across a garage, a quiet “take care,” and finally choosing not to look back.

note: I was asked for a second part to this smau, sorry for the delay 🤭 but I'm catching up on the requests xx

part 1

replies:

a - username COOPER DEJEAN AND Y/N BOREANAZ AT THE AFTER PARTY???

b - username lando norris somewhere punching the air

c - username bro won the super bowl AND the girl 😭

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comments:

user1 she looks happier tho

user2 lando fumbled idc

user3 THIS IS SO FAST???

userr4 cooper looks down BAD already

- one week later

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imdboreanaz

liked by ynboreanaz, cooperdejean, user1 and others

imdboreanaz always got your back kid.

user1 DAD APPROVES???

user2 oh it’s serious serious

user3 cooper better behave 😭

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ynboreanaz

liked by user1, friend1, cooperdejean and others

ynboreanaz next chapter :)

comments disabled

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replies:

a - username why is bro at a formula 1 race 😭

b - username oh this is about to be messy

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celebritiestoday

liked by user1, user2, user3 and others

celebritiestoday Y/N Boreanaz and Cooper Dejean arriving togheter at the Miami GP today 👀

user1 oh she BROUGHT him

user2 lando is about to see this 💀

user3 this is so intentional idc

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tiktok

clip: Cooper, making your way through the crowd, protecting you

comments:

user1 the way he stays close to her 🥺

user2 green flag energy idc

user3 lando never did that…

-

The paddock was defined by its restless hum—the frantic clip of footsteps, the sharp crackle of team radios, and a polyglot blur of a dozen different languages. But today, the air felt heavy. Weighted.

Your fingers were laced with Cooper’s, his thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles against your skin as you wove through the maze of motorhomes and camera crews. He looked relaxed, but you knew him better than that; he was dialed in, his eyes scanning the crowd with a protective instinct that was quiet, never loud.

"You sure you’re okay?" he murmured, leaning his head toward yours to catch your ear.

"Yeah," you lied softly, a small, fragile smile playing on your lips. "It’s just… strange, being back."

You didn’t have to explain why.

As you rounded the corner of the hospitality unit, the world seemed to sharpen. You stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was. Lando Norris.

He was mid-sentence, talking to a mechanic, until his gaze shifted. He saw you. Time didn’t stop, but it certainly staggered.

Cooper didn’t let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightened—not out of possessiveness, but as an anchor. He had seen this coming. Lando muttered something to his team and started toward you. Every step was measured. Controlled.

That was worse than if he had been angry.

"Hey," Lando said as he reached you, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Casual. Dangerously casual.

"Hi," you replied.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Cooper gave a slight, respectful nod of his head. "Man."

Lando nodded back, his jaw tight. "Yeah."

Another pause. Dense. Lando’s eyes flickered down for a fraction of a second—just long enough to register your intertwined fingers—before snapping back to your face.

"So… you came back."

"It’s my life, too," you said, your voice steadier than you expected.

Something shifted in his expression. It wasn't anger; it was something far more complicated. Tragic, almost.

"Yeah. I know."

Cooper remained silent, but his presence was a physical weight. Firm. Unshakable.

"Is he treating you well?" Lando asked suddenly, shifting his gaze directly to Cooper. It wasn't an accusation, but it wasn't a friendly check-in either. It was a challenge wrapped in a question.

Cooper held his stare without a hint of hesitation. "Yeah. I am."

No ego. No provocation. Just a simple, devastating truth.

Lando let out a short, breathy laugh through his nose, looking at the ground for a heartbeat. "Good."

Then, his voice dropped an octave, turning raw. "She deserves that."

That caught you off guard. It didn't sound like a throwaway comment; it sounded like a confession. You looked up at him, expecting resentment, but found only a profound, exhausted kind of affection. The kind that doesn't just disappear because the relationship ended.

"Lando…" you started.

He gave a small, weary shake of his head. "No, it’s okay." He took a deep breath, looking around at the frantic energy of the paddock as if trying to reconnect with reality. "I just—… I wasn’t ready to see it like this."

You squeezed Cooper’s hand. "I didn’t plan it like this either."

"Yeah," Lando nodded, a faint, ironic ghost of a smile appearing. "None of us did."

For a moment, the noise of the F1 world faded. There were no cameras, no standings, no PR filters. Just an uncomfortable, necessary truth.

Lando took a step back. "Anyway… I’ve got a race." He tried to sound light, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. Before turning, he looked at you one last time. It was a different look than the ones he used to give you. It felt like a closing chapter.

"Take care, yeah?"

"Always," you whispered.

He gave Cooper a final, sharp nod and then he was gone, swallowed by the sea of people as the paddock reclaimed him.

You finally let out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "…Wow," you breathed.

Cooper let out a soft, low chuckle. "Yeah." He still hadn't let go of your hand. He turned to you, his eyes searching yours with genuine concern. "You okay?"

You looked at him—really looked at him—and nodded. "Yes." And for the first time since the breakup, you meant it.

Cooper brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering, distracted kiss to your knuckles. "Let's go."

This time, as you walked away, you didn't look back.

-

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ynboreanaz

liked by friend1, cooperdejean, imdboreanaz and others

ynboreanaz miami, always a pleasure. thanks @/mercedesamgf1 xx

cooperdejean miami looks good on you

user1 oh he’s EARLY early 😭

user1 the white outfits??? they’re SICKENING

user2 soft launch turned HARD launch real quick

eagles smiling DIFFERENT lately 👀

user3 that third pic??? power couple energy

friend1 MOTHER

friend2 THE WALKING PIC??? like a movie

user4 cooper liking in 0.2 seconds 😭 DOWN BAD

cooperdejean she deserves the best, that’s all user1 OH HE SAID WHAT HE SAID

-

The garage didn’t just echo; it vibrated.

It wasn't just the physical noise—though it was there in the crackle of the headsets, the heavy thud of tires being stacked, and the frantic blur of mechanics in motion. It was something deeper. A static tension that crawled under your skin and settled in your chest.

You stood with your arms tightly crossed, trying to project a mask of professional calm. You weren't succeeding.

Beside you, Cooper watched the screens with a focused intensity. Every few seconds, his shoulder would brush against yours—a subconscious check-in, a silent way of making sure you were still anchored to the floor.

"Is that him?" he asked, nodding toward one of the onboard cameras.

You nodded. You didn’t need to see the name on the graphics. You knew the tilt of the helmet, the aggressive line he took through the corners, the way he squeezed every millisecond out of the apex as if nothing else in the world existed.

"Yeah," you whispered. Lando Norris. You didn't say the name out loud, but it was written in the air between you.

The radio crackled in the background:

“Push, push, push—you’re gaining! Gap is down to zero-point-eight.”

On the telemetry screen, the numbers began to bleed into each other as they dropped.

0.6, 0.4 Your breath hitched, syncing perfectly with the digits.

"Jesus," Cooper murmured, almost to himself. "He’s insane."

There was no jealousy in his voice. Only a raw, professional respect. That was the hardest part—Cooper wasn't looking for a reason to dislike him. He just saw the brilliance.

As the race bled into the final laps, the garage transformed into a hive of controlled chaos. Strategy calls were barked over the noise, and the air grew thick with the scent of hot rubber and adrenaline. But the world had narrowed down to a single screen for you.

You watched the black and papaya car dive-bomb into the interior. It was late. It was desperate. It was perfect.

"He's going for it," Cooper said, turning his head to catch your eyes for a split second.

You didn't need to answer. You knew. You had always known that when Lando drove like that, he wasn't just chasing a trophy—he was running away from something. Or toward it.

Everything happened in a blur of high-speed frames. An attempt. A defense. Another lunge.

And then—he made it.

The overtake was clean, but there was a frantic energy to it. It looked like he had put more than just championship points into that maneuver. It looked like an exorcism.

The garage erupted. Mechanics were shouting, fists were slamming onto desks in celebration, and a roar went up that drowned out the engines.

But you remained perfectly still. On the screen, the car crossed the line. P1. Cooper let out a short, incredulous laugh. "No way—"

He cut himself off when he looked at you. You weren't cheering. You were just… processing.

Lando stayed in the car for a long time after he parked it. Even with the helmet on, you didn’t need to see his face to know his state of mind. You knew the way his shoulders rose and fell. You knew the way he sat perfectly still, absorbing the silence inside the cockpit before facing the cameras.

It wasn't just a win. It was a release.

"Hey," Cooper’s voice was softer now, cutting through the celebration around you.

You turned to him. His eyes weren't on the podium celebrations on the screen anymore. They were entirely on you.

"Are you okay?"

The question wasn't a test. It wasn't an interrogation. It was an honest offer of a safe harbor.

You looked back at the screen one last time. You saw the weight of everything you had been—and everything you weren't anymore. Then you looked at Cooper.

You exhaled a breath you felt like you’d been holding for months. "Yeah," you said. And for the first time, the word felt solid. It didn't waver.

Cooper nodded slowly, as if he’d been waiting for that exact realization. His hand found yours again. He didn't squeeze it tight; he just held it. He was just there.

On the screen, Lando hoisted the trophy high, the spray of the champagne caught in the floodlights. The crowd screamed. The world kept spinning. And so did you.

You leaned your head against Cooper’s shoulder for a brief moment, letting the warmth of him ground you.

"He needed that," you murmured.

"Yeah," Cooper replied quietly. "And you needed this."

He didn't ask you to define what "this" was. He didn't have to. He understood that "this" was the end of the haunting.

When you finally looked up, you weren't caught in the transition between the past and the present anymore. You were just here. With someone who wasn't trying to outrun the world—just someone who wanted to walk through it with you.

For the first time, watching Lando Norris win didn't hurt. It just felt like a goodbye.

-

lando

liked by charles_leclerc, alex_albon, mclaren and others

lando we move forward, thanks mia🌴

user1 okay i’m crying now

charles_leclerc proud of you mate ❤️

alex_albon what a drive 👏

mclaren that’s our guy 🧡

user2 “we move forward” I’M NOT OKAY

user3 this is character development or a coping mechanism idk

user4 so we all agree this is the end of an era right

© 2025-2026 lap90. All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication, distribution, or modification of this content is strictly prohibited.

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🎞 tag list smau: @ghosties-dagger @berrnuu

[akimagies]

Rivals Turned Friends… or Maybe More than Friends?

Cooper Dejean x Pediatric Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: n/a

Summary: After three-straight losses, Cooper decided something that can pick his spirits back up is visiting the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. What he doesn’t expect to find is a sassy nurse that keeps him on his toes with every next comeback.

A/N: alright my first nfl!imagine… it may be a little rough but i’ve been toying at this idea for a while. kind of feel like i should make it a series lol! lemme know!!

           One of the top priorities that the Philadelphia Eagles had as an organization was giving back to their community. Whether it be through helping at nonprofit organizations that dealt with food insecure families and nonprofit children’s organization. All the way to the Eagles own ‘Eagles Autism Foundation’, the team cared about giving back. The thing that really hit home though for Cooper Dejean was visiting the Children Hospital of Philadelphia.

Walking into the children’s ward and visiting all the sick kids reminded him back of his Iowa days. The children’s hospital that looked right over his universities football field. The one he would visit with his teammates on a regular basis, just to brighten those kids’ days. Most importantly, of the tradition that the university did, the Hawkeye Wave. What is the Hawkeye wave? At the end of the first quarter, all the fans, coaches and players turn and wave to the patients and families that are in that very hospital that looks over their field.

When Cooper visits CHOP with his team, it helps to remind him of his roots. Of where he first started, up until now. It always gives him a little boost to his mood as well. Which was why he was walking in with some of the other Eagles defensive player right now. After a three-week losing streak, Cooper needed some positivity to help get his mind back into the game. Especially with a home game on the horizon.

“Dude, you need to wipe that pout off your face. We’re trying to make these sick kids happy, remember? Not even sadder than they are.” Reed said pushing Cooper’s shoulder a little bit.

“I know, I know. It’s exactly the reason why I’m here. To boost my mood by boosting these kids’ moods as well.” Cooper said, shrugging his shoulders as he put his hands into his sweatshirt’s pocket and started to walk around room to room.

Cooper and Reed had already been able to make a bunch of the patients’ days. Signing footballs for them to keep, sitting down, and talking to them. Not about how they were feeling or what they were experiencing, but by asking them silly little questions that brought smiles back onto these sick kids faces.

It wasn’t until the next room that Cooper’s spirit was really brought back to them. There was a little girl sitting on the bed. She couldn’t had been any older then 8, but you could watch what the girl was feeling based on the expressions on her face. First, you could tell that she was shocked to see them, and Cooper could tell she must be an Eagles fan. Based on the little trinkets in the room and the stuffed Swoop stuffed animal she had tucked under her arm. The next expression was almost a look of mischief, like she knew something that the two of them didn’t know.

“Oh! You two better get out of here before nurse y/n sees you! Or she’s gonna have some words to say!” the little girl said giggling.

“What? Are you not supposed to be having any visitors?” Cooper asked her as he quickly turned his head to the media team that was with them. Knowing that some rooms were listed as ones that they could not go in, due to children having immunocompromised immune systems. Yet, this one was one that they were allowed to go into.

“No! Not that silly! Miss y/n just isn’t an Eagles fan!” the little girl said laughing, and with the expression that now crossed her face. Cooper clearly knew that the nurse was walking in right behind them.

“What’s this about me not being an Eagles fan? Quinn! I thought we talked about not ratting me out with how diehard the fans are here!” y/n said as she quickly snuck into the room to check the little girl’s vitals. Cooper couldn’t help but stare at the nurse that was in front of him. How the light purple scrubs hugged her body just right, and how she looked so natural being in the sick child’s room, whose name he now knew was Quinn.

“You said not to! But I can’t lie to two Eagles players when they’re right in front of me! I need to protect them from all the bad juju you might try to cast on them!” Quinn exclaimed to her nurse, while y/n checked the little girl’s IV drip to make sure the measurements were appropriate for her.

“I’m not going to cast any bad juju on them like you think. Besides the team I like doesn’t even have another game against them this season.” y/n said to her patient as she sat down in the chair next to the girl’s bed. Allowing the girl to feel relaxed, as if this was just the two of them hanging out. Instead of standing over her to check her vitals and just looming over her.

“Oh yeah? And who might this team be that’s better than the Eagles for you to like them so much?” Cooper asked the nurse with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Did I say they were better than the Eagles? I don’t think those words came out of my mouth hotshot.” y/n said. Not even taking her eyes off Quinn, as she threw the little girl a smile.

“Nurse y/n is a New York Giants fan!” Quinn squealed with a laugh. Which caused the two defensive players to exaggerate their reactions.

“You can’t be!” Reed exclaimed, trying to hold back the laugh that wanted to come out of his body.

“That literally treason! You live in Philadelphia; it is your duty to root for the Eagles!” Cooper exclaimed. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard the laugh that rolled out of Quinn’s body. It made you forget that there was anything wrong with her. In this moment, she was just a normal girl laughing at two people bickering.

“It is not my duty to root for the Eagles at all!” y/n exclaimed.

“Yes, it is! If you live in Philly, you root for all of their teams… it’s in the rule book.” Cooper joked.

“Well, I grew up in New York into a Giants family.”

“The Giants are absolutely terrible this year! They literally are the first team in the NFL to be knocked out of playoff contention.”

“Hmm well the way I remember it, is that we were the first NFC East team to beat you guys… with our second-string quarterback in… rookie too I should add.” y/n said smirking over at Cooper while she took Quinn’s blood pressure.

“Yeah yeah yeah, well who won the Superbowl last year?” Cooper said to her smiling which just made y/n roll her eyes. “Oh, that’s right, the Eagles.”

“Okay big boy, talk to me again when you guys have as many Superbowl wins as the Giants. So go win two more and then you can talk to me again.” y/n said, smirking back at him before standing up from her seat. Cooper couldn’t help the flutters in his chest when he heard y/n call him big boy. “Alright Quinn, everything’s looking good. I’ll be back later to check in on you and give you your next round of medicine.” y/n told the little girl smiling before she walked out of the room.

Cooper and Reed stayed with Quinn for a little longer. Talking to the little girl for a few minutes before they went to visit some other kids. Yet, all while Cooper was visiting the other kids, Cooper could not stop thinking back to the snarky nurse that caught his attention. She seemed to keep him on his toes the whole conversation. He couldn’t help wanting to talk to her more, learn more about her.

