#and then set up a projector screen and projector

[incognita-soul]

Our Flag Means Death tonight with the Royal Theater

[b4kuch1n]

good luck w the testing and a happy early new year!!

thank you it's already happened when this was sent but we all did get one free point for the listening section bc the audio fucked up and we didn't get to hear the part with the last question's answer. but I will now think this is luck borrowed from the future when this ask was sent

[online-trends-shop]

https://www.indiepassion.in/smart-tv-projectors-for-home-entertainment/

[emisluvr]

‎ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗔𝗟   𖥔 𝗣.𝗦𝗛

‎ ♡ 【 𝒅'amour. 】 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖾𝗈'𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 !

✿ 𓈒 𝒇.𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 1448. ─── 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 , 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 & 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗑 , 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄

‎ ꒰◞ ˕ ◟୨୧꒱ REBLOG FOR CUDDLES !

your boss, park sunghoon, was a ceo that nearly everyone looked up to. you don't know how you got the job as his personal assistant, it just kind of happened. you were only looking for a job that paid fairly well and wouldn't drain the life out of you, as opposed to your last one.

so when you got the offer to be the personal assistant of a ceo, you obviously didn't turn it down. the position paid well, and you got to eyefuck a handsome man nearly every second of the day.

park sunghoon was a man of himself, in his mid 20s, always wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves pushed up, an expensive watch, his dark hair styled perfectly, his glasses. not to mention—he was tall, respectful, and had a lean build. he was the blueprint of every woman's ideal type.

and though you were relatively close to his age, and were complimented by many, you would've never expected to have a chance with your boss.

the day starts early and normal. you begin by checking his calendar, fixing files, and bringing him his favourite oatmilk coffee order, making it just right, earning a small compliment every time.

there was always an undeniable tension between the two of you. just little moments where you'd both stare for a little too long, accidentally brush hands, but on this particular day.. it showed more than ever.

when you're in the copy room, his hips brush against your ass trying to move past you as you stand in front of the printer. he doesn't even mutter a small "sorry," but instead carries on like it was a normal thing.

he also stands way too close when he reviews something with you on the projector screen, standing just a little behind you as you feel his tall and muscular figure hover over yours.

your hands softly brush when you pass him a pen, and you swear you see him slightly smirk. maybe you were overthinking, but those little "accidents" didn't mean nothing to you.

when it's late and the office closes, you both usually stay behind a few extra minutes to plan his schedule for tomorrow.

he calls you into his office like always. you walk in, the modern room dead silent with the only light source coming from the warm ceiling lights and a big lamp in the corner of the room.

"close the door," he says, voice low as he shuffles through files, not making eye contact with you. normally, he never asked you to, but you didn't think much of it at the moment.

you walk over to shut the door, heels clinking against the dark tiled floor with your hair tied back in a sleek yet effortlessly messy claw clip. the first front buttons of your black dress shirt are undone, slightly exposing your cleavage, and your tight pencil skirt ends just above your knees, perfectly hugging your curves.

he's seated in his leather chair, legs spread as he finally makes eye contact with you, jaw tense, and eyes dark behind his lenses. "come here."

you walk over to him, setting your clipboard and pen down on his desk that was clean, minimalist, but piled with paperwork. "y/n," he says, voice low as he glances down for a second.

the way he uses your first name catches you off guard. usually, he addresses you as "miss l/n." your name slipping past his lips is enough for several thoughts to rush through your head.

am i about to get fired? did i accidentally schedule one of his meetings for the wrong time? did i say something wrong?

all your racing thoughts are shut down when he finally speaks. "you know how fucking hard it is to sit through meetings when you look like that?"

oh. speaking of meetings.

you gulp. sure, maybe sometimes you liked to be a slight tease at the worst times—for lack of a better word—at meetings. your front buttons were purposely undone to show off your collarbones and the top of your plush breasts sitting pretty in your lace bra. your hips grinding down in the seat as you pretended to shift your position.

truthfully, you didn't even think he noticed. you never thought he paid that much attention to you. so really, you thought you were just teasing for your own satisfaction.

"you think i don't notice how you tease me? walking around like a little slut in that tight skirt," he says, looking back up at you, his sharp features defined from the warm lighting in the eerily quiet room.

the only sounds heard are your heavy breathing and his lighter, more controlled ones.

"s-sir, it's not like that—" you stutter, but before you can get the full sentence out, he grips your wrist and pulls you down onto his lap, his lips immediately crashing onto yours.

his soft lips move against yours, rough and filthy, fingers working your dress shirt open completely until your tits spill out, cupped so prettily in your lace bra.

"bet you soaked through your cute little panties just from me looking at you," he mutters into the kiss, one hand already sliding under your skirt to graze over your clothed pussy. and to no surprise, you’re soaked.

you moan softly at the contact, hands resting on his shoulders as he pushes your skirt up to your hips, giving you full access to straddle him properly—but mostly, giving him better access to you.

your hands reach back to pull your heels off, landing on the tiled floor with two sharp clinks.

"been wanting to ruin you on this chair for weeks," he groans, lips breaking from yours to latch onto your neck and breasts, sloppily and hungrily sucking little bruises into your skin. he tugs your panties to the side, the cold air hitting your bare pussy and making you shiver.

one hand grips your naked hip while the other holds your back, pulling you closer to him. you tug on his tie, loosening it so his collarbones and broad shoulders peek out from under his shirt. he unzips his pants, freeing his thick, leaking cock.

his mouth detaches from your neck, chest rising and falling. your eyes trail down as you adjust your hips to sit just above his cock, then slowly sinking down.

your head falls back, lips parting in a gasp as he grunts underneath you. your tight, soaked pussy takes all of him in with ease.

you start to bounce slowly, finding your rhythm. both of his hands firmly grip your hips.

"so fuckin’ tight around me, shit—" he hisses, before pulling you down for another kiss. this time, it’s more messy and needier. your lipgloss smears across his jaw as his hand wraps around your throat, gently squeezing, holding you there as your bodies move together.

you break the kiss to pant, moaning as your thighs begin to ache from the effort. he notices and starts guiding your hips himself, helping you ride him.

the slap of your ass meeting his thighs, the wet sound of your pussy, your soft cries and his deep groans—all of it fills the room.

his hand slaps your ass, rough and loud. "you love being used by your boss, huh? such a good fuckin’ assistant."

the only thing leaving your lips are desperate moans, cries, and incoherent curses. it’s impossible to form a full sentence when you’re getting fucked dumb on your boss’s cock.

"nghh—fuck! sunghoon!" you whine, your nails digging into his shoulders as the knot in your stomach becomes tighter, his cock hitting your deepest spots with every thrust.

"that’s right, fuck.. cum all over this cock. you know you wanted it so bad," he pants, a few strands of dark hair sticking to his damp forehead. the more he thrusts up into you, the tighter you get, making his cock twitch inside your slick walls.

you both cum—his thick, warm release filling you up, while yours drips messily down his length and onto his slacks.

he stays inside for a second, chest heaving before he finally pulls out, watching the mess of your milky fluids and his own slowly leak out of your pussy.

you look like a mess. but a hot, perfect mess. your claw clip barely hanging on, lipgloss smudged, eyes glassy, and pussy sore and pulsing.

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black credit card and dropping it onto your lap.

"buy yourself something pretty. wanna see you wear it tomorrow."

you giggle softly, still breathless. "should i put it on your tab or the company’s?"

he smirks, leaning in. "both. you’ve earned it."

୨ৎ taglist: @murassl, @chuhees, @heebear, @kisuumei, @bangchanwifey, @hoonipies, @sourkiki, @highway-143, @kyanmeai, @nithxhoon, @fdzvie, @hyeinsveil, @curryyed, @heeseungsbm

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[goyardgoyangi]

𐙚 sports car pt. 1 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⌗ pairings: sukuna x reader

⌗ summary: sukuna’s used to being in control— on the streets, in the sheets, and everywhere in between. but then you show up, watching him speed through the finish line like it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen (because, honestly, it is), and before he can smirk in your direction, you beat him to it. a simple bite turns into a steamy mess in the backseat of his car at a drive-in. sukuna wants it to be a one-night thing. but then why can’t he stop thinking about you?

⌗ word count: 3.3k

♥ pt. 2 ♥ masterlist ♥

You stand at the edge of the crowd, watching as cars line up at the makeshift starting line. You aren’t here for the cars—not really. You notice Sukuna the moment he arrives— it’s impossible not to with his striking tattoos, the cocky way he carries himself, and the absolute menace in his smirk. His car, a matte black Nissan GT-R with burgundy-red accents, looks just as ruthless as he does. He leans against the hood, eyes scanning the competition like a king surveying his territory.

There's no denying that he's handsome— sharp jawline, impossibly perfect cheekbones, eyes that burn like embers under the glow of streetlights. Even his scars, jagged and unapologetic, only add to his allure. He crosses his arms, exuding effortless control. He doesn’t just own the space; he owns the entire night.

The race is over in seconds. Sukuna wins, obviously. It isn’t even close. You aren’t surprised— how could someone who looks like that ever lose? He has the kind of presence that makes anything less than winning seem absurd.

When he steps out of his car, dripping in arrogance, you walk up without hesitation, tilting your head slightly as he looks down at you with amusement, like he already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s just so damn attractive, too sharp, too cocky, too effortlessly seductive. The kind of man who could ruin someone without even trying. And that’s why you want to watch the way his lips curve into a smirk, hear that voice in a more sultry setting that doesn’t involve screeching tires.

You just smile. “Wanna get a burger?”

For the first time all night, Sukuna hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to—he absolutely does. You’re hot, and he’s used to women throwing themselves at him, but they never ask. They linger, they flirt, they wait for him to take control. He’s used to making the first move, to dominating the space, to pulling them in with that razor-sharp smirk and letting them know they don’t really have a choice.

You? You just invite him out like it’s no big deal. Like he is no big deal.

He’s intrigued by that.

“All right, sweetheart,” he says, spinning his keys around his finger with lazy precision, the metal glinting under the streetlights. He lets them twirl once more before catching them effortlessly, smirking as he looks at you. “Let’s see what you’re about.”

By the time you reach the drive-thru, you're mid-story about a disastrous first date you once had— something about a guy who spent the entire time talking about crypto. Sukuna actually finds himself laughing, something rare enough to surprise even him. You definitely aren’t intimidated by him, most people either fear him or admire him from a distance, but you just…talk. Like you’ve known him forever.

The drive-thru itself is part of an old-school car movie theater, the kind that plays classics on a massive outdoor screen while people eat in their cars. Sukuna pulls into a spot near the back, where the glow of the projector flickers against his windshield. The night air is cool, but the inside of his GT-R feels warm, thick with the scent of fresh burgers and the lingering trace of his spicy cologne. You unwrap your food casually, now paying more attention to the movie playing in front of you than to the man sitting beside you.

“So, what’s the deal?” Sukuna asks, watching you with lazy interest as you dip a fry into your shake.

“With?”

“You.”

You lick a bit of chocolate off your lip before answering, slow and absentminded— but his eyes follow the movement, sharp and unreadable. It’s such a simple thing, but somehow, it feels deliberate. Seductive, even.

His grip on his keys tightens for half a second before he spins them around his finger again, leaning back like he isn’t affected.

“Nothing,” you say casually. “I just thought you were hot, and I wanted a burger.”

His smirk deepens, dark amusement flickering in his gaze. “That simple, huh?”

You shrug, popping the fry into your mouth like you aren’t playing with fire. “You don’t look like you think that hard about anything.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his face— but it’s quickly replaced with an unexpected chuckle. He should be offended. But you aren’t treating him like some street racing legend, or like he’s someone to be wary of.

You aren’t scared, aren’t trying to play coy, and sure as hell aren’t trying to impress him.

It pisses him off how much he likes it.

He doesn’t believe in fate or any of that shit, but something about tonight feels different. Something about you feels different.

You take another sip of your milkshake, licking from your lips before catching the way Sukuna’s gaze darkens. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at your mouth. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually want to fuck me.”

Sukuna shifts in his seat, turning toward you fully now. His arm drapes lazily over the back of your headrest, closing the space between you as he leans in. His scent— something dark, spicy, and unmistakably masculine— wraps around you, making the air feel even warmer.

He lets out a low chuckle, his fingers drumming against your thighs. “And what if I am?”

The inside of Sukuna’s car feels smaller now, the air thick with something heavier than the scent of fries and milkshakes. You raise an eyebrow, acting unbothered even as your pulse quickens slightly. “Then I guess you should do something about it.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

Sukuna’s grip on your hips tightens as he lifts you slightly, his crimson eyes glinting with that feral edge you’ve come to crave. “Ride me, but don’t you dare move those hips.” He repositions you effortlessly, settling you atop him in the cramped driver’s seat.

His cock, hard beyond belief, buries deep inside your pussy, fills you to the brim, stretching you in a deliciously overwhelming way.

He doesn’t thrust, doesn’t give you the friction you’re dying for—just keeps you there, cockwarming him, your walls clenching around his pulsing length as he leans back with a wicked grin.

His rough hands start to slide up your waist, calloused fingers brushing the curve of your waist before cupping your breasts. “Look at these,” he growls, squeezing them firmly, his thumbs grazing over your nipples until they harden under his touch.

He dips his head, his hot breath fanning across your chest, and then his mouth is on you. His lips latch onto one nipple, sucking hard, the wet heat of his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. He flicks it with quick, teasing strokes, then drags the flat of his tongue over it in a slow, deliberate lick that sends a jolt straight to your core.

You can’t help it— a soft whimper escapes your lips, your body trembling as his mouth works you over.

Sukuna’s teeth graze the tender flesh, making you gasp, and then he sucks again, pulling the nipple deeper into his mouth. His tongue rolls around it, sloppy and relentless, leaving a trail of spit that glistens on your skin.

He switches to the other breast, giving it the same treatment—latching on with a hungry growl, sucking until it’s swollen and aching, his tongue tracing lazy circles before flicking the tip sharply.

The sounds start spilling out of you, quiet at first— little whimpers that catch in your throat, then soft moans as his mouth grows more insistent.

“S-Sukuna…” you breathe, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body quivering from the torment of his stillness inside you and the onslaught on your chest.

Each moan seems to stoke something in him; you feel his cock throb harder, swelling even more within your tight heat. It’s like your sounds are fueling him, his length twitching against your walls, hot and heavy, stretching you further with every pulse.

He groans against your breast, the vibration rumbling through your core as he pulls back slightly, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your glistening nipple.

“Fuck, keep making those noises,” he mutters, as his tongue leaves your breasts slick with spit as he alternates between them—sucking one while pinching the other between his fingers, rolling the bud until you’re whining helplessly on his cock.

You can feel it throbbing again, harder this time, and you swear you can feel every vein pressing into you, the sensation driving you wild as you sit there, impaled and desperate.

Sukuna’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he suddenly lifts you off his lap, his cock slipping out of you with a wet, obscene schlick that echoes in the tight confines of his sports car.

You feel the absence of his thick heat immediately, your pussy clenching around nothing, dripping with a mix of your arousal and his precum.

“Backseat,” he snarls, his voice rough and commanding, a primal edge to it that makes your thighs quiver. “Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to move on your own— Sukuna manhandles you with ease, tossing you into the sleek, leather-clad backseat of his car like you’re a ragdoll.

The cushions squeak under your weight as you land on your back, legs splayed open, your slick folds glistening in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Sukuna climbs in after you, his massive frame filling the space, the car dipping slightly under his bulk.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard" he growls, grabbing your thighs and forcing them apart until your knees nearly touch the sides of this car.

You’re breathless, chest heaving as he positions himself between your legs.

The head of his cock brushes against your entrance, hot and heavy, smearing your clit with a mix of precum and your own dripping wetness. He doesn’t ease in— he thrusts, hard and deliberate, the blunt tip forcing your folds apart with a slick, squelching pop.

You cry out as he stretches you open, the first inch sinking in with a slow, burning pressure.

“Fuck, you’re so warm,” Sukuna grunts he grips your hips, pulling you onto him. His cock plunges deeper into, the thickness of it splitting you wide, every vein dragging against your walls with an instictive intensity.

You hear the wet slap of skin on skin as he bottoms out, his heavy balls pressing against your ass, the tip kissing your cervix with a dull, delicious ache.

Your pussy squirts a little, a hot gush of fluid coating his base, and the sound, a lewd squelch, fills the car, mingling with your shaky moan.

He starts fucking you then, hard and fast, the backseat creaking with every brutal thrust.

“Take it,” he snarls, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock in to the hilt again and again. Each plunge makes a filthy schlop-schlop-schlop as your soaked pussy grips him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out to the tip.

You’re whimpering now, a string of “Kuna— oh fuck—ngh!” spilling from your lips, your hands clawing at the leather for purchase. His grunts are guttural, animalistic— “Yeah, that’s it— fuckin’ take me”—his breath hitching as your walls flutter around him, squeezing tighter with every slam.

