#I am SO excited to get back to this one!!!

[sweetcalebb]

would you be open to writing caleb putting you in a headlock? Maybe you ask him to do it and he gets really into it 🫠🫠🫠

Headlock sex ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 2.6k

a/n: hii!! i can't tell you how excited to see this ask. i've thought abt caleb putting the reader in a headlock smm. thank u sm for this! i hope this was okay, and if it wasn't pls feel free to DM me, comment, or send another ask. i'm always happy to write more <3

content: prone sex, rough sex, light choking, bit of dry humping <3, cream pie, headlock (ofc!), power play, horny gym tension, biceps appreciation, reader likes to get all flustered around caleb like they aren't literally dating

——

You should've been counting Caleb's reps. You were—until you started staring a little too hard at his biceps. Suddenly, you forgot how to count, or think, or even breathe.

"Hey, what am I at, Pips?" Caleb grunted.

Shoot.

You just stood there, dumb, open-mouthed, and said, "Um... 10?"

He wasn't even training biceps. How the hell did they look so good when he was doing push-ups? It wasn't fair.

Caleb laughed, slowly sitting on his heels. "10? I could've sworn I hit 10 a few pushups ago."

Your face flushed. "I think you're counting wrong."

"And I think you're just ogling me," Caleb shot back, standing up and stalking over to you—sweat clinging to his forehead, muscles taut and glistening—

God. He was going to be the death of you.

"It's cute." He leaned in close, lips curled in a smug smile. "Can't count when you're horny, huh?"

You clenched around nothing.

"I'm not!" you scoffed, taking a step back, even when every cell in your body was screaming at you to pounce on him.

"Then why are you blushing?" Caleb teased, playfully poking your cheek before you could pull away. "I was just joking, but does watching me do pushups actually turn you on?"

You squirmed back, the tips of your ears burning.

"No!"

Caleb grinned. "Liar."

Heat dripped low in your stomach. Shit. Why was it so hot when he called you out like that?

"So, what about me doing pushups turns you on?" He squinted his eyes and cocked his head—all feigned innocence and charm. "Is it the way I grunt? Or the way I look when I'm focused? Or is it my muscles?"

Evil bastard. He knew what he was doing.

"C'mon. I gotta know," he coaxed.

"Nothing!" you finally huffed. "Nothing about you doing pushups turns me on!"

Everything.

Everything about him doing pushups turned you on. Especially his arms. But you didn't want to admit that, so without another word, you spun around and started heading for the exit.

Caleb laughed, watching the cute sway of your hips as you stormed off. "Hey! C'mon! We have to finish on cardio!"

But you were already outside.

—

Now, you sat, curled up in your bed, staring at pictures of Caleb—specifically the ones he sent after a grueling workout. Yes, you had a whole album of him, and he was always all sweaty and pumped... really pumped.

You took a shaky breath. God, his arms looked so good.

And Caleb? He was probably in your living room, minding his business all smug because he knew the things he did to you.

He was visiting for a bit, which was why you'd been working out together in the first place. You thought it would be a cute hangout, not—whatever that turned into.

You groaned, tossing your phone to the side.

You couldn't do this anymore.

You kicked your legs over your bed and slipped out of your room. Sure enough, there Caleb was—on the living room floor, completely relaxed, fussing with one of his model airplanes like he wasn’t the reason your brain had short-circuited.

He shot you a quick glance and smiled before turning back to his plane.

"Hey, Pips," Caleb murmured, brows furrowing as he chipped a piece of his model off. "You okay?" He took a double-take, a hint of smugness in his voice. "You look.. flushed."

You stood there for a second, your body burning and your mind swimming with all the dirty things you wanted Caleb to do to you. Especially now, with how nice his hands looked messing with his plane.

And he could see it. He didn't have to ask or look at you too long, he just knew.

Because that was Caleb.

"What're you thinking?" He quipped, tilting his head.

You shifted awkwardly, your legs squeezing together.

You took a small inhale, then carefully said, "I want to try something."

Caleb smiled, the model airplane in his lap forgotten the minute you uttered those words.

"Oh, yeah? What's this 'something' you wanna try?"

You glanced down, fidgeting with your shirt and shifting your the wooden floor.

Caleb grinned. You were impossibly cute when you were nervous—cheeks red and lip sore from how much you'd bitten it in thought.

Slowly, he stood and stepped over to you.

"You know I'll try anything you want, Pips," Caleb said, stopping in front of you and grinning that stupid grin that made your heart flutter. "C'mon. Have I ever judged you?" he coaxed.

"No," you murmured.

"Right. So, tell me."

"I..." Your eyes darted down to his arms. God. They looked nice. So nice, that for a split—horrifyingly horny—second, you wondered what they'd feel like wrapped around your neck.

Your whole body burned at the thought.

Then quietly—unbidden—the words, "I want you to put me in a headlock," came out.

Caleb laughed.

You must've been joking.

But when he looked at you—really looked at you—you weren't laughing or smiling. No, you were straight-faced, eyes hardened and jaw tensed.

Oh.

You were serious.

"What?" Caleb breathed.

You let out a stuttered breath. And as if this couldn't get any more embarrassing, you muttered, "During... it."

Caleb blinked. "During it?"

For a second, he just stared. His brain couldn't catch up. Had you seriously just asked him to... put you in a headlock during sex?

He let out a humorless laugh. "I—Pips, are you being serious?"

You paused, your heart thudding so loud you were almost certain he heard it. You knew this was a mistake. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

"No. Never mind, I was just—I was joking."

You didn't care how lame that sounded, you just needed to get out of there before he saw the furious blush that crept up your cheeks and burned your ears.

But you weren't fast enough.

Before you could even turn around, Caleb's hand was around your wrist.

"Hey—don't do that." He tugged you back, forcing you against his chest. "If that's what you want, I'll give it to you."

Your breath quickened.

"Is that what you want?"

It took you a moment to learn how to breathe again before finally managing a quiet, "Yes."

At that, Caleb smiled—a big, crooked, and way too smug smile. Then, without warning, he bent down slightly and hauled you over his shoulder.

You yelped, clinging to his back. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Caleb huffed. "I'm giving you what you want."

You wanted to argue. Pretend it really was a joke, but every nerve in your body lit up the second he said he’d give you exactly what you wanted.

He nudged your door open with his foot and stalked over to your bed before dropping you on the mattress and turning you over on your stomach. You gasped, your hands clinging to your sheets in anticipation.

Caleb crawled over you, wasting no time as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

You squirmed, lips parting on a silent sigh of relief when you felt him against your ass. He ground against you once, then stopped before pinning you down when he felt you lift your hips to meet his.

"C'mon. Talk to me, Pips. I wanna hear you."

You groaned, dipping your head against the mattress. Of course. You should've known better than to think Caleb wasn't going to make the most out of every second.

"Yes," you breathed, struggling against his grip. "I've been thinking about this all day."

Caleb gave a groan of approval, rolling his hips again like he couldn't help it. "You should've told me sooner."

He dragged his lips lower, tracing them along your shoulders, the heat of his mouth seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

"You know I'd give you anything, right?"

"Not soon enough," you complained, your words earning a soft chuckle.

"But I'm going to." Slowly, he brought one hand around your throat—firm, but not too tight—and tilted your head to the side, "Aren't I?"

Heat pooled in your stomach.

It felt like a preview. A filthy, mind-numbing preview. If you were already losing it over this, you could only imagine what actually having his arm around your neck would do to you.

Instinctively, you pushed back against him again.

"Yes."

Caleb grinned, pressing a searing kiss to the crook of your neck. You barely had time to enjoy his hand around your neck before he was pulling away again, the bed creaking under his weight.

You couldn't help the small whine that tore from your throat. "Caleb—"

"I'm still here," he cut in, soothing his hands down your sides and stopping at your hips. "But it's kinda hard to give you what you want if this," he snuck his finger into the waistband of your pajama pants and gave a teasing tug, "is still in the way."

Caleb pulled them down just a fraction. "So, are you gonna let me take these off?"

You had to bite back another whine. "Stop teasing me."

Caleb laughed, slowly peeling your pants and panties down your legs. "You're cute when you get impatient."

"Caleb.. I'm serious," you huffed, trying your best not to break down and beg him to take you.

"Alright, alright."

You heard the sound of fabric shifting, then you felt him against your back again, warm, naked, and hard. You let out a shuddered breath, your muscles tightening with anticipation.

"Ready?" he murmured.

You nodded, then carefully, Caleb pushed in, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. Your back arched, the pressure in your stomach curling tight as he sank in inch after tantalizing inch.

You were soaked.

"H-hah... So, my arms really turn you on, huh?" he murmured, shifting his hips to fully settle against your back.

"Y-yes."

Caleb inhaled sharply, carefully slipping his arms around you in headlock. A light—very light—headlock.

You nearly lost it right then and there. You didn't know just how good this would feel until he was finally doing it. You shoved your hips back, the movement making Caleb huff.

"You're so... eager."

"Caleb. Please."

He gave a breathless laugh. "You remember your safe word?"

You nodded.

"You sure?"

You nodded again, more desperately.

"Yes," you bit out. "Please, Caleb, just move."

Finally, he pulled out, then pushed back in. Slow and deliberate. It was dizzying. He started a steady rhythm, your mess already spilling down your thighs and coating his cock.

You fisted one hand in the sheets and clung to his arm with the other.

Caleb grunted into your ear, brows furrowing with concentration. He gave you a brutal thrust, the movement pulling an airy moan from your lungs.

It felt too good. Too… right. His arm around your neck, your moans catching from the pressure there—it was everything.

Caleb groaned, dropping his forehead against your head, snapping his hips harder. He didn't mean to get so rough. This was supposed to he about you. But having you like this was so much better than he expected.

Every time he squeezed his arms around your neck, your walls gripped him tighter.

Everything about you was just so overwhelming.

Caleb gasped. "Fuck, Pips—I really—I'm—"

And you? You were too wrapped up in the bliss to notice how much Caleb was really losing it. You couldn't even form coherent words. You were just a mess of sounds and strangled pleas.

Caleb was going feral now—groans spilling past his lips, his hips meeting your ass with an obscene slap, his arms reflexively tightening around you.

"Tap—ugnn..—tap out if you... Fuck!"

He didn't even finish his sentence. Just buried his face in your hair and continued to pound into you.

You gave a teary moan, your nails digging into his arm.

"W-what?" Caleb breathed, easing his grip slightly. "Too—too rough?"

You furiously shook your head and tried pulling his arm firmer around your neck. "Not rough enough," you rasped.

That broke him.

Caleb let out a feral groan before gripping you tight and slamming into you so hard you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow.

"How's that?" he husked, tightening his arms around you and pounding into you with the same force. "Better?" It was meant to come out as a coo, but it ended up caught between a moan and a grunt.

"B-better!" you gasped out.

You two were lost in the bliss. Both feral and desperate. Animalistic. Until Caleb's pace faltered slightly. He huffed, the sound low and frustrated. "Some—something's... not right."

You whimpered. "Please don't stop."

Caleb gave a shake of his head and drew back, arms leaving your neck.

You nearly cried. You missed him. He hadn't even been gone for a second but you already missed the pressure on your back, on your neck.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he was hastily tugging your shirt up and tossing it to the floor. His own shirt joined in next to yours and then he was moving.

"Caleb, what—?"

You immediately shut up when you felt him again, warmer this time.

He molded himself to your body and snuck his arms around your neck again. "That's better." Slowly, he pushed in again with a slick slide.

Caleb groaned, shaking as he gave another slow push. He was trying to ease you back into a steady rhythm, but it wasn't enough. Without thinking, you slammed your hips back.

"Harder," you breathed.

Caleb didn't hesitate. He snapped into you. Deep and hard.

"Fuck. Yeah, that's it. Sorry, Pips," he breathed, quickly finding his rhythm again. "I had to feel you completely."

You could only moan, your hand coming around his arm to ground yourself again.

He was messy, but not sloppy. The slick sound of your bodies filled the space and made the room stuffy. But neither of you had any thoughts of stopping.

Caleb wasn't sure he ever would stop.

Not with you like this—pliant and sweaty and moaning so sweetly his dick twitched every time he heard you breathe.

"You love this, don't you?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

But you didn't need to.

Caleb pressed his face into the side of your head and let out a stuttered groan. You were getting close. He could feel it in the little flutter you gave every time he slid against that perfect spot inside you.

"You're close, huh?"

You squirmed, clenching around him tighter. "Y-yes!"

"Yeah? What do you need?" he rasped, willing himself not to spill himself right there. "This?" He squeezed your neck tighter, the pressure making your vision blur.

You gave him one last whimper before you were falling apart, your whole body tensing. Caleb gritted his teeth, trying his best to work you through it, but he fell apart the minute you did.

He rolled his hips lazily, his arms loosening around you. Sweat clung to your tangled bodies, your cheeks stained red from the intensity of it all.

Caleb sighed, dropping his head against your shoulder. "You okay?" he panted out, kissing your skin. "I didn't... didn't mean to squeeze so hard."

"Mm-nn. You were perfect."

Caleb breathed out a quiet laugh. "You think so?"

"Know so," you murmured.

His chest swelled at that. He gave you one last kiss before finally pulling out with a hiss. His mess slowly spilled down your legs and onto the mattress.

Caleb stared in awe, soothing his hands up your back, then down again to rest on the swell of your ass.

"Next time you want something, don't hesitate to tell me." He leaned back down, his breath fanning over your temple. "Don't stew in your bedroom, trying to think of how to ask for it, just do it."

You smiled. "Any—" you took a small breath, "—anything?"

Caleb nodded. "Anything. Everything."

Your cheeks warmed. "I love you, Caleb."

"I love you."

——

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[jan-pipijan]

ok this is a follow on from my last post about Theodora (ik i called her aliya in the last post but i realized while writing this one that theodora works better), a woman priest in a fallout like post apocalypse.

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/restaurant)

for being in public she'd stay sober, so i suppose something like a shirley temple, assuming there's ginger ale and grenadine. im going to assume that most of the time thats not available, so then it'd probably be something very low proof. if she's at someone's house and they dont have a way to purify water she'd probably teach them how to make a simple charcoal and sand filter.

if she's at some bar/restaurant she's probably either eating, evangelizing, or socializing. if she's just out with friends she'll probably drink some, maybe even get a little drunk but she'd probably keep a lid on it. while im thinking about her drinking i could see her taking the loss of her priest/mentor pretty hard and spending some more time at the bar. if she's eating by herself she's probably in her own world and will just ask for water with whatever she's eating, also theres a very good chance she'd be working on something or other. if she's evangelizing then she's definitely staying as sober as she can, but if the person she's talking to is drinking she might order something alcoholic but low proof.

2. What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

for a post apocalypse they bathe surprisingly often, before mass on sunday morning. they also make their own soap and shampoo with animal fat that they get from hunters and butchers as tithe.

to get to the meat of the question tho, she's may take a little worse care of herself than most folks, she doesnt have these words for it, but she has what we would call ADHD and autism so she's prone to hyper focus and forgetting to eat regularly.

3. What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

i am Very excited to answer this one, bc the question itself is wrong.

in short (this was going to be shorter as i went to get some food, but its actually plenty long already) in the local community, most folks are subsistence farmers and hunters (she herself is from a farming household) but ever since she "flew the nest" as we would say, she's been either training under the local priest or has been the local priest.

in post apocalyptic conditions, any strong communities that arent just a single family unit would have alot less 'tit for tat' bartering than you would think, and would mostly work on the idea of "ill help you when you need it because i know youll help me when i need it". in her town (which for writing purposes will just be my home town) most folks would be farmers, and anyone who isnt a farmer would be some kind of specialist in this or that trade (hunters, butchers, tanners, leatherworkers, smiths, brewers, &c.). as a priest in this community Theodora (Theta) would likely serve her community in Several ways; most recognizably she would be leading mass and teaching the community (her parishioners) important skills for living in the post apocalypse (passed down through generations as a means of keeping the community afloat). on top of the normal "love God love your neighbor dont demand people pay you back if you give them something" she would also be giving practical advice couched in (what we would call) religious language; skills like crop rotation, water purification, even folk medicine.

of course, given that she is helping her parishioners survive in the wasteland, her parishioners would help her live as she needs: providing her food and drink; helping with upkeep for the church; farmers may give her grain or bread for the Eucharist, brewers may help her find wine or may even give her wine if they have a vineyard; maybe even some of the youth in town would be acolytes (basically the priest's apprentice) to ensure that when Theta dies, someone will be able to fill her role in the community. (i could go into a tangent about the place of death in a community like this, but i wont. suffice it to say: theres a reason that the Anointing of the Sick is a sacrament and that its listed before holy orders and matrimony.)

that's all before we really get into her role as a 'magic' specialist; she would probably spend time blessing folks homes, storehouses, farms, tools, &c. or how she would probably be keeping the best track of the passing of time so she can know what days are holy days, therefore allowing her to help the farmers keep track of the passing of seasons. and taking care of the spiritual (and likely mental) needs of her parishioners.

all that to say; she takes care of and helps organize, unite, and educate the community, and her community helps take care of her in return.

for any normal person, that would be an exhausting job, but, Theta has been touched by God and chosen from among her people to serve God and them (she is very autistic and gains enough energy from the tedious bookish parts of being a priest to serve her community)

well... thats more than i thought i would write about that.

4. Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

oh absolutely. scars are far more common in the wasteland than they are here and she's less likely to notice when she's injured anyway so she absolutely has a whole bunch of scars.

im not so sure about tattoos. i could see tattoos surviving the bombs, but in the town i think tattooing would have to be rediscovered. im sure there's somewhere in town to get tattoos. that being said modern tattoo machines need electricity so unless someone (some wired nerd w/ old world blues) gets that working they might not be all that common. i feel like if someone was scrounging through the town looking for old world novelties theta would help them. also once tattoos are a thing theta would 100% one honoring her mentor and maybe some about faith and time, maybe a memento mori

5. What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

oooh, maybe this is getting into spoilers, but im the writer so its ok. after theta's priest died (i should get that man a name) she went to "talk to the bartender" about it; the bartender, recognizing theta was in a Bad Place™ recommended she go talk to the (technically catholic but whatever) priest in the next town over (which is actually the bartender's hometown (she left for backstory reasons)). theta went, cried, learned about catholic last rites (i think the last rites in the BCP could do better),

6. Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

probably a middle child of a small handful (ive decided her dad left her mom when she was pretty young and she was raised mostly by her mom, but also she spent alot of time at church as a kid which is how she became the priest's apprentice).

over all families as a social unit would be alot more relevant then than they are now, just because capitalists benefit from the atomization of the family. over all in that respect the town would be the historical norm where this society (and especially the US) is the fucked up outlier

7. Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

theres a joke in Only Fools & Horses where the road sweeper, trigger, has gotten an award for using the same broom for 20 years, therefore saving the local counsel money. when his friends doubt that a broom could last that long, trigger helpfully lets them know that the broom's had 17 new heads and 14 new handles in those 20 years. i imagine theta's shoes are a lot like triggers broom. all in all there what we would call leather sandals (probably made by the local leather worker) that she brings in every once in a while when they need new soles, straps, maybe resizing when she was a kid.

im making good time (after writing a 3-4 paragraph essay (also no i wasnt i got the numbering wrong and had to redo it))

8. Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

this might not be how it shakes out exactly, but it'll give you the vibes.

when Theta was an acolyte, maybe 15 or 16, the priest (in conversation with theta's mom, of course,) decided that she'd be his apprentice. part of being an apprentice meant living in the church and doing a lot of the boring work of being a priest (calculating calendars, preparing orders of service, transcribing, copying, &c). so the priest (im tired of calling him the priest so hes going to be *drum roll* Fr. Samuel) brought her to a small room with a desk for writing, a bed frame to put a mattress on, and a great big bookshelf full of pre-war books (of which sam's read like, 3. maybe). sam, theta, and theta's mom (drumroll2.mp3, Nadia) brought theta's mattress from her house to the church. done that that bit of tedium theta hulled up in her new room, and in about a year or two, she's read the whole bookshelf. more often than not she has at least a few books on her desk (a bible, bcp, her journal, maybe a calendar or a book of tables).

that story didnt quite go where i thought it would but oh well. her room is fairly clean. the floor is basically completely clear save a couple rugs (one at her desk and on at her bed). her bookshelf is kinda cluttered but her desk is usually some kind of mess, books, notebooks, broadsides. she went scrounging through a prewar shop further in town and found a handful of corkboards to put things on which helped, but her desk is still a mess. for a few years after she started keeping the daily offices she had an improvised kneeler next to her desk because she'd "ask the woodworker to put in a real one later"

9. What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

i think it'd be advent/christmas, and that she'd be an outlier for liking it as much as she does. id bet after a few generations their christmas would look a lot less like ours and a lot more like a medieval christmas, which is to say a community feast in the middle of winter. (now that i think about it i think it'd be more interesting if the town were somewhere far enough north for there to be snow. great lakes? that'd be a good excuse to have some sailing.) over all winter would be pretty boring, and i think this is when (as a kid) she'd have the most time to spend reading the bible, thinking about God, pestering Fr. sam about theology, &c, and i think that something she'd find particularly interesting is the Incarnation, for which christmastide is dedicated. i think after a while she would get a case of the old world blues and eventually learn about the tradition of gift giving on christmas, so she'd commission this and that from whoever would make that thing, and then on christmas night she would lead a vigil, during which she could sneak out the back, get the things for her fellow townsfolk and quietly deliver it to them (leaving it either near their door or wherever they keep their firewood to keep with the 'gifts down peoples chimnies' of it all (wow i keep having more and more to say about these than i was expecting))

10. What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.) 

WELL ITS FUNNY YOUD ASK (i already detailed this in a different post let me paste it in here)

she has a messenger bag that she always has on her or near by with several books. among them a bible (or two, or three depending on her patience for the kjv), a copy of the book of common prayer (it was her priest's copy and they've been using it to keep track of apostolic succession on top of its liturgical use), a notebook of prepared liturgies (she uses that and the daily office lectionary to say the daily office, but she also has last rites fully copied in it which are a mix of the episcopalian and catholic last rites, she also has the rosary and the devine mercy chaplet, the latter she says over the dead or dying before last rites), a small calendar (which is copied from another, larger calendar book she keeps at the church which has a 19 year calendar to keep track of the metonic cycle, a 28 year calendar she uses to keep track of normal time, a table for calculating easter and other unfixed holy days, and notes on how you could maybe use astronomy to derive the year if you weren't keeping track of it), and maybe a pre war novel shes reading for fun. as much as i clearly had to say about it, all that doesnt weigh all that much, without the big calendar (which i realize now is basically an almanac) it comes out to less than 10 lbs.

So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.)  Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.

If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results: 

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.) 

[lambiconic]

the depths

fisherman johnny x mermaid reader! part one: the merfolk , the prequel: the mermaid and the fishermen

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“Would you like to get into the water..?”

Johnny knew you were putting on an act. 

He was a pervert who had exposed himself to a woman he didn’t even know, yes.  The most beautiful woman he had ever seen… he’d spent a week beating himself up over that. God, he was sick—

But! Johnny was a pervert…not stupid. 

He was more than aware of the fact that you wanted to kill him, that you were convinced your playful precious “hehe I’m so cuuuute” act was going to get him into the water. And, honestly, it worked.

Would he be taking a dip? No, but it always kept him coming back.

You *were* cute…and the way your eyes lit up with satisfaction when you realized how entranced he was with you was, well, entrancing!

He enjoyed keeping you happy. Even if that happiness was because you were convinced your plan to kill him was working.

His eyes followed your form in the water, you were truly beautiful to him. Your tail, your hair, your pouty lips, your… everything. You were gorgeous. 

“Not today, lass.” He replied, leaning over the edge of the boat.

“Have you brought me a gift then..?”

“No today, lass.”

There it was. The real you. 

It was always quick, your mask slipping. He had to watch carefully. Your nose wrinkling, your brow furrowing, your fangs bared. 

There she was.

The you he liked. The you he LOVED.

“Yer upset then?” He teased, watching you quickly slip that pretty little mask back on. 

“No!” You said, quickly. “Of course not..I’m still wearing the ring.”

“Are ye..?” He watched you raise a hand out of water, that pretty diamond shining on your finger. “I’m glad..”

He could see the frustration on your face, your growing impatience. Your anger at the lack of any excitement or eagerness on his part. 

“Yer upset.” He insisted, grinning.

That stupid, mocking…human grin. “No. I am not..”

“Ye are!”

“No! I AM NOT—”

You slapped a hand over your mouth the second the words came out too loud, without thinking you dove into the water. 

You’d been at this for *weeks*, cooing and cuddling up. Doing your fucking best to get him into that water. But somehow, he’d slipped past every wall you’d built like it was nothing.

You resisted the urge to surface, your fear overwhelming you. Would he leave? Would he stop coming to see you..? Why did that hurt more than the idea of killing him…him *choosing* to leave?

Out of the corner of your eye, something shimmered. A small golden necklace drifting toward you. You snatched it out of the water, resurfacing with a quiet splash. Just like you always did.

Your eyes narrowed as you held it up. “What… is this for?” 

“Its for ye.” He said, as though it were the most obvious thing on earth.

“But.. I yelled at you.” You added a pout for good measure, giving him your best wide-eyed look

“Ye don’t have to do that…” He gestured vaguely. “I like the hard ye… the angry ye..”

“You like–”

“The real ye..” He interrupted, leaning over the water once more. “Ye don’t have to be cute to keep me comin’.”

Your fingers tightened around the necklace, your brows furrowing as you watched his face. The way he seemed to melt at the idea of your suspicion, your anger. 

“Would you like to get in the water then?”