While Cooper and Reed started to make their way to the elevator, Cooper say that y/n was standing by the desk filling out charts. He stopped walking and looked back over at Reed. “Hey, I’ll meet you down in the lobby.”

“Oooo, you’re gonna try to shoot your shot with that cute nurse, aren’t you?” Reed asked, smiling at his friend.

“Oh shut up, I’ll meet you downstairs.” Cooper said before turning back around and heading towards the desk. “So, I was wondering if I could possibly get your number. You know… so I can finally talk to you after we catch up to the Giants in Superbowl wins.” Cooper told her smiling. He knew if he didn’t try to get her number, he would be thinking about it for days, wondering what could have possibly happened.

Y/n rolled her eyes before closing her chart and looking up at the curly blonde guy that stood in front of her. “Alright, how about this proposition.” She started, crossing her arms, and leaning up against the desk. “You give me your number… and maybe if the Eagles win this Sunday against the Raiders, I’ll text you.”

“I’ll only agree if I can gift you and one of your friend’s tickets to the game. That way I can make sure you actually watched the game and know if you can text me or not.” Cooper said, following her stance and crossing his arms as well.

Y/n mulled over his proposition before letting out a huff. “Fine, and I’m only agreeing to this because I’m already off of work that day and I know my roommate will kill me if I pass on free tickets to the game.”

Cooper couldn’t help the smile that came over his face as he quickly found a spare piece of paper and quickly wrote down his number for her before passing it over. “Perfect! I’ll leave the tickets with will call at the stadium!” he said as he started to walk backwards towards the elevator. “Just give them my name! I’ll tell them the pretty pediatric nurse is picking them up!”

“You are absolutely crazy!” y/n exclaimed. Letting out a laugh when she watched Cooper bump into one of the Doctors who just came up onto the floor.

“I may be crazy, but I know what I want… and that’s to get to know the cute nurse that has awful taste in football team!” Cooper exclaimed before heading onto the elevator, giving y/n a slight wave as the doors closed.

When the elevator doors opened, Cooper saw Reed leaning against a pole. “So, did you get her number or what?” Reed asked.

“No-”

“No! Then what was the whole point of you going back to her.”

“Well, you didn’t let me finish! I didn’t get her number… but she got mine. Plus, I got her to agree to come to the game on Sunday.” Cooper said smiling.

“You sly dog! You better be able to get her to switch to being an Eagles fan if you even think about dating her. ‘Cause if you don’t… you are going to have some awkward games when we are playing against the Giants.” Reed said laughing as the two of them walked out of the hospital. Cooper feeling a bit lighter than when he walked in there.

[sevnszn]

cooper dejean headcanons

background: some headcanons for our favorite safety DB!

(all pics from pinterest, all rights reserved)

word count: 2.0k

notes: day 5/10 of the advent calendar here.

warning: this is a alternative universe, keep this in mind! fluff & no smut, written in lowercase, my thoughts about him.

At first, Cooper wasn’t great at making the first move. He noticed you long before he ever said anything. His friends caught him staring and nudged him about it, but he always brushed it off with a quiet, “Relax, I’m just looking.” Deep down? He was completely drawn to you, how you carried yourself, how you laughed, how people gravitated toward you without you trying.

He’s the type that doesn’t flirt loudly, he does it in small, meaningful ways. Bringing you your favorite drink without asking. Memorizing the exact way you like your fries seasoned. Standing a little too close whenever someone he doesn’t trust is talking to you. It’s subtle. But intentional.

He doesn’t like confrontation… unless it’s necessary. If someone crosses a line, Cooper doesn’t raise his voice, that almost makes it worse. He’ll tilt his head, eyes sharp and jaw tense, and quietly say something like,“I don’t think she asked for you to keep talking.” Everyone knows he means it.

He notices every detail, even the things you don’t. The way your hips sway when you walk. The curve of your waist under a shirt. How soft your thighs look when you sit. He doesn’t comment right away, he just memorizes. Sometimes you’ll catch him staring and his cheeks will flush a little before he mutters, “Can’t help it.”

He spoils you, but never loudly or for attention. A hoodie draped over the passenger seat because he knows you get cold. Extra snacks in his bag for you, notes like,This reminded me of you, even though you’re sweeter.

He loves seeing you in his clothes, and he will absolutely say something about it every time. The first time you wore his hoodie, he paused mid-sentence, eyes softening. “Yeah… you’re not getting that back.” If someone else notices and comments? He gets that proud, smug little half smile.

He’s the type who watches before he speaks. If you’re upset, he doesn’t immediately offer solutions, he listens. Sitting beside you, arm over your shoulders, thumb tracing slow circles into your arm. But his quiet voice saying “What can I do?”

He gets competitive when other guys try to impress you. If someone brags about something athletic? Cooper will quietly one up them, then walk back to you like nothing happened. And you’re just sitting there, trying not to laugh because he absolutely did that for your attention.

When he kisses you, it feels intentional. Always. He kisses your forehead when he's proud of you, your cheek when he's teasing, your jaw when he wants attention, your lips when he misses you, slow, warm, soft. And if someone tries to flirt with you while he’s nearby? Yeah… he’ll kiss you in a way that leaves zero question.

He loves when you wear his number. Jersey, hat, hoodie it doesn't matter. He’ll stare, smile, shake his head slightly like he can’t believe you’re his. “You look good in my number… but you look even better next to me.”

He loves slow mornings with you. Hoodie, messy hair, soft sunlight coming through the window while he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Don’t move yet… just stay like this.” His voice still gravelly from sleep.

He beams when someone calls you a couple. He tries to hide it, but his ears get a little red and he gives that small, proud smile, he’ll squeeze your hand a little tighter.

He saves pictures of you, not posed ones. The real ones. You laughing. You focused on cooking. You sleeping with your hair messy and face smushed into a pillow. If someone sees them and teases him, he just shrugs with zero embarrassment, “She looks cute. I don’t care.”

He notices every detail, even the things you don’t. The way your hips sway when you walk. The curve of your waist under a shirt. How soft your thighs look when you sit. He doesn’t comment right away, he just memorizes. Sometimes you’ll catch him staring and his cheeks will flush a little before he mutters, “Can’t help it.”

Touch is his automatic instinct. If you're standing next to him, his fingers slide around your waist. Not to guide you, just to feel you there. Thumb tracing the shape of your hip, palm flat against the warm material of your shirt. If you shift or move away even an inch, he pulls you right back without thinking.

Hoodies and jackets? He loves when they’re oversized on you. Not because they hide anything, but because he knows what’s underneath. He’ll look at you with that slow, lazy grin and say: “Only I know what that looks like.”

If you wear leggings, he’s done. Completely distracted. He’ll try to be normal, he really will, but his hand always ends up resting on your hip or lower back. His voice gets rougher when he talks to you on days like that. Sometimes he just shakes his head with a breathy laugh like you’re driving him insane, “You’re doing that on purpose.”

He loves lifting you. He’ll hook his hands under your thighs or your waist just to hear you squeak or laugh, and everytime? His voice gets soft and smug, “Told you. Light work.”

Your thighs are his weakness. He’ll rest his hand there while you’re sitting together, thumb drawing lazy little patterns. He squeezes gently sometimes, just to see you react. If someone else looks at you too long? His grip tightens, subtle but firm.

He loves when you curl up next to him. Head on his chest, leg slung over his, and he always runs his hand down your back, fingers stopping at your waist like it’s instinct. Sometimes he whispers, “You fit me so perfectly. It’s crazy.”

He takes his time looking, never rushed, never disrespectful. His gaze moves like he’s trying to memorize everything. And when you notice and ask what he’s staring at, he just shrugs and answers quietly: “You. Always you.”

If you’re insecure about ANYTHING, it genuinely bothers him. Not in anger, but in disbelief. He’ll cup your face gently, eyes soft but intense, “There’s nothing about you I’d change. Not one thing.” And he means it, absolutely, fully.

Back hugs are his favorite because he can hold everything at once. His arms wrap around your waist, chest pressed to your back, chin resting on your shoulder. He murmurs into your neck, “Mine.” Not possessive, just deeply certain.

When you dress up, he gets quiet. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, because you take his breath away. He’ll blink a few times, swallow, then finally whisper: “…holy hell.” And yes, he’s staring unapologetically.

He always has to touch you while he sleeps. His hand on your waist, your thigh thrown over his, palm resting low on your back, something. If you move? He moves with you, with his half asleep voice, “Don’t go far.”

When you laugh and your body shakes with it, he watches like he’s witnessing the most beautiful thing in the world. Soft smile, eyes full of warmth, voice low and honest, “God, you’re perfect.”

The idea hits him of a promise ring long before he acts on it. It happens one night when you’re sitting on the couch beside him, not talking, just doing your own things, you reading, him scrolling. You shift slightly and tuck your feet under his leg, like it’s instinct. He glances at you, sees the way you look and something in him just… solidifies.

He starts looking at rings secretly, and terribly. Reed catches him once, Cooper slams his phone face down like he just got caught doing something illegal. Reed raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. Interesting. Searching ‘promise rings that don’t look like engagement rings but kind of do’?” Cooper groans and threatens to walk out. Reed laughs and helps anyway.

He takes his time choosing the right one. He learns about the metals to the cuts of each ring. And he pays attention to what you wear, dainty gold? simple silver? minimal or sentimental? He finally picks one that reminds him of you, something timeless, nothing flashy, but meaningful. Something that whispers, not shouts.

His tells are obvious, and adorable. He keeps fidgeting with his pocket, he keeps looking at you like he wants to say something. His breathing gets deeper, slower, as if preparing for a speech, and you notice. He swallows, shakes his head softly: “Just… give me a second.”

When he finally talks, his voice isn’t perfectly steady but it’s real. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I know we’ve already talked about the future and what we want, but…” he pauses, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I want this to be something physical. Something you can see. Something that reminds you that I choose you, every day.”

He doesn’t kneel, not because it’s not serious, but because he wants to look you in the eyes, close and soft. He pulls out the small box and opens it slowly, watching your reaction more than the ring.

His voice drops low, all honesty, all emotion, “This isn’t a placeholder. And it’s not just some cute relationship thing. This is me promising I’m in this for real. You’re it for me.” There’s a slight tremble in his hands, not because he doubts, but because he cares so much it scares him.

He asks, gently, almost shyly, “Can I put it on you?” And when you nod, he slides it onto your finger with a slow, reverent touch, like you’re something fragile and priceless.

For days, weeks, and months, Cooper can’t stop staring at the ring on your finger. For when you talk, when you hold his hand, when you brush hair from your face Sometimes he catches himself admiring it mid conversation and you tease him. He just shrugs, “I like seeing my future on your hand.”

And the first time someone asks if you’re taken and you casually flash the ring? Cooper doesn’t even try to hide his grin. Quiet. Proud. Certain. “Yeah,” he says softly later, voice warm, “you’re mine.”

[diorsssss]

introducing . . . cooper dejean x gf!reader

you reminisce on your not-so-squeaky-clean journey to your relationship with coop. [NSFW +18]

“HOW DID WE MEET?”

it was a question you still hadn’t mastered, and a question that always seemed to fill you with a faint shame even after so many years.

what was supposed to be a cute, fun question to share with other people and couples, always had you and coop sharing this same, cringing-awkward chuckle-uncomfortable gaze–saga before either one of you could kick off the story with high school reminiscent and college drama.

reed had asked the question on the pod as you sat almost on top of cooper in his chair, unmeaningly joining in on their episode of exciting mics when your boyfriend called you in to explain a certain part of a story.

one topic led to another and with reed finishing some wedding day story, he then asked:

“—how did y’all meet? i feel like i know the answer but like . . it was high school wasn’t it? or college?”

you both paused, cooper turning casually to you, his head slightly tilted back as you had height from sitting on his lap. “how did we meet, legs?” he repeated up to you with a pat of your thigh.

the nickname from high school usually made you roll your eyes, but when it came from cooper, your chest still flipped every time.

this motherfucker.

“we met . . .” you eyes focused on the laptop screen, your words trailing off in thought as you thought how to answer.

nobody ever shared every detail of their life online, there were bits and pieces you could cover up and sugar-coat, granted, it wasn’t going to do some major damage. there had already been people’s parts of the story mixed in online on your relationship since coop began making his mark in the celeb world since signing to the nfl - fame followed quickly after and soon enough, so did the online articles, tabloids and paparazzi.

social media was a powerful tool this generation, either for the good or worse. you didn’t necessarily have anything to hide, but with the new lifestyle your boyfriend was leading, privacy slipped through your fingers. stuff you didn’t even want your mom to know about was now getting shared to millions online.

the best way to describe it was like awaiting for that ugly photo your friend had stored to get posted on your birthday - except every day was your your birthday, and you didn’t know how bad that photo was.

you didn’t require a lot of polishing, you weren’t this horrible person with a disguising past - you were proud of the person you were, you just knew people had their opinion no matter who you were and interpreted what they wanted - and they’d always had their say on your relationship with cooper.

whether it was from nobodies online or the big mouths with glossy lips from college - somebody always loved to share their two cents.

you shifted in your spot, your arm curling around your boyfriend’s neck as you tipped the mic towards your mouth. “coop and i have always known each other . . . he was friends with my brothers growing up.”

you both pulled that guilty face, because yes, that was the first count — you were that friend and sister.

“eeeshhhh, talk about bro-code!” reed laughed, watching cooper hold his hands up in surrender.

“–so we were always around each other growing up but we didn’t really acknowledge each other . . i mean, my brothers had a lot of friends and he was no different, but then high school came around and we had some classes but it was nothing more than a familiar face type thing. i remember when our school would make us pose for our social medias and website, they’d sometimes get the football team and cheerleaders to pose together for pics, and i always went with coop because i knew him, you know? it was that kinda vibe.” you explained. “he was a familiar face and my brothers knew that. we got along and that was it, really. only ever talked about school and stuff. i don’t know ‘bout you guys but when i say my ‘brothers friend’ i mean my brothers’ friend. i had my friends, they had their friends - my bedroom door was slammed shut when they had their buddies over . . they were out the house when i had mine over . . i didn’t want to hear them shouting over xbox . . they didn’t want to hear us squealing over the boys of teen wolf . .”

cooper smiled at that.

“and then our senior year . . i dunno, i was the one spending more time with him. we had one class together where we sat in front of each other and i dunno, i guess that class was what brought us closer. started spending time together outside school, my brothers were at college already, and it was just chill vibes. it was our senior year though so we both acknowledged, y’know . . starting a relationship was a stupid idea, considering we both planned on going on to college and were definitely not going to the same one . . .” you shrugged. “but we did, we dated but we never were anything super serious . . we never put that pressure on because it just made things heavier i suppose — but we were basically boyfriend-girlfriend for maybe 7 months or so.” you rolled your eyes at your idiotic younger selves. “‘n then we broke up ahead of college. i always knew i was going to iowa with my best friend, cooper was stuck between iowa and dakota or something. i was moved into my dorm when he was still deciding, it felt like,” you laughed.

“but it was a chill break up?”

“oh yeah.” you answered, “we were friends, we were friends before, we were friends after. when you have that friendship base, i think it influences the relationship a lot.”

“so what did you brothers say about y’all? weren’t they mad?”

“they actually weren’t that affected by it?” you and cooper shared a questioning look. “they adapted to it okay. they thought it was a joke at first, but i think they saw coming so they weren’t surprised. they were a year ahead in school so they were in college when this was going on so they weren’t really around to see it anyway.”

“so they always knew something was there.”

“yeah.”

“they’d ask questions they knew the answer already typa beat.”

“they used to ask me all the time like ‘what’s going on?’ and i’d just be like ‘nah dude, we’re just chilling, it’s nothing like that, you got nothing to worry about, relax’ — i had a whole valentines weekend planned, staying over in some cabin together, flowers and bear in my car—”

reed laughed at that, shaking his head at his friend who he was seeing very differently this podcast ep.

“anyway!” you carried on your story, “we both end up at iowa, and i swear, it’s like a switch flips — i hate cooper dejean.”

reed laughed, clapping his hands while cooper smiled at your take of the story. your fingers played with the soft curls at the back of his neck before continuing.

“well, i take that back - freshman year was fine - we hardly saw each other ‘cause i spent a lot of time staying at home ‘cause i hated my dorm mates, but it wasn’t awkward or anything if i spotted him. we were exes but there was no beef. coop had a girlfriend and i was fine with her like we were on the same cheer team and everything.”