The air grows thick with the sounds of your bodies colliding— the wet smack of his balls against your ass, the rhythmic creak of the car springs, the faint drip-drip of your arousal pooling beneath you on the seat.

Sukuna leans down, his chest pressing against yours, and you feel the heat radiating off his tattooed skin as he pounds into you, relentless, the drag of his cock inside you driving you both crazy.

Sukuna’s thrusts grow more erratic, his hips stuttering against yours. The backseat creaks and groans under the force of his movements, the leather squeaking with each brutal snap of his hips.

Your pussy is a mess— swollen, dripping, stretched obscenely around his thick shaft, a constant stream of wet sounds filling the car as he fucks you mercilessly. You can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, pushing you closer to the edge.

Suddenly, he leans down, his face hovering inches from yours.

Without warning, he spits— hard and thick, the saliva landing on your lips and dripping down your chin. The gesture is possessive, marking you as his.

"Open," Sukuna growls, his voice strained with impending release.

You obey instinctively, parting your lips, and he kisses you messily. His spit mingles with yours, the taste of him filling your senses. He swallows your moans, his hips pistoning faster, his cock swelling inside you as he chases his climax.

Your hands roam his back, nails digging into the hard muscles, leaving crescent marks on his skin.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his thrusts become more urgent, more desperate. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath ghosting over your sweat-slicked collarbones.

With a final, harsh thrust, Sukuna buries himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing almost violently as he reaches his peak. A loud groan tears from his throat, the sound echoing through the car as he begins to cum.

Hot, thick ropes of semen erupt from his tip, painting your chest and stomach in white streaks.

It's an intense, messy release— his hips jerking forward with each spurt, cum coating you as he empties himself. You can't help but moan, your back arching off the seat, pressing your breasts up to catch more of his essence.

He looks down at the mess he's made— your chest and stomach coated in his semen, your pussy swollen and leaking. A satisfied smirk spreads across his face. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice husky and sated. "Covered in my cum like a good little slut."

Without warning, he leans down and starts licking his own release off your skin. His tongue swipes through the sticky mess, lapping it up with obvious enjoyment.

Sukuna's tongue is hot and rough against your skin as he cleans you up, his mouth making obscene slurping noises as he sucks his own cum off your breasts. He hums, the vibrations sending shivers through you.

He circles your nipples with his tongue, the sensitive buds still hard and aching from his earlier ministrations. Each flick and swirl makes you gasp, your back arching off the seat as you chase more of that delicious friction.

Your mewls fill the car, soft and needy, as Sukuna teases you mercilessly. His lips close around one nipple, sucking hard, and you cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. "Please, Kuna, want more."

Sukuna's eyes flash with a wicked gleam at your plea. He releases your nipple with a wet pop, only to latch onto the other, sucking it into his mouth with bruising force.

His hand comes up to pinch and roll the neglected bud, the dual stimulation sending electric shocks straight to your core.

"Beg for it," he growls against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. "Beg me to let you cum again."

Sukuna's smirk widens at your desperate pleas, his fingers now pressing against your clit as he feels you teetering on the edge. He increases the pressure, his touch growing more insistent, and you can't help but buck your hips, chasing the friction.

Your moans fill the car, a constant stream of needy sounds that only seem to fuel Sukuna's desire.

He sucks your nipple harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and that's when you snap. The orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing as raw pleasure consumes you. Your pussy clenches and spasms, gushing around Sukuna's fingers once more.

As your orgasm subsides, Sukuna slows his fingers to soothing circles on your oversensitive clit. He releases your nipple with a final, gentle suck, pressing a soft kiss to the tender bud. "Shh," hemurmurs, his voice surprisingly tender as he pulls you into his arms.

"You did so well, so fucking good for me."

He holds you close, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively as you tremble in the aftermath. His hands run soothing patterns on your back, his touch gentle and comforting.

"I've got you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

He reaches into the glove compartment, pulling out a pack of wet wipes and cleans you up, wiping away the sweat, saliva, and cum that coats your skin.

Once you're clean, Sukuna helps you sit up, pulling you onto his lap so you're cradled against his chest. His large hand rests on your thigh, squeezing gently as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"You good?" he asks, his voice softer than you've ever heard it, softer than it should be.

You nod, snuggling closer to him, and he tightens his arms around you in response.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. "Took my cock so well, sounded so pretty for me." He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

Sukuna maneuvers the both of you back to the front seats and starts the car, the engine purring to life. He wraps a jacket around your shoulders, tucking it in around you to keep you warm.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, he keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. The motion is soothing, and combined with the gentle vibrations of the car and the warmth of Sukuna's leather jacket, you find yourself drifting off to sleep despite your best efforts to stay awake.

The ride to your apartment is quiet. Sukuna’s car hums with the low growl of the engine, the kind of noise that is familiar and comforting to him. He glances over at your sleeping form, a soft smile playing on his lips. You look so peaceful, so vulnerable, curled up in his jacket.

His thoughts drift, replaying the moments before— your body pressed against his, the way you felt, the way you moved. He can still feel the heat of you against him, the softness of your lips, how you pulsed around him.

Sukuna's thoughts turn dark, possessive. He wants to fuck you out, to mold your tight walls around his dick as if they were made for him and him alone, fill you up so completely that no one else will ever compare, so you can't ever take anyone else. He wants to train your body to be addicted to him, so only he could satisfy your desires.

Tonight was supposed to be nothing— it was just supposed to be a one-off, a casual fuck. But now that the drive is nearing your place, Sukuna realizes it isn’t as simple as that for him.

As you stir awake, your eyes flutter open to find Sukuna's large hand resting possessively on your thigh. The car is parked outside your apartment building, the engine off and the interior dimly lit by the glow of the streetlights. Sukuna is staring at you, his crimson eyes intense and filled with a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.

"We're here."

As blink up at him, still groggy from sleep, he grins, making him oddly look almost… sweet. You open the door, slipping out of the car with the cutest stumble that only makes him want you even more. "Goodnight Kuna."

He leans back against his seat, watching you head for the entrance of the building. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna is left with an unfamiliar ache.

You hadn’t asked for his number. You hadn’t asked for anything. You had just… left.

Sukuna sits in his car for a long moment, staring at the empty space where you had been, his mind racing. What the hell? He isn’t some sentimental idiot.

He’s used to getting exactly what he wants, never having to chase after a girl, especially not after a single night.

But something about you makes him want something he’s never wanted before. Sukuna looks up at your apartment building one last time before starting the engine, his thoughts swirling in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

[justauthoring]

In Your Embrace.

Summary: Luffy has the great idea for some team bonding and Zoro makes the most of it.

Pairing: OPLA!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,509

A/N: I couldn't not write a OPLA!Zoro piece for my series after the little teaser that came out today. Strawhat slumber party??????? I LOVE

You don't have to read the series, but if you'd like to, you can find it here!

"You realize Luffy's been here the whole time, right?"

Looking up from the book she'd been previously peacefully sleeping, Nami quirks a brow at you.

"Surely, I would've heard him--"

As if she speaks it into existence, in the very next second, a loud snore carries across the room. Stifling the laugh that threatens to bubble out of your lips, you watch as Nami moves to the end of her bed, finally noticing Luffy who'd placed himself there a while ago.

You'd seen him when you'd come into your room, with the intention of following Nami's lead and taking advantage of some quiet reading time. You'd paused at the sight of him, brows raised, but when you noticed how peaceful he looked and how Nami, at the time, hadn't seemed bothered, you'd shrugged it off.

It didn't occur to you until twenty minutes later that Nami just might've, somehow, not known he was there.

"Luffy."

Pushing yourself to your feet just as Nami calls out to your Captain, a giggle escapes your lips when he continues to simply snore, prompting your navigator to deliver a rather sharp smack over the top of his head. Luffy jumps immediately at the touch, catching his strawhat from falling just in the nick of time as he blinks owlishly at you.

"Luffy," Nami calls again, "what are you doing here?"

"Is your room not good enough to nap in?" You tease, tilting your head at Luffy as you crouch in front of him.

Unphased, as always, Luffy beams at the both of you.

"Nami! Y/N!" He greets, "I had an idea. I realized every great pirate crew needs some good, quality bonding time!"

Meeting your eyes, Nami frowns.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Luffy is oblivious to Nami's hesitance. "So we're having a slumber party!"

"No, no," Nami argues instantly, "we're not having a slumber party."

Just as she finishes her words, the door to your shared room opens and in comes Sanji with two trays. "I made snacks!" He grins, "truffle popcorn for the group!" As he shuffles in, Usopp comes bounding in behind him with the projector snail and a grin, waving at you as you stand, moving out of Sanji's way.

"For the group, Luffy," Sanji mumbles as Luffy tries to snatch the popcorn for him.

"And I fixed the snail projector," Usopp says, face falling as he pauses in recollection. "Which... it's kind of a disturbing process."

Hands on your hips, you grin at Nami; "looks like our rooms been hijacked."

She huffs, rolling her eyes but the fond smile that curls on her lips as Sanji takes a seat next to her is undeniable.

Just then, the door opens again. Your face instantly brightens at the sight of Zoro.

"Zoro!" Luffy calls, "you made it!"

Surveying the room, Zoro meets your eyes, gaze softening, before turning to Luffy and shrugging. "You said there'd be booze."

With that, he turns to grab a chair and decision made, you move over to Sanji, who's already holding the bottle of sake he'd grabbed out towards you. He sends you a wink as you grab at, smiling shyly at him before moving your way around the bed.

"So, question," Sanji turns to Zoro, "do you sleep with those swords?"

Pausing just as you hand the sake to him, Zoro's face is blunt as he says; "maybe."

You let out a soft giggle at that, Zoro watching you for a moment before stepping behind you to grab a spare chair.

"Okay," Nami sighs, "I guess we are having a slumber party."

"It's showtime!" Sanji grins at her.

Usopp finishes setting up the white sheet that will act as your mock projector screen, letting out giggles of excitement as he sits down with a blanket. Realizing the movie is about the start, you turn to ask Nami to make some room for you when a hand falls on your hip, pulling you back.

The lights click off, shrouding you in darkness as your back falls into a familiar chest. You turn, catching Zoro's gaze in the lowlight as he smirks at you, settling you on his lap.

"Won't you get uncomfortable?" You whisper to him, not wanting to disturb the others as the movie starts.

Zoro quirks a brow at you, as if asking if you're really asking that, before proceeding to slip his arm around your waist and pull you flush against him. A flush coats your cheeks as he does, but you let yourself lean into his embrace, watching as he tilts his head back to take a spit of the sake before turning to focus on the movie.

-

An hour into the movie and you and Zoro are the only ones still awake.

Usopp, despite his initial excitement, had been the first to fall asleep. You'd caught the end of his head tipping before he righted himself, only to proceed to do the same thing for the next five minutes. Luffy's snores filtered the room shortly after and then, when you'd turn to say something to Nami, you'd noticed her and Sanji resting peacefully on her swinging bed.

Honestly, you'd expected Zoro to be the first to fall asleep, since he regularly napped. So you were pleasantly surprised when you felt his fingers brush against the hem of his shirt and his eyes on you.

"They're the ones who wanted to do this and they're the first to fall asleep," he snorts, voice low as he glances down at Luffy and Usopp.

You giggle, "I mean, part of a slumber party is to... slumber, right?"

Raising a brow, Zoro just chuckles, shrugging as he takes another sip of his sake.

Realizing there wasn't much point to watching movie any longer, especially now that you were hyperaware of the fact that it was just you and Zoro awake, and the fact that you'd honestly struggled to pay attention the whole time... you shift on Zoro's lap. You tilt so you're turned towards him, and reach your hand out.

He eyes your hand, blinking, before handing you the sake.

"Thought you didn't like drinking."

Shrugging, you smile as you take a sip. It burns down the back of your throat and a series of coughs leaves your lips as you swallow, prompting Zoro to laugh, as he takes the sake back.

"Wanted to know why you're always drinking it," you mumble, still catching your breath. "That's awful."

"You get used to it," Zoro explains. Then, wiping at your mouth, Zoro raises a brow; "you've really never had any sake before?"

You shake your head, "no. And I probably won't again."

"I'll get you to like it," Zoro says, causing you to blink up at him.

Smiling, you bite your lip; "yeah?"

"Yeah," he nods. "After all, my girl's gotta be able to handle her liquor."

Something flutters in your stomach at his words, a shiver crawling up the back of your spine as you meet Zoro's gaze in the low moonlight, eyes twinkling.

"Your girl?"

Smirking, Zoro shrugs; "do you not like it?"

"No," you mumble, fiddling with your fingers. "I definitely like it."

He snorts, again, this time laced with affection and feeling a surge of confidence, you lean forward, pressing a kiss to the edge of his lips. The action surprises Zoro, you can tell by the way his body freezes at the touch, and you smile to yourself, proud to have caught him off guard and move to lean back.

The bottle of sake clatters to the ground with a loud thump, but before you can even tell him off for being loud, his hand is on the back of your head and he's pulling you forward to press his lips against yours.

You gasp into his mouth and Zoro takes full advantage of it, slipping his other arm around your waist to pull you closer.

Then, the lights flicker on.

You pull away, jumping as your eyes squint at the sudden light. It takes you a second, but you see Nami standing by the light switch, hands on her hips.

"Get a room, you two."

Cheeks burning, you hide your face in your hands. Zoro, unbothered, simply shrugs, moving to lean forward, you still in his arms and shifting with him, and grabs his rogue bottle of sake off the ground.

"Ugh," Usopp calls from his spot, "who turned on the lights?"

He's followed by a loud snore from Luffy.

Sanji raises his head; "Nami, did something happen?"

Meeting your eyes, Nami smirks at you; "we didn't finish the movie."

Relieved she didn't say more, your shoulders ease as Zoro chuckles behind you.

"Ah!" Usopp calls, loud enough it stirs Luffy awake. "I don't even remember when I fell asleep."

"Is there any popcorn left?" Luffy groans, rubbing at his eyes.

As the chatter continues, you turn to Zoro, lips still tingling from the way he'd kissed. He meets your gaze, smirking, and something twinkles in his gaze.

A promise for later.

You flush even more.

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Meant To Be (3)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky helps you adjust to the modern world.

Disclaimer: This is part three to Meant To Be (2). Fluff, flashbacks/descriptions of life in the 40s with Bucky and the others, platonic!Sam, mention of character deaths, reader is on a little bit of an emotional roller-coaster when trying to adjust but Bucky helps, dancing in the kitchen to music, all the feels. Not Proof Read.

“Thought I might find you here.”

You turned your head to see Sam approaching you as you sat, alone, in the Smithsonian.

“Hey.”

Sam smiled. “Hey. Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead.”

As Sam sat beside you, he looked up to the projector screen. Clips of your old life had been playing for the last two hours or more. It has taken all of an hour on the phone with Tony for the Smithsonian to consider sending the film reels over, and all of five minutes talking to Pepper for them to agree. 

You’d seen a lot of the popular clips MJ had told you about; Steve and Bucky laughing, Peggy’s picture in Steve’s compass, the marching soldiers. You’d even seen some clips of you and Bucky. Moments you didn’t realise that had been recorded. 

It made your heart ache. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s everything to talk about. Food. Music. The fact Bucky still prefers 40s music over Marvin Gaye.”

You chuckled and Sam smiled, relieved to see at least a hint of a smile on your face. 

You’d been in the future for almost three months. And, while he’d seen you smile around the boys and a few others. He still saw that longing look in your eyes. He still saw the hitch in your breathing every time you looked up and someone walked inside. 

The others saw it, too. Especially Bucky. But parts of them were too afraid to ask. They’d lived in the future a lot longer than you. For Steve, he’d been asleep for most of it. And for Bucky, he’d been tortured. Made into someone else for seventy years. 

You? In the blink of an eye, you’d gone from living in 1944 to suddenly appearing in the home of, who would have probably been, your godson.

“Come on. Talk to me. I promise, I’m a really good secret keeper.”

You smiled and shook your head, letting some old clips run through. “I…” The tears came to your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do here. I-I know I don’t go back. And I know I’m probably here for the rest of my life but…I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”

Sam just sat and listened to you. 

“One day I’m writing things down; military secrets, my own secrets, notes to share with the boys. One day I’m yelling at Howard to get up, threatening to throw a cold bucket of water over his head.” You laughed, but all it did was try to mask the pain. “The next…the next I’m being told one of my best friends didn’t get to live his life out with the love of his life, another went through seventy years of torture and the rest are dead.”

You took a breath and looked at the clip playing on the screen. Peggy and you directing where things would be taking place on the map table. Bucky was standing behind you before he carried a larger map over and Steve circled different spots where he knew camps had been set up. 

For you, that clip took place six months ago. 

