#if i wanted to read too much into it i could say that shes seeing viewer because this is the first edition viewer sees her. or something. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 15 hours ago

Text

the plan ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

notes: i fear i may never again experience as much joy as i did while writing this... guys, it was so much fun! i know it's long, but it's full of tension and pining and heat, please give it a read! i actually love this so much, and i hope you do too, so please let me know what you think!!! i literally fell in love with bob while writing this, the lewis pullman spiral is spiralling

warnings: swearing, big dick energy, movie references (the princess bride, the ugly truth, star wars), bob's big dick, tension, lots of horniness (18+ ONLY MDNI), italics, huge dick energy, jealousy, bob is secretly cut, emotional warfare but it's fun, and did i mention bob's massive dick? (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 21143

your callsign is sunny

It wasn’t long after the uranium mission that Dagger Squad was asked to stay on North Island and train as an elite, mission-focused unit under Maverick’s command. Not that anyone had to be asked—most of the squad was more than happy to be reassigned and stick together.

Once everything was finalised and the official special operations squadron was born, the first thing most of you did was move out of the barracks. You needed more space—both physically, and from each other—and, frankly, something that didn’t reek of stale socks and floor polish.

You and Natasha thought you’d hit the jackpot when you found a two-bedroom apartment right by the beach, with a spacious open-plan living area and not one, but two balconies. It was perfect. You could hardly believe it. Full of natural light, and just far enough from the boys you already spent too much time with—training, flying, doing push-ups every time someone pissed off Maverick.

It was meant to be.

Until the apartment across the hall went up for lease.

And that’s how you failed to escape the boys entirely. Reuben and Mickey spotted the sign while helping you move in, and before you knew it, they were neighbours—closer than ever and almost impossible to get off your couch.

A knock at the door draws your attention from the TV, and Natasha pauses mid-step on her way from the kitchen—bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Ten bucks says it’s Fanboy,” she says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

You know that Mickey is stuck on overtime tonight—punishment from Maverick for mouthing off during a fly drill this morning. Natasha, however, hadn’t been in the air with you and clearly wasn’t listening on comms.

Your eyes flick to the door and back to her. “Deal.”

She drops the bowl on the coffee table and doubles back, swinging the door open.

“Ugh,” she sighs. “It’s you.”

Reuben blinks, his smile faltering as his brow creases. “Nice to see you too, Phoenix.”

She heads back to the couch, Reuben trailing behind.

“Why’d you knock?” she asks. “It’s always open.”

“Wasn’t the other day.”

You sit up straighter, rolling your eyes. “That’s because it was two a.m. and I was home alone—sleeping.”

Natasha drops onto the couch, a little closer to you than before to make room for Reuben. “Do we seriously not have boundaries anymore?” she asks him. “What could you possibly need at two in the morning?”

He plucks the popcorn bowl off the table and settles it in his lap. “Fanboy really wanted to watch The Princess Bride, but Netflix logged us out and we couldn’t remember the password.”

You lean across Natasha for a handful of popcorn. “Then get your own Netflix account, you fucking freeloaders.”

Reuben gives you a wounded look. “Okay, rude.”

You roll your eyes again and flop back against the couch, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asks, peering at you from Natasha’s other side.

Natasha snorts but keeps her eyes on the TV.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “My panties are perfectly untwisted.”

Reuben chuckles and shifts his gaze to the screen. “Then maybe someone should twist them up—get some of that tension out.”

You flip him off without even glancing his way, your scowl still locked on the TV. He just laughs again, and Natasha shoots you a sidelong, knowing smirk.

Twenty minutes later—and after Reuben has all but annihilated the popcorn—the front door swings open and Mickey breezes in, making a beeline for the fridge.

“Have you guys eaten?” he calls out. “Because I’m starving. I skipped lunch and Mav still kept me back.” He grabs a beer and spins to face the living room. “Isn’t that, like, illegal? Something about duty of care? I’m about to pass out, and it wasn’t even my fault I got held back. Hangman was the one mouthing off—I just told him where to stick it. But no, now Mav’s all professional, like he’s a real CO with a stick up his ass. Honestly? I liked him better before.”

He yanks open a drawer, fishes out the bottle opener, and cracks the beer. “Anyway,” he says, glancing up at the three of you, “pizza?”

A long beat of silence stretches through the apartment as you all stare at him.

“Jesus Christ, Mick,” Reuben mutters. “Take a fucking breath.”

Mickey just shrugs, heading into the living room. “What?”

He drops onto the floor—figuring the couch is already squishy enough—and sets his beer on the coffee table before reaching for the remote.

“No one’s watching this, right?” he asks—not that it matters.

He doesn’t wait for a response—just clicks a few buttons and starts scrolling through Netflix. Frustration simmers under your skin, because yes, you were watching that, but you bite your tongue. You know you’re in a bad mood, and it’s not worth taking it out on your friends. No matter how irritating they can be.

He finally lands on The Princess Bride and makes a satisfied little hum as he hits play. Then he tosses the remote back onto the table, picks up his beer, and leans back against the couch—his elbow jabbing your knee in the process. Your glass, balanced loosely on your leg, sloshes and spills cold liquid onto your lap.

“Whoops,” Mickey says, glancing back at you. “My bad.”

“Uh oh,” Natasha mutters, scooting slightly away from you.

“Seriously, Mickey?” you snap, eyes narrowing. “Could you not act like a clumsy lapdog for five fucking seconds?”

His eyes go wide at your tone.

“How the hell did you even get into the navy?” you bite, rising from the couch. “You’ve got the spatial awareness of a drunk oaf and the grace of a newborn deer on ice.”

You storm into the kitchen, slam your half-empty glass on the counter, and tear off a wad of paper towels.

“Very descriptive insults,” Reuben mutters.

Natasha lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that’s how you know she’s in a mood.”

“Why?” Mickey asks, cautiously glancing toward you.

You shoot him a glare over the kitchen island, dabbing paper towel at the top of your thigh.

“Bob didn’t talk to her today,” Natasha says. “Like, at all.”

“Ohhh,” Reuben and Mickey sigh in unison, the sound laced with realisation.

You toss the damp towel into the sink before turning toward the fridge and yanking it open, bottles rattling.

“To be fair,” Reuben offers, “you two were on different drills today. He probably just didn’t get the chance.”

You whirl around, beer in hand, glare sharp. “He asked Phoenix if she wanted to go for a run tomorrow morning—while I was standing right there.”

You shut the fridge with more force than necessary, then yank open the cutlery drawer and grab the bottle opener.

“Oh yeah,” Mickey adds. “He asked me too. Wants to do the Coronado Island Loop.”

You pop the cap off your beer and let it clatter to the floor. “Great. That’s great. Thanks, Mick. Love knowing I was the only one not invited.”

Natasha sighs, her eyes following you as you trudge back toward the lounge. “I told you—he probably just didn’t think you were interested. When have you ever wanted to go running?”

Reuben nods. “Yeah, you hate when Mav makes us run laps. You’re always the first to complain.”

You flop down into your spot and take a long pull from your beer, eyes on the screen. “Yeah, well,” you mutter, “he could’ve asked.”

“You could’ve spoken up,” Natasha points out.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and invite myself to something I deliberately wasn’t invited to? No thanks.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Bob wouldn’t leave you out on purpose. He’s too nice.”

“Exactly,” Reuben says. “It’s Bob. He probably just got awkward about it.”

You scowl and gesture to Natasha. “He asked Phoenix.”

“Yeah, but that’s Phoenix,” Mickey says. “They’re crammed together in the cockpit almost all day, every day. She doesn’t make him nervous.”

You scoff and sink further into the couch. “I do not make him nervous.”

Natasha sighs again. “Yes. You do. I’ve told you before.”

“And I don’t believe you,” you say, despite the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “You’re always saying Bob has a thing for me, but I don’t see it. Wouldn’t he actually talk to me if he liked me?”

“It’s Bob,” Reuben repeats. “He’s not like the rest of us.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “He’s polite and respectful. Way better than the rest.”

Mickey turns from the TV, shooting her a wounded look. “Ouch.”

Reuben shrugs. “She’s right. That’s why we can’t tease him about it. We can’t even ask him if he likes you—though we’re pretty sure.”

You roll your eyes. “How can you be sure when he’s never admitted it?”

“Oh, it’s so obvious,” Mickey says with a giggle. “He gets all googly-eyed whenever you’re around.”

You shoot him a sceptical look, brows furrowed. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, of course he’s not going to let you catch him staring,” Reuben says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, and he’s not stupid,” Natasha adds.

“But whenever you’re not paying attention,” Mickey continues, “his eyes are glued to you, like a magnet.”

You roll your eyes, determined to seem unconvinced, even though you can feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

“Oh, and every time you’re brought up in conversation,” Reuben says, “he’s locked in.”

“Unless we’re talking about you and another guy,” Natasha adds with a knowing look “Then he gets all huffy and weird.”

You snort a laugh before taking another sip of your beer.

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Mickey suggests. “Put us all out of our misery. Bob will stop being so awkward, and you’ll stop being so—” He stops when you shoot him a glare.

“So what, Mick?”

He turns his gaze back to the TV, muttering, “Moody.”

You scoff. “Yeah, okay. So, I’m just supposed to believe you guys when I haven’t actually seen any of these so-called signs myself?”

Reuben and Mickey nod, but Natasha just watches.

“I’m not doing that,” you say flatly. “I’m not asking him out just to be humiliated.”

The conversation dies as you turn your attention back to the movie, taking another generous sip of beer. Mickey pulls out his phone to order pizza, and Reuben heads to the fridge for another round of beers.

You keep your eyes locked on the TV, even though you’re barely watching. Instead, your mind is replaying the day, wondering if you missed the part where it was ‘so obvious’ that Bob has a crush on you.

It’s hard not to agree with Reuben when he says, ‘It’s Bob,’ because it just is. He’s nice, considerate, raised to respect women and the navy. He’s the perfect officer and the perfect gentleman, and that’s half the reason you’re so damn attracted to him. A gorgeous guy with manners and respect to spare? Yes, please.

But, God, sometimes you wish he was just a little more basic. A little more in touch with his primal side, instead of always using the higher-functioning part of his brain that most guys don’t even know exists. You’ve never even heard Bob say a woman is attractive, let alone spew some of the caveman shit that comes out of Jake’s mouth.

And yeah, sure, you could ask him out. He might even say yes, just to be polite. But you don’t want to put that kind of pressure on him or the squad. Him dating you out of pity would be worse than flat-out rejection.

An hour later, full of pizza and halfway through your fourth beer, you’re curled up with your head on Natasha's shoulder while The Ugly Truth plays on the TV—Mickey’s latest pick.

“Man, what’s with you and romantic comedies?” Reuben asks, nose wrinkling as he watches Katherine Heigl flail on-screen.

Mickey shrugs. “Don’t judge. Maybe I’m feeling a little lonely lately.”

“Aww, Mick,” you coo, voice dripping mock-sympathy. “Better get used to it. You’re going to be alone forever.”

His head snaps toward you, a scowl forming. “Okay, Miss-I-Refuse-To-Ask-Out-A-Guy-Who’s-Clearly-Into-Me-Because-I’m-Terrified-of-Rejection.”

A smirk tugs at your mouth. “That was way too long to sting.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re mean when you’re not getting laid.”

“Hey!” you gasp. “How do you know I’m not?”

There’s a beat—a static moment where you realise you’ve just fucked up—before they all burst out laughing. And even you can’t help joining in, despite the embarrassed flush crawling across your chest.

Then suddenly, Natasha jerks upright, knocking your head off her shoulder. Her laughter halts as she stares wide-eyed at the screen, lips parted in a gasp. “Holy shit. I have an idea.”

“An idea?” Reuben echoes, brows lifting.

“Yes!” She turns to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know how we’re going to get Bob to admit it.”

Mickey swivels on the floor to face her. “Admit what?”

Reuben rolls his eyes. “That he likes Sunny. Duh.”

“Oh.” Mickey glances your way, then back at Natasha. “How?”

“He’s only human, right?” she says, and both boys nod. “It’s obvious he likes her—he’s just too damn respectful. He probably thinks she’s out of her league. Or he’s worried about dating someone in the squad. But deep down? He’s still a guy. He has the same thoughts, the same... tendencies. He’s just better at hiding them.”

Mickey snorts. “Oh yeah. If the way he looks at Sunny in a bikini is anything to go by, he’s definitely got those thoughts.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t be gross.”

“No, he’s right,” Natasha says quickly. “I hate it, but he’s right. Every time we’re at the beach and you’re half-naked, he looks like he’s barely holding it together.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but your heart is thudding too fast against your ribs.

“Wait,” Reuben says, leaning forward. “I think you’re onto something. Like when she squeezes into the booth at the bar and hovers over his lap for a second—he looks like he’s about to combust.”

“Exactly!” Natasha exclaims. “That’s it. That’s what we need to do—we need to make him snap.”

You narrow your eyes, ignoring the spark of adrenaline beginning to curl in your gut. “Okay... but how?”

Natasha turns toward you, her eyes wide and full of focus. The same look she wears just before take-off. “You need to... tease him. Really make him suffer.”

Mickey’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, this could work.”

Your brow lifts. “Tease him how?”

“Tempt him,” Reuben says, matching Mickey’s grin. “Push every button. Get close. Make him want you so badly he can’t hide it anymore.”

You snort. “So, seduce him?”

“Worse,” Natasha says. “You’re going to give this man the worst case of blue balls in naval history.”

Both Mickey and Reuben flinch.

“He’s going to end up in the hospital with a permanent boner,” Natasha adds, mischief blazing in her eyes. “Crying. On. His. Knees.”

“Bob’s a good man,” Reuben says solemnly. “He’s respectful. Polite. Sensible. And we’re gonna have to break him.”

“We?” you repeat, pulse racing.

“Exactly,” Natasha nods. “If this were any other guy, you could get it done in a day. But Bob? Bob’s built different. If we want to unleash his inner caveman? It’s going to take a team.”

Your stomach flips, anticipation stirring beneath your skin.

“It won’t be easy,” Mickey says, his smirk returning. “But it will be fun.”

“Sunny,” Reuben says, locking eyes with you. “Are you in or are you out?”

That spark of adrenaline snaps through you like a live wire.

You nod. “Okay. I’m in.”

The plan is simple. Straightforward. One objective. Everyone's clear on it. It’s been mapped out and set into motion—now all you have to do is play your part. Which is probably why your heart is hammering against your sternum like a damn war drum.

“I don’t know, Nat,” you mutter as the two of you walk across the crunchy morning grass. “This feels wrong.”

“What does?” she asks. “The thong or the plan?”

You roll your eyes. “Both.”

“Well, suck it up. There’s no backing down now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Then you release it and reel yourself in. She’s right. You can’t be a chicken forever—and it’s not like you’re doing anything overtly humiliating. Besides, you’ve got a team at your back, and they’re not going to let you crash and burn.

Last night, Natasha had texted Bob to let him know she was inviting you on the morning run. He’d replied with a simple thumbs up—something you found a little rude, but the boys insisted he only sends that when he doesn’t know what else to say. Which, apparently, is a good sign.

This morning, you’d dug deep into your underwear drawer for a lacy black thong you bought a few years ago—back when you were more optimistic about your sex life. You pulled it on, despite the discomfort, and borrowed a pair of light blue workout tights from Natasha. Yep, that’s a black thong under pale blue, skin-tight leggings.

“Without being creepy,” Mickey says from a few paces behind, “the plan is looking really good from back here.”

You shoot him a scowl over your shoulder as Reuben smacks his arm, even though he’s wearing the same mischievous grin.

The four of you wait at a picnic table in the park where you’d agreed to meet, and it doesn’t take long before you spot Bob walking across the grass—dark grey sweats and an oversized U.S. Navy hoodie, his hands tucked firmly into the front pocket. Quite possibly the most innocent, basic outfit he could’ve worn—a ridiculous contrast to yours—and yet you still find yourself thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts.

About what’s under those sweats. About how good they’d look on your bedroom floor.

Even the soft smile on his lips as he approaches makes you want to scream. How is one man such pure, soft boyfriend material... yet still manages to awaken your most primal instincts? It doesn’t make any sense.

“Hey,” he says, eyes skimming over each of you before settling on Natasha. “We ready?”

Natasha nods, and the five of you start walking off the grass toward the footpath before breaking into a jog. She and Bob take the lead while you hang back, with Reuben and Mickey flanking you like a private escort. Exactly as planned. You might be trying to fluster Bob, but you don’t need half of Coronado getting a look at your underwear—hence the two-man protection detail.

Two kilometres later, you all stop for a quick stretch. Bob wanders off toward a water fountain, and you seize the opportunity to move up beside Natasha, placing yourself at the front of the group. Again—exactly according to plan.

When Bob returns and joins in on Reuben and Mickey’s conversation, you and Natasha shuffle a little closer. She props one foot up on the bench, leaning into the stretch as she gives a subtle nod—the signal to begin.

You let out a shaky breath, then slip on your best cool-and-confident facade.

“I’m never doing this again,” you say to Nat—loud enough for the boys to hear.

“I’m just gonna get a quick drink,” Reuben announces, conveniently cutting off their conversation. Right on cue.

Mickey busies himself with stretching, leaving Bob to ‘accidentally’ overhear what comes next.

“What?” Natasha asks. “Running? I told you you’d hate it.”

“No,” you reply, pretending to lower your voice—even though you don’t. “Wearing a fucking thong.”

She snorts, the laugh surprisingly genuine. Either she’s a fantastic actress, or she’s thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Why are you wearing a thong?”

You roll your eyes, falling deeper into the role. “Because I forgot to do my laundry and it was all I had left.”

She snickers. “Well, have fun on the next eight kilometres.”

“Oh yeah,” you sigh, “can’t wait.”

You glance casually over your shoulder—and bingo. Bob’s face is bright red. His lips are slightly parted. And he’s blatantly staring at your ass like it’s the final clue to finding the national treasure—and Nicholas Cage is depending on him.

Beside him, Mickey looks like he’s about to lose it.

“Ready to keep going?” Reuben asks, walking back up—perfect timing.

Everyone nods, and Bob clears his throat, licking his lips quickly. “Yep. Let’s go.”

You and Natasha take off first, keeping yourselves in the lead.

Every few minutes, you glance back—and without fail, Bob is staring. Each time, it sends your heart skittering, your cheeks heating, and your thoughts wandering into very unholy territory.

Maybe your friends have been right all along. Maybe he does like you. Maybe this will actually work.

By the seventh kilometre—with only three more to go—Bob looks like he’s hanging by a thread. He ditched his hoodie about two k’s ago, tying it around his waist. His hair his clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his glasses are fogging up slightly near the bridge of his nose.

You glance over your shoulder and give him a small smile. His lips pop open and he immediately averts his eyes, focusing instead on the pavement beneath his feet. You turn back, grinning to yourself, and that’s when he picks up his pace and jogs past both you and Natasha.

Natasha nearly bursts out laughing, but she smacks a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. She shoots you a sideways look and a smirk—and the two of you push forward to flank Bob, jogging on either side of him.

“Hey,” Natasha says, more than a little breathless. “You trying to make this a competition?”

Bob shakes his head, eyes locked on the path ahead. “Nope. Just staying focused.”

“What’s so distracting back there?” she asks, fighting a smirk.

“Is Fanboy being a pest?” you add, giving yourself a layer of plausible deniability—just in case he starts to suspect anything.

Bob’s gaze flicks to you, then drops briefly to your chest before snapping forward again. “Yeah,” he says, voice uneven. “He’s breathing like Darth Vader.”

“Hey!” Mickey calls from behind. “I’m not deaf!”

The five of you share a short, breathless laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. You’re thoroughly exhausted now and decide to give Bob a break for the last few kilometres—merciful, maybe, but also strategic.

Soon enough, the group slows to a walk as the café marking the end of your run comes into view.

“Thank God,” Mickey gasps. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry,” you mutter, shooting him a flat look.

The café is busier than expected, and you’re about to start crafting a subtle excuse to avoid going in when Reuben steps up behind you and unzips his jacket.

“Cover your ass up, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “For fuck’s sake.”

You try—and fail—to suppress your grin as he hands you the jacket. You roll your eyes and tie it around your waist, grateful for the cover.

Once you’re feeling a little more decent, the group heads inside to order breakfast and find a table out back on the patio. The food and coffee arrive quickly, and soon everyone is digging in, quiet with post-run hunger. Though judging by how often Bob’s eyes keep darting toward you, his appetite might not be entirely food-related.

“So,” Mickey says through a mouthful of bacon, “are we finishing the Star Wars marathon this weekend, or what?”

Bob perks up instantly, eyes going bright, the usual stormy blue softening into something more sky-coloured. “Yes. Tomorrow night?”

Reuben frowns. “But that’s Sunday.”

“Mav gave us Monday off,” Natasha chimes in. “Weekend rotation, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Reuben nods. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“How many are left?” Natasha asks.

“Six,” Mickey replies. “Not including spin-offs.”

“We’re not getting through six in one night,” you point out. “We’ll be lucky to finish the prequels.”

“Unless…” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief as they flick between everyone at the table, “we had a sleepover.”

You snort into your coffee before taking a sip, expecting someone—probably Natasha or Reuben—to shut the idea down. But instead, their faces light up with the same devious smirk that Mickey is wearing.

“We could,” Natasha says casually. “I think it’d be fun.”

Bob blinks at her. “You do?”

She nods. “Yeah. Why not? We could play some drinking games and not worry about getting home.”

“Drinking games!” Reuben echoes with excitement. “You’re a genius, Phoenix.”

With the way their eyes keep bouncing between you and Bob, it’s clear now: they’re scheming again. Plotting the next phase of Operation Bob's Blue Balls—and your pulse is already quickening with anticipation.

“We could do it at my place,” Bob offers, earnest as ever. “I’ve got a spare room. Plenty of space.”

Reuben grins. “What a great idea, Bob.”

Bob glances around at his grinning friends, the smile on his face tinged with uncertainty. He has no clue what he’s just agreed to.

“Did you pack sexy PJs?” Natasha asks, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t own any sexy PJs.”

She shoots you a sly smirk before her gaze flicks back to the road, her silence thick with something unspoken—as if she already has a plan to remedy your lack of Victoria’s Secret-worthy sleepwear.

Bob’s apartment isn’t far from yours. In fact, none of you live all that far from each other, but tonight, the distance doesn’t seem to matter. No—the real reason for tonight’s sleepover is something far more sinister.

You know you’re the last to arrive, not just from the cars parked along the street, but from the group chat where Mickey has been demanding you hurry up so he can order dinner. Your heart beats in your throat as you ride the elevator up, and the ding when it reaches Bob’s level startles you more than it should.

Natasha’s smirk stays plastered on her face until she knocks on the door, and the second it swings open, with Bob standing there, she’s all business.

“Hey,” she says casually, walking past him like she’s been here a thousand times.

A stab of jealousy twists in your stomach—completely unwarranted but sharp nonetheless. Has Natasha been here a lot?

“Hi,” you mutter, offering Bob a small smile as you follow Nat inside.

There’s a chorus of hellos from the squad scattered around the living room. Bradley lounges across the two-seater couch furthest from the door, and Mickey is sprawled in a bean bag beside him, grinning like a kid in a candy store. Jake and Javy are tangled together on one end of the three-seater couch, probably having just finished fighting over the remote. And then there’s Reuben, sitting in the middle, with Natasha plopping down beside him.

“Guess I’ll take the floor,” you mutter, dropping your bag beside the pile of everyone else’s stuff.

“That’s alright,” Jake says with his usual cocky grin, “You can sit on Bobby’s lap for a bit of comfort.”

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see the effect of his words. Instead, you roll your eyes and flip him off, then plop down onto the makeshift nest of cushions and blankets on the floor.

Bob reappears from the kitchen with another round of beers, while Mickey takes orders for dinner. Then Bob settles down beside you, his arm brushing yours just enough to send a sparks crackling across your skin. A moment later, Jake hits play on The Phantom Menace, and the room settles into a comfortable, albeit charged, quiet.

It doesn’t take long before Jake groans that he’s bored, and Reuben’s eyes immediately flick toward Natasha—like they’d both seen this coming from a mile away.

“We could play a game,” Mickey offers, all too innocently.

“Yes,” Jake grins, already invested. “Let’s play a game.”

“What game?” Javy asks.

Reuben opens his mouth, but Jake beats him to it. “Truth or Dare, obviously.”

Natasha snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, but not before you catch it. That was exactly what Reuben had been about to suggest—and Jake is walking right into whatever scheme they’ve cooked up.