“NO!”

“yeah, yeah - and we never had any issues or anything like that. i wasn’t friends with her but i didn’t hate her for the soul purpose she dated cooper - i didn’t care. cooper was my past, i didn’t care what he was up to. we didn’t follow each other on anything or keep in touch like it was clean-cut break. we ended on good enough terms but we didn’t need to be friends.”

“damn, alright, alright, i see, i see.”

“and then . . i don’t know . . i moved dorms, was on campus a lot more and i guess over time, the more i did see cooper, i just did not like him. i think i started seeing a different side to him from high school which is obviously gonna happen, but yeah, he just used to annoy me. i think because i thought college was my time, my chance to be whoever i wanted - i was ready to let loose this time around, ready to go wild and make mistakes and cooper was like this agitating fucking fly that wouldn’t go away. suddenly he was everywhere.”

both guys laughed; enjoying your way of speaking, they were really captivated by your storytelling - even coop who hadn’t really heard this side.

“cooper made everybody hyper-aware that we knew each other before college and i was always so paranoid he was going to tell every embarrassing story about me to all his friends and teammates, stuff my brothers had told him or just random info on me. i didn’t know this college version of him, for all i know he coulda been dropping all locker room talk ‘n i wouldn’t have been surprised with the guy i had him painted as.” you gave him that look. “he used to say he was going to tell my brothers everything i was doing and it used to piss me off ‘cause i knew he would.”

cooper laughed at that.

“the idea alone of being watched,” you exhaled a deep breath, “—and by your ex! that’s the last guy you want watching you!”

“—which made me do it more,” he grinned.

“—literally the biggest asshole,” you stated, looking at him through the camera, “knowing he was just watching bugged the hell outta me. and then i clashed pretty bad with the football team in general - just your stereotypical douchebags who know exactly what buttons to press as cheerleaders. said things just to get a reaction - and cooper was obviously in amongst that. i hated the whole dynamic, hated how much i let it annoy me like falling for the ragebait every time. whenever i saw them at parties, i’d genuinely want to leave because they’d say some dumb, infuriating shit on purpose and i’d let it get to me every time.”

“you are pretty easy to wound up, y/n,” reed commented, laughing at the times he’d managed to do it himself since knowing you.

“i am,” you agreed. “cooper was obviously the best at it ‘cause he could get personal which is why he annoyed me the most. to me he was just the ultimate textbook, cocky, misogynistic jock i wanted nothing to do with,” your boyfriend acted wounded, placing a hand on his chest.

“and yet . . .”

“—shut up.” your hand brushed his head in a pathetic clip of the head.

reed laughed.

“i think to you, it was always a joke. to me, it was genuine irritation and annoyance, so i used to ruin the fun when i turned it serious,” you pointed to yourself, “and the. we’d have this whole bunch of tension and would properly argue, even just walking past each other, it was tense. in our classes we’d be debating, always having to be the last one to have the last word, it was sooo annoying, it was actually draining.” you dragged your hands down your face at the memory. “‘cause he knew stuff about me he could say and i had stuff about him i could say!”

“oof, enemies to lovers.”

you shook your head at his commentary. “hm, something like that . . . and now somehow we ended up here,” you said from your shared apartment, your first family picture framed in the back. “it obviously subsided. shit happens and . . i soon learned he was still the same guy, just a little more obnoxious with a lot more ego . . .” you looked at him while he smirked at the camera.

“you love it.”

you tugged at his hair as he stuck his tongue out in that face he did when messing around but you smiled nonetheless. “and yeah. then we stopped acting like we hated each other and went back to loving each other. got past it all. yeah. that’s the best i can do,” you threw your arms up. “we’ll get into the asking out and dates another day ‘cause i been here too long and i need to feed my baby but yeah, that’s what went down. reed, yours and elsa’s story is a lot sweeter than ours, that’s for sure.”

you all laughed at that, that bit entirely right.

and you were glad they moved on from the topic and allowed you to slip away, because what you failed to mention in your clean-cut version was . . well . .

everything.

2021-2022

for a start, you didn’t dive into the conversations you actually had with your brothers at the dinner table when talking about cooper dejean in his first year of college.

“—yeah, dude, he cheats on his girlfriend all the time.”

“—girl’s blind as a bat.”

“—and by the looks of things, so are you!”

their howls of laughter pushed you further as the both of them proceeded to dig in to dinner your mom had prepared before her night shift, tearing into the chicken leg as they spoke in a tone like it was the most normal thing to discuss.

you sat disgusted, arms folded like you had been put off touching your food now.

this was news to you.

you were home over the break, joined by your two brothers who had also flew home to reunite the whole family. sitting at the table, you were talking about the shit that went on and people at your different campus, your brothers somehow seemed to know about cooper’s college experience than you — granted, you came home any opportunity you got because of how unfulfilling your freshman year was. it was only at practice you might’ve saw him on the court, field or track of some sort.

you said how you actually rarely saw him, and that was how you got here:

arguing with them when your brother made the comment you probably didn’t see him much because he was always balls deep in some girl.

“trent, why would you say that to me?!”

“hey, he was our buddy first before you even thought about going out with him, i ain’t gonna sugar-coat it.”

“you’re fucking gross.”

“i can live with that,” he smirked, the food highly visible in his mouth.

you may as well have been strangers since you and cooper broke up. ending things clean in high school meant there was no unfinished business — no essential conversations, no regrets, no what-ifs. he was in your past and that was it. you weren’t interested in what he got up to, where he went, who he was doing, however - you didn’t wish his football career away because his ability and work ethic deserved to be known - other than that, you didn’t care who he shared that success with. he was living his life and you were busy living yours. between classes, practice, games and everything else you’d taken on, you barely had time to keep up with your own schedule, let alone track his. you weren’t watching him, weren’t checking for him, weren’t curious, so as unbelievable as it might sound to anyone else, you genuinely had no idea what he was doing — even when living on the same campus.

your brothers, on the other hand, always and would always know every little detail his ass got up to - they were those best friends, the kind where distance didn’t matter; that never really grew out of groupchats or daily texts even after ending up at different colleges in different states.

of course things got shared. details got spilled. screenshots got sent. and whatever cooper didn’t openly admit usually found its way back through rumours anyway, floating around from one campus to the other.

part of you was surprised you didn’t know what he got up to in his free time when a ball wasn’t occupying his hand - the other part you took pride in yourself at how unbothered you were as his ex.

you should be studied by exes everywhere.

you knew he was popular with girls, he was effortlessly popular in general, even in high school the majority of the female body seemed to crush on him and college didn’t seem any different. you heard it in the halls, on the court, in the stands. his instagram following alone said enough. there was just something about him, that effortless pull he had that drew in every hormonal girl going, and he knew it - he knew certain girls acted a certain way around him - he could sniff it out in seconds, he was a bloodhound when it came to that shit.

with the newly released information, you were starting to see an entirely different perspective of cooper dejean.

a new, ugly perspective you couldn’t unsee.

one you knew you’d watch out for when back on school premises.

“he never cheated on me,” you stated.

they shrugged at that. “well yeah, you’re fucking you.”

“what’s that fuckin’ mean?”

“as opposed to the ditsy pageant queens he usually ends up with,” hunter grabbed another chicken leg.

your brows furrowed at that. “do you guys ever make any sense?”

“y/n, coop knew he had it good with you. he didn’t need to step out of line, it’s a guy thing. we’re jerks. we’re assholes. when you give us an inch, we will in fact take the mile and more if we think we can get away with it. he didn’t feel the need to mess with that with you and if he did - we’d be throwing his head around like a football if he ever tried that shit. hell, you’d beat us to it.”

that was true.

“so what, you’re saying a girl deserves to get cheated on because what?”

“look, we’re not saying anybody deserves to get cheated on, but some girls practically ask for it . . ” trent shrugged, like it was just common sense. “not saying it’s right, but when someone’s constantly on your back, checking your phone, making demands, questioning your every move, needing reassurance every five minutes . . . it wears you down. it turns into something you want to escape, not protect – that’s usually when guys start acting stupid . . .”

“i doubt it. his girlfriend seems like she doesn’t fuck around with that shit,” you commented.

“y/n how do you not know this? you’re literally on the same campus?”

“because i don’t watch him, hunter.”

“you don’t need to, everyone talks about it enough.”

“well i find it sick that everyone knows and doesn’t tell the poor girl.”

“y/n, she knows! trust me she knows!” hunter almost laughed at your stupidity.

“1000 percent, bro. it’s common knowledge,” trent threw his head back in frustration. you sat in silence, done with the conversation. they continued.

“she knows what’s she’s doing. she’s playing the long game. coop ever makes the league, she got a birkin with her name on it if she plays her cards right,” hunter snickered before your fist came down hard on his thigh.

“shut the hell up! the both of you are disgusting and any decent guy wouldn’t keep company like that.”

“you want us to drop coop ‘cause he cheats on his girl?” your oldest brother raised a brow lazily in your direction, “that’s on cooper, bro. nothing to do with us.”

your brothers were pigs at times, and every time they reminded you of it, it never got any less disappointing. “no, but a poor girl is being made out to look like a clown. you guys don’t even have the decency to tell her the truth.”

“y/n, she knows the truth.”

you shook your head. you knew of cooper’s girlfriend, not much as a person, but she didn’t seem the type to keep a cheater around. you didn’t like to think any girl did, then again, you’d been surprised in your day.

“you make me fuckin’ sick.”

“hey i never cheated on my girl.”

“you’ve never had a girl.”

your brothers shared a look and laughed between them.

you cringed to yourself at your bloodline. “urgh. yuck.”

“maybe you can send one of your friends my way, you know, seeing you thought it was fine to take one of mine?” he playfully jabbed.

“yeah, and thank god for the lucky escape. i never wanna see the guy again,” you scoffed, lifting your plate and putting it in the sink.

the cardboard smell lingers on your hands long after the last box is squashed down and flattened for the trash - dry and papery, stuck to your skin no matter how many times you wipe your palms down your thighs. you lift your hand sanitizer from your handbag and rub hand lotion in even afterward, hoping to get the fusty smell away. your back aches as you bend for it in that dull, earned way – lifting things you absolutely should’ve waited for help with was starting to bite you in the ass - not to mention one of your acrylics is chipped just after four days of having them done. you didn’t even notice when it happened.

second year.

finally.

last year barely counted, you felt robbed of your college life. living at home, commuting, counting the hours until you could leave campus again because your freshman-year roommate had been unbearable — you were both so similar, you didn’t realise could be a bad thing. you chose to be the bigger person and remove yourself from the environment before you made it awkward for the rest of the year from unleashing your tongue. you were similar in a lot of ways but you for sure were not as nice as her.

you glance down at yourself as you stepped back into the hallway, brushing down any fluff or dust on the black tracksuit that hugged you in a way that made effort look accidental — your signature skill. loose but still fitting, zip half-done with collarbones on show, the sweats brushed the floor over your dunks as you closed your door behind you. pushing your thick-rimmed glasses up your nose, you rolled your shoulders back, trying to work the soreness out before going back downstairs.

the building was alive and chaotic, given, it was first-week way. doors propped open, parents hovering, someone laughing too loudly down the hall. the thud of boxes, the squeak of trolley wheels, voices bouncing off walls - move-in day always smells the same — cardboard, cheap air freshener, and that one dorm that has a bad smell that never leaves that drifts through the hall with its open door.

you head outside, blinking when the sun hits your eyes, scanning the car park for brie’s parents’ beat-up car. you knew brie from your first ever dance club. she went to a different high school and you guys weren’t super close, but anytime you were in company, you always wondered why you never made the effort to hangout more. when she told you she was coming to your college, you signed her up as your roommate before she even had a say.

you’re halfway down the steps when you see him.

when you hear her.

“—mom no! i told you it’s—URGH! i told you it was in the kitchen before we left! . . i thought you . . . what do you mean?! obviously i didn’t grab it! i had 20 other boxes stacked in my arms!”

stella’s voice is easy to recognise considering you hear it almost every day at cheer practice.

she’s not a bad girl . . . are you friends with her? no. would you be friends with her even if she wasn’t dating your ex? also no.

standing near the curb, holding two boxes stacked against his chest like they weigh nothing was cooper.

he doesn’t say much, just watches her with the boxes in his hands, his demeanour relaxed as if his girlfriend’s slip on composure is the most normal thing in the world. he shifts the boxes in his arms, biceps flexing in that gray t-shirt that’s a bit of a hawkeyes staple, and continues to watch her stand with the phone to her ear, arm outstretched as she rambles over the phone to her mom who has clearly forgotten to bring something with her.

anybody can tell by his face he just wants her to shut up already and give him a place to put the boxes.

his gaze meets yours without warning.

your chest unexpectedly tenses but you carry on walking, feeling as though you should feel embarrassed for watching but how can you not? with that high-pitched sharp tone leaving her lips, bystanders couldn’t not look in stella’s direction. you’re not the one who should feel embarrassed here.

cooper clearly is.

but nobody would suspect it, as he stands cool as a cucumber, his eyes locked on you as you stroll across campus, refusing to back down and break contact. you pray there’s not a pole in front of you because you refuse to twist your head.

you see the slightest shuffle in his movement, adjusting his grip on the cardboard, his eyes dropping ever so slightly but still remaining on you. his brow twitches without intent, and when stella lets out another irritated now, his attention draws back to her, watching her give off.

you look ahead of your path again, ignoring the weird linger in the air as you approach brie and her family, but you then feel it — that awareness prickling at the back of your neck, the weight of being looked at even when you moved on.

behind you, his girlfriend’s voice carries again, tense and annoyed, and cooper stays exactly where he is.

the first few weeks of practice are hard. after such a long break, you almost forgot your body could move in a certain way, how painful it was to get up at 6AM.

you slipped into routine quickly enough, the early mornings getting easier, the aches in your legs less extreme, and even less lonely, now that brie had made the team.

game day was approaching and you were working overtime, trying to get back to your tip-top form of sharp counts, clean motions, everything landing exactly where it should. your coach notices, your teammates do too - you’re on time with everything, hitting eight-counts without thinking, movements crisp enough to sting. you didn’t want to be necessarily the best, but you definitely want to be the best version of yourself. always.

you love cheer. it’s the best hobby you ever took up.

some newbies are struggling. brie is keeping up well, says she owes it to you for keeping her on track and sharing all your tips and tricks. stella might as well throw the towel in — her laziness is agitating, you’re surprised she hasn’t been kicked off the team.

just when you think she’s on her last straw, she’ll deliver on game day like she didn’t miss a thing, granted, she almost screams when leaving the field, her body is in agony with the lack of stretching exercises alone, but she does it, almost just to get the last laugh at coach. she did it towards the end of last year.

you hope coach doesn’t let it slide this time. it’s only the beginning of the season - she can’t be doing that.

personally, you don’t get it. if you don’t have love for it like you did, don’t bother.

you hear them before you see them — the low rumble of voices, the thud of cleats, coach’s whistle cutting through the air. football finishes before cheer starts. by the time your team fall in, they’re already peeling off pads, jerseys darkened with sweat, bodies loose and raging with leftover testosterone post-practice usually does.

brie laughs at your face before you can even realise your making one. it says a lot. you shake your head and tell her you’re filling your water bottle up before you make a start.

you twist the cap off your bottle and hold it under the spout, staring blankly ahead as it fills. in the corner of your eye, you know somebody is approaching, the blurry figure in black and yellow ready to invade your forever.

the footsteps stop in front of you.

you don’t need to look to know who it is.

cooper’s close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him. skin flushed, hair damp, t-shirt dark with sweat across his chest. he holds his water bottle close to yours, hand wrapped tightly around it, it appears smaller than it actually is.

cooper looks . . . as cooper does.

like he always does after practice. muscles tight and prominent, veins standing out in his forearms, face lit with that easy, post-workout glow. he smells like heat and effort mixed together into something familiar you don’t want to name. it’s good though.

“you’re dripping.”

you glance down. water is spilling over the rim, running down the sides, dripping onto the fake grass by your feet.

it’s an observation. he’s simply pointing out you’re overflowing, helping you out—

your blood ticks.