“Nah…not today.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Probably…”

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##07

James Potter x f!muggle!reader word count: 1,126 warnings: none? i think a/n: I'm ashamed again bc this took so long but the next one is half done-ish? I'm so sorry its been a month series masterlist main masterlist

Talking with James while your brother stayed with you was almost like you were fifteen again, whispering to the phone at the dead of night. 

“When will you be leaving?”

“Thursday, be back Monday, I think… We were planning on spending a day just sightseeing, too.” You hummed in acknowledgment. “If I find a phone box, I’ll ring.”

“Will you?” You picked at the polish on your nails, the neutral pink quickly peeling. You bit your cuticle.

“Of course,” Of course, he would. Because he always did. James called almost every day, even if it was a ten-minute call in the dead of night, and very rarely did you have to call first. But you did, some days when you didn’t hear anything, you’d call. 

You’d call and pace, the fidgeting moving to biting the skin of your lips. When the ringing was long, you’d start pacing, sometimes you’d even call twice. 

It was very rare that someone didn’t answer. 

Sometimes you’d hear Sirius’s teasing grin through the phone, like he knew who would be calling. He’d vaguely talk about James’s whereabouts, always adding some question you never had an answer to.

“What are your intentions with my James?”

“How do you really feel about him?”

“Do you want to marry him, hm? Only the best for him, you know.”

You’d often just hang up on the boy, with a roll of your eyes.

James would answer more often than not, with a grin that was audible through his words and a sweet “miss me?” rolling off his tongue.

But by now, it had been a day without James already, which had been harder to get through than you were willing to admit. You loved talking to him on the phone, even when he would accidentally hang up and curse at the telephone when he fell asleep, and when he asked weird common-sense questions.

You sat on the open trunk of the little red car you borrowed from a friend; the lengths you’d go to for your brother were tested daily. But you found in the end… You didn’t actually mind, the thought of how stupid it all was, how long the trip would be, and how much you did not want to do this went away as he came down the stairs of your building. Your brother’s bag wildly flew and bounced against his back as he ran down, a wide smile on his face.

It was worth it, you thought, to see him smile like that.

“Are you ready?” You pulled yourself up so he could throw the bag in the trunk, and closed it firmly.

“More than ready, I’m so excited this is insane- have I told you how much I love you?”

“Not enough, I fear,” you said with a laugh

“Well I do, this is insane! this is so exciting! Aren’t you excited!!” He rambled on, bordering on nonsensical, 

“If you are then I am” you smiled at him, sweetly, he mirrored it back. You often forgot, he was still a kid. 16 isn’t very old.

To be fair 20 wasn’t either.

You didn’t know what Quidditch was. Well, yes you knew it was a sport, and your brother spent the next hour painstakingly explaining every aspect of the sport and how exciting the whole thing was. The brooms, the snitch, the adrenaline of it all. 

You’d be lying if part of you didn’t long for it, the magic, the thrill of living in a world that was so fantastical. Even after five years, the amazement of it all hadn’t faded for your brother. He’d come running to you every summer break with stories you would have never believed had you not seen him accidentally perform magic as a child. Many dolls floated in your bedroom for years, and food would often disappear from your plate and come back into his.

But after years, the jealousy settled. The fear of being left out diminished until it was just a wee little thing that dropped to the bottom of your heart like sediment, only to come out on the worst of nights. You relished in your mundane routines, your scarce excitements, and the occasional dead-ended romance. It was better than resentment and jealousy, you knew that well. You were happy for him; at least he would live a fantastical life. Besides, one day, after he was of age, you’d get to start asking him for little magical favors.

That’s what siblings are for anyway.

-

“Be very careful do you hear me?” You held your brother's face with one hand, his eyes darted to the side where he could see his friends. You squeezed his cheeks harder, so he’d look at you. “I’m serious, I can’t get you out of a magical issue do you understand? You’d be on your own and I need you to watch your back”

“I know-”

“You always know,” you squeezed again playfully, “I’m just trying to make sure you understand.” There were various groups of people walking around the forest, clearly all leaving from the same spot; however, it worked. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever, Mom,” he replied, exaggerated and dramatic. He hugged you immediately after, tightly, almost clawing at your back. “I’ll be careful, thank you”

“Love you”

“I love you too,” he quickly left, running to his friends and the very exhausted father followed behind. You didn’t leave just yet, the curiosity getting the better of you. you strolled lightly behind, itching closer to where everyone seemed to head. They very obviously were taking advantage of the darkness created by the array of trees, everyone seemed normal, maybe a wacky hat here or there, but your brother had described most traditional wizard wear like that anyway. You could see a group of older boys approach your brother’s, excitement in their voices. You couldn’t truly discern their faces but you could almost hear their words, but regardless, they sounded more than familiar with each other, the conversation warm with affection. Pats on the back, smirks on faces, now you knew where your brother had gotten his newfound grin from. 

And then you heard it, the laugh. Loud and robust, you heard it as it bounced off the trees, as it ricocheted off the forest floor. You knew that laugh. You’d recognize it for miles. You thought of it often, its echoes resounding in your dreams. A laugh that felt like a warm summer day, even in the coldness of the forest. It struck your heart in ways you could not truly explain, and you felt the weight of it sink to the pit of your stomach. 

You heard that laugh every day through the phone. 

You’d know James Potter’s laugh even if you heard it from miles away.

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby @santaasi @myheroworldandanimes @whimsical-mistakes @lalalandincraz @2dloveshp @loveyouprongs @beepboopcowboy @fiowerbeds @kneelforloki @noonenuts @urblondiebaby @cherry-cin @pprettyvisitorr @laniirackssss @abhootghiihii @sodavrr @berryhobi @that-b-word-lol

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

let me know if you want to be tagged in any future chapters!

[rosiesweets]

and i'd give myself to you (every time) - two

synopsis: azzi should’ve really thought about how one of the first traits anyone in her life would describe her with is indecisive. now she’s on a show where she makes about thirty decisions a night. she really is a maker of her own misery. oh, and paige is going to buy this strawberry chapstick she stole from nika in bulk.

a/n: welcome to night one! as always, thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. would give me a giggle to see what type of one on one you think paige should go on, if you want to share. as always, will come back to edit another time. xo, chiara.

and in your kiss i taste home (and strawberry chapstick)

there is sweat gathering at the small of azzi’s back as she stands to meet the twelfth? thirteenth?, who knows at this point, contestant. it’s been almost three hours and azzi thinks her feet have gone numb. she really needs to get a grip though she thinks to herself. given she’s five-ten, she isn’t even wearing that high of heels. also, she’s doing the easy part.

she remembers sitting in the limo last year surrounded by five girls that seemingly shimmered from everywhere- their gowns, their eyes, their teeth - and thinking to herself, i am absolutely going home tonight. the worry of not only making a good first impression in your allotted twenty to thirty seconds but making a better, more memorable one than people who looked like they should sell expensive moisturizer, almost froze her enough to not step out of the limo at all that night. she does have to give herself credit though, she had a really cute opener. she remembers not wanting to be given some insane prop like a vintage car or whatever so she brought one. she made one those hand fortune tellers, colors on the four top pieces, numbers written pink glitter gel pen. when james pointed to the number three she opened the open flap and read “tonight you will give me a kiss” and hey, she ended up predicting the future and with the first impression rose.

azzi shakes her thoughts away from that night. three months ago it burned in her chest whenever it came up without her wanting. she used to sit and replay everything, starting with that night. she used to ask herself if she should’ve done anything differently. not to ultimately win james, but to stop the feeling of inadequacy that used to fill her so completely she felt like at any point she’d drown from underneath it. it’s a hard thing to stand in front of someone and say please, pick me. out of all these beautiful, glimmering souls, i can love you the best.

she did that for eleven weeks. and with each one, the hope blossomed. until the end, when azzi knew she was meant for devastation. she knew a life with james wasn’t the life she actually wanted but she did love him. thought to herself when she didn’t want to admit the truth, that they would have a nice life together. quiet and honest. it wouldn’t be all that incredibly exciting, but it would theirs. and if azzi was being honest with herself, all she’s ever wanted was a love that was hers. azzi wanted to intertwine her hands with someone and say look at this home we built. that our love built.

azzi recognizes she has been given the chance to meet thirty people solely focused on her, and be entirely selfish in her decisions, at least this very first night. she gets to sit and ask does this person fit me? there is not outside real world context that is asking her to make sacrifices, to fold and filet herself to fit someone. that’s a luck not many are given. so she stands there, uncomfortable under the harsh production lights and gives each contestant her individual attention. she stands through cringe one liners, someone in a lion onesie, and one of the guys, isaac she thinks, throwing a baseball about half a inch off from her face (they redo this entrance about five times before giving up on the baseball entirely). ultimately azzi is grateful. all these people making a fool of themselves in an attempt to make her laugh. at the same time, she worries to herself as each person passes by that she is never going to get any of their names correct and please, boy parents come with a name other than matt.

finally, the first looks are over, but the night has just begun. before she’s supposed to make her entrance to the mansion and start the very first cocktail hour, caroline pulls her aside to check in (and begin plotting, she’s a producer after all). she asks who is the front runner right now and azzi honestly says no one, because how could she have a front runner after only saying about five to ten words to each person?

“come on, there has to be someone that took your breath away,” caroline pushes. and azzi thinks to herself, blonde hair, blue eyes, and an accent she can’t quite place calling her princess. she keeps it to herself though. she knows how this works and she doesn’t think she wants to give the producers anymore meddling fuel than necessary. she assures caroline that everyone is still in the running for the first impression rose, and with butterflies of both excitement and nerves, makes her way in to begin the night.

—

of course, she meets a matt first. she’s been told to pull him away and she’s trying to make strategic decisions of when she does and doesn’t listen to the production team. she doesn’t remember much, granted she is going on hour five without food, but she remembers walking away thinking he was kind and sweet and for today, that should be enough to go forward.

there’s a girl, lina, that makes her keel over with laughter. she’s a social media manager of some small brand that should not have followers in the six figures on tik tok but does because lina is creative and funny and entirely too chronically online. azzi thinks that she’ll definitely take her on a one on one soon. laughing with lina sounds like the perfect way to spend a day.

many of the rest blur around her. there’s murmurings of an argument brewing in the background as she sits on a bench swing outside in a rare moment alone. she contemplates asking caroline what’s going on but decides mitigating an argument on the very first night is really not something she wants to do unless she has to.

suddenly there’s a presence in front of her and she looks up taking in cool brown loafers, linen pleated trousers, and a white short sleeve button down with a lethal four buttons open. dylan, azzi’s sleep deprived brain provides. “is this seat taken?” azzi shakes her head and gently moves to the right. dylan’s warm green eyes meet hers and she asks her how she’s doing. azzi takes a sweep of dylan’s freckles that dance across her nose before answering, “if i’m honest, i’m tired and i really wish they let me eat anything in this dress.” and before dylan can reply, azzi quickly adds, “but really i’m grateful, everyone seems so kind and interesting, i can’t wait to get to know everyone.” dylan laughs replying “you know for a main character of a reality tv show, you might try being more selfish. i don’t want to tell you what to do, but you should be able to complain without qualifying it. you look stunning in this gown, but i mean really, would a chicken finger threaten it?” and azzi, for the second time this night lets out her full, genuine smile. “thank you, i really needed to hear that. and i know right, isn’t there tv editing they can do anyway?”

azzi spends the next ten minutes learning about dylan. learns they’re both currently living in dc. hears about dylan’s family back in southern california. big and chaotic. summers spent on the beach trying and failing to catch waves in the pacific. drives up and down the california coast. there’s an ease to their conversation that makes azzi picture them in a car, top down, wind her curls, and dylan in the driver seat.

before azzi’s imagination can run wild she hears the same voice from earlier that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. “mind if i steal her away?” and there she is, paige bueckers.

azzi does not live under a rock. she knows who she is. she’s been to many mystics games, where paige had been on visiting side. she doesn’t know if she should mention it, but she went to uconn the same time as paige. went to their home games and watched her incredible senior run to the national championship. she thinks maybe spending four years on the same campus as paige, running in parallel lines, to having her stand in front of her on a set in la, hand gently reaching out for hers, is what the kids these day call invisible string. she shakes the thought away, uconn is a school of almost thirty thousand after all, and she was just one of what she was sure thousands of english majors in the stands.

she misses what dylan says, entirely focused on taking paige’s hand and being guided to room inside the mansion. paige’s fingers interlock with hers, strong and secure, as paige navigates the mansion like she’s lived here for ten years. suddenly they’re in a small parlor that has the fire place roaring and a small green love seat. paige sits them down and azzi folds her legs under herself, body positioned entirely toward paige.

before paige can say anything, azzi opens with “so do you try to impress all the pretty girls with cocky one liners?” paige smirks, one arm casually along the back of the loveseat, just a hair away from brushing against azzi’s shoulder. the other wrapped cooly around a cocktail glass, “cocky? or confident?” and before azzi’s brain can catch up to her mouth, the words come tumbling out “ah yes, best rizz in the world is it?”

azzi wants to kill herself. fuck. paige’s eyes light up in recognition. azzi has watched her in interviews. and azzi begins to stutter “i mean … uh … i” but paige’s smile, while absolutely huge, isn’t demeaning. carries no weight of someone who thinks of themselves as famous. instead it opens to say “oh so you were just going to keep being a women’s basketball fan all to yourself?” azzi’s relief is palpable. “i actually used to play.” and now paige’s smile softens as she asks her what made her stop. “i got injured, sophomore year of high school. tried to come back after the first acl tear, but the second happened so quickly time wasn’t on my side. i watched everyone in my recruit class pass me by, i,” and azzi looks just left of paige’s eyes as she says this, she doesn’t even know why she’s going into so much detail, but she thinks it’s because she knows paige will get it, get her. “there’s a part of me that thinks i could’ve recovered and made it back to at least be decent in college but if i’m honest at that point it felt like it was killing me. the resentment of my bad luck, the envy that grew inside as i watched my friends play on without me, and a rotting feeling inside that i couldn’t trust my own body anymore. i don’t know, it all just made me feel so ugly. i needed to stop before i hated myself to a point where i couldn’t come back.” azzi’s feels like she’s just said that all in one breath and she hesitantly looks back in paiges eyes, which haven’t left her face since the moment they sat down. paige says nothing at first, just looks at her with a quiet understanding. then, after a moment, says “i think basketball is the most beautiful game in the world. but also the most cruel. i’m really glad you had the courage to put yourself first. i don’t know many who would do that.”

and fuck if that’s not the perfect answer. azzi should kiss her. there’s not a response really better than that. but it’s early and azzi hasn’t kissed anyone tonight. she had in her mind that she wouldn’t, not unless it really felt right. dylan was the closest she got before, but this, the yearning to lean in close instead of having to speak about the worst part of her life any further almost pulls her body in before she can second guess it.

instead, she lets out a simple “thank you.” paige, sensing she’s done speaking about this for now, blessedly changes the subject. they talk about and at the surface level things you’d mention on the first date. friends, hobbies, families. paige mentions how her little brother has money on her going out on the first night, so she really needs to at least make it to tomorrow. “are you sure that doesn’t count as inside trading?” and paige cooly replies “don’t worry princess, it’ll stay between us.”

and there’s that name again. azzi thinks out of anyone else it would cringe, but it’s paige so instead it just sits inside azzi, stirring something she doesn’t want to acknowledge yet.

paige, never one to stay silent too long it seems, changes the subject again and goes “not to be a dumb jock, but what even is copy editing?” and azzi laughs again, full bodied and pure. “basically i edit other people’s writing. not only for grammar but the correct usage of terms of art etc. i actually work in the sports section of the ap. i think soon though, i want to start moving into writing more on my own. gain the courage to at least start drafting a few stories.” paige looks impressed and azzi thinks she going to need to start preparing ahead of time for paige’s unrelenting eye contact every time they speak.

“so what i’m hearing is you can write my biography,” and azzi pushes paige’s shoulder. the motion brings her slightly off balance, moving slightly too forward too fast, and paige gently catches her wrist. their faces are close, too close and azzi whispers in the inches between them “you’re so annoying.” paige doesn’t respond, just leans in closer.

their mouths are a breath away from each other when paige stops. eyes questioning. she wants me to decide azzi thinks. and azzi, notoriously indecisive, closes the gap softly.

honestly, in the first seconds, it’s a little awkward. azzi’s head is bit too to the left and there’s a camera about seven feet from their faces. but paige’s lips are warm and taste like strawberry chapstick. and soon azzi’s legs are side saddle over paige’s and paige has one hand on her thigh, another cradling her face with such reverence azzi can’t help but sigh a little deeper. paige’s mouth moves smooth and sure against hers, catching azzi’s top lip in perfect pressure, and azzi happily follows along. each press of their mouths together last longer than the last and thankfully paige hadn’t tried to shove her tongue in her mouth right away like almost every man she’s ever met. instead, paige kisses her like she has time. like there’s nothing else she’d rather do. like she’s planning to spend the rest of the night just like this, mouths and bodies pressed together. and really paige must be cutting azzi’s oxygen off because just as she’s contemplating pushing herself into paige’s lap completely, the sound of the door opening shatters the soft perfect bubble they created.

“sorry, can i cut in?” comes from behind them. and really, azzi knows this is how this works, she’s said that exact line before, but she at least had the decorum to not say it mid kiss. paige, seemingly on her best behavior, pulls away with a gentle laugh and whispers in her ear “see you soon beautiful.” and with one last kiss to azzi’s cheek, more of a brush than a kiss, she steps away. azzi can feel the pink of her cheeks deepen, and she’s certain the warmth from paige’s hand gently holding her face will last well through the night.

shit she thinks to herself. she already misses her.

—

azzi returns to caroline after listening to another man talk about his finance job and how much he loves his mom and sister. that was not worth leaving the couch with paige at all. caroline tells her it’s time to decide who she is sending home and give her first impression rose out.

“so you can go pull paige now for the first impression rose and then we’ll file everyone into the large room down the left for the rose ceremony.” caroline says while looking down at her clipboard. azzi immediately goes “wait since when did i say i was giving the first impression rose to paige?” and caroline scoffs, “azzi she’s the only person you’ve kissed tonight.” azzi’s eyes scrunch together, eyebrows knitting “yeah, but, that doesn’t mean anything.” caroline, again not looking up from whatever is on her incredibly thick packet of papers just answer with “you sure?”

azzi sits there and thinks to herself. it’s true, paige is the only one she kissed tonight, she doesn’t regret that. kissing paige felt perfect for the moment. and that’s what azzi wanted to do, make honest decisions about how she felt in the moment and not over think herself in circles. but here she was, probably doing just that. she’s tried so convince herself she probably would’ve kissed others too. if she had more time with them. lina for one, a nice nurse named mark that endeared her with tales of the children he’s treated, and dylan for sure. (azzi is not sure, azzi wants to be sure but she’s not because that’s not what happened). just because she kissed paige doesn’t mean paige left the best first impression. azzi doesn’t even think the first impression rose should mean that much. just “i really felt like we had a lovely initial connection, i want to explore that more.” nothing more, nothing less. giving it to paige tonight, after spending the most time with her and kissing her feels like she’s already tunneling in on the most famous person here. azzi hates that she thinks about the optics of this.

while she spirals caroline gently lets her know she needs to make a decision in the next five minutes. they don’t care who it is, but she needs to make it.

so azzi grabs the rose, walks into the parlor and listens as the room quiets down. hm that’s going to take getting used to she thinks to herself. she’s never had a room silenced by just her presence. it makes her feel both important and entirely too much like an imposter. she clears her voice and looks toward dylan, “dylan, do you mind if we go somewhere to chat?”

—

later when everyone is lining up for the rose ceremony, she doesn’t mean to but she finds paige. she watches for the split second as paige looks over at dylan already standing to her right, rose in hand. she sees something flash in paige’s eyes, it looks like confusion, hurt, and disappointment.

oh no, azzi thinks. i think i’ve already made a wrong decision.

[elixirfromthestars]

This is my first time reading for Sam and I am sooo excited for this!! 👀💖💖

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

...preferring the solitude of watching the road stretch ahead like a ribbon of sun-bleached asphalt, flanked by swaying marsh grass and the slow-moving waters of the bayou. The old jazz station buzzing over the speakers only further enhanced the atmosphere, with the crooning trumpet blending effortlessly into the continuous murmur of cicadas in the background. It was early enough that the mist still clung to the marshes, curling around the gnarled roots of cypress trees like ghostly fingers. The world shimmered gold in the pale dawn light, an untouched moment as the weight of the day settled in. You could also make out in your passing spanish moss draping lazily from the branches, swaying ever so slightly as if still waking from its slumber. 

^ okay first of all, you have such a beautiful way with descriptions, I can picture it all perfectly and I feel like I'm actually in the story, I love this!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

She also had that look—the one she always got when something should have been done yesterday.

^ as an older sister...I know that look so well 💀

Sarah sighed, already bracing for the reaction she knew was coming. “I know you two don’t—” “Like each other?” you finished for her. “Get along? Want to exist in the same hemisphere?”

^ ooh, whatever happened must have been serious 👀

And then, one fateful night— A kiss was added to the list.

^ omg the push and pull that ultimately leads to a kiss!! ahhhh!!

"Uh-huh," he vaguely affirmed, unconvinced. "You could write me letters, you know." "You gonna write back?" "Every time."

^ that's sweet 🥺 hopefully it's a promise he can keep 🥺

It was the kind of kiss that felt like the beginning of a promise. But promises, as you had learned over time, were far too easy to break. You thought that this kiss was supposed to mean something. Evidently, it didn’t to Sam. Months passed without a sign, not a single mail in your box or a phone call. Then years came by, and silence continued to reign like a chasm.

^ Omg?? Sam you have some explaining to do, what the fuck?? 😭💔

“Did anybody ever tell you that you scurry away like a mouse?” he jokingly prompted, hands tucked into his pockets. “For someone who’s supposed to be the maid of honor, you disappeared pretty fast.”

^ wait wait wait wait wait, she was the maid of honor?? 😭💖💖 stoooooop I love her and Sarah's friendship!! 😭🫶🏼

The pilot turned, his expression shifting in an instant. He stepped in front of you, partially blocking their view. “Hey! Back the hell up.” The damage was already done. Your name was already in their mouths, in their cameras, and in their notes. And by morning, the world would be talking.

^ oh no... 😨

Paparazzi began to linger outside your workplace, their lenses snapping up every movement as if they could capture something scandalous in the mundane act of you stepping out for coffee. Your inbox flooded with emails—some from reporters fishing for a statement, others from people you hadn’t spoken to in years, suddenly eager to "reconnect." 

^ omg what a nightmare ☹️

Ultimately, you had been the one left dealing with the aftermath. The one picking up the pieces and untangling the mess, sifting through the wreckage of your privacy. And that was something you could never forgive.

^ And you know what... I don't blame her for it 😕

The restaurant was already alive with the late afternoon rush by the time you strolled in with the boys coming back from school. Orders flew in, plates stacked high and the scent of fried seafood and rich gumbo diffused in the place. The kitchen bustled with movement—Sarah barking orders, cooks shuffling between stations, the sizzle of oil, the clang of metal on metal. Fortunately, you had worked enough shifts here during college to comfortably throw yourself into the chaos and fall into the rhythm with ease, balancing trays and dodging wayward elbows like second nature.

^ omg I absollutely adored the detail of how she got along with Sarah's kids and now she's helping at the restaurant?? It's like she's already part of the family 🥹💕

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes flicking over you with the kind of scrutiny that made you itch to throw the nearest dish towel at his head. “They’re really letting just anyone work here now, huh?”

^ excuse me?? 🤨 you better be nice to her!!

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, and let’s not forget the weirdos who DM me saying they’d be happy to ‘fill the hole’ you supposedly left in my life.” Sam choked on his drink, coughing violently. “What?” “Oh yeah.” You pulled out your phone, tapped a few times, then held it out to him. “Here. Go ahead. Take a look at your legacy.” He grabbed it hesitantly, scrolling through your inbox, his expression shifting from amused to horrified. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered. “What the hell is wrong with people?” Sarah smirked. “Damn, Sam. Ruined her dating life and left her with internet weirdos. That’s cold.”

^ yeah... I don't think an I'm sorry can fix this... 😬 like honestly he could've put her in a serious situtation with how poorly he handled things 😐

“No, no, hear me out,” she insisted, grinning. “I saw this thing the other day—apparently, there’s a place in town that does blind dates in escape rooms.”

^ I love escape rooms, but I don't know if its a smart idea to put those two together in one 😳

Sarah huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. Let me put it this way—if you don’t go, I’ll tell Bucky you’re both too scared to put yourselves out there.” You wanted to put up a bigger fight, if not for the very real threat of James Buchanan Barnes getting wind of this.

^ as a bucky girl though... 👀 I wouldn't mind him finding out 🤭

You gritted your teeth. "Stop touching things." “Relax,” he drawled, ever the picture of unbothered arrogance. "I’m just exploring my environment." “It’s not an environment, it’s my car.”

^ she is so relatable like I get so nervous when people go touching things in my car while I drive 😭

Sam, entirely unbothered by your stricken expression, immodestly threw his feet up onto the dashboard with the air of a man settling in for a long, leisurely road trip rather than someone actively testing the limits of your patience. With the unrestrained passion of a performer standing before a sold-out stadium crowd, he threw his head back and belted at the top of his lungs, “And a Jay-Z song was on!”

^ LMAO SAM 🤣🤣

You cut him off before he could continue. “It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to keep the ache from spilling over. “Honestly, I should’ve expected it. You’re always going to be tied up in something bigger than us. I get it now. I should’ve known better.”

^ OUCH. 💔 they were just having so much fun too 😭

"You said you’d make time. That we could figure it out." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on, your chest tight with the pressure of everything you’d been carrying. "But then... it was like I was just some side story to your life. I had to deal with everything on my own. You didn’t just leave me, Sam. You left me hanging in front of the entire world, like I was an afterthought."