“How old are you?” Bradley asks Jake, brows furrowing.

“Not as old as you, Grandpa,” Jake fires back. “But you could at least pretend to enjoy fun.”

Bradley rolls his eyes but shrugs. “Fine.”

Everyone else falls in line, shifting around until you’ve all formed a lopsided circle on the floor, your back half-angled toward the movie. Jake claps his hands together like the ringmaster of a circus—which might not be far off from what this night is about to become.

“Alright. If you’re a chicken and won’t answer the truth or do the dare, you drink. Simple. I’ll go first.” He zeroes in on Bob—poor, unsuspecting Bob, who clearly just wanted to enjoy some Star Wars in peace. “Bob. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Bob says, almost too quickly.

Jake leans forward with a shit-eating grin. “Who would you rather go on a date with—Phoenix or Sunny?”

You choke on nothing, smothering the sound behind your hand and pretending it’s just a casual cough.

Heat blooms across Bob’s cheeks and starts creeping up to the tips of his ears. He glances your way—just for a beat—then over at Natasha, and your stomach knots. Is he seriously having to think about this? Have your friends been totally misreading Bob this whole time?

Then, after a moment of hesitation, Bob simply lifts his beer and takes a long sip.

Jake groans. “Ugh, lame.”

“Don’t worry, Bob,” Javy says with a laugh. “That was a trap. There was no right answer.”

Bob chuckles—a low, rough sound right next to you that sends goosebumps up your arms. “I know,” he says, voice deceptively casual. Then he shifts his gaze toward Mickey. “Fanboy. Truth or Dare?”

Mickey’s face lights up. “Dare.”

Bob smiles—and for the first time tonight, it’s almost a smirk. There’s something sharp beneath the usual softness, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Text the last person you hooked up with ‘thinking about you’—no context. And you can't reply until tomorrow.”

Mickey’s grin drops. “What the fuck, man?”

Bob just shrugs, raising his beer like it’s a toast. “You picked dare.” Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a generous swig.

And holy shit—you might actually combust from the sight alone. Bob being just a little cocky. Bob utterly destroying Mickey with zero remorse. You know there’s a darker edge beneath that quiet, boy-next-door act. You know he’s got a mean streak. And God, you want to find it. Pull it out of him and ask—beg—for him to do things you can’t even say out loud.

The group erupts into cackles as Mickey reluctantly pulls out his phone, Reuben peering over his shoulder to make sure he follows through.

“There,” Mickey mutters, tossing the phone face-down on the floor. “You better watch your back.”

But Bob doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, calm and collected, with that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When you finally tear your gaze away from him, you find Mickey’s eyes locked on you—an evil grin stretched across his face. “Sunny,” he says, voice smooth as silk. “Truth or Dare?”

You steel your nerves, unsure of what’s coming but already sensing the trap. “Dare,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Mickey’s grin widens, tipping his head forward like some sinister villain—and you just walked straight into his web. “Google a dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey... and whisper it slowly in Bob’s ear.”

Jake snorts, his face twisted with amusement, and the rest of the group follows—dissolving into fits of laughter. All but Bob, who’s already choking on his beer, turning an even deeper shade of red before you’ve even touched your phone.

You blink, eyes going wide. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Mickey replies, practically vibrating with excitement. “And no laughing. You have to sell it.”

You lock eyes with Mickey, your death-glare sharp as your hands shake slightly while you pick up your phone. Then, you reluctantly tap the search bar and type in ‘dirty line from Fifty Shades of Grey.’ Before you realize what’s happening, Natasha leans over your shoulder.

“Ooh,” she giggles, pointing at the screen. “That one.”

You glance up at Bob, your expression a mix of apology and warning. He looks much less confident than before, his lips parted, cheeks flushed, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. His throat bobs as he swallows, and a small part of you—one that feels dangerous—stirs with excitement.

The room falls into eerie silence, and you realize that Jake has paused the movie. All eyes are on you as you shuffle closer to Bob, getting onto your knees beside him. You plant one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, and you feel the muscles in his leg twitch at your touch.

His breath hitches, his whole body going rigid.

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear as you murmur, “I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want to feel you everywhere until I forget my own name.”

A beat of silence stretches, and then Bob exhales sharply, his hand tightening around his beer bottle as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake mutters under his breath.

“Holy shit,” Reuben says, breaking into laughter.

Mickey is howling, pounding his fist against the beanbag. “Worth it! So worth it!”

You slowly pull back, biting back a grin as you settle back into your spot like nothing happened. Bob, however, is still stuck in the mental tailspin you just launched him into, blinking hard and adjusting his glasses like he needs a whole system reset.

You meet his eyes, and for the briefest second, you see it—buried beneath the shock and heat—that glint of hunger.

God help you, you're not making it out of tonight alive.

The game moves on, but you can’t quiet your mind. You’re stuck on the way Bob’s thigh had felt beneath your palm, the way the muscles shifted under your touch. You can’t stop replaying the brush of your lips near his ear, the hitch in his breath, or the way he’d smelled—clean, warm, intoxicating. You don’t just want to fuck this man—you want to ruin him. You want him panting and wrecked, bruised and breathless, oversensitive and spent. There are things you want to ask of him that would guarantee you a one-way ticket to hell. But if he said yes—if he gave you those things—it’d be worth it.

You’ve never wanted a man the way you want him, and it’s starting to feel like a genuine threat to your well-being.

“Bob,” Natasha says, her voice snapping you back to reality, “Truth or Dare?”

You’re not sure how many turns you’ve missed, but Bradley and Reuben seem to have swapped shirts, and there’s a bottle of tequila on the table that definitely wasn’t there earlier.

“Dare,” Bob replies, seemingly recovered from your whispered indecency.

Natasha grins. “I dare you to pick someone in this room to do a body shot off of—excluding me.”

Your heart stutters at the last part. Did she say that because she thought he’d pick her? Would he have? Out of comfort, knowing it wouldn’t mean anything—or for some other reason?

You shake the thought off quickly and join the group’s laughter, mentally scolding yourself for the jealous spiral.

“Seriously, Phoenix?” Bob sighs, his brows knit.

She just shrugs, laughing. “You picked dare.”

He tips his head back and groans, giving you a perfect view of the long line of his throat, the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Come on, man,” Jake chuckles, “There’s only one clear choice.”

Your cheeks flush as Jake nods toward you, green eyes sparkling like he’s the one about to do the dare.

“As if you’re not going to pick Sunny,” Javy adds, watching as Bob’s eyes slowly scan the room.

Then his gaze lands on you—soft, but laced with something heavier. Something simmering.

He licks his lips, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining them on your skin. Imagining his tongue dragging over your body, slow and deliberate. The salt from your collarbone, your abdomen… or maybe lower—right above the waistband of your pants. Would he use the glass? Or would he press his mouth to your stomach, lips sealing around your navel, tongue lapping up the tequila while you tremble beneath him?

Then the lime—between your lips, waiting for him. His mouth brushing yours as he leans in, breath mingling, tasting more than just the fruit. You imagine the sharp burst of citrus, the tease of contact, tequila heat still slick on his tongue. He’d bite down, lips grazing yours, and it would wreck you more than any kiss ever could.

“Hangman,” Bob says suddenly, his gaze locked on the man across the circle—who now looks a lot less smug and a lot more stunned.

Jake’s brows shoot up. “Me?”

The room erupts into laughter. Bradley throws his head back, already fumbling for his phone to record whatever chaos is about to unfold. Mickey nearly falls over, gripping the bean bag for dear life, and Javy is doubled over, laughing so hard he can’t catch a breath.

“Why would you do this to me?” Jake gasps, eyes wide.

“You said there was only one clear option,” Bob replies evenly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I agree.”

“You bitch,” Jake mutters.

“Oh, this is so much better than what I thought was going to happen,” Natasha says. “Shirt off, Bagman. Let’s go.”

“This could be considered assault,” Jake mutters as he sits forward on the couch.

“Then press charges,” Bradley says, half-choking on a laugh. “But let him finish first.”

Natasha bolts to the kitchen for lime and salt, and the rest of the group scrambles to clear space on the lounge like they’re prepping for surgery. Jake peels off his shirt with the theatrics of a martyr, glaring at each of his cackling friends.

Bob, meanwhile, looks cool as ever—far more composed than Jake. And maybe that’s the point. Picking you would’ve set the room on fire. Picking someone else would’ve gotten laughs. But picking Hangman? That’s just cruel and perfect—and from the slow curl of a smirk on Bob’s lips, he knows it.

“Let’s go, Seresin,” Natasha says, reappearing with lime in one hand, salt in the other.

Jake lies back with exaggerated misery, like a man about to be sacrificed at the altar. “I swear to God, Floyd, if you do anything weird with your mouth-”

“I won’t,” Bob says, calm and unbothered. “Unless you want me to.”

Your stomach somersaults. He didn’t even look at you—but somehow, it still feels like the line was meant for you. Like he knows exactly what he does to you, without even trying.

Bob Floyd is fucking smooth when he wants to be.

The room falls eerily quiet as Bob kneels beside the couch, one hand braced on the cushion beneath Jake’s body, the other holding the tequila bottle. He looks serene—like he’s preparing for a sacred ritual rather than licking salt off another man’s chest.

“This is happening,” Mickey whispers, wide-eyed. “This is actually happening.”

“Focus, Bob,” Natasha says solemnly, holding the shot glass as he pours the tequila. “We believe in you.”

Bob sets the bottle down and leans toward Jake slowly, both hands now braced on the couch as he lowers his head to the other man’s chest. The room is absolutely silent, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the charged hush of everyone holding their breath.

Jake stares straight up, completely stiff. “Don’t look at me while you do it.”

“I’m not,” Bob says, deadpan.

He dips his head and licks the salt clean off Jake’s skin. Jake jerks like he’s been hit with a defibrillator.

“Oh my God,” Javy whispers, clutching his chest. “This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Natasha hands Bob the shot, and he tosses it back like he’s sampling a fine whiskey. Then he turns to the lime Natasha has jammed between Jake’s clenched teeth.

“Don’t you dare,” Jake warns.

“I’m just following instructions,” Bob replies calmly, and leans in.

There’s a ridiculous half-second where it looks like they’re about to kiss—and everyone knows it. You bite your fist to keep from bursting out laughing… or something else entirely. Because Bob? Cool as ice. Smooth as ever. He doesn’t even flinch as his mouth brushes Jake’s, teeth clamping down on the lime and tugging it free.

Jake makes a choked sound halfway between outrage and existential crisis.

Then the room explodes.

Bradley nearly falls off the lounge, still recording, laughter shaking his whole body. Natasha collapses into Javy’s lap, practically wheezing. Mickey is making noises like he’s being exorcised, and you’re on the brink of tears, shoulders shaking with laughter as Bob calmly returns to his seat, lime in hand, mouth twisted slightly at the tartness.

Jake bolts upright, wiping his mouth. “I need therapy.”

Bob frowns. “You needed therapy before that.”

“Yeah,” Jake spits, yanking his shirt back on. “Well, now I need more.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt it before—and you definitely don’t plan on voicing it—but right now, you are incredibly fucking jealous of Jake Seresin.

It takes a while, but eventually the group settles down and the game fizzles out—mostly thanks to Jake’s relentless sulking. Not long after, Mickey gets a notification that the food is nearly delivered, and everyone jumps into action to clear the table and grab what’s needed for dinner.

Less than ten minutes later, you’re all crowded around the coffee table, shovelling Chinese food into your mouths and stealing bites off each other’s plates. Jake’s sour mood has mostly vanished, and everyone is focused on the final battle of the movie playing out on-screen.

By the time the credits start rolling, most of the food is gone. You and Natasha start carting plates, bowls, and empty containers into the kitchen while the guys finish polishing off their meals, scraping the last of the food off their plates and into their mouths.

“Did I mention I brought dessert?” Reuben pipes up, eyeing you as you stack a few plates in one hand.

You raise a brow. “Are you about to make a gross joke?”

“No,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You know Barb, down the hall?”

“Neighbour Barb with the yappy chihuahua?”

He nods. “Yeah. She bakes, like… the most amazing stuff.”

You narrow your eyes, plates now balanced in both hands. “Do I even want to know how you know this?”

Mickey answers for him, talking around a mouthful of Mongolian beef. “Because we’re nice to our neighbours.”

You give him a disgusted look before turning back to Reuben. “Okay. Get to the point.”

He grins, a smug twist playing at the corner of his mouth. “She made a huge batch of cream pies—I mean, puffs. So she brought some over, and I brought them here. They’re to die for.”

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly—but Reuben catches it, and you can see the spark of amusement flash across his face.

“Have you ever had a cream pie, Sunny?” Mickey asks, beaming up at you with sauce smeared on his face.

Jake and Javy snort, and behind you—you swear you hear Bob snicker.

“Yes, Mick,” you bite out. “I’ve had a cream puff.”

You turn sharply back toward the kitchen, but not before catching the small smirk on Bob’s lips, his cheeks pink as he spoons another mouthful of kung pao chicken into his mouth.

“That’s not what I asked!” Mickey calls after you, giggling like a grade-schooler.

You roll your eyes and drop the plates by the sink, where Natasha and Bradley are already washing up.

“Lookin’ a little red there, Floyd,” Reuben teases, his voice carrying from the living room to the kitchen.

It’s the chicken,” Bob replies quickly—but there’s something in his voice that makes a stupid, lovesick grin spread across your face.

Once everything is washed up and everyone has returned to the living room, Jake hits play on the next film. You’re back on the floor, this time with your back pressed to the couch beneath Natasha, who’s curled up with her legs tucked beneath her, leaving you space to lean. Bob is further away now, sprawled on his back across a fluffy blanket, a cluster of pillows beneath his head, hands folded neatly over his stomach.

You try to keep your eyes on the screen—it really shouldn’t be that hard with both Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor to enjoy—but your gaze keeps drifting to Bob. He looks so content, so cute, his lips tipped into a soft half-smile and his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. There’s something about him that turns your brain to absolute mush, and you still can’t figure out what.

Maybe it’s the dichotomy of him. How sweet and quiet he is—some might even say shy, but you know better. He’s just overwhelmingly nice, with a pretty face to match. And yet, you have to remind yourself that this man is in the navy. He’s not spineless—in fact, he’s the total opposite. He’s sharp and quick-witted, strong both mentally and physically. There’s not a single thing about him that’s weak, yet he lets people assume otherwise.

Maybe it’s confidence. The kind that doesn’t need to be loud. He doesn’t care what people think or say. Not that he isn’t awkward sometimes—he definitely can be—but that’s more about being introverted. He doesn’t need to show off or run his mouth like Jake. He doesn’t need to fly like an idiot to prove himself. He’s just Bob. He knows who he is, and he’s not apologetic about it.

What is it they call that?

Oh yeah… big dick energy.

Your eyes drift down his torso, lingering briefly on his hands—the way his long fingers are laced together—before continuing down to the waistband of his dark blue joggers. There’s a bulge in his lap. A notable one. And a slight outline continuing down the left leg of his pants…

Wait. That’s like… kind of huge.

A hard nudge to your shoulder startles you, and you whip around to see Natasha staring at you. Her eyes are wide, her lips pulled into a smirk—half disbelieving, half smug.

Stop staring, she mouths.

You press your lips together to hold back a laugh, a little giddy from your fourth—or maybe fifth—beer. Your face feels warm, and you know if you keep looking at Nat, you’ll start laughing, so you quickly turn back to the movie.

“Okay,” Mickey pipes up, scrambling out of the beanbag and to his feet, “who wants cream puffs?”

“Only if you serve them warm and full,” Jake shoots back.

The room erupts—half groans, half childish laughter. Mickey just snorts and disappears into the kitchen, Reuben trailing behind him. A few minutes later, they return, each holding a heaping plate stacked with warm, golden cream puffs.

“Fair warning,” Reuben says, setting one down on the table, “these things are insane. Like... dangerously good.”

You grab one without hesitation—soft, golden, still warm to the touch. It’s dusted in powdered sugar and practically bursting with cream. You bite into it and—holy hell—the taste explodes in your mouth. Sweet. Rich. Ridiculously creamy. You moan without meaning to, eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh, wow,” you say around a mouthful. “That’s... actually insane.”

The group hums and laughs in agreement, but you barely notice. You take another bite—bigger this time—and it squishes a little too easily in your hand. Cream oozes out the side, trailing down your chin and, with an audible plop, lands squarely between your breasts.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, trying to swipe the cream away—but all you manage to do is smear it further.

There’s a beat of silence, and even the movie playing in the background seems to go quiet.

“Jesus Christ,” Reuben says, somewhere between impressed and scandalised. “You sure you don’t need a minute alone with that thing?”

Laughter rumbles around you, and only when you look up do you realise how provocative that just was—the heat in your cheeks deepening. But then your eyes catch on Bob.

He’s not laughing. He’s not even blinking.

The lazy smile he wore earlier? Gone. He’s sitting upright now, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. His gaze is locked on you like he forgot what movie is playing, what day it is—hell, maybe even his own name.

“Floyd?” Mickey nudges his leg with a foot. “You good?”

Bob jolts slightly, as if waking from a trance. He coughs, shifts, and yanks the blanket from the floor to cover his lap—too quickly to be casual.

“They, uh...” he clears his throat, voice rough. “They look really good.”

Your stomach swoops as he leans forward, still holding the blanket tight in place, and reaches for a cream puff from the plate right in front of you—still avoiding your eyes entirely.

Natasha leans in from behind, her voice low. “You are killing him.”

You press your lips together to hide your grin, eyes flicking back to Bob—who’s now doing everything in his power not to look in your direction.

The cream puffs disappear in what has to be a record amount of time. You’re pretty sure you watched Javy inhale at least four, and there was an unnecessarily loud argument between Mickey and Bradley over the last one, which ended in a begrudging decision to split it.

The rest of the movie plays out without incident, and afterward, everyone decides to change into their PJs for the final film of the night. You’re honestly surprised everyone has made it to movie number three, but you’re not complaining.

The boys start rummaging through their bags, swapping out jeans for boxers or stretchy pajama pants while Natasha grabs her bag and disappears into the bathroom. You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen to avoid catching a glimpse of something you definitely don’t want to see—because these boys? They have no shame.

“You can change in my room if you want,” Bob offers.

You glance up, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on him, because just a little to the left is where Jake is still mid-change.

“Yeah?”

Bob nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gestures down the short hallway past the kitchen. “It’s the door just after the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, pushing to your feet and grabbing your bag as you slip past the others—now teasing Mickey about his choice of boxers.

The door is open just a crack, and your heart thuds a little harder than it should as you ease it the rest of the way. The smell hits first—clean and warm, with a twist of vanilla that makes you want to wrap yourself in it and never leave.

You flick on the light and shut the door behind you, dropping your bag to the floor. You know you should just get changed, but… you can’t help it. You’ve only been to Bob’s apartment a couple times before—once to help him move in (because of course the whole squad helped), and once with Natasha to pick him up before a night out. But never in here. Never in his room.

It’s almost unusually tidy, but that’s navy life for you. His bed is made neatly, topped with a soft baby blue duvet, coordinated beige and cream pillows, and a throw blanket folded at the foot. It’s a little faded and looks handmade, like something passed down through generations.

On one side of the room, a bookshelf houses a quiet little collection of well-loved paperbacks, a few aviation manuals, and a line of model planes—some pristine and precise, others clearly glued together by a much younger version of him. A framed photo of a beaming, pint-sized Bob in oversized glasses sits on the dresser, nestled between a small baseball trophy and a display of navy challenge coins.

A pair of worn sneakers sits neatly by the door, and his uniform jacket hangs off the closet handle, the door slightly ajar. The name tag catches just enough light to pull your eyes toward it. Everything about the room feels like him—modest, thoughtful, quietly proud. It’s the kind of unintentional intimacy that makes you feel like you’ve slipped behind the curtain and gotten a glimpse of the real Bob.

And somehow… that makes your chest ache. It’s just a room. But it feels so much like him—like you could curl up in here with him for hours, doing nothing but talking and dreaming. Getting lost in each other. Letting the rest of the world wait. And then, later, getting tangled together. Soft kisses, whispered pleas, gentle moans—slow and unhurried, learning one another’s bodies until you know each other better than you know yourselves.

You shake your head hard and take a breath. You’ve already been in here too long. Pull it together.

You crouch beside your bag and pull out your pajamas—soft lounge shorts and a matching long-sleeved shirt. It’s nothing special, but a step up from your usual: an old, food-stained navy tee and nothing but underwear.

You change quickly and shove your clothes into your bag before leaving the room. The lounge room has quieted down, everyone now back in their seats—except for Mickey and Bob, who are in the kitchen grabbing another round of drinks.

Jake hits play as soon as they return, and everyone settles in again. There’s less chatter now, probably because of how late it’s gotten. Bradley is almost definitely asleep, eyes half-shut on the two-seater, while Mickey is having the time of his life seeing how many of Bradley’s fingers he can get stuck in the top of his beer bottle.

Natasha is curled up behind you, her head resting on Reuben’s shoulder, and his blinks are getting longer and slower by the second. Jake is surprisingly alert and invested in the film, but Javy looks like his head might lull back at any moment. And Bob—Bob is still wide awake, his eyes sparkling with interest as he watches the screen.

Halfway through the film, Mickey pushes to his feet and offers another round of drinks, prompting a few sleepy murmurs of ‘yes’ from the others.

“I’ll help,” you offer, stretching as you rise from the floor and follow him into the kitchen.

You open the fridge and start pulling out beers while Mickey pops the tops off. But when you close the fridge and turn back around, you spot Reuben—now suddenly very awake—watching Mickey with intent. He’s wearing that little smirk that always means trouble, clearly trying to telepathically communicate something to his WSO.

Your brow furrows as you glance between them, trying to decode the silent exchange. Mickey looks equally confused for a second... but then realisation dawns and a wicked grin curls onto his face.

He turns to you and mutters, “Sorry about this.” But he doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic.

Your frown deepens. “What are you-”

But you don’t get to finish the question before he starts shaking the beer bottle in his hand.

“Mick—!” you cry, just as he pops the top off and sprays you with beer.

You shriek, throwing your hands in front of your face like that’ll somehow stop the onslaught. But it doesn’t. You’re soaked.

“What the hell, Fanboy?” Reuben calls from the living room, as if this wasn’t entirely his doing.

“Mickey!” you shout, dropping your arms and glaring at him.

“Whoops,” he says with a grin. “My bad.”

Natasha snorts and smacks a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. It’s not funny.”

“Wow, Fanboy,” Jake pipes up, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “Is that the first time you’ve made a girl wet?”

Mickey glares—or tries to. He’s way too pleased with himself for it to land properly.

“Hey, Floyd,” Reuben calls, “you got any spare clothes for Sunny?”

Bob is already looking at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He swallows hard before turning to Reuben and nodding. “Yeah, of course.” Then he stands, eyes flicking back to you. “Do you want to shower?”

Mickey gasps, scandalised. “Robert Floyd, are you propositioning her?”

Bob’s blush deepens, colouring his neck and the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look particularly ashamed. He looks… flushed. Hot. Close to unravelling. His glare cuts back to Mickey, sharper than usual, a little too dark to be playful. And then his gaze shifts back to you—specifically, your chest.

You follow his line of sight and immediately wrap an arm around yourself. Your nipples are pebbled beneath your shirt, the damp fabric clinging in all the worst ways. Or the best—if you ask Bob Floyd.

“Yes,” you say tightly. “A shower would be good.”

The room dissolves into quiet laughter as you follow Bob down the hall. He slips into his room for a moment, then returns with a folded towel and some clothes stacked neatly on top.

“Here,” he says, offering them to you. “Take as long as you want. You can use whatever’s in there. Not that there’s much.”

He dips his head—blush still firmly in place—and heads back to the living room.

You stare after him for a second, dumbfounded. He got embarrassed about his lack of shower products? That’s what embarrassed him? Not the full-body, post-beer-shower eye-fucking he just gave you?

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling hard. You’re buzzing. Overstimulated. Untouched and on fire. You feel like you’re being edged and then abandoned, left to squirm. You’re so sensitive it hurts. Bob is teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him—those glances, the heat behind his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open like he wants to say something but never does.

You might’ve thought you were playing a game, but Bob Floyd is about to kill you without even realising it.

You strip quickly, trying not to dwell on the fact that you’re naked in Bob’s apartment. You keep the water on the cooler side—a half-hearted attempt to wash away the heat still simmering under your skin. But it doesn’t help. You shower fast and step out even faster, wrapping yourself in the towel Bob gave you. It’s fluffy, soft, and smells just like him—which makes that spot deep behind your hipbones ache.

