#and I got so so excited. and then I was like oh. wait a moment. devastating

[shadowlord420sgf]

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ Abandoned & Aching

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx | Skips x reader ୭ ˚.

⌗ summary: You left Skips waiting, aching—now that you’re back, he won’t let you go until he’s felt all of you again. word count is 1.6k

⌗ warnings!: female reader, fingering, p in v, missionary, creampie, established relationship, porn with feelings, everyone & everything is desperate, skips is kinda emotionally deranged, fucking on the floor (sorry florence!), i think: hurt + angst with comfort

⌗ author’s note: (you can also read this on my ao3!)back with everyone’s favorite sad emo boy ☹️ thanks for all the support I’ve received on my fics it actually means a lot to me and i love everyone!! like and reblog if you would peg skips 💕 also my irl friend: @funnygirlwriter104 gave me the idea for this fic, check out her dirk one!

It had been some time since you’d last paid Skips a visit. You two had left off on a high note, he asked how you slept and told you about his efforts of keeping the silverfish away. Cute. However, you couldn’t help the excitement you got from speaking with other objects around the house. The dateviators just made you so curious that you didn't notice how you strayed away from the person, or shadow, who loved you the most...

Your ignorance wasn’t on purpose though, so many objects were really so entertaining! You especially liked helping Maggie solve cases, or going on extreme adventures with the Hanks. But none of that changed how you felt about Skips. If only he knew that, instead of assuming that you’d left him for good.

So, when you focus your dateviators on the shadow of Gaia one morning, what you find is a bit unexpected. It’s your beloved Skips, obviously, but something seems to be off with him.

“Hey you.” He greeted, looking a bit surprised that you were in front of him. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me.”

You winced internally. It couldn’t have been that long since you spoke to him, right? Either way, you felt terrible for being the reason his voice sounded unsure, and a little hoarse like he hadn’t used it in a while.

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. I just got caught up with everything—”

“It’s okay,” Skips interrupted quickly. A little too quickly. “You don’t have to explain. I mean, you’re here now, right? That’s all I wanted.” He gave a shaky smile, eyes flickering across your face like he was trying to burn it into his retinas.

He gazed at you like that for a moment before speaking, barely loud enough for you to hear, “I just… I thought maybe you didn’t wanna come back. Like Benji and the others, you know?”

Oh my god, you’ve fucked up this time. You’d left him alone for so long that he compared you to his old friends from way back in his Thiscord roleplaying days. You knew how important those memories were to him, and how hurt he felt as his companions drifted away. You never wanted him to feel like that again.

You stepped even closer, and he didn’t move away. He never would.

“Skips…” you started, finding the words to apologize, but you didn’t get far. He surged forward and wrapped his arms around you like he couldn’t stop himself, pressing your warm body against his cool one. He buried his face deeply into your neck, breathing in. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. You missed being in the comfortable darkness and silence around Skips. Everything was just so natural with him.

You hugged him impossibly tight, and it still wasn’t as hard as he clung to your body. Your hands tangled into his hair and he made a let out a noise that you swear was a sob. Oh Skips… His voice was muffled against you, “I really fucking missed you. I kept thinking maybe I did something wrong, or maybe you found someone better. Or maybe you just—”

He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “But you’re here. You came back. You came back for me.”

His words made your heart shatter inside. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “There’s nobody like you, Skips. No one.” You whispered, not a hint of dishonesty in your voice. “Of course I’d come back for you, I love you.”

He paused hearing those last three words. You’ve said them to him before, and always meant it of course, but it changed something in him at this moment. There was a beat of silence, and then his lips brushed your jaw. Then your cheek. Then—finally—your mouth.

It wasn’t a careful kiss. It was desperate, uncoordinated, messy. Like he was scared you’d vanish again if he didn’t taste you right now. His hands were everywhere—your neck, your waist, clutching tight, tugging you closer like there still wasn’t enough of you against him.

You groaned at finally feeling his lips on yours again, after so long. “I need you,” he gasped between kisses, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked. “I’ve been needing you every single night and—I didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again—please…” Skips was practically whining for you.

You nodded, touching and kissing him all over just like how he was doing to you. “Ah…Need you too, Skips.” He groaned again hearing your sweet voice that he missed so much.

“I need you,” he rasped again, grinding his hips against yours with a frustrated moan. Oh how he wishes your clothes weren’t in the way. “I need to feel you. Now. Please—just—let me have you.”

“You always have me…” you mumbled against his lips. “I’m yours—fuck—I promise.” You both needed each other more than it was possible. It would never be enough.

“O—Okay, can you uh…get on the floor for me?” Skips panted, barely getting the words out. You obeyed him with a smile, pulling off your shirt in the process. Shit, everything you did drove him crazy. Skips did the same before slotting himself in between your thighs, where both of his hands gripped. You felt like melting under his gaze… His dark eyes were actually staring into your soul.

Skips moved his hand higher and higher up your thigh, until his fingertips met with your clothed core. Your back arched up a little at how the small touch sent heat throughout your entire body. Skips chuckled, “So wet already, huh? Knew you missed this as much as I did.” Moving your underwear to the side, he pushed a finger into your wet cunt, and groaned as you did.

“Missed touching you like this,” he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, and you cried out his name. “Missed the way you whine for me when I touch you just like this—fuck.” He always knew exactly what to say.

“M—Missed it too—” You couldn’t bother to answer him properly, not when he was so close to making you come all over his fingers and make a mess. “Ah.. Skips, I’m—I’m close,” you managed to blurt out, hips squirming under him.

Just then, he pulled his fingers out of you. “I know, Penumbra… I always know,” he was right, “And you know I’ll make you finish— But it has to be when I’m inside you. There’s nothing I missed more than that.”

His words alone could’ve made you come undone. They made you forget how close you’d just been, made you wetter than you already were. “Yes—Yes, please I need you… need to feel you, Skips.” You mewled, hands reaching for him on instinct & dragging him down into another kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation. He kisses you back with more force than you gave him. He’d never ever let go of you.

Skips was quick to slide off his pants along with his boxers in one impatient motion, allowing his hard length to spring up. You couldn’t help but moan a little at how perfect he was. He gave himself a few quick strokes before positioning himself between you again. “Are you ready, my Penumbra? I sure am…” You nodded, voice too broken to say anything except a “Please…”

With that, he pushed into you, agonizingly slow. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch of his cock and the wet warmness that enveloped it. You two stayed like this for a bit before you whimpered, “Skips… y-you can move, please I need you.”

“Right. S-Sorry, I just missed this—missed you— so much.” Before you could answer in agreement, he crashed his mouth against yours again, hips rocking into you as he began to move—deep and slow at first, like he was savoring the feeling of being inside you again after so long.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back as he hit that perfect spot in you again and again. You were already so close, pleasure building fast, curling deep in your belly like it had been waiting for him this whole time.

Your moans turned into soft sobs, overwhelmed. “Skips—fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he gasped, voice cracking, hips stuttering, “Me too—just… come with me, please. I need it. I need you.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing, sharp and hot and all-consuming. You cried out his name, clinging to him like your life depended on it as your walls clenched around him, pulsing hard.

Skips let out a broken, guttural sound—his body trembling as he followed right behind you, spilling inside you with a low groan pressed against your neck. His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop, like he couldn’t bear to pull away just yet, even as the continued thrusts made you both twitch and whimper.

“Don’t leave me like that again. Please don’t.” Skips begged, still panting. You kissed him yet again, breath heavy. “Never—I’ll never leave you Skips.”

Later, Skips had you tell him what objects you were hanging out with, giving his own input on them. He scoffed when you mentioned that you had to talk to Scandalabra, who Skips refused to interact with. Something about the light contrasting with darkness? It didn’t matter.

There was really no one like your Skips.

[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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Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

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dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

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[myrleius]

movie date — bokuto k.

bokuto k. x new gf!reader│wc: 1.6k

synopsis: Bokuto wants to kiss you, so he plans a scary movie night to get you close.

cw/tags: fluff, crack, established relationship

Bokuto took a step back and admired his work with a satisfied nod.

Lights off. Curtains drawn. A bowl of popcorn sat within easy reach. The horror movie was queued up, volume set high enough to catch every creek and whisper. And the couch? Perfectly arranged with blankets folded, pillows fluffed on either side, and the middle seat left just open enough for two.

He grinned. “Nailed it.”

Tonight was the night. He could feel it.