“And now I’m watching clips of my life that to me…only just happened. And…I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“You’re grieving.” Sam told you. “You’re having to say goodbye to a lot of people very quickly. Which is insane. But it’s gonna be a process. Even if you think you’re ready to mentally accept it, sometimes your body isn’t. You need to give it time.”

You scoffed a little. “That seems to be all I have. Time. Time to think. Time to remember. Time to catch up on Time. Sam, if none of this happened, I’d probably be dead by now, if not, on my way out.”

“But you’re not. Instead, you’re here. You’re alive, and so is Steve and Bucky. Believe me, I get it. You’ve come from a war and, just because you’ve come home doesn’t mean that it’s stopped. But all you need to do right now is rest.”

You talked to Sam for an hour or more before eventually the conversation died away and you were both left to sit and watch the different film reels. But as the dates got slightly sporadic, the clips became more…intimate. 

One started playing out from when you’d all been stationed in London. You’d all ended up at a dance hall somewhere outside the city. It was only a small space but people seemed to create enough room for couples to dance. 

Peggy was in the corner, introducing Steve to some of her old friends. You were standing by one of the posts, watching everyone on the floor sway to the music and Bucky, like usual, had a crowd of girls around him. 

You turned your attention away from the clip of Bucky in hopes to kill the pang of jealousy inside your chest. 

“They really loved each other, didn’t they?”

You knew who Sam was talking about. And you nodded with a ghost of a smile. “They really did.”

But that was when Sam’s attention was torn from the happy couple towards Bucky who, although had been smiling and laughing with three girls who’d crowded around him, his attention was caught somewhere else. 

Rather, on someone else. 

You. 

Looking over his shoulder at you, Sam watched your reaction before looking back to Bucky as he apologised to the girls and disappeared. He was heading straight for you. Taking your drink from you, he shocked you as he placed it on the table beside you before he took your hand in his and brought you to the floor. 

Sam could faintly hear the music playing from the band. “We’ll meet again. Don’t know where. Don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day…”

Never in his life had Sam seen Bucky dance. Not with anyone. But that wasn’t what shocked him. What shocked him was the look on Bucky’s face. A smile. A genuine smile. The kind a man only ever saved for the love of his life.

Unlike some of the other couples on the floor, Bucky held you close to him. His arm practically wrapped around you completely in comparison to some of the other dancers. This was not a man who was prepared to let you go. 

With your hand in his, his fingers caressed the back of your hand and his feet led you both around in a small circle. 

“When was this?” Sam asked quietly in order to not scare you. You were engrossed with the clip. Clearly, you were reliving the scene as you watched it play out. 

You swallowed thickly. “1942…I think. We…we were stationed in London. He always saved me a dance. I’ve always had two left feet so I didn’t dance much but…”

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve got two left feet, there.”

You smiled, fondly. “He’s a good dance partner.”

Sam chuckled under his breath before watching the rest of the clip with you. 

Sam had never asked Bucky complete questions about you before you appeared. Bucky wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, so he’d just wait for him to open up. But after you returned and he saw the way Bucky tried to never leave your side, he asked him the one question he’d been dying to ask since Bucky had first said your name. 

“How long have you been in love with her?”

All Bucky could say was, “Too long.”. 

And watching this clip, Sam realised what Bucky had meant. You’d been tattooed on his heart since he first met you. Even when he was the Winter Soldier, he still got flashbacks of you. Even when he left Wakanda, part of him still wanted you to be alive somewhere. 

Whenever he went on a date, your name on his heart only burned deeper into his muscles. He’d been consumed by you since he probably first met you. And he didn’t want it any other way. 

The clip ran out before a new one started up. 

Home videos. 

These were even more precious, because there weren't very many.

The first one to play was from the day you’d all been on the beach. Howard’s home led out to it. 

“Dugan! Put that camera down and come and join us!” You heard Peggy yell. 

You smiled, thankful to hear their voices again. 

From the beach day, however, one clip stood out to you the most. 

You were lying on one of the sunbeds under the shade, reading. And from behind you, Bucky had snuck up on you before plucking the book from your hands. Turning around, he read a few sentences out loud as he walked away. 

“James! Hey, give that back!” You laughed as you stood up and followed after him. 

“Who brings a book to the beach, doll? You’ll only be taking half of this place back with you.”

“Then I’ll collect it in a jar as a keepsake. Would you-just-” You gave a huff as Bucky held your book well out of reach. 

“Join us. Just one game. Please?” He begged, his eyes softening. 

“Yeah! Come on, sweet cheeks! You’re missing out!”

You turned around to look at Howard who hit the volleyball back to Peggy. Then you turned back to Bucky, his eyes somehow even softer. 

You groaned. “Fine. But then you’ll give me my book back?”

Bucky stood to attention before placing a cross over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart, doll…”

You eyed him up, humming. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You could remember that day. You ended up playing three rounds before the entire thing became a football game nobody kept score of. Peggy beat most of the boys, Steve stared at her in adoration. 

But for the first time, you noticed Bucky looking at you. 

You remembered turning around that day, thinking he’d been looking at Steve and Peggy. But…

From the clip, it was clear as day he was looking at you. 

And it took your breath away. 

You only spotted it more and more as the clips played through. 

You and Bucky lay together, heads touching as you held your book above you both, reading out loud. Some of the Commandos had fallen asleep on the sofas, listening to your voice read. But Bucky hadn’t. His eyes were fully on you. 

The clips from when a photographer had been hired to take a group shot of the entire team. The video was taken from behind the photographer. 

You pointed out who everyone was to Sam and what they were doing. Then you both noticed Bucky looking at you before you turned your head to look at him. 

Then something started to dawn on you. 

Most of the time whenever you’d look at Bucky…

“He was already looking at you,” Sam said, out loud. 

“Yeah…”

Sam had sat on the bench in front of you, stretching himself out as he propped himself up on his elbow. He looked up at you where you’d barely moved from your seat since he arrived. 

And from the look on your face, Sam wondered if his bet with Steve wouldn’t run as long as he thought. 

It was a few days later, when you were sitting in the living room, flipping through some fictional novels MJ had dropped off for you, that you saw Bucky again. 

“Hey.”

You looked up. “Hey.”

As he stood by the door, looking a little awkward, he held a brown box in his arms. “I just…I thought you might…”

He walked inside before placing the box down carefully on the coffee table in front of you. 

“What is it? I swear to god, Bucky, if this is some kind of makeshift animal habitat I’m gonna-”

Bucky shook his head, trying to hide his smile. There was only one reason why you thought that’s what it was and that was because you’d both been rooting through Howard’s basement one sunny afternoon before meeting the others at the beach. 

That was where you’d found out Howard was thinking about starting an animal sanctuary for all kinds of animals. 

“No. No, it’s nothing like that.” Bucky said, slight amusement in his voice. “It’s…after you disappeared, Colonel Phillips…” Bucky had never had to say the words out loud before. 

When he’d come home with a box of your things, Steve didn’t need to be told what it meant. The military saw you as dead and needed to replace you as quickly as they could. 

“He had me clean out your desk and I couldn’t think about throwing any of it away.”

“Oh.”

Bucky carefully sat beside you as you reached over and pulled the lid from the box. It smelled like the 40s. 

“I didn’t even know it still existed until I moved in here. They must have kept everything from Steve’s apartment after he went into the ice. I didn’t ask him where it went or how he got it back. I was just glad to know your things still existed.”

Reaching inside, you pulled out a few old notepads, aged with colour. To you, they’d been brand new, straight out of their packaging a few months ago. 

Then you found the pictures. With a sad smile, you wiped the dust away from the frame. A picture of yourself, Peggy, Steve, Howard and Bucky. It had been a rare night out in Brooklyn. 

Another picture of Steve and the Howling Commandos with Peggy beside him. One of yourself, Howard and Mr Jarvis. It was grainy, but you could still see the reflection of Jarvis’ wife in the gleaming windows behind you. She’d been adamant to not be in the picture since she wanted a copy of all three of you, too. 

Scrap pieces of paper were bundled together. Notes to give Peggy her pen back, find Steve a pack of fresh pencils since he’d picked up a habit of breaking them. He still wasn’t used to his strength. A note to attend the meeting with Peggy and the Colonel on Thursday, a note to run your recruit papers down to City Hall since you’d agreed to take three trainees under your wing, and one final note…

Museum with James, this Saturday.

The ink had worn with time, but the sentiment had only grown. 

He’d asked you to the new museum exhibit. He’d asked you that day. That morning. 

“There’s also this.”

You turned and looked at Bucky before looking down at his hands. Your notebook. The one you kept locked in your desk drawer. It took your breath away as you took it in your hands. 

All the conversations you’d had with him, all the dates you’d been on together. But after the day of your disappearance, the handwriting changed. 

It was no longer yours, but Bucky’s. You’d seen enough of his half finished paperwork that he’d try to sneak into your pile to know his handwriting almost immediately. 

It wasn’t listed by dates, but with a line drawn under each section, you knew they were day by day. 

“I kept it with me.” Bucky told you. “Everything I wanted to talk to you about.”

You fought your hardest to keep your tears at bay. “These dashes? What do they mean?”

“They’re when I’ve talked to you.”

You were confused. 

“The Colonel…he made sure you had a grave. Said it would help people move on if they wanted to. They’d have a place to still talk to you. It’s still there.”

You turned and looked back at the list. You’d seen your grave, once. You’d stand behind the cobble wall, looking at it under one of the blossom trees. You couldn’t bear to walk any closer. 

“I knew I wanted to talk to you. Sometimes it was to the stars, but mostly it was to…to your grave.”

You quickly wiped away a tear. Something panged tight in your chest. 

An image of Bucky kneeling at your grave, dusting the fallen blossom petals from the top of the marble stone. An image of Bucky kneeling at your grave, talking to you about; Meeting Sam, Working with Sam, his New Therapist, the WS Programme, Steve and Peggy, Steve and Natasha, his nightmare about the 40s…

The images killed you. 

“Doll?”

Bucky laid a hand on your knee, his fingers reaching up to push some hair from your eyes. Without taking another second to think, you turned and hugged Bucky. Tight. 

“I’m so sorry.” You could hear your voice shaking. 

“Sorry? What for?”

You leaned back after a few seconds and wiped your eyes and shook your head. “Everything? I…I can’t believe I missed so much.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“Feels like I do.”

“No,” Bucky told you. “Never. First, you have nothing to apologise for. And second,” Bucky brushed the hair clear from your face so he could see you properly. “Second,” he repeated, his voice a little softer than before. “You never have to apologise to me. You didn’t then. You don’t now.”

You managed to smile, and once Bucky recognised it to be genuine, he smiled, too. 

“You eaten yet?”

You shook your head. “Book’s too riveting.” 

You both looked at the red bound book on the coffee table. Agatha Christie. A publication from the seventies. 

Bucky smiled. “Why am I not surprised? I’ll make us something.”

Bucky stood, surprising you a little when he placed a light kiss to the top of your head as he did so before walking towards the kitchen. “Do I wanna know how you found it?”

You smiled, following him with your book in hand. “MJ brought them over. Peter must have told her I was bored and she said her aunt had most of these books just laying in her attic taking up space. Told me I could have them.”

“How far are you?” Bucky was moving around the kitchen as you sat down at the kitchen island, watching him. 

“Couple of chapters. Why?”

Bucky paused for a second and smiled. “Read it to me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, already opening the book up. 

He nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve missed hearing you read.”

You couldn’t ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at hearing him say that. So, unable to hide your smile, you read outloud. And every time you tried to sneak a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

It was a few more weeks before you actually asked him about it. About the way he’s always looked at you. And it had been after you’d watched Annie. 

He’d been looking at you throughout the movie, and a few times you’d caught him, a light blush dusting his cheeks. But when you were both in the kitchen, cooking a meal together with the radio playing lightly in the background, you finally mentioned it. 

“You’re gonna cut your fingers if you don’t pay attention.”

“I am paying attention,” Bucky said as he continued to chop. 

“You’re staring again.”

Bucky smiled. “Can’t help it.”

You just looked at him and rolled your eyes lightly before turning around and dumping the chopped carrots into the pot. 

“Fine. But don’t come running to me when you start bleeding.”

Bucky just held up his hand. “Can’t bleed.”

You looked up. He had you there. 

“Do you wanna peel the sprouts?” You asked for the bowl on the kitchen island. 

Dumping what he’d already chopped into the pot with yours, he came to stand beside you before picking each sprout out, peeling away a few of their layers. 

But as time slowly passed by, Bucky’s presence becoming a true comfort to you, he stopped what he was doing before he silently took your hand in his. 

“Bucky.”

“Dance with me. We don’t get to do this anymore.”

You sighed, but still agreed. And it wasn’t long before your brain took you back to that dance hall in London. The scent of Bucky’s aftershave consuming your senses in such a way you’d know you’d be able to still faintly smell him when he’d long left the room. His touch burned into your skin through your clothes, and the rhythm of your heart joined his. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Always, doll.”

You smiled and leaned back a little in order to see his face. “It’s about your staring. You’re always looking at me. Why?”

“Straight to the point. I like it.”

You suppressed your laugh and hit it in the chest. “I’m being serious. Why? I didn't think I noticed it until I watched our home videos.”

“You’ve watched the home videos?”

You nodded. “Yeah. There were only a few clips that I could get fed through the film reel. But…you’re always looking at me.”

His smile softened. “That’s because you’re beautiful.”

You laughed. “Bucky, I’m being serious.”

He looked a little hurt. “So am I.”

You knew it had hit you, what he truly meant. You just hadn’t been expecting it to hit you so hard. 

“Buck…”

“I’m always looking because I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, doll.” Bucky told you, truthfully. 

The song crackled and changed over the radio but neither of you stopped dancing together. Your hand was still firmly in his, your body was still flushed against him. 

“I know you haven’t seen the last seventy years…but I have. No woman compares to you, Y/n. Not a single one…”

Bucky’s voice trailed away as he laid himself bare for you. Your heart was thumping in your ears, your lips parted and took in what air you could, which wasn’t much. And just as the walls around both of you started to fade away and the music became nothing more than soundwaves, you felt yourself lean closer to him. 

“Doll…”

“James…”

It seemed to take forever for his lips to meet with yours, but once they did, there wasn’t a chance in all of the universe that you’d let yourself forget the feeling of his kiss. 

His hand that wrapped around your lower back and held you in by your hips, tightened. With his other hand guiding your arm around his shoulders, he was quick to hold you closer to him; if that was even possible. 

As your hands came to hold his face, his lips moving to kiss you even more, he lifted you from the floor a little. 

By the time you both broke away for air, your eyes remained closed as his head rested against yours. 

“Please tell me this isn’t just a one time thing,” Bucky asked you. 

You shook your head, a little out of breath. “No. This…this isn’t just a one time thing.”

“Good.” He told you before finally opening his eyes to look at you. “I’ve waited more than seventy years to kiss you.”

Your hands linked around his neck as he stood there with you in his arms. “Was it worth the wait?”

A slight chuckle left Bucky. “Oh, most definitely, doll.”

He didn’t wait another second before capturing your lips in another kiss. He would have waited a thousand lifetimes for you, but he didn’t have to. You were alive, you were breathing, and you were kissing him back. 

It wouldn’t be long before he’d tell you how deep his feelings ran for you. But you’d surprise him that day by beating him to it. Even if the last seventy years had been nothing but a blink of the eye for you, it had been almost a hundred for Bucky. 

You loved him too much to make him wait any longer. 

[hsmagazine254]

Creating Your Dream Home Cinema: Lights, Camera, Action!

Lights, Camera, Home Cinema! Imagine stepping into your own private cinema, surrounded by the captivating magic of movies. Setting up a home cinema is a fantastic way to bring the cinematic experience into the comfort of your home. Whether you’re a movie enthusiast, a sports lover, or enjoy binge-watching your favourite TV shows, a home cinema is the ultimate addition to your home. Get ready to…

[pathologicalreid]

what to expect | s.r.

in which you find yourself frustrated at the end of your pregnancy, and spencer talks you off a ledge

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: pregnancy, lamaze classes, self-consciousness, boy dad spencer, spencer is perfect, birth talks, breastmilk mentioned, crying word count: 1.68k a/n: i'm writing all of these a/n's at the same time and i'm running out of interesting things to say to you. this was a request! i hope you enjoy!

“Now,” the instructor continued her presentation, “Our recommendation is the five-five-five rule.” The yardstick that she was using to emphasize the slides smacked against the projector screen, “That’s five days in bed, five days on the bed, and five days near the bed.”

Leaning back, you rested your back on Spencer’s chest and whispered, “If you try to keep me in bed for five days, we’ll have to start marriage counseling.”

Your husband hummed in response, “Why don’t we just see how you’re feeling after he’s here?”