You dry off in record time, then turn to the small pile of clothes on the vanity—Bob’s clothes. Your hands tremble slightly as you lift the satin boxers, dark blue with little white stars, and slide them up your legs. Then the shirt: a worn white tee with a faded Star Wars logo across the chest.

His scent wraps around you the second you slide it over your head—oversized and impossibly soft against your warm skin. You try not to focus on the rasp of cotton against your nipples. God, if he ever actually touches you, you might just combust.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fire burning low in your belly, then scoop up your beer-soaked clothes and open the bathroom door—steam spilling into the hallway as you step out.

"Finally," Mickey says, popping up in front of you like he’s been waiting, holding out a plastic bag.

You blink. “What?”

“For your clothes,” he says simply.

“Oh.” You take it and shove the damp material inside.

His gaze dips—just for a beat—before sliding back up. Then he grins, gives you a cheeky wink, and turns back toward the lounge room. You follow, every eye lifting to you the second you reappear. Warmth floods your cheeks. You’re in Bob’s clothes. Bob's boxers. Bob's shirt.

“Can we play the movie now?” Jake whines, oblivious to the tension humming through the room. “It was just getting good.”

You nod, unable to speak, your gaze already locked with Bob’s.

His eyes rake down your body, slow and deliberate. He takes in the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the hang of his shirt against your chest. His gaze catches there, as if he can see straight through the fabric, then continues its journey down to the hem. The shorts are barely visible beneath the shirt, and judging by the heat in his eyes, he might be wondering why you're wearing pants at all.

You shift under the weight of his stare, hyper-aware of every inch of fabric against your skin—of how suddenly hot the room feels. Jake presses play, but no one is watching the screen. Every pair of eyes bounces between you and Bob, waiting—expecting—something to happen.

Bob looks wrecked. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, jaw tight. Like he has to physically hold himself back.

Natasha clears her throat, startling you more than it should. You tear your gaze away and flash her a sheepish smile before finally forcing yourself to move, padding back to your spot on the floor.

Even then, you can feel Bob’s eyes tracking every step.

The rest of the movie plays out in near silence, broken only by the soft snoring that eventually starts up from Bradley and Javy. It takes a while for you to settle, but you finally curl up on the floor with a pillow hugged to your chest, watching Anakin fall apart on-screen and become Darth Vader.

Jake is the only one still fully invested in the film. Even Bob seems distracted now, his eyes flicking toward you more often than the TV. He shifts in place, uncomfortable, dragging the blanket higher across his lap and holding it like a lifeline. You try not to smirk.

You think you know what might be going on under there… but you’re not about to assume. It couldn't possibly be just because you’re wearing his clothes.

…Right?

Eventually, the credits start rolling and everyone begins to stir.

“Where am I sleeping?” Mickey asks, already eyeing Bob like he’s got plans.

Bob shrugs. “Wherever. There’s the couches and a couple beds in the spare room, but someone’ll have to sleep with me.”

“I think Rooster’s good here,” Jake says, glancing at the man awkwardly passed out on the two-seater couch. “I’ll take this one.”

“I’ll sleep with you, Bobby,” Javy says through a yawn, stretching so wide his joints pop.

“Damn it,” Mickey mutters as he walks past, bumping your shoulder with his. “Missed opportunity.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. You know damn well you wouldn’t get any sleep next to Bob—not when he smells like that, looks like that, and keeps looking at you the way he does. So it’s probably for the best, but still, the thought lingers.

Everyone takes turns brushing their teeth and shuffling off to bed. You end up in the fold-out bed with Natasha in the spare room, while Reuben and Mickey claim the air mattress on the floor. Apparently, there’s no escaping these boys—not even for one night.

Mumbled goodnights fade into rustling fabric and shifting limbs, then finally, silence.

Too much silence.

You lie on your back, eyes on the ceiling, thoughts screaming through your head like they’re in a race. You should be tired—your body aches—but your brain refuses to shut up. You toss the blanket off, overheated, but even with the cooler air, your skin feels flushed. You roll to your side, careful not to jostle Natasha on the creaky mattress, but nothing helps.

You glance down at the boys, both snoring with their mouths open, and finally sigh. Swinging your legs off the bed, you wriggle out of Bob’s shorts, thinking maybe it’ll help. You don’t usually sleep in pants anyway.

It doesn’t.

Ten minutes later, you quietly slip off the bed and tiptoe toward the door, easing it open with practiced care to avoid the squeaky hinges. Then you turn down the hallway, barefoot and warm-skinned, and pad into the kitchen.

The hem of Bob’s shirt brushes against your bare thighs, stoking the fire already simmering between them as you stop in front of the fridge and pull the door open. A cool flood of light spills across the kitchen tiles. You grab a bottle of water and twist off the cap, stepping back and tipping it to your lips. But the cold rush does nothing to cool the heat thrumming beneath your skin.

“You always walk around other people’s places half naked?”

You choke, almost spilling water down your chin as you turn toward the voice—that low, raspy sound that makes your skin prickle and your spine snap straight.

Bob stands at the edge of the kitchen, leaning casually against the far counter—but there’s nothing relaxed about the way he holds himself. In the dim glow of the fridge light, he looks almost ethereal. His eyes are sharp, lit with something that borders on pain—hunger, maybe, or full-blown starvation—and his arms are crossed over his bare chest.

Yeah. Bob Floyd is shirtless.

You register a flicker of jealousy for Javy—the man who gets to sleep next to this—but you don’t let yourself linger on it. Not when Bob is standing right there in nothing but a pair of loose boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide the impressive shape beneath.

You don’t know if it’s because he’s a little turned on or just blessed, but damn.

“You okay?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a real question—because he already knows the answer.

No. No, you’re not.

You clear your throat, dragging your eyes back up to his. “Yeah, I—uh-”

Your words falter when his gaze drops to your legs. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to memorise every inch. His eyes drag slowly up your bare thighs, pausing at the hem of his shirt before gliding over your waist and stopping at your chest, where your nipples are clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton.

The heat of his stare burns hotter than any touch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s just making conversation. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you.

He pushes off the counter and walks straight toward you—slow, but sure. He stops right in front of the fridge, close enough that if you moved even a breath closer, you’d feel your nipples graze his skin.

You take a step back—barely. Just enough to let him slip past you.

He nods slightly—a silent thanks—and ducks into the fridge for his own water. When he shuts the door, the kitchen is plunged into darkness, save for dim moonlight filtering in from the far windows—but you can still see him. His outline, the dips and curves of his lean torso, the tilt of his head as he tips the bottle back and drinks.

You watch his throat move with every swallow, your lips parting slightly, craving his skin on your tongue. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You just stand there, watching.

When he finishes, he turns to the sink and drops the empty bottle in before bracing both hands against the bench. His chin dips toward his chest, and you see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he exhales—hard.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you forward until you’re beside him, your bare arm brushing against his. You place your own bottle in the sink, then turn toward him and lean your hip against the counter.

“Bob,” you whisper.

Every sound in the apartment feels louder now—the faint snores, the creak of the floorboards, your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

He looks at you, only turning his head, not his body. “Don’t—” he says softly. “Don’t say my name like that.”

You frown, sliding your hand over his. His grip tightens on the bench like he’s anchoring himself.

“Like what?” you ask softly.

“Like you want me,” he murmurs. His voice is thick—rough around the edges like it’s been scraped raw. Like he's holding something back with every laboured breath.

You press closer, your chest against his arm. The contact is electric. Your skin separated only by a whisper of cotton—his cotton.

“Bob,” you breathe, a little desperate now.

He exhales sharply and drops his gaze to the sink again, like something there might help him. “This isn’t…” His jaw flexes. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what?” you ask, playing innocent, even as your fingers trail lightly up his arm.

You can feel your chest rising and falling faster than it should, your breasts pressing against his arm like some wanton, starry-eyed girl. But you can’t bring yourself to step away. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve ending singed and tingling. You want him to turn around and take you—bend you over the counter and make you scream his name. Who gives a fuck who’s listening... or watching. You just want Bob. You want him to know how much you want him, how deeply you need him. How desperate he makes you without even trying.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers, finally turning to face you fully, “what you do to me?”

You feel it—hard and thick—pressing against your lower belly. There’s no mistaking it now.

“Bob…” Your voice is a sigh, wrecked and begging.

He catches your wrist, his grip firm, nearly bruising. His eyes are wild as they search your face—from your eyes to your lips, down to your chest, and back again—like he’s torn between reason and ruin.

You hold still. Waiting. Daring. Wanting him to snap.

But then... he’s gone—his warmth, his scent, the burning look in his eyes. All of it, gone in a breath.

“Goodnight,” he mutters, so low you barely hear it before the soft click of his bedroom door… and then the snap of the lock.

You’re left standing there, chest heaving, skin burning. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your mind is a mess. What the fuck just happened? Your panties are damp, and your chest aches like you've been torn in two. You want to cry, but you also want to break down his door. How dare he build you up like that? Look at you like that, talk to you like that—and then just walk away.

It takes several minutes before you can move, your legs shaky, your mind racing. You stumble back to the spare room, collapse into bed, and stare at the ceiling, flat on your back—Bob’s shirt clinging to your skin.

You don’t sleep. Not at all.

“He what?” Natasha’s eyes go impossibly wide. “And then he just—he left?”

You nod slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on your lunch. The mess hall is loud enough to muffle your conversation—one you should’ve had yesterday but couldn’t summon the strength for. So here you are, in the middle of the hall, with the boys a couple tables over, surrounded by lieutenants you don’t know—blissfully unaware of your current crisis.

“Yeah,” you sigh, stabbing at another piece of pasta you don’t plan to eat.

You haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours—not since the run-in with Bob. Everything feels bland now, drained of colour and taste, too dull to bother with. Anything that isn’t Bob just feels lacking, and you're starting to worry that one moment—one heated, breathless moment—has completely ruined you.

“That’s insane,” Natasha mutters. “That’s so... not Bob. How could he be so—I don’t know... rude? I just—I have no words.”

You shrug one shoulder. “It wasn’t rude. He just seemed... confused, I guess. And I don’t blame him. If I’m not what he wants, then-”

“Stop right there,” Mickey interrupts, sliding into the chair beside you.

Reuben drops into the seat next to Natasha, eyeing your tray of food.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to steal your apple. “We couldn’t get away any faster.”

You glance past Mickey, down the row of tables, and catch Bob’s eyes on you—just for a second—before he quickly looks away. Bradley, Jake, and Javy are still deep in conversation with the other guys, oblivious. Bob seems to be the only one noticing Reuben and Mickey’s absence.

“Start again,” Mickey says. “From the beginning. We knew something happened.”

Natasha snorts around a mouthful of pasta, and you sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing. They’d get it out of you one way or another.

Twenty minutes later, when you finally finish recapping the story for the second time, Natasha taps her watch and nods toward the exit. “We better get back before Mav, or he’ll keep us late tonight.”

Mickey’s brows are nearly touching as he processes everything you’ve said. “What does he mean, ‘you can’t do this’? He clearly wanted to—so why didn’t he?”

You pick up your tray and follow Natasha toward the return station. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I mean,” Reuben says, brows furrowed, “you said he was... at attention, right?”

You blow a half-hearted laugh through your nose. “Yeah.”

“So he definitely wanted to,” he says as the four of you exit the mess hall. “I just can’t think of why he wouldn’t go for it.”

“I think it’s because you’re in the same squad,” Natasha offers. “He’s probably worried it’ll get weird—or worse, if it doesn’t work out.”

You roll your eyes as you cross the hot concrete, heading back to the hangar. “But we’re both adults. Why can’t he just sack up and fuck me, and we’ll worry about the consequences later?”

Your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you don’t miss the odd looks a few passing officers send your way.

Reuben chuckles. “Maybe you should just say that to him.”

“No,” Natasha says, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve got a better idea. Call it Plan B or whatever, but now... we’re bringing out the big guns.”

“So Sunny pressing her tits against him wasn’t the big guns?” Mickey quips with a grin.

You smack him lightly across the chest before looking back to Natasha. “I doubt anything will work at this point, but... I’m curious. What’s the idea?”

“How’s your gag reflex?” she asks, tilting her head thoughtfully.

You rear back, eyebrows raised—and both Reuben and Mickey choke on laughter.

Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. “Not like that. I mean you’re going to need a strong stomach and a Juilliard degree to pull this off.”

You frown, slowing just slightly as the hangar looms into view. “Okay...”

She straightens up and faces forward, a proud smirk tugging at her mouth and her chin tilted high. “We’re going to make Bob jealous.”

Out of Mickey and Reuben, you all collectively decided that Reuben was the more convincing option. Not that you don’t think Mickey’s gorgeous—you do, and so does he—but his acting skills are questionable at best. You at least have a little more faith in Reuben’s ability to fake flirt without making it weird.

The plan is simple. Convince Bob that he’s lost his shot—or that he’s just about to. Make it clear you’re happy to move on. If he wants you... well, now he’s going to have to fight for it. Because tempting him wasn’t enough—apparently—you need to dig deeper. Tap into something primal and pull it to the surface. Exploit what lingers under the skin of every man: jealousy and competition.

You’re going to make this a game he can’t afford to lose.

“You ready for Phase Two?” Natasha asks as you cross the base, the sun still barely above the horizon.

You take a deep breath of fresh morning air. “Let’s do it.”

She and Mickey take off ahead of you and Reuben to arrive in the training room first. It’s a known fact that Bob is always ridiculously early—so you know he’ll already be there. You hang back with Reuben, rehashing the plan and trying to get used to flirting with him without cracking up.

At exactly ten past six, Natasha texts you to give the green light—no doubt having casually pointed out to Bob that you’re not with her, which you always are.

“What if he doesn’t care?” you ask Reuben softly as you climb the stairs.

He rolls his eyes like you’ve said something utterly insane. “He’ll care, trust me. He might be Bob, but he’s still a guy. And he’s obviously down bad for you—just needs a little push.”

You snort. “Little?”

Reuben chuckles. “Okay, more than a little. It’s Bob.”

You laugh too, quietly, and then steel yourself as you reach the door—slipping on your game face. You glance at Reuben, catching the smirk tugging at his mouth.

Then you both nod. It’s show time.

“So, you’re saying eye contact makes it better?” he asks as you step through the door, voice pitched perfectly.

You nod, casual but with a hint of something else. “Yep. A thousand times better. And bonus points if you know where to put your hands.”

He raises a brow, lips twitching. “Where do I put my hands?”

You giggle, soft and flirty, pausing a few steps into the room. “How about I show you later?”

His grin breaks loose. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

You head toward the rows of seats, sliding into your usual behind Natasha—not missing the way Bob’s gaze locks onto you like he’s been caught mid-thought. His head swivels as Reuben sits beside you instead of next to Mickey.

“See,” Reuben says, leaning in a little, “all these years I thought speed was the key. But you’re saying it’s finesse?”

“Oh, definitely finesse,” you say, holding his eyes. “Go too hard and too fast, and it’s just... messy. Sloppy. Unimpressive.”

Reuben licks his lips, his eyes flicking sideways to Bob—just for a second. “So, you’re offering me private lessons?”

You lower your voice slightly, knowing it’s still perfectly audible to the rest of the room. “Depends. Can you follow instruction without getting too flustered?”

Reuben’s grin sharpens. “I don’t fluster, sweetheart. I excel under pressure.”

You pause, your pulse a little too quick—partly from Bob’s stare, which he’s not even trying to hide now, and partly from the fact that yeah, it’s been a while. And if this whole plan does blow up in your face... well, Reuben doesn’t seem like the worst option for a little stress relief.

You fight down a laugh at the idea and finally drag your gaze toward the front of the room. Bob—just one row ahead—snaps his eyes forward like he’s been caught eavesdropping, but the bright red of his cheeks, the tight set of his shoulders, and the way his jaw flexes say it all. He’s tense. He’s listening. And he’s absolutely not okay.

A moment later, Maverick strolls in, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare brewing right beneath his nose.

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. Each evening, you regroup with your friends to scheme and strategize, brainstorming new antics to pull off the next day. Nothing over-the-top—just enough to catch Bob’s eye.

On Wednesday, you get Reuben to help you into your flight suit. You both time it perfectly: he exits the locker room just ahead of Bob, and you appear a second later, flashing a flirty grin before asking sweetly for his help. You giggle and call him a sweetheart while Bob nearly trips over his own feet, glancing back with a clenched jaw and a look that could burn a hole through steel.

Thursday morning, Reuben brings you a coffee—exactly how you like it—straight to the briefing room. You proclaim, not so quietly, that he’s giving total boyfriend material before he drops into the seat beside you and you both giggle over a (completely fabricated) inside joke.

That afternoon, during a short break between drills and the next briefing, he offers you a bite of his protein bar. You take it right from his hand, licking your lips and throwing him an innocent little wink before sauntering off like it’s nothing.

By Friday, Natasha warns you that the others are starting to notice. But you’re in too deep to pull back now—not when Bob looks like he’s about to unravel. He’s been tighter than ever, watching you like a hawk, eyes dark and stormy instead of their usual calm denim blue. You’re close. So close. And honestly? You’re kind of having a little too much fun.

That afternoon, during post-flight checks, Reuben sidles up behind you under the guise of pointing out something ‘mechanical’ on your jet. You’re not actually doing anything with it, but that doesn’t stop him from standing unnecessarily close, guiding your hand with his as he gestures toward something supposedly critical. The two of you are seconds from cracking up, but Bob doesn’t know that. Bob, from all the way across the hangar, looks frozen—eyes locked, breath held, jaw tight—as Reuben presses flush against your back.

Natasha really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is, but honestly? She can’t help it. It’s too damn entertaining.

“Hey,” she says, nodding at Bob as she approaches. “You good?”

He blinks, then turns his sharp gaze on her, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

She snorts. “That was very convincing.”

He rolls his eyes and turns robotically back to the maintenance logs he’d been filling out.

Natasha glances at the paperwork, noting the hard press of his pen and the uneven ticks and crosses—some scribbled over multiple times—down the checkbox column.

“Wow,” she mutters, raising a brow. “You sure you earned your pen licence? Or should you still be on pencils?”

Bob’s blue eyes flick up, darker than usual beneath his furrowed brow. “Ha. Ha.”

“Okay,” she says, biting back the laugh rising in her throat. “So, bad day?”

“Bad week,” Bob grumbles.

Natasha nods slowly. “Well, hey, why don’t we fix that by hitting up The Hard Deck tonight?”

He snaps the logbook shut and tucks the pen into his pocket. “Pass.”

“Oh, come on,” she sighs. “It might make you feel better.”

His eyes flick toward you again, watching as you and Reuben dissolve into giggles beside your jet.

“I doubt it.”

“Sunny’ll be there,” Natasha says, her voice light and teasing.

Bob doesn’t respond. Just keeps packing up his things—every motion a little too sharp, a little too fast.

Natasha exhales. “Come on, dude. Just come for one drink—it doesn’t have to be beer. Blow off some steam. If you hate it, you can bail early. But it won’t be the same without you.”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a beat before letting it out slow. “Fine. One drink.”

Natasha grins, her eyes sparkling even in the dimming light of the hangar. “Perfect.”

Later that night, Natasha drives the four of you—Reuben and Mickey included—to the bar. Everyone else agreed to meet there, and she insisted on driving so you could have a few drinks. Not just to loosen up for another round of torturing poor Bob, but to actually let loose a little. She can tell this whole thing is winding you up, and she figures a few beers and a night with friends might help ease the tension—and the guilt—and maybe even the gnawing fear that this whole plan could blow up in your face.

“Nat, are you sure this dress isn’t too short?” you ask, holding the hem down against the curve of your ass as you follow her toward the main entry door. “I haven’t worn it in years.”

“There’s no such thing as too short,” Mickey says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes and step inside, into the warm glow of golden lighting and the low hum of half-drunk conversation. You let go of your dress now that there’s no breeze threatening to lift it, and try to relax, even with the strange sensation of bare legs in public. You’re used to flight suits, not feeling this on display.

“Ready to put on your best performance yet?” Reuben murmurs, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

You take a deep breath, feeling it rattle faintly in your chest. “Let’s do this thing.”

Natasha shoots you a wink over her shoulder, already striding confidently across the bar, her gaze locked on the usual booth where the rest of your friends are waiting.

There’s a chorus of greetings as the four of you approach, and you all grin and wave, waiting as Bradley, Jake, Javy, and Bob shuffle around to make room. Natasha pointedly takes the spot beside Bob, with Mickey sliding in next to her. You claim the seat beside Jake—which puts Reuben on your other side. Just as planned.

It’s a little squishy, but after so many nights like this, none of you really notice. Except Bob. He’s noticed tonight. His eyes are locked on the way your side is pressed to Reuben’s, his arm is slung casually over the back of the booth, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

“He looks like he wants to kill me,” Reuben whispers in your ear, low enough that you can barely hear him over the chatter of the bar. “Pretend I said something funny. Laugh like you’ve got a secret.”

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, and let out a soft giggle as you lean toward him just a little.

“You’re a pretty good actress,” he mutters before pulling back slightly.

You glance up at him through your lashes, feeling more at ease with the close proximity after the past week. Then you straighten your spine and lean in, your lips grazing his jaw as you whisper in his ear.

“You’re annoying.”

He chuckles quietly, though you know he really wants to snort and smack you on the shoulder. You’re both enjoying this just a little too much, getting a kick out of your undercover roles.

When you turn back to the rest of the group, Natasha is very deliberately not looking at you—and you know it’s because she’ll laugh if she does. Mickey, on the other hand, is watching with wide eyes, as is Javy. Jake and Bradley are still arguing about something on your other side, and Bob… Bob still looks like he’s ready to commit first-degree murder.

“Drink?” Reuben asks after a beat, his smile smooth.

You nod. “Absolutely. I’ll help you.”

You both stand and offer a round to the rest of the table, most of whom accept—which makes it less suspicious that you’re going together. At the bar, you make sure to stand just a little closer than necessary as he orders a round of the usual from Penny.

“Are you sure we’re not pushing it?” you ask, your voice laced with quiet worry.

Reuben shakes his head. “Nah, not yet.”

You frown. “Yet?”

“He’ll snap one way or another,” he says, leaning casually against the bar. “He’ll either lose it and blow up over something totally unrelated—and that’s when we’ll know we’ve gone too far. Or he’ll wake the fuck up and fight for what he wants.”

You open your mouth to voice another concern, but Penny is already sliding the tray of drinks across the bar. Reuben thanks her with an easy smile as you grab the two beers that didn’t fit, flashing her your own grateful grin before following him back to the table.

When you set the beers down, you feel the neckline of your dress slip just a little lower. Your eyes flick up to see if anyone’s noticed—and of course… Bob. His gaze is dark and locked on your chest, clearly able to see right down your dress. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to look away. He just stares.

But then he blinks and glances aside, not flustered or ashamed—just determined not to meet your eyes.

You straighten up and clear your throat. “I’m just going to duck to the bathroom.”

Then you turn and begin weaving your way through the bar, desperate for a moment to yourself—even though you haven’t been here that long—and to check that you don’t look completely ridiculous in the dress Natasha convinced you to wear.

You take your time in the stall, then rinse your hands under the cool water for a little longer than necessary. When you glance at your reflection in the full-length mirror, you’re surprised—and a little impressed. Because damn… you do look good. Maybe this dress deserves to see the light of day more often. And if Bob’s stare is anything to go by, it’s definitely not a bad idea.

You take a deep breath before pushing open the bathroom door, ready to continue your little charade—but you barely make it a few steps before someone blocks your path. You blink and stumble, stopping short before you run right into him.

You sigh when you realise who it is, that cocky smirk etched across his face. “What do you want, Hangman?”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

Your pulse spikes, but you do your best to keep your expression calm. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Payback,” he says, narrowing his green eyes. “Because I know that’s not real.”

Your breath catches—too quickly—giving you away as your gaze flicks to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes and leans in slightly, keeping the conversation low and private in the hum of the bar. “Don’t try to gaslight me, Sunny. I’m not an idiot. I know Phoenix is in on it—because of course she is—and Fanboy too, judging by the way he giggles every time you and Payback so much as look at each other.” He quirks a brow, daring you to challenge him. “The only reason Coyote hasn’t said anything is because he’s too polite, and Rooster hasn’t noticed because he’s too wrapped up in his own shit.”

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, matching his bravado. “You missed one.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You listed all the members of the squad… except one.”