He and yn had spent months tip-toeing around each other, caught in a push-and-pull of almosts and not-quites. When they finally started dating two weeks ago, he thought the hard part was over.

Turns out, the real challenge was getting that first kiss.

It had been fourteen days. They’d gone on dates, held hands, hugged plenty… but no kiss. Not one.

It wasn’t for lack of trying either. He’d had his chances, or so he thought. But with each time, something always got in the way.

The first time? He’d walked her home, heart racing, ready to go for it at her doorstep… only for her dad to pull into the driveway right at that exact second. Lights and all.

The second? They’d been sitting together in the park alone. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leaning in—when the sky decided to unleash a downpour and drench them.

And the third… They had been so close. Their faces literally inches apart, breaths mingling, eyes shut—and then he’d sneezed. Right on her. He still cringed every time he remembered it.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he had a plan. A foolproof, rock-solid, absolutely genius plan.

“Scary movie night,” he said aloud, pacing in front of the couch like a man preparing for battle. “She’ll get scared and sit close. I’ll put my arm around her, real smooth, and be like, ‘It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.’ Then, she’ll look up at me, and I’ll lean in and—boom. Kiss. Success!”

He stopped, shot finger guns at his reflection in the dark screen of the TV, and whispered, “Bokuto Koutarou: master of romance.”

A knock at the door snapped him out of it.

Showtime.

He practically leapt to the door, quickly fixing his hair, and opened it with the brightest smile.

“Hey! You made it!”

“Would’ve been rude not to after all your excited texts,” yn said with a soft laugh, holding up a bag of snacks. “Hope you don’t mind me bringing reinforcements.”

“Only if I get half,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “Actually, make it more. I am providing the entertainment.”

She chuckled, brushing past him. “We’ll negotiate.”

He closed the door and watched, heart pounding, as her gaze swept over the room.

“Wow,” she murmured, her fingertips brushing over the armrest. “You really went all out.”

Bokuto couldn’t help but puff his chest a little more. “Yeah. I thought, you know, if we’re watching something, I’d set the mood.”

She smiled at him, eyes soft and warm. “That’s really sweet, Bokuto. Thanks, I like it.”

He grinned back like an idiot, his stomach doing somersaults. 

“Anything for you, beautiful,” he replied with a playful wink, because why not go for bonus points?

Her laugh was everything.

Okay. Okay, this was going great.

She got comfy under the blanket, and Bokuto sat down next to her, careful not to sit too close just yet. He needed to wait for the right moment.

“Oh, I haven’t seen this one yet,” she said, reading the title as she opened the chips. “Have you watched it?”

“Nope. But Kuroo said it’s terrifying though,” Bokuto said, stealing one chip before grabbing the remote. “He said it’d give us nightmares.”

“Want me to hold your hand through it?” she teased.

“Pfft. No way,” he scoffed, flashing a cocky smile. “But hey, if you get scared, just say the word.”

She snorted. “Please. You’re a bigger baby than me.”

“Sure, sure.” He hit play. “We’ll see who’s crying first.”

The movie started slow. Just a typical horror movie setup—a family moves into a new house that’s probably haunted. Bokuto kept sneaking glances at her, waiting for a flinch or a gasp.

Nothing.

He relaxed back, determined. She’ll get scared eventually. 

BAM!

The first jump scare hit out of nowhere. A door slammed shut behind the father down in the basement, the creepy music playing.

Bokuto jumped.

Yn cursed under her breath.

“... You good?” he asked, voice higher than usual.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound so confident.

From there, their tough fronts started to crumble.

They both leaned in unconsciously, huddled under the blanket, with their feet tucked up. The food was forgotten on the coffee table as their eyes remained glued on the screen.

“Nope. Nope. I don’t like this,” Bokuto said, raising the blanket to his chin.

“It’s gonna be in the mirror. I know it’s gonna be in the mirror,” she whispered, clutching the pillow to her chest.

The mirror scene hits, and they both jolted anyway.

And the scares just kept coming.

“Oh no. Why’s the music doing that?!” yn said, inching closer to Bokuto, when her foot brushed his.

Bokuto let out a shriek, kicking the blanket off. 

“WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED?!”

“SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!”

“FUCK! WHERE?!”

They both flailed for a good five seconds before realizing… it was just their feet.

“…Oh,” Bokuto breathed.

And just as they settled back down—another jump scare came, causing more yelling and panic.

Soon, they were both openly hiding.

“Nope. I’m not looking at this one. You tell me what happens,” yn said, face buried in her hands.

“Forget that. I’m not looking either,” Bokuto mumbled, peeking through his fingers. “... Okay, I think it’s safe now—WAIT NO. NOT SAFE. SHE’S RIGHT THERE!”

The chase scenes were absolute chaos.

“Yes! Yes! GRAB IT—NOOO!” Bokuto shouted at the screen, slamming his fist into the pillow.

“Oh, now you run fast?” yn yelled. “Where was that energy five minutes ago, idiot?!” 

By the climax, they were fully tangled up under the blanket, gripping onto each other for dear life.

“Don’t go down there, Bobby,” Bokuto whined, clutching her arm. “You’re gonna die, man. Don’t do it.”

“He’s gonna die. Definitely,” yn muttered, deadpan.

Seconds later, Bobby died.

“BOBBY, NOOO!” yn cried, devastated.

“Goddamnit, Bobby!” Bokuto groaned, raising his hands in frustration. “I liked him!”

As the plot twist was revealed, they both gasped.

“Wait… WAIT.” Bokuto sat up, eyes wide. “DOES THAT MEAN—?!”

Yn nodded, looking horrified. “Yep. They just screwed themselves over from the start.”

The final chase had them both on edge. The last survivor sprinted through the house, the ghost in hot pursuit.

“OH FUCK, OH FUCK SHE’S GONNA DIE!” Bokuto screamed, practically latched onto yn.

“WHY ARE YOU GRABBING ME?!” she yelped, laughing despite herself.

“I’M STRESSED! HE’S RIGHT BEHIND HER!”

The girl tripped on-screen, and yn panicked, trying to cover her eyes.

“Bokuto! Let go! I can’t block my eyes—WAIT! NOO! I DON’T WANT TO SEE—!”

By the time the credits finally rolled, they were slumped against each other on the couch, completely wiped out, still half-hugging.

“... Let’s never do that again,” Bokuto muttered, voice muffled by her shoulder.

She let out a shaky laugh, still tucked close. “Agreed.”

Then—screech.

One last jump scare in the post-credits sent them screaming again as the screen went black.

Silence followed, the two of them shaken up.

“... Wanna watch cartoons before I walk you home?”

“Yes, please.”

Bokuto let out a long, exhausted sigh as he finally stumbled out of the shower, his hair still damp.

He tugged on an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, still feeling a little on edge. The damn movie spooked him. Every time he caught his reflection in the mirror, he half-expected some creepy ghost lady to show up behind him.

“Nah,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “That was just the movie.”

Still, he avoided looking directly at the mirror. Y’know. Just in case.

He flopped onto his bed, grabbing his phone to distract himself, and saw a new message waiting for him.

Kuroo [11:07 PM] yo so did you finally kiss her or what?

Bokuto froze.

Wait.

He read the message again, his brain catching up in a slow, horrifying realization.

The kiss. His whole plan.

He’d forgotten.

Like, completely.

He dropped face-first into his pillow, letting out a muffled, mortified noise.

How did I forget the kiss?!

He scrambled to reply, thumbs flying across the screen.

Bokuto [11:08 PM] DUDE I FORGOT

Kuroo responded immediately.

Kuroo [11:08 PM] LMAOOOO how???

Bokuto sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Bokuto [11:09 PM] I DON’T KNOW ONE MINUTE I WAS FINE THE NEXT I WAS YELLING AT THE SCREEN

Kuroo [11:10 PM] so you’re telling me you had her alone in your house watching a movie and your brain decided to focus on GHOSTS???

Bokuto slammed his phone down onto the pillow, eyes shut in pure regret.

He could already picture Kuroo’s smug face from here.

Still, he grabbed the phone again and typed back.

Bokuto [11:11 PM] IT WAS REALLY SCARY YOU ASSHOLE

Kuroo [11:11 PM] you’re hopeless

Bokuto groaned aloud.

Bokuto [11:11 PM] DO YOU THINK SHE THINKS I’M NOT INTO HER??

He stared at the screen, his stomach twisting.