^ okay yeah the knife just got plunged in my heart 🥲

You let out a dry laugh, bitter and edged with years of pent-up anger. "No," you spat, shaking your head. "I don’t know that. I really don’t. And now you want to apologize? You think a few words will make it go away?" You turned to him then with glaring eyes, the dam inside you breaking wide open. “But I guess I should’ve known better, right? You’ve always got more important things on your plate than me. And I was just dumb enough to think I could be part of it." You let out a shaky breath. "That’s on me, not you.”

^ and now the knife twists 🤧💔

You didn’t watch him go. You couldn’t. Instead, you opened your door with a soft creak, the cool night air rushing in as you slid back into the driver’s seat. It felt like a strange kind of closure, the door clicking shut behind you as if you were signing the definite end of a chapter, even if nothing really felt settled. With a shaky hand, you wiped the stray tears that had fallen down your cheeks, quickly brushing them away like they never happened, like you could pretend they weren’t there. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. There was still the night ahead, the escape game to focus on, even if your heart wasn’t entirely in it.

^ I don’t know how she’s doing this, after that talk I’d go home 😭

And there, across from you, stood Sam. A solitary rose danced between his fingers, whirling aimlessly, as if he had all the time in the world. His attitude was unreadable—calm and poised, but his eyes held something you couldn't quite identify.

^ Sarah, now what have you set up here?? 💀

You picked up the bear, giving it a shake. Something rattled inside. Without hesitation, you grabbed the bow and pulled at it, to which the Avenger let out a sharp breath. “At least pretend to have some finesse. Poor guy.” You turned, leveling him with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I politely ask the stuffed animal for the key?” His smirk was all teeth. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

^ I love their bickering 😂 they bicker like an old married couple 😂🩷

“Oh, so that was my fault?” His voice rose, heat sparking in his eyes. “I was trying to keep you out of that mess! You think I had any control over what the media did?” “Maybe not.” Your breath came hard now, uneven. “But you had control over what you did. And you chose to stay silent.”

^ The game master of this escape room is getting all the tea 😂👀

“Whatever it is you’ve been dying to say since I walked back here.” His gaze burned into yours. “Go ahead. Get it out.” The pathetic words escaped before you could stop them. “You lied to me and I hate you for it.”

^ omg 💔💔

"Then look me in the eye," Sam rasped, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. "Look at me and tell me I’m lying and this doesn’t mean anything anymore. Tell me you don’t feel it—say the words, and I’ll walk away. But say them like you mean them." 

^ THE TENSION IS KILLING ME

In an unfurling of sudden movement, his back hit the wall with a dull thud, but before he could react, you were on him, fisting the front of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his, engaging in a battle more than a kiss. It was akin to a wildfire—scorching, desperate, all teeth and heat, the culmination of every regret and every second wasted. The pilot groaned into it, his hands flying to your waist, strong and sure as he hauled you against him. A sharp gasp left you at the feeling of his body flush with yours, but he didn’t give you room to think or to breathe. He spun you, pressing you back against the wall, his mouth relentless against yours, moving with a punishing, consuming intent—like he wanted to devour you whole.

^ AHHHHHHHHHHH

A pair of employees stood in the doorway, frozen like deer in headlights. One clutched a clipboard, the other a maintenance checklist, both staring like they had just walked in on a crime scene. A heavy silence stretched between all of you. "Uh…" The clipboard guy cleared his throat, his voice weak, almost apologetic. "This… isn't a private room."

^ LMAO. About time they showed up 🤣🤣

The ride back to the restaurant was enveloped in a heavy silence—not the brittle awkwardness of unspoken apologies nor the tenseness of imminent confrontation, but a solemn, almost sacred quietude laden with things neither of you yet dared to name.

^ how do they just drive back after that?? 💀

After a long pause, Sam sighed deeply, his hand drifting to his jaw as if to smooth away the remnants of the night’s turbulence. “Go wait for me,” he ordered you, “at our spot.” That command stopped you in your tracks. Our spot.

^ omg, their spot 🥺

“So,” Sam repeated, his voice tinged with playful mischief as he copied your idle toying with the cold bottle in his hand, “that was… something, wasn’t it?” 

^ um… is that all you're going to say?? 💀

“Ask me,” he suddenly requested, his voice both gentle and edged with a trace of desperation, as though he believed that the right question might finally untangle the knots of regret and longing that had haunted you both for so long. “Ask me the question you’ve been holding back.”

A delicate tremor passed through you, and your breath caught in your throat. After a long, painful silence, you whispered, “Why didn’t you write me?”

^ 🫢🫢🫢

“I did write you letters,” he softly admitted, his gaze fixed on the fragile pages as if they contained his very soul. “That’s what I wanted to tell you for so long. Three hundred and sixty-five of them… one for every day.” His voice trembled with both pride and regret. “But you have to understand—the Air Force policy was tight as fuck. I couldn’t send them, and once I realized that, I… I knew you’d resent me for not keeping in touch.”

^ Okay well now I’m sobbing 😭😭

Your fingers trembled as they hovered above the fragile stack of letters, each page heavy with the weight of stolen years and unspoken regrets. The unsent words pressed against your chest as though they carried every moment lost between you, every silent apology and longing unfulfilled. You swallowed hard, the night air thick with an unspoken tremor that danced at the edge of every exhale.

^ I cannot get over the fact that he kept them 😭😭

His eyes, dark and unwavering, burned into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. “Hear me out, please,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, as though the very thought of you slipping away again was unbearable. “I was a coward. I should’ve done better than that but I let fear, and everything else, win. I told myself I was protecting you, that I was doing what was best. But all I did was make it worse. I made you think I didn’t care when the truth is... I never stopped.” Your lips parted in a silent gasp, but Sam did not wait for you to speak. His grip on your face tightened, firm enough to keep you tethered to him without causing pain. “I love you.” The words fell between you like fragile glass shards, the shatter of the barriers of years resonating with their fall. “Yeah, fuck this corny shit. I have loved you every single damn day since the moment I let you go. I know it’s selfish to say it now, after everything, but I just need you to know that I love you. And I’m so goddamn sorry that I ever made you doubt that.”

^ OMG WHAT A CONFESSION I CAN’T 😭💗😭💗😭💗

“You’re acting like I just solved every world crisis,” you teased, even as your heart pounded in its rhythmic cadence. “Nah,” he replied, his thumb traced reverently along your jaw, as though memorizing every curve and line of your face. “Just mine.” 

^ stooooooop this is so cute 😭🩷🩷🩷

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and with a voice steadier than you felt, you whispered, “I love you too, Sam.”

^ AND SHE SAID IT BACK!!!! AHHHHHH 🥹🩷🩷

“Hey, lovebirds! Dinner’s ready!” Sarah called from the restaurant’s back porch, her tone playful as she leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and a knowing smirk that practically screamed, took you long enough. Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Jesus, can I have one moment—just one?” he protested.

^ Oh, how I love the wilson siblings 😂🩷🩷

“Say one more word about that, and I swear I will stuff you so full of oysters you won’t be able to utter a single syllable for a week.” You snorted. “Really? That’s your big intimidation tactic?” “Ever tried eating twenty oysters in one sitting?” he shot back, arching a brow and letting his lips twitch in a smirk. “I don’t think so. Now, go sit down and eat before I make it happen.” Grinning, you leaned into his side, feeling the easy warmth of his arm as it draped around you. After all the lost time and shattered dreams, everything felt achingly, irrevocably right. Perhaps the years apart had only deepened the truth: the time you thought was lost might, in fact, still be yours to reclaim, as you were fated to be stuck together no matter what.

^ And what a beautiful way to end with them having a playful bicker like the old married couple they are deep down 😂🩷

My lovely!! 🥹🩷 I loved every second of this!! 🫶🏼 You gave us a bit of everything and it made for such a fun read!! 🥹🩷🩷 The angst, the fluff, the friends to strangers to lovers, the rom-com style plot, ahhhhhh it was all sooooo goood!!! 🥰🥰 And you write in such beautiful detail and prose, it made every scene come alive! 💖💖 My sincerest apologies for not getting around to read this sooner, I had some life and health issues get in the way 🥺 But thank you so much for participating in my writing challenge!! 🩷

Stuck With You | S. Wilson

summary : The last thing you wanted was to be trapped in a room with a person you didn't know, much less be forced to team up with them. But thanks to your best friend's meddling, you now find yourself headed for a peculiar blind date, paired with someone who’s anything but a stranger. You swore you’d moved on. He said it was for the best. But maybe you were never meant to let each other go.

pairing : Sam Wilson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), second chance romance, friends to lovers to kind of enemies to lovers?, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, angry/heated makeout, heavy feels and yearning, fluff and humor, truthfully two idiots in love, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 14.2k

author's notes : To celebrate the rise of our brand new Captain America and Valentine's Day, I wrote this little piece to pour out my appreciation for Sam Wilson who is, imo, an insanely underrated character.

This is also my entry for the wondrous @elixirfromthestars 's Cinema Writing Challenge, which I stumbled upon mid-writing this one-shot and found that I was going in a direction that could've fit this in a fun way. I referenced the "Why didn't you write me?" scene from The Notebook though in a lax manner, so I hope to have still respected the general guidelines.. This is my first time participating in a writing challenge, so please bear with me :')

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Know that even if you're as alone as I am, your existence is greatly valued in this world. <3

(ao3 version)

⠀

Driving back to Delacroix was nothing short of a pleasant experience—just you, one hand on the wheel and the other idly hanging out the window with fingers slicing through the warm morning air. It was one of the few times you enjoyed driving, which is why you insisted on not having your chauffeur be the one to take you to your destination, preferring the solitude of watching the road stretch ahead like a ribbon of sun-bleached asphalt, flanked by swaying marsh grass and the slow-moving waters of the bayou. The old jazz station buzzing over the speakers only further enhanced the atmosphere, with the crooning trumpet blending effortlessly into the continuous murmur of cicadas in the background.

It was early enough that the mist still clung to the marshes, curling around the gnarled roots of cypress trees like ghostly fingers. The world shimmered gold in the pale dawn light, an untouched moment as the weight of the day settled in. You could also make out in your passing spanish moss draping lazily from the branches, swaying ever so slightly as if still waking from its slumber. 

You had always loved this route. It felt like a portal to another life, one that belonged solely to a place where your name wasn’t headlined in articles, where your every move wasn’t scrutinized by strangers looking for something to pick apart. Here, you weren’t the subject of speculation or the topic of gossip columns. You weren’t “the one from the titles” or “the name in the papers.” You were simply you.

The familiarity of it all only served to bring you back to those late-night drives after absurdly long college lectures, when the stress of exams and deadlines melted away over seafood and pleasant company, the briny scent of the ocean mixing with the fried goodness of whatever had been thrown together for dinner. It reminded you of sunburned afternoons spent on the docks, the sound of waves lapping against the wooden beams, of kids that you used to babysit laughing as they chased each other barefoot across the pier. Life was indeed much nicer in the olden days.

The docks finally came into view as you veered off onto the dirt road. You could see that the morning had already settled into its rhythm—fishermen hauling in their first catches, their voices rising and falling over the water while the low rumble of boat engines punctuated the exchanges in the salty air, mingling with the occasional bark of a stray dog nosing around for scraps. Seagulls routinely circled overhead and swept low whenever someone tossed a handful of bait into the sea. The scent of fresh fish, damp wood, and the ever-present Louisiana humidity all wrapped around you, strong-filled even at this hour.

And there was poor Sarah, up to her elbows in work as always.

She stood near a stubborn crate, her brows drawn together in frustration as she struggled to pry it open. The morning suns of July had already kissed her skin a shade darker and a streak of dirt ran across her forearms, evidence of a morning repeatedly spent wrangling supplies and fixing whatever had inevitably needed mending. She also had that look—the one she always got when something should have been done yesterday.

Pulling up alongside the dock, you stepped out of your fancy car, rolling your shoulders with a slow stretch. The thick and stifling heat settled around you instantly, encasing itself around your skin like a second layer along the faintest promise of an approaching summer storm.

“Didn’t know we were wrestling furniture today,” you called out while your expensive shoes thudded lightly against the weathered planks, the wood creaking ever so slightly beneath your steps.

Sarah huffed, blowing a loose curl from her forehead as the sheen of morning sweat glistened against her sun-warmed skin. “You show up just in time to save the day, as usual.”

You smirked, pushing up your sleeves. “That’s what I do best.”

Together, you pried open the crate with a loud crack, the wood groaning in protest before finally relenting, revealing neatly packed supplies of nets, ropes and a few spare tools, all stacked with military precision. 

“I swear, whoever sealed this thing had a personal vendetta against me,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You leaned against one of the weathered wooden posts, letting the briny breeze roll over you. The dock swayed ever so slightly beneath your weight, creaking in quiet protest. Out beyond the harbor, the bay stretched wide and glittering, rippling with the soft push and pull of the current. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady lull of the water, the occasional cry of seagulls, and the distant clang of metal against wood as fishermen worked their boats. A rare pocket of peace.

At least, that was the case until Sarah spoke.

“Sam’s coming home today.”

The words landed on you like how a stone would sink to the bottom of a river. 

You kept your expression carefully neutral, inhaling through your nose before exhaling slowly. “Fantastic,” you deadpanned, flicking a piece of splintered wood off your palm.

Sarah sighed, already bracing for the reaction she knew was coming. “I know you two don’t—”

“Like each other?” you finished for her. “Get along? Want to exist in the same hemisphere?”

She shot you a flat, unimpressed look. “I was going to say see eye to eye.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

Sarah crossed her arms, leaning back against the wooden beam beside you. The steady rise and fall of the tide lapped at the pylons below, filling the brief silence between you. “Are you ever going to tell me what really happened between you two?”

You hesitated. The problem wasn’t just Sam. It was everything that had happened because of him.

And worse—the things that had happened before. But how could you explain that to your best friend, who was also his sister, that before the cameras, before all of the unwanted attention, there had been a spark?

Befriending Sarah in college had meant stepping into her world, with frequent afternoons spent at the family’s restaurant but also evenings that bled into weekends. And with this eventually came Sam, who was at the time a cheeky guy too charming for his own good and with a tendency of getting under your skin in the most enjoyable way. The kind that your mama told you not to approach too much if you didn’t want to stray away from a good line of life.

You honestly wouldn’t have paid him much attention if not for the quick-witted banter, a push-and-pull that became something of a ritual every time you would come over. He would saunter into the restaurant under the pretense of bothering his sister, but his eyes would eventually find yours first, the corner of his mouth twitching upward just before he threw out some teasing remarks in hopes of riling you up. You would roll your eyes, fire something back, and somehow, without realizing it, you had begun to orbit each other.

It had slowly bloomed in the way where summer warmth shifts into the first breath of autumn—almost imperceptible until you’re standing in the midst of it. Eye contacts that lingered just a little too long. Making even the most absurd excuses simply to accompany you through your journey of going to college. A growing familiarity that turned into late-night conversations on the dock, where the world was nothing but the hush between you. There had been something easy about it, an understanding that neither of you ever had to say out loud.

And then, one fateful night—

A kiss was added to the list.

You could still precisely recall how it had unfolded. It had been one of those thick Louisianan nights where the land was quiet except for the gentle slosh of the tide against the pylons and the occasional chirp of cicadas hidden somewhere in the dark. You and Sam sat side by side on the wooden planks with your legs dangling over the edge.

He had shown up at the restaurant after closing, claiming he had nowhere better to be. You had scoffed, knowing damn well he could’ve gone to the arcades where he usually hung with his small band of friends, but instead, he’d lingered—elbow on the counter, tossing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth while Sarah cleaned up. When she suspiciously shooed the both of you out under the pretense of wanting to finish tidying the place in peace, you both ended up in your favorite spot and falling into conversation with the same ease you always had.

Strangely enough, that night was different.

It was felt in the way your knees brushed when he shifted closer, in the way your laughter had simmered and turned quieter, softer. It was the night where plans for the future were spoken of, and how you learned that Sam would soon leave Delacroix behind to join the Air Force while you were still figuring everything out.

“You ever think about getting out of here?” Sam’s voice cut through the quiet.

You smirked, tilting your head toward him. “What, and give up all the fine dining of your family’s home cooking? I don’t know if I could handle that.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because there’s nothing more to do than eating fresh seafood and watching the sunset every day.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you’re the one talking about getting out of here, Wilson. What, the dock life not glamorous enough for you?”

His grin was easy, but there was something contemplative beneath it. “I always knew I’d leave. Not ‘cause I don’t love it here, but... I want more. I wanna see what else is out there.”

Your smile faltered, just a little. You weren’t sure why the thought of Sam leaving sat uncomfortably in your chest. "You make it sound like you’re never coming back."

He turned toward you then, one leg kicking idly at the water below. "I’ll come back." His voice got fainter this time, lacking its usual teasing edge. "It’s not like I’d just disappear on you."

You arched a skeptical brow. "Awh, don’t tell me you’re going soft on me. You saying that ‘cause you mean it, or ‘cause you think I’d cry if you didn’t?"

Sam smirked. "Maybe both."

You scoffed, pushing at his arm, but he barely budged. "Please, you’d be the one crying your eyes out first."

"Uh-huh," he vaguely affirmed, unconvinced. "You could write me letters, you know."

"You gonna write back?"

"Every time."

You regained your smile at the answer, and it was when you turned to glance at him that you noticed that he was closer than before. You weren’t sure if he had leaned in or if you had, but your shoulders touched and your knees pressed together. He was close enough that you could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed and caught his eyes flickering from yours to your mouth and back again.

You had felt it coming before it happened—the moment slowed, stretched, and his tentative fingers had brushed yours where your hands rested between you on the dock. He was testing out the waters, and neither of you pulled away.

Without a word, he leaned in.

It felt like a kiss engaged between adolescents discovering intimacy for the first time. He was slow in his doing, as if waiting for you to stop him, but you didn’t. You tilted into him instead, your hand resting against his jaw upon the faint scratch of stubble he had grown. His lips were warm and coaxing, stealing the breath from your lungs as he deepened the kiss while his hand curled lightly around your wrist. The world beyond the two of you fell away, drowned out by the rush of your pulse.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like the beginning of a promise. But promises, as you had learned over time, were far too easy to break.

You thought that this kiss was supposed to mean something. Evidently, it didn’t to Sam.

Months passed without a sign, not a single mail in your box or a phone call. Then years came by, and silence continued to reign like a chasm.

The first time Sam Wilson came back to Delacroix after becoming the Falcon, it wasn’t for a homecoming or a celebration—it was for Sarah’s wedding. By then, he was no longer just the annoying little brother, the immature sod who used to throw shrimp shells at you when you weren’t looking. He was an Avenger. A hero. Someone whose face people recognized, whose name carried weight.

And you? You had built a life of your own. A business. A name that had nothing to do with anyone else but yourself. 

He had changed but so had you, and whatever had been between you had withered away a bittersweet memory, more sour than sugary.

The wedding had come and gone in a whirlwind of music and laughter, of his sister glowing in a way you had never seen before, of toasts and dancing under strings of warm lights. You had somehow ended up outside, trading the muffled sounds of celebration drifting through the open doors of the reception hall for the cold silence of the outside.

You hadn’t planned to talk to him. In fact, you had spent most of the days of his visit avoiding being alone with him, dodging him and whatever it was that lingered between you both like an unfinished chapter. But he still managed to find you anyway, stepping out into the night with that same infuriating ease as if nothing had ever changed.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you scurry away like a mouse?” he jokingly prompted, hands tucked into his pockets. “For someone who’s supposed to be the maid of honor, you disappeared pretty fast.”

You didn’t look at him, instead fixing your gaze on the rippling water. “Didn’t realize I needed a chaperone.”

“Never said you did.”

Stillness settled between you, cut by the cicadas humming in the trees and the warm breeze rolling in from the bay. He was watching you. You could feel it.

“You been good?” he asked eventually, almost hesitant.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Business still going strong?”

Another nod.

Sam exhaled a soft laugh. “Damn. You always this talkative?”

Finally, you turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest. “Well, what do you want me to say, Sam? That it’s good to see you? That I missed you?”

He blinked, caught off guard.

“You know what? I did,” you admitted, your jaw tightening. “I missed you when you left, when you didn’t write, when you didn’t call. But then you show up years later on TV with wings on your back and a whole new life, and I—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Listen, I never meant to—”

The sudden burst of camera flashes cut through the dark like lightning. Movements danced from the shadows beyond the dock. Figures. A handful of people, cameras raised, lenses trained on you both.

Your blood ran cold.

The pilot turned, his expression shifting in an instant. He stepped in front of you, partially blocking their view. “Hey! Back the hell up.”

The damage was already done. Your name was already in their mouths, in their cameras, and in their notes. And by morning, the world would be talking.

You knew it wasn’t his fault. Not entirely. The blame didn’t belong to him—not for the cameras, the prying eyes, or the intrusion. But the continuous letdown, the unresolved past, the hollow promises left unanswered—it all boiled over.

Maybe it was the years of unspoken resentment. How he had left and never looked back, only to come home like no time had passed—like you hadn’t once meant something. Or maybe it was the fact that for one fleeting instance, the world thought you belonged to him like you selfishly wanted to back then when he had never even fought to keep you.

The fight was inevitable. Hurtful words, raised voices. Raw anger tangled with accusations you didn’t mean spilling from your mouth before you could stop it, among the ones you did. And to his credit, he gave as good as he got. You weren’t the only one harboring old wounds. You weren’t the only one who felt burned by your shared past.

By the time the shouting stopped, the damage between you was just as permanent as the damage done by the eye-catching headlines. Some words couldn’t be taken back, just as ties, once broken, could never be pieced together the same way again.

The next morning, as you predicted, the internet had been set ablaze with speculation.

The press was relentless, churning through the story like a wildfire swallowing dry earth. The Falcon and his Mystery Woman—Who is She? New Romance or Old Flame? Falcon’s Secret Love Life—Exclusive Details Inside!

It was absurd. Laughable, even. You had snorted at the first few articles, rolling your eyes at the grainy photos that painted a story far more dramatic than the truth. You and Sam barely tolerated each other. If anything, your history was a testament to mutual irritation, not some clandestine love affair.

But the laughter didn’t last because the headlines didn’t fade. Because the story didn’t die.

Because soon enough, it wasn’t just some passing tabloid gossip. It was everywhere.

Paparazzi began to linger outside your workplace, their lenses snapping up every movement as if they could capture something scandalous in the mundane act of you stepping out for coffee. Your inbox flooded with emails—some from reporters fishing for a statement, others from people you hadn’t spoken to in years, suddenly eager to "reconnect." 

Social media became a nightmare all on its own. Strangers dug through your past with eager, prying hands, dissecting old photos, analyzing every public interaction you’d ever had, and spinning theories about a relationship that had never even existed.

The worst part of your predicament was certainly work-related. Every handshake, every business meeting, and every new acquaintance suddenly all came with a question mark. Were they here for you or for the association? Were they interested in your work, in you, or just in the proximity you offered to something greater, to a man whose name counted amongst Earth’s greatest heroes?

And through it all, Sam had remained frustratingly unbothered.

"It’ll pass," he had dismissed with a shrug accompanying his words. "People move on when it comes to these kinds of things."

At most, he made sure you were surrounded by constant security and had some sort of secret service he was apart from watching over you in case malevolent spectators deemed it a good idea to bother you. While you were grateful for the protection, you had wondered if his lack of intervention to correct the situation with both words and actions wasn’t motivated by underlying factors. 

Ultimately, you had been the one left dealing with the aftermath. The one picking up the pieces and untangling the mess, sifting through the wreckage of your privacy. And that was something you could never forgive.

You slowly exhaled, massaging your temple at the exasperating memory. “Let’s just say your brother has had a knack for making my life difficult and I got tired of it.”

Sarah hummed, skeptical but wise enough not to press too hard. “He’s really not as bad as you think.”

You shot her a dry look. “Sarah.”

She held up her hands in surrender, lips twitching. “Alright, alright. I won’t push.”

Before you could say more, the sound of a door swinging open interrupted you. Then came the hurried patter of feet and the excited shout of your name before two small bodies crashed into you, all limbs and boundless energy.

You caught them both with a grin, stumbling slightly under their weight as they clung to you.

“You taking us to school today?” Cass asked, beaming up at you.

You ruffled his curls, feigning deep thought. “I don’t know... you guys gonna behave?”

AJ gasped, scandalized. “We always behave!”

Their mother snorted at the blatant lie while you laughed, nudging AJ’s shoulder. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Sarah shook her head, a familiar mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. “They listen to you better than they listen to me.”

“That’s because I’m the cool auntie. Right, boys?” 

Both of them cheered in agreement, to which she rolled her eyes and shooed you toward your car. “Go before I change my mind about letting you take them.”

You steered her children toward the vehicle, their voices rising in an animated debate over which of them would get to call shotgun and put their playlist to play for the drive. But even as you settled into the driver’s seat, their excited chatter filling the space around you, your mind remained elsewhere.

Sam was coming back.

And whether you liked it or not, you were going to have to deal with him.

⠀

⠀

The restaurant was already alive with the late afternoon rush by the time you strolled in with the boys coming back from school. Orders flew in, plates stacked high and the scent of fried seafood and rich gumbo diffused in the place. The kitchen bustled with movement—Sarah barking orders, cooks shuffling between stations, the sizzle of oil, the clang of metal on metal. Fortunately, you had worked enough shifts here during college to comfortably throw yourself into the chaos and fall into the rhythm with ease, balancing trays and dodging wayward elbows like second nature.

You had expected a busy night.

What you weren’t prepared for—what you could have gone your entire life without dealing with—was walking out of the kitchen, only to come face-to-face with the one person you had been dreading.