“i know, cooper.”

something shifts in his expression — not irritation, not amusement exactly, but . . . interest. something sparking alive behind his eyes.

he was not expecting that tone, and the use of his name did something too.

flat. sharp. no softness in it at all.

he looks at you like he’s clocking something he’s always known, but never quite like this. the fire in your tone catches him off guard — not because it’s new, but because it’s no longer softened by what you used to be to each other.

there’s something else underneath it.

this is your first interaction in . . well, since your breakup, actually. he’s in one of your classes this year but you haven’t even acknowledged it.

you tighten the cap while holding eye contact with him, electrifying a new energy before you as you hook your bottle on your pinky and step away without another word.

you only break contact when you pass him, and cooper stays standing there, watching you go with a slight twist of his neck, a slow smile threatening at the corner of his lips. he feels as though he’s done something wrong . . . but the smirk on his face tells he’s excited to find out what.

“first frat party of the new school year. you excited?”

“‘course i am,” you reply from your bed, typing into your phone.

brie sits up on her bed across from you, crossing her ankles as she lets out a breath. you know she’s nervous, but eager to go. you know she’ll have a fun time. “are they really as crazy as the movies make them.”

“even crazier.”

“y/n!”

you laugh as a pillow hits you in the face, and you sit up tossing it back to her, locking your phone. “you’ll be fine. the guys sometimes do crazy shit but just don’t get in their way and you won’t get hurt. literally. if they dive into the crowd from the roof - don’t be the person who tries to catch them.”

“should we get some drinks before we start getting ready? imma need two hours easy before my hair is anywhere near ready for a camera to be pointed at it.”

you laughed at that, nodding, hopping off the bed. “yes. text sean and let’s go.”

the corner store is empty at the time you arrive, no doubt about to be jam packed in the next hour or two when everybody else gets the same idea. you wander the aisles alongside brie, sean scanning what bottle of vodka to buy. you’ve already lifted some nice spritzers to sip on when you’re doing your makeup in front of that mirror you still haven’t put up on the wall.

“i’m getting both. i have to, my back is killing me from cheer practice and it’ll ease the blow,” he dramatically made his decision before placing it in the cart.

“drinking to cope with injury, sensible choice,” you grinned, hanging over the cart.

you have a pack of cans, two bottles of vodka, some lemonade, chips, and plastic straws.

you’re about to load it onto the counter when the bell jingles as the door opens.

noise surrounds the place.

male. loud. familiar.

cooper’s laugh cuts through first – easy, carefree. one of his teammates trail in with him, his arm around his shoulder, fuelling whatever idea was making them laugh in his ear.

the volume isn’t unbearably loud but definitely agitating in contrast to the humming silence the store had before. there’s about five of them. two lift an 18-pack of canned beer each before the door has properly shut, another fleeing to the fridge.

“yesss! fucking love these guys,” sean’s sarcasm makes brie choke back a laugh as he subtly fist pumps the air. your face is flat.

you load your drinks on the counter as swiftly as possible, but you without a doubt know eyes are on you.

“shit, y/n, we need ice.”

you look at sean with a gaze that intimidates everyone but him, and he pulls a guilty face. “sorry.”

you dreadfully twist on your heel and head towards the freezer, feeling multiple sets of eyes clock you.

when you approach the aisle, cooper’s mouth curves, slow and knowing, “there she is,” he says, spotting you.

you ignore him.

he grins wider, “what? can’t say hi?”

“say it without the audience,” you reply, nodding toward his friends.

he steps closer, smile not leaving his face. “what brings you and your fake ID here, legs?”

“move, cooper.”

he laughs like that’s the funniest thing you could’ve said. be leans a shoulder against the shelf, blocking your path just enough to be annoying. “i’m just trying to have a conversation?!”

“cooper, do you have to be a dickhead or you’ll die or something?” sean called from here the aisles, even making some of his teammates laugh.

cooper ignores him, eyes staying on you, “your brothers know you’re buying this?” he nods toward the bottle under your arm, “or should i text them?”

your grip tightens. “don’t.”

he grins wider. “don’t what?”

“don’t joke about that.”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence, “joke? i’m serious. i been talking to them all day, might say ‘hey, just saw your sister loading up for the party tonight.’”

it’s not funny.

it wasn’t the threat itself — your brothers wouldn’t have cared, not really, it was the fact he got to be the one to decide. it was the power in his tone, the way he liked having something on you, no matter how small. that was what you hated. that was what made it sit wrong. the implication of it, the quiet control - it sat sour in your chest.

“you think you’re so funny.”

“a bit.”

one of his teammates snorts, “bro, you’re evil.”

cooper smiles, “i’m honest.”

“you’re a loser who has nothing better to do than to be obsessed with me” you scoff, shoving him out the way to open the fridge. the boys ooo and even you’re surprised you moved cooper, clearly catching him off guard at a good time. he’s pure muscle.

“obsessed?” he repeats, “that what you’re calling it?”

“you keep running your mouth like you need my attention?” you bat your eyelashes innocently, talking to him like he was all beauty, no brains.

for a split second, it feels like you’ve got him. his boys are laughing at your comeback.

then he steps closer, hands crossed infront of him as that unbothered expression sleeps comfortably on his face. his voice drops, so does his eyes, to the vodka still under your arm. you see the thought cooking up in his head, the way his brow ticks in concentration,

“not the smartest drink choice for you tonight,” he sighs only loud enough for you two to hear, “always got you even more hot n bothered . .”

your mouth falls, heat rushing straight to your face. you can’t believe he said that out loud. like, some shared secret. like his boys aren’t two steps away from you both.

you think quick, closing your mouth before he can savour your reaction. you swallow, locking your eyes on that dumb, boyish face despite having a flushed one yourself. “crazy work coming from a guy with a girlfriend.”

you don’t stop.

“oh wait—” you continue, “everybody knows that doesn’t matter to you, right?”

he doesn’t flinch.

not outwardly, anyway.

if it lands, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing it. cooper’s mouth quirks instead, slow and lazy, like you’ve just confirmed something for him rather than challenged it. it angers you more than it angers him.

“oof, and i’m obsessed . . .” he says, unbothered, almost amused, “yet you’re the one bringing up girlfriends.”

you press your lips together, jaw tight.

of course. of course he spins this on you.

you won’t rise to it. you won’t give him the reaction he wants.

“—cooper, step away from the girl before i file a restraining order and then we’re all mad there’s no party.” sean’s voice thankfully breaks whatever smoke of tension you’re consumed in, leaning his head on his hand by the till. “i asked her to get ice 10 minutes ago and she’s holding a bag of water.”

brie snorts. you exhale, grateful for the interruption, for the shift in tone.

you glance down. the ice isn’t entirely melted, but there’s a small pond of water at the bottom of the bag, dripping slightly onto the floor.

cooper looks too, then laughs almost, like a soft hum to himself , and twists his body, “my bad,” he takes the blame, opening the freezer door to his left.

he grabs a fresh bag, solid and white, and holds it out to you, the other gestured expectantly for the melted one.

you hesitate for half a second, then pass him the leaking one. your fingers brush his knuckles, brief, unavoidable, but he doesn’t react. just drops the old bag back into the freezer and shuts it. he looks at you.

“thanks,” you say. not warm, not cold.

he nods, all playfulness and teasing aside. “have a good night,” he wishes, “. . don’t drink too much.”

he’s not teasing. not trying to be funny, which you don’t know if’s worse . . . there’s a weight to his words, subtle, but there . . . like, he might actually mean them.

that even with his casual shrug, he does actually care for your wellbeing tonight.

you don’t know how to respond.

you just lift your head and head for the counter, getting your ice scanned, pay, and go, wanting to get as far as hell from cooper dejean as possible.

practice hungover is something you’re good at avoiding, deciplining yourself well with the whole parties are a weekend thing, never a weekday, but the odd time it happens, you’re left with wanting to beat yourself up when it comes to the 6am wake up, remembering exactly why you avoid it.

your head pounds, your mouth is dry, your body is heavy in that way you deserve to suffer — practice doesn’t care if you’re hungover: counts still hit, landings still matter, your muscles still have to show up.

thankfully, they always do.

weeks pass like that. classes, practice, the odd night out you regret immediately after. routine settles in smoother than you expect — it’s not perfect all the time, but pretty solid. you learn when to eat, when to stretch, when to sleep through texts instead of answering them (cough cough, sean’a late night texts to go get a dairy queen.)

crossover practices start occurring more often as the term carries on.

football starts to finish as cheer begins, it doesn’t bother you too much so long the guys don’t come to pest you all after.

you’re used to eyes on you, you perform in front of the whole school, but it’s different when the obnoxious bodies are purposely watching to try and make you squirm. you carry on like they’re not there, sometimes unashamedly yell for coach like a kid calling their mom to get rid of them. she does.

you stretch, run drills, hit stunts while they cool down nearby, all loud and sweaty. you feel it in your legs this morning — the strength, the control, the burn. jumps that rely on power more than grace. sharp kicks, clean extensions, landings that sink through muscle instead of bone.

you’re mid-routine when it happens: thrown clean into the air, legs snapping straight and controlled, core locked as you hit the move without thinking. you land solid, absorbing the impact like it’s not shooting a slight thud through your foot.

you don’t see cooper, but you hear him.

“that’s why they call her legs.”

it’s casual. impressed – said like it’s obvious.

you don’t react, you just keep going, briefly making eye-contact from your heightened position as he continues to stand there with his buddy, tyler.

the nickname came from high school. someone claimed you had the best legs in the whole state and it stuck: legs. it wasn’t the worst nickname to have . . . and you did have a pretty killer set of legs. your gym’s leg press would be mad if you didn’t! buuutttt your teachers always seemed confused and requested clarification on why you were getting called a limb across the classroom . .

this term, you’ve got an extra pressure on your back: calling counts, adjusting formations, keeping everyone tight and in time. it feels natural, stepping into it, like your body and voice already know how - you just feel bad for katie who’s suffering a fractured ankle, undoubtedly missing her captaining duties.

you like it though. you’re good at it. “let’s go again! we’re a little sloppy! on three!”

before you know it, you’re back home in your childhood bedroom with the same posters on the wall and a suitcase still half-unpacked. your brothers aren’t back yet, flights not even booked, but you talk almost everyday between facetime calls or the group chats that never really dies.

they tell you they know you’ve been going hard.

you don’t even bother denying it.

apparently, you’ve earned yourself a reputation. 5am walk-homes, blurry videos, screenshots from other people’s stories. you recognise yourself in them immediately — makeup still in place, skin just glowy, mascara a little smudged, eyes usually closed, head thrown back laughing too hard, shoes in your hand, arms thrown around people you barely remember meeting. iconic, in your opinion. never embarrassing. a little unhinged, maybe, but not cringy.

your brothers pretend to be scandalised, warn you to be careful in the big-brotherly way they should - then laugh and ask for details.

you know it’s cooper.

you see him watching.

not all the time, but more often than not. you catch him looking at you at practice, at parties - every time he looks away, scratching his jawline or eyebrow.

you can’t lie — sometimes you’re the one watching him (in a much more subtle way) but it’s hard not to. it feels like he’s everywhere this time around.

he’s the same as he was in high school, cool without trying; the kind everyone wants to be friends with; easy to get on with despite knowing him for 5 minutes. you’d expect the size of the crowds to overwhelm him, coming from a small town, but it never does. if anything, he looks used to it.

people gravitate toward him.

girls especially.

it’s not even intentional, which almost makes it worse. he doesn’t hunt for attention, it just finds him.

he leans back on couches, legs spread, arm thrown over the backrest. always smiling. always warm. always present.

it’s almost toxic to watch.

he’s just being himself, and they read into every glance, every grin like there’s intention behind them.

you think of stella in those times, but then again, you don’t know if they’re even together at that moment or not.

there was something new every week:

they’re on a break

she’s texting some guy from missouri

they broke up last friday

i heard them arguing at reece’s party

her socials start giving single vibes, captions that feel pointed, pictures without him — then bam, a cute couple selfie floods the timeline. a corny caption like you didn’t spot them discreetly arguing last saturday night out the back of some house party.

you don’t know why you keep clocking it, you tell yourself it’s just proximity; same campus, same circles, same noise. you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

sometimes, you think you should feel sorry for stella.

you try to, you really do, because from the outside it looks exhausting; the half-arguments, the front she puts up in public, the way she watches him at parties like she’s waiting for proof of something she already knows - but the sympathy never quite sticks . . . because she stays.

she puts up with it, she lets things slide, pretends not to notice the way cooper moves through a room like he’s unattached. the way his charm isn’t reserved for her, the way respect seems optional when it comes to other girls — something you’d never settle for in a guy.

you think about your brothers, the way they always said it so casually: ‘he cheats on his girlfriend all the time.’

you don’t excuse him, definitely not, but you don’t absolve her either, not when she chooses this version of him over and over again - when she’s smiling for photos like nothing’s wrong.

they’re both a pain to watch, to be honest.

your first party of the new term feels well deserved - you’ve been buried under assignments, practice schedules, catching up ‘cause you missed a week of illness and then had to drive up for your mom’s birthday.

you arrive pretty late, although earlier than brie and sean - brie was having a wardrobe malfunction and sean, well, sean was never on time anyway. you’d know when he’d spawn in.

you’re in the kitchen when you spot him. well, you hear him, waving off his buddy who seems to have said something dumb. he’s sitting on the island counter, drink in hand, sporting a black t, no crowd flocking him.

he catches your eye and a smile takes his face, not cocky, not smug, “hey.”

“hey,” you answer, cautious.

“how’s it going? you’ve been MIA.”

he sounds genuine.

you shrug, scanning him for a trick or game to come out. “been busy . . practice, homework, was sick for a bit too . .”

“no way?”

“yeah. i’m fine now, was just the flu.”

he nods, a beat of silence following.

“how you like captaining?”

you look at him, surprised by the interest. if he was making small talk, there was definitely better topics he couldn’t picked better suited to him.

“it’s . . good. i mean, i like it,” you lean against the counter facing him, your head tilted slightly upwards. “trying not to get too used to it actually . . for when katie comes back, you know?”

“good. i’m glad you’re handling it alright. seems like you’re doing a good job.”

something about the ease of the compliment makes you smile too. just a little. “thanks.”

you both pause for a second, enjoying the comfortable-ness.

you pick up on his lack of company. “where’s all your buddies.”

he raises a shoulder. “flu’s been knocking them on their asses, one by one . . . some ditsy cheerleader infected them all.”

your mouth drops and your brows raise. “well, maybe if they stopped flocking the ditsy cheerleader on a daily basis, they would be fine.”

his heart leaps at the familiar, playfulness, “can you blame ‘em?”

you give him a look in response, crossing your arms, “their captain should be keeping ‘em in check.”

“he gets distracted too.”

“by his girlfriend?”

his face falls.

checkmate.

he almost growls in response. “he doesn’t have one of those.”

“oo, good for her! lucky escape!” you cheer, clapping.

he rolls his eyes. you laugh.

and he watches you, takes you in . . your posture, the black top clinging to your chest, the way your hair sits . . the bare of your neck . . the subtle gloss on your lips.

you glance at him.

he smells good. legs spread, black t-shirt framing his broad shoulders, tight around his biceps. his is hair freshly trimmed, boyishly styled in a purposefully messy.

you’re conscious of how close he is, you can hear him chewing on the gum and it makes your stomach flip in ways you’re trying not to admit to yourself.

“i think you’re a better captain than katie.”

you’re surprised to hear that.

“you’re more ruthless, which . . a captain kinda should be, not gonna lie. i’m not saying you’re mean but you say what needs to be said . .” he tells you, eyes holding yours, “i hear you on the field.”

“eek,” you rub your arm, “i’m not that loud, am i?”

“louder than katie.”

“i’m making sure they know what they’re doing.”

“you’re bossy.” he smirks.

you grumble at that, shooting him a look. “as long as i’m not shouting at them with tears in their eyes . .”

“like in senior year?”

“cooper!” you hit his arm, “that’s not funny.”

“oh i know it wasn’t. you didn’t give a fuck—”

“cooper.”

“what?!” he laughed, holding his hands up. “you did it!”

“that wasn’t funny. i apologised after, alright? god forbid a girl likes to keep in control.”

“don’t i know about that.”

the air grows tight just like that.

you stare at him.

he’s close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from him, the mix of gum and beer on his breath in that strong masculine sense. you still see the high school version of him, now just colliding with the college version — bigger, bolder, louder.

more dangerous.

he tilts his head, eyes holding yours like he’s daring you to speak first, to break whatever line is still holding the tension at bay.

“quit teetering the line.”

he laughs. “what line?”