“Right,” he chuckles dryly. “Bob. That’s the funny thing, because ever since we got to this island, you’ve been starry-eyed over Floyd, and he’s either too clueless to notice or too stupid to ask you out.” He pauses, letting it sink in, then leans just a bit closer. “Which is exactly why I’m not buying whatever you and Payback have been trying to sell this past week.”

You stare at each other for a beat, both stubborn and scowling, waiting for the other to fold first.

Then you sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to swear yourself to secrecy.”

His smirk stretches into a full grin. “I knew it.”

“Swear it.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up a hand. “I swear. I won’t even tell Coyote, and my pillow won’t hear a thing about it.”

You nod. “Good. Now come over and pretend to pick a song so this doesn’t look suspicious.”

You grab his wrist and tug him toward the jukebox, leaning over it and pretending to scroll through options while you give him a quick summary of Operation Bob’s Blue Balls—leaving out a few of the more... intimate details.

“So there,” you finish. “It’s underhanded and immature, but that’s what’s going on.”

His expression barely shifts the entire time, just the usual entertained glint in his eye and that ever-present smirk.

“Underhanded and immature?” he says. “I’m surprised I wasn’t in on this sooner.”

You roll your eyes.

“I want in.”

You blink, brow furrowed. “What?”

“I want to help,” he says, plainly.

You narrow your eyes, sceptical. “Why?”

He sighs and braces one hand on the jukebox, leaning in like he’s about to reveal some classified information. “Believe it or not, I’m not the worst guy in the world. I have a few ideas, and I think you two would be cute together.” He pauses, then adds in a quieter voice, “Besides, I’ve been going through a bit of a dry spell, and I figure helping other people get laid might buy me some good karma.”

You snort softly as he pulls back, his cheeks faintly pink.

“Alright,” you say. “You can help. But nothing obvious and nothing stupid. The last thing I need is Bob figuring this out and hating me for it.”

He rolls his eyes, that signature smirk firmly back in place. “Bob could never hate you. But I’ll be subtle.”

“Good.” You glance past his shoulder toward the booth across the bar. “We better get back before they get suspicious.”

“Wait,” he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “One more question.”

You raise your brows, prompting him to go on.

“When you fantasise about Bob, is he the top or the bottom? Because I just think you should manage your expectations—ow!”

He winces, rubbing the spot on his chest where you smacked him, watching you with a wounded look as you shove past with an exasperated sigh.

Great. Now Hangman is involved...

You spend the rest of the night practically glued to Reuben’s side, as planned. But now you’re a little on edge. You keep half an ear tuned to Jake’s voice, waiting to see when he might strike—and what he might say when he does. You trust him not to blow the whole thing, but you’re more than a little nervous about what his version of ‘helping’ might actually look like.

“Another drink?” Reuben asks, just as you finish the last of your third beer.

You nod, a bit too eagerly. “Yes, please. Maybe something stronger this time.”

He chuckles and slides out of the booth, offering his hand. You take it, letting him guide you up toward the bar. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely register the feel of his hand slipping from yours and settling at the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles there.

But Bob notices.

And Jake notices Bob noticing—taking special joy in the way Bob’s hand tightens around his bottle of Coke, knuckles going white.

Jake clears his throat and casts a glance toward the bar, leaning forward slightly. “They’re cute, don’t you think?”

There’s a beat of silence as Bob swallows—hard—and Natasha just blinks, clearly trying to catch up. Then the lightbulb goes off, and a wicked grin stretches across her lips.

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes following Jake’s. “I think they’d make a good couple.”

Bob snorts. Actually snorts. But he keeps his gaze fixed on the label he’s been picking at on his bottle.

Natasha arches a brow. “Something funny?”

Bob shakes his head. “No.”

“Really?” Jake presses, grinning. “Could’ve sworn you just laughed, Floyd.”

“It wasn’t a laugh,” Bob mutters. “More of a… breath.”

“Oh, a breath,” Natasha echoes, clearly amused. “Because it sounded suspiciously like judgment.”

“Or jealousy,” Jake adds, leaning back with a smug grin.

Bob’s gaze flicks to the bar—and to you—then just as quickly snaps away. “I don’t care who she dates.”

Natasha hums, fighting a smirk as she lifts her beer to her lips, “Didn’t say you did.”

Shortly after you and Reuben return to the table, giggling like idiots, Bob leaves. He mutters something about not feeling well and ducks out before even saying a proper goodbye. Part of you feels wrecked with guilt—but another part… is quietly hopeful. Because Bob isn’t like this. He’s good at regulating his emotions, even better at staying calm under pressure—he’s a fighter pilot, for God’s sake. But this? This is different. He’s never stormed out on the brink of losing control. Sure, he can get a little frustrated sometimes, maybe throw a snarky comment—usually at Jake when he pushes too far—but that’s as far as it goes.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s starting to unravel…

You spend most of the next day on the couch with the aircon blasting, while Natasha works through some paperwork at the kitchen table. It’s too hot to go outside, and you’re too distracted to do anything that requires even an ounce of brainpower. So instead, you let your mind rot with cartoons, obsessively checking your phone for signs of life in the group chat.

“I can’t believe Hangman is in on this now,” Natasha mutters, not even glancing up from her papers.

You sigh and roll from your side onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe he hasn’t cracked yet. If the roles were reversed, I’d be like a feral cat in heat by now.”

She snorts and lifts her head, flashing you an amused smirk. “You were already like a feral cat in heat for that man. Hence this whole situation.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, not wrong.”

Your head drops to the side as you half-watch the TV screen, until the apartment door swings open with a dramatic gust of air.

“I hate to say it,” Mickey says as he breezes in, eyes wide, “but the man is a genius.”

Reuben follows close behind, and then Jake—grinning like he just solved world peace.

“Oh, God,” Natasha mutters. “They’re multiplying.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t come to me sooner,” Jake says, strolling toward the couch. “I’m the king of seduction.”

You sit up, curling into the corner to make room for Reuben and Jake as Mickey heads straight for the fridge.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Just wait until you hear the plan,” Reuben says, practically buzzing. “It’s perfect.”

Intrigued now, Natasha gathers her papers into one neat pile and joins you on the lounge. “Alright, Bagman. Let’s hear it.”

Jake’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he settles in beside Reuben. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the beach.”

“You’re already way off,” you cut in. “Bob won’t agree to hang out again. Not after last night.”

Natasha nods. “She’s right. He needs to cool off before we wind him up again.”

“Absolutely not,” Jake snaps, brow furrowed. “You need to strike while the iron’s hot. You need to push his fucking limits.”

Mickey appears from the kitchen, a bag of pretzels already open in his hand.

Natasha frowns. “Okay, but how? He won’t agree to go if he thinks Sunny and Payback will be there.”

Jake grins. “Which is exactly why he’s going to think they won’t be there.”

“You want us to lie?” you ask.

He gives you a flat look. “After all this emotional warfare, now you’re drawing the line at lying?”

You shrink back slightly. “I guess not.”

“Exactly.” He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. “So—I’ll pitch the idea in the group chat. Sunny, you reply immediately that you’re busy—before Bob gets a chance to decline. Then Payback says something vague, like he might come or might not. That way, it looks like low numbers. And if Bob says no, the rest of us can guilt-trip him into coming. Which he will, as long as he thinks you’re not going to be there.”

Natasha tilts her head. “So... she will be there though?”

“Yes,” Jake says. “Just not right away. Give him time to relax, have some fun. We’ll play games—I’ll rile everyone up and get that competitive energy going.”

Everyone nods along, faces weirdly serious, like this is some highly classified mission briefing.

“Then, you two show up together,” Jake continues, gesturing to you and Reuben. “It’ll throw Bob off, but we won’t give him a chance to leave. We’ll keep the games going. Something with contact. You need to get right up in his space. Go all in. Because then... you’re going to knock him off his feet.”

“Literally,” Mickey mumbles, chewing a mouthful of pretzels.

You frown. “What?”

“Bump into him,” Jake says. “Literally knock him over. Skin-to-skin contact. I’ve seen the way he looks at you in a swimsuit—it’s borderline pornographic. Touching him? It’ll fry what’s left of his self-control. And then, when there’s a moment—just a second where you could apologise for being too competitive or whatever... you’re going to say something that makes him snap.”

You lean in, heart pounding now. “What am I going to say?”

The sun is high and brutal in the sky, and you’re already sweating—even though you’re still sitting in Reuben’s car with the aircon blasting.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” you ask, nervously bouncing your knee.

Reuben snorts. “If it doesn’t, the man isn’t human.”

“I feel bad,” you mutter, eyes scanning the stretch of gold sand through the windshield.

“You won’t feel bad when you finally see what’s in his pants,” Reuben says, barely paying attention as he scrolls through his phone.

Your eyes go wide and your head whips toward him. “So it is huge? I wasn’t just imagining that?”

He chuckles and looks up. “Oh yeah, he’s big. Like... big big. I remember the first time in the locker room—no one’s trying to look, obviously, that’s just not the vibe—but... damn. We couldn’t not look. Then everyone lost it. I think Hangman nearly cried.”

You press your lips together, trying to hold back a grin, but it’s no use—your cheeks are on fire, and your whole face feels like it's bright red.

“Damn,” you murmur, turning your gaze back to the front as your heart slams against your ribs.

Reuben laughs again, then cuts the engine, killing the aircon. “Alright. Pull yourself together. It’s go time.”

You climb out of the car and immediately wince at the lick of heat curling across your skin. It’s blistering—almost hostile—but at least you’re at the beach. Worst-case scenario? You’ll drown yourself in the ocean. Just walk into the surf and keep going. No one would blame you.

“Relax,” Reuben says, sliding a hand into yours like this is nothing. “This is going to work. Hangman might be insane, but I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s an evil genius.”

You roll your eyes, exhale hard, then square your shoulders and lift your chin.

You let Reuben lead you onto the sand, legs already working overtime to stay steady in the heat-softened grains. You can hear the chaos before you see it. Shouts and thuds echo over the sand as your friends tumble and crash around in a messy game of what looks like overgrown keepy-uppies.

“No hands!” Javy yells, just as Mickey swats the ball to avoid a direct hit to the face.

“Damn it, Fanboy!” Jake shouts. “You’re giving away points.”

Mickey drops his hands to his knees, panting. “Can we play literally any other game? I hate this.”

“You only hate it ‘cause you suck at it,” Natasha says, catching the ball like it’s second nature and bringing the game to a halt.

You swear you can see Mickey roll his eyes from here. You and Reuben are still on approach, trudging through the soft sand, unnoticed—so far.

“What about football?” Jake offers, tossing the round ball aside and already pulling a proper football from their pile of gear. “Dog-fight football?”

“Three versus three?” Javy asks, sceptical.

“What about four v. four?” Reuben calls, hand cupped to amplify his voice.

Everyone turns, and there’s a beat of stillness as they clock you. Then Natasha flashes a wide grin beneath her sunglasses, and Jake’s face lights up like a very satisfied evil villain—his plan falling perfectly into place.

“Well, if it ain’t Sunny and Payback!” he calls, spinning the football lazily in one hand. “You two done playing your own games already?”

You ignore the jab and focus on not rolling your ankle in the damn sand. At the pile of bags, you stop to drop your stuff and hesitate at the button of your shorts.

Jake’s eyes are practically gleaming. “How about a swim to cool off first?”

Reuben strips his shirt with a single tug. “You read my mind, Seresin.”

The guys—already in their swim trunks—bolt for the water, crashing into the surf in a chaotic stampede. Natasha peels off her shirt and shorts, shoots you a wink, and strolls in after them like she owns the ocean.

Reuben doesn’t say anything before he leaves you, but he gives a barely-there nod—directed past your shoulder.

You don’t need to turn around to know who it’s aimed at.

Bob’s still standing where he was when the game fizzled out, statuesque. His hair is tousled and his lips parted just enough to make your stomach flip. You’re at least ten feet away, but you can see the rise and fall of his chest—too fast, too hard. But he’s not out of breath. He’s not flustered.

He’s furious.

And those blue eyes? Laser-locked on you. His entire focus narrowed like a sniper sight. Not a blink. Not a breath wasted on anyone but you.

You swallow and force your body into motion, unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying out of them before pulling your loose shirt over your head. You drop your clothes on Natasha’s pile and turn toward the water, steady on the lumpy sand.

And then you hit the firm part—wet, packed, perfect footing—and you dig in. Hips swaying, deliberate and lethal.

You don’t need to look back. You can feel the heat of his stare on every inch of exposed skin. It’s scorching. Possessive. Almost punishing. Like if he could touch you right now, he’d brand you.

Hangman might be a genius after all.

You hit the water with a sigh, not even hesitating before diving beneath a wave before it can knock you off your feet. It’s the perfect temperature—delicious against your too-hot skin.

You dive under the next wave, cool saltwater rushing over your body, and come up laughing as you slick your hair back. Natasha is standing beside you, arms outstretched as the water laps at her waist, her eyes fixed on the shore.

You wade closer, smirking. “Did you see his face?” you ask breathlessly, heart still pounding from the walk down the beach—or maybe from the way Bob had looked at you like he was plotting your murder. “I thought he was going to spontaneously combust.”

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring past you.

You frown as her jaw goes slack and her brows creep up, sunglasses slipping down her nose as she stares at something on the shore—expression caught somewhere between shock and awe.

You freeze. “What?”

She still doesn’t speak—just tips her chin the slightest bit, silently gesturing toward whatever has her stunned.

You twist around.

And promptly forget how to breathe.

Bob Floyd is pulling his shirt over his head.

Bob Floyd, the man who never takes his shirt off. The man who wears it in the ocean and somehow isn’t bothered by the soaking wet material clinging to his body like a second skin.

And holy shit.

It’s glorious.

Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless before. Once. That night. But that was in the dark—his body tense, your mind scrambled, neither of you thinking clearly enough to appreciate what was right in front of you.

But in the light of day?

Alabaster skin. Broad shoulders. Deep-cut abs like he walked straight off the set of a Marvel movie. Lean muscle rippling across his chest and arms in a way that feels criminal on someone so quiet and careful. Droplets of sweat cling to his torso like even the heat doesn’t want to let him go.

The sudden silence behind you confirms it—everyone else is staring too.

You blink, dumbfounded, mouth dry. “That’s illegal.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh like she’s short-circuiting. “I mean, I knew he was strong but—wow.”

You swallow. Hard. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Your eyes follow him as he drops his shirt and turns toward the water, cutting through the waves like they’re nothing. He doesn’t glance at any of you. Just keeps his gaze locked on the horizon, jaw set tight, his body moving with single-minded purpose.

Before you can say something—or even blink—a surge of water smacks you in the face.

But it’s not a wave.

You cough and splutter, wiping the salt from your eyes and checking to make sure your sunglasses are still intact. When your vision clears, Jake is standing right in front of you.

“Wipe the drool off your chin,” he says, deadpan. “You’re supposed to be teasing him.”

You narrow your eyes, resisting the urge to shove him aside and keep watching Bob. “How did all of you know how cut that man is and not tell me?”

Jake blinks, thrown for a beat, then grins like the devil. “Wait—you’re mad because we didn’t tell you how ripped Bob is?”

You nod, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Correct.”

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Well if that’s got you steamed, you’re gonna be beside yourself when you find out he’s got a massive-”

“I know,” you cut in smoothly, a wicked smirk curling at your lips. “Payback told me.”

Jake gapes at you, brows knitting—but before he can get another word out, you shove his shoulder and send him sprawling into the water.

When he resurfaces, sputtering and grinning, he points at you like a man on a mission—then lunges.

You squeal, laughing as he barrels toward you, sending up waves in every direction. The two of you splash around like kids, Jake playing it up—grabbing you, poking at your sides, both of you pretending to wrestle. All for show. Because you both know Bob is watching.

Eventually, the others join in, playful chaos erupting around you. And before long, you’re panting and breathless, dragging yourself back to shore, your cheeks and chest aching from laughter.

Everyone settles for a few minutes, drinking from their water bottles and trying to knock water from their ears. But then Jake stands up, football in hand and a wicked smirk on his lips, ready to commence Operation Bob’s Blue Balls – Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.

“All right, I’ll pick teams,” he announces.

Normally, this would cause an uproar. But since most of you are in on the plan, everyone just nods in agreement.

“Phoenix, Payback, Bob,” he says. “You’re with me. The rest of you are on Rooster’s team.”

You narrow your eyes and cock your hip—it would seem strange if you didn’t challenge Jake just a little. “Why are you two always team captains?”

He winks. “Because we’re the best.”

You roll your eyes and turn away, joining the huddle with your teammates as Bradley and Javy argue over what your game plan should be.

After a few minutes of strategizing, the game kicks off. You’ve never loved dog-fight football—not like some of the others—mostly because it can get a little rough. But today… it’s more than just a game. It’s a full-blown performance.

You hang back for a bit, letting Jake and Bradley rile each other up and fire up their teams. Bob is still shirtless, which is a tactical advantage he isn’t even aware of—because every time he has the ball, every time he runs or blocks or is just generally in your line of sight, your knees wobble.

You’ve nearly forgotten what you’re supposed to be doing when Reuben jumps in front of you and snags the ball before you can—thrown by a very disappointed-looking Javy.

“Getting tired, Sunny?” Reuben teases, his grin smug. “I’m just getting started.”

Right. The plan. Flirting. Banter. Teasing Bob.

You step closer, slowing the game down a touch as you stretch onto your toes and drop your voice—but not too low. “Tired? Please. I’m still waiting for you to make me sweat.”

There’s a beat where you worry Reuben might break, might laugh—high on adrenaline and endorphins.

But then Jake hollers, “Cut it out, you two! Save the dirty talk for the bedroom!”

And the game is back on.

The sun beats down mercilessly, making every flexed muscle shine, every drop of sweat slide in slow, glistening trails. The sand is hot beneath your feet, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building as you and Reuben turn the game into one of Bob’s personal nightmares.

You dart to the left, brushing past Reuben with a smug grin, your fingertips dragging across his chest like you’re checking his heart rate.

“C’mon, hotshot,” you tease. “You could try a little harder.”

He laughs—low and amused—but gives chase, throwing a hand around your waist as you pivot. It’s all too easy to make it look a little too intimate, a little too tight. He lifts you off the ground to ‘block’ your goal and your head falls back in a laugh that’s just shy of indecent.

And Bob sees everything.

You feel it—his stare like hot coals dragged across your skin. When you glance up between plays, he’s standing at the edge of the group, jaw tight, shoulders tense, hands flexing like they’re ready to throw a punch. His eyes follow your every move like he’s marking a target, and if looks could kill, Reuben would already be six feet under.

You catch a toss, and Reuben crashes into you to intercept, spinning you both until you fall together into the sand. You land side by side, giggling like idiots—some might even say lovesick idiots.

He pushes up first and grins down at you, tipping his head suggestively. “Need a hand?”

“Oh, I don’t mind being on my back,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

You take Reuben’s hand and let him haul you off the ground, pulling you into his body just a little more than necessary.

“Damn, Sunny,” Jake calls from the other side of the makeshift field. “Takin’ a few hits today. Hope it doesn’t affect your game.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you dust sand off your body like everyone else paid to watch. “You know I like it rough, Hangman.”

There’s a chorus of oohs and a whistle from Mickey, laughter rippling through the group.

Except Bob, of course. He’s suddenly very interested in the sand, eyes locked on the ground—even though his rigid posture is telling you everything you need to know.

The game revs up again, and after a few scuffles, you snag the ball off a fumbled toss and break into a sprint, cutting across the sand with laser focus. Reuben’s behind you, winded, and the others are tangled up with the second ball—leaving only one person standing in your way.

Bob.

“Stop her!” Jake shouts, too far behind to intercept.

Bob plants his feet like he’s ready to block—muscles tensing, arms coiled. It’s almost enough to distract you. But you’re feeling competitive. A little reckless. And you’re seconds from a goal.

He hesitates when your eyes lock, just long enough for your wicked grin to register as you blow past him and skid to a halt—well over the line.

Your team erupts into cheers behind you, and you throw your hands up, chest heaving as you catch your breath. When you turn back around, he’s still watching you—eyes wide.

You flash him a slow smile as you walk past, brushing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” you murmur. “I’ll go easy on you next time.”

After a breather and a drink of water, everyone lines up for another play. Jake and Bradley drop the footballs into the sand, crouched and ready. Jake turns his head your way and gives you a subtle nod.

This is it.

Your heart thunders behind your ribs as you sprint and block and laugh along with the others. The competition hasn’t cooled—everyone is still hungry. Even Bob has snapped into focus, finally playing like it matters instead of just standing there watching.

And for a moment, it is just fun. No schemes, no strategy. Just friends, shouting and stumbling and laughing too hard to score.

But then the ball is in your hands again—and it’s time.

Bob is on defence—Jake made sure of that. You just have to get past him again. Or at least… make it look like you’re trying.

You tear forward. Jake is already behind you, Natasha lunges and misses by a breath, and Reuben very dramatically wipes out in the sand.

It’s just Bob now.

He sets his stance, head tipped down in focus. He’s going to stop you this time. Poor thing. He has no idea that’s exactly the plan.

You charge, feet kicking up sand, heart in your throat. His eyes widen just a second before you collide—your body slamming into his with just enough force to topple you both.

The ball flies from your hand as you hit the sand hard, clutching at whatever you can—his shoulders, his arms, solid and warm beneath your grip. You spit sand from your mouth and sit up fast—only to freeze, breath caught in your throat.

You’re straddling him. Hips locked against his. Chest heaving. His hands on your waist.

You don’t move.

You’re both panting. The air between you buzzes like static, and everywhere your skin touches his feels sunburnt and alive. His blue eyes are locked on yours—wild and stunned. Bright enough to drown in.

Your chest rises and falls with ragged breath, but you stay put.

“Does this count?” you ask, voice low and rough with adrenaline.

His lips are parted, soft and pink, breath coming in short bursts. His curls are wild, tangled with sand, and his glasses—crooked from the fall—are still somehow on. He looks wrecked. Shattered. Like you’ve stolen every coherent thought out of his head. His gaze flickers—searching your face, desperate not to meet your eyes.

You lean in just a little.

“If anyone else looked at me like that, I’d probably kiss them,” you murmur, squeezing your thighs around his waist. Then you bring your mouth dangerously close to his ear. “But we can’t do that... right?”

His breath catches—and his eyes finally snap to yours.

They’re wide and stormy now, brows drawn tight. He doesn’t breathe. He just looks. His mouth parts a little further, and you can see it all happening behind his eyes—every thought, every realisation.

Everything falls into place—the flirting, the giggling, the deliberate touches, the stolen glances. All of it. You’ve been baiting him. This whole time.

Before you can say anything else—before you can blink or breathe—

He snaps.

He flips you, smooth and fast, moving your body like you weigh nothing. Suddenly, you’re on your back, pressed into the sand, and he’s the one on top—straddling you, his weight holding you down.

And the look in his eyes could burn the sky.

He leans in, gaze sweeping over your face—your lips, your eyes, the pulse at your throat. He watches it thrum, just for a second.

You’re frozen beneath him. Every nerve on fire. Every inch of your body sparking. Your lungs are screaming for air, but you don’t know how to breathe. You can’t think. You can barely feel anything except him.

His breath ghosts your lips as he whispers, “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

It’s not careful. It’s not sweet. It’s months of tension and stolen glances and aching want—every second of restraint finally unravelling in a dizzy, reckless crash. His mouth claims yours like he’s starving, like he’s waited too long and can’t wait another second.

His chest presses into yours, slick with sweat and dusted with sand, and you arch into it with a gasp. He groans against your mouth, a low, broken sound that feels like fire in your veins. You can feel every inch of him—solid and hot and so hard against your hip, unmistakable and unignorable.

You shift beneath him, dragging your leg up around his waist, just enough to tease. His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you deeper, hungrier, like the noise you just pulled from him unspooled something he can’t reel back in.

You claw at his back—muscles tense and trembling under your fingers—trying to pull him closer when there’s no space left between you. The kiss turns feverish, tongues sliding, lips parting in desperate sync. You’re panting into each other’s mouths, completely lost.

There’s sand in your hair, in your mouth, sticking to your sweat-slick skin, but none of it matters. All that matters is the way he moves against you, the way he feels—like every bit of control he’d been clinging to has shattered.

When he finally tears his mouth from yours, he doesn’t go far. His forehead drops to yours, both of you gasping. He’s pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, lips swollen, pupils blown.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice wrecked, “you’re gonna kill me.”

And the way he says it—like a confession, like a prayer—makes you want to do it all over again.