The door swung shut behind you, the sudden quiet of the dining area making the moment feel even heavier. Sam Wilson stood near the counter, arms crossed, an easy smirk already in place as if he hadn’t just been gone for years. The sight of his tall, broad and annoyingly self-assured stature made something stubborn coil in your chest. The golden glow of the setting sun slanted through the restaurant’s windows, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight curl of his lips, settling into the warm brown of his eyes with an infuriating sort of ease.

It had been years. But of course, of course, the first thing he did when he saw you was smirk and look at you the way he always did—like he was expecting a fight.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes flicking over you with the kind of scrutiny that made you itch to throw the nearest dish towel at his head. “They’re really letting just anyone work here now, huh?”

You scoffed, stepping behind the counter. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

“Hey, I actually own part of this place,” he shot back, leaning against the wooden bar. “What’s your excuse?”

“Sarah asked me to help,” you replied smoothly, grabbing a clean set of glasses from the shelf. “What’s yours?”

“Thought I’d check in, be a good brother and say hi,” he sassily answered. “Didn’t realize I’d be graced with your presence too.”

“Lucky you,” you deadpanned with a tight-lipped smile, brushing past him.

And to your luck, he followed you to the back, offering unhelpful commentary while you restocked supplies, then bickered with you while you both helped—or at least attempted to���his sister with the dinner rush. Arguing over everything with the soldier felt like muscle memory at this point, and it showed in the way he reached for the same things you did, your movements accidentally falling into sync. 

By the time things slowed down enough for dinner, you were already nursing a headache. It wasn’t until the pace had slowed and Sarah finally sat down with a plate of food after her kids were put to bed that the conversation turned against you.

“So,” Sarah stabbed a piece of calamari with her fork, looking at you with a glint of something announcing nothing good. “You seeing anyone yet?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Across from you, Sam let out a low chuckle.

“Oh, this should be good,” he mused, propping his chin on his hand and settling in like he was about to watch a show.

You shot him a glare before turning back to Sarah. “Not really.”

“Not really, or not at all?”

“Not. At. All.”

Sam let out a whistle, shaking his head in mock pity. “Damn. That’s rough.”

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “Well, it’s kind of your fault.”

The smirk fell right off his face. “My fault?”

You didn’t waver, locking eyes with him. “I don’t know if you remember, but you kind of put me on the map. You know, with that whole ‘mystery woman spotted with the Falcon’ thing?” You waved a hand vaguely. “Hard to trust people when they might secretly be fans. Or worse, spies.”

The hostess hummed in interest, taking a slow sip of her drink. “That does sound inconvenient.”

Sam scoffed. "Oh, be real, miss fancy pants. You can’t be serious.”

“But I am,” you shot back. “Because of you, I have to second-guess every new person I meet. Even for business.”

Sam shrugged, looking way too entertained. “Could be worse.”

You raised a brow. “Would you trust random people throwing themselves at you if the roles were reversed?”

He let out a sharp laugh, cocky and dismissive. “Sure, after a small background check.”

You leaned forward, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, totally. It’s so much fun when I get approached because people think I’m some tragic ex or long-lost lover of yours. Or getting bombarded with people asking if I ever hooked up with the Falcon, or if I have ‘tea’ to spill on our ‘relationship’, or if I’m ‘jealous’ that you’re off saving the world and not wasting time.” You tilted your head. “That’s just peak entertainment.”

For once, the Avenger had nothing to say.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, and let’s not forget the weirdos who DM me saying they’d be happy to ‘fill the hole’ you supposedly left in my life.”

Sam choked on his drink, coughing violently. “What?”

“Oh yeah.” You pulled out your phone, tapped a few times, then held it out to him. “Here. Go ahead. Take a look at your legacy.”

He grabbed it hesitantly, scrolling through your inbox, his expression shifting from amused to horrified. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered. “What the hell is wrong with people?”

Sarah smirked. “Damn, Sam. Ruined her dating life and left her with internet weirdos. That’s cold.”

Sam dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, fine, that’s bad.” He handed your phone back. “But still, you could’ve just—I don’t know—ignored it? De-activate your socials?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just ignore the fact that I have to Google every guy I talk to just to make sure they’re not running a secret fan account for you.”

He burst out laughing, to which you childishly responded by throwing a fry at his head.

Sarah, watching all this like it was prime-time TV, suddenly perked up. “I might have a solution.”

You groaned. “I don’t like that tone.”

“No, no, hear me out,” she insisted, grinning. “I saw this thing the other day—apparently, there’s a place in town that does blind dates in escape rooms.”

You blinked. “You saw what now?”

“It’s a fun concept,” she continued breezily. “Two people, locked in a room, working together to get out. You don’t know who you’re paired with beforehand, and it forces you to communicate.” She took another bite of her food, then added, “I think you two should try it.”

You both turned to her at the same time. “No—” “Hell no.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You two are so dramatic. It’s literally an escape room—”

“With a blind date,” you interrupted with frantic gestures. “As in, being forced into a confined space with a random stranger and trusting them enough to help me get out.” You shook your head. “Not happening.”

Sarah gave you a pointed look. “You do realize that’s exactly what dating is, right?”

You glared. “Don’t make points right now.”

She turned her attention to Sam, who was still muttering under his breath. “And what’s your problem?”

Her brother shot her a disbelieving look. “You seriously don’t see the issue?”

“Nope.”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s way too risky for me to go in public and have my info given out to some company and get paired up with someone potentially crazy like her right here. Yeah, no way in hell I’m signing up for that.”

You turned back to Sarah. “Do you hear the way he talks to me? And you think I should be dating?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly why I’m setting you up with other people. You both need a reality check.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Okay, ignoring the audacity of that statement—why an escape room? If I wanted to be locked in a room with a stranger, I’d call my internet provider.”

Sarah once again ignored your rebuttals. “It forces you to work together. Communication, problem-solving, a little trust—”

Sam let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather skydive without a parachute.”

“You literally have a parachute,” you deadpanned.

“Exactly,” Sam said. “Which is why I don’t need to go on some experimental dating hostage situation.”

Sarah huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. Let me put it this way—if you don’t go, I’ll tell Bucky you’re both too scared to put yourselves out there.”

You wanted to put up a bigger fight, if not for the very real threat of James Buchanan Barnes getting wind of this.

You had met him once, years ago, during one of Sam’s very unwelcome, very impromptu visits. You hadn’t even been expecting company that day, let alone a literal ex-assassin sitting at Sarah’s dining table like it was the most normal thing in the world. And to make matters worse, Sam had introduced you in the most obnoxious way possible.

“This is my sister’s best friend. She talks a big game but couldn’t win an argument if her life depended on it.”

And Bucky, with all the smugness of someone who absolutely enjoyed making your life difficult, had just smirked, leaned back in his chair, and smugly commented—

“Huh. Sounds familiar.”

You hadn’t even known him for five minutes, and he had already sided with Sam. Ever since, the latter had made sure to weaponize their friendship against you at every opportunity, regardless of the fast-growing amicability between his former partner and you.

And you knew that if Bucky found out about this, you would never hear the end of it. He’d be relentless. Casually dropping mentions of your lack of a partner into every conversation, even if the irony lied in him being in the same situation—though he’d probably argue that unlike him, there was a lack of trying on your part as well as the absence of an excuse as astronomical as being a well-known mass murderer with an insane past. And also probably betting money on how fast you’d walk out of the damn escape room.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

His sister’s grin only widened. “Oh, I absolutely would.”

You could already picture it—Bucky, smirking like he had all the dirt in the world on you and bringing it up at the most inopportune moments. Teasing you mercilessly every time you so much as glanced at your phone. Probably making some dumb comment like, “So, can’t find anyone to put up with you?”

Nope. Absolutely not.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “I so hate you right now.”

Sarah just smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

The Falcon groaned in desperation. “This is blackmail.”

She simply shrugged at the accusation. “I like to think of it as strong encouragement.”

"How long is it?” you finally asked, defeated.

“One hour.”

Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Sixty minutes of my life I’m never getting back.”

The restaurant’s owner shrugged, too pleased with herself to care. “Think of it this way—worst-case scenario, you get out and never see the person again.”

The pilot grumbled under his breath before sharply exhaling after a long pause. “Whatever. But when this goes horribly, I want it on record that I called it.”

“Duly noted.”

⠀

⠀

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet as you gripped the wheel of your car with the force of someone actively trying not to commit murder. The drive to the escape room was supposed to be uneventful. Key words: supposed to. But Sam Wilson had never once encountered an opportunity for peace without promptly deciding to mischievously ruin it.

It started small. A shift in his seat, a glance at the dashboard, an exhale so faint you almost didn’t catch it. Then, before you knew it, his fingers were wandering, prodding at the glossy screen in the center console with an exaggerated curiosity that made your temple throb.

You gritted your teeth. "Stop touching things."

“Relax,” he drawled, ever the picture of unbothered arrogance. "I’m just exploring my environment."

“It’s not an environment, it’s my car.”

Sam clicked his tongue, grinning in a way that meant nothing good. “You got all these fancy-ass features, and you don’t even use ‘em? Shame. Really makes me question your judgment.”

“You’re about to question your life choices when I push you out onto the freeway.”

With all of your previous spouts, you should have known that issuing such a warning would only serve to encourage his childish behavior.

It started with him cranking the seat warmers up to their highest setting, slowly enough that you didn’t notice until your lower back was mysteriously drenched in sweat. He followed by playing with the ambient lighting, flipping through every color at an alarming rate until the inside of your car looked like a malfunctioning disco ball. But the worst, the absolute worst, came when he discovered your Bluetooth. 

A horrendous mix of static and Sam’s laughter blasted through your speakers as the system synced.

You gawked at him. “If you so much as—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the familiar bright and bouncy opening chords of Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus blared from the speakers, the bubbly pop song catering a stark contrast to the slow-building horror creeping up your spine.

Sam, entirely unbothered by your stricken expression, immodestly threw his feet up onto the dashboard with the air of a man settling in for a long, leisurely road trip rather than someone actively testing the limits of your patience. With the unrestrained passion of a performer standing before a sold-out stadium crowd, he threw his head back and belted at the top of his lungs, “And a Jay-Z song was on!”

You recoiled, grimacing as his voice cracked mid-note. But before responding, you reached over and smacked his legs off the dashboard, sending his sneakers thudding back to the floor. “Get your dirty feet off my dash,” you snapped.

Sam clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Oh, live a bit, woman. Damn, you really have no appreciation for the arts or my comfort?”

Your grip tightened around the steering wheel as you ignored his jab, leveling him instead with a flat, unimpressed stare. “This,” you slowly voiced with incredulity, “is the choice you made?”

“Hell yeah.” He nodded in affirmation, not even pausing in his off-key, wholly committed performance. “This is a certified anthem.”

“This is a cry for help.”

Sam gasped, scandalized. “You don’t like Party in the USA?”

“I do. I just don’t like you singing Party in the USA.” Without breaking your focus on the road, you lunged for his phone, yanking it from his grip with the precision of someone who had endured one too many of his antics. A dramatic click later, and blissful silence fell over the cabin.

Your passenger, however, was anything but deterred. He cackled, shoulders shaking, entirely too smug.

You inhaled deeply, willing the tension in your fingers to ease before you left permanent indentations on the wheel. “I swear to God, Wilson—”

“Hey,” he cut in, still grinning like a man with no fear of consequences. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve switched it to romance audiobooks.”

“I will crash this car.”

The silence was short-lived. Like a cocky thief in the night, Sam moved with the precision of a soldier and the recklessness of a man who knew exactly how to test your limits. One second, the phone was in your grasp, victory assured. The next, it was snatched away with infuriating ease.

You barely had time to register the offense before the speakers flared back to life, the cabin suddenly swelling with the smooth, honeyed tones of a song that hit far too close to home.

"I see the crystal raindrops fall…"

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing in slow, dawning realization. The Falcon, unbothered and wholly self-satisfied, leaned back against the seat with his arms folded behind his head as if he hadn't just detonated a nostalgia bomb between you. The smooth timbre of Grover Wshington Jr.’s voice accompagnied the melodious instrumental of Just the Two of Us, the saxophone bringing more than just nostalgia of a classic.

You knew exactly what he was doing. You remembered the easy rhythm of laughter between verses as you'd vaguely engage in a clumsy waltz, tripping over both feet and lyrics and pretending it was intentional. You remembered Sam’s off-key falsetto and your equally disastrous harmonies, along with the unshakable euphoria and certainty that no matter where life took you, you’d always end up in the same place.

But life had a way of rewriting certainties—the choices that wedged themselves between you was certainly proof of it. And yet, despite everything that happened, that song still had its hooks in you.

Sam, ever the instigator, drummed his fingers against the dashboard, slow and patient, like a fisherman waiting for the line to tug. When you didn’t react, he turned his head and elbowed you in your arm. “C’mon. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I do remember.”

“Then sing.”

You scoffed, pretending it didn’t get to you. “Pass.”

His grin sharpened. “Boo, loser. What, so you can’t sing anymore? That’s crazy. Didn’t know losing your ability to sing was part of getting old and bitter—”

Your glare should have scorched him and wiped that insufferable smirk right off his face, but he only leaned in, fully basking in his role as an unrepentant menace.

"We can make it if we try…" He sang it pointedly, nudging you again with his elbow like an annoying kid brother. You swatted him away without sparing a glance. He did it again. And again. Until finally—

You exhaled sharply, grip slackening. “I hate you.”

But as the chorus approached, the words left your lips before you could stop them.

"Just the two of us…"

It was barely a whisper at first, something fragile and unintentional. But Sam caught it immediately and grinned just as quickly, victorious, before singing louder.

You rolled your eyes, but the fight was already lost.

“That’s my girl,” he cheered on, and before you could roll your eyes, he threw his head back and belted out the next line with all the fanciness of a Broadway performer.

By the next verse, you were both loudly singing off-key. He purposely overstated his notes, while you botched entire lines just to tease him. Laughter flowed freely between lines, busting through the barricades you'd both painstakingly established.  Sam, ever the dramatist, went full concert mode, wiggling his shoulders like an overenthusiastic backup dancer and pretending to hold a microphone as he crooned into his fist.

“No,” you moaned in exasperation between bursts of laughter as he hit an ungodly note. “That was—oh my God, Sam, stop—that is a crime against music.”

He only doubled down, adding unnecessary falsetto flourishes and pointing dramatically out the window as if serenading the passing trees. The harmonies were an absolute disaster. The timing was questionable at best. But for those few minutes, it didn’t matter. It was just you and Sam, the car, and the open road, voices colliding in the space between you.

It shouldn't have felt so natural, to slip into something that had been tearing around the edges for years. But for a brief while, it did—which was perilous, like plunging into still waters.

No matter how lighthearted it appeared, you were smart enough to understand that the political choice in this song was not only to reminisce about one of your favorite memories, but also to convey a hidden message, as the song still had meaning in its lines. “We can make it if we try”. It was a promise, one you had scarcely believed in with your whole heart before you had to learn to live without him. 

By the time the final note of the song was hit, the magic was broken. You cleared your throat and adjusted your grip on the wheel. You mumbled, "Still sing like a damn goat," since it was easier than admitting anything else.

Sam snorted. "You still talk big for someone who sounds like a dying cat."

Quietness regained its rightful place, this time more charged than before with the shadow of something lost between you. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down, looking like he was trying to collect his thoughts—or just avoid whatever was about to spill out.

“Look, about everything that happened...” He hesitated, voice trailing off, before he tried again. “I didn’t mean—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to keep the ache from spilling over. “Honestly, I should’ve expected it. You’re always going to be tied up in something bigger than us. I get it now. I should’ve known better.”

The pilot didn’t respond right away but you still made out the sound of him breathing down his nose, betraying the turmoil that was spiralling in his mind. “I just—I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring what happened. I—”

“No.” The word came out before you could stop it, hard and final. Your lips twisted into a smile, but it was bitter, hollow. “You don’t need to apologize anymore. It’s not necessary. I mean, the Air Force is a big thing. And now with the whole Avengers thing…” Your breath hitched slightly. “You had big priorities. It’s understandable.”

The words left a bitter taste on your tongue, every syllable a shard of resentment you had tried for so long to swallow. “It’s okay. You don’t need to make up some excuse.”

Sam’s expression flickered, his features shifting subtly as he processed your words, but he didn’t respond. His silence felt like another slap in the face, the unspoken weight of his guilt settling over the car.

"It just hurt," you continued, the words uncontrollably tumbling out of your mouth, as if you couldn’t hold them back any longer. "You said you’d make time. That we could figure it out." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on, your chest tight with the pressure of everything you’d been carrying. "But then... it was like I was just some side story to your life. I had to deal with everything on my own. You didn’t just leave me, Sam. You left me hanging in front of the entire world, like I was an afterthought."

You could see him flinching and opening his mouth to speak, but the reply stayed stuck somewhere behind his teeth for awhile. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” he finally admitted, his voice tight with frustration, lips pressed into a thin line. “You have to know that.” 

You let out a dry laugh, bitter and edged with years of pent-up anger. "No," you spat, shaking your head. "I don’t know that. I really don’t. And now you want to apologize? You think a few words will make it go away?" You turned to him then with glaring eyes, the dam inside you breaking wide open. “But I guess I should’ve known better, right? You’ve always got more important things on your plate than me. And I was just dumb enough to think I could be part of it." You let out a shaky breath. "That’s on me, not you.”

Sam’s shoulders tensed, his fists clenched so tightly against his knees that you could see the tendons in his hands strain. "That’s not fair," he rasped.

“No,” you bit out with the bitter burn of years of disappointment. “What’s not fair is pretending everything’s okay now, like you didn’t leave me in the dust. You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to forget how much it hurt when you left me behind.”

Sam growled, his gaze snapping to yours with an intensity that could’ve burned brighter than the sunlight reflecting on the windshield. “I didn’t mean to do that. It wasn’t like that. If you’d just let me explain—”

But you were already shaking your head, a bitter laugh slipping out as you cut him off. "It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this again."

The rest of the drive stretched on in silence, bouncing on the precarious mix of unsaid words and the sharp sting of old wounds reopening. By the time you pulled into the parking lot of the escape room, your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, your body wound tight with the tension of everything you’d let out during the ride.

You almost yanked the car into park with more force than necessary, the engine’s rumbling metaphorically serving as a harsh reminder of how you were both still reeling from your slight altercation.

The door slammed shut behind you, but neither of you made a move to walk toward the entrance. The space between you felt wider than the parking lot itself. You weren’t sure what else to say, if there was even anything left to say. 

“You should go inside first,” you finally said, your eyes staying firmly on the building in front of you. “I still need to arrange a few things in the car.” You were making a conscious decision to create some distance, to not go beyond what you could navigate through the dangerous waves of this confrontation. “Good luck with your date… or, uh, escape game.” You gave a small, tight smile, though it felt more like a bitter farewell than any kind of encouragement.

Sam silently hesitated, his eyes searching yours, like he was about to say something—but the words never formed. Instead, he took a deep breath and gave a short nod. "You too. Good luck with... whatever it is you're gonna do, too."

Without another word, he turned his back to you and walked toward the entrance with stiff shoulders. His footsteps echoed against the pavement as he left you alone, marking said distance you were so adamant on implementing once and for all.

You didn’t watch him go. You couldn’t. Instead, you opened your door with a soft creak, the cool night air rushing in as you slid back into the driver’s seat. It felt like a strange kind of closure, the door clicking shut behind you as if you were signing the definite end of a chapter, even if nothing really felt settled. With a shaky hand, you wiped the stray tears that had fallen down your cheeks, quickly brushing them away like they never happened, like you could pretend they weren’t there.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. There was still the night ahead, the escape game to focus on, even if your heart wasn’t entirely in it.

⠀

⠀

The artificial chill of the air conditioning wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, abruptly differing from the lingering warmth of dusk. The area smelled somewhat floral, though not in a pleasant way—more like a half-hearted attempt to conceal the antiseptic, even clinical ambiance. The welcome space looked sleek and modern, with clean lines and soft, ambient lighting, but something seemed odd.

A trio of employees stood behind the clean counter, their demeanor courteous but impersonal. Their uniforms were clean, their smiles practiced, and their eyes assessing—not in a way that made you feel welcome, but rather processed.

"Just need you to sign a few things," one of them said, sliding a clipboard toward you with the kind of ease that suggested they had done this a hundred times before. Maybe a thousand.

You picked up the pen and skimmed the pages, your brows knitting together. Waiver. Consent form. Limited liability in the case of mild distress.

Everything screamed shady.

Even though you knew they conducted a comprehensive background check on their clients' criminal records—you knew because you boldly inquired beforehand—your gut twisted with disquiet, a silent warning you had long since learned not to ignore. But you forced yourself to exhale, suppressing the mounting doubt. Sarah planned this, and she wouldn't throw you into an underground horror movie scenario, right?

Still, the blindfold part? That was peculiar, to say the least.

“Standard procedure,” the staff member assured you in a smooth and clearly rehearsed tone. That didn’t make you feel any better.

But you weren’t about to back out now. Soundly sighing, you allowed them to tie the fabric securely over your eyes, and in an instant, the world went black.

A friendly but firm hand took you down what appeared to be a long corridor. Each step heightened the sense of disorientation, the absence of sight accentuating everything else—hushed murmurs in the distance, the continuous flaps of an air vent above, the dull pressure of the floor under you. Then a pause. The air became colder. A door opened, and you were gently guided inside.

The door shut behind you, and the person beside you vanished.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at the sides. The lack of vision made everything feel too much—the faint shuffle of your own feet as you shifted nervously, the way your breathing seemed louder than it should, the slight press of your pulse on your temples. How long were they going to leave you here?

The weight of the silence stretched, and so did the edges of your nerves. Finally, the door creaked open again. Your spine became rigid. Footsteps, slow and measured. The door clicked closed once more.

Someone was here.

You exhaled, forcing an easy tone into your voice despite the unease creeping up your spine. "So, uh… I guess this is the part where we introduce ourselves? Hi, I’m—"

A strange, loaded silence tightened around you like a noose, twisting in your stomach. Were they simply joking with you? Or was there something else going on here?

Your patience, already thin after the day's events, had fully frayed. Screw this. Against your better judgment, you reached up and ripped the blindfold off, blinking rapidly as your eyes acclimated to the room's dull, amber hue.

And there, across from you, stood Sam. A solitary rose danced between his fingers, whirling aimlessly, as if he had all the time in the world. His attitude was unreadable—calm and poised, but his eyes held something you couldn't quite identify.

"Oh, hell no."

Sam let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing his temple like the sheer force of his fingers could press back the headache forming there. “Unbelievable,” he sneered, shaking his head. “I should’ve known Sarah was up to something when she kept dodging my questions.”

You let out a scoff, dragging a hand down your face as the reality of the situation settled over you like an unbearable weight. “This is what I get for trusting Sarah with this. Honestly, I’d rather deal with Bucky’s endless teasing right now than… this.”

The veteran arched a brow, folding his arms. “To be fair, you did let her set you up on a blind date with a stranger.”

You leveled him with a look. “Yeah, and so did you!” You threw up your hands. “And we came here together. Did she seriously think we wouldn’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, his expression caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Guess she figured we’d be too busy arguing to put the pieces together.”

You scoffed. “Well, congrats to her, then. She got exactly what she wanted.”

Determined to put an end to this ridiculous setup, you turned toward the door, grasped the handle, and gave it a firm tug. It didn’t budge. Your pulse ticked higher. You tried again, more forcefully this time, but the door remained stubbornly locked.

Behind you, Sam sighed, the sound far too entertained for your liking. “Still locked?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, jaw tight. “Obviously.”

Before he could toss out another quip, the overhead speakers crackled to life, the static buzzing through the dimly lit room before a saccharine, overly cheerful voice filled the space.

"Welcome, lovebirds, to the Valentine’s Day Escape Challenge!"

Your entire body went rigid. Sam, standing just a few feet away, had stilled completely, his eyes narrowing like he was already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"Over the next hour, you and your partner will work together to solve puzzles, uncover secrets, and—most importantly—ignite a spark between you!"

Your eye twitched. "The what?"

The Falcon was still staring up at the speaker, but you could feel the sheer amount of unspoken profanity radiating off of him.

"You have sixty minutes! And remember... teamwork makes the dream work!"

A mechanical clunk sounded somewhere in the room, and a timer flickered to life on the far wall, its neon numbers casting an ominous glow.

59:59. 59:58. 59:57.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, forcing down the overwhelming urge to scream, then turned to Sam. He met your stare, equally exasperated, equally resigned.

The room was an assault of saccharine love-themed aesthetics, as if Eros himself had suffered a violent, glitter-drenched demise. Heart-shaped garlands draped along the walls in looping chains, glowing pink fairy lights casting a hazy, dreamlike blush over every velvet-draped surface. A gilded vanity stood against one wall, its mirror smeared with cryptic riddles in waxy, crimson lipstick. The simulated fireplace screen let out crackled sounds, its flames flickering just a little too artificially, a cheap illusion of warmth in a space meant to seduce.

At the center of it all sat a small, round table, dressed in pristine white linen, set for two. A single wax-sealed envelope rested atop the china, like the final invitation to some grand, elaborate joke.

Sam let out a low whistle, slow and unimpressed as he took in the spectacle. “It’s like Cupid threw up in here.”

You crossed your arms, exhaling through your nose. “More like a discount wedding venue.”

“Either way, I already hate it.”

“Great. Common ground.” You stepped forward, plucking the envelope off the table, breaking the seal with a sharp tear. “Means we’ll get through this faster.”

Inside, a delicate pink card gleamed under the low lighting, its cursive gold lettering gliding across the surface like a whispered dare:

"To escape, one must first unlock the heart. Find the key, answer truthfully, and embrace the game."