Kuroo [11:12 PM] oh she definitely thinks something

Bokuto sat bolt upright, panic rushing in again.

Bokuto [11:12 PM] I’M GONNA TEXT HER RIGHT NOW AND EXPLAIN

Kuroo [11:12 PM] NO DO NOT BOKUTO YOU BETTER NOT SAY “SORRY I DIDN’T KISS YOU I WAS TOO BUSY BEING SCARED” TELL ME YOU DIDN’T

Bokuto [11:14 PM] ..... TOO LATE

[kitteacloud]

Just some small snippets from my Batfamily Group chat notes. Aka. Chaotic family moments with no where to go. I've ignored the nicknames for now so it's easier to read but I'll add them at the end so it's known ദ്ദി˶•̀֊•́)✧

Jason - Death is mearly a social construct

Dick - Jay No.

---

Jason - Tim needs a new brain.

Tim - Okay whore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jason - HOMOPHOBIA.

---

Tim - Hey Jay, can you come bail me out?

Bruce - Bail you out?

Tim - oh fuck-

Tim - wrong chat.

Bruce - Tim what fo you mean bail you out.

Bruce - Timothy.

Bruce- Timothy Jackson Wayne-Drake. Answer me right now.

Jason - oooo someone's in trouble.

Tim - (•ˋ _ ˊ•)

Bruce - answer your phone.

---

Bruce - @tim pick up the phone.

Tim- Give me a minute i cant find my phone.

Bruce- okay.

Dick- ....

Damian - Father please.

Bruce- what?

Jason - oh my fucking gods.

Bruce - ...

Bruce - Tim you're a terrible child. You're killing me. You're killing your father.

Babs - Tim can't answer the phone he's too busy laughing too hard he's on the floor crying.

---

Tim - Whybatmanisafurry. Doc

Jason - where is the link. 

Jason - WHERE IS THE LINK

---

Tim- Okay but like, we have Man Bat, Batman, what about mothman? 

Dick - Not this again. Tim- 

---

Tim- oh my fricken gods. 

Tim-Guys 

Tim- guys

Steph- what soud

Steph- spud*

Tim- soud

Steph- i will kill you

Dick- wait spud?? 

Steph- like potato and bud

Dick- ... O k a?? 

Steph- you wont get it

Steph- boomer. 

Dick- BOOMER

Dick- BOOMER???? BITCH WHAT??? 

Jason- omgs he is- 

Dick- IM NOT

Tim- this is all fun and stuff but you're not paying attention to me. ˶ˊᜊˋ˶

Jason- dickhead is boomer, gen z is Me, Cas, Tim and Steph. Then gen x is Duke and Damian.

Steph- Holy shit

Dick- IM NOT- SKSOSIF I cakisfi

Steph- ah he ded

Damian- not again. 

Jason- WHEEZR

Tim- I hate you all. 

Jason- your fault Timber, shoulda just send the whole text. 

Tim- forgive me for getting excited. 

Steph- go ahead boyfriend, Dick will be down for the count for a while. 

Dick- im fine. Just have a crisis over how old i am. Its all good. 

Jason- okay boomer. 

Dick - MEET ME BEING DENNYS YOU PIECE OF-

Jason- Bet

Tim- ᓀ‸ᓂ

Tim- i found a good movie for us to watch toniggt. Damian will love it, 

Steph- if you suggest Hatchi again-

Tim- listen i was emotionally distraught and needed to cry. 

Dick -Damian and Jason were sobbing. There was destruction. Bruce and alfred had to stop Damian from going to japan and adopting every dog. 

Tim- yeah, but he loved the movie. 

Damain- it was traumatising. Howevee it was pretty satisfying. 

Tim- plus he got another dog out of it. 

Damian- that i did. 

Jason- whats the movie Timoline. Dick and i have a date with fists planned. 

Tim- Not Caroline you bitch. But its spirit. 

Steph- huh

Jason- o o h-

Dick- oh!!!! Why didnt we think of that before??? 

Damain- spirit? Like spirited away? 

Tim- no!! This ones about a horse. Its honestlh incredible and youlll love it i promise. 

Damian - sad? 

Tim- kinda but its got a good ending and no animals die. 

Jason- hey Dickie wanna postpone our fight? 

Dick- hell yeah! Ill go grab some more snacks. 

Cass- steph and i will be home soon. 

Tim- ill go grab the dvd from my apartment. 

Jason- i can pick you up omw to the manor? 

Tim- thanks! 

Tim- someone let Duke, babs, Alfie and B know. 

Steph- @ everyone

---

Tim- 'whybatmanneedstgerapy. Powerpoint'

Jason- WHERES THE POWERPOINT COWARD

No idea if any of that was interesting lol. But for the nicknames this is what I had;

Damian, A knife. No!!

Dick, twinkle toes.

Tim, Crippling depression

Jason, Zombie

Alfred, Alfred

Bruce, Batdad

Cass, vibe check

Steph, can i please get a waffle.

Babs, big brother

Duke. Glowstick

And an honourable mention because I found this so funny-

Young just us 

Currently - Musk-cat-teers

Tim, Lady Barbecue

Bart, Abbey Birthday

Cassie, Duchess Ivana Party 

Kon,  Countess Hedda Lettuce 

[thistle-wrote]

Alone Time

John Price x F!reader CW: Sexual content, BDSM, consensual restraint, mildly suggestive language.

Your husband, God bless him, doesn’t always know how to deal with you, which, to be fair, is completely valid.

To understand his exasperation with your general aura and personality, you must first understand Johnathan Price. As an SAS captain, he’s had enough danger, excitement, and spontaneity to satiate him for the rest of his life.

This is what had originally attracted you to him, truthfully: how peaceful he made your life. No dramatic arguments, no real issues, actually. Sure, he’s a tad controlling, but it’s nothing overbearing, and truth be told, you never minded giving him that control. It’s no surprise the wedding happened so quickly after meeting; who wouldn’t give up today’s very questionable dating scene in favor of a man who finds whiskey and the newspaper “fascinating”?

Despite what most may consider ‘boring,’ you love your husband and his strange little interests. You think he must feel the same way about you, but in reverse: you’re the woman who barks at men in the pub just to weird them out enough to leave you alone; the woman who puts karaoke on the TV just to make him laugh; the woman who says things like, “How do we feel about me learning the harmonica?” and “What if I turned into a chicken… what would you do?”

He adds peace to your life; you add some much-needed energy to his. Your husband’s ‘boring’ nature, however, does not extend to the bedroom, because thank God, he was neither shocked nor put off when the third brown Amazon box this week showed up to your home.

“What’s that?” he hummed from his spot on his recliner, blowing out a plume of smoke as the words left his lips.

“Straps for the bed,” you said nonchalantly. Any embarrassment you may have once had pertaining to sex left your head a long time ago.

“Good purchase, love.” He chuckled and smiled. You knew that look: he was going to put that to good use. And good use he did. That evening, you two thoroughly tested the restraints, had what was honestly probably some of the best sex of your life, and knocked the fuck out.

The straps, your new favorite toy for the time being, got broken in a few more times in the next few weeks before you both inevitably lost a little interest. Despite the fact they hadn’t been used in over a month now, they still remain attached to your bed. “Just keep ’em there,” John had said. You figured maybe he planned on having one of those days he plays a little rough in the near future and left them. However, you were incredibly deceived.

Because your husband, while he loves your wild nature, also values his alone time, and he found his way to get it.

“Lovie,” John’s voice called from the bedroom. He typically doesn’t have to call more than once; that loud, deep voice could get anyone’s attention. So you made your way up the stairs to your shared bedroom, only to find John standing beside the bed.

“C’mere,” he said, the sound deep in the back of his throat. As you walked up to him, to put your hands on his bare, hairy chest, he lifted you, surprising you a bit, but you definitely were not complaining. You let out a little squeak as he placed you on the bed.

For a moment, your interest was quite piqued when you watched him grab hold of one of the straps to fasten it around your wrist. He hadn’t undressed your clothes, but you figured maybe that was part of the game.

“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

You lay there, waiting patiently as he tightened all four straps. You didn’t speak much, just watched him. However, what was turning into excitement died and turned into confusion as he grabbed the remote to the telly once he’d adequately had your hands cuffed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him, the confusion visible on your face.

“Bunny rabbit,” he began with a little smirk, a mischievous look on his face that you very rarely see.

“Yes, sir?” you asked, laughing at him just a little bit, more out of amusement or confusion than anything else.