Holding back a groan at his diplomatic answer, you turned your head back to the screen, anxiety already at an all-time high after watching video footage of a live birth. At a friend’s recommendation, you had signed yourself and Spencer up for Lamaze lessons, but you hadn’t anticipated how in-depth they would go.

It didn’t help that Spencer had been on a case when you were supposed to start, pushing back your start time. Now you were finishing your last lesson on the same day your OB had given you the ‘any day now’ speech. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, noticing the way you didn’t respond to his suggestion.

Your head bobbed in confirmation, “Yeah, just tired.” The lights were dimmed in the classroom, between that and the warmth of Spencer behind you, you were ready to fall asleep.

Your sweet husband was beginning to toe the line of being overbearing, “Do you want me to take the rest of the day off?”

“No,” you answered. He had taken an extended lunch to be able to go to this lesson with you, there was only a week until his paternity leave officially started, and it wasn’t necessary for him to stay with you for the rest of the day.

Besides, having him around all day was only going to make your prenatal anxiety worse.

He was already the perfect father, his eidetic memory contributing to all of the facts that he listed about newborns and birth. He knew more about the changes happening to your body, and the worst part was that everyone knew it.

Cringing as the lights went up, you leaned back on your hands as Spencer stood up, packing up your bag before crouching down to help you up. Looking around the room, you watched all of the other couples in your class smiling and laughing with each other, the moms moving around the room with an ease that you no longer possessed.

You took a deep breath, placing one hand on your side in an attempt to brace yourself, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Spencer asked again, watching you zone out in the middle of the Lamaze studio.

“Mhmm,” you reassured him, “Braxton Hicks,” you added, trying to wave off some of his concern.

Nodding in understanding, Spencer gently placed a hand on the small of your back before the two of you started to make your way out of the room, stopping to grab the gift bag your instructor had put together for you. His hand dropped to hold yours before walking down the steps, leaving the two of you at the entrance to the parking garage, “Hey,” he nudged, trying to lift your spirits, “No more classes.”

Admittedly, the Lamaze lessons weren’t your favorite couple activity, and Spencer knew that the only reason you kept going was that they were non-refundable. “Right,” you agreed, knowing that now you’d have to face the next hurdle—actually giving birth.

“Okay,” Spencer said, gently herding you over to a park bench. He set the bags down on the seat before you sat down, leaving him squatting in front of you. “What’s wrong, honey? I know something’s wrong,” he insisted, knowing you well enough to be able to tell when you were burying your feelings.

You leaned back onto the bench, “I’m pregnant,” you shrugged as if that was answer enough.

Spencer frowned up at you, “Yes, this much I am aware of,” he confirmed, eyes flickering down to your bump before going back to your face.

“I just…” you struggled to find the right words, “I’m pregnant, and you’re doing all of this research into pregnancy and labor and birth, and I’ve done none of it. None of the research or the work and I’m— I feel useless!”

His expression softened at the sight of tears welling in your eyes, “You’re not useless. You’re so far from useless that it’s not even on the list of adjectives I would consider while describing you.” He rested his hands on you, one on top of your knee to maintain his balance and another on the side of the bump, skimming his thumb over the cotton of your t-shirt. “You’ve been growing our baby, and he’s beautiful and healthy and he’s going to love you regardless of how much research you’ve done about him.”

Huffing, you wipe at your teary eyes, “It’s so embarrassing though! Going to the BAU today and hearing everyone talk about how prepared you are, the stacks of books on your desk and on your nightstand and on the coffee table.” You paused to take a deep breath, “In those stupid classes where you knew so many of the answers that the instructor stopped calling on you to give everyone else a chance.”

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmured, “I like being prepared. Especially for big changes like this.”

You nodded, resting your hand on top of his, “And I love that about you, but I have never felt so unprepared for anything in my life,” you confessed, struggling to catch your breath.

It wasn’t like Spencer didn’t understand your frustrations, he just wished you had voiced some of these concerns sooner, “You don’t need to prepare like I do, though. Your maternal instinct? It’s inherent. It’ll immutably move you to sense and take care of the baby, okay? With dads it’s different. I don’t have any sort of physical connection with him like you do, I won’t develop a similar instinct until I actually spend time with him. So, technically, you’re ahead of me,” he explained, using all of his research to soothe you out of your panic.

“I just want him to love me as I love him,” you pouted, looking down at the bump, “but I ache all over, Spence. My boobs hurt. They’re not even tender anymore, they just hurt,” you complained.

Spencer chuckled lightly at your breast comment, “He will love you as you love him; I guarantee it. Your boobs hurt because they’re producing colostrum, and we can call your doctor later to see if it’s alright to pump. That’ll help relieve the pressure.”

Some of the tension in your body released, and you sniffled timidly, “I think those classes are designed to freak people out of ever having another baby. Oh my god,” your eyes go wide as you recall the live birth video, “You can’t watch.”

“Watch what, honey?” Spencer asked.

You looked at him with abject horror in your eyes, “The baby. You can’t watch me give birth. Is that why the dads always used to wait in another room? Should I be having you wait in another room while I’m in labor?”

He shook his head, “I’d like to be in the room with you, but if you’d be more comfortable having me somewhere else, then we can figure that out. However, we just went through twelve hours of birthing classes together, so if you’d rather I just refrain from actually watching you push the baby out, then I will promise to abide by your rules.”

Horror stories that you had heard from other moms about how their husbands wouldn’t touch them after birth filled your mind, and that type of rejection horrified you. With wide eyes, you looked at your husband and whispered, “I can’t do this.”

Spencer watched helplessly as tears filled your eyes once again, “Can’t do what?”

“Have a baby,” you answered, your voice tight with emotion, “What was I thinking? I never should’ve done this, oh no.” You continued muttering to yourself, sending your head into a tailspin as Spencer desperately tried to get you to come back down to earth.

“Hey,” Spencer crooned, “Y/N, hey,” he tried to get you to snap out of it. “Hey, we made this decision together, remember? Why didn’t you tell me you hated being pregnant?”

Your eyes snapped to his, “I don’t hate being pregnant. I’m just over it!”

Pushing your bags off to the side, Spencer sat down next to you on the bench, “You want him here, huh?”

Nodding melodramatically, you cover your eyes with your hands, “I just wish he could be in my arms instead of in my belly, and now that I’ve been told he could come any day it’s so much worse.”

“Thirty-seven weeks is any day now territory,” Spencer acknowledged, “but not today, I’m afraid.”

Dragging your hands down your face as you met his eyes, knowing that today was, in fact, not the day. “I miss hugs,” you told him mournfully, wiping at the fresh tears in your eyes.

Spencer casually put his arm around your shoulders, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your temple, “I hug you all the time,” he reminded you.

“It’s not the same with the bump,” you admitted, there was always an awkward lean involved, and you could never get close enough to him.

He raised his eyebrows at you curiously, “So, if I promise to give you a hug after the baby’s born, will you stop crying?”

Leaning your head back and using his arm as a headrest, your head bobbed slightly, “Yeah, I think that could fix me.”

“Honey,” he started, “I promise to give you the coziest, most rejuvenating hug of your entire life after the baby comes. I will hug you like you’ve never been hugged before.”

Turning to face him, a timid smile grew on your face, “Well, now you’re kind of laying it on thick, don’t you think?”

He sighed desperately, “I just really want you to stop crying.”

[angelsuecult]

champagne coast | s. crosby

“on my last strength against you

baby, tell me what you need”

warnings: smut w/ plot, explicit sexual content, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, smut

summary: Sidney isn’t yours, and you aren’t his, but in moments like these it’s easier to pretend that there’s something besides the sex.

request: would love a sidney fucking u to tears fic!!! no pressure but wuld be so tasty in ur style !! love ur work :)

word count: 10.2k

song: champagne coast - blood orange

a/n: still working on perfect places, trying to make it better because I hate how I ended up writing it out, have a few more in the drafts waiting to be released but I hope you enjoy this one! original asker don’t hesitate to reach out if you hate/love it! enjoy guys <3

—

Your apartment was quiet when you got home. Golden hour had started to settle over the buildings outside your window—burning up the edges of the skyline in that soft, buttery light. You dropped your keys in the dish by the door, slid your shoes off with your toe, and moved on autopilot toward the couch like your body already knew what it needed.

The cushions sighed under your weight as you flopped back, arm tossed over your eyes. The kind of tired that clung to your skin, that post-work haze where you’re not really thinking, just being. You weren’t even gonna check your phone at first—not until you heard it ding on the coffee table.

Twice.

Pause.

Then once more.

That tone. You knew that text tone. Because you were a stupid girl with your read receipts off and a custom tone setting for his texts. Like a dumb little Pavlovian dog.

You cracked one eye open. Reached over with a lazy arm. Unlocked the screen. And—yep.

Sidney [6:03 PM]: You home?

Just two words. No emoji, no punctuation. But it still did that thing to you. That tight twist low in your stomach, the flutter in your chest that you hated admitting was real.

You stared at it for a second longer than you should have.

He knew he was gonna get a reply. That’s the worst part. That’s the part that made you wanna roll your eyes and smile at the same time. Because he’d been doing this long enough to know that he had you. Not in a bad way. But in the stupid, heady, chemical brain-melt kind of way.

You sat up just enough to type back.

You [6:05 PM]: Unfortunately yeah. Couchbound.

A minute passed. Another buzz.

Sidney [6:06 PM]: That a complaint?

You snorted. Typical smug shit. You shifted back into the corner of the couch, one leg bent under you, phone warm in your hand now.

You [6:06 PM]: Couchbound = no pants. So. I’ll let you decide.

Sidney [6:07 PM]: Jesus christ

Sidney [6:07 PM]: I’m in a team meeting right now

You laughed. Full-on. Head back against the cushion, warmth rushing up the back of your neck like you were nineteen again. It shouldn’t still feel like this. Not when you’ve known him for over a year. Not when he’s flown you out to Pittsburgh more times than you can count. Not when you’ve already had him in your bed and his.

But it did.

He always knew how to hit the gas.

You [6:08 PM]: Mmm. Hope you’re not sitting near the coaches.

Sidney [6:09 PM]: You trying to make me pop a boner during film review?

You [6:09 PM]: I would never

You [6:10 PM]: I just think it’d be really funny if your laptop was in your lap

He didn’t reply right away. You imagined him in that room with his team, the blue light of the projector flickering across his face, jaw tight, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. One hand on his phone under the table, the other probably running along his thigh.

Probably thinking about your legs, too. How they always look when you’re curled up on your sofa.

And then:

Sidney [6:14 PM]: You have any plans tomorrow?

You sat up straighter. That was quick.

And that... that was the start of it.

Because this was always the rhythm.

Light talk. Dirty joke. And then that switch. The one you both recognized before either of you said anything out loud.

He’d be here tomorrow. You knew that. You’d looked it up weeks ago. Like a fucking idiot. You even marked it on your calendar in a soft little dot—like it was a dentist appointment or some other innocent shit.

You [6:14 PM]: Oh, I dunno. Might wash my hair. Might ride a hockey player. Who’s to say.

It took him no time at all.

Sidney [6:14 PM]: I’ll come see you

Sidney [6:15 PM]: Same place?

You bit the inside of your cheek.

God, he really was a sweet-talking menace. It was in the way he didn’t ask—he knew. You weren’t gonna say no. You never said no. Not to him. Not when he looked at you like he did. Not when his voice dropped just slightly over the phone when he called you late at night, and you knew he was alone in his room, whispering just for you.

You [6:15PM]: You gonna knock like a gentleman or just let yourself in again?

Sidney [6:16 PM]: That depends

Sidney [6:16 PM]: You want me to be a gentleman?

You [6:17 PM]: Not even a little bit.

Your heart was beating faster now. The apartment was still quiet, but your body wasn’t still anymore. You sat forward, legs curled tighter beneath you, your other hand flexing restlessly at your side.

Another buzz.

Sidney [6:18 PM]: I’ve been thinking about you for days

Sidney [6:18 PM]: Thought about you this morning in the shower

Sidney [6:19 PM]: I’d say that’s pretty rude of you

You closed your eyes. Leaned back again. Breathed out slow.

It was always like this before he came to town. This haunting build-up. Like his presence arrived ahead of him. You could already feel him in your space—already smell the fabric softener he used that clung to your sheets. You hadn’t washed the pillowcase from the last time he was here. That stupid, dumb part of you had just left it.

You [6:20 PM]: I’ve been sleeping on your side of the bed.

You [6:20 PM]: I think it misses you.

Another pause. A longer one this time.

You imagined his face again. That unreadable stare he gets sometimes—too much behind his eyes. You’ve seen it after games, after goals, after wins and losses.

And then:

Sidney [6:24 PM]: Do you miss me?

Your stomach flipped.

God, he always did this. Said one little thing that made you feel like you’d been cracked wide open. And it wasn’t even fair, because he’d follow it up with something filthy and ruin it anyway.

But this time you just answered honestly.

Because fuck it.

You did.

You [6:25 PM]: Yeah.

You [6:26 PM]: I do.

No emoji. No jokes.

Just the truth.

And then you waited.

You waited in that too-still room, with the sun still sinking outside and the buzz of the fridge the only sound for a minute. And when your phone lit up again, your chest actually ached.

Sidney [6:30 PM]: Sleep over?

You smiled. God, you were so screwed.

Because Sidney Crosby, face of the fucking league, was texting you like a teenage boyfriend.

And you loved it.

You absolutely loved it.

You [6:31 PM]: You bringin’ pajamas this time? Or just the abs?

Sidney [6:32 PM]: Just the abs. Maybe a toothbrush.

Sidney [6:32 PM]: Gotta keep the tongue clean for you.

You groaned. Actually groaned aloud, dropped your head back and muttered, “This fucking guy.”

But yeah.

You were shaving tomorrow.

You were shaving everything.

[9:56 PM]

The next time you heard from him you were already in bed and he called.

Not texted. Called.

Your phone lit up beside you, and your stomach jumped like it always did. You stared at his name for a second—Sidney—before you thumbed it to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

His voice was low. Rough like he’d just cleared his throat, or maybe like he’d been talking a lot all day and was winding down. “You’re in bed already?”

You smiled to yourself, turning on your side and tucking the blanket up to your shoulder. “Yeah. You keeping tabs now?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No. Just picturing you. That’s all.”

“Mmm.” You rolled your eyes and let your voice go soft. “Are you picturing pajamas, or are you picturing lingerie I don’t even own?”

“Oh, you own it,” he said. “You’re just pretending you don’t so I’ll come buy it for you.”

You grinned. “Now that’s a good idea.”

There was a pause on his end. Just quiet, heavy breathing. Like he was letting himself imagine it. You knew that sound well. Knew it from nights just like this—when he was on the other end of the phone in a hotel room somewhere and you were in your bed, a city and a timezone away.

“What’re you wearing?” he asked, voice a little softer now. Like he couldn’t help it.

You laughed. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, suddenly aware of how bare your legs were, how thin your tank top felt against your chest. “Okay fine,” you murmured. “T-shirt. No bra. Underwear. Kinda useless ones.”

He groaned. “Fuck.”

You smirked. “What, not the answer you wanted?”

“It’s exactly the answer I wanted. Which is the problem.”

You could hear the smile in his voice now. That slow-building tension. Like he was relaxing into it, settling in for the game you always played.

“You still in your meeting?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m in my room. Lights off. Lying on my back thinking about you.”

Your thighs clenched without you meaning to. That voice—his voice—always did that. Soft and low and a little scratchy like he’d been talking for too long. You could picture him perfectly. His hair messy. One arm behind his head. Shirtless, probably.

And you were what he was thinking about.

Which was insane.

Still. After all this time. That he wanted you like that.

“What part of me, specifically?” you teased. “Because I’ve got a lot of real estate.”

Sid laughed quietly. “You want me to go top-down or bottom-up?”

“Top-down. Let’s be classy.”

He hummed. “Mouth. First. Obviously.”

You smiled, warm now under the covers. “Because of my sweet personality?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what it looks like when you take me deep.”

You covered your mouth and kicked your leg out under the blanket. “You’re disgusting.”

“You asked.”

“I did.”

He let the silence stretch for a beat. Like he could feel you on the other end of the line, warm and squirming, trying not to smile too hard.

“I miss your face,” he added softly. “And your laugh. And your mouth, obviously. And your back.”

“My back?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, slow. “That curve, just above your ass. Where I rest my hand when I’m behind you.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, breath caught in your throat. There it was again—that thing he did. The way he could go from filthy to fond in a heartbeat. The way he didn’t even try to hide that he paid attention. That he missed you. Even if he didn’t always say it outright.

“You’re too good at this,” you said, voice quieter now.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’ve had a lot of practice with you.”

“You better not have practice with anyone else.”

He chuckled. “Jealous?”

You paused. “Should I be?”

Another pause. His voice dropped.

“No.”

And god. That one-word answer sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t have time for anyone else,” he added. “And if I did… they wouldn’t be you.”