“YES!" Mickey shouts, loud enough for all of North Island to hear.

Your friends erupt into cheers and screams, laughter lacing their gleeful proclamations as they jump and dance just a few feet away.

“Well, fuck me,” Jake drawls. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You both slowly—reluctantly—turn your heads toward the noise.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Reuben mutters, grinning wide, eyes sparkling. “Phase Three actually worked.”

You’re still pinned beneath Bob as they all close in, every face lit up with smug satisfaction.

“You named it?” Bob asks, closing his eyes as his cheeks somehow grow even hotter.

“Oh yeah,” Mickey says, beaming with pride. “Operation Bob’s Blue Balls. Phase One was the run and the sleepover. Phase Two, Reuben. And this—” he gestures wildly at the two of you tangled in the sand, “this is Phase Three: Straddle and Conquer.”

Bob makes a noise. Somewhere between a strangled groan and a whispered prayer for death.

“You planned this?” he rasps, forehead dropping against yours again like he might just burrow into the sand and disappear.

Reuben shrugs, all innocence. “Worked like a charm.”

“Honestly,” Natasha adds, “we were starting to think you’d never get there. So… you’re welcome.”

You bury your face in Bob’s shoulder, mortified. He’s burning up beneath your hands—still—and breathing like he just ran a mile with you on his back.

Jake snickers. “Glad we could help you two get laid.”

“We haven’t—!” Bob blurts, redder than a stop sign.

You slap a hand over his mouth, grinning wickedly now despite the embarrassment. “Yet.”

There’s a beat—a millisecond of silence—before they all burst out laughing again.

Mickey curls over, clutching his stomach. Reuben walks away, cackling with his head tipped back. Natasha mutters, “Jesus Christ,” but she’s definitely smirking, and Jake claps his hands once as he says, “God bless the U.S. Navy.”

Bob drops his face into the crook of your neck and groans again, muffled, “I hate all of you.”

“Even me?” you ask, voice soft and teasing.

He lifts his head, chuckling softly. “No. But for all that? You’re definitely still in trouble.”

You lick your lips. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

He sighs like you’re actively trying to kill him, then sits up and pushes to his feet—only to glance down at the massive bulge in his shorts, which looks borderline painful.

“Shit.”

You scramble up after him, stepping in close and pressing your body to his, barely able to contain your giggles as you shield him from the rest of the beach.

“Need a minute?” you tease, laughter lacing every word.

His eyes flash—dark, hungry. “You and I are gonna need more than a minute to deal with this.”

Heat floods your face and pools between your legs, thick and insistent.

“But,” he says, glancing toward the water, “I’m just gonna go for a quick swim.”

You nod, eyes wide and dreamy, watching him from beneath your lashes like an absolute idiot in love.

And he looks at you like you hung the sun. Like you’re everything. It’s enough to make your heart stutter and your pulse race. He has no business being this beautiful—this sinful—a perfect contradiction of sweetness and respect, with just enough hunger in him, just enough darkness, that you know you’ll be walking funny tomorrow.

And probably for the next few weeks while you learn how to handle his massive dick.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, a shy smile curling his lips. “You’re making it worse.”

Your jaw drops. “It gets bigger?”

He laughs, then leans in to press a kiss to your open mouth—chaste, but lingering. Like it physically pains him to pull away. But he does. And when he flashes you that boyish smile—equal parts sexy and shy—it knocks the breath out of you.

Then he turns and jogs toward the water.

It takes you more than a minute to remember how to move—how to function—but eventually, you manage to drag yourself back to the others, who are still laughing and chatting like the beach hasn’t just tilted sideways.

Natasha passes you your water bottle. “What’s Bob doing?”

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him ducking under a wave. A smile tugs at your lips.

“Cooling off.”

END.

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun #lewis pullman #bob x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #top gun x reader #maverick #lewis pullman x reader #imagine #one shot #oneshot #fanfic #robert floyd x reader

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ddlydevotion · 15 hours ago

Text

Grace and Bo Chow both being infatuated with you 💌 ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing this! This post contains nsfw content/slightly obsessive behavior so proceed with caution. This is also quite long so I apologize for that. Look out for a part two!

currently listening to: Cupid by Sam Cooke

You met Bo first. You applied for a job at the shop and proved yourself to be incredibly dependable. He allowed you to count the money in the register, keep logs of what was going in & out of the store, and take care of client records and accounts. The two of you had a purely professional relationship, but if a professional relationship consisted of longing glances, lingering touches, and endearing nicknames.

You knew he was married, the golden band around his ring finger didn't let you forget the fact that he was. You felt horrible for even entertaining the nicknames and the close contact he kept with you, but you considered yourself to be on the safe side of things. As long as the two of you kept the touchiness to a minimum and didn't take your affection for one another to the bedroom, everything was fine.

His wife, Grace, tended to their shared store on the white side of town. She'd occasionally pop into the store to check in on Bo & their daughter, making sure she completed her tasks for the day. Afterwards, she'd never fail to make her way up to you and ask about your day.

"How are ye doin? Bo been treatin' you well?"

"You're doin' a good job around 'ere, girl. We gotta keep you here, don't want the other stores to try an' take ye from us."

Bo would affirm her praise by nodding his head and adding in his own little two cents. Grace wouldn't shy away from rubbing your arm or placing a delicate finger underneath your chin while saying "you're a real pretty girl, y'know that?". Her physical touch could be disguised as something playful and sweet, something between two women that were fond of one another. But, as the two of them made eye contact over your head they knew that what they had in store for you was anything but playful.

The playful banter between the three of you continued for weeks after that. You didn't expect anything more to blossom from your friendship with the married couple, but the clueless cloud you had over your head was quickly blown away one night. It was usual for them to invite you over to have dinner at their shared home. It was a common occurrence that even Lisa looked forward to as you were never anything but kind to her.

If you try to tell them that you wouldn't be able to make it due to a packed schedule, they'd do everything in their power to convince you to show anyway.

"Oh, we promise we won't keep you long. C'mon ya could just come on over for some dinner and make your way home after that. promise."

"awe are ya sure? Lisa was really lookin' forward to seeing ya again."

Sure, it was common for them to invite you over for dinner. However, it wasn't all too common for them to invite you into their bedroom. They'd usually keep you past midnight to have conversation going in the kitchen, but Bo offered to move the late night ritual into their bedroom. The conversation went on as normal and the wine in your glass disappeared by the minute. You sat with your legs crossed on their wooden-framed bed, the couple sat right in front of you. Bo's hand made a home for itself on the skin of your thigh that peaked from underneath your dress, he rarely ever showed such explicit affection like this. You expected Grace to become angry with the two of you, rightfully so, and have the night come to an end. Instead, she moved towards you and swept your hair out of your face with those delicate fingers of hers you've come to admire.

"I don't think ya know just how pretty ya are. I mean, jus' look at that face, baby. You just might be the prettiest damn thing I've ever seen." Bo's hand moved towards the inside of your thigh and a small smile stretched across his lips. "s'true, sweetheart", both of his hands eventually moved towards the inside of your thighs, spreading you open for him, Grace shuffling behind you before positioning your head to lay on her lap.

The night ended with your legs curved around Bo's slender waist as he pumped his cock into you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock stimulating your pulsing clit once he finally bottomed out. Grace kept herself busy, too. She rubbed your throbbing clit with her middle & ring finger, occasionally cradling your flushed cheeks and encouraging you to "take that cock, baby. s'so big, ain't it? I know, I know", shushing your whines and cooing at your fucked out expression. She couldn’t help but smile when you let out a surprised squeal at the feeling of her fingers tweaking and pinching your sensitive nipples.

Your relationship with the Chow's was never made public to the town, I mean, why would it be? Everyone in your close circle knew that the three of you were quite the close bunch of friends, but they didn't know the rest of it.

I can definitely see the both of them being possessive over you. They could see you talking with a friend of yours outside of the store and immediately interrogate you about it.

"She's just a good friend of mine! What's this all about?"

"Y'know damn well what this is all about. She looked like she was imaginin' what ya looked like without your clothes on."

It'd make them inexplicably upset to see you in a relationship with anyone that isn't them. They'd never allow you to do so without putting up a fight, though. It'd be foolish for you to think they'd let you go so easily. Even if you did get romantically involved with anyone else, you'd never be truly satisfied. Grace and Bo raised your standards to the damn moon and it'd be impossible for anyone to try and fill their shoes. Whenever your partner did anything wrong, you couldn't help but think "they'd never do that to me."

Helping Grace whenever she's working on a sign for a client. She doesn't hold back on sharing just how proud she is of you when you finish up a paint job.

Sharing many passion filled nights with the couple at the Juke Joint. You spend so much time sat at the bar without ordering anything just to talk to Grace. Bo pulls you in to dance with him and no one around bats an eye. What's wrong with two friends sharing a dance together? However, the way his glistening eyes gaze into yours with such intense passion behind them is anything but platonic.

It's incredibly easy for you and Grace to hide the true nature of your relationship. Nobody suspects anything even when her arm is firmly wrapped around your waist, or when her lips graze your cheek in a sweet peck. That's just how good friends celebrate one another.

They always find themselves on your front porch with gifts and they hardly ever show up empty handed. The gifts range from sundresses perfect for the southern heat, pastries they know you'll enjoy, savory treats the both of them worked on.

You're constantly heading over to their home and being convinced to stay the night by the sweet-talking couple. They don't entertain the possibility of you staying in a spare room, they want you to make yourself familiar & comfortable with their bedroom. Their spare room is honestly quite useful in having visitors believe that's where you stay, assisting in avoiding any questions about the true nature of your 'friendship'.

Bo wraps himself around your body like a koala and Grace curls herself into a fetal position in front of you, relishing in the feeling of your warm arms around her.

taglist: @officialthrad @bochowswife @thegr33nc0met @missroro @mjwhis @foreid let me know if you'd like to be added!

#x female reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n #bo chow x reader #bo chow x fem reader #bo chow oneshot #bo chow imagine #bo chow smut #bo chow sinners #grace chow x reader #grace chow x fem reader #grace chow imagine #sinners x reader #sinners 2025 x reader #sinners fanfiction #sinners x fem reader #sinners x black reader #x black fem reader #x black reader

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pboogerswbb · 3 days ago

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SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously.

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach.

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head. I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder.

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,” Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved.

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey.

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through.

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean.

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet.

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her.

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor.

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone. I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk.

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me.

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin.

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@d3arapril@lovegalor333@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omg-imtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

#so it goes #lilas writing yaps #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #wlw x oc #wnba x oc

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yoiisa · 3 days ago

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Hi!!!! I just wanna say i adore how you write for the wb boys, can i request them ( suo, sakura, nirei n sugishita ) courting the reader? headcannons if you may:3 thank you!!

ofc ofc! ( っ˶´ ˘ `)っ

➜ suo hayato is the gentleman of the year ➜ he knows flowers, as seen when he visits that old man with tsubaki, so pictures this: a tiny bouquet ➜ EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. ➜ roses, lilies, tulips, whatever you could possibly picture he delivers ➜ he also writes notes to go with them ➜ when you ask him what it means, he just pats your head and ignores the question. after all, what's the harm in a little tease?

"Oh, she's back!" you hear someone shout as you open the door to the classroom. "Y/N! There's a present for you~" Present? You rip open the wrapper for your red bean bun and take a bite as you walk towards your desk. As you swallow your food you ask, "Present?" "Someone from bofurin came by today! He had an eyepatch!" your friend explains, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She and a few other girls start pushing you towards your desk, trying to get you to see the gift quicker. "Hurry up! Go look!" As your eyes finally fall on your desk, you can't help the slight blush that creeps onto your face, as well as the small smile. A small bouquet of three red tulips and two white ones rests on your desk, as well as a small notecard folded up. On the front, all there said was Hayato ♡. As you pick up the tulips, running your fingers along the edges of the petals, you hear someone behind you go, "I want a boyfriend so bad~" "Well," you say with a soft giggle, turning around to look at the small group of girls crowding you, "he's not my boyfriend. Not yet at least." They stare at you dumbfounded before one of them practically shouts, "The fuck you mean he's not your boyfriend! Girl get him before someone else swoops in, what are you doing?!" You nod absentmindedly as you open the notecard. You smile falls and your eyes widened as you read over Suo's scrawls. You feel your cheeks warm as you look up and out of the window. Nirei and Sakura stand at the edge of the courtyard arguing, while Suo stares up you, hope glowing in his soft gaze. When you nod, gifting him with an elated grin, his mouth parts in a relieved smile and all he can think is one glorious thought: Finally. You're mine.

➜ sakura haruka is lost. completely and totally lost ➜ he considers going to suo or nirei, or even hiragi for advice, but decides that doing so would result in him dying of embarrassment ➜ as a result, he goes to kaji for help instead ➜ but it's like dumb and dumber of romance with the two of them, so it just ends up turning into a big mess when he finally makes a move on you ➜ but the whole situation is so uniquely sakura you can't help but find it endearing in the end, and ultimately, it ends up with you two getting together anyways

"Are you sure this'll work?" Sakura asks as Kaji drapes an acoustic guitar over Sakura's shoulders "You've been practicing, haven't you?" Kaji asks. When Sakura nods, Suo snickers from the corner of the room. Nirei swats his arm as Sakura shoots him a withering glare, but Kaji grabs Sakura's face and redirects his attention. "Ignore them, just focus on her," he commands, and Sakura nods seriously. It's six o'clock, and the entire first year classroom is decorated with electronic candles and rose petals. Suo, Kiryu, Nirei, and Tsuguera helped kick everyone out and decorated the place while Kaji helped Sakura practice the guitar. The entire time, Suo kept trying to hint at Sakura that this was too much, but the other boy kept brushing it off. If he wanted Suo's advice he would've just gone to Suo. This crush had been going on for too long and finally Sakura had managed to muster up the courage to deal with it. If you rejected him . . . he didn't know how he'd manage. When you walk in, Sakura short circuits. He bumbles his way through the song, his voice occasionally going pitchy and his fingers clumsy on the guitar strings. As you blink at him, walking down the pathway of rose petals, he can feel his heart aching more and more. This was stupid. This was the stupidest way for him to confess to you. What the fuck had Kaji been thinking? What the fuck was he thinking?! This wasn't going to work, this was going horribly, he fucked it all up, why would you ever- Suddenly, your hand lands on his, stilling his strumming, his heart actually breaks. He thinks he might cry, but from the way you're looking at him, a loving smile, eyes shimmering with happy tears, he stalls. "I'll go out with you Haru," you say. "Please stop singing now." The boys watch from the hallway windows, their eyes worried and anxious to see your reaction. But then, they see you taking the guitar off of Sakura, and hugging him, and they all breathe out a sigh of relief, Kaji especially. "Why are you so surprised that this worked?" Nirei admonishes. "You almost killed him in there!"

➜ nirei akihiko spends a solid month writing out plans in his notebook before he makes any move on you ➜ that and he goes to kiryu for advice almost religiously ➜ kiryu becomes like the pope of romance to nirei, and he takes his word as gospel ➜ when he tries to confess to you the way kiryu suggests though, it puts you off because it's so disingenuous to nirei's true nature ➜ it's a little messy, but eventually the two of you work it out

Nirei nods emphatically. "Okay, got it. Plushes. What else?" He's like a duckling, trailing after Kiryu. Suo and Sakura stare at him pitying, and Kiryu feels like sponge drained of all information he can give. Tsuguera takes a sip of his protein shake and claps Nirei on the back. "You got this man, just be yourself." "No! Kiryu, please I need more help-" "Nirei," Kiryu says, his smile tight and his voice clipped. "I told you everything I could've possibly told you. There's nothing more. Now, go confess to her already. I need a break." Kiryu slumps against Sakura, who blushes bright red and shoves Kiryu onto Suo. Nirei looks down at his notebook and sighs. His notes are messy black ink scribbles. They take up two whole pages, but he still feels like it isn't enough. Never mind that though, it's now or never. The next day, Nirei invited you to go to the park. The sight that meets you is . . . a one to behold for sure. Nirei has clip on piercings, his hair tied back, silver gothic chains around his neck, eyeliner on his waterline, and is sitting on a picnic blanket with food from Pothos. But that's not even it. Along one of the sides of the picnic blanket is a stuffie of literally every single Sanrio character that possibly could exist. Hello Kitty, Keroppi, Pochacco, Pompompurin- "Sit down, please," Nirei invites, gesturing across from him. You sit and fold your hands in your lap, feeling out of place to say the least. Nirei serves you some food and you eat in mostly silence, before he starts his speech. It's pretty . . . and sounds nothing like Nirei at all. It's like he had Kiryu as a ghost writer or something. When he finally finishes and asks if you'll be his girlfriend, you disappointedly ask, "Am I going to be Kiryu's girlfriend, or your's, Akihiko?" When Nirei stares at you blankly, looking a bit like a kicked puppy, you sigh. You take his hand in yours and squeeze. "I'd love to date Nirei Akihiko . . . not this weird thing he's acting like. So next time ask me like my Akihiko, okay?" The next day, he does the confession right: after he walks you home, he asks shyly, but it's a hundred percent him. You hug him and nod, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against him.

➜ sugishita kyotaro is the same as nirei, but instead of kiryu, he turns to umemiya ➜ but umemiya actually kinda sucks at romantic advice though . . . so sugishita is promptly redirected to tsubaki ➜ tsubaki . . . who has been waiting for a chance like this ➜ he had full on board meetings with sugishita, umemiya and the other devas ➜ sugishita is immensely uncomfortable sharing this much of his personal life with all of these other people, but at least he's getting advice, so he just shuts up and deals with it

"And then-" Tsubaki starts, but Takumi cuts him off with a "Oh, but wouldn't it be nice if Sugishita gave her a portrait? Really capture Y/N's beauty like that?" Tsubaki considers this before Saku reminds Sugishita, "Make sure it's not too flashy. Generally that doesn't go very well in the first move. Wait until the fourth or fifth month anniversary for that." Hiragi grumbles and says, "You guys are assuming he'll make it to the five month mark? Aren't you getting too ahead of yourselves? He hasn't even confe-" "Don't say such things Hiragi!" Umemiya admonishes. "He needs encouragement right now, not to be put down!" "I'm not putting him down, I'm being realistic!" "Guys, please stop fighting-" Tsubaki cuts in, but Umemiya and Hiragi just keep on. Sugishita sighs as he watches his upperclassmen go at it. He knew he shouldn't have told anyone about his crush. Dragging other people into his business was only going to make things more complicated. He'll just keep his emotions buried deep inside his chest forever and ever, and one day he'll die and none of it will even matter anymore. He stands to leave, but just as he starts walking to the door to the roof, it swings open and you step out. You look up at him and smile. "There you are. I got excused from school for a doctor's appointment, but I finished it a little bit ago. I figured I'd come see you." You peak over his shoulder to see all the devas and Umemiya staring you down, with an intense look. As if they're expecting something to happen? "Are they okay?" you ask, pointing at the older boys. Your eyes widen as you see Sugishita's eyes boring into yours and his face turning red. "Go out with me," he chokes out through his embarrassment. "I like you. Go out with me." You blink up at him blankly, taken aback completely by his sudden confession. You hear Tsubaki add in a tiny, "Please," before you giggle and take Sugishita's hand in yours. "Okay, Kyo, where should we go?" You lead him off the roof. As he's closing the door behind him, Sugishita sees Umemiya wiping a happy tear of his face, looking like the proudest parent in the world. "Ahh, they grow up so fast," he says as he turns away from the door. "No thanks to you," Hiragi scoffs.

A/N: oof idk why but Nirei's took forever to write lmao. Anyways, good news! exams are all done, so we're gonna be back to regularly scheduled fics!

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cheol-e-kat · 3 days ago

Note

Look who's here hehe😈👯‍♀️ im going to order these because i am heavily fic deprived💔

for the server, it's seungcheol (those pics wrecked me), starters- baked brie, main- coq au vin (😈) , dessert- pot de creme AND the drink is gonna be le club

Leaving you w your amazing brain because ik you'll cook smth up😋

𝐛𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐮𝐩 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

master list & tag list

order #001 coq au vin for @scoupshawty (aka my beta reader)

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: haiii dearest, hope you love it ^^

pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary: seungcheol's co-worker asks him to be her fake date - too bad that they have known each other since college and have left way too many things unsaid, even if winning a big client is on the line

word count: 3.9k

genre: office au, smut, idiots in love, slightest angst, fake dating-ish, low key exes to lovers / second chance

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

warnings: fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, messy sex, multiple orgasms

Seungcheol stared at his computer screen, reading the announcements for end-of-year promotions. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

First, he hadn’t been promoted.

Second, James had been. James, who hadn’t even been here that long. James, who constantly came over to ask him questions about how he should be doing things.

James who was a complete fucking dolt in Seungcheol’s mind.

But he was promoted before Seungcheol. He pressed his lips together tightly in annoyance and pushed away from his desk.

He needed a break.

He passed by James’ cubicle just in time to hear people actively congratulating James on the ‘big’ move up. Seungcheol wanted to punch a wall. Or kick something. Whatever.

Instead, he walked down the hall and towards the door for the stairwell, his choice spot for loitering because no one ever thought to check there.

Or so he thought. Because today he opened the door to find his other nemesis, Y/n, leaning against the safety railing with a vape pen, looking a bit amused.

He started to back away, but she had looked at him immediately. He was surprised that she smiled at him.

“I thought you would wind up here,” she quipped softly.

He shrugged. “Why?”

“It’s your spot for pouting,” she said, still smiling.

Seungcheol sighed, she was just as evil as he remembered. “I’m not pouting - I’m taking a break,” he said plainly.

“Umhm, a break from James?” She asked as she looped her arm through his. “ And everyone congratulating him - it’s obnoxious by the way,” she said, voice full of sarcasm, as she rolled her eyes.

Seungcheol watched her for a moment, surprised to hear her breathe a word of criticism towards anyone so openly.

It was part of why she annoyed him so much - she was always too perky and smiling and willing to say ‘yes’ to leading every bad project like it was a gift, and not a mountain of shit. To be fair, she always had a way of making shit into an opportunity for advancement.

She sighed. “Anyway, who cares, I came to find you in your pouting place because I have an offer for you”—

Seungcheol couldn’t help but laugh, a small laugh, but still. “An offer for what?” He asked harshly.

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “An offer that could help us both bring in a really big client - the kind that can’t be ignored when mid-year reviews come up.” She eyed him as she said the last part.

Seungcheol glanced at the exit door, wondering what he was doing even listening to her.

She was perky, which he hated, but she was also a shark when it came to deals - and she had a habit of making sure no one else got credit for them when she inevitably landed them.

He shook his head, “You mean no one will ignore the fact you brought it in.”

She smiled at that. “You know it’s interesting, so many people say they worked with me to bring something in, but I never remember asking them to help, much less them being in the room with me delivering the pitch,” she sighed, “Funny though, that they’re all so hands on, and I just cut them out.”

They were both quiet.

She sighed, staring at the ground. “I’ve never asked anyone to help with my leads, but I am asking you because I think I can trust you. If you want to hear the rest, you can text me.”

And she was gone, leaving Seungcheol with his thoughts about her.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Seungcheol found himself sitting across from her in a small bistro, both their faces lit by the soft glow of fake candles as the sounds of glasses clinking gently and conversations spiked by light laughter filtered around them.

They, however, were a dead zone in all the seeming happiness.

They hadn’t talked so far. He pretended to stare at the menu for the umpteenth time while she sat taking notes on a call that never seemed to end.

He had taken two trains to be sitting there. He certainly hadn’t expected to find her still immersed in a call for work. She had quickly passed him a note with her drink order and an appetizer written on it for him to try to decipher when the waiter came over.

He was glad he had thought better of things and eaten a protein bar before he caught the train. He was annoyed that he hadn’t changed though - she was in jeans and a tshirt with a black jacket thrown over her shoulders. He was still in a full suit. At least his tie was gone, he told himself.

She finished the call after the appetizer was on the table.

“Cute that you waited for me,” she grinned as she speared a little pickle off the board.

He was too tired to play. “Can you at least tell me why we needed to meet outside the office?”

She nodded as she ate. “Because it’s nicer than being in the office, for one,” she paused to sip her wine. “And for two, uh, I don’t want to tip anyone else off - I’m not joking that it’s a big lead, but for once, I do literally need someone to work with me to get it.”

He nodded. “You told me that part.”

She groaned. “You’re too uptight for this - look nice food, nice wine, I’m paying - this is better than the stairwell, wouldn’t you say?”