You flipped the card over, your frown deepening. Blank.

“Well, that’s unhelpful.”

Sam leaned in over your shoulder, the warmth of his unwelcome presence creeping at your back. “Sounds like a load of nonsense.”

“Sounds like we need to find a key.” You tossed the card aside and swept your gaze across the room. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He followed at an infuriatingly lazy pace, hands tucked in his pockets. “You always this impatient on dates?”

You shot him a glare. “You always this obnoxious?”

“‘That a rhetorical question?”

You huffed, stepping toward the vanity. Its antique gold frame was chipped, and its once-opulent beauty weathered down to something just shy of decadent. Trinkets littered the surface—heart-shaped perfume bottles, a pearl necklace draped over a porcelain hand sculpture, and a plush teddy bear wearing a satin bow tie.

You picked up the bear, giving it a shake. Something rattled inside. Without hesitation, you grabbed the bow and pulled at it, to which the Avenger let out a sharp breath. “At least pretend to have some finesse. Poor guy.”

You turned, leveling him with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I politely ask the stuffed animal for the key?”

His smirk was all teeth. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

With an exaggerated tug, the bow finally tore away, revealing a tiny brass key stitched into the lining. Triumphant, you held it up between two fingers, letting it catch the candlelight. “Hah. Suck it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded toward the oversized keyhole carved into the farthest door. “Moment of truth.”

The lock clicked smoothly, the door groaning as it swung inward to reveal the next part of your prison—a room bathed in deep red velvet, dimly lit by flickering candle sconces. A loveseat sat at its heart, a small pedestal beside it, where a single glass dome encased a perfect red rose.

You exhaled sharply. “Great. More romantic fuckery.”

Sam rolled his shoulders, his stance widening. “Starting to think this whole thing is just an excuse for people to make out in a locked room.”

You shot him a warning look. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re really killing the mood.”

Your attention shifted to the plaque beneath the rose. The words, engraved in curling script, sent an uneasy shiver down your spine: "A promise once spoken, never fulfilled, lingers in the heart forever." You took a step back, exhaling a little too precipitously. “Alright. Where’s the next clue?”

Sam didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the plaque before flickering back to you. “That bother you?”

“Nope,” you said too quickly. “Just wanna get out of here.”

He studied you, and for once, he wasn’t all for the laughs. “You’re lying straight to my face.”

You stiffened. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” His voice was laced with the same exasperation you remembered from years ago—when things were different. When things were good. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t see it?”

You pivoted angrily towards him. “See what, Sam? I told you everything already. You want to talk about how years later, when you came back, I was the one whose name got dragged through the dirt because some paparazzi decided I made a convenient headline?”

His jaw ticked. “You think I wanted that to happen?”

“Well you barely did a damn thing to stop it, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, so that was my fault?” His voice rose, heat sparking in his eyes. “I was trying to keep you out of that mess! You think I had any control over what the media did?”

“Maybe not.” Your breath came hard now, uneven. “But you had control over what you did. And you chose to stay silent.”

The room’s candlelight flickered violently, shadows dancing along the walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in on you, encaging you in this intolerable and toxic chasm of tug-of-war fight. Sam’s hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to grab something—grab you, maybe, or stop himself from doing exactly that.

“Say it,” he finally murmured, voice rough.

You swallowed. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been dying to say since I walked back here.” His gaze burned into yours. “Go ahead. Get it out.”

The pathetic words escaped before you could stop them.

“You lied to me and I hate you for it.”

Sam flinched, but you pressed on, voice breaking on the edges. “You promised I wouldn’t just be some forgotten thing in your past. And you never even tried.”

His nostrils flared. “You think I didn’t want to?”

“Oh, please.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You were fine. You left, became a hero, and forgot all about me until you came back wearing a fucking jetpack.”

“You were never something I could forget.”

You felt something crack in your chest. “You don’t get to say that now, Sam,” you whispered.

He stepped closer. Then again. You barely realized you were moving too, until the air between you collapsed, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the tension a live wire sparking between your ribs. 

"Then look me in the eye," Sam rasped, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. "Look at me and tell me I’m lying and this doesn’t mean anything anymore. Tell me you don’t feel it—say the words, and I’ll walk away. But say them like you mean them." 

Your throat worked, but no words came. Because as much as you wanted to deny the allegations, you did feel it. The frustration, the anger. And beneath it all—the wanting, the aching. The bone-deep longing for something neither of you had the courage to claim when it mattered.

In an unfurling of sudden movement, his back hit the wall with a dull thud, but before he could react, you were on him, fisting the front of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his, engaging in a battle more than a kiss. It was akin to a wildfire—scorching, desperate, all teeth and heat, the culmination of every regret and every second wasted.

The pilot groaned into it, his hands flying to your waist, strong and sure as he hauled you against him. A sharp gasp left you at the feeling of his body flush with yours, but he didn’t give you room to think or to breathe. He spun you, pressing you back against the wall, his mouth relentless against yours, moving with a punishing, consuming intent—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Your fingers twisted further into his meticulous white shirt, attempting to pull him impossibly closer than you already were. He swallowed the sound that escaped you, deepening the kiss like a starved man, like he needed this, needed you, needed to make up for all the time lost.

His lips dragged over your jaw, hot breath ghosting against your skin.

"Still mad?" he murmured against your lips, voice thick with want, teasing even now, even like this.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip, seizing it and savoring how his breath hitched at your doing, the way his fingers flexed against your waist. "Furious."

Sam’s breath stuttered against your lips, a ragged sound caught between a groan and something dangerously close to surrender. His fingers curled into your waist, holding you like he needed to anchor himself, like if he let go, you’d slip through his grasp and take the last shred of his self-control with you.

The kiss burned, devouring, each second unraveling the years of restraint neither of you wanted to acknowledge anymore. You felt the tension in the way he pressed against you, in the way his hands slid beneath your shirt, palms searing against your skin. Your nails raked down his back, dragging over hard covered muscle, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fists as if you could pull him deeper into you, as if there was any space left between you to close.

"Tell me to stop," Sam gasped through the clashing of your mouths, the words nearly lost to the breathlessness between you. His request went ignored as his lips traced a slow, punishing path down your jaw, his breath hot against your throat as his hands wandered, gripping, relearning, claiming back what was once his for a brief instance. 

You tilted your head, granting him more access, shivering as he took it without hesitation, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. Your fingers roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, the solid weight of him beneath your touch. It wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed skin, heat, the press of him without barriers.

Your hands found the first button of his shirt, fumbling in your urgency. One button slipped free, then another, the fabric parting under your fingers.

Until the door slammed open.

You barely had time to gasp before Sam reacted on instinct. In a blur of movement, he thrusted you behind him, body braced like a shield between you and whoever had just interrupted.

A pair of employees stood in the doorway, frozen like deer in headlights. One clutched a clipboard, the other a maintenance checklist, both staring like they had just walked in on a crime scene.

A heavy silence stretched between all of you.

"Uh…" The clipboard guy cleared his throat, his voice weak, almost apologetic. "This… isn't a private room."

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience clearly dangling by a thread. His chest still heaved with unspent frustration and the lingering burn of what had been seconds away from happening. He ran a slow hand down his face before fixing them with a dark, pointed look.

"Clearly," he said flatly.

The maintenance guy swallowed hard. "We—we knocked. Three times."

Clipboard guy shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting everywhere but at you and Sam. "Look, we know you signed up for it and all, but this is too much—you can’t stay here. We have to ask you to leave. Immediately."

The Avenger stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he looked them up and down. The movement was subtle, but the effect was instant. Clipboard guy flinched. Maintenance guy tensed, suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"You saw nothing," he declared lowly. "And whatever you think you saw? No you didn’t." His gaze flicked downward, locking onto the phone peeking out of the employee’s pocket.

The guy scrambled to pull it out, hands shaking as he unlocked the screen. "N-Nothing there! See?" He turned it around in a panic.

Sam barely glanced at it before nodding, satisfied. "Good. Smart choice."

You bit your lip, caught between laughter and mortification as Sam slid an arm around your waist, steering you toward the exit with purposeful ease.

"Now," he continued, voice laced with something smug as he leaned in just enough for only you to hear, "if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere else to be."

His grip on your hip tightened as he led you outside, your pulse hammering in response, the rest of the world fading as the need he had ignited moments ago roared back to life with a vengeance.

⠀

⠀

The ride back to the restaurant was enveloped in a heavy silence—not the brittle awkwardness of unspoken apologies nor the tenseness of imminent confrontation, but a solemn, almost sacred quietude laden with things neither of you yet dared to name.

You kept your eyes fixed on the road, though the lingering warmth of Sam’s hand on your waist remained—a memory of intimacy that had evaporated the instant you stepped out of that room. The echo of what had nearly transpired clung to your skin like a phantom caress, simmering just beneath the surface, an unacknowledged secret shared between you.

When you finally reached the restaurant, the usual mix of clamors of conversation and the tinkling of glasses felt jarringly discordant against the subdued cadence of your thoughts. You both hesitated at the entrance, lingering in the threshold. After a long pause, Sam sighed deeply, his hand drifting to his jaw as if to smooth away the remnants of the night’s turbulence. “Go wait for me,” he ordered you, “at our spot.”

That command stopped you in your tracks.

Our spot.

It had been years since either of you had dared to approach it, much less mention it aloud. The old corner by the water hidden from the prying lights of the city, where you had once spent long, languid nights nursing cheap beer, debating everything and nothing, and watching the world settle into quiet dreams. Back when neither of you had been bold enough to risk shattering that fragile haven.

You searched his face, but his eyes were fixed beyond you, as if he were still uncertain whether the words should have been spoken at all. Still, you nodded.

The dock greeted you like a cherished relic from a bygone era. Weathered wooden planks stretched over dark, rippling water, the faint, distant glow of the city shimmering in its reflection. The air was crisp and invigorating, hinting at the encroaching chill of night and making you wish you had remembered to bring a jacket.

You sank onto the edge of the dock, letting your feet dangle freely above the water, your fingers twisting together in quiet contemplation. Time slipped by in muted anticipation until, at last, the sound of footsteps echoed softly behind you. Then, as if conjured by the very night, a presence settled beside you.

Without a word, Sam pressed a cold bottle on your forehead that burned as it met your skin, making you almost jump out of your place before you took the flask of whiskey—and set another beside him. He then unfurled a thick, timeworn blanket, draping it over both of you with a fluid, almost reverent motion.

The warmth of the blanket combined with the closeness of his body seeped into you instantly, chasing away the chill of the night. For a long moment, you simply sat there, the dock creaking softly beneath your weight, the gentle lapping of water against old wood composing a quiet symphony for your shared solitude.

You sighed, rolling the bottle between your palms. “So..”

One simple word laden with the totality of everything left unsaid, a distillation of years of longing, regret and the raw, unspoken truth of your intertwined past.

You exhaled slowly, tightening your grip on the blanket as though holding it could tether you both to this moment. This was it—the precipice upon which you both now stood. There was no turning away, no hiding behind silence any longer. 

“So,” Sam repeated, his voice tinged with playful mischief as he copied your idle toying with the cold bottle in his hand, “that was… something, wasn’t it?” 

“Ugh, don’t say something cliché like that. But yeah, that was definitely something for the books, I guess.” You managed a shaky smile, your words emerging in a hesitant cadence. There was a lightness in your tone—a mirth that felt like a delicate mask over the swirling emotions that both terrified and enthralled you.

The Falcon grinned, arching an eyebrow. “You know, if it weren’t for how noisy Sarah is, we might have savored it in peace.”

You chuckled softly, the sound both amused and rueful. “She practically narrated our every move. You know she loves her piece of drama.”

“Exactly,” he agreed in a playful tone yet laced with something deeper—a hint of regret, perhaps. “I think she made sure we were loud enough for at least the entire escape room to hear.”

You shook your head, still smiling despite the vulnerability threading through your laughter. “I guess sometimes a little noise is inevitable. I mean, if everything were hushed, we’d never have the chance to remember just how messy and magnificent it all was.”

Sam’s eyes softened as he took a slow sip from the bottle, the amber liquid catching the light. “Sounds like the perfect way to put it,” he murmured absent-mindedly. Your fingers moved on to fidget with the edge of the blanket draped around you, and Sam’s gaze frequently wandered to your flushed face, as if silently pleading for some unspoken reassurance.

“Ask me,” he suddenly requested, his voice both gentle and edged with a trace of desperation, as though he believed that the right question might finally untangle the knots of regret and longing that had haunted you both for so long. “Ask me the question you’ve been holding back.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, each beat echoing with years of missed chances and unspoken words. In a trembling rush of emotion, you blurted out, “What—uh, did you like it?” Your voice quavered, carrying the weight of the moment like a fragile plea.

Sam’s eyes shimmered with a mixture of relief and sorrow as he slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied, his tone soft yet resolute. “I mean—yes, but that’s not what I meant.” He paused, carefully choosing his words as if every syllable carried the gravity of the past. “Ask me the one you’ve wanted to ask for so long.”

A delicate tremor passed through you, and your breath caught in your throat. After a long, painful silence, you whispered, “Why didn’t you write me?” 

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the dock, as if the night itself awaited his answer. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and slowly extracted a tightly knotted bundle of papers. Unraveling the thread with careful fingers, he revealed a stack of letters, yellowed with time and crinkled at the edges.

“I did write you letters,” he softly admitted, his gaze fixed on the fragile pages as if they contained his very soul. “That’s what I wanted to tell you for so long. Three hundred and sixty-five of them… one for every day.” His voice trembled with both pride and regret. “But you have to understand—the Air Force policy was tight as fuck. I couldn’t send them, and once I realized that, I… I knew you’d resent me for not keeping in touch.”

He paused, running a hand over the neatly stacked pages. “This whole thing took a toll on me—physically, mentally. I was drowning in obligations and fear, and eventually, I stopped writing because I thought maybe it was the only way to spare you from more pain.” His eyes darkened as he continued, voice barely a murmur now. “And as for the paparazzi… I thought that by not speaking, by keeping my distance, I’d protect you. If I wasn’t seen with you, they’d assume there was no connection—no real relationship worth prying into.”

A single tear glinted in the corner of your eye as you absorbed his words, each one a quiet confession, a secret revealed in the darkness. The letters lay between you like relics of a lost time—a testament to love, duty, and the unbearable cost of silence.

Your fingers trembled as they hovered above the fragile stack of letters, each page heavy with the weight of stolen years and unspoken regrets. The unsent words pressed against your chest as though they carried every moment lost between you, every silent apology and longing unfulfilled. You swallowed hard, the night air thick with an unspoken tremor that danced at the edge of every exhale.

“Tell me about them,” you professed, your voice scarcely more than a whisper carried on the breeze.

The pilot exhaled sharply, his thumb absently caressing the frayed edges of one of the letters as if it were a relic of his former self. “You really want to know?” he asked, his tone tentative, laced with both caution and the burden of truth.

You nodded, your silence affirming that, despite your uncertainty, you needed to hear every word.

For a long moment, Sam’s eyes remained fixed on the ink-smudged pages, the ghostly script of his past gazing back at him in silent testimony. “One of the first letters was angry,” he began, a wry, self-deprecating chuckle trembling at the edge of his words. “Not angry at you. Never at you. I was furious at the situation. I remember that first night in my bunk, where all I could think was how I’d have to let you down. I thought I should’ve fought harder, found a way to make it work. So I wrote it all down and thought that I would probably be out soon enough to give you them in person.”

His fingers tightened around the bundle, as if the letters themselves could anchor him to a past he both cherished and loathed. “I started writing about the small, absurd things—like how the coffee on base was godawful, the jibes from the guys when I apparently mumbled your name in my sleep—which I did not, to make things clear. I even wrote about an old couple I saw on television one day and how it reminded me of when you joked that we’d be arguing over directions even when we were eighty.” His tone faltered, growing quieter, more solemn. “And then there were the letters where I just… missed you. God, I missed you so much.”

Sam’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his grip on the letters slackened, as though holding them was too painful. “And it got harder. Days turned into months, and I convinced myself that you’d moved on—that I had no right to cling onto us. But even then, I never stopped wanting you.”

He turned his gaze to you then, the glow of unsent confessions and quiet grief shining in his eyes. “And it shouldn’t matter anymore because it’s over. Or at least, that’s what I should believe. But it does. It always has.”

The wind whispered softly around you, stirring the fragile pages in his hand and carrying away echoes of moments lost to time. Your heart clenched, caught between the relief of knowing and the heartbreak of what might have been.

In one sudden, desperate motion, he reached for you. His fingers brushed your jaw lightly at first, then cradled your face with a tenderness that belied the cool night air. His thumbs, warm and steady, traced gentle arcs over your cheekbones—anchoring you both to this moment, to the years lost and the yearning that had bridged every mile of distance between you.

His eyes, dark and unwavering, burned into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. “Hear me out, please,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, as though the very thought of you slipping away again was unbearable. “I was a coward. I should’ve done better than that but I let fear, and everything else, win. I told myself I was protecting you, that I was doing what was best. But all I did was make it worse. I made you think I didn’t care when the truth is... I never stopped.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, but Sam did not wait for you to speak. His grip on your face tightened, firm enough to keep you tethered to him without causing pain.

“I love you.”

The words fell between you like fragile glass shards, the shatter of the barriers of years resonating with their fall. “Yeah, fuck this corny shit. I have loved you every single damn day since the moment I let you go. I know it’s selfish to say it now, after everything, but I just need you to know that I love you. And I’m so goddamn sorry that I ever made you doubt that.”

A shudder ran through you, and your hands clutched his wrists as if they were the only lifeline in your storm of emotions. Every syllable struck like a slow-burning flame, peeling back layers of anger, heartbreak, and longing until all that remained was the undeniable truth—him, you, and a love that refused to fade.

“Sam—” you began, but your voice cracked, the word lost to the tumult of your feelings.

It didn’t matter anyway, because before you could speak another word, he kissed you with the same fervor from earlier, as if he were a man finally allowed to feast upon the love that had sustained him in torturous silence. His lips met yours with a desperate ardour that sent shivers racing down your spine, his hands roaming to trace the soft curve of your neck and leading you to melt into the perfect fit of his embrace.

The world around you—the creaking dock, the ghostly remnants of past regrets—faded into insignificance. All that remained was the kiss, deepening with every heartbeat, as if he were trying to reclaim every lost day, every stolen hour of absence. And you, with equal fervor and need, returned his kiss. Your hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as if in that embrace you could mend the ruptures of time itself.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, your foreheads pressed together in the cool night air. “Please, tell me that wasn’t a mistake.”

Your fingers trailed slowly down his chest, grasping the fabric as if to hold onto the fragile promise of the moment. “No,” you whispered back, your voice tender and resolute. “This time it wasn’t.”

A slow grin spread across Sam’s face, and relief flooded his features like the first rays of the morning sun after a long, storm-ridden night. He swept you into his arms, lifting you clear off the ground to bring you closer, almost sitting on his lap. The world tilted delightfully as a rich, unburdened laughter bubbled from his chest in a way you hadn’t heard in a while, full of joy and the promise of new beginnings.

“You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind,” he crooned against your hair in a husky blend of disbelief and something infinitely tender, a softness that belied the wildness of the moment.

A breathy laugh escaped you as your hands instinctively clinging to his broad shoulders as if anchoring you both to the present. “You’re acting like I just solved every world crisis,” you teased, even as your heart pounded in its rhythmic cadence.

“Nah,” he replied, his thumb traced reverently along your jaw, as though memorizing every curve and line of your face. “Just mine.” 

A quiet ache formed in your chest at the way he looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real, as if he were etching every detail of you into memory in case the universe ever dared be cruel again.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and with a voice steadier than you felt, you whispered, “I love you too, Sam.”

For a heartbeat, his lips parted as if to utter more, but before the words could spill, a familiar voice shattered the reverie.

“Hey, lovebirds! Dinner’s ready!” Sarah called from the restaurant’s back porch, her tone playful as she leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and a knowing smirk that practically screamed, took you long enough.

Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Jesus, can I have one moment—just one?” he protested.

Laughing, you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the warm glow of the restaurant. “Come on, loverboy, before she comes out here and drags us inside herself.”

The golden light of the restaurant melted away the coolness of the night, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. As you walked back to the shack, a spark of mischief danced at the edges of your lips. You shot Sam a sidelong glance, the playful glimmer in your eyes challenging him.

“Wait a second…” you drawled, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head. “Did you—did you quote The Notebook in your big, dramatic profession of love?”

For a moment, his grip on your hand tightened, and he faltered, pigment further coloring his cheeks. “What?” he managed, his tone caught between indignation and bashful amusement.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, pressing a hand to your mouth as barely contained laughter bubbled forth. “You did! That ‘it wasn’t over’ thing—straight out of The Notebook!”

His arm looped around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a quiet, playful threat. His large palm briefly covered the back of your head as he guided you forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Say one more word about that, and I swear I will stuff you so full of oysters you won’t be able to utter a single syllable for a week.”

You snorted. “Really? That’s your big intimidation tactic?”

“Ever tried eating twenty oysters in one sitting?” he shot back, arching a brow and letting his lips twitch in a smirk. “I don’t think so. Now, go sit down and eat before I make it happen.”

Grinning, you leaned into his side, feeling the easy warmth of his arm as it draped around you. After all the lost time and shattered dreams, everything felt achingly, irrevocably right. Perhaps the years apart had only deepened the truth: the time you thought was lost might, in fact, still be yours to reclaim, as you were fated to be stuck together no matter what.

⠀

⠀

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dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

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[fellominaarcher]

plsplsplspls make another idol karina x g!p idol 🥹🧎🏻‍♀️

VIBEZ ── KARINA

» » note: I'm so sorry this took me a long time to do

» » fic type: smut oneshot

» » pairing: Karina x g!p + idol!femreader

» » what's in here: mutual pining, hotel rendezvous, unresolved tension, undercurrent emotions, sex (MDNI), smut with a plot, cock and cunt mentioned, oral sex, spanking and unprotected sex.

prev | æspa m.list | main m.list | navigation

01:15 AM. Post-award show. Osaka.

It had been three months since that night in Room 1104. Since the kisses. The touches. The sex. The heat. The ache.

Since Jimin laid in Y/N’s arms, half-naked and glowing, lips swollen from pleasure, then walked away like nothing happened.

They never spoke again. No texts. No calls. Just silence. Hell, they weren't really that acquainted before or after that blind one night stand.

Maybe that’s how these things were meant to end, quietly. Cleanly.

Not because it was awkward, not because it was bad—hell no. That night had replayed in Y/N’s head far more often than she was proud of. Sometimes she remembered it every day. Sometimes she forgot for weeks, only for Jimin’s face to flash in her mind during the most random of moments.

But tonight, it felt like something was still… burning.

Y/N was heading back to her company van, exhausted from the awards show but still buzzing from the adrenaline. Her group, Celestial, had won one of the big ones, and even though she was smiling and waving, her thoughts were elsewhere.

Maybe it was the city lights. Maybe it was the backless dress Jimin wore during her stage. Or maybe it was just that tonight felt like the right night.

And tonight?

Tonight, Y/N didn’t want to think anymore. She just wanted to see her.

Fuck it.

So a few hours earlier, somewhere between the post-show adrenaline crash and the van ride back to the hotel, Y/N had sent Jimin a message:

I’m in Osaka tonight too. Wanna hang out or do we keep pretending we don’t know each other?

It was bold. Risky. Very not-her. She expected silence.

But Jimin replied.

I'm too tired to move anywhere.

It's really late too...

Meet me at my hotel, I've got popcorns ;((

A grin had pulled at Y/N’s lips the second she read it. She quickly typed back a short okay, asked for the room number, and added a flower emoji at the end just because she could. Just because it felt right.

──────────────────────

It didn’t even take 15 minutes for Y/N to arrive at the hotel aespa was staying at for the night. She moved through the empty lobby with ease, hoodie up, mask on, eyes focused. Her heart, however, was doing the absolute most.

It wasn’t nerves.

It was… that feeling. The feeling you get when you're about to see someone you shouldn't be this excited about. Someone who shouldn’t make you feel like you’re seventeen and about to kiss your crush behind a gym.

Room 907.

Y/N stood at the door, her hand hovering near it, then quickly gave Jimin a phone call to let her know she was here.

Click. The door unlocked from the inside. The door swung open gently, and there she was.

Yoo Jimin. Standing barefoot in black sweatshorts and a baby tee that hugged her waist just enough to tempt. Her dark hair was messily tied into a low ponytail, and the glow from the hallway light behind her lit the edges of her face like a dream.

When she saw Y/N’s face, that easy, pretty smile bloomed across her lips—unfiltered, soft, real.

“You’re here,” she said, like it meant something. Maybe it did.

Y/N's hands were shoved in her hoodie pockets, but her smile was anything but shy. “Told you I would be.”

They stood there for a second. Just… staring.

Jimin didn’t know why, but she kept staring. Kept taking in the sight of Y/N standing there like a damn scene. Something inside her had perked up. Lit up. She'd spent all evening dancing under bright lights, but this—this was what made her feel warm.

“Come in,” Jimin said quietly, stepping aside.

Y/N did, slipping off her sneakers at the entrance and pulling her hoodie over her head, revealing a plain white tee and the slight curve of her forearms—veins visible, skin warm.

Jimin watched her move and hated how easily her thoughts spiraled. How is she hotter than I remembered?

Y/N’s eyes scanned her face. “You look tired.”

“You look dangerous,” Jimin replied without missing a beat.

Y/N chuckled, cheeks warming. “You’re the one who invited me to your room, remember?” which earned a small nod from Jimin.