It was quiet for a second. Just your breath in your own ears. His, soft and steady.

“Now I’m really not gonna be able to sleep,” you whispered.

“Why?”

“Because my brain’s gonna loop this conversation until morning.”

“That’s fair,” he murmured. “You want me to help wear you out when I get there?”

Your cheeks burned. “You offering cardio?”

“I’m offering a full-body workout. Legs shaking. Sheets ruined. The usual.”

You covered your face with your arm and let out the softest groan. “Jesus Christ, Sid.”

He smiled against the speaker. “What?”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love it.”

You did. God, you did.

“You landing tomorrow?”

“Yep,” he said. “I’ll text you when. You want me to pick you up, or you wanna meet at yours first?”

You considered. “Meet at mine, I’ve still got work in the morning.”

“Good,” he said, voice thick with promise. “Because I’m gonna be thinking about you all morning.”

You let the silence sit there, heavy and warm.

And then finally: “Goodnight, Sid.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

Your heart did that dumb flip again.

“Sleep well.”

“You too. Dream of me.”

“I always do.”

[9:48 AM]

You weren’t exactly a stellar employee that next morning.

You spent the entire fucking day trying not to look like you were waiting for a text.

Your phone was face-down on your desk, but that didn’t mean shit. You still checked it every ten minutes like a girl in high school who hadn’t outgrown the crush phase. You were pathetic. And the worst part? You didn’t even care.

It had started as a trickle—just a few messages while you were brushing your teeth this morning. You weren’t even fully dressed, still in the oversized tee you’d slept in, when you saw the first one.

Sidney [8:34 AM]: Just landed.

Then another:

Sidney [8:35 AM]: I haven’t even seen you yet and I’m already hard. Do something about that.

You’d actually dropped your toothbrush into the sink.

You didn’t answer right away because you knew what kind of spiral you’d tumble into if you did, and also because you had twenty minutes to get your ass out the door and into traffic. You were late. And you didn’t care. Because he was here.

By the time you were halfway through your drive, stuck behind some dickhead in a BMW who couldn’t figure out what a blinker was, he’d sent another one.

Sidney [9:12 AM]: Thinking about staying at your place tonight and ruining you in that bed of yours.

Sidney [9:13 AM]: That okay?

You’d answered yes before your brain even processed it.

Of course he was staying at your place. He always did.

And that was the part that ruined you the most.

He had a hotel room booked. You knew he did. Probably a nice one too, paid for by the team or the league or whatever mysterious arm of professional hockey handled those things. But he never used it. At least, not when you were in town.

Because when Sidney Crosby came to California, he stayed with you.

Every. Time.

And you let him. No questions. No boundaries. No illusions that it meant anything deeper than what it was. But still—he always dropped his bag by your door like he belonged there. Like it was second nature. Like home.

And that? That was the shit that wrecked you.

Not the sex. Not the bruises he left on the inside of your thighs. Not even the soft, stupid way he said your name in the dark like he was afraid it would disappear.

No. It was the quiet little normal things. The way he asked where the toothpaste was. The way he brought his own coffee from Pittsburgh but still used your shitty little French press. The way his voice dropped when he got out of the shower and said “C’mere.” like that was just how he said good morning.

You were supposed to be at work focusing on the spreadsheets on your screen. But your brain was soaked in him.

You stared at your screen for what had to be twenty straight minutes, rereading the same goddamn sentence of an email and imagining what his hands were doing right now. If he was already on the team bus. If he was wearing a suit or one of those Polos that made you feel insane.

Your coworker walked by your desk, snapped her fingers in your face.

“Earth to you. You okay? You’ve been zoning out for like—ten minutes. That email gonna write itself?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just…” You waved vaguely at your laptop. “Just tired.”

Lie. You were wired.

You shot off the email—barely readable, but who gave a fuck—then finally flipped your phone over.

New message. Of course there was.

Sidney [10:33 AM]: Hotel gave me the wrong keycard. Some poor guy walked in on me changing. Pretty sure he saw dick.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your laugh, eyes stinging from trying to keep it in.

You [10:34 AM]: Poor guy? Sounds like he got a show.

Sid [10:37 AM]: He looked horrified. I might’ve scarred him. You should come fix it.

You [10:37 AM]: Fix it how? Kiss it better?

Sidney [10:38]: God yes. I’ll leave skate early.

You blinked. That wasn’t like him. He was usually pretty strict about team shit, at least when it came to meetings and skates.

You [10:40 AM]: You’re not serious.

Sidney [10:41 AM]: I’m hard. I’m restless. I’m thinking about your skin and your sheets and how good you smell. I’ve got half a mind to fake an illness.

You [10:42 AM] Don’t you dare. You could get benched and it’d be my fault.

Sidney [10:43 AM]: If I’m gonna sit on the bench, might as well be because you made me useless.

You shook your head, smiling. He was impossible. Walking around like he didn’t have you completely fucked up from the inside out.

You [10:56 AM]: You better show up at my door with dinner. You’re not getting any without bringing me food first.

Sidney [10:58 AM]: So that’s the price? A taco tax?

You [10:59 AM]: That and a kiss.

Sidney [11:03 AM]: One kiss? You’re underselling yourself.

You [11:04 AM]: Fine. One kiss, a margarita, and you have to let me use you as a body pillow all night.

Sidney [11:07 AM]: You say that like I’m not into it. I wanna be crushed by your thighs and smothered by your hair.

You [11:09 AM]: I wanna ride your face until you can’t remember your own name.

Sidney [11:13 AM]: I love it when you talk romance to me.

Your thighs clenched under your desk.

Pathetic. You were so pathetic.

You dropped your phone into your lap and took a deep breath. A long one. You had at least four hours left in the workday, and you were about as useful as a wet napkin. All you could think about was his voice. His hands. The look on his face the first time he stepped back into your apartment like it was his.

Because that was the part that killed you the most.

He felt like he belonged. Like he fit there, in your space, beside you in your bed with his socks on and his arm tucked under your neck, face buried in your hair like he was hiding.

You weren’t his.

You never would be.

But every time he looked at you like that—like you were oxygen—it made you want things you had no business wanting. And fuck if it didn’t make the hours crawl by. You wanted him now. Needed him like you needed your next breath.

[4:47 PM]

You knew he was there the second you stepped off the elevator.

Your building always smelled faintly of hallway cleaner and burnt coffee, but tonight? It smelled like him. Like his cologne—subtle, clean, something stupidly expensive that always clung to your sheets long after he left. Like him standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder. Like the warm, dense press of his chest to your back in the middle of the night.

You hadn’t even opened your front door and your stomach was already flipping. You hated it. You loved it.

You unlocked it and pushed it open.

There he was.

Sprawled on your sofa. Hair damp from the shower. Wearing a gray Penguins hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his forearms, a pair of black athletic shorts that barely reached mid-thigh sitting down, and bare fucking feet on your coffee table like he lived there. Like he belonged.

His bag was by the door, half-unzipped. His phone was in one hand, and there was an empty glass—probably water—on the side table next to him. You noticed the faint smell of his body wash, like cedar and clean skin, already curling in the air like it missed you.

He looked up.

And holy fuck.

Your breath left your chest before you could stop it. He looked like sin. Warm, flushed, relaxed. That look in his eye—like he’d already been thinking about touching you. Like he knew you were gonna let him.

He stood immediately. Didn’t say anything at first, just came to you in three easy strides like his body was already pulling toward yours. Like he didn’t need a reason.

And maybe you should’ve said something. Maybe you should’ve made a joke or pretended to be unaffected. Maybe you should’ve been stronger. You weren’t. You never were with him.

You dropped your bag on the floor, kicked the door shut with your heel, and then—

His hands were already in your hair, his mouth already on yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, between kisses, as your arms came up around his neck. “Hi, baby.”

It knocked something loose in you, hearing that. Six months without him and now he was here, mouth dragging along your cheekbone, fingers gripping your waist like he didn’t know how to do this gently.

“Hey,” you whispered back, laughing a little from how winded you already were. “Jesus, you couldn’t even wait five seconds?”

“Nope,” he said, unapologetic, already kissing the corner of your mouth again. “You look so fucking good. You smell good. You feel good. I missed you. So much.”

His voice was lower than usual, a little rough. Almost hoarse. Like he’d been thinking about this all day. Like it wasn’t just about getting off—it was about you.

You let your hands slide under the back of his hoodie, skin to skin. He was warm, solid, all lean muscle and broad shoulders and that ridiculous lower back you hated how well you remembered. “You’re damp,” you murmured against his jaw, biting down just a little. “You showered in my shower?”

“You mad about it?”

“Not yet. You leave the towels on the floor again and I will be.”

He grinned against your skin. “Worth it.”

You kissed him again, slower this time. Deeper. Let it linger. Let him part your lips and take his fucking time. Your body was already humming, vibrating like something electric lived under your skin. You wanted him in your bed. In your space. Inside you. Yesterday.

“You still have my key,” you muttered, half against his mouth.

His hands moved to your ass. He squeezed, shameless. “You never asked for it back.”

“You never gave it back.”

“I didn’t wanna lose it,” he said, smiling like a bastard.

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already pushing through his hair. Still damp, still soft, still impossibly familiar.

“Have you seriously just been sitting here all cozy on my couch like you live here?”

“I do live here. When I’m in California. I’ve got a toothbrush and everything.”

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

“You love it,” he said, nuzzling into your neck. “God, I missed this neck. Missed the sounds you make when I—”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, laughing. “Sidney.”

“What?” he grinned. “I’ve been good. I haven’t even tried to get my hand down your pants yet.”

“Yet?”

He stepped back, looking at you. Really looking. The kind of look that made your knees weaker than you cared to admit. That look he gave you the first time he’d seen you walk across that bar like you weren’t about to change his whole fucking life.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you on the flight. I was hard halfway across the country.”

You snorted. “You’re so gross.”

“And you’re so pretty,” he said, tugging you close again. His hand slid along your waist, thumb brushing under the hem of your shirt. “Seriously. How am I supposed to be normal about this?”

“You’re not normal about this. You’re obsessed.”

He kissed your jaw. “I am.”

Your throat tightened.

He said it so easily. So shamelessly. Like it wasn’t supposed to matter. Like it didn’t already.

You felt a shift when he lifted you then. His grip on your waist was possessive, like he was reminding you that he could take what he wanted. You wanted it, though. Needed it. His lips didn’t leave yours for a second as he carried you, your body pressed tightly to his, your hands tangled in his hair.

You barely noticed when your back hit the doorframe. You were too busy losing yourself in the taste of him, in the feel of him. His mouth was everywhere—your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat—his hands sliding under your shirt like they belonged there.

You pulled back, gasping, and looked up at him through your lashes, eyes hazy with want. “Sid...”

“What?” He barely let you get the word out before his mouth found yours again. His kiss was harder this time—rougher, like he was trying to make up for every moment he hadn’t had you.

His body pressed into yours, and you could feel every inch of him—his chest, his hips, the hard press of his dick against you. You moaned softly into the kiss, hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, tearing your mouth away to look at him properly. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. Like he was starved.

“You’re killing me first,” he growled, his hands already pushing your shirt up. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. The way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—like everything else faded to black when you were near him.

He tossed your shirt onto the floor, he set you down, his hands moving to toy with the waistband of your work slacks, and he set you down so he could get them off. You let out a little breathless laugh. “This is definitely a ‘fuck first, talk later’ situation, huh?”

“Always, babe,” he said, voice so deep it made your insides tighten. “You don’t get to make the rules anymore.”

He kissed you again, and you melted into it. His tongue found yours, and it was deep, slow, all-consuming. You could feel his heart pounding under your palms as you slid your hands down his chest, reaching the hem of his hoodie and pulling both his hoodie and shirt off of him in one go.

When he stepped back, there was a brief moment where you both paused, taking in the sight of each other. His abs were more defined than you remembered, his skin still that perfect shade of sun-kissed gold. You couldn’t stop your fingers from tracing the lines of him, down his chest, over the deep V of his hips.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” you whispered, admiring the way he was still standing there, half undressed, waiting for you.

“You make me perfect,” he said, his voice rasping with something more than desire.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him back toward you. “Let’s see if you’re really perfect, Crosby.”

You dragged him to your bed, letting him fall into the sheets with you. The second you were both on the mattress, he was on you, kissing you again, moving with a need that made your breath catch in your throat.

He lifted your hips, tugging at your pants, and you were all too eager to help him. “Been thinking about this for months,” he murmured between kisses, pulling your slacks down your legs with impatient hands.

“Me too,” you managed to say, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “You have no idea.”

“Tell me,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck, his mouth soft but insistent. “Tell me everything.”

You gasped as his lips found the curve of your neck. “I—fuck—I missed you,” you said, the words tumbling out like you couldn’t keep them inside anymore. “Missed your touch. Missed your voice, the way you make me feel like I’m the only fucking person that matters.”

He groaned, his lips brushing over the soft skin of your throat. “You are the only fucking person that matters,” he muttered. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. You have me.”

And then his mouth was back on yours. His hands cupped your breasts, fingers brushing over your nipples, and you arched into him with a soft moan. He broke the kiss again, looking down at you with the kind of expression that made you feel like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

He tugged his shorts down, and you shivered at the thought of what was to come. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, voice thick with lust, but still gentle, like he needed your confirmation. “I want you more than anything, but I’m not gonna force you.”

You tugged him back to you, pressing your lips to his neck, your hands tugging at the waistband of his boxers. “Shut up and fuck me, Sid.”

He turned over and sat back on his elbows, hands coming up to rest on your hips, just looking.

“You always stare this long?” you asked, voice soft but teasing.

“When I’m starving, yeah.”

His voice dropped. “And you know how long it’s been.”

You tilted your head. “What like 6 months?”

He looked up, smiling. “You counted?”

“Not that difficult.”

You ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently. “You gonna make up for it or just sit there?”

“Oh, I’m gonna make up for it.”

His hands slid down and around, cupping your ass, squeezing once. “But don’t act like you’re not dying to climb on top of me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I haven’t been thinking about it since breakfast?”

He spread his legs a little wider. “Then show me.”

You didn’t need more than that.

You straddled him slowly, knees bracketing his thighs, your chest brushing his. His hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to keep them—hips, thighs, up your sides. Everywhere. You rocked your hips once, slow, just to tease.

“Jesus,” he whispered, jaw clenching. “You gonna ride me slow or make me beg?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said, leaning in to kiss just beneath his ear. “Depends on how sweet you are.”

“I can be sweet,” he murmured, lips catching your shoulder. “I can be so fucking sweet.”

You were already grinding against him through both layers of clothes now, your breath hitching every time he pushed up into you. He kept one hand on your ass and slid the other between your legs, palming you over your underwear. You gasped and pressed harder against him, your head falling to his shoulder.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, nose brushing your jaw. “Fuck, baby.”

“You did this,” you managed. “You’re the reason.”

“I know,” he growled. “That’s why I’m losing my fucking mind.”

You pulled back just enough to tug your underwear to the side and reach for him. He was hard—hot and heavy and already leaking at the tip. And when you looked down between you, you saw the way his stomach jumped when your fingers closed around him.

You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, and filthy, mouths open and tongues dragging, his breath catching against your cheek when you lined him up and slid down in one slow, brutal motion.

“Fuck, fuck, baby…” he groaned, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

Your head dropped to his chest, lips parted, breathing hard as you adjusted to him. You felt full in a way that was only ever him. You circled your hips once, slow, and his whole body jerked under you.

“You okay?” you whispered, half-laughing.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” he hissed. “I’m trying not to blow it.”

You laughed again—soft and warm—and kissed his jaw. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“You’re always so tight.”

You moved slow at first. Rocking gently, hips rolling. His hands gripped your thighs, then your waist, then slid up your spine. And every time you moved, he said your name like a prayer.

When you leaned forward and braced your hands on his chest, his eyes rolled back.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You were made to fuck me.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Think so?”

“Know so.”

You started riding him harder then. The slap of skin, the wet heat of it, your name in his throat over and over. His fingers dug into your hips.

"Harder, Sid," you panted, feeling the orgasm build like a storm in your core. "Need it harder."

Sidney's eyes lit up, he sat up, flipping you over so that you were now lying on your back, his body hovering over yours. He slammed into you in a way that stole your breath, your legs falling open. "Is that what you want?" he growled, his voice a dark promise.

"Yes," you moaned, arching your back to meet his thrusts. "Oh, fuck yes."

Sidney took a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes traveling down your body to where he was buried deep inside you. He spread your legs open, his hands holding them in place, and began to move in a steady motion, watching himself disappear into your welcoming warmth, only to come out glistening with your arousal before plunging back in again. "Look at me, baby," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Watch how good I fuck you."

You couldn't help but whimper at his words, your eyes drawn to the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing between your thighs. It was almost hypnotic, the way he moved, the way your body responded to his every touch. "Sidney," you breathed, your voice a plea for more.