“exactly.”

you push off the counter when his legs playfully reach the counter across from him, trapping you between them. “i don’t know where the line is,” he continues.

“learn.” you push his leg barely enough for him to drop it for you to move.

cooper must remain broken up with stella for a bit because at scott’s party, he has girls flocking him, which only adds to the ego of him securing the win for this week’s game.

two were on either side of him, his legs spread invitingly on the couch, both girls laughing next to him. although part of you feels like he’d rather be with his boys then there but he’s too polite to shift.

part of you could be entirely wrong, it’s hard to tell.

that was on saturday.

monday, she was cheering from the stands.

that same week, you heard the sound of a girl’s high-pitched laughter come from the kitchen: he was standing alongside a brunette that wasn’t his girlfriend— eyes focused, smile warm — and she continues to mistake the attention for intimacy.

stella is always in the same place, just another room. part of you wants to believe she’s clueless to it for her own sanity, but, you’re a girl, and you know she has that sixth sense.

like, she should know when another female even enters the room as her man.

you don’t know who to blame. maybe there’s nobody, and they’re just a bad match more than good.

you hate to think you were ever a stella to him - looking at you like he’s waiting to you to get done talking, rolling his eyes when you disagree on something, seeming to have a thinning patience as time ticks on. then again, you never recalled being demanding of cooper’s attention 24/7, breathing down his neck in crowds, feeling the need to prove he’s yours – you especially never got at him for small things that really were no real issue to begin with.

you don’t often think back to your relationship with him, and you definitely don’t compare, but you can’t help but wonder what changed from then ‘til now with stella.

you always believed football was and would always be cooper’s number one in life, but you never felt it came with a cost in high school — however, part of you acknowledges this is extremely different from high school and that really they shouldn’t be contrasted - that stella just unluckily drew the short end of the stick by getting college cooper, the one where football has to be number one if he wants to make it.

. . . on the other hand . . . what the fuck does flirting with multiple bitches have anything to do with his football career?

now your just mad again.

you get to practice early that thursday, the first on the field, wanting to sit and catch some rays while the team bring their game to a finish. you drop your bag by the bleachers and sit, legs stretched out, face tipped towards the sun.

football’s already out there.

black and yellow uniforms move across the grass, a ball appearing in the air every so often. you tell yourself you’re not watching but your eyes drift anyway. it’s hard not to - you forget how entertaining it is when you have the opportunity to watch.

even on game days, you’re still in a somewhat ‘professional’ mindset of critiquing and going over your display - all the other girls will throw their hands up and admit their watching all the hot, sweaty guys fight for victory on the field.

you’re intrigued hearing the low thud of impact when bodies collide, seeing the roughness, the power it takes.

the hawks are a pretty good team as a whole, but one stands out like a sore thumb.

there’s just something about him. the way he uses his body, not flashy, just efficient. power held back until it’s needed. when he hits someone, it’s controlled but brutal, clean and unmistakable. you can just tell he knows what he’s doing.

he reads the field differently too, you can see it even from here — the way his head’s already turned before the ball moves, how he adjusts mid-play, how he knows where to be. you joke and say that football’s a stupid sport when you cross paths with him - you’re catching and throwing a ball — but you’re mature enough to admit there’s more to it.

there’s IQ to it. timing, instinct, discipline - shit cooper went over with you and would have you somehow practice with him in any way you could, back in high school.

the guy set multiple records and led the team to back-to-back state championships his junior and senior year.

one thing you could not lie about and say was that cooper dejean was a bad football player - you can see that more than ever, unbiased now that you’re no longer in a relationship with him.

you watch as he drives straight through another guy and sends him back, hard enough that a couple of teammates hoot. he barely acknowledges it, just rolls his shoulders and waits for the next rep like it’s nothing.

brie is next out onto the field and calls for you when she does. you trail down to join the rest of the clan and get ready to lock in. “let’s start a little early, huh? get some of that vitamin d?” coach’s voice follows, her cap and sunglasses on.

it felt like you were barely awake when coach had you thrown into a basket toss, convincing you were more than capable to twirl yourself on a first attempt - which you most definitely were not.

but, you were the top girl as your mom liked to say, and if coach said you could do it, you could do it.

sean always caught you, although per usual, his signature move was to drop you shortly after on your ass - because ‘he wasn’t carrying nobody’.

“you’re a dick,” you half-laughed, half-whined, rubbing your ass.

“plant those dogs, sweetie,” he’d snap his fingers. you’d flick grass in his face.

“let’s do it one more time!” coach clapped.

she was more laidback today, the sun seeming to relax her because after a few more drills, you were all on the ground, legs wide, panting, sweating, some sauntering for to the water station.

“i’m taking this and then you’re up,” she brought her phone to her ear, stepping aside. nobody batted an eye.

you fanned yourself her clipboard, sean using his tiny blue fan that he’d pushed brie away from when she tried to get in on.

the football team were on their way back, helmets ripped off them, some shirts too.

you watched them trail in, slow and sloppy, your heart a little pained for them at the thought of being trapped under all their gear in that unbearable heat.

you guys were in shorts and t-shirts, some tank tops, and still felt your body thumping like its own heartbeat.

“you ever get tired of showing off?”

you look up, shielding your eyes, coopers grin is directed at you.

his hair is soaked, messily scattered across his head, his skin glowing. his helmet sits in his prominent veiny hand, his jersey lifted up over the unbuckled belts of his shoulder pads, compression shirt stuck to his skin like . . well, like a second skin. you can see every ridge and edge.

you turn your back to him. “bye.”

his face drops at your rudeness, and the next thing you know, there’s a squirt of ice cold water on your spine.

you arch your back on instinct to the coldness shooting from his water bottle, and you express your aggravation in a raged groan, “COOPER!”

his laugh triggered you further as you turned in fury.

“some common sense would seriously be dangerous for you!”

“what? i’m helping you cool off,” he took a drink, bottle to the side of his mouth, refusing to break eye-contact with you.

you scowl, shaking your head and spat. “if only your brain was as big as your muscles.”

it lands, for a second, until you realise what you actually said.

you freeze on yourself.

why the fuck would i say that?!

“huh,” you hear the pleasure in his voice, can see the crooked grin on his face without looking at it. “y’know, most people just say ‘nice arms’, y/n . . .”

“i was talking about your brain.” you deadpan, still refusing to look at him.

“trust me, it’s prettyyyy big,” he carries on walking, eyes burning into the side of your face, “you wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

you meet his eyes then, your brows furrowed as he looks from over his shoulder, shooting you a wink at your disgusted face.

you heart beats out of your chest the entire time.

the following night, you’re getting ready, doing your hair in the mirror, brie on your bed, laughing with a sore stomach, unable to proceed with her eye makeup. it was a postgame celebratory after an easy win, the streak still going strong, the guys juiced more than ever.

the party is loud and sticky with heat, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, bass thudding hard, you’re certain the ceiling lights are vibrating. you’re telling brie about the opposing team’s quarterback when you see him across the room.

“—but it was only once and i don’t know if— aw fuck.”

she looks concerned. “what?”

“cooper’s headed over here, i can see him.” your eyes bore into hers in a way that says help-me-even-though-i-know-you-can’t.

she laughs into her drink and steps to the fridge, leaving you sitting on the kitchen counter.

you sneaky a glance to see where he is to see if you can make a run for it; he’s manoeuvring smoothly through others, his 6ft figure hard to miss. as if instinctively, the second your eyes land on him, his eyes meet yours a beat later.

the corner of his mouth tip upward, and he raises his arm to coincidentally scratch the side of his head - acting as if his biceps aren’t bulging beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt - and they are - they are bulging.

the move is lazy. practiced. stupidly effective.

you’re disgusted for even looking so long.

you close your eyes in that i-can’t-look-anymore disgusted sense until his feet are trailing into the kitchen, the scent of his aftershave floating into your space, sending an unexpected prickle up your spine.

when you open your eyes, he’s in the kitchen with you. broad shoulders filling the space as he grabs a drink from the frige, hair damp from his shower and styled messily. there’s a confidence in his walk - there always is - this one just from his most recent win.

you watch him crack it open while slowly stalking over, bicep flexing with the motion, tall frame preventing you from escaping now. his eyes are locked on you as the cap clinks onto the floor, opening the drink without even looking at it.

there’s a predatory feel in the room.

heat curls low in your stomach before you can stop it.

his mouth dips to your ear; close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. he disguises the intimacy by sliding the bottle opener along the counter next to you.

“still thinking about my big brain?”

you don’t look at him.

you just keep your eyes forward, ignoring how you can feel a strand of his dark hair tickling your face; feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

you don’t say anything — which says all.

instead, you shift how you’re sitting, fingers curling tight around the edge of the countertop beneath your thighs as you squeeze your legs together, expression on signature: bored.

cooper leans back, meeting you at eye level now, and you hate that you can feel his gaze everywhere.

“it’s alright,” he says plays it cool, voice smooth with victory, “i know what you’re really thinking about anyway.”

you shoot him a silent warning.

it’s weird.

you’re in the stands for once, watching a late-night game, excused this week after rolling your ankle. you watch a few rows from the front, getting into the game that’s honestly, being made to look like easy competition.

hawks win and you’re cheering alongside some friends, applauding, thrilled for the team to make it to the next round. it’s a nice vibe, just some classic, late-night college football.

and the next, you’re unmeaningly watching cooper make his way over to stella who’s on the field, bringing his lips to hers.

and he’s looking at you.

you freeze slightly, stuck in direct eye-contact with him as he almost makes out with his girlfriend, moving his lips while his focus is clearly elsewhere.

you force yourself to look away, blinking as your claps continue in a much slower manner, hesitant to look down again so long as the feeling of eyes being on you is felt.

but you feel it, the deep feeling in your chest and stomach, messing with your head on how you should feel about it.

a week later, you’re out onto the field for just thirty seconds when you’re running back to get your waterbottle from the locker room.

you pass the basketball court on your way, hearing the squeaking of shoes and banging of balls, the hallways stuffy as you approach your door. when you grab it, you open the door to a banging of another hitting the wall, spooking you in your steps.

“what is it stella?!”

you freeze.

cooper, obviously.

his voice echos off the walls. he’s not mad, you know that by his tone, annoyed, maybe but not angry - frustrated, even - but he’s not shouting. he sounds fed up, and you’d imagine so when he’s trying to shoot some hoops.

“just listen to me, alright!”

“stell—no. go home, go to class—”

“we need to talk!”

“no we don’t! i’m in the middle of practice right now!—”

“cooper please—”

if you peep out past the door, you can see stella, but cooper is blocked by the wall of the court entrance. you can see the tips of his (freakishly, large-sized) shoes, no doubt in his basketball attire shorts ‘n shirt.

“cooper, this isn’t fair! this isn’t nice!”

stella’s voice is high-pitched. she sounds stressed but also teetering the edge of going psycho, like she’s really about to blow up; her arms are flailing everywhere, her hair is falling everywhere, she just stomped her foot — she’s losing it. whatever it is.

patience?

sanity?

there’s a pause, then cooper’s voice comes flat. almost bored. “you’re the one who wanted space.”

you see her brows turn up as if offended and hurt by his words.

“i gave you it, i gave us it, and honestly — i liked it, stells.”

oof.

fuck.

even you could physically feel the punch to the gut for her.

the casualty to his tone is wrong — he’s one toxic motherfucker.

“that’s not what i meant, you know it—”

“stella, i don’t care. i actually don’t care.”

you have to bite your fist because you can’t right now with cooper’s tone. it’s not funny - the situation isn’t funny at all, you feel sorry for stella, you do . . . but jesus, you never remembered cooper to be this harsh.

there’s not a bit of empathy in there. “cooper, we literally have my sister’s wedding in two weeks—”

“—stella i don’t care!” he says louder this time, patience practically gone. he’s doing his best not to blow up but something tells you this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. “i seriously don’t give a fuck, i’m sorry, but i could not give less of a shit about any of this right now. you’re getting in the way of training. again.” you hear him tug the door handle.

“that’s the thing cooper, you just don’t give a fuck about me, or us! — i get football’s your life but there should be a balance! you’ve been treating me like you been done with me for ages. i get it, you hate me—”

“—don’t hate you.”

“—well it sure feels like it!”

“stop making this into something!” his pitch rises. “it’s not. i told you! it’s done! just leave it at that, it doesn’t have to be messy!”

“ah, right, yeah, you like being buddies with exes — let me call up the last one so she can give me her tips on how not to want to punch you in your fucking face right now!”

cooper’s composure makes you feel embarrassed for her. “hope the weddings a good one.”

you hear the door open and shut.

stella screams before stomping off, the clicks of her phone keyboard fading down the hall.

you head back to the field, sneaking a glance in the window or the basketball court, just in time to see cooper’s 6ft figure slam dunk the ball in the net and then hang onto, cheeks flushed, smile on his face.

coach tell you off for being late to practice.

“Y/N!!! SAVE THE VODKA!!!”

sean’s squeal only makes your laugh forever as you retrieve the knocked over bottle, slurping it up on the counter as your belly hurts.

you’re both so pissed right now. you’ve actually not had a drink in an hour because you know you don’t need it, but then sean’s timer went off and you decided you were both ready for another, and, well now, you need to pour two cups again.

it feels like there’s twice as many people tonight in this frat as usual. your campus’ rivals played your boys today, getting demolished by the hawks, of course, even a bit of a dirty game, but once the whistle blew, all aggression and bruised egos vanished when hands were shaken, backs were slapped and even jerseys swapped. half the boys here had already lined up against each other this season, laughed about it in the tunnel, and promised drinks after. there’s history - but it’s friendly, competitive without a genuine hatred.

off the field, anyway.

a guy you recognise from the other college — a receiver — looks you up and down openly, grin slow and appreciative. another one catches your eye and doesn’t look away when you notice, just raises his cup in a lazy salute like he’s already decided something.

you lean closer to sean. “is it me or are they staring.”

he sighs. “everyone stares at you, you greedy skank.”

he goes off to use the bathroom, and while you clean the rest of the drink with a cloth, someone opens the drawer next to you and grabs the other bottle opener. you look up to find the other team’s quarterback. “sorry.”

“don’t worry, you’re not in my way,” you throw the rag in the sink, grabbing your two cups again.

he leans against the counter, adjusting the red cap on his head. “you’re the captain, right?”

you furrow your brows at that. “what makes you say that?”

the guy shrugs, hoping not to sound so stalkerish. “it’s not hard to guess — it’s pretty telling your the one everyone’s listening to, no offense.”

“why would i be offended?”

he seems startled by your comment. “i—i mean—no, it’s just—”

“i’m just kidding. i don’t care. i know i’m—“

loud?

bossy?

a little extreme?

“i dunno.”

he laughs at that, watching you make your drinks again. “well, you put our cheer team to shame, but don’t tell them i said that. i’m scott.”

“you’re the quaterback.”

“i am.”

scott is tall. probably 6ft. his hair is dark and long - not shoulder length but under the cap, he’s got bits that stick out everywhere. his jawline is sharp but he has dark, puppy dog eyes. he’s repping his campus with a red cap and sweatshirt, you can even see how broad he is with the oversized clothing.

you get yapping, somehow get into the conversation of injuries. he asks you if you’ve ever really hurt yourself from cheering, even broken a bone. “i wasn’t caught after being tossed in the air, basically. it was really bad. it made me want to give it up, it really scared me. my tailbone felt like it broke - it didn’t - but it was really sore and i had it x-rayed. i was too scared to go back, overthinking if i ever broke my back or something — yeah, traumatised myself. we got rid of our backspot and the coach let me pick who i trusted the most not to catch me. i made my friend, sean, try out. he’s never dropped since . . . although he does drop me after catching me.”

he’s surprised, understanding your fear and applauds your bravery for not giving it up.

he tells you how he thought he almost broke his collarbone last year. he pulls out his phone and shows the play. “you see that hit in the third quarter?” he points, “they blew the coverage . .” you watch it play out.

“wait, go back?”

you rewatch it again, and your brows pull together. “that’s not blown coverage,” you almost tut, “that’s the mike shifting late. the guard doesn’t pick it up, so the pocket collapses before you can step up,” you watch it play out again, although he’s not wrong, it looks like it hurt no matter the reason of the play.

you look at him when he’s quiet.

you face falls as if you’ve said something offensive. “what?” you worry.