Seungcheol stared at her. In reality, he stared at her often and had done since they’d known one another. Even if he hated himself for staring, she was undeniably beautiful.

She had a way of drawing him in that he couldn’t deny. And he sometimes even enjoyed seeing her be successful - the way she looked when she had beaten someone else - he secretly loved the way she looked then.

He blinked. “Sure. But why am I here? You don’t exactly like me, so I’m curious.”

He saw the soft way her brows scrunched at his comment as she popped an olive in her mouth. “Did I say that I don’t like you?”

He sighed. “Can we just - just explain, please?” He didn’t feel like poking around old wounds.

She nodded, still eating. “I need you to be my date for a weekend.”

He waited for something else to be said. But she was looking at the menu now.

“You need me to do what?”

She glanced up. “Be my date - did I not say it clearly?”

He tilted his head in confusion. “That’s - that doesn’t make sense,” he spluttered. He was feeling the awkwardness start to gnaw at him.

She didn’t seem to think anything about it. “Look, the lead is this couple - they have tons of businesses, they want valuations for them, but they’re you know couple-y, and the only way to get an in, is to be part of a couple - so I need someone to come along.” She shrugged and sipped from her wine glass like she had just proposed the simplest thing in the world.

He stared for a moment, letting what she said sink in. “Don’t you have friends?” He blurted out.

“Yes - but my friends don’t know the business or about our verticals or anything really, but you do,” she cooed, a small smile growing on her face.

Seungcheol could only stare because it was like she already knew she had won. She already knew he would say ‘yes’ to whatever she proposed, no matter how crazy. And she wasn’t coy about it.

He was glad the waiter stepped in. He ordered the coq au vin, and tried to compose himself while she ordered.

He really wished that he wasn’t still so transparent - it was like being in college with her all over again. She had always known what to say to him. Even when they were competing for grades and internships. She could always talk him into whatever she was up to.

And he never turned her down.

But here he was, presumably older and wiser, but no, his brain had already tracked the fact that she was clearly single. He already knew work ruled her life.

And she needed something from him. And he was much too ready to agree, even if it was fake.

He at least made her wait for a few minutes before he agreed.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He walked her home, rolling his eyes. “Of course, you live this close to the office.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it’s kind of pathetic, right?”

He shrugged, wishing his commute was as short as hers. But he would also need to be making a lot more to live in the same district as her. He always managed to forget that she was a rich girl. But she never really acted like one - and she’d never made him feel like shit for not being rich too.

She caught his hand lightly, her fingers twining with his. “Come up?”

He glanced down at their hands, wondering why she always did things like that when they were alone. He felt himself nodding, glancing up to look at her. “Yeah,” he murmured.

It was too easy to go upstairs with her - too easy to find himself kissing her. He picked her up and pressed her against the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist. All muscle memory, he knew.

Their kisses were needy. He pressed her harder against the wall, wanting no distance between them as their mouths crashed together and his hands gripped her waist. He felt her playing with his hair, winding it around her fingers before tugging gently. He groaned softly against her lips, parting just enough for his mind to comprehend what he was doing.

He smoothed her hair back. “I should leave,” he murmured.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder gently. “Why?” Her voice was breathy and sweet.

He shook his head. “This isn’t a good idea.”

She bit her lower lip. “You always say that - that or how I don’t like you, and I’ve no idea why.”

He let her down from the wall gently. He didn’t need to explain himself. He had made the mistake of letting things with her get out of hand before, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with it again.

That didn’t keep him from jerking off the moment he was back home and safe in his own bed. The thought of what could have happened was enough for him.

It had to be enough.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He didn’t break off their deal, even after a few days of thinking it over.

Instead, he found himself going to a dinner party with her later that week.

He was sitting in her living room, waiting for her to touch up whatever imaginary thing needed ‘touching up’ before they left. He had no clue what could possibly be wrong and needed to be righted. She looked ridiculously perfect.

He relaxed into the sofa, enjoying the fact that she didn’t have a roommate. Her apartment was perfectly quiet.

“Why am I going to this thing with you?” He suddenly called out.

Even from where he was, he could hear her sigh loudly. “Because we need to seem like a real couple, so some practice is probably helpful.”

He sighed. “More practice,” he muttered.

Just imagining interacting with anyone was too much. He was too tired. He had worked late the last few nights - he didn’t want to spend his evening making small talk with strangers. Practice small talk, he wondered to himself if that was what it was considered.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know anything about her. He sighed and stared at the ceiling. He could have a passable conversation about her with someone, he thought to himself as he stretched and settled even more into the sofa’s cushions.

He was surprised when he felt a light touch against his cheek. His eyes snapped open. She was leaning over him, watching him with a soft gaze.

“Should I just order something for us?” She asked, her fingers tracing gently through his hair. He waited for some sign that she was annoyed with him for falling asleep.

He blinked softly, shaking his head. “You’ll be upset if we don’t go.”

She shrugged. “As long as we’re being domestic or whatever, that’s probably good enough?”

He couldn’t tell if it was a genuine question. It didn’t help that she was so close, and it was only made worse because she was still playing with his hair.

He wasn’t sure when he made the decision to put his hands on her hips. But he did, and they were there, and she didn’t seem to care.

“How domestic are we supposed to be?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly as he glanced up at her.

She just smiled at the question. “Ideally, we’re just as domestic and comfortable with one another as a real couple who’ve been together for a bit.”

He nodded slowly. “So ordering food in is domestic?”

She nodded. “Mhmm.”

He chewed his lip lightly - she hadn’t moved or stopped what she was doing. He wondered if he could ask for more in the spirit of domesticity.

“Can I stay over? It’s like three trains to get back to mine,” he mumbled.

She laughed softly. “Are we going to make out again, too?” She asked with a small smile.

He blushed hard. “Fuck, like stay on the couch,” he clarified.

She grinned at his reaction. “But we could make out, and you could sleep in my room - I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered.

He blinked again, wondering what fever dream he was in that she was curled in his lap like a happy cat, playing with his hair, and offering to let him join her in bed.

It was exactly the kind of thing he had imagined a thousand times when they were in college. Usually with the addition of fucking in the library’s stacks. He always loved the idea of fucking her and whispering about how she had to be quiet the whole time.

He was surprised to feel her lips brush gingerly against his own. But his feelings of surprise quickly melted as he pulled her close, wanting their kiss to last.

He pulled her flush against him as they kissed - he squeezed her waist and let his hands drift lower to ass. He felt the soft roll of her hips against him.

He groaned softly in protest as she pulled away and sat up. Her hands pressed gently into his chest. “See - not so bad to practice,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I didn’t say it would be - it’s just not”—

“Not what?” She cut in, watching him intently like she knew what he was going to say. Like he might finally admit why he pulled away as much as she did when they got too close.

He pressed his teeth into his lower lip, trying to think of how to say what he wanted. “It’s not what I want,” he murmured.

She was quick, though. “What do you want?” Even her voice was too soft, caressing him, teasing him.

He shook his head, wanting to avoid saying more. Even when he knew perfectly well what he wanted - her. All of her.

Her fingertips traced along his chest. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just said it?”

“Said what?” His voice was barely a whisper as he watched her.

“What you know you want,” she whispered as her hands traced up his chest. “What you’ve been wanting,” she corrected herself, as she glanced at him, her gaze inviting and vulnerable.

He wondered if she could feel his heart beating faster in his chest. He felt the way her fingers barely caught in the collar of his shirt, and the smallest graze of her fingers against his throat sent fire blooming across his skin.

He caught her hand gently, bringing her fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. “This isn’t real, though,” he whispered. No matter how badly he wanted it to be real - he knew it wasn’t.

Her fingertips brushed his lips. “So make it real.”

He leaned into her touch as her fingers shifted to his cheek, but he shook his head. “No,” he breathed.

“You have to make it real - you already know how I feel, or you wouldn’t have ever asked me for this,” he said plainly, watching her for a response.

He held his breath, waiting for her to do the thing she always did and find some way to push him away.

She just nodded, though. “Stay the night with me?”

It had been a long time since she last asked him to stay over, but it didn’t change how it made him feel. The warmth that seemed to pool in every part of him at the idea of just lying next to her.

It made his mouth dry. “Why?”

“Because I want you to,” she mumbled.

He shook his head softly - he wanted more.

He watched the way pink crept across her cheeks. “Because I know how good it feels to wake up next to you, and I think about it way too often, and how much I miss it - how much I miss you.”

He hummed softly, almost satisfied with her confession.

She kissed him again, her fingers just below his jaw, tipping his head back. “And besides, I don’t like the idea of anyone else with you,” she whispered with a pout.

He raised his brow. “When has there been anyone else?”

She shrugged. “You brought someone to the holiday party for one…” she trailed off.

He smiled. “Jealous?”

She nodded. “Always,” she whispered and pressed close again, kissing him softly.

She broke the kiss after a few moments. “Stay?”

He nodded, pulling her back in for another kiss.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He woke up slowly the next day, glad it was Saturday and that he didn’t need to rush. But he was also glad to feel her next to him.

He turned over so her back was against his chest. He kissed her shoulder and traced his fingers just under the hem of her shirt, feeling her warm, soft skin.

She hummed softly.

He nipped gently at her neck, letting his hand trace lower, playing with the little bow on the front of her panties before he dipped his fingers under the waistband.

He heard her breathy groan. “Cheol,” she whispered.

“Umhm,” he murmured against her skin.

She turned back, her lips making sweet contact with his. She kissed him as he traced his middle finger between her slick folds. No matter how long it had been, he always remembered just how hot and wet her pussy was.

He was quick to work his first two fingers inside her, which earned him a moan. She pulled his hair gently. “I know you still know what I like,” she purred.

He grinned softly. “Hmm, nothing new?”

Her fingers trailed lightly along his shoulder. “Maybe, but only because no one else can do what you do to me,” she smiled as she spoke.

He blinked slowly, letting her words sink in. The idea that he was the standard, her standard, went straight to his dick.

With a groan, he had her on her back, panties off, and his face buried in her pussy. He licked and sucked her puffy little clit as he worked his fingers deep inside her, scissoring them open, pressing hard against her sticky walls. He could hear her whining and whimpering for him.

He loved how messy he could make her.

He leaned up, licking his lips as he pushed the heel of his palm into her low stomach, knowing the extra pressure would help. “Just let go, baby - I know you want to,” he mumbled, pressing kisses to her inner thigh.

She groaned. “Press harder,” she gasped.

He did what she asked and suddenly she came, all of her jucies rushing freely - he fucked his fingers into her harder before pulling out and giving her pussy a smack.

He sat on his knees, watching her catch her breath, and hearing all the little sounds she made. When he touched her clit, she arched off the bed and whimpered, whispering his name.

He was painfully hard just from seeing her this way. It was one thing to remember how fucked out she could look. But seeing her again, hearing her, feeling her - he felt like he could almost come untouched.

Instead, he slid his hands gently under her hips, shifting her closer and pushing a pillow under her. He lined himself up with her, teasing her perfect little hole, knowing all the prep in the world wouldn’t matter. She always screamed for him.

He teased her at first, barely letting the head of his cock penetrate her. She whined softly. “Cheol,” she whimpered.

He glanced at her. “Hmm?”

She smiled. “Love when you tease me with your cock - how wet you make me…” she trailed off as he pressed into her again, going just a bit deeper.

“Like that?”

She nodded, her hands going to her breasts, teasing them. “Missed this so much,” she gasped as he pushed in farther.

He nodded. “Missed it too, baby girl,” he whispered, teasing her slowly, loving the way her walls clenched desperately around him.

He teased her enough for her to orgasm again. She was wet enough then to take him.

They both gasped and moaned as he truly sank into her. He squeezed her thighs to ground himself as he bottomed out inside her. “So fucking tight,” he breathed.

He could feel her hands tracing along his arms, squeezing his forearms as she whined softly. “Just move, just fuck me - please fuck me,” she begged.

He nodded slowly and began to move, slow at first, finding the right rhythm. And then he could fuck her - his hips snapping, his pace relentless. Even when he felt the bite of her nails and she raked her fingers along his stomach, he didn’t care.

Nothing mattered besides the way her pussy fluttered around his cock, squeezing and releasing him, teasing him. And the moment he felt her sudden release, the heat of her cum washing over his cock, even as her thighs were shaking desperately, he could only fuck into harder.

The lewd sound of all her slick and wetness mixed with their skin smacking together, all he wanted was to come inside her. He could still hear her softly whimpering his name. Her hands traced along his chest. He didn’t expect her to be coherent enough to give his nipple a teasing pinch, but he groaned when she did, smiling when she didn’t stop, when she did it a second time, pulling gently.

“Make me full, Cheol,” she gasped, “fuck me harder,” she whined.

He caught her thigh, pulling it over his shoulder, so he could go even deeper. She yelped. He grinned devilishly, knowing exactly how it would push her over the edge again. And when it did, he finally let go too, his cum mixing perfectly with hers.

He pumped into her a few more times, just to see the glistening mess of her pussy juices covering his cock. He finally leaned over her, kissing her gently. Everything was soft after.

Everything was perfect.

a/n: haiii cuties - i know it's been a bit since i posted a longer uhhh anything, so hope you enjoy this and hopefully i can get back to my normal writing schedule and post more

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ^^

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight |୨୧| cold fire (cheol only - attorney au)

fluff: profound, not sudden [ f ]

smut: see bingo series above and random slutty thoughts collection

series: obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] |୨୧| 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ master list ] [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ]

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1] [pt. 2] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[tag list] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e] ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎ @stupendouschildnerd [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @tokitosun [e - one/multi ] ☁︎

☁︎ @living0livia [ c.sc - e ] ☁︎ @angelarin [c.sc - one/multi] ☁︎

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theweirdhybrid · 2 days ago

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@where-does-the-heart-lie KICKS OPEN THE DOOR

OKAY I WENT BACK THROUGH AND FOUND ALL THE FORESHADOWING MOMENTS/HINTS I POSSIBLY COULD (i think. i could be reading too much into some of these + might've missed some) OF STELLY AND SALLY'S (AND APPARENTLY MANNY'S!!!!!!) TRUE INTENTIONS IN WITTB HERE WE GO (this was originally an ask but it was too long so I made it into a tumblr post lmao)

(and to anyone seeing this w/o context all art in this post belongs to Whery- the person I mentioned above- and it's from their One Piece fancomic Water is Thicker Than Blood and you should all go read it RIGHT NOW)

First up here we go WAYYY back in chapter 26 (almost two years ago!!! woah!!!!!!) we get the first mention of the letter!!! Stelly tells Sabo to wait until someone comes out, which I know was just him saying that so Sabo wouldn't leave, but imagine if Sabo had Actually waited. Can you imagine how long it could've taken for Sabo to realize Stelly lied?? Definitely would've added to his anger. And Stelly also mentions he wants Sabo to read the letter when he gets home, which means it was meant as an apology for how awful the day would've turned out for him if it had gone according to Stelly's plan, though it still turned out awful for Sabo, just not in the way Stelly intended

And in chapter 27... this moment. When I first saw it I thought Stelly was asking cus he was Afraid, but personally I think this was him hoping Luffy would help Sabo wreck things OR he DIDN'T want him to be there bc he was worried he would help calm Sabo and Stop The Carnage (which he did in fact do at the end. kinda. lmao)

And then again in chapter 28 Stelly says THIS. He might've said this with innocent intentions BUT knowing he was purposefully trying to make Sabo's day Awful it's possible he was just trying to add on to that (especially considering his reaction when Sabo DOESN'T maul him) Idk, this one's up in the air but STILL. EVERYTHING HE SAYS IS SUS NOW. anyways moving on

Next is chapter 39, Manny Does His Thing and psychoanalyzes Ace, thus pissing him off a few moments later. Could this have been innocent on his part, especially considering his embarrassment when Ace shuts him down? Could be, could be... BUT THAT SMIRK.... THAT DAMN SMIRK......... I am CONVINCED this was intentional on some part because if it wasn't, well. Manny needs to learn what boundaries are lmao (i could also just be salty over BJG being a little TRAITOR and dragging his name through the mud but shhhh)

And then here!!! Right here in chapter 42!!!!! The panel that made everyone start to wonder what could've possibly been in the letter that would've made Sabo so mad!!!!!!!! This is one of the more obvious ones but I spent like five hours on this so compiled this for a reason HAHA

Chapter 43! Manny has drawn his Iconic Capricorn!! He acts cagey and hesitant, but I'm onto him [insert suspicious squinting emoji here] I half feel like I'm gaslighting myself here but then I remember That God Damn Smirk Manny makes a few chapters later, and I KNOW he was in on it from the beginning. Why was he riling up Ace??? To make it harder to keep Sabo in check, but JOKES ON MANNY bc Ace has a REMARKABLE level of self control and a WHOLE LOTTA LOVE FOR HIS BROTHERS!!!!!!!! Manny underestimated Ace I fear (or I'm just reading too far into it LOL)

And then, of course, chapter 55, we get This Scene, the evidence that Manny is most DEFINITELY IN ON IT!!!!!!! Sally knows what's coming up, and is giving Manny a heads up. Why? Yet to be seen. Maybe Manny had a hand in how it all went down, but she whispered to him FOR A REASON. And it was about the later scene, where They corner Sabo at dinner!!!!! Ace has a right to be sus, they're tryna make Sabo's day worse!!!!!!!! And they did!!! The fuckers

Next chapter, chapter 56, we see Sally nervous about approaching Sabo with the letter. For good reason! She doesn't give it to him, actually she does something aguably worse but!!! Now we know why she was SO nervous lmao

Lotta hints in a row here. Chapter 57, Sally hides the letter (or at least the name on it) to ask A Super Invasive Question Of Someone She Literally Just Met!!! Girl. I honestly can't tell if Sally was against upsetting Sabo from the start (especially considering this entire chapter) and trying to avoid upsetting him or was just Nervous in general, but either way. She could've said ANYTHING instead of going right for the goddamn THROAT like GEEZ

And chapter 58... That smirk.... that DAMNED smirk.......... he was in on it. There's no way he wasn't. That is an EVIL little smirk he was ABSOLUTELY trying to make things worse, or at least he was looking forward to the chaos. I can just imagine him in the background eating popcorn like "fight fight FIGHT FIGHT FI- oh man he's walking away :( damn"

I really don't think Sally wanted to upset Sabo considering this panel in chapter 59, at least not actually coming face to face with him. Her "this is too far" comment tells me that Stelly hired Jalmack ON PURPOSE (and also that she had NO IDEA. backed up by her initial reaction to learning who the priest was) Like, good grief ANYONE would recognize that as too far, except for Stelly apparently. Rereading I am SHOCKED I didn't put together what was going on considering this one, but it's such a blink and you'll miss it moment because oF WHAT HAPPENS IN THE SAME CHAPTER

That face she makes!!! We all knew she did it on purpose but that face she makes really drives the whole thing home like WOW...... Grim determination with a hint of remorse.. harsh.

Rereading, the panel here in chapter 65 where Stelly and Sally are leaning on each other lowkey reads as them being like "Omg look at him go he's finally going apeshit!! Our hard work has payed off honey :D" but I also know this was likely them leaning on each other for support considering. everything. yeah. But Stelly at least was at LEAST a little relieved Sabo was finally losing it. Sally likely needed the hug. But yeah no this was DEF another hint (also Stelly when did you get here.... we didn't see him sit down I'm just now realizing, but to be fair we were more focused on Sabo than Stelly so it makes sense we didn't see him lol)

Breaking the mold a bit w the format of this post by adding two panels at once here but I feel it's needed to drive the point across. This right here, in chapter 66, was ABSOLUTELY Stelly realizing he went too far. And it was ONLY because he got sent into a flashback too. THIS was Stelly realizing what exactly he was doing to Sabo, because his plan ended up backfiring and hurt him instead of just Sabo. I would LOVE to see what exactly Stelly's reaction was when Sabo ran out. The mix of emotions he was probably feeling here is DELICIOUS to imagine. When I initially saw this I thought he was getting angry on Sabo's behalf, and maybe he was a little but it was mostly him realizing how Badly he fucked up, and also the emotions that come with getting trigged like that. An entire bag worth of emotions and I am so HDAWJDKAJDAHK that I went back after the latest chapter to find moments like this because WOW

This panel here in chapter 67 is a bit of a smaller moment, and I realize this was mostly a reaction to an Angry Man Storming Up To Them, but their combined flinch and Stelly's expression was NOT just because of what just happened. Sally was ABSOLUTELY feeling guiltly and so was Stelly, who didn't appear all that shocked Sabo flipped a table. It feels more like he was startled he went for the table they were sitting at, or like he was startled out of the flashback. But this was def part of it. Or maybe I'm just adding this bc this was the ONE thing Sabo wrecked and I'm proud of him for it LMAO

And then, in one of the recent ones, chapter 82, Sabo is expecting Stelly to snitch on him like Stelly always has and he DOESN'T. And now we know why!! Because THIS was what Stelly wanted!!!! Sabo's finally about to wreck something and Stelly's here for it!!!!!! Even though he's very much still afraid of Sabo as seen in the next panel

Stelly was absolutely returning these because he felt guilty. I thought he'd just felt bad in general, but no, it was guilt. He orchestrated this entire night to make it as Horrible As Possible for Sabo and the ONLY reason he feels bad about it is because IT HURT STELLY TOO. I mean yeah I think his regret is genuine, but he hasn't even APOLOGIZED YET. If he really wants to have Sabo at his REAL WEDDING, because he WANTS TO MAKE AMENDS, he NEEDS to apologize and follow through. THIS ^ IS NOT AN ACTUAL APOLOGY. Fuckin. Little bastard man I love how complicated he is so MUCCHHHHHH but also Stelly. My Man. APOLOGIZE. Urgh I love how you can still see his canon characteristics shine through with this reveal but I also HATE ITTT because WOW. HE'S AN ASSHOLE.

And here's a bonus of Stelly trying to run before Sabo can read the letter and failing LMAO

Anyways yeah that's all I got I'm going to bed now it is. way too late and I am NOT tagging this whatsoever and I apologize for any spelling errors the screen is blurring around the edges hwadhkadja

This is my small love letter to WITTB Whery bc I adore how you wrote everything, from the characters to the pacing to how you draw the faces and convey emotions and just dhwajwjkdak yeah. yeah. I'm not even hyperfixated on One Piece anymore (still keeping up w it tho) but this series STILL holds a special place in my heart and I love it to bits!!! Thank you so much for making this and I personally cannot WAIT to see Sabo's full reaction to Stelly's manipulative little scheme HAHAHAAA okay i'm crashing now goodnight

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americano-psycho · 2 days ago

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So like, when I was in grade school I read this book. It was about a group of kids in the same classroom. The teacher didn't believe in tests because she preferred to see how the students learn from homework assignments.

One student constantly got an A+ on every assignment. Eventually, 3 other students cornered him and asked how he could pass his assignments like that. He explained that he didn't have time to do the assignments himself, so he built a machine that did it for him. It even wrote the answers in his handwriting. The other students wanted to use this machine too. They also had extracurriculars that took up time, and one of the students was struggling with understanding the materials in general.

He eventually let them use it. He trained the machine to write in their handwriting as well. Over the course of the school year, the students basically used the machine for every assignment. Not even glancing at their textbooks. The teacher noticed something was up and decided to go against her original plan and give them a test. When they did the test, only the first boy passed it, the rest did not. They had relied on the machine so much that they couldn't even recognize lessons from the school day, after all, why would they need to learn in class when the machine would just cover any gaps they missed?

They knew that the teacher was onto them for CHEATING, because that's what they were doing, cheating on their assignments. They got scared of academic failure, being held back a year, getting detention, all that jazz. So, they decide to unplug the machine and never use it again.

Only, the machine learned how to be energy efficient. It wouldn't shut off. The kids then do the only thing they could think of and threw the machine into the Grand Canyon. Of course, they were caught, got into big trouble, had to spend a weekend cleaning parts out of the canyon, had to repeat the year. They set themselves back that far, because they couldn't bother to do the work themselves.

I read this when I was 11? Maybe 12? And when I read this, I thought about what I would have done in this situation. If I had access to a machine that would do my homework for me, would I use it? I realized that I wouldn't. Because if I did, I would have to keep using it forever.

If I missed out on the lesson of, say simple addition and subtraction, then I would be completely lost next year with multiplication and division. Then the next year I wouldn't be able to understand fractions or geometry or balancing chemical equations or ANYTHING later on that needed the basic building blocks of addition and subtraction. I decided it wasn't worth it and would probably be more exhausting trying to keep up the lie of using the machine than it would be to just, do my work in the first place.