“I have been trying to read that book for three weeks. Do you know why I can’t?” he asked you. His question had no genuine irritation or anger; his words were followed by soft laughs.

“No?” you asked. If you were being honest, you hadn’t even realized he didn’t finish that book yet.

“Well, I can’t concentrate, because you’ve been humming that song nonstop, and I can’t focus… so I’ve come up with a solution. I’m gonna turn on a movie, and you’re gonna stay here until I finish my book.” He smiled. Both you and he knew that if he had just asked you to stop humming, you would’ve. Clearly, this was fun for him. You weren’t in any harm, you weren’t upset, so you decided to go along with it. It’s been forever since you’ve actually sat down and watched a movie anyway.

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious, rabbit.” And so, through your giggles, you watched as he checked the straps, turned on some ’90s movie, and left the room. Actually, you ended up falling asleep in the middle of the movie, but John finished his book.

Only John would think to use the sex toy you bought just to get some alone time.

CoD Masterlist

[rakhalofthestars]

Lovebird

Synopsis: Chaotic shenanigans ensue when Boothill gets turned into an origami bird as you're forced to wait for him to turn back to normal.

Tags: Boothill x gn! reader, fluff, banter, comedy, cheeky bird behaviour (including a mating dance), boothill is a little shit, based off the new Origami Bird Clash event story, established relationship

a/n: I had a vision when playing the event and ran to get this written in the span of 2 hours, are you guys proud of me

Warnings: None!

wc: 1,7k

When you first met Boothill, you already knew one thing for sure. Trouble followed him no matter where he went. Whether it was in the form of his hat flying off his head into oncoming traffic—which caused a couple cars to nearly crash in their attempts to not hit the idiot when he went to retrieve it—to somehow causing a gunfight to erupt the second he walked into a room, it was undeniable that being with Boothill should come with a warning. 

Aeons above, he’d really meant it when he said danger is his middle name.

For better or for worse, you’d decided to stick with Boothill despite the fact that it meant you had to learn at least 5 different ways to defend yourself in the incredibly likely event that Boothill either got himself or you or the both of you into trouble. It’s not like you could do anything about it. Your fates appeared to be intertwined and there was no doubt in your heart that Boothill would fight tooth and nail to keep you safe.

However, nothing—not even the time Boothill’s body somehow malfunctioned and lost control over his arms— could prepare you for what you were seeing at this very moment.

“Tweet! @$#¤%!!”

“What the fuck?!”

“Oh dear, it appears Boothill’s crassness has rubbed off on you, my dear friend.”

You sigh and turn to Argenti. You’d rushed over from your spaceship to the Radiant Feldspar when you got the redhead’s message. He’d been surprisingly vague over what had happened and you’d been unsure over whether it was due to his usual flowery way of speech but now that you were here in person, you understood why Argenti had been unable to properly explain what had happened.

“So… that’s Boothill?” You point at the black and grey bird that was angrily chirping at the two of you. You were half-convinced that this was all an elaborate prank being pulled on you. Boothill must’ve gotten in contact with one of the Masked fools, surely! How else had he been able to procure such an admittedly cute origami bird that looked just like him? It even had the little twin bullets from his hat and his X-shaped scar for crying out loud!

“That would be correct! It’s a bit hard to explain but-”

“Lemme guess: Boothill got a bit too excited, ran his mouth without properly thinking and this is the consequence.”

“That’s the gist of it, indeed.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You scratch at your head, unsure of where to go from here. Argenti had assured you that help was on the way and that there was surely a cure to this mysterious curse that Boothill had been afflicted with… but you couldn’t help but worry. Sure, this may all be a dream but aeons knew what would happen to Boothill’s body in reality if he were to be stuck as a bird forever. 

Penacony was certainly holding up to its reputation as the planet of dreams because this entire incident was for sure a fever dream. There was no other way to describe it. 

You watch as Boothill—Bootbird would probably be a better name now— hops closer to you. Curiously, you stick a finger out and can’t help but smile when he nuzzles against it affectionately. Despite changing forms drastically, his personality stayed the exact same. There was something so incredibly endearing about seeing such a boisterous and headstrong attitude come from a bird that just barely managed to reach your calves.

“Tweet tweet!”

“Patience, dear. Backup is on the way. Maybe if you’d thought before you spoke, you wouldn’t be in such a pickle right now,” you gently chide the man–bird? You weren’t sure how to act towards him… at least until Bootbird flips you off… or rather attempts to. You had to give him credit where it’s due that he’d even managed to make his wings resemble a middle finger. 

“Are you seriously giving me the finger right now? I should just lock you up in a cage, y’know- Wha- Hey!” You hiss, shaking your hand as you feel the sting from Bootbird’s metal beak. The bastard had pecked you! The amount of audacity in such a tiny body had you completely flabbergasted.

“Bad Bootbird! Bad!”

“Tweet! Chirp! *Some truly fowl language.*”

“You take that back right now, you ass! Or I’ll have you sleep on the couch once this shit is over!”

“#@!&%”

“Right.”

– 

“Ninja Dokusha! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

You nod at Rappa, unable to hold back a little smile. She’s such an energetic young woman. Almost like a little sister really, especially with the way she looked up to both you and Boothill.

“Fancy seeing you here, Rappa. I didn’t realize you were the backup that Argenti was speaking about. I thought you were on another mission.”

“It’s a stroke of luck! I hadn’t been planning on returning to Pinecany for a while but decided to give some of my fellow ninja students at the Academy a visit!” Rappa explains cheerfully whilst animatedly waving her hands about. “Oh, since you’re here, that means Silvergun Shura must be nearby too, right?”

“Ehh… Not exactly? I mean, kinda? You’ll understand when you see it- Wait, where’d he go?” You look around, frowning in confusion at Bootbird’s sudden disappearance. He was just here a couple minutes ago. Maybe he’d flown off to a corner to sulk for a bit. You had been maybe a bit too harsh on him over his language and irritable state. Perhaps you should’ve been a bit more understanding. You know that you certainly wouldn’t like it if you’d suddenly been turned into an origami bird.

You watch as Rappa and her little motley crew talk to the Trailblazer and the young Xianzhou woman called Qingque, gearing up to perform some form of exorcism. Did the ninja scrolls also talk about exorcism? You mentally noted to ask Rappa about it once she was free. In the meantime, you dig into your pocket and pull out a few bullets. You had a habit of keeping some around in case of unlikely emergencies where Boothill had run out of bullets…. And also because they reminded you of the stupid man. You couldn’t help it! He had a way of getting to your heart that nobody else could ever hope to replicate.

“Can origami birds eat bullets?” you mutter to yourself, staring at the bullets in your hand. Maybe Bootbird would forgive you if you fed him some of his favorite snacks. 

“My dear friend! Mind if I ask for your attention for a moment? Boothill has something he’d like to show you.”

You glance up at Argenti before peeking behind him. Bootbird was peeking out from behind a pillar with that mischievous little spark in his eyes. Both amused and curious over what the cowboy had in store this time, you nod and follow the knight. 

To say you were surprised was an understatement.

“Is… Is he…?”

“Dancing? Yes, he is. I believe considering the fact that he’s now a bird, it’d be more prudent to call it a mating dance.”

This day just couldn’t get any weirder.

You watch with amusement and steadily darkening cheeks at the way Bootbird moved his tiny little bird body in time to an imaginary tune. Was this guy seriously moonwalking now as well?

“Where the fuck did he get that rose from?”

“I let him borrow it. I must say, Boothill is truly someone blessed by The Beauty. Such graceful moves despite the limitations this body must cause!”

“Amen to that.”

You’d been correct in your earlier judgment that Boothill’s new form didn’t change any aspect of his personality whatsoever. Why else would he dance in a circle around you before tweeting and flapping his wings, as if asking you to dance with him? Normally, you’d be a bit more self-conscious over just dancing out of nowhere with an origami bird. But this was Penacony, a planet filled with far stranger sights and this was no ordinary origami bird. It was your origami bird. Your Bootbird. 

Throwing caution to wind, you join Bootbird on his impromptu little dance floor and laugh in surprise when he flies up to your shoulder and gently pecks your cheek.

“Tweet tweet <3!”

“Yes yes, dear. I love you too and forgive you for earlier.”

“Tweet! Chirp!”

“Your dance was wonderful as well. You’ve always been the better dancer out of the two of us, even now. You should know that.”