With a grunt, he lifted your hips up slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, his hands now gripping your ass tightly. The new position had your head spinning with pleasure, the sensation of him filling you up even more intensely than before.

"Oh, fuck yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. The angle allowed him to hit that sweet spot deep inside you that had your toes curling and your eyes watering with each stroke. He took this as a cue to go deeper, harder, faster. You could feel him thickening, his cock pulsing with each thrust, and the knowledge that he was so close to the edge had your own orgasm coming down on you like a freight train.

"Touch yourself, baby," Sidney rasped, his eyes never leaving yours.

You swallowed hard. You've done it before, sure, but the way he said it made it feel new, like a delicious secret you were sharing. You brought your hand down between your legs, your fingers gliding over the slickness he'd created. You felt shy for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Sidney's eyes never left yours, encouraging, hungry.

With trembling fingers, you found your clit, the tiny bundle of nerves that had been begging for attention. You began to rub it in slow circles, your movements hesitant at first.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

He leaned down, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth before kissing you deeply, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips as they pounded into you. The room was thick with the scent of sex. His hips never stopped.

You began to move your hand more confidently, your fingers circling and teasing your clit with a precision that had Sidney groaning into your mouth. He liked watching you touch yourself, liked knowing that you were so lost in pleasure that you couldn't help but give in.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips. "You're so fucking perfect."

The tension grew, each stroke of your hand and thrust of his hips bringing you closer to the edge. Sidney's breath was hot and ragged against your neck as he kissed and nibbled the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you as if he hadn't had you in years, not just months. They found their way to your breasts again, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks.

You moaned into his ear, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "Don't stop," you begged, your voice hoarse with passion. "Please don't stop."

Sidney's response was to increase his pace, his cock slamming into you in a way that was almost painful, but oh so good. Your hand moved faster on your clit, the sensation building higher and higher.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, his eyes darkening with lust. "Gonna make me come."

You felt the first tremor of your orgasm, your body tightening around his cock. The feeling was so intense, you had to bite down on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pressure building until you couldn't take it anymore. You slammed your hand down, pressing hard as you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you threw your head back, the moan that tore from your throat was raw.

It was fast and sudden and violent. Your whole body clenched, head thrown back, hips grinding down while he hissed through his teeth and held you steady.

But he didn't stop. If anything, his thrusts grew harder, his hips slamming into yours as he watched you come apart in his arms. He liked it when you were like this, vulnerable and lost to the moment, his name a chant on your lips. His length was so hard it ached, and he knew he was close, so fucking close.

He shifted the position without pulling out. He gently closed your legs, his cock still buried deep inside you, and rolled you onto your side. The angle was different now, he moved his hips in a steady, grinding motion. You clutched the bed sheets, your knuckles white with the effort of holding on, as he whispered in your ear.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Say it."

You could only moan in response, your voice lost in the haze of pleasure. He chuckled, the sound low and dark, and rolled you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your ass was in the air, and you could feel the heat of his body as he hovered over you, his cock still buried deep within your pussy. He placed a hand on the small of your back, keeping you in place as he began to move again.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You whimpered, the sensation of his cock moving inside you from this angle was almost too much for you.

"I'm yours," you finally gasped out, the words barely a whisper.

Sidney chuckled. "Good girl," he praised, his hand moving to grip your hip harder.

He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you, making you whine with need. Then, with a wicked smile, he slammed back into you, the sound of your flesh colliding with his sending a shiver down his spine.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, the feel of you so tight around him driving him wild.

You dropped down onto your elbows, arching your back even more, giving him the perfect view of your ass as it bounced off of him. He watched as his cock disappeared and reappeared between your cheeks, the sight making him even harder. He liked watching you like this, taking him, begging for more. He liked the way your pussy gripped him like a tight fist, the way you moved your hips back to meet him, fucking him just as hard as he fucked you.

With a grunt, Sidney reached back, his hand smacking your ass with a firm, satisfying sound that echoed through the room. You moaned, the sting mixing with the pleasure, urging him on. He smacked you again, harder this time, his hand coming down with a force that had you seeing stars.

"Uh huh," you breathed.

You felt his cock slide out of you, the sudden emptiness making you whine in protest. Your legs were trembling, your pussy pulsing with the need for release. "No, please," you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded.

"Not yet, baby," Sidney said with a wicked grin, his voice a low purr. He reached down, his thumb brushing over your clit in a way that had you biting back a scream. "Want to feel you come on my tongue."

He flipped you over onto your back. You were trembling with need, your entire body alive with sensation. He slid down your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin as he went. His breath was hot against your inner thighs, sending shivers through you. He spread your legs wide and took a moment to appreciate the view. Your pussy was swollen and wet, pulsing around nothing, begging for his attention. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation had you arching off the bed, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Mm Sid," you gasped as his tongue swirled around your clit. He chuckled, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. He licked and sucked, his mouth working you like a pro, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from bucking him off. You could feel yourself getting closer, your orgasm building like a storm in your belly. "M gonna come," you panted, your voice breathless.

Sidney didn't stop, didn't even pause. He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, and you almost screamed. Your hands found his hair, fisting it tightly.

You were close, so close. His tongue was relentless, swirling around your clit, flicking it just so, sending bolts of electricity shooting through your body. His fingers moved in and out of you in a steady rhythm, curling just right. You could feel your orgasm building, the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue.

"Shit," you gasped, your voice high and desperate. "Fuck, Sid."

His eyes sparked with mischief as he felt your legs begin to tremble around his head. He knew you were close, and the thought of making you come like this had his cock throbbing against his stomach. He slid another finger inside you, stretching you further, and you moaned, the sound muffled by the back of your hand. You were grinding against his face now, riding his mouth like it was his cock, and the feeling was driving him wild. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, squeezing him like a vice.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pressure build, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Sid, Sid, Sid," you chanted, your voice a high-pitched whine that grew louder with each passing second. He could feel your thighs tense up, and he knew it was coming. He sucked on your clit, his fingers moving in and out of you in a way that had you seeing spots. "Fuck, Sidney, fuck, oh my God," you screamed.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, so intense you thought you might drown in it. Your eyes watered, and your legs shook violently, trying to find stability on anything to keep you grounded. But Sidney didn't stop, didn't even flinch as your nails dug into the back of his neck. He held you down, his mouth working you through the intensity until you were a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him.

As the last of the waves settled, Sidney slowly kissed his way up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Each kiss was like a brand that said you belonged to him in this moment, in this bed. When he reached your mouth, he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently, teasing you until you opened your mouth to let him in. He kissed you deep and slow, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste the sweetness of your release. You moaned into the kiss, your body still humming with pleasure, your eyes glossed over with tears threatening to spill over.

While Sidney kissed you, his hand found its way between your thighs again, his fingers softly caressing your still-throbbing, still wet pussy. You felt your body respond almost immediately. His thumb slid over your clit, and you shuddered, the sensitivity making you gasp.

Without breaking the kiss, you reached down too, wrapping your hand around his hard cock. He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly. You stroked him slowly, feeling the veins pulse under your fingertips, the velvety skin hot and slick with pre-cum.

You pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss with a gasp for air. "You're so fucking big," you murmured, a hint of amazement in your voice. Sidney chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You say that every time," he said, his voice teasing.

"Because it's true every time," you replied, your voice a low purr as you continued to rub your finger over the slick head of his cock. You watched as a bead of precum slid down the length of him.

Sidney chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple. You could feel his heart pounding, matching the rhythm of your own, and the heat from his body seeped into your skin. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance of passion. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, the muscles in his stomach tightening.

As you continued to stroke him, you wrapped your other arm around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. Your breasts pressed against his chest, your hardened nipples brushing against his skin.

You felt him shift, the head of his cock nudging against your folds, the slickness of your arousal making it easy for him to slide along your entrance. He groaned, his hips rolling in a silent plea for you to let him in, but you had other plans. You took the tip of his cock in your hand, rubbing it along your wetness, teasing yourself, teasing him, watching his reaction with a small smile.

"You're killing me, baby," Sidney groaned, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and lust.

With a smirk, you lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. Sidney groaned, the sudden pressure making his cock throb with need. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to be inside you again. He lined up the head of his cock with your slick entrance, the anticipation almost too much to handle. With a final, almost desperate look into your eyes, he slapped his cock against your pussy, the wet sound echoing in the room.

He pushed into you, the force making you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. You felt so full, so complete with him inside you, like nothing else in the world mattered except the two of you and this moment.

Sidney's eyes never left yours as he began to move, his hips pistoning in a rhythm that had you gasping for air, your body moving in perfect sync with his. The slap of skin on skin filled the room. Each thrust was deep, claiming, and you could feel the head of his cock brush against your cervix, sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you.

You clung to his biceps, your nails digging into the solid muscle, using them as leverage to meet him thrust for thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, so intense that you had to squeeze your eyes shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out. You could feel your orgasm building again, a pressure that was almost too much to bear.

Sid’s hips moved with a purpose, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you begging for more, even though you weren't sure you could handle it.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice low and demanding.

You did, your eyes meeting his, and the connection was like a bolt of lightning, setting your entire body on fire. With each thrust, he went deeper, filling you so completely that you weren't sure where he ended and you began. And when he finally reached the peak, his cock pulsing deep inside you, you felt his warmth flood you, his release marking you as his own. He didn't stop moving, though, his hips grinding against yours, his cock still hard and thick, still fucking you through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The feeling was intense, almost painful, but you didn't want it to end. You felt his come dripping down your thighs, a warm, sticky mess. And as he continued to move, the sensation grew, the pleasure turning into something almost unbearable.

Sidney's hand found its way to one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the nipple as he fucked you, his strokes deep and slow. You bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sounds of your pleasure, your eyes watering from the overwhelming sensation. You could feel the muscles in his arms flexing, the sweat on his back making your grip slip as you held on for dear life. His other hand moved to your neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin as his fingers threaded into your hair, gently pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry mouth.

He kissed and licked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to pump into you, his cock still thick and hard even after his first release. The feeling of him coming deep inside of you was something you never got used to. You felt his hips grind fully against yours, his pelvis pressing against your clit, the friction making you gasp for air.

Sidney felt your pussy tighten around his cock, the walls clenching in a way that told him you were close. He loved making you come, loved watching you fall apart underneath him. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you, making you gasp.

Your eyes fluttered, meeting his for a second, and in that moment, you knew. Your throat was raw from screaming his name, and your voice had abandoned you, leaving only the desperate, quiet gasps that escaped your parted lips. You felt it building, the pressure deep in your core, spreading through your body like wildfire. You clung to Sidney, your nails digging into his back, your body arching off the bed.

His eyes narrowed as he watched you, reading your every move, every twitch of your body, every shallow breath. He knew you so well, knew exactly what you needed, and he was going to give it to you until you couldn't take it anymore. He continued to move, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head. The only sounds in the room were the slap of skin against skin, the harshness of his breath, and the faint sound of your pussy, clenching and releasing around his cock, begging for more.

Another orgasm washed over you, a silent scream of pleasure that had you trembling beneath him. Your body arched, your back bowed, but no sound escaped your throat. It was as if the intensity had stolen your voice, leaving only the desperate gasps for air that filled the quiet room. Sidney groaned, feeling your walls tighten around him, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge once more. He didn't stop, didn't even slow down, his need for you as insatiable as ever.

You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held back, his jaw clenched with the effort of not coming again too soon. But you were lost in the haze of pleasure, your mind a blur of sensation, and you couldn't help but move your hips against his, urging him on.

Another orgasm washed over you, you felt your body convulse around his cock, your pussy clenching tightly, pulling him in deeper, milking him for every drop of pleasure he had to give. And through the silent cries of ecstasy, the tears that rolled down your cheeks, Sidney watched you. He kissed each one as they fell, tasting the salt of your pleasure on his lips, his movements never faltering, never stopping.

You were so sensitive now, so raw with need, that even the brush of his stubble against your cheek was enough to make you whimper. Your orgasm continued to ripple through you, like aftershocks from a powerful earthquake, leaving you trembling and exposed. Sidney took your cries as encouragement, his own passion spiraling out of control as he felt your body responding to his touch, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

His hips moved faster, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his own peak again. You could feel his balls tighten, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

Your tears continued to fall as Sidney buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He kissed you there, his tongue tracing the line of your collarbone as his cock slammed into you with a force that shook the bed. And as he chased his release, you felt your own orgasm building again.

Your body was a symphony of feelings, your pussy tightening and releasing around his thick length, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, your legs trembling with the effort of keeping you both upright. You could feel his muscles tense, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tight as he picked up the pace.

Sidney's breath was hot and ragged against your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe as he whispered sweet nothings. You felt the bed shake beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall in a steady rhythm. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little half-moons on his skin, but he didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he liked it.

With one final, powerful thrust, he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth as he came. The sound was raw. His cock pulsed deep inside you, his come filling you up, mixing with your own release. The feeling was indescribable, a warmth that spread from your core to the very tips of your toes. You could feel him tense against you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He wrapped his arms around you, mouth open against your collarbone, “Fuck, fuck—God, baby—”

As his release calmed, he rested his forehead against yours, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance that you felt the same, that he hadn't just used you as a means to an end. You kissed him softly, a silent promise that you felt everything he did, that you were just as invested in this as he was. He pulled out of you slowly, the loss making you whimper, your body already missing the feeling of fullness.

The bedside clock glowed 8:23 PM in soft red letters.

You turned to lay your stomach, cheek pressed into your pillow, still a little sweaty, still very much naked. Your leg draped over Sidney’s hip like it belonged there—like it always had—and one of his arms curled loosely around your waist, fingers drawing lazy circles just under your ribs, his fingers kept brushing higher, like he was absentmindedly plotting his next move.

You hummed softly, voice low and rough from all the noises you were making. “You’re still awake?”

His fingers paused. “You think I could sleep after that?”

You cracked a grin into your pillow. “Was I that good?”

“You know you were.”

You turned your face toward him, just enough to catch the smug tilt of his mouth. His hair was messy, sticking up in weird angles, and his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. You hated how good he looked like this—soft, tired, yours.

“I do have a gift,” you said with a dramatic little sigh. “My talents are wasted on you.”

He leaned in and kissed your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Big talk for someone who couldn’t stop shaking a few minutes ago.”

You slapped his arm without even lifting your head.

He laughed, warm and smug and Sidney.

A moment passed.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You hummed again. “What?”

“You coming to the game tomorrow?”

You opened one eye and gave him the flattest stare you could muster. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

He shifted onto his side so he could see you better, resting his head on his hand. “I am seriously asking. I know you work. I didn’t want to assume.”

You groaned. “Don’t be responsible. It’s disgusting.”

Sidney snorted. “Okay, sorry. Let me try again.”

You closed your eyes again and tried to go back to pretending you were tired and content and not giddy as hell just being with him.

“…You coming to the game tomorrow, or am I gonna have to play like shit just to get your attention?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too hard. “Mmm. What’s in it for me?”

He paused. You could feel him grinning without looking. “You want me to bribe you to come see me play?”

“I want you to try.”

Sidney shifted again, leaning over you now, kissing your shoulder, then your back. “Okay,” he murmured against your skin. “You come to the game…”

He trailed his hand down the curve of your side, slow and deliberate.

“…and I’ll take you to dinner after.”

You turned your head just enough to give him a skeptical look. “That’s the best you’ve got? Dinner? That’s what you’re leading with?”

He laughed into your shoulder. “You like food!”

“I also like not being treated like a fucking groupie.”

“You’re not a groupie. You’re—” He hesitated. “You’re you.”

That made your heart do a weird thing. You ignored it.

You rolled onto your back with a dramatic sigh, pulling the sheet up over your chest even though he’d already seen everything several times tonight. “Try harder.”

“Jesus. You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted easily. “Okay. You come to the game… I’ll take you to dinner, and—” he leaned in, voice low and tempting, “—I’ll leave you the quarter zip again.”

You blinked. “The one I’m obsessed with?”

“Yeah. I’ll even spray it with my cologne so it smells like me when I leave.”

You rolled your eyes, even though your stomach fluttered. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who asked for it.”

You mock-gasped. “So you admit I’m pathetic.”

“Baby,” he said, dragging the word out, “I’ve been saying that since the first night we met.”

You reached out and grabbed a pillow, hitting him in the chest with it. “Asshole.”

He laughed and caught your wrist, then kissed the inside of it like he was apologizing for teasing you, which he definitely wasn’t.

“You are pathetic,” he said gently. “But so am I.”

You gave him a look. “You showed up here unannounced and used a key I gave you six months ago.”

“Exactly.”

“You should be in a hotel. With your team. You remember them, Captain?”

“Hotels don’t have you in them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned down and kissed you again—slow and soft and unhurried. Like he had nowhere else to be. Like you were the only thing he gave a shit about right now.