Now, seeing this generative ai wave happening in academic settings, I am incredibly worried about our future professionals. Even if you went and got a master's degree in a specific field of study, if you did it with ai then you have no clue how to do the jobs hiring for that study. Even if you have a coding degree, what are you going to do when you get hired and your boss gives you a piece of code to fix and it all looks basically like hieroglyphics? What happens when you plug that into chatgpt and the "fix" it gives you doesn't work? What happens when you have to ACTUALLY think through the problem and can't actually do the work you got hired for because you have no clue how to do it in the first place?

You fail. You fail at the job. You fail at the thing you are supposed to be an expert in. You got a job you have no qualifications for and now it shows, to you, to your coworkers, to your boss, to everyone. When that happens, you lose your job and everything you have that relies on that job to pay for it.

My point being, you're not escaping the F by using chatgpt, you're simply passing it on to a more important project. Take the F in school and actually learn something instead of pushing it to something more devastating.

#cannot remember the name of that book #i can remember the critical thinking that went into my experience with it though

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meet-me-backstage · 2 days ago

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༺ 🐑 ༻

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☼ Rancher!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☼ You, a headstrong—bubbly ranch-hand, form a close bond with the reserved ranch-owner, Joel Miller, through two seasons of hard work, warmth, and unspoken longing. You leave to chase your dream, but circumstance brings Joel back into your life. A storm rolls over your land, something between you stirs—unresolved and waiting to burst.

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊��𝒈!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ☼ a no outbreak au loosely inspired by Far From The Madding Crowd but it’s set in modern day/Texas, rancher!Joel (🥵), protective!Joel, grumpy x sunshine, bad language, light angst, mention of vomit & there’s blood after an incident with a hammer, age gap (reader is in her 20s & Joel is in his 50s), kinda slowburny, unresolved feelings (until they aren’t hehe), yearrrrrning and SMUUUUT so you must be 18+ to read this story‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 ☼ 7.2K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 ☼ bad language, smutty thoughtssss on paper (🤭), light angst, alleged ghosting (letter edition), unresolved feelings, allusion to a pet’s death, yearning n jealousy.

A/N: The letters in this part include crossed out parts like this… they are what both reader and Joel wrote but crossed out so the other couldn’t see!!

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! <𝟑

⇜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

‘Joel,

You’ll never believe it — I made it. The ranch is mine. Mine for real. My name’s on the papers and the land — the mailbox out front too. I know you probably figured I would, after how much I ran my mouth about it, but I still wanted to tell you. You were the first person I wanted to tell.

It’s not much — two of the greenest pastures I’ve ever seen, a beat-up old house with shutters and a wraparound porch just like yours… and a barn that leans a little too much when the wind kicks up. It’s a fixer upper but it’s all I ever dreamed of, Joel.

Juno’s already taken to the place like she was born here. She chases butterflies and herds the chickens (she thinks they’ll respond the same as sheep. Spoiler: they don’t). Makes me laugh every day. She’s exactly like her pa — too clever for her own good, and loyal as anything. Looks exactly like George when he was a pup with the one floppy ear. I think she misses you both.

Think I do too.

I hope you and George are well (and lake Isabella! Oh and Clint — the sheep too! How could I forget them!)

Anyway, the chicken coop needs fixing so I’d better stop writing and start working.

— Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Sunshine (guess that name’s sticking),

Got your letter. I know you said you would write. Still — I didn’t expect it.

Thought you might have already forgotten about me.

Glad to know you made it safe, and that the land’s everything you were hoping for. Sounds like you’re keeping real busy—which don’t surprise me none.

Had to laugh a little at the image of Juno herding the chickens. I can just picture it. Bet she’s still got that same stubborn streak as you too — don’t give up easy.

Things here are alright. Same as usual. Lake Isabella’s been running lower than I’d like — think she’s missing you. But I manage. Sheep are still ornery as hell, and old George sleeps more than he works these days. Can’t say I blame him.

I won’t lie—it’s quieter around here. Bit too quiet, some days. Not used to missing the sound of someone yapping at me while I work, but here I am fixing my damn radio just to find one of them tunes you would sing to Dixie. I’ve been trying to get my pa’s old radio working — was just about to give it a go but your letter came and now I know no fucking Sabrina Carpenter or John Denver song is gonna make me miss you less finally.

Hope your land keeps thriving. You deserve that. You deserve your dream, darling — keep chasing it.

— Joel’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

Built the first proper fence today, all on my own. Got blisters all over my palms, and I cursed loud enough to wake the whole county. But I did it. Dixie nearly chewed through the rope post again, Juno dug up one of my tomato plants, and the hens laid eggs in the hayloft instead of the coop... I'm figuring it out.

Speaking of the coop — I fixed it. Took me the better part of a week and two splinters I'm still digging out of my fingers, but the hens are roosting proper now. There's one that reminds me of you—serious little thing, always standing off to the side like she's making sure everyone else is behaving. I named her Judith, but I'm tempted to rename her Joel.

The evenings are the hardest part. Everything goes still out here when the sun dips behind the ridge and work is done for the day. It's quiet in the way that makes you think too much. I sit on the porch with Juno at my feet (she's getting so big already), and I keep expecting to hear your boots on the porch boards.

I wonder what you’re up to all the time.

Sometimes I wonder what you're up to—whether you're still waking up before dawn, still arguing with George over who gets to herd the sheep. I hope things are good. I hope your fences are holding up better than mine.

Did you get that radio working?

I got one for my porch.

Do you turn yours on just to fill in the silence too? What about when you miss hearing my voice? If you do miss my voice. It’s what I do when I miss hearing yours.

They’re fiddly things aren’t they?

Juno sends her love (in slobber, mostly).

— your Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Sunshine,

Read your letter four two times, then once more just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

I let out a real belly laugh when I read about that hen of yours. Haven’t laughed like that in a long while. Not since you were here, trying to chase that lamb into the barn. You ended up flat on your ass in the mud and pretended it was “international land awareness”. George side-eyed me like I’d lost my damn mind. Think maybe I have.

He misses you. Whines more than usual, always wants to take the long trail past the lake like he's expecting you to be there, splashing about or sitting on that rock and tossing pebbles. He barks for you outside your cabin every morning, thinking you're needing a wake up call. Every time the mail comes, he runs out to the box — he knows it's from you — no one bothers to write me as often as you do. Don't know if that means something — if I mean something to you. I'm in my damn head too much. Clearly. He brings the envelopes to me like they’re some kind of treasure. I keep them like they are. They've gotta be some of the most precious things I own.

Radio’s working again. Took some fiddling alright, but I got it. Picks up this one station late at night — plays old country, mostly. There’s a hum it makes, right before the music kicks in. Caught me off guard the first time. Thought maybe you were there, talking soft about nothing and everything like you used to. Funny what your mind does when the silence is just… empty. Used to like it. I don’t anymore. I hate it.

Juno sounds hellbent on undoing half your work, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She really has got your stubborn streak. You’re fighting tooth and nail out there, and I got no doubt you’ll make something special of that land. You always had a way of making things grow, even when they didn’t want to.

Stay safe. Don’t forget to eat. Do you miss those dinner’s with me out on the porch? I miss making them for you.

— Joel’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

Damn you for reminding me of that day. I still remember how smug you looked when you wrangled that lamb in like it was no big deal while I sat there soaked and sulking — still yelling like I had any pride left to salvage.

Tell George I miss him too. Just picturing him waiting by the mailbox like that… Joel, you’re gonna make me cry and I can’t afford to cry around the livestock. They’ll start expecting gourmet meals if they sense weakness. I hope you’ve been taking him down the trail still — even if I’m not there to cannonball in the lake with him.

There’s a river that runs right through the pastures — Juno loves it. She’d love lake Isabella more.

I finally got the irrigation system working with a little help from the guy at the feed store who I think was more interested in flirting than fixing, but hey, we got water. The sheep are healthy. Juno’s learning so fast — I think she’s as good at herding as George already. When she’s working the field, I catch myself thinking how proud George would be of her... and how proud you’d be if you saw me now.

I finished fixing the entire fence line myself today. Took me nearly all day — pounding in posts, pulling wire — maybe I did cuss at the sun a few times but neither of my pinkies were harmed, I promise.

Write back as soon as you get this when you can.

(Ps. Judith is nesting in my toolbox now)

— Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Sunshine,

I told George. I think he got the gist. He wagged his tail, ran three laps around the barn, and then sat by the trailhead looking ready to bolt the second I unlatched the gate. Took him down there yesterday. Water’s cold as usual, but he went in anyway. I ain’t been in the mood to swim — afraid I’ll catch myself thinking too hard about the water glinting off your skin, the sunlight on your cheeks, that pretty laugh and those perfect tits of yours that day you got me in the water. Me and Clint watched George from the shore. Didn’t help. I fell asleep after a while with my hat over my face and dreamed about you just laying right next to me anyway. Maybe spreading those thighs and getting a taste of you out in the open… right by the lake. Fuck.

Can’t say the old dog misses you any less — can’t say this old cowboy does neither — as the season’s pass. When your letter came, he carried it inside himself. Dropped it right on the porch, then stared at me as if to say: ‘well, read it, dumbass’. I did. I kept re-reading it — twenty-four times don’t know how many times, enough to make me think I already replied. That’s why it’s taken me a while to write this. Sorry, darling.

If I was standing in that pasture with you, watching Juno run and you fixing fences like it was nothing, I’d tell you plain — I’m proud as hell.

Keep writing if you’ve got the time. I’ll be waiting George’ll be waiting either way.

(Ps. Who’s this feed store guy you mentioned? Is it Troy? Please say it ain’t Troy. That boy’s way too good looking for his own good and he knows it. Way to sound like a jealous asshole Is Judith still Queen of your toolbox?)

— Joel’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

Just when I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me the mailman delivered your letter. Think I gave the poor man a heart attack by the way I squealed when I saw your handwriting.

Is everything okay?

Are you okay?

If George keeps bringing my letters in like that, I might have to send him a treat basket full of bacon.

I think about that day at the lake too — all the time think it’s still my favorite memory with you of last summer. It’s also still the only way I can get off at night. Remembering how you looked, sunburned and dripping wet, hands running through your hair — wonder what they’d feel like touching all over me instead. What the fuck. He doesn’t need to know that. The pebbles under the water looked like old coins — I remember making a wish. I wish you’d kissed me. Woulda topped that day off with a cherry on top if you did it came true.

Things are coming along just fine… would you believe it if I told you the house is finally finished? Took every spare hour I had, but the porch is steady, the roof doesn’t leak, and I even got all the trim painted before the snow came in. Most days I walk through the rooms barefoot just to feel the floorboards under me, to remind myself I did all this from the ground up with my own two hands (well, kinda). I ran into some trouble with the water pressure in the kitchen sink — was gonna ask you if you could help but you’re so far away, too far away… and you’re always so busy Troy turned up in the nick of time.

He’s around a lot — the feed store guy who flirted more than he fixed? Turns out he’s not so bad with a wrench. He helped with the last stretch of plumbing, and now he keeps showing up with little things he swears the place “needs” — a bird feeder, a coat hook shaped like a horse head, a pie from his aunt. I’m starting to think he might have a crush on me.

Anyway — onto the last building job on my list; the barn. Wish me luck (I’m gonna need it).

(Ps. Judith’s got her own roost now. Top shelf of the tool shed. She’s got better real estate than I do.)

— Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Sunshine,

Now — don't go threatening my dog with bacon baskets unless you're ready to follow through. He's already spoiled as sin.

Your letters are about the only thing I look forward to these days. Was that too much? Fuck it. I’m leaving it in. I don’t reckon I’ll ever forget the way your handwriting looks — I’ll never forget you neither no matter how long it’s been. I sat with your last letter for a while before opening it. Just… held it. You ever get that way? With my letters maybe? Like if you open it too fast it’ll slip right through your fingers? Like when you slipped through mine the day you left.

Been a rough couple months. The Ranch is hanging on by a thread this Spring. Drought’s hitting hard, grass won’t grow right, and the fence line’s falling faster than I can patch it. Feels like I’m trying to hold the place together with both hands and nothing to show for it but blisters and another night of not sleeping. Ain’t nothing I can’t handle.

George — he’s slowing down. Took him near fifteen minutes to get up the back steps yesterday. His eyes are bright, but he don’t play like he used to. He’s slacking at herding too — lost a couple sheep just the other day cause he couldn’t hear me calling and his sight ain’t as good as it was. But he perks up when I say your name — or “bacon” (if that ain’t selective hearing I don’t know what is). Still whines at the trailhead by the lake. Still waits on your letters like a lovesick pup too.

As for me — I’m falling apart fine keeping busy. Fixed the barn door last week and got the south field tilled as best I could — my back’s begging me for mercy. You don’t gotta worry about me though.

You do gotta worry about this Troy fella. I remember him. The one with the shiny truck and the big mouth. He still got that slicked back hair? He’s a fucking asshole Can’t say I like him all that much — can’t say I blame him for being sweet on you neither. Maybe he sees what I should’ve held onto tighter. I don’t like the sound of him hanging around. A man brings gifts like that, it ain’t cause the house needs a coat hook. He’s trying to put down roots in something you built from scratch. I know I ain’t got a say but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about knocking on that feed store door and letting him know he oughta tread real careful. Just… don’t let someone sweet-talk you into settling for something smaller than you deserve. You built that house. You’re building that life. You don’t need someone coasting on your hard work like it’s his own. I mean it.

Keep going. That barn’s gonna stand tall, just like the rest of what you built. If you get stuck or need someone to scare off Troy… well. You know who to call (not fucking Troy. Anyone but fucking Troy). I might not have much left here, but I still got that hammer and two good hands.

(Ps. Can’t quite make out what your wish was. Next time don’t cross it out so I can make it come true… if it ain’t too late.)

(Pps. Plenty of things I wish I’d done to you that day.)

— Joel’

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‘Joel,

I hope Georgie is feeling better after feasting on the bacon from the treat basket I sent. Did you get the Polaroid of me and Juno? Did you recognize her? I can’t believe she’s almost one already. Did you get the one of the house too? The land? The sheep? Dixie? Oh, and Judith in her toolshed condo? I tucked them all into the side so they wouldn’t fall out.

I didn’t write back right away. I pressed your letter flat against my chest and held it there a while — giggling like I was sixteen again. I figured I should cool off before saying something I couldn’t take back — but you and I both know I was never any good at keeping my mouth shut.

Your letter — what you wrote about Troy — I heard it loud and clear. I ain't letting him lay claim. Not now. Not ever. This place is mine. My blood's in the soil, my sweat's in every wall. And my heart... well. That’s with you That's another story.

You said you couldn’t make out what I’d written in that last letter. The part I crossed out. You always said I was braver than I gave myself credit for. So here goes I guess:

I wished you’d kissed me in the lake.

When I was wet-haired and laughing you looked at me like I was some answer you’d been waiting years to find (I wasn’t imagining it, was I?) and in that moment I needed you to do it more than I needed to buy my own land. I needed your hands on me so bad — maybe on my cheeks first, all soft and careful like the way you held my pinkie finger that same day… then maybe slipping down to my waist… maybe lower.

You should’ve kissed me, Joel.

I know we can’t go back in time. But that doesn’t stop me from replaying it like we can. Over and over. Trying to imagine what would’ve happened if you did. Maybe I wouldn’t be writing this from an empty bed.

Why did you splash me instead?

I’ve been so buried in this barn rebuild I barely know what day it is. I’m either on a ladder or carrying lumber and paint buckets these days so Troy offered to drop my letters in the post — I’m taking him up on that until I can catch my breath again. Don’t roll your eyes — it’s just postage, not a proposal.

(Ps. If you ever needed a reason to come by, the barn could sure use your hands… I could too. Just saying. You’re the only one I’d trust to help me finish it right.)

(Pps. Maybe then you could decide if it’s too late to make my wish come true.)

— your Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

I keep telling myself that the ranch is keeping you up to your elbows in work — that you’re probably too tired to pick up a pen and write me by the end of the day. But I ain’t gonna lie and say it hasn’t crossed my mind that maybe it’s me… maybe it was what I wrote before. I should’ve kept that stupid little wish to myself instead of spilling it all over the stupid page like an idiot who doesn’t know when to zip it.

Maybe I crossed a line.

Maybe I scared you off.

Maybe it was too much.

Maybe I was too much.

I’m sorry if I was.

I didn’t mean to throw it at you like that. You did ask. All I did was answer. What did you want me to do? Lie? I didn’t want to lie. I couldn’t lie. You always knew when I was lying. You woulda seen straight through my writing too. I’m sure of it.

You don’t have to write nothing about it.

Forget I even wrote it.

I’d rather you forget it than stop writing altogether.

I could still do with an extra pair of hands with the barn… if you’re still offering.

— still your Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

I’m not sure if you’re just real busy or if my last few letters have found their way into the bottom of a drawer somewhere — but I’ll keep writing anyway. Feels strange not to. You’ve always been the one I wanted to tell things to, even the boring stuff.

The barn’s coming along. Slowly. And stubbornly. Every beam I put up feels like an argument I’m winning. The roof’s half done, and I’ve managed not to fall off it (yet). Troy keeps showing up with his sleeves rolled and something smug on his face. There's been some talk around town lately — folks with big mouths and not much else to do, I guess it was bound to happen with the amount of time Troy spends here. I don’t know if word’s gotten all the way out to you, but he's just been helping with the barn, hanging around because I needed the hands and he's got the time… it's never been anything more than that. It's never even crossed my mind to want more than that — not when my heart's already with you at your ranch someplace else, and it's not anywhere Troy could ever reach.

It's not him I'm waiting for when the evenings get quiet and the sky turns that deep blue I know you love. He's not the one I’m awake for at ridiculous hours to write letters like this. I guess they don't really matter to you anymore (if they ever even did). Still — I needed you to read it from me, not to hear it twisted from anybody else.

— Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

The mailbox is collecting nothing but dust — either way, I thought you oughta know: the barn’s built.

Finally.

There’s a couple boards that don’t sit flush, and if you look close you’ll see where I had to patch up some mistakes, but it’s standing proud and strong and somehow still here after the first big rain. Sometimes I catch myself talking to it like it’s alive, like it knows how much I gave just to see it finished. I think you’d understand that better than most.

Today I left the back door open and just sat in the middle of the floor, watching the sun pour in.

It’s funny. I thought once it was done, I’d feel… finished, too. Like maybe I could stop chasing this vision I’ve had for myself and just enjoy it. It’s all I’ve known for as long as I can remember — this dream of having land of my own. It was all I needed. But as I was sitting there, all I could think about was how wrong empty it felt without you.

Now it feels like I built this place hoping someone else might come find a home in it with me. (You.)

Would you come see it? Bring George with you?

Juno’d love it. I would too.

It’s just us, Dixie and the livestock.

Troy’s found someone new to charm, I suppose — and I’m glad for it (you’ll be glad to know too, or not… I don’t know anymore). He still takes my letters but he don’t linger no more. Feels better that way, cleaner somehow, like maybe the land itself shook off all the things that didn’t belong. Hasn’t stopped the rumors though. You probably heard the latest ones, that we’re shacked up and married with six kids, oh, and that there was a ring in the last pie Troy brought over from his aunt’s… surely you don’t believe any of it.

If you could see the way I sit out on the porch at night with Juno at my feet (she insists on taking that gingham blanket you wrapped her up in for me everywhere she goes even though she’s way too big for it now). She leaves a little space for George and I leave a space beside me for you in case the two of you might appear and watch the stars with us like we never left you both behind. Maybe then you’d know that no matter what gets spread outside our gates, our hearts are where I’m afraid they’ve always been — Juno’s with her old pa and mine with you.

You can forget I ever wrote this too… please don’t.

(Ps. The barn’s got a good corner stall. Big enough for a brute like Clint, or a man if he needed a place to lay low for a while.)

(Pps. I’m afraid Judith has moved into the spare lodging and she likes screaming real loud in the morning. She also likes pecking Troy’s boots so hard he trips and falls every time — and she’s been laying eggs like a machine… Might be the only girl on this land who’s got her shit together.)

— always your Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

I've stopped waiting by the mailbox, mostly. Told myself I wouldn't keep count of the days since your last letter, but I have. It's been one hundred and eighty-two. I don't even know if you still live at the same place, if my words are just sitting in some pile you never open. If you’ve grown tired of me.

You said once you didn’t mind the sound of my voice — even when it wouldn't quit… you also said once that you cared about me but you can’t be bothered to answer any of my damn letters?

You’re so full of shit. Asshole.

It's been hard not hearing from you. I would only think about you when the work got quiet, or when I was sore at the end of a long day. But now it's all the time. Like missing you is something I do alongside breathing.

Why did you stop writing?

Was what I wrote really that bad?

Was it cause I told you I was gonna leave someday?

Was it cause you never let yourself need anything that could walk away from you?

Was it cause you don’t feel the same and didn’t have the guts to write it?

I spent so long believing you were just quiet. That maybe you couldn't find the words. That maybe the silence meant something tender. But now I'm thinking it was just silence. I’m a big girl, I can handle getting hit with rejection… but you know I can’t handle empty silence. You know how much I hate it.

All I’m asking for is a few lines from you. Just something so I know you’re still alive, that you haven’t forgotten me entirely.

(Ps. The ranch is growing. I bought another few acres to the south — orchard land. I think I'm gonna try peaches.)

— still your Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Joel,

This’ll be the last letter, I think. Even a chatterbox like me can only keep talking to silence for so long before I start to feel like I’m going crazy.

My house — my barn — my land… it looks how I always dreamed it would. It’s the kind of place I used to draw in my notebooks when I was little, the kind of place I thought maybe only existed in stories. It’s everything I told you I needed. I just didn’t realize it at the time, that I needed you too. Not until now.

Juno’s keeping watch, sitting at the edge of the porch like she owns the place, ears perked and eyes sharp, even though she knows there’s nothing dangerous out here but her own loneliness. Mine too.

We can’t keep waiting on you to answer like this. She’s got sheep to herd. I’ve got land to maintain, livestock to look after, peaches and flowers to pick. I can’t even swim in the river anymore without thinking about how much I needed you to kiss me in lake Isabella. I think part of me's still floating there, waiting for you to pull me closer, a warm hand on my hip, sun in your eyes, asking if it's okay before you do it. You could’ve just done it and I would’ve let you… but you didn’t.

I’m sitting here with my pen hovering over this page, trying to find the right way to prove I’ve meant every word I’ve written you without making things worse than I already have.

I love

Fuck

Am I really gonna write this

Fuck it

You’re not gonna read it anyway

I love you, Joel Miller.

Always did.

Probably always will. But I need to stop reaching for something that doesn’t wanna hold me.

I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re safe and I hope that George is still wagging his tail for bacon strips, wherever you are.

Goodby

(Ps. If you ever do find yourself missing me… you know the way.)

— Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

The vastness of your ranch spread out before you in a way that still took your breath away. The land had tested you, challenged you, and at times, nearly broken you. But as the golden hour approached, you feel as though you're being cradled in its arms — being held steady after years of uncertainty.

The wind has teeth this evening.

Not the kind that rips or howls—but the low, gnawing kind that seeps through the seams of your coat and catches in the crooks of your bones. An early spring in Texas didn't always bring storm or rain, but it brought chill, and it hung over the land like a veil. The sun is pale in a sky the color of pewter, and the frost hadn't yet burned off the tall grass. Each blade shimmers like glass.

Juno, your constant — your loyal companion, moves through the grass beside you, her sleek black and white coat contrasting with the vibrant green earth. She's as part of the land as the other animals you'd been devoting your life to. The sheep, now grazing peacefully at the far end of the pasture, look content in their solitude.

Your work for the day had been done—crops tended to, your milk cow, Betty, given her evening grain, Dixie fed and brushed—both of them in their stalls for the night. You decide it's time to gather the sheep, to urge them into their own shelter beside the barn. You click your tongue, and Juno's ears perk up. She immediately turns her focus to the herd, running off to them with graceful precision like the prodigy she is.

“Easy, girl!” You call out, grinning. The sheep bunch together, docile under Juno's movements. You jog to keep up, the sweet scent of trampled grass and wildflowers filling your nostrils, and a laugh escapes you — loud and careless. “Good girl! That's it, Juno! Get 'em! Go 'round!” you holler, cupping your gloved hands around your mouth.

Juno barks once as she swoops around the herd. She veers left and then right, rounding up the sheep with an energy oozing pure mischief. The flock bawl and stumble in confusion, a few ewes trying to make a break for it — but Juno is faster. She flies behind them, crouched low, her body taut with excitement.