“Tweet tweet!”

You chuckle, watching Bootbird blush and rub at the back of his neck, as if to say “Aw shucks, darlin’!”.

“You really are a little lovebird, aren’t you?” You quip, affectionately feeding Bootbird a bullet.

“Chirp!”

“Touché.”

–

“Rappa really outdid herself this time with these photos!”

“Shut it, darlin’. I oughtta shoot holes in ‘em.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You love me and Rappa too much to ever do that to us.”

“Dadgum wubbaboo…”

Much to your relief, the origami bird curse didn’t last long on Boothill. Sorry as you were to see the adorable and fat Bootbird go, you couldn’t deny that you much preferred your lover as his usual rootin’ tootin’ cowboy self. Though… you’d have hoped for a warning before Boothill was changed back to normal. The idiot had been perched on your shoulder like a dutiful familiar and once the curse was lifted, both you and Boothill had toppled to the ground in a tangled heap. 

“Aww, look at this one! It's us both dancing!” You nearly squeal in joy. Trust Rappa to use her ninja techniques and sneakily take such a candid shot! “We should totally frame this and hang it up in the spaceship’s lounge!”

“Y’sure ‘bout that, sweetpea?” Boothill sighs and grumbles under his breath when you nod eagerly at his question. 

“It’ll be a nice memory of the day my little lovebird performed a mating dance for me!”

“Speakin’ of… What say you ‘bout makin’ good on that mating dance, if ya catch my drift?”

“Only if you let me put all of these photos of you as a bird on the walls.”

“Anythin’ fer you, darlin’.”

[spenceragnewfics]

I know it's silly, but can I ask for a soulmate au with Spencer and female reader? Like they discovered they are soulmates in a dumb way

Sorry if this sucks! I don't know why it was difficult to write this.

Summary: Most people get romantic, poetic soulmate marks. You? You were blessed with: “Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?” Word Count: 844

People talk about their soulmate marks like they’re holy scripture.

“Your smile is the sun.”

“You became my everything when you entered the room.”

Even the dramatic ones are revered like Oscar-winning monologues:

“I’ve crossed galaxies for you.”

“I’d bleed just to find you.”

You?

You were cursed.

Your soulmate mark, the first words your destined partner would ever say to you, reads:

“Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?”

That’s it. No flourish. No poetry. No cosmic magnetism wrapped in metaphor.

Just a neon-green energy drink and a question you swore you’d never hear unironically.

You’re not even a Kickstart girl. You’re a cold brew enthusiast. You like your caffeine smooth and morally superior, not tasting like a science experiment wrapped in citrus. But fate, apparently, has a sense of humor. Or a sponsorship deal.

You gave up hoping for romance years ago. Told yourself it would happen when it happened. That you’d laugh about it someday.

You just didn’t expect “someday” to be today.

You're behind the camera on set for your first Try Not to Laugh shoot as a production assistant. The energy is pure chaos: props flying, bit wheels spinning, people screaming into megaphones for no discernible reason.

You’re trying to keep up, managing props while helping reset the stage, when you set your roommate’s Mountain Dew Kickstart on a prop crate for just one moment.

And then it happens.

Spencer walks by, picks up the can, and—without an ounce of awareness of the cosmic chaos he’s about to unleash—glances at you and asks:

“Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?”

The world slows.

You freeze.

Your entire bloodstream turns to static. The can. The voice. The phrase. Your mark.

You spin around so fast your headset nearly flies off your head.

Spencer stops, Kickstart still in hand, confused by your deer-in-headlights stare. “You okay?” he asks, brow furrowing.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You just stare.

He lifts the can again. “This. Is it yours?”

And that’s when it hits him.

Your stunned face. The look of sheer existential panic. The unmistakable moment of realization that everyone fears and dreams about in equal measure.

“Oh my God,” Spencer says slowly. “Don’t tell me that was your—”

You nod. Just once. Like if you move too much, you’ll combust. “Soulmark,” you croak. “Yep.”

He stares at you.

Then stares at the can in his hand.

“Mountain Dew Kickstart?” he repeats. “That’s what the universe gave us?”

You both blink at each other, completely horrified.

And then, like a switch flips, you both burst out laughing.

It starts soft, like a trickle of disbelief, and then spills over into full-on wheezing hysterics. Spencer doubles over, the can still in his grip. You cover your mouth, tears in your eyes.

“Oh God,” you gasp. “My grandma has ‘I’ve waited a thousand lifetimes for you’ and I got this.”

Spencer’s laughing so hard he almost drops the can. “My brother’s is ‘I knew it was you the moment I heard your laugh,’ and mine’s freaking soda-based.”

You’re both laughing so much you don’t notice Courtney walking up until she’s right beside you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What’s going on?”

Spencer wipes a tear. “Soulmark moment.”

Her face lights up.

“No.”

You nod, still recovering.

“What was it?” she asks, already too excited.

Spencer just holds up the Kickstart and says it again with full dramatic flair:

“Is that your Mountain Dew Kickstart?”

Courtney immediately chokes on her LaCroix.

By lunch, the entire cast and crew knows.

Damien starts calling you the Kickstart Couple™ and threatens to make a fake ad campaign. Olivia insists your first wedding dance has to be to a remixed Mountain Dew commercial jingle. Ian offers to have merch made.

You’ve never been so embarrassed or so secretly happy in your life.

Later that afternoon, you’re alone at the edit bay, trying to get some actual work done while everyone else takes a break. You’re sipping your boring, refined cold brew when Spencer slides into the chair next to you.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just leans his elbow on the desk and watches you scroll through footage.

Then he nudges your arm.

“So…” he says casually. “Do I owe you a replacement Kickstart? Or like… a soulmate date?”

You glance at him.

His tone is teasing, but his eyes are kind. Warm. There’s something real behind the grin.

You lean back in your chair and smirk. “Both. I expect emotional commitment and carbonation.”

He blinks.

Then smiles. Slow. Bright. Like he can’t believe you just said that.

And he rolls up his sleeve.

There, in unmistakable silvery ink, is his soulmate mark:

“Both. I expect emotional commitment and carbonation.”

You burst out laughing. Again.

“I’m gonna kill fate,” you say, shaking your head.

Spencer leans back beside you. “You can try. But I think fate just wants us to be... effervescent.”

You groan. “That was terrible.”

“But you laughed.”

You don’t say it, but your grin says everything.

Yeah. You did.

[bucketsofmonsters]

A Matter of Time - Chapter 4

Timothy Timepice x Reader, Timmy x Reader

Slow burn, At least for one of them it’s a slow burn, Timmy doesn’t really do slow, Gender neutral reader, Afab reader, Anxiety, Enemies to lovers, Or I guess people who bicker a lot to lovers, Rating will change soon, Reader will be domming both of them so if you’re not down for that, don’t get too invested, insomnia, dry humping

word count - 2k

Masterlist

You had one more appointment with Timothy before the schedule he had made for you ran out and you knew you needed to take advantage of it. If you didn’t set up more appointments, you had no way of knowing which one the clock would bring you, Timothy or Timmy, and you had a lot of questions for Timmy. 

You supposed you had a lot of questions for both of them, but Timmy at least seemed less averse to giving you answers, even if he did have other eccentricities. 

At the very least, if you set up more appointments, then you would know who you were getting. Despite only having met him once, you were well aware that mentally preparing yourself for Timmy was a very different process than mentally preparing for Timothy. 

And besides, you hadn’t had the chance to give Timothy his gift. 

So for today, you were back to the seven alarm plan. 

Well, in spirit you were back to the seven alarm plan. What you had actually enacted was a far more irritating twenty-nine alarm plan, where alarms went off every five minutes from 11 o’clock until you hit twenty minutes before, at which time alarms would go off every minute until it hit 12. 

Was it potentially overkill? Sure. But you knew one thing for certain, you weren’t going to miss the meeting. 

When you hit your seventeenth one-minute-apart alarm, the insanity began to set in. You suspected this might be what Chinese water torture felt like as you braced for the sound of the alarm, never quite sure when it was about to start blaring at you. 

After the nineteenth alarm, you assumed the position. You stood and waited, staring at Timothy who was, conveniently, also a clock. It at least let you watch the seconds tick by as you prepared. 

Despite all your alarms and mental preparation, you couldn’t help the burst of anxiety that took over you and got you to summon Timothy five seconds early. 

He had about three seconds to gather his bearings before the alarm started blaring behind you and you had to scramble to turn it off. 