You sighed into it, letting your fingers curl around the back of his neck. “You’re lucky you’re good in bed.”

He laughed again, cocky. “I am good in bed.”

“God, I hate how smug you are.”

“You love that too.”

You kissed him again. “Yeah,” you murmured, lips brushing his. “Unfortunately.”

Sid pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft. “So that’s a yes? I’ll see you there?”

You groaned dramatically. “Ugh, fine. I’ll come watch you do your stupid little hockey.”

He grinned and kissed your hip. “Wear my jersey.”

“Gross.”

“Please.”

You fake-gagged.

He leaned up over you, face hovering close, eyes soft in that way that made you feel like you were nineteen and falling hard for the first time.

“You look hot in it,” he said. “Do it for me.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

He kissed your forehead, then settled back beside you, pulling you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

It was almost annoying how right it felt. Like he belonged in your bed. Like you belonged in his arms.

Like this wasn’t a game you kept playing because you were too scared of what it would mean to stop.

You sighed again and rested your head on his chest. “You’re gonna owe me so much after tomorrow.”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want, baby. Just tell me.”

And god help you—you believed him.

—

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

fool for you

fratboy!Johnny x f!reader

summary: Johnny has decided that enough is enough! He can’t stop thinking about you and he needs to do something about it! Well… it’s so much easier said than done

word count: 4.4k

warnings: profanity

a/n: fic is set in our new and beloved, fratboy!Johnny universe and will chronologically follow after this post! and oh my gosh yes! stop pestering me! I did name this after linger by the cranberries!

divider creds to roseraris <3

taglist! @severeanxietyissues @neozon3nha @bluedbliss @lovesuhng @wishpid @myfavoritedelusion @onlyrosyjohnny @soonnypeach @noname9392 @sunghoonsgfreal @mmjhh1998 @thedaisyarchive @ohwowzersthatscool @greenyweirdo @127jfam

Johnny wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt this restless in his whole life. How is it that his life had gone from normal, boring, standard, to a complete mess simply because he’d talked to you? You, the girl he hadn’t so much as spoken more than two minutes with him in the years that he first saw you and now you lived in his head! He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he constantly hoped he’d see you again on campus, he wished you’d come to the house again. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been this infatuated before. He felt like a kid with a crush all over again. He wasn’t like any of the stereotypical frat guys who jumped from girl to girl. No, Johnny was more of a boyfriend kid of guy and he hadn’t had a relationship since he and his high school girlfriend ended things before going to opposite end of the country for college. Was it so bad that he wanted a timeless love like his parents? Was it so bad that he wanted to find his other half? The person who would know him better than anyone else and love him for who he was.

Less than an hour spent together and you had completely taken over his thoughts. When would he see you again? What was your favorite color? What was your favorite class? Did you like him as much as he liked you? He sure hoped you did.

He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling while he tried and failed to fall asleep. Why was his brain even so focused on memories of you in the class you shared during his second semester? He could remember vivid images of you, or more, the back of your head. His mind thought back to one specific moment where the class had been tasked with some kind of whole class, lazy activity. The professor, who looked worse for wear, had kicked his feet up on his desk, displayed the instructions on the projector screen and knocked out for the entirety of the class. 

Johnny remembered walking around the auditorium, filling out his worksheet with only one space left to fill out. Nobody that he’d spoken to knew the answer, since none of them had read the last chapter like they were supposed to. He knew he should have done his homework, he probably could have been out of class already, but he’d gotten caught up in frat stuff. Johnny perked his head up, making his way down the stairs and toward the row that was just two rows away from his own row, right to where you were sitting alone and diligently filling out the worksheet with your head ducked down. 

Slowly, Johnny lowered himself into the seat beside you so as to not startle you, “hey.”

Still, you jumped in your seat, having completely missed how his tall frame slipped beside you so seamlessly and quietly. He watches as your hand spreads over your chest in your shock. Your cheeks bloom with warmth and he smiles softly, you’re really pretty. Seeing you up close and not in passing, not from the back, he feels a part of him fall hard for you. 

Your voice is prettier than any song he’s ever heard, even as you laugh shyly, “you scared me.”

He chokes on his words, is that his heart pounding in his ears or is someone banging on the door? Are everyone’s eyes as gorgeous as yours? He clears his throat, blinking a few times to refocus himself, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just uh, I need some help answering the last question on the worksheet. I asked a bunch of people and no one knows the answer. Can you help me?”

“Oh, yeah! That question was hidden somewhere in the last few pages of the chapter, but I actually happened to make a note of it…” you tell Johnny as you flip through your notebook to find the page. 

He can only watch and admire your dedication to passing this class, even if it is a general requirements class. You slide your notebook over to him and he admires your neat scrawl and organized notes. “Here it is,” you tell him softly as you point out the line with the information he needs. 

Johnny copies down the information and smiles at you gratefully, “thank you so much. I’m usually so on top of my assignments, but I guess I got carried away with all the frat stuff I have going on.”

You cock your head to the side with a soft furrow in your brows, “I’m not judging you at all. It’s okay to be busy with things. The homework wasn’t even homework anyway so it’s really no bother at all.”

His body is reacting in that weird way again, but worse than usual. Probably because he’s doing more than just looking at you this time. He’s actually talking to you! A real conversation! His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest as he forces his brain to remember to breathe! He chuckles softly, “well, I appreciate the help anyway.”

You nod as you pack up your things and stand from your seat with your backpack over our shoulder. “It’s no problem. Have a good one,” you tell him before you walk away from him to leave the lecture hall. 

The memory brings a smile onto Johnny’s face as he drifts off to sleep with thoughts of you on his mind. 

The next time he sees you, it’s not even planned. He’s just come back from a run when he walks past Mark on his way out of the door. Johnny looks at Mark in confusion, “what’s up? I thought you didn’t have class on Thursdays.”

Mark sighs, “I don’t but you guys are up my ass about going to my tutoring sessions so…”

Johnny lets out a laugh, “I think you mean that we’re up your ass about succeeding. Nu Chi doesn't keep idiots around.”

“That’s debatable,” Mark replies with a laugh, “I’m off to the library so I won’t be late. I’ve kept my tutor waiting for too many sessions already. See you later, bro.”

The door shuts and Johnny stands in the entryway for less than a second before he’s sprinting up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He pushes someone out of his way with a shout of “sorry!” He rushes into the bathroom and forces himself into an ice cold shower to wash the sweat and stink off his body. 

He knows he’s dripping water all down the hall as he runs to his room to get dressed. He knows he’s yelled at his brothers for this before, but he has a very limited amount of time to meet you at the library! You wouldn’t be tutoring Mark forever!

He finds one of his nicer t-shirts hanging in the closet, a clean pair of jeans and tucks his wet hair under a backwards cap before slipping on his shoes and making his way out of the house. He’s hustling across campus trying not to sweat while practicing what he’s going to say to you. He feels like a total idiot right now. He’s never been the kind of person to be nervous about meeting anyone. He’s always confident and charismatic, even though you’re his social opposite, he finds that he’s not himself. It’s kind of a fun feeling to experience again. 

He slows his stroll as he walks through the library, trying to look casual as he peeks into every study room, examines every table on the first floor, on the second floor, and finally, the third floor. He peeks his head to take a look in what was, of course, the last study room on this floor. He finds you and Mark looking at your laptop and taking notes. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes before freezing. Shit, what was his excuse for being here even going to be? ‘Hey there, I was just casually prowling the third floor of the library, mind if I join?’ No way! He pulls a random notebook from his backpack before knocking on the glass door with a friendly smile. He pushes the door open, “hey, sorry to interrupt. Mark, you left your notebook at the house, I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”

You look over at Mark with a confused look on your face and Mark looks at Johnny with a matching look of confusion, “I have my notebooks. That’s not mine.”

“Oh, well…” Johnny gulps nervously with sweaty palms, “I just wanted to be safe. I want you to do your best Markie.”

Mark’s face twists into a look of disgust, “since when have you ever called me Marki-”

Johnny coughs, cutting Mark off, “well, since I’m here. You guy’s don't mind if I just stay, do you? I’ll be quiet and I’ve got some studying to do of my own anyway.”

“That’s fine,” you nod slowly, returning to Mark.

Johnny spends about an hour sitting on the opposite end of the table from you, pretending to study. Really, his mind is busy working out the conversation he wants to have with you when your session with Mark is done. 

“So I guess, when in doubt, just add as many details about this time period as you can. I think your professor is likely to focus on the areas we covered today for the essay question, but don’t hold me to it. Do you have any questions before we wrap up?” Johnny hears you ask Mark.

Mark laughs as he packs his things up, “yo, I’m actually feeling really good about this test! Thank you, dude.”

Your laugh makes Johnny’s heart skip a beat as you help Mark gather his things and smile up at him, “It’s my job Mark, it’s really no problem. Good luck on your test and let me know how it goes.”

Mark leaves the study room, but not without a look of pure and utter suspicion thrown in Johnny’s direction before he leaves the two of you alone in the study room. Johnny clears his throat, “hey, so are you- you doing anything after-”

Someone clears their throat and Johnny turns to find a girl waiting in the doorway. Johnny’s eyes flit over to you to find that you’re already looking at him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry Johnny, I have another tutoring session right now.”

Johnny’s mouth snaps shut and he nods awkwardly, grabbing his backpack and making his way past the girl quickly. In an hour he’s going to feel like a major idiot for trying and failing to ask you out. He should have just spit it out! ‘Hey! Please go out with me! Please! I will beg!’ But he didn’t and somehow he didn’t feel like a loser quite yet… Mostly because, well, this was going to make him sound like a total dweeb, but you said his name! Was it possible to have two new favorite sounds upon the first time hearing them? Your laugh and his name on your lips.

If he’d have looked over his shoulder while he was leaving the room, he’d have seen you staring at his back as he left. He’d have seen how your eyes were wide and tracked his form until he was completely out of sight. Then consequently seen your next student bumping your arm and teasing you while you hid your face in your hands.

He walks back to the frat house with an extra pep in his step, though as soon as he opens the door, there’s Mark with a smug look on his face, “dude, you are so fucking lame. Really? ‘You forgot your notebook Markie.’” Mark’s face twists into an unimpressed smirk while he holds up the same notebook that Johnny had used as an excuse. A notebook that clearly read ‘JOHNNY’ in Yuta’s signature tag style. Johnny swallows as his cheeks get hot, “you didn’t show her that did you?”

Mark chuckles, “nah, you were smart enough to only show the back of the notebook. She’s not hard to talk to, you know?”

Johnny drags a hand down his face, “she is to me. Only God knows why.”

“You got it bad, bro. Pull yourself together,” Mark laughs brightly as he shakes Johnny by the shoulders.

Very rarely does Johnny like to admit that Mark is correct, but Mark is right this time. He does have it bad, so incredibly horrendously bad for you. He’s no longer keeping an eye out for you, no, he’s “casually” walking across campus to the humanities and social science buildings because that’s where your classes are more likely to be held. 

It’s a Monday when he sees you again. A whole two and a half weeks since he last tried to ask you out. His classes have already finished for the day, but he finds himself making the familiar walk across campus toward the humanities building. The sky is warm and the sun feels nice on his skin as he strolls and swipes through his phone. In the blink of an eye his phone is falling to the floor as his body collides with another. 

“Oh shoot, I am so sorry,” he hears the other person say. Not just any other person, you. He gulps, falling to his knees beside you as you gather all your papers and books back into a neat pile. He can hear your nervous rambling, “I’m really sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. I’m just running late on my way to the library and— Johnny? What are you doing on this side of campus?”

Johnny isn’t even thinking of a response because while he was listening to you speak, he wasn't listening to what you were really saying. His brain was too busy memorizing the timbre and tone of your voice to focus on any words. It takes his brain a whole minute to process your question all while he stares at you blankly. He clears his throat, right, what was he doing over here, “I… the… I like that bathrooms over here…” What the hell, John?! The bathrooms?!

You giggle softly, “the bathrooms? Surely, the engineering building would have the nicest bathrooms since that building is the newest.”

Oh. You actually bought that flimsy excuse. He coughs softly, “are you… are you doing anything right now?” Wait a second, did your fingers just brush against his? Why was a simple brush of your fingers against making his heart race? What the heck was up with him?

“Yeah, actually, I’m on my way to another tutoring session,” you answer as you pile all your things into your arms before standing. 

Johnny stands up slowly, looking down at you as his eyes trace over every small detail on your face, every curve and every edge. His eyes drag over the curve of your lips, the lashes that line your eyes, and the way your cheeks round as you smile up at him. He blinks slowly, once, twice… what was it about you that made him act like such a fool? Why didn’t his brain work how it was supposed to around you? “Right,” he shakes his head with a smile, “of course. I’m sorry for making you later.”

Your brows furrow just slightly before you smile up at him in such a sweet way that he might just feel his pupils turning into hearts. Your hand comes up to squeeze his forearm. Great, now he’s a puddle from a simple squeeze of your hand. “You get this really faraway look in your eye when you look at me. We’ll have to talk about that next time we see each other,” you tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard before hustling away like you always do. 

He doesn’t even care if you see him if you choose to turn away, but he hunches over, one hand gripping his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath. Fuck, this was the best feeling in the world, being around you, looking at you, talking to you. And was it just his imagination or did your hand actually linger when you squeezed his arm? 

His train of thought is interrupted when someone coughs, “dude, are you having an asthma attack or something?”

“Something better,” Johnny breathes out.

The person shakes their head, “dude, you’re strange.”

Johnny has been practicing asking people out for a week now. Not only in the mirror, when he showers, before bed, to his pillow, his teammates, and also to every frat brother in the house. It helps him to develop a more well-rounded proposal since he gets so many types of feedback. When Mark and Haechan tell him it’s perfect, he goes to Taeyong to really get it the best it can be. What do those losers know anyway?

He’s thinking about you every second of the day and for some reason, manifesting your presence hasn’t worked like it has these last few times. He still walks around your class building, he keeps an eye out for Mark heading out for tutoring, and even walks around the library for a couple hours a few days. Nothing. Where could you have disappeared to? 

He knows that you’re probably busy with his own classes and tests, but.. he just misses you. It’s not even like the two of you have had any real conversations of substance, but the way you make him feel? It’s addicting. Not in a crazy way, but in a way that makes his heart beat a whole lot faster than running a few laps around the basketball court and feels a hell of a lot better. This must be the kind of feeling he remembers his dad explaining to him when he was a kid. 

Back when Johnny was a tween he’d gone to school with a bouquet of flowers to confess his crush on a girl from his science class. She had turned him down, kept the flowers, and shamelessly asked if his friend was looking for a girlfriend. Johnny had faked a stomach ache, not letting a single tear fall until he was at home and in his dad’s arms. 

“The right person for you won’t make you feel like this, Son,” his dad says soothingly as he rubs a calming hand up and down Johnny’s back, “Look, when I met your mom I felt like I was going crazy. Every time I saw her my heart would beat like crazy, I thought about her all the time, and every time she so much as looked at me I felt like I was on top of the world. When you find the right person you’ll feel all these things and more and they’ll feel the same way. This is just one of life’s lessons. I know it hurts now, but when the real thing comes along, it will feel so much better.”

Johnny’s been thinking about this conversation a lot. He wonders if, once again, he’s throwing himself into the fire to be burned. He wonders if this will just be another learning lesson on the journey to finding The One, and he starts to get really insecure. This is a feeling that Johnny rarely ever experiences, but when he really thinks about it… have you even shown him any romantic interest or just basic kindness? Did your touch linger? Did you stare a little too long? Did you even actually blush the first time you both made conversation? Whatever. He pushes the thought out of his head and instead forces himself to focus on his upcoming basketball game. He can’t distract himself with these thoughts when he needs to be in his basketball mindset. There’s no room in his head to be insecure or to overthink things. He’s not usually the kind of person to think this anxiously so he takes a deep breath and moves on.

There’s just a couple minutes left of the game, Johnny’s standing at the free throw line, exhaling to calm his nerves while he spins the ball in his hands. The feel of the textured rubber, the smell of the gym, the sight of his teammates and competitors has a familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. His eyes flicker to the crowd on the left, then the right, and back to the hoop-- but wait, did he see that right? Yeah his frat brothers are there, he sees some people from his classes, but who is that sitting next to Mark? He blinks hard, squinting as he sees Mark pointing at the court and saying something to… you! 

You’re at his game, you’re watching him play, you’re here! It’s a complete shock to see you here. This is the last place he’d expect to see you, but Johnny smiles to himself and feels a whole new sense of confidence when he hears the referee blow his whistle. Johnny sinks not one, not two, but all three free throws with just a few seconds of the game to go. He’s playing better than he’s ever played and he’s already one of the best players on the team. Is it a little embarrassing to admit that it’s because you’re watching? Yeah, but he’s not going to admit it. 