“what did you say?”

you eye him suspiciously, “i’m . . i’m just saying, if the tackle sets wider, you got time to roll but once the a-gap opens, you’re clearly — you’re clearly fucked.”

his smirk is loud, “somebody cooked here.”

you look at him weirdly. “huh?”

scott locks his phone, glancing you over. “did you play in your past life or somethin’?”

“get lost,” you roll your eyes.

“seriously,” his eyes scan you, if not intrigued by you already, he is more than ever. “where’d you learn to talk like that? you got a thing for quarterbacks?” he grins.

“i seem to attract them.”

“it doesn’t happen to be 3 does it?”

you furrow your brows at that, straightening your back at his words. “why do you say that?”

“‘cause he’s been watching me ever since i started talkin’.”

you look over and sure enough he’s there, in perfect eyesight of the kitchen from outside, standing with his hands in his pockets, no drinks in hand.

“no.”

“dejean’s a talented motherfucker.”

ugh.

“. . yeah.”

“they’re like . . talking about him a lot.”

“oh?”

the guy looks at you, head tilting, smile small. “it’s him, isn’t it?”

“it’s not—he has a girlfriend?” you (drunkly) squint your eyes.

he doesn’t believe you.

you keep small talk, standing next to each other, talking about the difference in your colleges and the courses you’re taking when you blow him off for the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee after consuming too many drinks to count on one hand.

you have to focus to get up the stairs, fingers curled around the handrail as you feel the effect of all the alcohol consumption you’d had in the last hour or so hit you at once now that you need to complete a task.

you use the wall to help hold yourself up, leaning your arm on your way while you text sean on your phone, telling him to get you another drink and meet you in the garden. the house itself was starting to feel too stuffy, suffocating, hoping fresh air will rid you of this wavy head you’ve got going on - hoping sean is experiencing it too.

you reach the bathroom and grab the door handle, only for it to fly open on the other side.

you stumble a little, letting go as it stands open, a 6ft figure filling the space of its doorframe.

he stands there, a mix of a smirk and smile etching on his face. cooper doesn’t move.

you groan loudly, dramatically, head tilting back because you know he’s not going to just give it to you easy. you tilt your head normally, looking at him again, still, not moving. “are you gonna move?”

he stays smiling. “oh! you—you need the bathroom?”

“yes.”

his smile only grows, and you start to lose patience. “cooper. move.”

“no,” he decides, straightening his posture.

“fucking move! i need the toilet!” you look at him like he’s crazy, ignoring the thumping in your head.

when he stands there, still, you can’t hold it, the pain of your bladder starting to ache. you push past him into the small space, hands shoving the side of his waist as best as you can to enter as his laughter only infuriates you further. you turn around, seeing him still in the room with you.

“what are you doing?! seriously?!”

this wasn’t even funny.

he just laughed to himself, seemingly to be tipsy himself as he allowed his shoulders to lean on the wall facing you, eyes closed in giggles. “COOPER!” your irritation was spiking beyond its limit, “you’re so fucking annoying!”

you looked at him for a further 10 seconds, his gaze still on you, humoured, large hand on the weakened handle, his entire weight could probably snap it off.

unknowingly, if you’d had waited just an extra five, he would’ve left, but with your patience gone and bladder ready to burst, he halted when you began to shuffle, keeping your eyes on his while undoing the button on your frilly, denim skirt; pushing them down while holding his gaze, pushing your underwear down after.

it’s weirdly intimate and you don’t like it.

you keep your eyes locked the entire time you use the bathroom, or at least you tried when his flickered to your skirt and the navy, lacy pair of underwear sitting in them. he meets your eyes again.

he shifts his weight, one shoulder pressing harder into the wall, kind of like he’s grounding himself.

the air between you is thick.

you keep his eyes trained whilst cleaning up and pulling up your clothes, buttoning your skirt. your eyes flicker to the mirror while you wash your hands, cold on your fingertips. he’s watching you there.

the sound of the lock echos the walls when you dry your hands and turn around.

you shoot him daggers. “cooper.”

“so,” he starts, folding his arms as he leans against the wall opposite you. you lean back on the sink. “–you know ball.”

your jaw tightens.

“what are you talking about?”

“you were talking to the QB in town . . . talking coverage, routes —sounded like you knew what you were saying.”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to.

of course he knows that.

of course he went digging.

smiling, friendly, acting dumb just long enough to get what info he wanted. he doesn’t say that part out loud. “ok,” you admit, “and what?”

“you always talk football with random quarterbacks?” he asks, tone casual, but his eyes are too sharp for it to be nothing.

“didn’t realise it was a crime.”

“didn’t say it was,” he pushes off the wall, centering the room.

he’s so tall. you forget. and he’s evidently so fit; the muscle in his arms soft but there. he still wears that cross chain around his neck, glinting under the reflection of the bathroom light.

“you like him?” he moves closer, tone humoured.

“if i did?”

“good for you,” he sighs, “scotty gets all the bitches.”

you eyes narrow then, flickering up at him as he nears you, his movements slugged and lazy.

“that’s why i was surprised,” he adds, softer now. “to see him with you.”

good save.

barely.

cooper tilts his head.

the room feels quiet, like the walls have thickened. private. too small.

“you didn’t say anything about me.”

it’s not a question.

you meet his gaze, “why would i?”

something shifts in his expression — satisfaction, maybe, then a little smugness. “i know why.”

“why,” you snap.

enlighten me.

he stops in front of you, throwing something down the toilet bowl you imagine to contain a mix of nicotine, then turns back to you. closer now; enough that the warmth of him starts to press in. “you hate me.”

you screw your face up at that, his body heat beginning to smother yours. “i don’t.” you say it like it’s obvious.

his brows raise at that, his feet stepping even closer in your direction.

he’s directly infront of you now, his chest just inches from the tip of your nose. “no?”

your heart rate quickens at his tone.

he isn’t genuine. he isn’t surprised; this is mocking.

this is dangerous.

“no.” you repeat.

“hm,” he pauses, thinking to himself as your eyes scan his face, waiting for him to focus on you again. “you had me fooled.”

cooper’s feet stop on either side of you, boxing you under him now, his breath fanning your cheeks as he speaks. it’s all mint and beer, a slight fade of something else.

“are you offended?” you tilt your head up at him, batting your lashes.

two can play this.

“i might be,” he mimicked your bratty, sarcastic tone; batting his back, leaning enough ‘til his face hovers yours.

you fight back the gulp. “you actually sound jealous,” you keep it up, displaying a faux shocked look.

cooper watches your lips fall open, moistening his own with his tongue.

“jealous? of who?”

“the quarterback.”

“what quarterback?”

you’re impressed by his response. he slowly smirks, his mouth just inches away. the tension still bubbles, and you feel like you’re struggling to breathe.

“so . . you don’t hate me?” he confirms.

“no.”

“you don’t?”

he’s so close right now. the distance between you is nothing.

he tilts his head, eyes dark, clearly enjoying how cornered you are, “huh,” he says quietly, gaze falling to where your hands are clenched at your sides.

you can’t look away from him him, nervous for his next line; this answer he has cooking up in his head. you can hide your nerves from him.

“what?” you whisper.

he pulls a face, like he’s debating what he’s going to say, and then looks back at you, his voice low. teasing.

“nothing, i’m . . i’m just . . come to think of it . . i think you don’t hate me at all.”

your breath stutters.

you can’t seem to look away.

you don’t know how to reply. his eyes just zone in to yours, his scent triggering nerves in your body.

“unlock the door,” you whisper.

“you unlock it.” he furrows his brows.

a beat passes, and then he crashes his mouth into yours.

messy. heated. unplanned.

your breath punches out of you in an unexpected sound before you can stop it, completely caught off guard by his actions.

he tastes faintly of beer and mint, his lips moving against yours like he’s been thinking about this longer than he wants to admit. the kiss isn’t neat — it’s open-mouthed and hungry, his head tilting to deepen it, crowding you back until the sink digs into you.

your hands fly up without permission, hooking his neck for stability and he makes a low sound in his throat when you tug him closer.

the room feels smaller instantly.

hotter.

his other hand braces on the counter beside you, boxing you in properly now, forearms flexing, body pressing close enough that there’s no space left.

you kiss him back harder, teeth knock.

he smiles into it, like he likes that it’s rough around the edges. like neither of you planned this but you’re not stopping it either.

someone yells outside; a door slams down the hall.

cooper doesn’t flinch.

instead, he kisses you slower this time, deeper, like he’s testing every reaction, memorising the way you tilt into him, savouring the taste of your mouth, the way your lips drag along his before biting it.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, not loud, just for you.

he kisses you again, hands securely on your hips when you make a noise you absolutely do not mean to make.

his eyes darken immediately.

“say it,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“say what?”

“you miss me.”

your smile breaks the kiss, and you pull away, “in your dreams.”

“and tell me i’m the best quarterback around.”

“shut up,” you hit his shoulder at his cockiness, and he only grins in response, then dips his head again — mouth trailing from the corner of your lips to your jaw, lingering just long enough to make your knees go soft before kissing you properly again, pulling another whiney note from you.

you feel his hand fiddle with the button of your skirt, popping it open which makes your stomach drop and heat pool between your legs.

your body yearns for his touch.

he slides his hand, his large, strong hand, inside your skirt, feeling you through your underwear, you pull away to breathe, eyes closed, brows cinching up. “cooper . . please.”

“please what?” he palms you through your lacy underwear, watching your expression shift. then, he slips it under the lace, where you’re bare, pulling a moan from you when his fingers slide into your warm slick like home. “this what you want?”

you cry out at the feeing, his fingers massaging your pussy as your head tilts back, your arm hanging over his shoulder as you’re somewhat placed on the bathroom countertop.

his lips attach to your jaw again, wet and slow, comforting you as his long fingers begin to move at a exhilarating pace, starting to build you up as you struggle to hold back any of those famous sounds. “f—fuck . . cooper.”

your hand curls around the back of his head, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “yeah, baby? you like that? you gonna cum for me?”

you can feel him watching you, standing in front of you, and it only makes you dirtier. wetter. like there’s a sense of shame to be felt here for hooking up with an ex, especially after having a sort of enemy-energy between you.

his other hand pushes your other thigh open wider, your other hand catching his wrist as you feel the intensity bubbling in you lower stomach, that familiar feeling making its way to the front. his fingers pump in and out of you with a mastered rhythm, his thumb hovering your clit you know will send you quickly over the edge once he goes there — and he does.

your body arches into him at the touch of his thumb playing with the most sensitive bundle of nerves. you gasp sharply, gripping his thick wrist while shaking your head, catching the subtle smirk on his face as he watches you approach your intense orgasm. “fuck cooper—i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum—”

a loud bang on the door freezes you in your movements and your body flinch with fright.

“COOPER!”

three loud bangs follow again from the other side. “cooper, hurry up! i’m ready to go home!”

you freeze.

every muscle in your body locks into place.

your stomach dropping like you miss a step on stairs.

he pauses too, his fingers still deeply in you, soaked. he doesn’t move them.

“coop?” a voice calls through the wood - sweet, sing-songy, edged with irritation. “i want to go home, will you hurry up?”

your blood goes cold.

it drains from your face, your chest, your fingertips — leaving only in shock with a sharp, burning pulse in your ribs.

your eyes fly to his.

they stare back at you as he opens his mouth.

“alright stells, give me a minute!”

her huff is heard through the door and her footsteps too as she storms off back down the hallway, leaving you in your fury state with a smug-faced cooper who’s fingers slowly, shamelessly, move in you again.

you rip his hand away, shove him next, blood boiling from your toes to your neck as you shuffle to pull your skirt back over you. your fingers twitch with rage as you try to button it.

cooper watches.

you’re so, uncomprehendingly enraged you don’t even have the words.

you feel like you’re about to physically explode in this bathroom.

“i—”

“DON’T fucking talk to me!” you seeth, loud but not yelling, not with the subconscious that stella could still be lingering just outside. “the FUCK is wrong with you?!” you push him again.

you’re unbelievably embarrassed. you’re humiliated actually. ashamed.

furious.

“y/n—”

“get the fuck away from me cooper!” you’re shaking, you’re so mad. you actually don’t know what to do with the adrenaline coursing through your veins without hurting anybody.

“just relax.”

you shoot him a death glare through blazing eyes. “RELAX?!”

“look, she doesn’t know!—”

“—you’re a cheating piece of shit!”

“you’re the one who barged in here.”

you straighten your back. “don’t do that.”

“do what?” he fights back a smile. it makes you physically sick.

“you’re not fucking funny!” both your hands shove him hard the time, so much he does stumble a little. “get the fuck out of my way!”

“you need to listen to me, ok? y/n, we’re not even together, i’m so done with her—”

“—she’s knocking on the fucking door looking for you!”

“yeah, she knocks on every door i’m behind.”

“don’t start lying to me!”

“i’m not—”

“cooper please!” a voice interjects, more thuds following.

you look at him. he looks at you. signature cockiness nowhere to be seen.

your breathing is heavy; fists shaking at your sides.

he gives you a final look with a shake of his head and steps outside, closing the door with a sharp slam.

you hear voices muffled on the other side of the wall, but you’re too busy listening to the thousands of thoughts running through your head.

what the fuck just happened?

the rest of your week is spent in you college dorm, refusing to go anywhere else unless you absolutely need to. you’re done with partying. done with socialising in general. when you’re not in class, you’re at home, and when you’re not home, you’re at practice.

a heavy weight of anxiety has been following you about and you don’t know why.

actually, you know entirely why; maybe the fact your ex was, shamelessly, knuckle-deep in you while his girlfriend was on the other side of the wall. you hadn’t stopped questioning if anyone had seen you both go in the bathroom; if anyone had heard you both; if cooper had casually let it slip because it wouldn’t be all that surprising on his behalf but you — you would crumble at the idea of anyone thinking you were putty in his hands again.

you know you’re not the biggest fan of stella, but you didn’t do that on badness, and that’s what scares you — because you know you didn’t, but everyone else will have their own say.

you know college ain’t high school, but you can held but constantly glance at everyone you pass, wondering if they’re secretly whispering about the party, if your name has been doing rounds in groupchats, if everyone is saying the same thing you’re feeling:

y/n y/l/n is the biggest, two-faced, pathetic cheating slut, fucking her ex when she knows his girlfriend. what a slimy, spiteful cow of a girl, doing that on poor stella. what would her mother think?

you’re back home like everybody else for the weekend, in you childhood house, cutting up fruit for a smoothie when loud voices invade your peace before the front door has even opened.

trent and hunter come storming in like rhinos, another body in amongst them, roughing them up just as hard as his hand ruffles their head in a painful-looking manner, jumping on top of them. you halt upon realisation, watching all three of them stumble to a stop in the open kitchen. you know they were hanging out with cooper today, you didn’t expect them to bring him home.

you’ve been avoiding him pretty well, for sole purpose of his safety - granted, if you weren’t so scared of your ruining your image and being labelled a cheater—non-girl’s girl—desperate slut instead, you’d knock him out with your desk if given the opportunity.

you ignore him. you ignore all three of them, answering only when they talk to you.

“what you making?”

“smoothie.”

“what kind?”

“mango one.”

trent throws himself on the couch, hunter throwing the ball to cooper before striding towards the fridge. they’re talking the same stuff they always do when hunter pops a question. “you been with stella lately?”

you continue to cut, your eyes lifting from the chopping board to the culprit. it’s been four days since that incident and you’re eager to know where you stand.

“yeah. was with her last night.”

oh so that’s where you stand! you smile in satisfaction while taking a blade to the mango. when have you ever been wrong? cooper dejean remains a lying cheating piece of shit to stella!

he catches your eye when he answers, with no emotion behind them.

your brother jumps at your obnoxious chop, amusement tingling his features. “ooo—wait, wait—touchy subject, bro, drop it,” he purposefully, awkwardly scratches his next and side-eyes you to your other brother, the pair of them laughing out loud when you shake your head with a barely amused smile.

“oh yeah, take this knife and drag it through my heart, it would hurt less.”

your tone is unbelievably flat, the guys are offended for their buddy.

you scrape the fruit in the blender, ignoring the heaviness of cooper’s gaze on you and the thudding in your chest.

the doorbell goes, and trent jumps to inspect, hunter slowly following behind as he lingers behind the wall. cooper stays put, gravitating to the kitchen island where you stand behind. “ready to talk?”

“never.”

“i wasn’t lying to you, y/n.”

you place down the knife. “i don’t care.”