When you turned around, he looked deeply irritated with you. 

“If you let that alarm go off one more time, I will not be held liable for what I might do,” he said crossly. 

“You’re a clock, isn’t this like, your brother or something. Second cousin, maybe,” you said, realizing moments after you said it that it was perhaps not how you should be starting this particular interaction. 

Timothy scowled. “No, I think you will find it is not. Now, did you come here to discuss inferior timepieces with me?”

“No,” you said, moving to grab what you had behind you. “I came to give you this.”

The cups were wrapped in bright yellow wrapping paper, unlike how they’d been the day before. It felt like it should be a bit more of a real present after all that had happened. The calendar sat under the wrapped box, but it seemed best to lead with the present before demanding more appointments. 

He did not seem particularly excited about the present. “I do not need anything from you,” he said as he ripped open the paper. “Not after your performance… Oh, actually, these are quite nice.”

You smiled at him. “I’m glad you like them!”

He sighed, turning the cups over in his hands. “I suppose I can hear you out, but only-”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You whipped around to face your phone, the alarm blaring again after you had seemingly hit snooze instead of turning it off. 

“I am an alarm clock too, you know,” Timothy said, the lines of his face harsh with tension. “At the very least, I am not so annoying as that thing is.”

“I just don’t… you know, take you everywhere.”

He harumphed. “I suppose. Your loss. And the loss of everyone who can hear that thing.”

Okay, so not like brothers. Maybe they were like clock rivals. 

“Listen, that isn’t what I came here for. I wanted to set up more appointments with you, in the future. This one was our last one.”

“And why would I trust you with that, after yesterday’s debacle?" he asked indignantly, eyes narrowing.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll just have to guess when I should talk to you, and then it’s anyone’s guess whether it will be you or Timmy that-”

“How dare you mention that upstart in front of me,” he hissed. “I should cast you out for that crime alone.”

Your brows furrowed. “Cast me out from where? What does that mean?”

“That is entirely besides the point. You had the audacity to be late to our meeting and now, when asking for more, I’m sure so you can fail to attend those promptly too, you mention that awful little creature.”

“Am I allowed to ask about him?” you interjected, perhaps unwisely. “Because I really would love to know what is going on there.”

“I am not discussing my curse with you, especially after the stunt you pulled. If you’re so very curious, maybe you should go ask him about it, because you will get nothing from me!”

“If you’re so determined not to help, maybe I will,” you huffed out.

“Don’t you dare,” he snapped back. 

“You just told me to!” It came out whinier than you had intended. 

“I didn’t mean it. You’ve only known him for a few minutes, why do you even care so much?”

“I’m curious about all of you, it isn’t just Timmy. I want to know how you all work, what makes you tick.” You paused for a moment before scrambling to add, “That wasn’t meant to be a joke.”

Timothy sighed. “I will add some appointments to your calendar, so if you need to see me, you know when to do it. You are not to visit me outside of these times. Am I understood?”

You nodded, if only to get him to make the appointments. 

After he finished writing, he picked up the teacups again, staring down at them intently. 

“Why are you so desperate to keep me from him?” you asked, doing your best to soften your voice. “I won’t judge you or anything. I mean, it’s clear he’s a different person from you, I wouldn’t hold anything he did against you.”

“Because I said so,” he replied, and it would have sounded juvenile if his voice hadn’t been so sharp. “Now good day to you.”

Despite the firm warning you’d been given, you couldn’t help but wonder about Timmy. Of all the objects-turned-people you’d talked to, he certainly seemed the most pliant. It seemed likely he would tell you whatever you wanted. It was certainly more than you could say for Timothy. 

More than that, he too had invited you back, seeming to want to see you again. It would be rude to just never see him again, especially after he’d seemed so eager. 

You grabbed the alarm clock from your bedroom, the cat one that partnered with the clock on your wall, carrying it with you to the living room to think. 

It would certainly upset Timothy, but to be frank, it seemed everything you did upset Timothy. It wasn’t like it was untrodden ground. And he had given you no good reason not to, acting like a child instead of even trying to help you understand. 

And so, as you pondered this, your eyes remained locked onto your clock. 

It had been an hour since your meeting. That was almost as long as it had been last time, when your lateness had summoned Timmy instead of Timothy. You couldn’t help but wonder…

You reached for your glasses, emotionally preparing to get shouted at by Timothy once more. 

But as the boy appeared in front of you, no shouting came. 

Instead, you saw his ears perk up, his eyes widening in excitement as his pupils turned to slits. “Hello, master,” he purred.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you insisted, moving to sit on your couch to try and make the meeting seem more casual, hoping that might make the boy more willing to open up to you. 

He eagerly shifted forwards, sprawling out across every part of the couch you weren’t actively sitting on. 

“Oh, but Timmy must,” he countered. “It is only proper.”

“Proper, huh,” you mused. “You almost sound like Timothy. 

He hissed at you, as if on instinct, before coming back to himself and making a cute face at you again, his eyes going soft and his body pliant where it lay on the couch. “Timmy is nothing like that stuffy old cat. But master knows that. You disobeyed Timothy to come here. Timmy was too cute to stay away.”

“Sure,” you said, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings. “Maybe that’s part of it. I also have some questions for you, if you’d be amiable.”

“Amiable,” Timmy muttered quietly to himself before letting his head fall back so he could look up at you. “Timmy will do whatever master needs him to.”

You smiled down at him, excitement blooming inside of you. “Okay, just a few questions would be incredible. I was wondering, well I was wondering a lot of things. But first, do you guys have prior lives? Could you talk to each other before I made you come to life? Because I know some of you know each other, but it’s sort of unclear to me if it was because you were conscious before or if it was just innate to you when you were brought to life. And how much can you see when you’re in object form? Is that why objects used in conjunction with each other a lot seem more likely to know each other? And how does it feel to be an object, is it different from being human or are you just more able to express yourself this way? And speaking of being an object, was it different before you came to life for the first time? Like, do you maintain some of the humanity that you didn’t have before. Oh, and, well maybe I should let you answer first.”

Timmy’s eyes looked almost like they were glazed over, a vacant expression lying in them as you looked down at him expectantly. 

You gently poked him in the head. “Hello? Are you alright?”

The touch seemed to bring him back to the land of the living, springing up to a seated position beside you. 

 “Timmy has been meaning to tell you,” he said, completely ignoring every single one of your questions, including the ones revolving around how he was doing, “Timmy loved the present master got him. He only wishes there was some way to repay master.”

You perked up a little. “I mean, like I said before, if you’d answer some questions it would really help me out. And I’d be happy to get you more toys if you wanted them. Not like, as repayment though. I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything.”

A scowl managed to sneak its way through his carefully schooled, wide eyed look. “Questions are boring.”

“So just the toys then?” you asked quickly, not wanting to get both of the cat boys upset at you. One was bad enough. 

“Hmm,” he hummed in consideration.  “Timmy does like playing with toys.”

He shifted forwards, kicking both his legs over your lap so he was basically sitting on you. 

“What toys would you want?” you asked, eyeing his legs suspiciously as he wriggled in your lap. 

“It’s up to you master,” he said, shifting one leg over you so he was straddling your lap. “You’re the one who’s going to play with Timmy.”

With the extra height sitting on your hips gave him, you were able to look one another in the eye. You could see him fighting to keep a mischievous gleam out of his eyes, clearly attempting to look wide eyed and innocent. He succeeded and failed variably from moment to moment. 

“We are still talking about cat toys, right?” you asked, your voice breaking a bit in the middle of your question. 

Timothy smiled at you like you were now in on a joke. “Any toy Timmy owns is a cat toy. Timmy supposes that you own a cat toy too, don’t you master?”

And then he rolled his hips down into yours and in a moment of panic, you shoved him backwards. 

He hit the ground on his back, a surprised little oof escaping him before he collapsed fully to the floor. 

Timmy huffed and scrunched up his nose, sprawling out like a starfish on the floor instead of making any attempt to get up. “Master is no fun.”

“I just remembered I have to… go,” you sputtered out, already backing away from him. 

You watched him roll his eyes before he disappeared and you were left with only the ticking of the clock once more. 

[coffeegnomee]

No I'm just so obsessed with Spoke talking about his time in his second season, how that was the first season he found what completed him, made him feel whole.

How minutes before he said SPOKE: “i wanted to make sure that there was someone that was gonna [end the season]"

His primary goal, core ideology, is world ender.