Jimin finally stepped aside, and Y/N walked in, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room was cozy—warm yellow lighting, hotel-grade minimalism, a neatly folded bed, and yes... a half-eaten bag of popcorn on the table.

“You actually do have popcorn,” Y/N laughed, dropping onto the small couch beside the window.

“Told you,” Jimin said, walking to the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. She tossed one to Y/N before plopping down beside her on the couch.

For a few moments, they just sat—quiet, peaceful, watching the city skyline from the glass.

“I thought about texting you,” Jimin finally said.

Y/N looked at her. “Yeah?” she raised a brow, boldly looking into Jimin's eyes.

Jimin's eyes gazed back into Y/N's eyes. “Almost did. So many times. Just didn’t know if you’d want to talk. Or if it’d be weird.” the aespa leader answered, studying Y/N's features.

Y/N opened her bottle, took a slow sip. “It is weird. But I still wanted to see you.”

Jimin smiled faintly. “Same.”

Silence again. This time a little heavier. A little slower. Then Jimin tilted her head, resting it against Y/N’s shoulder. “You smell the same.”

Y/N’s heart jumped in her chest. “That a good thing?” she let out a chuckle, an almost awkward one.

“Mmhmm. It made me remember... a lot.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but she slowly let her arm wrap around Jimin’s waist, pulling her a little closer.

Familiar. Warm. Like they’d done this before. Because they had. And it didn’t feel wrong. Not at all.

Y/N's heart was pounding.

She could feel the weight of Jimin's head on her shoulder, feel the soft rise and fall of her breath, the way her skin warmed every inch it touched. It was soft. Intimate. Infuriating.

This woman is crazy, Y/N thought to herself. It’s like she’s got everything I want without even trying.

Everything about Jimin... her perfume, her breath, the soft weight of her palm resting absentmindedly near Y/N’s thigh. It was enough to make Y/N feel like she was starving. Starving for closeness, for more of her. Like some kind of touch-deprived masochist who finally got the first taste of what she wanted.

And fuck, she remembered. She remembered everything about that night.

The way Jimin felt under her fingers. The way she moaned when Y/N hit just the right angle. How her legs wrapped tight around Y/N’s waist like she never wanted to let go.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the grin that threatened to spill. She was gonna lose it at this rate. Her right leg was bouncing. Heart racing. Palms warm.

She didn’t remember feeling this restless last time. No, this was new. And it wasn’t just lust.

It was... more.

Dangerous. Addictive. Something you fall into headfirst and hope you survive on the way out.

“I remember a lot too,” Y/N said, eyes fixed on the wall, voice low and rough like she was holding something back. “Your face. Your voice. Everything.”

Jimin shifted against her, lifting her head and turning slightly on the couch. She tucked one leg under the other, her baby tee rising just a bit with the movement and Y/N caught the glimpse of her bare thigh and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Jimin was staring at her now. Fully. Soft brown eyes wide and curious, that slight smirk starting to form.

“Oh?” she said, one brow lifting. “You like that?”

That tone. That Jimin tone—teasing, flirtatious, a little too confident. The one that dug under your skin and made you feel like you were playing a losing game you didn’t want to win.

Y/N shrugged, though it took all her control not to let her own smirk grow wider. She leaned further back into the couch, sinking like the cushions could protect her.

“I do,” she said casually, “...and I thought you said there were popcorns here, Jimin? What kind of broke hangout is this?”

Jimin snorted. “Oh, now you want the popcorn?” She pushed herself off the couch with a groan, exaggerating her movements as if she were sooo put-upon.

Y/N tilted her head to watch her walk away—slow, legs on full display, that sweat shorts just barely covering the curve of her ass. The Celestial member ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek.

“Don’t forget the seasoning,” Y/N added, voice lazy. “I only hang out with girls who know how to flavor things.”

Jimin glanced over her shoulder, her smile sharp like a blade hidden behind lipstick. “You’re lucky I’m not kicking you out.”

“Trust me,” Y/N muttered under her breath, “I’m very lucky.”

Jimin grabbed the bag of popcorn off the table, then walked back over—still holding eye contact like she knew she had Y/N hooked and wasn’t letting her go. She dropped the bag between them on the couch.

“Here,” she said, “snack. Maybe that’ll shut you up.”

Y/N reached over, plucked a single piece out, then popped it into her mouth. “I don’t usually eat with girls I’ve already seen naked. But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Jimin looked at her, deadpan. Then slowly smiled.

They both leaned back against the couch again, this time shoulders almost pressing, thighs were close to touching. The tension between them was no longer simmering—it was crackling. Every breath felt intentional. Every glance lasted a second too long.

And then, Jimin turned her head. Eyes locked on Y/N’s mouth. “Y/N.” Jimin called out.

The Celestial idol’s gaze flicked up. “Yeah?”

“Nothing,” Jimin responded with a small smile on her lips, shaking her head and her voice was almost an inaudible whisper, her eyes never leaving Y/N's face.

Y/N was no longer chewing on the popcorn and she nodded her head slowly, she probably was mentally undressing Yoo Jimin and the amount of eye contact was making her melt into her spot.

Jimin held the bag out to her, eyes still on Y/N as she plucked a single piece and tossed it into her mouth. “You went all the way up here just for this?”

“I went up here because you said you missed me.”

“I said I had popcorn.”

“Same thing.”

Jimin snorted softly, chewing, eyes glinting. “What else did I say?”

Y/N plucked her own piece from the bag. “Something about not being able to move because your legs were tired.”

“Mhm.” Jimin stepped just a little closer. “Still tired, actually.”

“Should I carry you back to the bed?” Y/N asked, voice a little lower now.

“I don’t trust you with heavy lifting.”

“I think I handled you just fine last time.”

Jimin leaned in—closer, slower, eyes never leaving hers. Her hand found its way to Y/N’s thigh, palm light but intentional.

And then, like she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried...

She kissed her. Warm. Soft. Familiar. But this time, there was something different. Something yearning.

Like she had spent the last three months pretending she didn’t miss this, but she did. God, she did.

Y/N kissed her back instantly, hand rising to cup the back of Jimin’s neck, the popcorn bag falling forgotten to the floor as their mouths moved together—slow, deep, teasing.

Tongues brushed. Breaths tangled.

And somewhere between the second and third kiss, Jimin shifted her body and climbed onto Y/N’s lap, straddling her, plain white tee riding up with the movement.

“I was thinking about you,” she breathed out against her lips, hips slowly rolling once against Y/N’s lap, “way too much for someone I was supposed to forget.”

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes dark now. “I'd love to make you remember, Yoo Jimin.”

Jimin smiled, hands fisting the collar of Y/N’s t-shirt, forehead pressing against hers. “Then remind me again,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded.

The aespa member closed her eyes, leaning in once more to press her lips against Y/N’s—this time slower, deeper. There was a smile on her lips while she kissed, like she couldn’t believe how good this felt.

Y/N pulled her closer, hand sliding around Jimin’s waist, holding her tight like she never wanted to let her go. And maybe she didn’t.

Their tongues met again, a hot, lazy slide, and Jimin moaned quietly into the kiss. It was soft, but it meant something, the kind of noise you make when you’ve missed someone without realizing it.

Her lips were plush, warm, wet. The kind of kiss that starts sweet but turns greedy—because the moment their tongues touched, Jimin tilted her head and deepened it. Slowly. Sensually. Like she wanted to drown in it.

Y/N’s hands slid down to grip Jimin’s waist, holding her tightly, possessively. She wasn’t letting this woman go... not now, not tonight. Jimin was hers tonight.

Maybe longer.

If the universe allowed.

But it was too good. Too much. The tension in Y/N’s stomach was unbearable, like it was going to snap. She pulled away for a breath, trying to regain a sliver of control, and pushed lightly—intent on flipping Jimin beneath her.

But the aespa leader knew better.

Jimin immediately cupped Y/N’s face, drawing her back in, their lips brushing, hot breath shared.

“Why don’t you behave,” Jimin whispered, her voice so low and seductive it made Y/N’s core pulse. “Then you’ll have me all night long. I’ll let you ruin me.”

She gently bit Y/N’s bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth with a teasing whimper then slowly licked the sting away, lips dragging, almost lazily tracing the shape of Y/N’s mouth.

It was infuriatingly hot.

Y/N’s hands were already trembling, fighting to keep still while their hips naturally started grinding together, desperation bleeding through every roll. It was slow and heavy, clothed for now, but the friction was maddening.

Moans began to escape. Low. Breathless. Needy.

The room felt hotter by the second. The air dense, clouded in lust. Someone had to move or they’d combust.

And it was Jimin who started undressing first.

She reached for the hem of her baby tee, pulling it up in one swift, almost angry motion, tossing it somewhere across the couch. Y/N immediately followed by grabbing the edges of her own white tee, pulling it off as well before reaching for Jimin again.

Their lips crashed together.

Y/N kissed her hard this time, all tongue and open-mouth groaning. Her hands roamed Jimin’s bare back, dragging fingernails lightly down her skin until she reached the clasp of her bra.

It came undone easily. Too easily. Like her body had been waiting for this.

Y/N peeled it off slowly, watching. Eyes glued to Jimin’s chest, mouth parting slightly when her full breasts spilled free.

Y/N stared for a moment too long, her breath caught in her throat. “Fuck,” she murmured. “You’re not real.”

“Then touch me before I disappear,” Jimin whispered, flushed, while Y/N letting the bra drop somewhere to the floor.

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice.

She pushed Jimin gently onto the couch, until the idol was laid out—her long hair splayed over the cushion, eyes wide, mouth already open like she was about to moan.

The Celestial member leaned in and kissed Jimin's neck, warm and wet, trailing her lips slowly down to Jimin’s collarbone, where she bit lightly. Then lower. Her tongue slid between the valley of her breasts, her breath hot against skin.

Y/N crouched in between of Jimin's legs and then she took one nipple into her mouth, lips wrapping around the soft peak.

Jimin gasped, tilting her head back as Y/N sucked slowly, tongue swirling. Her hand came up to cradle the other breast, thumb brushing lazily over the other nipple. She moaned, body arching toward the contact, fingers curling into Y/N’s hair.

“F-fuck, baby...” she breathed.

Y/N smiled against her skin, then kissed lower. Down Jimin’s ribs. Her stomach. Each kiss soft but sinful, like a promise. When she reached Jimin’s hips, she tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

“Lift,” Y/N said.

Jimin obeyed without a word.

Y/N pulled her shorts and panties down in one motion, dragging the cloth down Jimin’s legs until she was completely bare and flushed, breathless, and already so wet she was glistening.

Y/N spread her thighs gently with both hands, kissed the inside of one, then the other, before licking a slow stripe up the center of her pussy.

Jimin whimpered. Loud. Her hands clutched the back of the couch, head falling back, chest rising and falling like a heartbeat.

Y/N licked again, slower this time. Letting her tongue linger on Jimin’s clit before sucking gently, then pulling back to kiss her inner thighs once more. Whatever to please that needy, wet cunt of hers.

And then Jimin suddenly tugged at Y/N’s hoodie, breathless and wide-eyed. “Take it off,” she panted. “Let me see you, all of you.”

Y/N stood between Jimin’s legs, towering over her slightly, and pulled her pants and boxers, letting them fall in one motion. And there it was—her cock, already hard and leaking, thick veins running along the shaft, tip flushed and pink. The air in the room shifted.

Jimin’s pupils dilated. Her legs fell wider open. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

Y/N flashed a small smile, stroking herself once, slow and teasing. “Still want me to behave?”

Jimin’s eyes glazed over. She reached to wrap her hand around it, thumb smearing precum across the head, and Y/N let out a groan, bucking slightly into her touch.

“Get on top of me. Now.” Jimin ordered.

Y/N kneeled onto the couch again, fitting herself between Jimin’s thighs, her tip brushing through Jimin’s wetness and making them both shudder. She leaned in to kiss her again, slow and deep.

Jimin wrapped her arms around her neck and whispered, “I want you inside me.”

Y/N held her gaze and then she moved between them, lined herself up, and slowly pushed in. Slow. Thick. Stretching. Jimin felt full and her lips parted around a silent moan, her fingers digging into Y/N’s back.

Y/N bottomed out, chest pressing against hers, forehead pressed together. “You’re so fucking tight, Jimin,” Y/N groaned. “So perfect.”

Jimin gasped, eyes shut tightly. “Fuck me.”

And she did.

Thrusting slowly at first, hips rolling in a deep, controlled rhythm. The couch creaked. Their skin slapped together softly with each push. Jimin’s legs wrapped around her waist and pulled her in deeper, nails clawing lightly down her back.

Y/N pressed her lips to Jimin’s ear, panting. “Tell me you missed this.” a light gasp escaped Y/N's mouth.

“I did,” Jimin moaned, voice shaking. “I missed you.” the pleasure was very much needed.

Y/N rocked into her harder, pace picking up. Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut, moaning loud now, no shame. One hand slid between them and rubbed her own clit in circles to match Y/N’s rhythm.

Y/N rocked into her harder, pace picking up. Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut, moaning loud now, no shame. One hand slid between them and rubbed her own clit in circles to match Y/N’s rhythm.

The sounds—wet, raw, needy—filled the room like a secret song.

Y/N kissed her again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues clashing. And then she whispered against her lips. “I’m not stopping until I fuck the memory of me into you.”

They had been in that position for a while—Jimin on her back, legs wrapped tightly around Y/N’s waist, nails raking across her toned back as Y/N drove her hips forward with firm, hungry thrusts.

The pace was relentless now. Each stroke made Jimin whimper, moan, bite her lower lip, and whisper Y/N’s name like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Fuck, right there,” she gasped, her voice cracking as Y/N filled her to the brim, each stroke rubbing against the exact spot inside her that made her arch her back. “Y/N, you feel so good…”

Y/N gritted her teeth, sweat glistening on her skin as she rocked her hips harder. Her mouth dropped open at the way Jimin clenched around her, soaking wet and warm, so unbelievably tight.

But she needed more. She wanted to see her. Break her a little. See what her face looked like when she was fucked from behind—no control, just raw sensation.

Y/N pulled out, breathing hard. Jimin whined at the sudden emptiness, blinking up at her with hazy, glassy eyes.

“Turn around,” Y/N rasped, voice low and wrecked.

Jimin obeyed with shaky limbs, face pressed into the couch cushions, her perfect ass arching up without hesitation. Her knees dug into the fabric, legs spread open, flushed, soaked.

Y/N exhaled a holy fuck under her breath at the sight. She knelt behind her, grabbed Jimin’s hips, and slid in again slowly, letting her cock press into the same dripping heat but from an entirely new angle.

The moment Y/N pushed all the way in, Jimin let out the sexiest moan she had ever made that night, it was raw, sharp, head buried into the cushion as her back arched deeper.

“Y-Yes, yes, yes—fuck, Y/N,” she gasped, voice muffled and so needy.

Y/N started slow. Rolling her hips, grinding into her, letting the head of her cock kiss that perfect, dangerous spot over and over again.

“God, baby,” she groaned, fingers digging into Jimin’s ass, “You’re tighter like this. You’re fucking squeezing me...”

Jimin’s knees buckled slightly. She could barely hold herself up, mouth open against the cushion.

“Don’t stop. Fuck me fuck me like that... just like that...”

A sharp spank landed on Jimin’s ass and she yelped, face burying into the pillow as another moan slipped out.

“Fuck—do it again…”

Y/N slapped her again, her palm leaving a faint red mark that made her cock twitch inside Jimin.

She was close. Too close. Her hips stuttered, a groan tearing out of her chest. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum... Jimin,"

With barely a second left, Y/N pulled out, stroking herself with rough, quick pumps, and her climax hit—spilling hot, thick cum right at Jimin’s entrance, painting the lips of her pussy, just barely missing going inside.

Jimin collapsed against the couch, trembling, skin flushed and her cunt throbbing with emptiness.

Y/N leaned in, her breath heavy, sweat dripping down her back and kissed Jimin on the shoulder before sinking to her knees behind her. She spread her open again with both hands and dove in with her tongue, licking up her own cum off Jimin’s thighs and kissing her way up to that soaked, aching cunt.

The moment Y/N’s tongue swiped over her clit, Jimin sobbed out loud. “FUCK, yesyesyes, don’t stop... please,” her eyes shut tightly and her fists balled, feeling absolute bliss.

Y/N sucked, circled, flicked, her tongue moving in rhythm, two fingers slipping inside, curling into the soaked heat as Jimin shook and cried out, body trembling from overstimulation.

“Jimin…” Y/N moaned into her, licking harder, rougher.

“Oh god, I’m—fuck!”

Jimin came with her face buried in the pillow, moaning Y/N’s name like a mantra, her thighs were lightly shaking, body arching off the couch as her orgasm crashed through her like lightning.

Y/N sat up slowly, face shining with wetness and pride, and pulled Jimin into her arms with both of them sweaty, shaky, but so damn high off each other’s bodies.

“You’re insane,” Jimin whispered, voice hoarse.

“And you’re too fucking good,” Y/N murmured, brushing her lips over her temple.

The room was quiet again except for their breathing. Their bodies, tangled on the couch. Clothes forgotten on the floor. They didn’t need to say much more.

Because now, it wasn’t just sex, maybe. It was something deeper, maybe. And they both knew... This wasn’t the last time.

──────────────────────

—The next morning

“Why are we even going to Jimin’s room again?” Minjeong groaned as she rubbed one eye, her hoodie barely covering the tangled mess of her bleached hair.

Aeri yawned dramatically. “Because someone... Jimin was supposed to order breakfast for the team, and we haven't heard from her since last night. I’m starving.”

“Girl, you’re always starving.” Yizhuo deadpanned, clutching her iced coffee cup like her life depended on it. “We could’ve just sent a text.”

“We did,” Aeri said, jabbing the elevator button, “but your favorite unnie’s been ghosting us since 1AM. Probably passed out.”

“Oh please,” Minjeong rolled her eyes as the elevator dinged open. “Or passed out on a TV series.”

That earned a round of tired giggles as they shuffled out onto the hallway floor, sock-slippered and makeup-free, all three dressed like off-duty girlies who were barely surviving post-schedule exhaustion.

They turned the corner toward Jimin’s room, still mid-laugh and froze.

Standing at the door of Room 907, leaning casually against the doorframe like it was her own personal balcony, Yoo Jimin was in sweats and a loose shirt…

Smiling.

Smiling in that I-had-a-fucking-amazing-night kind of way, her voice soft as she murmured something to the person in front of her.

And that person? Y/N from Celestial.

Hair damp from a fresh shower. Wearing yesterday’s hoodie. Looking way too good for someone who definitely didn’t get eight hours of sleep.

“Oh my God.” Yizhuo blinked.

Aeri stopped dead in her tracks, her hand instinctively rising to her mouth in slow-mo. “No way.”

Minjeong’s jaw dropped open just slightly.

Y/N turned at that exact moment, eyes meeting the three stunned aespa girls who stood in a perfect, horrified triangle.

“Morning, girls,” Y/N said coolly, voice smooth, giving a small respectful bow.

She smiled just a bit like she knew then walked past them casually, phone in hand, scent lingering like scandal itself.

No words. No explanations.

As the three girls slowly turned back toward their leader—Jimin, who was still leaning against the door, lips curved, arms crossed. “Oh,” she said, tone light. “You’re all up early.”

“Are we not gonna talk about the fact you literally escorted her out like you just tucked her in last night?” Aeri’s voice cracked.

Jimin just shrugged with a lazy smile, reaching for the door handle like she had all the time in the world. “We had popcorn,” she said simply, refusing to elaborate further.

“What—”

“Wait here, I'll go get my bag,” Then? She closed the door right in their stunned little faces.

“…Popcorn?!” Minjeong wheezed.

“THAT’S NOT EVEN—” Yizhuo’s voice rose.

“Holy shit.” Aeri whispered. “She got laid.”

──────────────────────

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[shotofesspresso]

so american

summary: In which a singer known for her sad songs surprises everyone with a romantic song, and fans can’t help but try to figure out who it’s about

Lando Norris x Singer!reader

fc: Olivia Rodrigo

liked by oscarpiastri and others

yourusername I am so excited to announce my second album GUTS. GUTS is a collection of my saddest thoughts written into even sadder songs! I can’t wait for you guys to listen.

xoxo, your resident sad girl 💜

user1 I am so excited

user2 this better win a grammy

user3 why is so much of the F1 grid in her likes

user4 well they have good taste

user5 I love how all her songs are so sad

user6 It’s her brand atp

user7 it would be more surprising if she wrote a happy love song

liked by alex_albon and others

yourusername GUTS out NOW!!! Thank you guys for all the support. The bad idea right mv out tonight!! PS: get your tissues before you listen

Xoxo 💜

user1 yeah I cried listening to pretty isn’t pretty and what about it

user2 I LOVE YOU

chappelroan 💜 liked by author

user3 I know Alex introduced Y/N’s music to the grid

lilymhe on repeat liked by author

user4 I love their friendship

user5 tour when?

user6 not a single happy song on this album and I am living for it

liked by alex_albon and others

yourusername Gracias Mexico! BEST FOOD EVER!

user1 ok you ate (literally) liked by author

user2 doing everything but going on tour

alex_albon fatty

yourusername I’m telling @/lilymhe that you’re bullying me in my own comment section

lilymhe get out of her comment section @/alex_albon

lilymhe so beautiful liked by author

user3 Alex’s comment is taking me out

user4 GO ON TOUR PLEASE!!!

liked by carlossainz55 and others

lando Mexico City. Best food ever

user1 You’re so fine

user2 what is that last picture

alex_albon big back

user3 do you get deja vu

user4 what?

user3 Y/N posted a Mexico post and her caption and photos were very similar

user5 girl…..

user6 nurse she’s out again

user7 wow so crazy 2 people went to Mexico and ate food there 😑

liked by lando and others

yourusername thank you for all the love on GUTS! I am so excited to announce the GUTS world tour

xoxo, your resident sad girl!

user1 FINALLY

user2 YAYAYAYA

user3 what is lando doing in the likes

user4 you guys have to stop making a big deal about stuff like this

chappellroan see you soon!

liked by lando and others

yourusername I LOVE LONDON

user1 gorgeous

user2 did you find a London boy?

lilymhe do you love London or a London boy? liked by author

yourusername woah this was unnecessary

user3 WAIT WHATTT

user4 is our resident sad girl not a sad girl anymore????

user5 is this part of a soft launch?

liked by lando and others

yourusername guts (spilled) out on friday!!!

user1 IM SO EXCITED

user2 more sad songs to cry to

lando 💜

user3 HELLO!!!!

user4 guys this has to mean something

user5 lando in the comments has to be a confirmation

user6 i’m lowkey here for lando and y/n

liked by lando and others

yourusername and he says I’m so american

user1 HELLO SO AMERICAN???!!!

user2 our girl is in love

user3 “everybody’s falling in love and I’m falling behind”

user4 Lando in the likes again

user5 what if so american is about him?

liked by lando and others

yourusername and he laughs at all my jokes

user1 girl whose arm is that!!!

user2 no one can convince me that she’s dating lando

user3 oh she’s in love LOVE

lilymhe ily

yourusername ily more

lando 💜 liked by author

user4 sir what are you doing here

user5 HELLO!!???

user6 this is confirmation

liked by yourusername and others

lando red light, stop signs

user1 bro just snuck a soft launch in there

user2 the driver’s license lyric!!!

user3 that’s @yourusername for sure

yourusername 💜 liked by author

user4 the hearts on each others post is driving me insane

F1gossip Lando Norris and singer Y/N L/N spotted together. Will there be a new wag in the paddock?

user1 OH MY GOD

user2 this means we are getting more songs like so american

user3 called it

user4 yall need to just focus on the race and not the driver’s life

user5 please shut up

user6 how do they even know each other

user7 y/n and lily have been friends for years so that’s probably how they met

liked by yourusername and others

lando I do laugh at her jokes

yourusername I am so funny guys

lando yes you are babe

user1 your honor I love them

user2 AHHHHH

alex_albon everyone act shocked

carlossainz55 😱😒

maxverstappen1 😱😒

georgerussell63 😱😒

oscarpiastri 😱😒

maxfewtrell 😱😒

lando ok leave me alone

liked by lando and others

yourusername am i still the resident sad girl?

lando my american girl

yourusername so american!!!

alex_albon get this off my instagram

yourusername get out of my comment section

carlossainz55 I remember when he used to take pictures of me like that

yourusername booooo

lilymhe i love you guys liked by author

user1 him taking a picture of her OMG

user2 the 3rd picture is the picture that she took of him 😭

lando 💜

yourusername 💜

A/N: literally why did it take me more than a month to post. Guys if there is errors in this let’s just ignore them. I feel like this is lowkey boring but whatever. Short n Sweet update coming soon!!!! LOVE YA!

[allyeilishh]

Billie x interviewer!reader

Billie can’t keep her eyes off of her girlfriend as she interviews her on the red carpet

ᥫ᭡ DISTRACTION ── .✦ B.E.

pairing: Billie Eilish x Interviewer!Reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

synopsis: you’re supposed to be interviewing Billie on the red carpet, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention all that much.

w/c: 0.8k

The venue was buzzing with people, celebrities making their way down the red carpet for the Grammys. Each took a minute to stand and pose, the paparazzi flashing photos over and over, which made you surprised they hadn’t blinded anyone yet.

Each celebrity made their way down until they reached people like you. Reaching out microphones, trying to get their attention. Of course, you weren’t as pushy as the others around you. You knew you needed to earn their attention.

But then, there she was. Your beautiful girlfriend, standing on the red carpet like she owned it. Her black, oval-shaped glasses sat on her nose with a high bridge. Her flared pants, a white button-up under a black, V-lined jacket. And just to top it off, she had a chain on her belt and a sailor hat.