“well i do, listen to me,” he urged, irritation staring to slip through.

“you’re together now so it really doesn’t matter.” you smile sarcastically.

“we’re not.”

your head rises.

is he for real? “oh! so, you were just fucking last night, then?”

it’s actually humorous at this point.

cooper’s unimpressed by your reply, waiting for you to be finished, but you truly don’t need to hear him out. there isn’t anything he could say that could ever change your opinion on him now. “how am i suppose to believe a word that comes out of your mouth,” you muse, looking at him in disbelief. “i’m done talking to you.”

“y/n—”

the blender tunes him out as you twist it on, the noise a sure ear sore but better to listen to the constant bullshit running from his mouth.

he’s annoyed with you. you see it in his face, but you don’t care. you want him gone. he’s hasn’t even experienced a fraction of what you are, but he doesn’t give up.

he’s still always around.

you see him at practice, standing still, watching upon arrival of his other teammates, and it takes everything in you not to look at him, like so much as looking in the same direction as him will give away what went down between you. you haven’t seen stella at all.

cooper doesn’t try to talk, he knows better, but he’s clever, and he knows his presence alone affects you, even from long distances, all 6ft muscle; he’s the easiest body to pick out. you hate that your body notices him before you do. hate that your eyes lock onto him without permission; heat curling low in your stomach before you’ve even caught up.

he silently stands opposite you when you fill your bottles, stands tall when you try to casually walk past him in frat houses, his eyes burning into you, his presence the loudest in the room. the way he strides in, the space his body takes up, his charm in the way he laughs and smiles when he talks; floating through the air as easy as his aftershave, sticking to everyone in contact with him.

you hate that he’s worked his way into your subconscious when you’re not even talking to him.

you wake up from a strange dream that’s evidently set in the future, so real, in an apartment complex on the corner of a street, dark, cozied on the couch, and a cardboard box with an unboxed piece of furniture by the TV, a bed of some kind. you woke up disoriented, wondering why the hell you weren’t on a corner couch with cooper’s arm around you, cars beeping you awake.

it was disgusting.

your phone showcases old photos on its carousel of flashbacks on the same date. your old yearbook comes after a clear out of your room. an old picture frame falls on your head when trying to grab an old box from your wardrobe, pain surging through your head, the picture pulling a bit of breath from you as well as.

why? why do you still have these things? you think, throwing them in a new, dark space. but it gets you thinking. gets you reminiscing.

we weren’t even bad.

cooper was . . really good.

a really good boyfriend.

you don’t usually let yourself think too hard about what you and cooper used to be, but when you do, it isn’t messy or dramatic . . . it’s easy. clean. the kind of friendship people never believe exists between a girl and a guy without something messy underneath it (which ultimately, it did.)

it baffles you. you don’t understand how he is who he is. you knew the version of him people talked about now, but it didn’t line up with the boy you’d had.

you were both so easy together. he was chill.

calm where you were sharp, grounding without dulling you. he’d been your friend first, properly your friend — not preying, not waiting for a chance, not turning everything into a flirt. a good friendship; he was your boy, successfully stolen from your brothers when they’d left. day-one energy, riding for you without question, backing you in rooms you weren’t even in - it was the two of you who now traded looks across tables, sharing jokes not even trent and hunter understood, laughing too loud over nothing at all. the kind of trust that sat quiet but solid between you.

it was half the reason you’d dreaded crossing that line into dating was because you didn’t want to ruin it - made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t nerves — more like grief, like losing something good before it was even gone.

you didn’t want to lose the rare thing you’d built.

you liked a boy who treated you like a teammate, not something to look at, something to want. someone who stood beside you instead of hovering, who never made you feel like something to be claimed or shown off or reduced to a body to drool over.

you’d valued that. fiercely.

of course, dating wasn’t as bad as much as a shit show as you’d expected. it was the same, just . . turned up a notch - the protectiveness had doubled, his arm always finding your shoulders in a crowd, his hand at the small of your back without thinking about it. he still laughed with you the same way, still showed up the same way, still let you steal his food and cheered you on just as loud, if not louder.

if anything, he’d just made it clearer that you were his person.

damn, did you love him, you think, standing up. but it was so easy to love when you were you and he was just him.

back when cooper was just cooper — loud laugh, honest eyes, incapable of keeping a secret even if he tried, not when he was annoyed, not when he was excited, not when he was guilty. everything always spilled out eventually, careless and unfiltered - you never knew how he managed to surprise you with particular gifts.

you try to line that boy up with the one everyone talks about now:

the cheater.

the liar.

the ignorant hot shot.

you’ve spent days dwelling on how he lied to you in that bathroom, because it makes sense - because it aligned with the cooper your brothers warned you about.

but then you think about the moments when it’s just been the two of you:

how he still looks at you the same way, how his tone shifts, how the bravado drops just a fraction - how his body relaxes and his movements become easy, no performance required.

and it messes with you, because if he’s not different with you — if that part of him stayed intact — then the fact he’d lie straight to your face doesn’t sit right.

it’s harder to comprehend than you want it to be, easier to believe he’s the same with everyone, harder to accept that you might be an only exception.

that maybe he can be selfish and careless and still tell you the truth.

god, you could punch him for being such a mindfuck.

you don’t forgive him, you don’t trust him either, but you stop bracing every time he walks into a room.

the next day at practice, you allow yourself to look at him . . he notices. you pass him at a party, apologising with his name on your tongue when you accidentally brush by him a little hard. you applaud with the rest of the girls when he scores a touchdown during a team game. he shoots you a smile down the tunnel on thursday, and you aren’t ignorant to him.

“—nice uniform,” he compliments, not looking back as he trails down, and you can only cover your face with a faceplam - because he’s so lucky sean and the girls weren’t around to hear him.

he actually never changes at all, you begin to think.

you’re half-paying attention in the lecture hall, your hand moving without much thought as you scribble lazy notes down on paper.

cooper drops into the seat beside you. you don’t realise it’s him at first, and do a double-take, scanning the room for other free spaces, and there isn’t any, not unless there is in the back rows you’re not craning your head to look for.

he lets out a sound that seems like he doesn’t want to sit next to you, an inward sigh as he drops his hat to the ground. it’s just convenient. then, quietly, ashamedly almost, he mutters:

“do you have the notes from last class?”

you glance sideways, lifting a brow curiously.

“i had practice,” he explains.

“you always have practice?”

he looks at you, his face not shifting much but you can see the lightness to it. he raises his brows. “so you’re not gonna help me out?”

“i advise you work on your attendance and punctuality instead of what hand you should throw with,” you give your input, “take some responsibility instead of making excuses.”

“i am responsible?”

you snort before you can stop yourself, still writing in your book.

he tilts his head, studying you. there’s a beat where his expression shifts — not offended, not amused. “what?” he asks. “you think i’m lying?”

now that’s funny. “when aren’t you?”

he’s quiet for a second. long enough that you feel it. then, calmly, almost lightly, he says, “i’d never lie to you.”

your pause with your pen.

the words are simple, like they don’t mean anything more than that.

you turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes.

“oh yeah?”

his mouth quirks, just barely. not smug, not cocky — certain.

“yeah.” he establishes, a strong nod to follow.

something coils in your chest.

you look away.

you hope he’s clueless to the thudding in your heart because it’s banging uncontrollably.

you slam your notebook closed. “stop buttering me up just to get my notes, cooper.”

he chuckles under his breath, leaning back in his seat.

you almost smile.

then, you slide your notebook over a minute later.

your theory might just be right after all.

“good going guys, well done! go get changed, that was a good practice!” coach’s claps fade as everybody else heads to the locker room, eager to head home and spend as much time as they have left in the day to catch a little tan.

you and sean sat put on the grass, topping up your tan as he’d described with his sleeved rolled up as far as they would go, “—so then he obviously said i don’t want anyone to know so i was like coooolll, perfect, no bother, see you never, bye bye,” he drinks from his waterbottle as a whistle from the field shrieks through the air, interrupting his story.

you both pause and glance ahead, watching the rest of the football team’s play, sitting cross-legged. you proceed to debrief sean’s newest situationship. “so if he called you right now, you’re telling me you wouldn’t go?”

“no, y/n, don’t think so low of me,” he looks off to the side, deep in thought, speaking as if it was obvious.

you know better, but you continue to watch the training.

you don’t mean to focus on him, but you do - cooper moves differently when he’s locked in. his footwork is clean, cuts sharp, his body reading space before it opens. you catch yourself nodding slightly at a play, impressed before you remember what you’re doing, your pulse striking, hormones simmering on a low buzz.

“he’s good,” your friend huffs.

“i know,” you agree, standing to your feet.

there’s something comforting in the familiarity — in knowing how he moves, how he anticipates. it loosens something in your chest.

maybe everything you’ve been carrying is heavier than it needs to be.

then — clapping cuts through it.

high-pitched. enthusiastic. obnoxious.

you flinch before you even see her.

stella stands up in the bleachers, hands cupped around her mouth as she cheers, loud and proud and visible. “woooo! go coop!”

the air drains from your lungs.

of course she’s here. of course she is. of course this is what it looks like when someone tells the truth with half their mouth.

sean slows beside you, clocking it immediately. “are they goddamn back together again?” he thinks out loud, hand on his hip.

you don’t answer, your eyes are locked on the field when cooper looks up, clocking her, probably shooting her a wink like she wants, and then twists his head back.

you’re walking before another second can pass. “see you later sean,” you snatch your pom poms up and storm off.

why?! why are even annoyed?! why do you let this stupid, sleazy, waste of oxygen of a boy get you riled up like this?! you knew exactly who he was, and every time you get soft, he reminds you of why you have your back up in the first place!

you seriously need a distraction from cooper, someone who puts him to shame. hundreds of guys are out there, worth your energy, worth your time, not still fucking with you even when you’re not even together — that quarterback from the other night is the perfect example, he was hot — sam–no, zack? scott? HE should’ve been the one in the bathroom with you.

you push through the locker room doors harder than necessary. the space is slightly loud at first — metal doors clanging, the girls talking over each other. you move on autopilot, dropping your bag onto the bench, hands twitching a little. then, one by one, the noise fades out; teammates peel away, calling quick goodbyes, the room emptying until the echoes die with them.

then it’s just you. you sit, elbows braced on your knees, head dropping into your hands.

your palms press into your eyes.

don’t spiral. don’t spiral. don’t spiral.

don’t do this, alright? don’t react. don’t kill him.

don’t let him win.

the feeling in your chest is ugly — shallow, heavy. you force it down, try to battle it with the adrenaline shooting around you, fuelled with anger.

you feel like you’re only ever angry.

this is what you get! you tell yourself. for forgetting! for hoping! for letting him near you again! you’re the one to blame with that little girl naive brain when you knew better!

FUCK! you want to punch yourself so hard.

there’s a sharp knock on the door, and it swings open a second later, a harshness behind it — cooper.

you stand up immediately, grabbing your bag. “i’m showering.”

“stop.”

“get out of here,” you order, not letting the slight hostility in his energy intimidate you. his face is hard despite a good practice, his gear stained green, hair spiked with sweat, his knuckles clinging to the cage on his helmet. he follows you to the showers. “cooper, leave.”

“we’re not together.”

you shoot him a look, spinning on your heel. he continues. “we’re not! we haven’t been for weeks!”

“you told me brothers not even a month ago you with her! lied. again!” you yell this time, entirely fed up with it all.

“i wasn’t about to have that conversation in your kitchen.”

“so that makes it okay?!”

“it makes it easier,” he steps closer, brows furrowed adamantly.

“you don’t get to pretend she doesn’t exist when she’s literally sitting in front of me,” you scoff, throwing your bag on the ground.

“i’m not pretending.”

“then what are you doing?”

“i keep trying to tell you the truth and you keep fucking running from me,” he backs you against the wall, hand on the tiles this time so you can’t physically escape this time. “it’s not fair on me.”

“FAIR?!” you exclaim, hitting it off, “you lie and you lie and you lie, cooper, you don’t remember who you’re telling the truth to! you lied to me that night in the bathroom pretending you’re single so i would let you fuck me and t—”

“—i wasn’t with her!” he raises his voice, “i haven’t been with her for ages, what don’t you understand? she won’t leave me alone and i can’t just blank her, y/n, she doesn’t let me!” his eyes are searching yours, searching the smallest opening of sympathy he can worm his way in with. “stop acting like you know everything.”

“i know what i saw,” you bite, “sitting in the bleachers watching you like she owns you.”

“she doesn’t!”

“well that’s on you for not making it clear enough to her. you don’t make it clear to nobody and it’s everybody else who looks bad when you come across single.”

“this is the longest i have been single! i’ve done nothing with anybody! stella’s trying to do the friends thing and if that keeps the peace until the end of the year, i’m game with that, ‘cause the further i push her away, the messier she comes back, fucking shit up again and again for me. if she needs a ride home, i’ll take her home—”

“like the night of the party? so you that was a favour for a friend?”

his face falls flat. “i didn’t cheat with you.”

“oh my god, cooper—”

“i didn’t, y/n!” he grabs your wrist when you try to push him away. “she even tried to kiss me on the way home, i didn’t let her.”

you stop at that.

there’s something about the tone of his voice.

it softens you. again. his eyes are frantic, his jaw is tight, like he needs you to hear it, like he needs this to land. “i don’t want stella.”

you hum, looking away from his gaze, his eye-contact too much to hold, especially when his words don’t feels genuine. he knows you think that. “what? you don’t believe me?”

“can you blame me?”

a grunt of some kind leaves him, the remainder of his aggravation still brewing.

“look—cooper-i don’t even care anymore. do what you want. stay with stella. have whoever you want - just don’t bring my name into this. i have nothing to do with this mess—”

“—you’re the reason this is messy! and i didn’t even cheat this time!”

you freeze.

he stares.

you sputter for a response. “don’t—don’t pretend i’m different.”

“you know you’re different, y/n,” his head drops, eyes closed as his voice sounds to twinge almost in pain. defeat. like a heavy confession, vulnerable. “. . . i wouldn’t be here if you weren’t different.”

your heart is beating so fast, your head spinning even faster. what does it mean? what does this even mean? what are you doing? what do you even want?

his gaze steals your breath again, eyes searching yours like he hates how much power you have right now.

he falters, blinking once, then twice, and you begin to feel him pull away, pushing his weight off the wall, “just . . say it,” he mutters, takes a step back—giving up. “just–tell me you fuckin’ hate me so this can be done, ‘n i’ll leave you alone f—”

you don’t let him finish, not even take another step away before your own feet are moving, fuelled by the sharpness in your chest as he attempts to leave, and trip into him, hands clinging to his face before pulling it down to yours,

all teeth and breath and frustration, months of tension snapping at once. his surprise lasts half a second before he’s kissing you back like he’s been waiting for this, hand finding your hips on instinct.

your brain is screaming.

your heart pounding.

but if he’s done with stella — if he’s telling the truth — then what’s stopping you?

you break away just long enough to get a breath, his mouth chasing yours, eager for more. “don’t make me regret this.”

he just smiles, lopsided, and your heart skips giddily like it once used to.

his large hands scoop you up, holding you at the height of your thighs, pushing your back to the wall. your legs wrap around him, hands in his hair when his lips find yours again, needy and messy. cooper can feel his blood pumping, his head going loose.

he pulls away this time, his hair tickling your face as he drops his head slightly. “wait-wait–wait—" you open your eyes to look at him, but his are closed in thought. “is this a bad idea?”

your silence results in him opening his eyes, and he’s met with your evidently displeased gaze.

you almost scoff. “cooper hurry up and pull my skirt off.”

that does it for him.

if he wasn’t pumped before, he can’t work his hands fast enough in getting your skirt down your legs. amongst the rabid kissing and touching, feeling, and squeezing of hands, the shower head turns on and you’re more than soaked in your bra and underwear.

you gasp when cooper slides in, lips falling open in shock as your nails dig into his shoulders. you forget the coldness of the wall against your back or the way your hair sticks to your face, too busy trying to adjust to him like you once did.

he’s so big. bigger than you ever remembered, you can feel him taking up ever inch of space you have to offer, you almost feel winded when he thrusts inside you. it steals your voice, making it high pitched. “ah, fuck.”

oh, but he’s so warm as you remembered. snug. he’s smooth with it, familiar with your walls that cling to him tightly. you second-guess for a minute if you ever even loved copper or was it just his dick? the more his hips snap against yours, the more you feel your body melt into that blissful daze, fingers curling into the nape of his neck, savouring every second he gives you, you can hardly keep your eyes open.

the sound of skin slapping fills the locker room, further adding to your desires. it’s so dirty. disgusting a little, that you’re the same shameless girl you were in high school. you squeeze him between grunts, claw his back when he speeds up, feeling yourself get impossibly wetter when he dips his head down to watch. watch himself slide in and out of you, glistening in your juices already, the only lubricant he’ll ever need. you tuck your fingers under his chin and pull him up, wanting him to look at you.

he grins, that stupid, boyish grin that skips your heart doesn’t falter his hips for a moment. “missed it.”

you just kiss him, endorsed by his tenderness despite his current roughness.

you can’t help but moan all around him, clinging to his muscles, trying to focus on the water droplets on the tips of his hair to try and save yourself but you can’t help it - he knows you perfectly after all these years, how to quickly get you there. “–oh fuck, cooper,” you wince, feeling the violent sudden urge to release. his fingers grip you tighter, his pace quickening, trying to get you both to the finish line.

skin slapping, water running, heavy breathing and his strong, focused gaze of furrowed brows and dark eyes on you and only you - you come hard. gasping, jaw going slack, you feel his hand trace up your neck and grip you jaw to get you to look at him.

you don’t even remember if he comes, you’re in a daze, enjoying the snapping sensation in your stomach come undone as he holds you still, watching the way your face moves in bliss. for once, you don’t feel tense under his gaze, melting into his hand as your body starts to relax. you enjoy the peace and content under the shower head, in his hold.

for a few minutes, it’s a dream.

no tension pulling at your chest, no sharp thoughts waiting to cut in - just that strange, hollow calm that settles after everything’s done burning out.

for the first time in weeks, there’s no dread sitting heavy in your stomach, no wondering who’s watching, who’s listening, what’s going to blow up next — the world has shrunk to this quiet locker room and the soft breaths being shared in them.

cooper sneaks a glance at you just as you do, smiles breaking out between you. his forehead dips forward for a second, brushing you lightly as he exhales, “. . . you still scare me when you’re mad.”

you try not to smile. “s’how it should be.”