And it got solidified in his second season.

I've been talking forever about waiting for the new members to get to the end of their first season, that's no mystery. But I've also been sooo excited and delighted watching the s5 additions take on their second full season and thinking back I actually don't think I've ever written about it, whoops.

They were just getting so comfortable with lifesteal and with themselves. And so much of their ideologies just finally came through in the final weeks. Like unironically I've been excited for s7 since like one month into s6: All the s5 adds on their 3rd season, all the s6 adds on their 2nd. That's the kind of shit that made s4 imo.

And to list them out, Minute, obviously, just posted that video and it's looking like his ideology has solidified into basically what he said that one day early season when Zam asked him his goals MINUTE: "I want two things. I want fun. And I want hearts” 

And backing it up with the theme of the whole video of reconciliation with Clown, and Clown having his own growth moment realizing lifesteal without teammates is really lonely. And that both of them loved hanging out in the finale.

Minute isn't one to be perfectly good, but he isn't one to crave after the evil. He wants fun. With hearts. Friendship and redstone machines and some cool fights and small heavy hitting lore moments.

But destroying spawn, using exploits; that's not him.

But he gets blinded with the goal of hearts, loosing sight on the having fun. Oh my goodness seeing the clip again of him killing Rekrap when Rek was so clearly excited, how much time there was between Rek's excitement and when Minute loaded the cannon. Only realizing after that he regretted it. Offt stab me in the heart bro.

And 4c. In January he said “I feel like deep down i don't trust anyone completely, but i feel like to an extent i choose to trust people anyway. Because on lifesteal i feel like i have more joy of putting myself in those positions of trust because by the end of it you get to see people’s real characters”. And he did that with PRISMS, right until the end though it was a bit scuffed with him not being in the country. And he did it with the tunnel rats. But he will always be the player who puts his trust in others just to see what might happen down the line.

And Jumper, settling quite nicely into the role of psychological tormenter. Like need I say more.

By the end of their second season each one has staked a claim in what they are on lifesteal.

And then Wemmbu, since he banned himself off mid season 6, I count that as completing his first season, since he was added mid season 5. so he begins his second in s7.

Pentar was also mid season s5, so he's at 1.5 seasons and I think we're getting a really interesting look into his mind. I mean for goodness sake did anyone else watch the SB mace video and see him offer Ecorridor as his payment for the mace. What the fuck is wrong with him. But like... no, i don't have thoughts haha. I love him. Taking a separate plot point with Zam and presenting it to SB. like he's too ridiculous /pos I'll probably need 3 full seasons before I understand Pentar.

And then there's Squiddo, once again running the ring of a handmade hacked client, searching and testing and finding exploits. And in the end embracing it to cause chaos, but not necessarily the end of the season. She's also at 1.5 seasons, and I'm so intrigued where they'll go. She's definitely more teammate focused (lol) and oriented to silly things over anything else.

But then to go down memory lane, like Spoke was saying, his season 2 had him doing everything for his team but in the end he found himself in ending the server.

Planet was added s2, but only logged on at the end, so s3 was his first full season, and s4 his second. In both you see an embracing of being a chungus, 3ht, girl talk, changing the trajectory of player's lives through talking. There was so much subtle talking, so much passion for content that is effective. That changed s5, until he banned himself in the Abyss, and then changed back in s6.

Bacon was added halfway through s3, and you can see how by halfway through s4, which he talked about earlier this season, was the time when he got really really invested into lifesteal and started caring, like, a lot. Bro got passionate about the wormhole. But then it wasn't until season 5 that we really saw Bacon become Bacon, when he really started being the critiquer of plots and did his first patented do my tasks plots, when he got passionate about players caring about the server and and wanting to log on and putting in so much effort to make it happen.

Zam's second season was s3. Running from the PrinceZam Empire to Cleansers to the iconic season 3 finale with Spoke. Establishing he's the one who will repair spawn when nobody else does. Accidentally falling into being the hero and never giving up no matter what.

Rek's second season was also s3 which is when his trap escaping and paranoia really kicked off, as well as his willingness to be involved regardless of the moral tilt of his teammates (the cleansing/decimation). He just has a tilt of wholesome chaos that is very rekrap.

ok so eventually we get too into nuance based on player activity and if they skipped a season or not ect ect. but i love this trend. I love thinking about what shaped the lifestealers into what they are now, i love watching them grow and change. Normally in like normal tv/movie content I'm one to love an origin story, whatever the first movie is in a series or the first season of a show. But on lifesteal it genuinely gets better the longer they're online.

[sereia4skz]

twoshot | cognitive dissonance: uncontrolled annoyance

pairing: poly!minsung x f!reader

warnings: academic rivals/enemies to lovers, minsung, banter?, kinda slow burn

word count: 1.4k

request | part 2: flirtation & fault lines >

Your professor says the word “group project” and you swear something dies inside you.

Not because you hate group work, okay, you do, but because you already know who’s going to end up in your group. You just know.

Across the psych lecture hall, two pairs of eyes meet yours. One sleepy and smug, the other sharp and smugger.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

Han Jisung waves at you with a grin like he’s just spotted a favorite toy. Lee Minho just arches a brow, then looks away. Dismissive. Like he already knows he’s going to outscore you again, and can’t be bothered to even look interested while doing it.

You're going to lose your mind before this project is even assigned.

Professor Lee continues, completely unaware that your blood pressure is spiking. “This will be your semester’s major grade, twenty-five percent of your final. Groups of three. Mixed majors encouraged. I’ll be assigning them randomly.”

Randomly, your ass.

The last time something was “random” in this class, Minho got assigned to the presentation slot right after yours, and Jisung got the seat next to you for the entire semester.

It’s like fate, or worse, Professor Lee is playing matchmaker from hell.

The moment class ends, you attempt the oldest academic survival tactic: walk fast, avoid eye contact, escape.

You make it halfway to the door before someone jogs up beside you.

“Y/N! Hey.” 

You don’t have to look to know it’s Han Jisung. No one else says your name like it’s the start of a punchline.

“Let me guess,” you say, not breaking stride. “You want to split the workload 80/20 and you’ll ‘totally make it up to me later.’”

He gasps. “You wound me. I was gonna say 70/30.” He pouts, then bumps your shoulder with his. “Besides, Minho already called dibs on annoying you today.”

As if on cue, Minho appears beside you like a shadow that smells vaguely of cologne and arrogance. “You’re walking too fast,” he says flatly.

You shoot him a sideways look. “You could just not follow me.”

“Then I’d miss the look on your face when you find out we’re working together.”

“That’s not a look, that’s a stroke.”

Jisung snorts. “Honestly, your dynamic is my favorite reality show.”

Minho doesn’t smile, but there’s a glint in his eye. “I like watching her try to act superior.”

“Oh, I don’t act,” you say sweetly. “I am.”

⋆｡°✩

Later that week, the group pairings are officially announced. As expected, your name is underlined in red marker beside two others: 

Lee Minho. Han Jisung. Y/N. 

Topic: Social cognition and decision-making biases.

You grip the page so hard the corners curl, maybe a stroke would be better. When you turn around, they're already waiting. Like vultures. Hands in pockets. Too casual.

Minho tilts his head. “Don’t look so excited.”

Jisung grins. “Yeah, at least you get to stare at our faces for the next two months.”

You exhale slowly through your nose.

“I will commit a crime,” you promise.

“Make sure it’s ethically relevant,” Minho says. “It could strengthen our hypothesis.”

⋆｡°✩

The apartment smells like cup ramen, faint citrus, and regret. You stand in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, blinking at the chaos you’ve just walked into.

Han Jisung is sitting cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a hoodie that says ‘Not Procrastinating, Just Strategizing’. He’s surrounded by open books and crumpled candy wrappers.

Across the room, Minho sits perfectly still at the kitchen counter, sipping from a black mug like he’s observing a wildlife documentary. His laptop is open in front of him, neatly aligned with a stack of highlighters and a fresh legal pad.

You stare. “This looks less like a study session and more like a social experiment gone wrong.”

“Welcome to hell,” Jisung chirps. “You’re the last one to arrive, which statistically makes you the weakest link. Minho said so.”

Minho doesn’t even look up. “I said it suggests lower motivation, not intelligence.”

“You live together…” you say dryly. “But thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor Freud.”