The game ends with a victory by a small margin, but it’s a win nonetheless. His teammates immediately go to their water bottles, coach or girlfriends, but Johnny’s heading over to you. He’s making his way through the crowds accepting congratulations and claps on the back with a grateful smile before he’s walking right up the bleachers and right over to you. His frat brothers have mischievous smiles on their faces and thankfully have the decency to disperse not too far away while Johnny stops just a foot away from you. 

“You-you’re here!” Johnny smiles brightly.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, smiling as you drop your gaze to your feet, “yeah, I figured it was time to branch out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, did you have a good time? You caught me on a good day, heard coach say it was the best I’ve ever played,” Johnny tells you earnestly. 

You look up and Johnny tries to keep his breathing normal at the smile on your face. You’re just so pretty up close. He finds himself distractedly counting every beauty mark on your face and each variation of color in your pupils. You’re breathtaking. He blinks hard, forcing himself to listen to your melodic voice, “I have I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about basketball so Mark had to explain a lot of it to me. He said you did a good job and I know enough to know that you scored most of the points… so congrats!”

He licks his lips, feeling his heartbeat pounding right in the base of his neck. What better moment will there be than now? “Hey, do you want to go out with me? Like on a date… please,” Johnny manages to breathe out. 

Your eyes widen, jaw falling open the slightest bit, “you like me back?”

Johnny chokes, “you like me?!”

“I thought I was being obvious,” you murmur shyly, once again dropping your gaze to look at your feet. 

Johnny laughs a breathy laugh. It’s not malicious or teasing but it’s a laugh of relief. He reaches out and cups your cheeks, guiding your face up to meet his gaze. “I have been pining over you since the first time I talked to you. I feel like I’ve been going crazy every day and acting like a total fool— an idiot! All my stupidity just to find out that you’ve liked me back.”

“Honestly,” you tell him quietly, “I had a feeling you liked me.”

“How?!” Johnny asks, his thumb caressing the high point of your cheek.

You laugh softly and Johnny feels his heart skip a beat, “the humanities building doesn’t have bathrooms, John.”

He feels his face blush bright red as he staggers back and plants himself in a seat. He drags his hands through his hair and down his face with an embarrassed groan, “and you didn’t tell me? I really am an idiot!”

You giggle as you sit beside him, rubbing his upper arm which really doesn't help the blush on his cheeks but is something that he very quickly learns he really likes. You sigh, bumping his shoulder with your own playfully, “if it helps, I feel like an idiot too because my flirting wasn’t enough either. Clearly. We were both somewhat clueless.”

“What flirting?” Johnny asks with his brows furrowed softly.

“I looked at you a lot, I touched your arm that one time— twice actually, I came to your basketball game…” you list off as if these are the most obvious acts to have ever been done.

“Oh, Honey,” Johnny chuckles with a shake of his head, “luckily, with me you’ll get plenty of opportunities to work on that flirting of yours.”

You hide your face behind your hands as you whine embarrassingly. He catches your wrist gently and pulls your hand away just far enough to press a kiss to your cheek, “so, was that a yes? You’ll go on a date with me?”

Your voice is quiet but it’s loud enough to have Johnny standing from his seat and cheering when you murmur, “yes I want to go on date with you.”

“Yes!” You hear the guys around you cheer. You glance behind Johnny and find Mark fist pumping. You laugh quietly and lean into Johnny so your head rests on his shoulder and your arm is pressed up against his.

“Don’t take this the wrong way at all,” Johnny tells you, “but I am not worthy to have you pressed up against me right now. I am dripping with sweat, I smell, and I don’t even look good right now.”

“I’d argue that you actually look very good right now,” you reply before clapping a hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

Johnny’s head snaps in your direction with his eyes widened in shock, “now that’s flirting! Yes!”

a/n: feedback is appreciated and I'm adding the first date fic to my to do list!

[eleganthologramcolor]

Goofy way of delivering news to the 141???

Mini Poly!141 + reader (Reader is gender neutral but implied female anatomy, pregnancy)

You're smug, grinning slyly as you set up a little projector in the living room, dimming the lights.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you all here," you hum, feigning nonchalance as the boys sit spread apart from the couch, the love seat and Johnny in the floor, too antsy to sit on the furniture.

The projector flicks on with a kahoot code screen.

"Boys, if you could join."

They give each other looks, already wary from the last stunt you'd pulled with this. There's even a glimmer of panic on Johnny's face, who's trying to frantically remember the date in case he'd forgotten your birthday again.

Kyle and Price are playful, indulging you, and Simon is quiet. He can tell something's up, something a little more than just a game. He keeps his mouth shut, though, tongue in cheek as he glances at his own phone screen.

"We are going to take a quiz today."

And with that, the game begins.

Question 1: what is this?

Displayed over the question is a photo of you, beaming, holding a positive pregnancy test. The boys cheer, gathering you up in their arms, Kyle gets to you first, pressing kisses to the top of your head, and Johnny's trying to pull you close to start grabbing at your belly, as if there may be signs already.

Question 2: Who's the father?

"Bit of an unserious way to deliver news, innit?" Simon finally grumbles, unable to hold back the amused huff.

Then the screen flicks to the next question.

The room is quiet for a moment, competitive, the boys instantly hushed as they glance at one another. They each pick themselves, of course, they'd hope they got first born. Who wouldn't?

But when in the dark, Kyle's face is lit up in green, and there's only a pause before he's cackling victoriously as he runs out of the room to evade the pillows thrown at his head.

[dilfenthusiast-union]

Can you please do Josh and reader watching a movie?

I absolutely can anon! Gonna do a horror movie cuz that’s on theme HAHA. I hope this satisfies your Josh craving 🫶 feel free to request something different if not 🫡

Study Session

Joshua “Josh” Washington x Reader

I ended up referencing an old German film so if anyone can figure out what it is from the very vague description I gave then here’s a sweet treat 🍰

Gonna update the gif when ppl start making gifs of the sexy delicious remake

GIF updated with cutie Josh passed out in front of the fireplace literally the exact vibes IM LIVING

“You got the snacks, princess?” Josh calls out from the living room, as he sets up the projector for your weekly “special movie” night.

As part of Josh’s psychology degree, he had the chance to pick a major, and to him and his parents, it was a no brainer— film.

However, what he didn’t anticipate was the amount of weird, silent movies from the 1920s that he had to analyse in his classes.

“It’s like watching paint dry!” He exclaims, “I get that I have to understand the rules of film before breaking them, but Dad’s been doing this since before I was even an idea!” Josh drags on.

“Josh, babe. You’re starting really to sound like every nepo baby in Hollywood. I love you!…but shut up.” you peck him on the lips before pulling back to smile at him, a kinder way of telling him to shut his trap about his first world problems. He smiles dumb from the small act of affection and touch love, unable to recall what was bothering him in the first place as you dissolve his worries.”

Upon hearing his complaints, you suggest making it into a movie night, as opposed to a traditional study session where you’re both hunched over your laptops and textbooks.

Your idea sends a colony of butterflies into Josh’s stomach— you want to watch a boring movie with him? The fact that you want to spend time doing mundane things, like studying with him, makes him envision a life of pure domesticity. How could he say no to an opportunity to cuddle and be with his partner?

Before you know it, you’re microwaving popcorn and opening packets of lollies to enjoy (and to pass the time).

“Just about done! The popcorn is extremely fresh so enjoy with caution!” You mention as you pinch the bag from the top to avoid burning yourself.

He stands back up from setting up the projector equipment, looking at you with warm eyes. He questions “Are you saying that because you nearly burnt your mouth trying to eat it?”, his tone underscored with amusement.

“Guilty.” The one word expresses your regret for attempting to snack early. You settle the bags of snacks and popcorn on the coffee table, and sink into the pullout couch, ready to be entertained.

“What is this movie about exactly? The cover looks kinda freaky, I won’t lie” you examine the starting screen projected on the wall. Josh appreciates how you’re eager to demonstrate an interest in his studies despite not knowing too much.

“In the most succinct way I can say it without spoiling things…” he trails off, “A vampire tries his hand at real estate, and rats wipe out a town of people!” Your face morphs from interested to deadpan at the lack of proper context, “I guess I just gotta watch and see, hey?”

“Precisely, princess.” Josh affirms as he sits down next to you. His pet names for you never cease to make your core temperature rise with the influx of butterflies. As he wraps an arm around your frame, he presses play on the film.

Josh adds, “Thankfully for us, there’s English subtitles… because this entire movie is in German. So you’re gonna have to focus just as much as me, and resist the urge to go on Instagram.” He kisses your head to avoid any rebuttal from you.

An hour passes by and at this point both you and Josh become extremely comfortable on the couch. Lying down whilst cuddling, you hold eachother accountable by not scrolling in your phones and actually discussing the plot of the film and the main points Josh needs to remember for his analysis. The movie finishes and you’re both still awake.

Josh breaks the comfortable silence, turning to admire your features “Thanks for watching this boring movie with me, babe. You made this way more fun for me.” he pecks your forehead, followed by the tip of your nose. He gazes at your lips longingly, before looking into your half-lidded eyes and receiving a small nod.

He leans into to kiss you passionately, receiving a mutual signal from your eagerness. He can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks and he’s sure you can hear his pulse rapidly increasing the longer you two occupy the same space.

You place your hands on his broad chest, feeling him gently and slowly. Josh wraps his arms around your waist and places you in his lap, and breaks away from the kiss. You catch your breath simultaneously, staring into eachother’s eyes, as if you’re telepathically communicating your love for each-other.

“Josh, there’s no need to thank me. I’ll do just about anything with you. Because, as long as it’s you, nothing can possibly be boring.” you cut into the hot silence.

Josh revels in your statement, his eyebrows raised “Are you saying you liked the movie?” his amusement is discernible at this point. He looks at you like you contain galaxies in your eyes.

You give him a kiss on the lips again before breaking away again and grinning widely “I actually did, and I like spending time with my boyfriend.. let’s study more often!” You suggest lightly.

Josh picks you up to carry you bridal style, walking down the hall to your shared bedroom, “I can think of a different kind of studying we can do. Don’t you have an anatomy exam soon?” he smirks before laying you down on the bed, wedging a knee between your legs and trapping you in his arms.

Maybe this studying will involve an all-nighter for the two of you.

[hearts4sammonroe]

pairing: aotc!anakin x f!reader

contains: fluff, R2-D2 cameo and C-3PO mention.

a/n: this was a request, hope you like it :)

divider credit: @strangergraphics

Anakin Skywalker has been waiting all day to get to his room and talk to you. R2-D2 waddled into the room with him.

“R2, stay in the other room.” Anakin orders softly.

“Beep beep boop.”

“Yes, I am talking to her again. Better keep it our secret, too.”

“Beep boop.”

That droid was a diva but he listened and waddled out of the room. Anakin set up his hologram-projector, waiting for you to pop up.

“Hi, Anakin.”

A big grin crept on Anakin’s face. “Hello. I’ve wanted to talk to you all day. What have you been up to?”

“Well, C-3PO has been following me around while I run my errands, but nothing too interesting.” You answer with a smile.

Anakin smiles, so relieved that he could hear your voice.

The next night it was the same thing.

“I’m so happy to hear you voice.” Anakin says.

He puts his hand up towards the projection, and you do the same. He couldn’t hold your hand but he likes to think he can through the screen.

“Just talk to me, beautiful. Tell me anything as long as I can hear your precious voice.”

Next night, still the same.

You had been talking for what felt like forever. Talking about your job, reminiscing memories with Ani, telling him stories from your childhood.

You looked at the projection to find him sleeping. He had set his holo-projector by his bed so he could lie down and talk to you.

Anakin didn’t fall asleep because he was bored. He could just fall asleep to your voice. It soothes him. It comforts him enough so that he can fall asleep. He feels safe hearing you, seeing you, feeling your presence through the screen.

“Goodnight, Ani.” You chuckle softly, lying back onto your own bed but not hanging up. You admired his soft features as he slept, his parted lips, his eyelashes fluttering in his sleep.

So beautiful.

taglist: @anakinstwinklebunny @haydenismyman @anisangeldust @cassielunaaa @madsluvsdilfs @mvst4far @divineani

[prettygirl-gabi]

Full-Court Love

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader x Azzi Fudd

POV: First-person

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 1,500+

Summary: they make time they always do

Valentine’s Day as a college athlete is a tricky thing.

Between practices, classes, and upcoming games, there’s barely any time to breathe, let alone plan something romantic. And this year? It was even worse.

We had the biggest game of the season against South Carolina on the 16th, which meant Coach had us locked into an intense practice schedule. No distractions. No excuses.

But when you’re dating both Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd?

You make time. They make time.

The first sign that Paige and Azzi were up to something came when I walked into the locker room after practice and found a red envelope sitting on top of my bag.

I glanced around, but everyone else was either showering or changing, too focused on their own post-practice routines to notice.

Curious, I picked it up and opened it.

Inside was a simple note, written in Azzi’s neat handwriting:

“Meet us in the film room. Don’t be late. ❤️”

I raised an eyebrow, then shook my head, a smile tugging at my lips.

Whatever they had planned, I already knew it was going to be good.

By the time I got to the film room, I could hear Paige’s laughter through the door.

I pushed it open to find her and Azzi standing in front of the projector screen, which was now displaying a homemade PowerPoint slide that read:

“WHY YOU SHOULD BE OUR VALENTINE”

I blinked. “You made a PowerPoint?”

Paige grinned. “You know I love a good presentation.”

Azzi nodded, holding up a remote. “We have five slides prepared.”

I crossed my arms, biting back a laugh. “This is so unserious.”

Paige smirked. “Just sit down and watch, babe.”

I sighed dramatically but took a seat. “Fine. Impress me.”

Azzi clicked to the next slide, which had a picture of me in my UConn jersey mid-game, looking absolutely locked in. Underneath it, the text read:

“Reason #1: You’re the best player on the team (don’t tell Coach we said that).”

I snorted. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

Paige grinned. “Next slide, Z.”

The next one showed a candid photo of the three of us from last semester, curled up together on the couch, half-asleep during a movie night.

“Reason #2: You make every moment better.”

I felt my heart squeeze a little.

Azzi glanced at me, a small smile on her face. “It’s true. Even when we’re exhausted, just being with you makes everything feel easier.”

Paige nudged her. “Damn, getting sentimental already?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Paige.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Y’all are actually kinda cute.”

Paige winked. “Just wait.”

The next slide had a picture of me standing between them after a game, arms around their shoulders, all three of us grinning.

“Reason #3: We love you, duh.”

I exhaled softly, warmth spreading through my chest.

Paige leaned against the desk. “We know the timing sucks this year with the South Carolina game coming up, but we didn’t want today to just feel like any other day.”

Azzi nodded. “So, will you be our Valentine?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile on my face. “Like I’d ever say no to you two.”

Paige grinned. “Good answer.”

Azzi smirked. “We also have dinner plans.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Coach explicitly said no distractions—”

Paige waved a hand. “Coach didn’t say we couldn’t eat dinner.”

Azzi nodded. “And we already cleared it with the team. A bunch of them are doing their own little date nights before we go full lock-in mode tomorrow.”

I sighed, standing up. “Y’all really thought of everything, huh?”

Paige smirked. “Always.”

Azzi grabbed my hand. “Come on. It’s a surprise.”

They took me to a small, cozy Italian restaurant about fifteen minutes off campus, one of those places you’d never notice unless you were looking for it.

The second we walked in, I realized Paige and Azzi had really planned ahead—the restaurant had a private table set up in the back, complete with dim lighting and a tiny vase of roses in the center.

I turned to them, impressed. “Okay, I was expecting something chill, but y’all actually went all out.”

Paige grinned, pulling out a chair for me. “Only the best for our girl.”

Azzi sat down across from me, smiling softly. “We figured we wouldn’t get much alone time after today, so we wanted to make this one count.”

I glanced between them, warmth pooling in my chest. “I love you two, you know that?”

Paige smirked. “We do now.”

Azzi reached across the table, lacing her fingers with mine. “Love you too.”

Paige nodded, grabbing my other hand. “Love you more.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re not doing the ‘who loves who more’ thing at this table.”

Azzi smirked. “That sounds like something someone losing would say.”

Paige cackled. “OHH, she got you.”

I groaned. “Y’all are literally the worst.”

Paige winked. “And you love it.”

Unfortunately for me, she wasn’t wrong.

After dinner, we walked back to the car, hands intertwined as the cold February air nipped at our skin.

Paige nudged me playfully. “So, did we do okay?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay? Y’all actually managed to surprise me. That’s a first.”

Azzi grinned. “That was the goal.”

I looked between them, my heart feeling way too full. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

Paige smirked. “Just wait until next year.”

Azzi nodded. “We’re only getting started.”

And knowing them?

I believed it.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️