“i think you just enjoy yelling at me,” he looks at you through his lashes.

“you need it,” you giggle, toothy smiles mirroring each other.

he’s still close. hair messy, skin warm, that stupid half-smile on his face like he’s pleased with himself for reasons you don’t want to acknowledge. he looks calmer like this, less cocky - less like the guy everyone else sees.

the ego never leaves though. “don’t look so pleased with yourself,” you say as he sets you down, going to retrieve his things.

he pauses, looking over his shoulder, smugly, “i’m not.”

he definitely is.

“cooper,” you barely scold, shoving his shoulder, not that he moves, but he laughs, enjoying your all too familiar embarrassment when it comes to this side of your relationship.

you can’t help but think of how it’s not going to be like this once you both leave the locker room.

friday is a big game day. parents are over for parents weekend. your mom and dad are stoked to get an insight of your college life, excited to watch you cheer. your mom hasn’t stopped taking photos and your dad is dripped out in hawks merch, forcing you to throw a football with him on the field when giving him a tour to relive his best college student life. he urges you to tackle him, and you do your best, although underestimating the old man, he throws you down instead, running with he ball in his hand like the superbowl trophy is within reach of his fingertips. you can’t even be mad, just entertained.

your uniform is pressed to perfection, your hair slicked without a hair out of place. the air is hot, it’s loud with the older audience, but you’re ready.

it’s an important game. big rivals. a spot up for grabs in the semi-finals.

out of breath, sweat glistening your head, you’re still panting when the game starts.

you haven’t got talking to cooper much, but you don’t get angry when you see him. you know when game day is around, there is no talking to him - it’s only football going on up there. still, you’re reassured solely by the look in his eye that he’s got something promising coming your way.

first possession starts. offense lines up, quarterback calls out signals, center snaps the ball, and boom — the stick‑and‑line dance begins. cheers boom over the speakers and you feel that familiar thrill in your chest.

strong start.

touchdowns happen, big plays happen, field goals sail through uprights and everyone stands anyway because you never know if that’s gonna be the difference.

halftime hits and you and your team form your lines, pom-poms catching the sunlight, legs snapping into perfect motion. jumps, kicks, lifts — each one sharp, each one timed perfectly with the beat.

you glance up at the stands and spot your parents almost immediately, your mom waving like crazy with her phone in the opposite hand and your dad, standing with his hands in his pockets, a proud grin tugging at his lips. it makes your chest swell.

then, it goes south.

the team’s possession falls and the ball is dropped more than once.

you sweat a little.

why is this happening? you stress, hands at your hair, holding your head because you can’t pull it.

another missed play, and the other team score.

with seconds left and the score tied, your as tense as a board.

the boys huddle and get a talk. voices are raised. frustration starts to seep through. the whistle blows.

cooper is locked in, eyes trained downfield, feet moving like he’s rewriting the play himself — he fakes a handoff, reads the defense, and keeps the ball to himself, slicing through a seam no one thought was there.

the crowd rises as he crosses into the end zone, and next, you don’t know how, but he secures the win just as the clock hits zero, the cheers shaking the stands in a way only college football can.

students stand, parents scream, bands blast, everyone yells and hugs strangers as the ground itself shakes with their joy. it’s that raw, unfiltered thrill only a college rivalry can deliver.

you don’t have the words, you’re quite literally stunned, cheering for the entire team but especially at his talent, unable to stop jumping and cheering alongside everyone else.

cooper runs to his parents, feeling their embrace through the stands as they try to throw their arms around him, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, he can’t stop smiling.

it’s the most endearing thing to watch.

your parents watching you watch him is the most endearing thing they’ve watched.

it’s the most wholesome sight amongst the chaos exploding around them. and then, another of dark hair slips between them, full lips smiling with pride, fingers shaking with excitement before reaching for his face.

and then, she kisses him.

he kisses stella.

stella kisses cooper. cooper kisses stella.

they’re kissing.

right there. in front of you. in front of everyone. in front of everything.

you don’t even blink.

you just stand there.

dumbfounded.

dumbly.

dumb.

it’s a dream, surely.

a silly, twisted, mocking joke of a dream.

an ugly, suffocating ball of disgust, fear and shame expectedly swirl in your stomach, tightening the swishy feeling in your chest.

your hand calmly covers your mouth as stand there in shock, feeling sean’s and others eyes on you, sensing a loud silence amongst the carnage of the field.

this would, this would happen to you, wouldn’t it?

people around you cheer harder, whistles and laughter cutting through the air, someone behind you yells his name again -it looks perfect from a distance: the star player celebrating with his girlfriend after winning the game.

his girlfriend who is oblivious to the fact he was fucking another girl not even 24 hours ago! delightful!

you feel so sick. whether with guilt, shame, humiliation - you honestly don’t know.

you walk through the tunnel. enter the locker room and sit down in silence.

part 2

[greengoblinswifey]

Love & Super Bowl

pairing— Cooper Dejean x Fem!Reader

summary— The Eagles just won the Super Bowl and on top of that, it’s your boyfriend’s birthday. So, you reward him and celebrate in the best way possible.

warnings— 18+. fluff, L bombs, praise kink, oral(m&f), fingering, hair pulling, strip tease, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie.

a/n— As requested by the masses, Cooper DeJean smut🙏🏽I need him so fucking baddd

As the final whistle blew, signaling the Philadelphia Eagles’ victory, you leaped from your seat, your cheers echoing amidst the crowd.

Green confetti rained down everywhere and the crowd was going wild, the cheers enough to make you go deaf. Pushing through the chaos, you spotted him on the field, helmet off, hair a mess, the biggest smile on his face. You didn’t even think, just ran straight to him, launching yourself into his arms. He caught you like it was nothing, holding you tight as you wrapped your legs around him.

“I’m so proud of you, baby!” you practically shouted, smiling like an idiot.

Cooper laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you so much,” he said, kissing you, green confetti sticking to both of you.

The whole thing felt unreal, like something out of a movie.

Later at the after party, Cooper looked hot—too hot. A cigar between his lips, smirk on his face, championship chain around his neck, you wanted him, badly. But you kept it together, mostly. That is, until you started dancing on him, pushing your ass back to feel how hard you made him.

His grip on your waist tightened. “Baby, stop,” he murmured in your ear, voice low. “You know I’ll take you right here.”

You smirked, looking back at him. “Then do it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just wait ‘til we get back to the hotel.”

And he meant that.

The whole night, he kept you close, his arm around your waist, pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand to be apart for more than five seconds. You could tell he was counting down the minutes until the party was over even though he was enjoying it.

And the second you walked into the hotel room? He had you up against the door, kissing you like he’d been waiting forever. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His hands on your ass, slapping and squeezing.

“You were amazing tonight,” you murmured between kisses. “So proud of you.”

The Super Bowl, his birthday, and you, his girlfriend? He couldn’t have asked for a better night.

“You deserve to be rewarded tonight,” you murmured, tracing a hand down Cooper’s chest as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He smirked, his eyes dark. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, giving him that look, the one that always made his breath hitch. “Mhm.”

Slowly, you stepped back, peeling off your outfit with a teasing smile, even swaying your hips and bending over to give him a full view of your pussy. He leaned back slightly, his hands gripping the sheets as he took you in, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“God, you’re fucking hot,” he muttered.

You made your way back to him, pushing him gently so he fell against the mattress. His hands immediately found your waist, but you swatted them away playfully. “Let me take care of you,” you whispered, kissing a trail down his torso.

His breathing grew heavier, his muscles tensing under your touch. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair as you moved lower, looking up at him through your lashes.

His grip tightened on the sheets, a quiet curse slipping from his lips. “Oh, shit—”

And that was all the encouragement you needed.

After ridding him of his undergarments, his cock sprang free, hard and already leaking. You took ahold of him, hand barely able to go around it all before you kissed the tip. He sucked in a breath, his eyes laser focused on you as you trailed your tongue up and down the veins on his thick shaft.

“You’re such a tease baby,” he chucked, “C’mon, take my dick down that throat.”

He rested his hand on your head and you slowly took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue until he hit the back of your throat. You let him settle there for a minute, relishing in how stretched out your mouth was and how sexy his soft moans sounded before you began moving your head.

“Just like that, baby. You’re so fucking amazing,” he moaned.

You pulled him out of your mouth, leaving just the tip in and suckled on it. He was so sensitive, throwing his head back and gripping the sheets as if to anchor himself. Your lips trailed from his shaft to his balls, sucking as he whimpered soft praises.

“That feels so good. You’re gonna make me cum,” he murmured, breath heaving as he stared down at you.

Taking him back down your throat, you bobbed your head faster, hands caressing his balls as they tightened. With a pop, you took him out of your mouth. “Cum down my throat, you deserve it.”

He bucked his hips, moaning your name as his load shot down your throat. You didn’t stop though, taking him deeper, bobbing your head faster, determined to get every reaction and every last drop of cum out of him.

When you were finally done with him, he pulled you up into a sloppy kiss, savoring the taste of himself on your tongue. “Thank you so much, baby. You always know how to make me feel good,” he praised.

You pushed his hair back, littering his face with kisses. His hands went to your ass as his lips captured yours in a kiss that was even deeper than the last, squeezing and caressing. He had your leg up, trailing his fingers slowly along your thigh until they reached your clit.

“Baby,” you whined. “You always make me feel good but tonight is your night.”

Cooper shifted until his face was hovering over your pussy. “I don’t care. I need to taste you.”

Your half hearted protests caught in your throat as his mouth connected with your clit, sucking as though he had a point to prove. His tongue lapped at your juices, and you cried out as he abruptly slipped a finger inside you.

“God, you taste fucking incredible,” he muttered.

His tongue worked with precision, flicking your clit as his finger curled inside you, meeting your sweet spot with every thrust. You grabbed his hair, grinding on his tongue as he worked you over and before long, you could feel the coil in your abdomen tighten.

“Clenching around my fingers so tight. Give me my reward baby, cum in my mouth,” Cooper said, between licks.

Your back arched from the bed and you felt a rush of liquid leave your pussy. He lapped at your juices like a man starved, guiding you through your high as your entire body shook.

“That’s my girl, that’s my perfect fucking girl,” he cooed, sucking off his finger and licking his lips.

Your breath hitched. He didn’t even give you a minute to recover. You felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh as he hovered above you, his hair tousled giving him that chiseled look.

“Cooper,” you whined. “I need you so fucking bad. I’ve needed you the moment you started playing on that field, you looked so hot.”

He smirked, rubbing the tip along your folds and collecting your juices. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Without missing a beat you did as you were told. “I want your cock so bad. Please fuck me, I need it. I need you.”

“Good girl.” With his hand wrapped gently around your throat, his cock inched into your pussy. You could feel every vein as he slowly pushed inside you, inch by inch until your nails clawed his back.

“Fuck. This pussy was so needy for me, wasn’t she?” he groaned, his eyes going from his cock buried inside you to your face twisted in pleasure.

You couldn’t answer, his cock had knocked the air out of your lungs but he wasn’t having it. He thrusted harshly, your tits bouncing as your body jolted.

“Answer me,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Yes, Cooper. My pussy’s so needy,” you managed to croak out.

He began moving at a steady pace, hitting all the right spots that made your nails dig into his back even deeper. His hand was still around your throat, gentle but firm as his gaze locked with yours.

“You feel so fucking good. Taking this dick like you’re the champ tonight,” he chuckled, breathlessly.

You spread your legs even wider, the sound of your cries and pussy squelching filling the room.

“Faster, Cooper!” you cried out, feeling yourself tip over the edge.

“Anything for my good girl.”

He pushed your legs behind your head, the angle making his cock slip inside you even deeper. He pressed you into the mattress, pounding your pussy as your loud moans filled the hotel room.

“Oh my God, Cooper! I’m gonna cum!” You were sure the entire floor filled with Eagles players could hear you but in that moment, you didn’t care. Cooper was fucking you too good, still running off the adrenaline from the game.

You moaned his name like a prayer, squirting on his raw cock as he continued slamming into you. He pressed kisses to your lips, still thrusting into you until he flipped you over so you were on your back.

He slapped your ass, making you squeal, then sank right back into you. “So fucking sexy. Take everything I give you.”

You arched your back and his fingers tangled in your hair as he slammed into you from behind. With each thrust, you felt the head of his cock practically kissing your cervix. He stared down at your ass rippling against him and his cock disappearing inside you, covered in your cream.

“You should see how beautiful you look just taking my fucking dickfrom behind,” he groaned, voice raspy. “Can’t believe how lucky I am tonight.”

You pushed back against him, meeting his harsh thrusts and with the way his cock twitched inside you, you could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer.

“That’s my girl. Push back against my dick. Fuck me back, princess.”

He let go of your hair, hand snaking around your neck as you arched off him and met his thrusts. He titled your head back, pressing a deep kiss to your lips as his hips stuttered.

“Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum,” he murmured.

Your walls clenched around him, creaming on his cock and soaking him.

“Cum inside me, Cooper,” you breathed, your entire body convulsing from the intense orgasm.

You didn’t need to tell him twice, he slammed into you for the last time, pressing you into the mattress as his load filled you to the brim. A deep a guttural moan left his lips, his cock twitching and painting your insides.

“Don’t move, baby,” he whimpered. “Stay right there, take all my cum. I’m gonna breed this pussy tonight.”

You stayed pressed into the mattress, the feeling of his warm and sticky cum leaving you content until he finally collapsed beside you, panting.

You were still catching your breath, body trembling slightly as Cooper pulled you into his arms. His skin was warm against you, his lips brushing over yours as you both tried to steady yourselves. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns as he gazed at you with that look he always gave you, like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“You took me so well,” he murmured. “You’re so hot. That was amazing.”

You smiled against his lips, pressing another soft kiss there before pulling back to look at him. “I’m so proud of you, truly,” you whispered. “You did absolutely amazing out there. You’re a fucking Super Bowl champion, Cooper.”

He let out a breathless chuckle and pressed a trail of kisses over your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, making you giggle softly.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, holding you even closer, like he never wanted to let go. “I couldn’t think of a better way to end the night.”

You snuggled deeper into his chest, your fingers lazily tracing over his skin. “I love you too. Happy birthday again,” you whispered back, closing your eyes as his heartbeat thrummed steadily in your ear.

Perfect.

[turbosethut]

This is FRYING ME