Minho turns a page in his notebook with surgical precision. “Freud wouldn’t diagnose anything. He’d say you’re repressing your academic insecurities and project them onto me.”

You drop your bag onto the floor with a thud. “I am insecure, about wasting my GPA on this nightmare of a group.”

Jisung grins like this is the best kind of chaos. “God, I love us.”

You grab a seat at the edge of the couch, putting a safe three feet between yourself and the boys. You’d push for more, but this is a college apartment, not a monastery, and the air is already thick with unresolved tension and unspoken egos.

You pull out your planner and open it with a dramatic sigh. “Okay. Let’s just start.”

Minho slides a packet toward you across the table. His notes. Typed, color-coded, and already footnoted.

You blink. “Did you do all the research already?”

He doesn’t blink back. “Yes. I didn’t trust either of you to do it thoroughly.”

Jisung holds a chip in midair. “Rude but fair.”

You thumb through the pages, slightly annoyed at how good the formatting is. “You could’ve waited,” you mutter.

“You could’ve read the chapter before class.”

“I did.”

“Then this should be easy for you.”

You glare. He sips from his mug like your rage sustains him.

The study session is… mostly functional.

Jisung floats between half-helpful and half-hyper, throwing in weird metaphors and impromptu theories about decision-making bias that somehow involve raccoons and vending machines. You don’t ask.

Minho, meanwhile, plays silent judge and jury from across the table. Every time you start explaining something, he watches. Not interrupts, just watches. Too closely. Like he’s studying your expressions as much as your arguments.

At one point, you snap your pen in half. He raises an eyebrow.

“Stress response?”

“Bite me.”

“I’ll put that in the observation notes.”

It’s dark out by the time you realize how long you've been at it. Your phone buzzes with a low battery warning. The clock reads 11:08 PM.

“Jesus,” you say, rubbing your temples. “I didn’t come here to spend my entire youth debating confirmation bias with two goblins.”

“You wound me,” Jisung says, sprawled across the floor now like a Victorian widow. “I’m adorable.”

“You’re a caffeine-gremlin.”

He gasps. “Minho, did you hear that?”

“I did. And unfortunately, I agree.”

You look between them, Jisung, dramatic and twitchy, and Minho, cool and infuriatingly composed, and wonder, not for the first time, why the hell fate keeps throwing you into their orbit.

You’re the one who gets things done. The one who over-prepares, the one who keeps her calendar color-coded and her files backed up on three different drives.

They’re chaos and silence. Fire and ice. And you hate how balanced it feels when the three of you work together.

As you pack your bag to leave, Jisung walks you to the door.

“Well,” he says, rocking on his heels. “That wasn’t the worst way I’ve spent a Tuesday.”

You give him a tired look. “You spent last Tuesday getting kicked out of a psych lab for trying to hypnotize someone with your ringtone.”

He grins. “Exactly. Progress.”

Behind him, Minho leans in the doorway with his arms crossed. “You forgot your flash drive.”

You turn. He’s holding it out between two fingers, like it's contaminated.

You snatch it. “Thanks. Can’t wait to see what insults you come up with next week.”

“I don’t plan insults,” he says, tone unreadable. “You just inspire them.”

You stare at him for a beat too long. His eyes flicker, something amused, something sharp, and you look away first. You hate that.

“Goodnight, Freud and Ferb,” you mutter, pulling the door open.

“Who’s Ferb?” Jisung yells after you.

⋆｡°✩

That night, you lie in bed longer than usual.

You should be thinking about your cognitive bias notes. About whether the anchoring effect skews perception more under time pressure or social pressure.

Instead, you’re thinking about how Minho’s voice went low when he said “inspire,” like it wasn’t supposed to come out like that. About the way Jisung smiled when he said “I love us,” like he meant it too much.

You bury your face in your pillow. This project is going to ruin you.

And worst of all? You’re starting to think you might let it.

next part >

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[rr4yne]

Books and You

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊..‎܁˖‎𐦍‧₊˚· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒‧₊˚⋅ᰔ ⋮

Pairing : Yuta Okkotsu x Maki Zenin

Warning : No warnings! Just fluff

Synopsis : Yuta asks Maki to go on a date (their first date) which is going to the bookstore together/bookstore date

A/N recommend reading this while listening to K. - Cigarettes After Sex

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊..‎܁˖‎𐦍‧₊˚· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒‧₊˚⋅ᰔ ⋮

It was a normal day, atleast thats what Maki thought. Wake up, go to class, go back to her dorm, and rest just like her usual routine.

Until Yuta asked her to go on a date after class.

"Hey, we never go on a date before. Wanna go on a bookstore date? Since you love books." He said so casually it made her think shes the crazy one for being so flustered over it.

But she couldn't say no, of course not. She loved books, like love love. And Yuta is her boyfriend so of course she said "...Sure. I need a new book to read anyway."

That made Yuta light up "Okay, how about tomorrow after class? Cause it's Friday so after the date you would have lots of time to read." He said happily

Maki nodded and said "Alright." With a soft smile on her face as she looks at yuta, she loves it when he lightens up or smiles at her, she'll never admit this but it makes her heart flutter everytime.

• • •

After class, as expected they go on a bookstore date together. But before that they got teased by Panda and Inumaki (even tho he just said something in rice ball ingredients) Tho Yuta and Maki just ignored them and walked peacefully to the bookstore

As they walk, Yuta tried to make a conversation so the walk wouldn't be so awkward. "So, You already know which book you wanted to buy?" He said softly. That made Maki think for a moment, or so she pretends to. "I'll probably buy-" But she stopped herself mid sentence and said "You'll see." That took Yuta by suprise, he didn't expect her to make him wait and see it when they arrive at the bookstore, it sort of made him excited to see what book she'll pick

• • •

After some comforting silence they finally arrived at the bookstore. Yuta quickly made himself to the door and opened it for her, "Ladies first." He said with a wink. It made Maki rolled her eyes but she let out a smile as she walked in the bookstore

They split in the bookstore as Maki goes to the Japanese novels section while Yuta (secretly) goes to the romance section

About 15 minutes have passed and Maki already got a book in her hand, she spent most of her time just looking at the other books cause she already know what she wanted to pick, and some caught her interest but she thinks one is enough. She paid for her book and tried to find Yuta only to find him outside the bookstore, already waiting for her

"Oh, You're done?" He asked as he continue, "That was quicker than I thought." Maki nodded "Well I already know what I'm going to buy so i pretty much just spent most of the time there looking." She said as she holds her book, then Yuta found his answer to the question he asked earlier. Heaven by Mieko Kawakami, thats the book she bought. "Well I see you picked a book with a cool cover." He stated as it made her smile "I know, I can't wait to read it." It made him let out a soft chuckle "Tell me all about it once You're finished okay?" Maki said "...Fine." As she tried to sound like she didn't want to but she was secretly excited to talk about it to him when shes finished. Then she notices how Yuta seemed to also bought a book, but she couldn't see what book it is cause he used a paper bag while carrying it in his hand. "What book did you bought?" She asked as shes curious, but Yuta immediately said "U-Um...It's nothing! Just some book I found interesting." Nervously, so she didn't want to ask more and just let him be.

A/N I'm sorry if there was some mistake, English isn't my first language, I'm also sorry if i added too much timeskips. And i got inspired to write this by my headcanon that Maki loves to read books and Yuta secretly reads romance books, by the way incase you haven't realize the book Yuta bought is a romance

[autisticaradiamegido]

thoughts on dave and aradia (<>)?

day 356

BIG fan tbh. in this house we love and respect timerails

truly yall read this log and tell me theyre not cute

[fear-no-mort]

thinkign about how alone and unloved morty was for all his life and rick was the first time anyobdy ever put such an amount of intense attention and dependency onto him . and rick had a whole new family and losing them made him stop seeing the value in other people as a whole and morty was the one and first thing that woke him up

[huginsmemory]

Where's that one Ford art post thats like I'm in the best years of my life clutching a hot pink thermos thingy with hot gurl juice when he's clearly not. cause damn . Yeah

[blizzardfluffykpop]

I am currently trying to get my mind to transition from the fact that I saw the boyz & was in nyc- to focus on the fact that I need to get everything together to see changkyun in chicago- (it's kind of funny i have nothing organized for him- even tho i bought his tickets first...). like ik what I gotta do but i don't wanna do any of it... (i will eventually *soon* but i just need to complain about it first)

[adhdtsukasa]

i did not survive the bloomfes meiko untrained incident