She looked stunning, of course she did. She could beat herself in a fashion competition if she truly tried. You stared at her as she posed, her eyes the usual seductive look as she looked between the cameras.

You couldn’t help the way you shifted on your feet, thighs pressing together under your red, sparkly dress. You let out a cough, trying to push down the way your heart began to race.

Billie finally began to walk your way, and you immediately smiled. As she began to walk past all the interviewers, you gently grabbed her hand. Her head whipped to the side, a stern expression on her face, thinking it was some random reporter trying to get a story. But when she saw your gentle smile, she immediately eased up, allowing herself to be pulled closer to you.

“Hey,” you said softly, your microphone close to your mouth, your cameraman already having the camera pointed in between you two, so he could have a good shot of both of you.

“Hey baby,” she said with a soft chuckle, keeping the soft grip on your hand, as if afraid to let go.

“I hope you know I do have to ask some questions, I didn’t pull you here just to flirt.” You said in a teasing tone, letting out a giggle as you skimmed over some questions you had in your head.

“I know, but at least it’s not with some rando who’s trying to just get some gossip on us,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. You couldn’t help but chuckle, moving the microphone so it was placed between the two of you, catching both of your voices.

“Okay, so, I wanted to ask you about your night so far. We all know it’s a big night for you, nominated for seven entire Grammys—I mean, I’m pretty excited for you, to say the least, and you must be excited as well.”

Billie nodded along, biting her bottom lip as she kept her eyes on your face. And there were those eyes. Those eyes that sucked you in like a vacuum. But you refused to let yourself get lost, waiting for Billie’s answer.

But it seemed like Billie got stuck more than you did. Her eyes were locked into yours, as if she was expecting something more. But she quickly gained her control back, trying to brush off the small incident nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I mean, of course I am. I’m really proud of this album and how it came out. All the nominees alongside me are just as good, and I wish them good luck,” Billie said, her voice just a bit off-tune. Her eyes were still locked into yours.

You nodded, knowing you couldn’t have much time together. The Grammys weren’t going to wait up for one interview between two girlfriends. “Okay, well I hope you have a good time, and good luck, baby.”

Billie smiled, her teeth pearl white, squeezing your hand softly. She looked over at the camera for a moment, before making a bold move. She quickly covered the lens with her hand, before pulling you in close.

Her lips smashed against yours, a soft, yet yearning kiss lingering. You immediately melted into it, pulling the microphone as far away from you as possible.

But air was a virtue, and you two slowly pulled away, a private moment in such a crowded place. Because whose eyes would be on two girls, just wanting an interview?

Billie’s eyes looked into yours, so sultry and seductive, pulling you in just like they always did. But before you could get too lost, she brought her lips to your ear, speaking quietly, just enough for you to hear. “Put on that lacy set I got you last week once you get home. Wait for me.”

And just like that, she placed a soft kiss on your cheek, innocently smiling as she took her hand off the lens of the camera, before skipping away into the crowd of people. A friendly smile on her face, waving to her friends that she passed by.

Acting all innocent, like she didn’t just ruin your panties. ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

a/n: had to cut it off bc I didn’t know if the anon wanted it to continue so I just faded to black 🙂‍↕️

[princesspeachesposts]

My analysis of the speech Micheal gave on the Wunmi’s last day on set.

First of all, this is a love letter. It is not just a speech. Micheal was deeply in his feelings. And I love when a man is in his feelings. ☺️

The clip starts with them sharing a laugh about their time with the intimacy coordinator. I’m sure they have bloopers. I wonder how much was them going with the flow and what parts the coordinator helped with.

Then he mentions that Smoke and Annie are a powerful couple ( like they would be if we got together, ha) , who are all about making sure their loved ones are safe. So basically he’s telling her, he had protective feelings for her from the start. He is choosing to blur the lines between the characters and the both of them.

Then he goes on to say he has seen her as a mum, wife and scene partner so basically saying I’ve seen all the sides of you and I love what I’ve seen. Especially mentions that she was a new mom.

Talks about the deep conversations they’ve had about their careers and acting being an escape. Then thanks her for escaping her family to spend time with him.

“Any one that knows you feels your heart because you lead with it”- He’s saying, I am used to ppl acting shady and being hard to read but you are always so open, loving and giving (his words)

“Your eyes are kind, your spirit is warm” - He’s saying, I feel good whenever I’m near you or you make me feel good. I’m attracted to your essence.

“Anytime anyone is in your presence they feel safe - I feel safe” - He’s saying, I know that you’ve got my back and I can be my real self with you. I don’t have to worry that you will hurt me or speak badly about me. We all know how ppl are always coming for Micheal.

“You pushed me out of my comfort zone so many times” said in a slightly frustrating tone. - Now is that physically (turning him on), artistically (making him dig deeper and perform better) or emotionally ( making him soften for her). Maybe in all of these ways.

“I can’t wait for you to share that gift with other ppl- so go”. He’s saying, I don’t want you to go but I’m supposed to be happy that you are moving on. I’m jealous of the people you will work with next. So just go. Also a way for him to psyche himself into feeling ok about not seeing her everyday.

“You are fucking everything” - He’s saying, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You have everything you think you lack.

“I want you to walk around believing I am this, i am that….. “- He’s saying, you need to let ppl see what you are capable of. Walk into projects with the confidence that you are everything and ppl will see that you are.

“I’m sad, I’m FUCKING sad that you are leaving” - He’s saying, I’m going to miss you so much.

Anytime he swears like that it’s for emphasis. He means that shit and wants her to know that.

She giggles in response which could be read as happiness or excitement at the thought that he would miss her.

“I love you, I’m so happy to have met you, so happy Ryan cast you and you are a part of my life.”

He probably getting flashback of the day he met her to that day. Saying she is a part of his life means you can’t get rid of me. You are now a part of my life whether you like it or not.

While he’s saying all of this, Wunmi keeps her hand near her mouth almost like she’s scared that she will burst into tears at any moment.

Then he speaks some words directly to her without the mic but from watching his movements, you can tell he’s speaking directly from his heart. I heard the word “ beautiful”. Sir, why not share the rest.

Then the long hug that continued even after the claps from crew dwindled then stopped. Neither trying to end it or releasing the other.

This letter came from deep thought, observation, listening and leaning into an emotional connection. It also feels like devastation that this connection you’ve depended upon might be lost forever and you hope you can still hold onto it.

Feeling confident enough to say all of this in public when he could have just told her in private is so powerful and affirming of not only their connection but her role in the movie.

She truly rocked his world and I think he did the same for her.

The end.

[martygraciesversion381]

BACK TO FRIENDS

lando norris x piastri!reader

warnings: angst, feelings, oscar being the best brother ever, lando acting like a bitch, suggestive talk, again i am deeply sorry

summary: you're Oscar Piastri's little sister and you and Lando always hated each other. So how did you end up in this weird situation with him? That's what you're asking yourself too

song: back to friends by sombr

a/n: I'm so sorry again. I can't really write long things I just got so much going on in my life right now and i'm still trying to improve my writing hope you guys understand

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!

requests[closed for now]

masterlist

series masterlist

The Abu Dhabi grand prix atmosphere felt like it was out of a fayritale. People were happy, cheering for their favourite drivers and this race, with the constructor battle between ferrari and mclaren it was even more exciting.

You felt numb though, standing in your hotel room. To say that Lando's words in Vegas had complitely destroyed you was an understatement. Oscar spent more than a week to try and get you out of your apartment, he didn't know what could happen during winter break.

You put on a shirt with your brother's number on its back, making sure that everyone, Lando included, knew that you were only there for Oscar.

The walk to the garage was the worst walk of your life since you knew that in a matter of time you'd be seeing Lando's face again, the one that you had been able to avoid but not anymore.

He spotted you when you arrived, a smile made its way on his face and he made his way over to you.

"Hey! How are you? Haven't seen you since Vegas everything good?"

Why was he acting like nothing happened? What the fuck was wrong with him? You put on a smile, only for the hundred of cameras watching you.

"I'm good"

"Cool, perfect...I'll see you later yeah?" he asked and you nodded even if you had no intention of seeing him again.

You walked over to Oscar who had been watching your interaction.

"What did he want?" he asked clearly in his protective older brother mood.

"Nothing...was acting weird like nothing happened."

"What an asshole...you deserve so much better sis"

______________________________________________________________

Lando won, he fucking won. Which meant that mclaren won the constructors! You weren't happy for him, you were happy for the team, or at least that's what you were telling yourself.

He was glowing when he lifted his trophy and even more when the team sprayed him and your brother with champagne. How could this cheerful and handsome guy have said such horrible things to you?

When Oscar spotted you, reality hit you all at once. You were there for him, he invited you, he was smiling at you. Not Lando but your brother, the one who in all of this mess was your rock, the only sure thing you had.

It was 1am, when you heard a knock on your hotel room door. You opened it to find a drunk Lando standing there.

"Gimme head" he said and walked past you into your room.

"What the heck?"

"I said gimme head...c'mon I won t'day and you're my good girl aren't you?"

"Land you're drunk and just so you remember you ended things. So go find a random bitch who will give you head because I won't do it" you said firmly.

"You girls're all the same...only care 'bout you needs never givin' head to winners"

"And you boys all act like immature children. Now get out of my room before I call someone to kick you out."

Lando stood up muttering something about "stupid girl who doesn't deserve love" and walked past you making his was back to his room. The door slammed shut and you slid to the floor.

God, what the fuck was wrong with that man?

tagglist:

@cinderellawithashoe @itzzgillianj27 @motorsportbarbie13 @gorgeusreputation16 @swiftlyconehead @g00d--vibes @linnygirl09 @itsleslie1998 @rd14 @safeplaceholland @f1fantasys @rendezvoushn @lilorose25 @softhyunieeee @powerlinevallies @imboredway2much @joannaln4 @mckalala @ln4girlie @charlesgirl16 @graceln4 @mimisweetz @lavande3 @wilmonyibo7 @ks001 @ayap4paya @jule239 @urmomsgirlfriend1

[rueclfer]

okay waitttt cause you said two ruequests per personnnn i kinda wanted to do one more cause that’s how we became moots. going back to our rue-ts if u will hehe (i love rue puns)

if ur comfy i would love the whole au that started our tumblerinaship; patient touya x forensic psychiatrist me!!! (very joker harley quinn esque but more silly and less toxiccc ofcc)

anywayyyy ilyyy leaving the choice up to you but i fear smau would prob not be doable in this context but whichever u see fit i know will be amazingggg

revisting some ideas we came up with when we first mooted up HEHEH <3 the silly exchange of notes... the nosyness... the tennnssssiiiioooonnnnnnnnnn RRAAHHH hi kenny ily

patient!touya // job fair

event m.list

touya blankly stares at you for another minute and you think you might lose your mind.

“you have another forty-five minutes here, touya. i suggest you make it productive,” you say through a sigh, trying to not mind the constant knee bouncing.

“get me out of these cuffs and i’ll make it worth your while.”

the smirk on touya’s face never leaves, and another sigh leaves your lips. your reactions are usually sharp and unwavering, but you couldn’t hold back the eye roll this time.

“we have goals to meet,” you remind, scribbling circles in your notepad, “my supervisor isn’t going to be happy with me if you keep dodging my questions.”

“and how is that my problem?” he folds a leg up against his chest, slightly cocking his head to the side to fake a sense of innocence.

you drop your notepad to your lap and slump back in your seat with a pout, “well, who are you going to start sending love notes to when i get fired? the new psychiatrist? am i that easy to replace, touya?”

his facade starts to crack the second the embarrassment makes itself visible on his cheeks.

“shut up.” he darts his gaze away, “i told you to not talk about those.”

“then talk to me!”

touya scoots his chair up to your desk and drops his cuffed hands onto the cold surface, leaning forward towards you. with any other inmate, you’d have a finger resting over the red button under your desk, but with touya, you matched his movements and leaned in.

“answer my question first,” he says through a smirk.

your lips press into a tight line and you’re back to your staring contest.

“over ice- but not iced,” you begin, “one pump of vanilla. milk depending on the day. earl grey cold foam on top. with a straw,”  you say in a flat tone.

“with a straw?” touya repeats, almost grinning now, “wouldn't have pegged you as a straw person.”

you shrug, “the more you know.”

touya releases a sigh of content before leaning back in his seat, dropping his hands to his lap.

there's a brief moment of silence as he replays your coffee order in his head- wrapping his mind around how you could enjoy a lukewarm drink with a straw.

“you're cute,” he finally says. 

“and you're nosy.”

“can’t help that you're so much more interesting than i am.”

you snort. you grew up in the typical nuclear family. average life. average student. went off to university. got your degree. and another degree. and another. and now you’re here- no notable stories, no exciting experiences, nothing.

“shut up.” you rest your cheek against the heel of your palm, “you’ve done a lot more with your life than i did.”

“yeah clearly,” he scoffs, lightly jingling the shackles arounds his wrists.

you two share a laugh, and for a moment you forget where you are and the notepad in your lap had been long forgotten about.

“i’m serious. my life is boring. work, eat, sleep, and repeat.”

“you want a piece of advice?” he leans in, “a way to spice up your life a bit?”

touya’s voice lowers when he speaks closely to you. he slides his wrist forward on your desk, gauging to see how close you’d let him get to you. his scarred fingertips barely grazes against your elbow before his eyes flicker back up to yours.

“sure. let’s hear it,” you match his volume, leaning in closer, careful to not flinch at the ghost of his touch against your skin.

his gaze lingers on yours for a second longer. a moment of silence passes and he wets his lips before his mouth opens.

“take more risks,” he whispers.

touya has no feeling left in his fingertips, but he swears he can almost feel the heat emanating off of you. he’s almost tempted to grab you, let his palm lay flush against your outer bicep and finally feel you.

“risks?”

“yeah. risks. i can teach you a thing or two about those.”

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Many Cases of Lost Side Dishes & General Doom instead of Vroom

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

July 2025 Week 1

Absolute king behavior.

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - Sorn is the worst sick whiny baby. I kind of love it. I also love the easy way Sorn just muscles his boy around. 

Reset (Mon iQIYI) ep 5 of 10 - Dim sum is one of the ways to get my heart too. Honestly? This show is riveting. The pacing is so good, I don’t mind that I’m feeling a little jerked around by the story. I’m enjoying it so much. Also... major sinking feeling because they’re together and we’re only halfway through. That is never a good sign. DOOM incoming!

Memoir of Rati (Fri Netflix or YT) ep 3 of 12 - I like the political machinations of this and it’s more evenly balanced with plot/romance than other shows of a similar ilk. I don't know why Rati decided to stay (except that we need it for the plot). But now this has definitely become a VERY “gay King and I”.

My Sweetheart Jom (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - I 'm experiencing the rather odd sensation of liking a Thai BL more and more as it goes on. It’s not always the case with me. In fact, it’s rarely the case. I'm still not sold on the chemistry of the leads. And I think that’s probably intentional because of the age gap. But I'm enjoying the show regardless.

Knock Out (Fri WeTV ) ep 8 of 12 - I'm sure it’s all very exciting but I miss the smooching already. And then it got sad. They did a very smart thing casting Guide in the role of the betrayer character. He’s a great actor, so incredibly sympathetic with such a sweet face. It was an excellent begging scene. Very well done.

Pit Babe 2 (Fri iQIYI) ep 10 of 13 - Of all the many relationships in this show I think Alan & Babe’s may be my favorite. Also, nice kiss from our tertiary couple (or whatever they are). That said, ep 10 and not enough KimKenta + they fucked with AlanJeff? I said I would accept this as a 2nd season only if they left Jeff and Alan alone!

I am seriously displeased. 

I still think the BTS stingers are the best thing about each episode. They always make me laugh. Funniest thing in BL right now.

I Promise I Will Come Back (Mon WeTV) ep 7 of 10 - Awww this was sad. So much heartbreak. 

The Next Prince (Sat iQIYI) ep 10 of 14 - monarchy + corruption + power abuse + a BL is a dangerous line I didn't expect this IP to tread. In other news, can't fault ZN for erotic chemistry but they remain the least interesting of the couples, and we didn't see the others hardly at all this ep. Production is messing this show up and I'm mad about it.

The Bangkok Boy (Sat Gaga) ep 11 of 12 - heh. Thai vs Korean style kissing. Funny. And... now we go very dark indeed. I still don’t think this is gonna end well, I never thought it was going to, and now I frankly don’t care that much. At this point? I’m numb to the violence which has made me numb to the romance too. (Not that romance ever made up much of the plot.)

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 11 of 12 - I’m glad we got quite a bit of the teachers this time around but mostly I’m finding this dull.

SunTiny (Tues iQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - How many episodes of this do I have to suffer through? 10? I’m not sure I can do it. I’m OK with the sides and of course I love seeing Earth at his bitch queen best. But the rest of this? Really hard going.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Ball Boy Tactics (Korea Thurs iQIYI) ep 5 of 8 - I like BOTH the main characters so much, but crikie does Joengwu speak to me. He is this slightly aggressive very active classic seme, while still managing to be a green flag. It’s a delicate balance that Korea very rarely handles with this much dexterity. I gotta say, in this instance, it’s coming down to the actor. He is excellent.

(runs to look him up)

Oh! Choi Jae Hyeok is from the stage! That makes a lot of sense actually. 

SOAP BOX TIME! 

Look, there is a basic difference between stage and screen actors, and it usually comes down to what they give back to their partners and thai priority. Stagecraft is about acting WITH other people first and then the audience. Film is about acting WITH the camera first and then the other actors. Some are better than others at making love to a camera (Nanon, for example, is particularly good at camera chemistry). But Choi Jae Hyeok is good at acting WITH other actors, and for me that reads as particularly charismatic. I hope that makes sense and you can spot the difference?

(Honestly, this has to be one of the reasons the kisses are so good for a KBL.)

Revenged Love (China Mon Gaga) ep 7-8 of 24 - More mstrb in my BL? Both sides? The trend continues. Chi Cheng’s attitude is “love my snake = love me.” I guess I'm going down with this ship because I can't stop watching this. In fact, I just did a rewatch of all 8, for... nefarious reasons, and this show is SO GOOD. Am I scared? Very. (I'm also going nefarious AS I WATCH now.) But you only live once. (Unless you're the lead in a het Cdrama.)

Sweetheart Service (Korea Fri YT) ep 9 of 12 - A sad episode. We don’t know what happened. I’m very worried about everybody.

10 Things I Want to do Before I Turn 40 AKA 40 Made ni Shitai 10 no Koto (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - As suspected, this is pretty much Old Fashion Cupcake 2.0. I’m delighted. OFC had many of my favorite tropes, happy to see them play out with slightly different characters in a slightly different setting. I would like more kissing this time around though, please.

I know not to have any expectations of Japan, but I still dream.

Stay By My Side After the Rain AKA Ameagari no Bokura ni Tsuite (Japan Weds Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - Japan is back doing their favorite, a reunion romance. This one is between a jaded gay office worker who gave up on love and his sunshine crush from high school. I can tell already that I love these boys. We have tiny pining idiots incoming. It’s gonna hurt so great. Episode one and I already started making whimpering suffering noises.

Depth of Field AKA Hishakai Shindo (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - I know this pairing is a photographer and a singer, but it sure is fun watching these two dance around each other. Also yay more kisses! And a confession. 

The Promise of The Soul (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 3 of 12 - I'm sure these actors are very good and the plot is fun if you like this kind of story, but... if this were anything but BL + Taiwan I would not be watching this. It’s not working for me.

It's airing but......

I Became the Lead in a BL Drama 2 AKA Zoku BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita (Japan Gaga) 6 eps - While I am intrigued by the manager side couple, I can't be arsed to add this to the weekly rotation. I may binge once it's done.

The Ex-Morning (Thailand YT) 10 eps - dropped half way through ep 3. I was just angry at it, at GMMTV, at the script, at the characters. That's not healthy for any of us. If rumors are to be believed, I'm feeling great about this life choice.

Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) 8 eps - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked. I won't watch this.

Mission to the Moon (YT) ?? eps- Watching but I can't keep track. Too short, too many, too YT. I will report at end.

In case you missed it:

What's going on with (and may happen to) Revenged Love.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming in July

7/12 Desire the series (China Sat Gaga) 16 eps - Trailer China continues its historic run on the international BL market with the first true ABO m-preg piece. I don't love anything about this except that it looks mighty manipulative and fucked up, and very very pretty. Is this CBL's KinnPorsche? I guess we will find out. (Or not. The way things are with Revenged can they even air this?)

7/13 Doctor's Mine (Thai Sun YouTube) 10 eps - Trailer A second try at adapting Gown & Gear, and a second round of casting put LLS in the lead (you all know I'm a fan) but this is a pretty banal uni BL featuring doctors and engineers from the 2 Moons phase of Thai BL. It's gonna have to be spectacular to distinguish itself, but you know I am always up for another one. Like my favorite candy, can't stay away.

7/14 The Proper Way to Write Love AKA Renai Rubi no Tadashii Furikata (Japan Mon ????) 8 eps - Bully reunion romance about two men who are clumsy but sincere in their love life.

7/14 Dating Game (Thai Mon ????) 12 eps - Hill, a former bullied boy with a geeky personality, finds love and confidence from "Yuka" the female lead in a romance game. He grows into a handsome programmer and achieves his dream of getting a job at the company that developed "Yuka." There he meets Junji, the perfect, cold-hearted CEO from Japan.

7/22 Secret Lovers (previously Secret Relationship) (Taiwan Tues Gaga) 10 eps - Rivals to lovers with unhinged behavior that in the source material ranges from rock-paper-scissors contests to competitive handjobs (yeah, you read that right). Although the trailer makes it look a lot softer then this and it's pressing all my favorite buttons so this could be a big hit with me.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S FUN MOMENT

A Sketchy Job, currently airing short BL on YT is basically Sweetheart Service by China. And I am enjoying it. CBL tho, so who knows where it goes?

Fashion Crime Dept

Under no circumstances am I ever going to forgive this jacket. It's like barrel legged jeans just as a leopard jacket and I actually squeaked in horror.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs @waitmyturtles

[luvlyycy]

⋆｡° ✮ : you're crushing unhealthily on your new neighbor. he invites you over for some quality time and you're starting to think he wants you back. did you fall first or did he fall harder?

⋆｡° ✮ : welll wellll welllll, here is the next part of neighbor!phainon!! this one is longer than the last buuutt, i hope you all enjoy nonethless.

⋆｡° ✮ : cw ;; sex dreams, pet/play(?? phainon wants to be a dog), reader/phainon jerk it, mydei is here btw js to say hi ig, swearing, the sexual tension is crazy, reader is kinda insane but who wouldn't be with phainons sexy ass tbh

You’ve been texting Phainon back and forth for weeks, empty promises of get-togethers, only for them to be ruined by his or your work schedule. Except today, he means business.

It starts at 12 PM, and he calls you. You pick up.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he starts, “I want you to come over.”

You giggle into the phone, “Really? No work today? Or maybe you forgot an errand.”

He sighs heavily, “I’m being serious! I’m going to make us dinner, then we’re gonna watch a movie. Yeah?”

Your hopefulness makes you think he’s setting up a date, but you know it’s just a friendly get-together.

“I could invite my co-workers!”

Exactly.

“Ohhh, that’d be cool. Bunch of dudes for me to hang out with, I am so very excited.” you say, deadpanning as hard as you possibly can.

“Ooookayy, maybe not then? I work with really nice guys though, like.. Like Mydei!”

You wait for him to say any more names.

“Just that guy?”

“Yeah, just that guy.”

“That sucks, Phainon.”

He laughs for a second, “Okay, then can you come over? Just me and you?”

You lean against the counter, placing your hand on your cheek as you just let the thoughts roam around in your Phainon-filled skull. Would this be a date? Or just a friendly thing?

You want it to be a date.

“Okay, I will.”

“Awesome, I’ll walk you over to my house right now.”

“Right now?” you choke out, eyeing your own stay-at-home outfit, “I look awful, Phainon!”

“I do too! You think me in sweatpants and a dirty tank top is appealing? I don’t think so.”

Honestly, Phainon wearing anything would be appealing, especially to you.

“God, you are actually so insufferable,” you laugh out, stuffing your face into your hand. You hear him laugh on the other line.

“You like it.”

It takes about 2 minutes after hanging up, before you hear the knock on your door. You secretly think he’s changed his clothes in that short amount of time. You open the door to see Phainon with a grin on his stupidly handsome face.

The stains on his shirt seem to be grass or dirt from gardening, or maybe his job. You aren’t sure.

“Hello, madam.”

“Hi.” You manage out. It’s insane how flustered he gets you when all he does is speak.

He bows like a knight, before tilting his head upwards with a soft smile, “Shall we?”. It matches him. Knight in shining armor, his blue eyes peeking at you with hopefulness. It causes your heart to thump quicker, and your head to reel in too many thoughts at once.

“We shall.” you mock the voice of a princess to her humble knight, and he takes your hand. You both laugh along the way to his house before hearing him groan.

“What?”

“I gotta clean these weeds.”

You feel your body flush, the heat rushing over your back as you remember that stupid dream. His groans, his grunts. The way his biceps and forearms flexed. The way his veins bulged. It repeats in your head over and over, until he snaps you out of it.

“Eh, whatever. I’ll do it later.”

He drags you into his house, and the cold air of the conditioner hits you in the face. What hits you even more is the scent. This is your first time in his house, and it certainly all smells like him. The decoration screams him. Blues and yellows adorn the walls with paintings of abstract art.

Your face must be shocked as you look around because he laughs, “Does it look different than you thought?”

“Yes!” you manage out through a laugh, “You shouldn’t be living in this small neighborhood, your house is decorated like it's a mansion.”

He stays quiet. You don’t notice it. The way his eyes soften and the way his smile widens. You don’t notice that he stares at your face as you look around.

Your eyes catch his face, and he just laughs, “I guess so. I am glad I moved here, though.”

“Why?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, and before you know it, his face hardens at the thought of why he moved here.

Why did Phainon move here?

Why does he look so upset to remember why?

“It’s complicated.”

“You, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” you wrap your hand around his, and he looks at you, his face finally easing back into the Phainon you’re used to.

“It’s fine.” he starts, inhaling sharply before speaking again, “I used to be engaged. She was one of the nicest girls I've ever met.”

The ‘was’ shoots you as odd.

He sighs heavily, “Everything was fine, we were going to move in together.” he laughs, almost like it’s a funny thought that the plan was to move in with her, like it’s a joke to him.

“It was good, y’know? For a while, I thought we were endgame. Till she went and fucked it all up. You can probably guess what she did by now.”

You don’t want to say it, for fear of bringing back pain from his past.

“Cheat?” you choke out.

“Yeah. She cheated on me. Apparently, she was doing it for fucking years. Said she wasn’t happy with our relationship or whatever. I wish she would’ve left me, y’know? What’s the point of getting engaged if you’re gonna go off and fuck some other guy,” he laughs for a second, looking down. He looks at your intertwined hands, then at your face, “That’s why I moved here. For a fresh start. Something new.”

He stares for a second.

“Something better.”

You stare back, and you swear that just for a second, his face gets closer. His breathing slows as his hand squeezes yours.

“Phainon…” you whisper out, and he just nods, “Yeah?”

“You,” you sigh when his thumb grazes your wrist, his other hand dangerously close to grabbing your waist.

“I should get started on dinner? Is that what you were gonna say?”

You nod, feeling a bit too nervous to even attempt anything further than this. He rubs your knuckles and smiles, “Okay, you can sit over there, on the couch. I’ll bring you some water and then we’ll watch some shitty rom-com.”

You laugh as he lets go of your hand to enter the kitchen, winking at you as he does. You walk to the couch, grazing your hand over the grey material before sitting down— as you eye the large flat screen, the thoughts trail through your head at rapid speeds.

Phainon had a girlfriend? He was going to be married? Who would cheat on someone like Phainon? How stupid could anyone possibly be to do that to him? It annoys you. Drives you up a wall.

Before you can stop it, you think it— You would never do that to Phainon.

Just then, something cold hits your head. You turn quickly to see what it is, noticing Phainon leaning over the back of the couch with a bottle of water in hand.

“Lost in thought?”

You nod slowly before grabbing the water, eyes trailing away from the way his tank top loosely dips down, showing off his cleavage.

You're no better than a man you think.

“I didn’t wanna be rude and turn the TV on without permission,” you awkwardly laugh out, he merely hums. He walks over to the TV and grabs the remote from in front of it, tossing it to the spot beside you.

“There, princess.”

The nickname catches you off guard and you feel your stomach coil. You hate him for this, honestly, the way he can so easily wrap you around his finger. You feel like a bunny being played by a wolf.

“I’m making us some pasta.” he gives off his best jazz hands as he walks behind the couch again and stifles a laugh.

You let out a small giggle, using your thumb to press the ‘on’ button on the TV remote.

“Pasta sounds so good right now. I honestly haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“Girl.. It’s like, almost 2 PM. I’ll come over to your house and cook for you if I have to,” he laughs out, leaning against the couch— his hands gripping onto the back as his forearms flex like he’s totally not making your ovaries wanna explode. You skip through a few channels before settling on some reality show.

He makes small talk with you about what dogs you like or if you’re a cat person. He also asks if you like cereal, and if you do, he asks what kind. It’s sweet. The way he tries to get to know you more like he is truly interested in your thoughts. He wants to pick your mind apart, and you enjoy it.

He pats your head as he retreats back into the kitchen. It’s a routine of his, coming back to talk and then going back into the kitchen. It takes about an hour before he calls your name into the kitchen, and you follow suit.

Your eyes light up as he sets out plates, just two, of a really good-looking pasta. You’re honestly shocked a guy like him can cook well, and it must have shown on your face.

“I’m really good with my hands, see? Handyman or not!” he exclaims, the same jazz hands from earlier returning to emphasize just how good the food looks. You giggle as he opens the oven and tosses some cheesy garlic bread on your plate.

“You are so lucky I’m not wearing my ‘kiss the cook’ apron,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. You think it’s unlucky that he isn’t wearing it. Thoughts spreading your mind of him only in an apron, cooking the same pasta you see now.

His ass cheeks glistening with sweat.

You cringe.

“I am so ready to eat though!” you exclaim, clasping your hands together.

“You better be.” he says, smugly. He carries both of your plates to the living room so you could eat and watch a shitty movie. Like he said over the phone. After you both sit down, he yells a quick ‘wait!’ louder than you’ve ever heard him speak and runs into a room.

You sit there, shocked, before he comes back, literally dragging a table into the middle of the room. It’s glass, some golden flowers etched into the edges.

“There we go,” he says as he borderline snatches the plate from you and sets it on the table.

“Don’t want it burning your pretty lap.”

Oh, Phainon thinks your lap is pretty…

“Thank you.” you stutter out and he just smiles, now sitting beside you with the shitty rom-com on. The movie isn’t the best, and he points it out at times, saying things like, “What the hell is wrong with that guy?” or “That joke was so horrible, actually.”

You end up laughing more at him than at the movie. Unbeknownst to you, he thinks it’s cute.

After scarfing down the entire plate and seeing the movie's terrible ending, you both look at each other. The room is dark. The soft humming of his clunky air conditioner echoed in the back.

“I should go home now.”

“Do you have work tomorrow?” he asks, completely disregarding what you said.

“No, I’m off for tomorrow and the next day.”

“Cool,” he nods and turns his head away. It’s subtle, the way his neck flares up in pink and his ears are dusted with the same color, “My friend is throwing a backyard barbecue, and I–” he swallows thickly, “Was wondering if you’d like to tag along with me?”

You let it linger. You’re going to say yes anyway, but the thought of making Phainon nervous makes you the happiest you’ve been in a while.

“Of course.”

You can physically see his body relax after you speak, “That’s great, I thought you were gonna say no. Since you don’t like hanging out with guys and all that.”

You dismiss him with a hand wave, “I was exaggerating,” kind of, “It’s fine.” It’s only fine because it’s Phainon.

He sits up with a grin on his face, his hand extends out to yours. You grab hold of his hand, and he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll walk you home.”

A quick ‘ok’ leaves your lips as you stand, he takes you out of his front door, and over the tiny sidewalk that leads to your house. It only takes about a minute before you’re standing in front of your door.

“That was quick.” you say out loud, and he laughs, “Yeah.”

You turn to face him, and he gives your hand a squeeze. “So, when is the barbecue?”

“Ehhh, he said tomorrow, but if he bails, I’ll be the first to tell you.”

You giggle, “Does he bail often?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then, Phainon.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up and drive you there.”

Oh. Phainon’s going to drive you to a friend’s house? In his car? You’re going to be in Phainon’s car? As he backs out of his driveway?

“Oh, okay.” you stutter— again.

He grins and then he winks, “See ya later, princess.”

You find yourself back in a similar situation when you first met him, shuffling through your door and leaning against it once it’s closed. Your heart is thumping wildly against your chest, and you can feel it in your ears.

This crush is getting out of hand. It’s only been one month or so, and you can’t handle anything he does at all. From the name-calling to those stupid winks, and to those big… veiny arms…

You shout as you clasp your hands over your face. Romanticizing neighbors is oddly easy. You still taste his food against your lips, and you still feel his fingertips rubbing over your knuckles. It’s embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how you crawl into your bed. How your hand slinks between your legs and the only thing that you can think of is Phainon.

How strong he is. How handsome he is. How his jaw looks like it can cut glass. Your body shudders as you picture him on top of you. Flexing those arms you’ve seen so much. His lips trailing down your neck and against the top of your chest. Your brain is fuzzy, and your hand is tired.

You can’t tell if you’ve finished or not, or maybe you’re already on your third of the night.

Everything becomes so blurry when it’s Phainon. You let out a sharp moan as your back arches into your hand before curling in on itself. You whisper his name against your pillow like a desperate plea.

It takes a while before your lungs are able to comprehend that you’re able to breathe. Your head is all fuzzy. Simply white noise in your head, with the outline of Phainon only coming through.

Your eyes flutter shut.

You hear groaning. Grunts. Moans. It’s loud— muscular arms are wrapped around your neck as your body thrusts and jerks forward. It’s a moan of your name.

You open your eyes to see Phainon’s face, his usual laid-back expression replaced with pleasure.

“Please, please,” he whines, lips shuttering shut before opening with a gasp, “You’re fucking me so good…” he whimpers out.

It’s tight, you hiss. It’s a feeling you’ve certainly never felt before, pulling back to see what exactly is going on. Phainon’s hand is wrapped around his thick cock, jerking it up and down as your hand rests atop of his chest, fingers circling his perky nipples.

Each slap is your waist meeting his as you fuck him, your jaw dropping with each thrust.

“Phainon— you feel so fucking good.” you moan out, and he chokes out a broken moan.

“I’m so close– You’re g’nna make me cum— oh my god,” his whines are broken apart by moans as his muscles tense and his back arches. You watch as each thrust jiggles his thighs and his balls. Your cock drilling into him like it’s second nature.

One of his eyes squints as they roll back, his mouth gaping as he gasps, body twitching and spasming.

“I’m c— cumming!!”

Your eyes flutter open. Stupid dream.

Now the thought of Phainon picking you up seems a lot more awkward than when you thought about it yesterday.

You ignore the stupid heat between your legs, opting for the shower. You feel guilty for dreaming about him every night. Each night was worse than the last. He must be some sort of challenge for women, testing their self-control. You simply can’t handle it.

You let the shower drag out, hoping for it to wash away the sins of the dream and what you did last night.

It doesn’t.

You get dressed for the barbecue, not sure when it is. You opt for a casual look, comfty and breathable. It is summer after all. You do your hair, all the while contemplating what could possibly happen next this summer.

Ding!

It’s a text from Phainon. You pick up your phone to read it.

‘its still onnn!!! he didnt cancel!!!!!! come over 2 mines n ill drive u over there :)))’

‘is this mydei’s house?’ you respond.

‘yea but dont worry hes super nice’

You’re a bit nervous. It feels nerve-racking to meet friends of the guy you wanna bang, but hey, what could go wrong?

Everything apparently.

After you went to Phainon’s house, you stupidly tripped against his door and almost broke your nose. He says it’s just a scratch, but you don’t believe him. So the time you were previously going to spend, gushing over how sexy he is when he drives, was spent with you holding an ice pack to your nose. You did gush, just a little.

Soon enough, when you arrived at Mydei’s house. Your body must have had a plan to embarrass you even more today. Once you meet the male, you notice just how big he is. Red tattoos crawling up his arms and neck. The rest is covered by a black tank top that leaves just about nothing to the imagination.

You might be wondering, what embarrassed you at his house?

You fell. Again. This time with Phainon catching you, his hand right beneath your right boob. He’s flushed, his face coated with pink, and you’re flushed as well— feeling your entire body on fire.

Mydei doesn’t get the memo and, cautiously, guides you to the back deck. That’s where your soul drops. There are so many people that you don’t recognize, whom you’ve never even seen.

Phainon whispers in your ear, “It’s fine.” he rubs circles into your hip, “They won’t bother you.”

After falling twice, you’re free to gush about him now as much as you’d like. Despite the dream earlier this morning about you literally fucking him, feeling him whisper into your ear was doing wonders. He brings you over to a chair before coming back with a cup of juice and a burger for you.

“Here. For your troubles.”

You sigh, grabbing them, “You’re a lifesaver.” you mumble as you stuff your face with the burger. He chuckles, seeing your face light up after taking a bite, making his stomach turn just a bit.

He sits beside you all night. Swatting mosquitoes away and catching fireflies for you. It’s sweet. Adorable even. He talks to some of his friends, but mostly all of his attention is on you. At night, Mydei decides to do the cheesiest thing ever and let everyone use his fire pit.

He hands out the tools to make s’mores and then sits with a woman, whom you’ve heard, is named Castorice.

Phainon insists on making your s’mores for you, so you let him.

“You didn’t have to, you know..”

“Oh, after you face planted into my door, I didn’t have to?”

You cringe, swatting at his arm, “Don’t say that! It was so embarrassing.”

He laughs as he roasts your marshmallow, being sure not to burn it. You take this moment to stare, drinking in his outfit. It’s a simple outfit, casual. White t-shirt with a simple silver necklace. He has jeans on, tight jeans. They’re ripped at his knees, and some rips are at his thighs.

You stare, and he looks back at you. He smiles and follows your gaze, before laughing— “You into thighs?”

“What?” you exclaim, slapping him on the back of the head. “You are so annoying.”

“Owww.” he chuckles out, face wincing in faux pain before softening again. He assembles your s’more and gives it to you.

“Careful, it’s sticky.”

You nod, trying to get the thoughts out of your head of him saying sticky. He leans over his legs, elbows resting on his knees as he watches you. You eat as carefully as possible, but it’s always a bit hard to do that when there’s stickiness and melted chocolate involved.

Unfortunately for him, the white stuff is stuck to the corner of your mouth. It’s driving him crazy. He taps his foot on the grass before reaching over and wiping it off for you.

You both stare.

It’s a hot night, but your body feels like it’s melting.

“Marshmallow.”

You nod.

He swallows. Hard.

He looks away first, sighing as he lets his head fall— if only you knew what you did to him. How excruciating this was for him.

Your lips purse into a thin line as you dart your eyes away.

The night goes on, he makes you both more snacks and steals some soda from Mydei’s fridge before you’re both ready to leave. As he’s driving home, you can’t help but stare. Your eyes hooked in between his legs.

You swear it twitches. Maybe it was a flicker of the light as he’s driving you both home, you can’t tell. The rips on his jeans show off his toned thighs, the same ones you dreamt about this morning.

“You’re staring, y’know?”

He snaps you out of your daze, and you look up through the windshield, noticing the red light. You look back at his face and notice how cocky he looks.

“I-I-I wasn’t—” you stutter, internally cursing yourself.

“You stare a lot,” he hums out, rubbing two fingers on the steering wheel as the other grabs hold of your seat.

“You’re really lucky that I wanna take this slow.”

He sighs as he returns to his driving position, “Wh- What, what are you talking about?”

“Nothing, princess. We’re almost home.”

The drive home is silent, awkward. Your head goes through every scenario of why he could’ve said that to you. You don’t understand, can’t quite place it. But soon enough, you find yourself pulled into his driveway as he puts the car in park.

“We’re hooomee,” he says in a sing-song voice, noticing your face. He just brushes it off, decides not to bring it up again. You swallow before looking in his direction, seeing his eyes flick up to your eyes.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Phainon.”

“See you later, princess.”

You climb out of his car and make your way quickly into your safe haven called home.

He, however, doesn’t feel safe at all. He peels himself off his seat after turning the key, the engine roaring down to a halt. He walks up the steps and into his room.

His lips are tight in a thin line as he takes off the stupid necklace, the stupid belt— and those stupid tight jeans. His dick is hard, awfully so. He groans as his hands rub against his face. It takes him a second to regain confidence before kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his jeans to climb into bed.

He doesn’t bother closing the curtains, knowing his pervert neighbor loves watching him undress. He groans out loud as he palms himself.

“I hate this. I feel like a dog…”

Oh. Oh, to be a dog. Kneeling at your side, not knowing anything but the words come and no. He stifles another groan as he rubs his clothed cock into his hand. To have a collar with a blue bell that jingles when you pull on the leash.

Phainon shuts his eyes tightly at the thought, nearly causing himself to hyperventilate. He whines– whimpers. You would pat his head, scratch behind his ears. What if you would spread your legs and yank the leash? Ordering him to clean up his master's mess?

“Hahhh, ohh fuck— Mmmn.. Mas–” he takes a big gulp, “Master.. Feels so good when you rub my– when you rub my dick like this…” his hips jerk forward with a loud moan, muscles tensing and his mouth falling open with a gasp.

He comes down from his high with soft pants, eyes looking down at himself. The cum soaked through his boxers, coating his hand and splaying across his abdomen. He cleans himself up with a shower, throwing himself into his bed with a huff.

“Just sleep it off.”

He did in fact, not, sleep it off.

It happens when he falls asleep, and he feels his body swaying easily side to side. He feels a hand in his hair as praises flood into his ears.

“Who’s a good boy?”

It’s your voice.

He manages to open his eyes and sees you sitting on his lap, your lips curled up into a smile as his leash is wrapped around your hand. He knows his mouth is open and his tongue is out but he can’t help but smile. His tail wags behind him with such force that there’s a soft ‘whoosh’ sound coming from it.

“Are you a good boy, puppy?”

He nods vigorously. His hard-on is dangerously noticeable as you scratch behind his ears and place kisses on his face. “Say it. Tell Master who’s a good puppy,” you whisper against his throat, and he shudders.

He ruts his cock into your thighs, nuzzling his face into your hair, “I’m a good puppy. Me– I’m a good puppy–” he nods against you.

“Good boy.”

His eyes open with a jerk. They trail down to his cock, noticing the tent and wet spot before he groans and rolls over with a loud huff, the tip of his cock rubbing into his bed.

“What the fuuuuckkk is wroonggg with mee…” he groans out.

a / n : 🤭🤭🤭🤭

taglist! : @httpshujii @lost-wicked-artist @lov3-ly @aloudice @blushho @aerithsthingss @rxstrife @whatamidoing89 @boycock-boycunt-boyslut @foreverz @emperatris-rinaka @monoclesnapple @panpanstyle @dyingsweetmackerel @stardustbee @diluxama @thebasicbword

[takisabi]

So as I have gotten back from dashcon 2, I want to talk a lot about the fun experience and my thoughts.

First off, I want to thank the staff, volunteers, security, and venue workers for making this experience so smooth. There was lots of communication on what was where, RAPID response for an emergency near the night, and just overall, really great.

I talked with one of the artists as well about how the attendees were just so considerate. Moments that at other conventions where things could’ve gone wrong were handled so well. Everyone was so sweet. I remember at the drag show everyone was gathering but then everyone slowly started to sit. And it was really good for visibility as I sat further back.

Also, I was just super duper excited to just talk to people! There were a good chunk of people I just met and kept running into and we said hi!! Or I would offer them to sit with my group because like … why not!? It just felt like community.

And even with the medical emergency (handled extremely well and rapid), the dance floor was SOOOO FUCKING GOOD. I was really excited that like… people were getting on the dance floor and dancing like crazy. And everyone was getting included. It was really good.

I think for the first time in awhile… I was really happy. I haven’t felt this happy at a convention in awhile.

I hope an equal to dashcon 2 can occur!! For now I am in my de-stimulate mode.

[yinyuedijun]

phainon wip snippet that i may or may not delete

posting this at @nazberry-icecream's request. I will be real with you guys I drafted this while drunk/high last night and I'm not sure what to do with it because it's. good in some places but it's also incredibly bad in others and the canon accuracy is questionable. I'm not sure if it's salvageable SLKDFJLJSDf

canon context: bath tub is from this event

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

Phainon realizes that he’s in love with you at age nineteen, on the day he catches you running through Marmoreal Palace in nothing but a towel and pair of wet slippers. You're waving at him, calling his name, your skin still damp with bathwater and a sunlit smile stretched across your face. For a minute, he thinks he’s hallucinating—dreaming, probably, though usually his dreams about you wearing next to nothing aren’t nearly so ridiculous—but the way you grip him by the shoulders feels too real to be a fantasy.

The way you wheeze and cough at him, too.

“I’ve found you a birthday present,” you say, and he can tell from your voice that you’re dead serious.

“Oh,” he replies. He can't think of anything else to say when confronted with the image of you panting and holding onto him in nothing but a towel.

“I need to give it to you now,” you tell him.

He blinks. Then laughs. “Now?”

“Now.”

“You don’t want to put on clothes first?”

“I don’t need to have clothes on to give this to you.”

Alright. Phainon must be dreaming. There is no way in his real, actual life that you’d ever give him a present while intentionally this close to being naked. But he plays along with his incredibly shameful dream and laughs, “Sure.”

You’re excited to show him whatever you’ve found. Coming up with a birthday present for him is your worst nightmare, and one you struggle with every year. It makes me feel like a bad friend, you always moan. But I can’t ever think of anything good. You never want anything.

Phainon gives you suggestions each year, rattling them off in a list that never satisfies you. I could always use a new sword, he’d said, and you’d replied, I’m not going to get you something for your work. Then he tried, New armor could be nice, and you’d whined and replied, That’s what Aglaea wanted for you—she hates your sense of style, you know. As a last resort, he’d said, It would be nice to go to that new Aurelian restaurant together, and this time you’d scowled: That’s where I wanted to go! You don't even like Aurelian cuisine! And you always pay the bill when I’m not looking whenever we go out to eat—how am I supposed to let you pay for your own birthday meal!

Pretty easily, he’d replied cheerfully. All you have to do is sit there while I go pay.

You’d groaned.

Your birthday is about you! What do you want?! What would you like?!

“I like seeing you happy,” he always answers, smiling brightly—because it always gets you flustered, and he rather likes that too.

You think he's being insincere. You accuse him of being a terrible flirt, which he finds unfair, because he’s not flirting—he really does just like seeing you happy. He likes seeing you glow, kicking your feet and grinning in a way he’d have never been able to imagine back in the refugee camp. He was worried, for a long time, that you’d always be as miserable as the way you were back then. That you’d never want to eat. That you’d never want to talk. That you’d starve to death in silence, forever caught in the grip of the Flame Reaver—torn apart like the rest of Aedes Elysiae.

That Phainon would fail to protect you, the way he’d failed everyone else back home.

But you’d healed, eventually. Mostly. Sometimes Phainon catches you in moments of melancholy, a distance between you that he can’t figure out how to traverse. Catches you thinking about home, and your family, and all the other things you miss. He’ll give them back to you one day—you’ll see them all again when he ushers in the Era Nova, and he’ll be able to see you smile like never before—but it’ll be a long time until then. It’ll be a long time before he can deliver this wish of yours.

He guesses that it’s enough seeing you like this for now, though: beaming as you drag him through the palace, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the marble underneath you. You lead him into the bath house, and he’s so endeared that he plays along without even questioning it. More than happy to humour whatever’s got you bouncing with so much excitement.

He also plays along because he really wants to see the rest of this dream. He has high expectations for its course: you’re holding his hand, dragging him into a bath, wearing nothing but a flimsy little towel. It's clear where this is going.

But then it doesn’t go there.

You let go of Phainon’s hand, and you don’t drag him into the water, and you keep your towel on. Instead, you lead Phainon to a very old, very plain tub—a lacklustre sight in comparison to you—and gesture at it.

“Here,” you say smugly.

He stares. “You’re giving me a used bathtub?”

“I’m giving you a treasure. This old thing is made out of Sacred Tree Wood—can you believe it? I thought the attendant was full of it when she told me, but I inspected it and I’m pretty sure it’s the genuine article.”

“Huh,” Phainon says, still too distracted by the sight of you to really pay attention to any bathtub, sacred or not. You mistake this for fascination.

“Take a look for yourself,” you insist. “It’s most obvious if you look at the detailing inside the tub—here, let me show you—”

You climb into the tub, and your towel stays on, and you really do just show him all the characteristics of the wood hinting at its origins. Phainon can’t fathom it. He’s probably been spending too much time appraising antiques with Theodoros, and now his hobby’s invaded his favourite dreams. He needs to get another pastime.

He plays along anyway: “Sure,” he says, crouching down to peer at its make, his lips curled into a smile. “I'll take a look.”

Twenty minutes later, his eyes have gone wide and his jaw has gone slack. He lifts the bathtub with his bare hands and carries it out of the bath house, making a beeline to Theodoros’ shop—with you and a frazzled bath attendant in tow. You’re practically bouncing on your heels as Phainon receives his certificate of authenticity—and then you balk when he asks Theodoros how much he’ll get when he sells it.

You give him a betrayed look. “Are you really going to re-sell my gift?! I thought I'd finally found something you'd like!”

“I did like it,” he says. “And I’m going to sell it. I enjoy finding and appraising treasures, but I never really hang onto them. There are always better places for them to go.”

You give him a sullen look. “So you didn't like my gift.”

“No,” he says gently. “I loved it. This was a lot of fun, but it’d be a waste for me to actually keep a relic like this. It belongs in a place like Theodoros’ collection, where everyone can see it.”

You frown, clearly dissatisfied. “Then what kind of gift would you keep?”

Phainon shrugs. “There’s nothing I really need,” he answers truthfully, and the noise you make is so comical in its frustration that he realises instantly that this isn’t a dream. Despite the remarkable ability of his subconscious to recreate your body down to the most minute details (Phainon pays a great deal of attention to it in his waking hours, after all), it’s not that great at capturing your funnier idiosyncrasies. That scowl of yours—along with your long-time obsession with finding him the perfect birthday gift—can only be the genuine article.

He understands now that all of this is real. And because it is real, so too must be his desire to kiss you.

Phainon wants to grab you by the shoulders and kiss you in the middle of Marmoreal Market in his real, actual life; and he also wants to take you to the theatre and give you gifts and court you properly in his real, actual life; and he also wants to take you home and watch his parents fawn over you in his real, actual life. Because they’d have adored you. They’d have been excited about you. They’d have invited you over for suncakes and venison every night, and they’d have had you over for Oronyx prayers, and they’d have cried during his wedding with you. It was one of their biggest wishes for him to find someone nice and marry them properly, after all—and he can’t imagine anyone nicer than you.

They’d have loved you.

And they will love you some day, when he collects the last coreflame and delivers all of humanity into Era Nova. They’ll love you just like in all his dreams.