You watch her with pride swelling in your chest — she is full-grown now, all lean muscle and boundless spirit, though she still has the same spark she did as a pup. The sheep bleat in protest but Juno is persistent and you know exactly where she got that from — she's a chip off of old George's block. She races, expertly rounding them up into one bumpy mass.

“Okay now you're just showin' off, aren't you, Junebug?” you tease, hands on your hips.

She barks again, then waits.

You whistle — the command to settle.

Juno freezes, mostly, her tail sways in the grass.

“Not bad for a couple'a rookies, huh?” Juno woofs in agreement.

You saunter closer to the flock, planning to lead them through the wooden gate into their pen... but Juno's ears prick — and without warning, she snaps her head up, nose twitching furiously. The sheep shift uneasily, sensing the change in her energy.

“Juno.” You steadily step towards the sprightly dog.

She gives a soft whine, her attention drawn somewhere else.

“Juno.” You take another careful step. Your confidence falters as she continues to ignore you. It isn't the first time she's gotten distracted and you know she'll bolt if you're not cautious, but usually it doesn't take much more than one call of her name to coax her back into the task at hand. “Juno?”

Her head snaps in your direction and for a second you think you've broken her out of her trance, but she looks... uncertain. In a flash she is gone, streaking away from you and toward the far edge of the field, faster than you'd ever seen her move.

“Hey!” You shout, losing your composure instantly, “Juno, no! Get back here!”

She doesn't even glance back.

You don't hesitate to tear after her, dodging through the sheep, their wool brushing your legs. Your heart is pounding in sync with your boots hitting the ground — legs pumping with urgency. You vault the fence without thinking, boots hitting the ground with a frosty crack. The sheep are scattered behind you now, but you don't look back.

You are running blind, your scarf flying off your neck as you fly past the Bur Oak tree that Betty and Dixie like to doze under in the next pasture.

“Wait up! Juno!” Your voice echoes, lost in the expanse of the land. The dog’s shape is reduced to a small dot as she beelines for the tree line framing the wide river, toward the far edge of the ranch. She zooms past your ranch-house, the toolshed, the cabin, the coop and, lastly, where your land gives way to open country.

The main road is up ahead, the dusty gravel ribbon of it, and beyond it, the county highway — large vehicles barreling by without a care in the world.

A fear slams into you, hot and blinding — the image of a speeding truck, the sound of screeching brakes, the sickening thud of impact.

“Goddammit, Juno! STOP!” you scream, your voice raw with terror. You stumble harder, faster, reckless with the thought of her — your girl — running headlong into danger.

She skids to a halt.

Abrupt, frantic, paws digging into the dirt, throwing up a spray of dust around her.

You freeze mid-stride, nearly tripping over your own feet as you struggle to see what had made her stop so suddenly... all you're sure of is that it definitely wasn't because you'd desperately demanded for her to.

That's when you see the end of the invisible string that Juno had been nudging you to follow all along.

A flash of movement — a figure with a horse in tow walking up the path leading to the heart of the ranch from your front gate.

They're nothing more than a silhouette against the late sun, the light blinding and harsh, turning them into dark shadows cut from the sky.

Juno narrows the distance between her and them by a few yards, barking wildly — not in fear, not in warning, but in pure joy.

She throws herself at the figure, her whole body quivering, tail a white blur of motion.

The man —

He stiffly drops to one knee, the weight of his duffel bag on one shoulder and guitar case on the other had clearly been hurting him by the way he slumps them onto the ground. His hand comes up, offering it for Juno to sniff before burying it into her fur, holding onto her like a man drowning in a river would hold onto a branch.

Your lungs seize, useless in your chest.

You'd expected to see a coyote, a stray dog, a trespasser... not him.

Not Joel.

Not after two years of no written reply from him.

You'd told yourself a hundred times you were over it. Over him. That he was a chapter closed and done with. But seeing him now — clutching Juno to his chest like she's the only good thing left in the world, and her looking up at him like she'd been waiting her whole life to see him again — you realize you never stopped carrying those seasons you spent working together in your heart.

After pawing at his chest and licking his chin Juno drops back down to the ground, spinning in a tight circle before darting around him — sniffing behind his legs, then trotting to the left, nose to the wind. She lets out a quick bark, as if she'd forgotten something.

And then she whimpers. A puzzled, soft little sound. She stares up at him, then behind him again. Searching.

She's looking for George.

She circles him again, nose twitching, paws scuffing the dirt. She looks around him, examining his shadow like it's supposed to have one more set of paws beside it. She lets out another whine, even softer this time, her tail slowing. Then she sits right in front of him, head tilted, brow creased in that funny, thoughtful way dogs do when they can't quite understand where something's gone.

Joel doesn't speak. He just shakes his head.

No words. Just that tiny shake. A quiet answer.

Your throat tightens.

You feel it in your ribs — a dull ache. George had been there at the start. That cranky old Border Collie had been Joel’s second shadow, always watchful, always ready. You used to joke that George was the one in charge. That Joel was just his hands.

The idea of him gone — the space between Joel and Clint empty? You can’t fathom it.

Joel stands up with a grunt you can't quite hear and Juno noses at Joel's boot, giving one last huff before curling herself close to his leg again. She leans into him, pressing her face into the fabric of his jeans, trying to comfort him. Joel's hand comes down to rest on her head, comforting her in return.

He hasn't seen you yet. You're too far away and the brim of his cowboy hat is blocking a majority of his sight. Or maybe he has seen you and can't bring himself to look.

Slowly—so slowly—you pace forward, the frozen grass crackling underfoot, the cold biting high along your cheekbones until you're on the path Joel'd been walking up. You wrap your arms around yourself, partly for warmth, partly to stop yourself from shaking apart, panicking and running the other direction. You'd done this many times, usually to meet the postman, Troy or to check the road for deliveries.

The scrape of your boots alerts Joel and Juno as soon as you’re no more than three steps away from them.

Joel stares at you, his face blank—his mind struggling to process seeing you in the flesh.

The dog gives you a look as if to say: “it’s about time you joined us.”

Joel shifts awkwardly, lowering his eyes. He pulls his hat off and holds it to his chest, clutching it tightly in both hands. His hair is longer now, curling out at the edges, falling messily over his ears and shirt-collar —streaked with more silver. A gust of cold wind stirs it, and he doesn’t move to fix it.

He looks older.

That's the first thing that strikes you — not in a cruel way, just... truthful. The years had carved themselves into him — deliberate and unrelenting. The Joel standing at your gate isn't the same man who had handed you a puppy and asked you to stay with him four years ago. He'd been worn down — broken and weathered in that quiet, tragic way only time and loss could manage.

His frame is still broad, still unmistakably strong, but there's a leaner edge to it — a kind of hollowness at the shoulders — something vital had been carved out of him and never filled back in. His clothes are simple and dust-covered: faded jeans that cling to the muscle of his thighs, a worn green and black button-down, threadbare at the cuffs, scuffed boots that are white at the toes — creased with every step it took to get here — and a canvas jacket. You know it well. You'd stitched that shoulder, back when it had caught a nail after he'd insisted on fixing a fence post on a particularly cold night at his ranch. You sat on a stool outside your lodging with the jacket slung over your lap and a needle in hand — your fingers trembled so much — they were practically blue it was that freezing. Joel came walking down to your cabin from his ranch-house with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa, handed you one and sat on a tree stump opposite you without a word. It was unexpected. It was also the night you realized you didn't mind the quiet… as long as you shared it with Joel.

He looks like he hasn't done a single thing for the benefit of his own health, sure, but he's as ruggedly handsome as he was that night.

“Joel,” you manage to utter, your voice so small you barely hear it yourself. “What’re you—”

“Land’s somethin’ special.” His sad, sunken eyes skim past you, scanning over your ranch. “If anyone was gonna make somethin’ of it, it’d be you.”

You don’t respond. You just watch him with your mouth ajar—the way he keeps his shoulders stiff, the way he refuses to even meet your eyes.

“Always knew you deserved better than what my old shithole of a ranch was offerin’ for a life.”

Your fingers curl at your sides. You want to grab him, shake him, tell him you would’ve built this place with him if he’d only showed up. Tell him you never needed better — you needed him. “Joel—” you start, but he cuts you off, voice too casual to match the exhaustion in his facial features.

“You don’t gotta fuss over me, alright?” He finally glances your way, offering the ghost of a smile. “I ain’t here for a pity party. Just… figured I’d stop by. See it for myself.”

“Bullshit,” you scoff.

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard me — if you wanted to see it that bad why didn’t you stop by two years ago?”

He ducks his head, ashamed, and nervously fiddles with the brim of the hat you named the “grumpy man’s crown” upon your first week of working with him, when you couldn’t get more than five words out of him… you feel like you’re back to square one all over again.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab his arm — solid under your fingers, tense with hesitation. His skin burns hot through the fabric of his jacket. He stiffens, surprised, but doesn’t pull away. You hook your spare hand around the strap of his duffel bag and grab the battered guitar case from where it’s slumped against his boot, completely ignoring his grumbled protests about doing his carrying for him. You tug at him — not gentle — dragging him toward the house with a strength you didn’t know you had.

Joel lets you, weakly whistling for Clint to follow.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ⇝

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 (𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝑂𝑓 𝐷𝑢𝑠𝑡, 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 ＆ 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑜

@dugiioh @monicasblues @millennialeldar @julesispunk @notyouraveragemochii @homophobicclownmoviestan

𝐽𝑜𝑒𝑙 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

༺ 🐑 ༻

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madzilla84 · 1 day ago

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Emmrich and ambition

Something I don’t see talked about much (although I could have missed it) is Emmrich’s ambitiousness. He’s not just interested in the Fade, he’s the foremost expert in the world. He doesn’t just want to be a Mourn Watcher, he wants to reach the highest possible rank it’s possible for a Watcher to achieve (lichdom). (Obviously there are multiple positive and negative motivations for him to consider lichdom, but his ambitiousness is definitely part of it).

(under the read more to save your dash)

There’s a conversation he has with Harding where she asks him what he would have done if he wasn’t a Watcher, and he thinks about it and eventually says he’d have been a botanist. But not just *A* botanist, noodling around in his greenhouse - he specifically says, “one of the great botanists”. It isn’t enough to just be a botanist, he has to be the best at it.

I’m not at all saying this as a negative thing, fwiw - very often this sort of ambition can come with a sort of big-headedness, especially when one is at the top of one’s field, but that doesn’t seem to be the case with Emmrich (the majority of the time, I’m sure he has his moments like most experts do). Rather, it spurs him on to greater heights and inspires him to share that passion with others. But that drive to Be The Best is definitely there.

It could explain why he was friends with Johanna - on the surface, it does seem a bit out-of-character considering her cruelty, unless you also consider her brilliance. They were on each other’s level academically, and he knew she could help him achieve (and she knew the same about him). I’ve no doubt her ambition was something he particularly admired … maybe *too* much, by his own recognition. Maybe it even spurred on his own.

I also raised an eyebrow when I chose Dorian for Archon and got a little ‘Emmrich approves’ pop up. While you could say it’s just because he likes the idea of a fellow necromancer being in charge - part of ambition is taking action to achieve your goals, and Dorian’s goals are definitely things Emmrich would agree with, even if he might not be in total agreement with his methods (which he might be! We don’t really know, he doesn’t say that much about it). So he’d probably, y’know, admire the conviction and determination if nothing else?

It’s likely something he also admires in Rook, whether romanced or not. Rook is the only person really in the world who is stepping up to tackle this issue, and yes they were already involved but they’re still doing it! It’s maybe also part of why he joins the Veilguard (all pretty ambitious people/the best in their respective fields).

I don’t really have a point here, I just wanted to ramble about an aspect of his personality I don’t see mentioned/explored all that much. Now he’s started seeing the world I’m sure he would like to continue doing that (and iirc his writer said essentially the same thing), but I’m sure he would also be involved in writing the inevitable books about what happened, wanting to be recognised for being part of it all, because - and we're getting into esoteric Waffle Territory here - if you dig into it his ambitiousness is likely all tied up with his fear of death, or perhaps more accurately, of being forgotten. Or perhaps even more accurately, of being left behind. By the world. Like he was by his parents.

IT’S ALL CONNECTED!!

#dragon age #emmrich volkarin #da meta #thinking out loud again #when he said 'one of the great botanists' it sent me down this whole path #don't worry emmrich you will always be famous #if i think of more examples i'll add to this

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callmemonster68 · 2 days ago

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throne of shadows - part 1 | p.sh - sunghoon

He was born in captivity, she was born at the top of the world. He was shaped to serve, she to rule.

paring: sunghoon x fem!reader 18+ | masterlist

wc: 7,320

warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, crying, gore, blood

Mentions of murder, blood, self-harm. Read at your own risk.

Sunghoon, a mutant of incomparable beauty, possessed enormous black wings. He was sold as a baby to a very rich man who collected the most beautiful and unique mutants and displayed them in his luxurious museum. This rich man was perverse and very evil. Besides the exposure, he also allowed the wealthiest clients to pay and use the mutants sexually. Sunghoon never knew freedom and did not understand feelings; he never felt love, affection, pleasure, or any other good feeling.

Y/N was a beautiful and wealthy woman, she had recently married a man, Jaemin, who was a bit older than her, he was handsome, rich, and very successful, he had always been in love with her, but to her, he was nothing more than a deal. They were both heirs to extremely wealthy families, and by marrying, they doubled their fortune. He begged her to allow herself to like him, to let him win her over, to let him touch her, to make her happy, but she always denied him anything. Sleeping in separate rooms since the wedding.

Jaemin didn't know what else to do to please her, so one day he decided to visit the museum of sublime mutants. He thought that maybe something like that would make her grateful to him, and perhaps she would see him in a different light. It was then that he arrived in front of Sunghoon's display case. When he saw his wings, he felt a shiver run through his body. He knew how much Y/N liked dark, beautiful things; he knew she would love this. He went to the owner and made an irresistible offer. He succeeded; he bought it.

When he got home, Y/N wasn't there, so he prepared everything. He explained to Sunghoon that from then on he would belong to Y/N and should do everything she wanted. He put a collar on him, which controlled him, with a remote. If he got out of control, Y/N could press the button and then he would feel immense pain that would paralyze him. He took him to Y/N's room, helped him take a shower, dressed him in only black pants, and ordered him to sit on the bed until Y/N arrived.

The door opened slowly, and Y/N entered the room, throwing her bag onto an armchair without paying attention to anything. She paused for a second upon noticing the motionless figure on the bed.

Her eyes analyzed the sculptural body of the man in front of her. The black wings folded behind him, the feathers shining in the dim light of the room. The collar around his neck gave a perverse contrast to the scene.

Y/N: What the hell is this? (her voice sounded cold and irritated)

Sunghoon lifted his head, his black eyes meeting hers. He quickly lowered his gaze, not daring to look at her for too long.

Sunghoon: I am yours. (his voice was soft, obedient) I will belong to you, I will do everything you want.

She frowned and looked around, as if expecting Jaemin to appear and say it was all a joke.

But there was no one. Just her and the mutant of supernatural beauty, sitting patiently waiting for his owner.

Y/N: Did Jaemin do that? (asked, exasperated)

Sunghoon: Yes. He brought me to you. (he tilted his head, like a dog waiting for a command) If I displease you, I can be punished. But... I want to please her. I need to please her.

There was something in the way he said that which bothered her. A blind devotion, not out of passion, but due to the lack of any other reference. As if he were incapable of existing without serving someone.

She approached slowly, stopping in front of him. With a finger, she lifted Sunghoon's chin, forcing him to look at her.

Y/N: Do you have a name?

Sunghoon: Sunghoon. But if you want to call me something else, I will accept it.

Y/N: Hm. (She released his face and crossed her arms) So, Sunghoon, what exactly do you do?

He hesitated for a moment, then replied:

Sunghoon: Anything you want.

The silence weighed heavily between the two of them. Y/N took a deep breath and looked at the remote on the bedside table. One single button and he would be writhing in pain.

She took the remote and twirled it between her fingers.

Y/N: You're here because Jaemin thinks he can buy me with a pretty toy. (Her voice was harsh, but there was no fun in it) You are aware of that, right?

Sunghoon: If that makes you happy, then it's fine. (the response was immediate, without hesitation)

Y/N pressed their lips together. Sunghoon seemed so... empty. But there was something there, behind those black eyes. Something broken.

And she never resisted broken things.

YN: Take off the wings. (your order was a test)

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head. The wings folded and disappeared, as if they had never existed.

Y/N observed in silence. Then, she walked over to the bed and sat down beside him.

Y/N: Speak.

Sunghoon: About what?

Y/N: About you.

Sunghoon blinked, as if he didn't understand the order.

Sunghoon: I... don't know what to say.

She let out a nasal laugh.

Y/N: Of course not.

Sunghoon knew nothing but serving. He didn't know what desire, freedom, or even the meaning of touch that wasn't imposed was.

But he would learn.

The silence lingered between them. Sunghoon maintained an immobile posture, his eyes fixed on the woman beside him, awaiting the next command like a trained soldier.

Y/N ran their tongue over their lips, watching him closely.

Y/N: Do you really not feel anything? (he/she asked, with a slight hint of curiosity)

Sunghoon: I feel what they teach me to feel (he replied without hesitation)

Y/N: And what did they teach you?

Sunghoon lowered his eyes.

Sunghoon: To obey. Not to question. To be available.

There was something devastating in the way he said that, as if there was nothing strange or cruel about that reality. As if it were natural.

Y/N let out a sigh and leaned back, resting on their elbows.

Y/N: And if I tell you that I don't want a servant?

Sunghoon blinked, his lips slightly parting as if that were an impossible concept to process.

Sunghoon: But... I am yours.

She laughed, a low, almost cynical laugh.

Y/N: You don't even know what that means.

He remained silent, but Y/N noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. Something in her wanted to test him. Tease him.

She slid the tips of her fingers over his chest, feeling the muscles contract under her touch.

Sunghoon didn't even move, but his breathing became deeper.

Y/N: Tell me, Sunghoon… (she leaned her face close to his, whispering) What do you want?

He blinked a few times, confused.

Sunghoon: What do I... want?

Y/N: Yes. Has anyone ever asked you that?

He shook his head slowly.

Sunghoon: No.

Y/N smiled slightly, but it wasn't a smile of amusement. It was something colder, sharper.

Y/N: So think about it. And when you know the answer, tell me.

She got up and took the collar control, spinning it between her fingers before dropping it on the bedside table.

Y/N: You can sleep on the floor, in the armchair, or in the bed. Choose.

Sunghoon watched her for a moment before bowing his head in submission.

Sunghoon: If I say I want to sleep at your feet, would that make you happy?

Y/N felt a shiver run down their spine.

He didn't know what desire was, but he was trying to understand.

And that could be dangerous.

Y/N remained silent for a moment, observing Sunghoon. There was something perverse in his blind devotion, something that made her want to test him, to push him beyond that brutal conditioning that had turned him into a submissive being.

She approached again, leaning slightly towards him.

Y/N: Do you want to sleep at my feet?

Sunghoon nodded, his black eyes shining under the dim light of the room.

Sunghoon: If that pleases you, yes.

She laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

Y/N: You are so used to pleasing others, Sunghoon... but can you handle what I want?

He remained silent, his eyes fixed on hers. He didn't understand, but he wanted to understand.

Y/N extended her hand and pulled the collar chain, forcing him to come closer. Sunghoon didn't resist, his lips parting slightly when he felt her breath so close.

Y/N: I could test you in so many ways... (she slid her fingers along his jawline, feeling it tremble slightly under her touch) But are you ready for this?

His eyes blinked rapidly, as if trying to process.

Sunghoon: I want to be everything you need.

Y/N felt a strange excitement coursing through their body. It was not just carnal desire — it was the power of having someone so beautiful, so perfect, so devoted in your hands.

She leaned in even closer, the tip of her nose brushing against his cheek.

Y/N: Open your mouth.

Sunghoon obeyed at that very moment, breathing heavily, his eyes half-closed.

Y/N ran their thumb over his lips, feeling the warmth and softness.

Y/N: Good answer. (her voice came out low, provocative)

Sunghoon shuddered. He didn't understand why his body reacted like that. He had never felt heat before. I had never felt my chest tighten like that before.

Y/N: You are trembling, Sunghoon. (Y/N noticed and smiled)

Sunghoon: I... don't know what this is.

She pressed her finger against his tongue, slowly, testing his reaction. Sunghoon let out a soft gasp, his eyes fixed on hers as if he were being consumed.

Y/N: That's right, Sunghoon... (she whispered against his lips, without kissing him) Learn to feel.

The days passed, and Sunghoon became a shadow of Y/N. He followed her silently through the mansion's corridors, patiently waiting by the bathtub while she bathed, and slept on the floor next to her bed, even when she insisted he choose a more comfortable place.

He didn't know how to explain that. He only knew that he needed to be close to her.

Y/N: You are addicted to me, Sunghoon.

She whispered one night, as she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling him shiver at the mere touch.

Sunghoon: If that means I want to be by your side all the time... then yes.

Y/N felt a warmth rise through her body. She wanted to take him for herself, wanted to feel his skin against hers, wanted to possess him in every possible way. But she wasn't a monster. She didn't just want an obedient body, without its own will.

She needed to know if he desired her in the same way.

That's why, a few days later, she decided to ask Jaemin some questions.

Y/N: Where did he come from?

Jaemin frowned upon hearing the sudden question.

Jaemin: Sunghoon? Why do you want to know?

Y/N: Just answer.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Jaemin: I bought it at the museum of sublime mutants. It was the most valuable of all.

Y/N's blood ran cold.

She knew that place. She knew it wasn't an ordinary museum.

That night, while Sunghoon slept beside the bed, she took the car keys and drove to the museum.

The owner of the place greeted her with a smile full of arrogance.

Owner: Are you the new owner of the celestial mutant? A rare specimen. It was a difficult sale to make.

Y/N held back to avoid showing the anger that was beginning to grow inside her.

Y/N: I want to know where he came from.

The man chuckled softly, taking a sip of wine before responding.

Owner: He was sold to me as a baby. Never knew another reality. Trained to be... pleasant.

The way he said that made Y/N's stomach turn.

Y/N: You exposed him like a display piece. (her voice came out sharp)

The man shrugged.

Owner: I give people what they want to see. Some like to just admire the beauty... others want a little more than that.

Her fists clenched.

Y/N: Was he... used?

The man raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised.

Owner: Ah, my lady... Do you really want to know the answer?

It was enough for her to feel a blind rage take over her.

She left there with her breath uneven, her heart pounding in her chest.

Now everything made sense. The devotion, the silent fear of displeasing, the way he never asked for anything for himself.

He was never allowed to want anything.

When she returned home, Sunghoon was waiting for her at the bedroom door.

He approached, as he always did, and held her hand gently, pressing it against his bare chest.

Sunghoon: Your heart is racing (he murmured, confused)

Y/N looked at him, at his absurd beauty, at the eyes that didn't know what freedom was.

She felt anger. But, above all, she felt pity.

And he realized he would do anything to fix it.

The silence weighed heavily between them.

Y/N still felt the blood boiling inside them. Every time she looked at Sunghoon, his immaculate beauty, his submissive and naive eyes, the anger returned like a wave. They had deprived him of everything. Of choices, of desires, of a real life.

She couldn't stand it.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (her voice came out softer than she expected) I will set you free.

He tilted his head, his black eyes shining in the dim light of the room.

Sunghoon: What does this mean?

Y/N felt a tightness in their chest. How to explain something so fundamental to someone who has never even had the notion of what it was like to be free?

She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

Y/N: It means that you will be able to choose whatever you want. That no one will be able to control you, hold you back, or tell you what to do. You will be able to go wherever you want...

Sunghoon kept looking at her, without blinking.

Sunghoon: What if I want to be with you?

Y/N felt their heart leap in their chest.

Y/N: If that's your choice, then... (she hesitated, feeling the intensity of his gaze) Then you could stay. But, for the first time, because you wanted to.

His expression didn't change. But something shone in his eyes, something intense and uncontrollable.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and held Y/N's hand gently.

Sunghoon: If freedom means being without you... then I don't want it.

Her heart stopped for a second.

He was speaking with a terrifying certainty. As if freedom were worth nothing if it meant he couldn't be by her side.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (Y/N felt their breath hitch) You don't understand.

He knelt before her, pressing his forehead against her belly.

Sunghoon: I understand enough. (his voice sounded low, like a prayer) You are everything I know. And everything I want to know.

She closed her eyes, feeling her body burn with frustration and desire.

He didn't know what love was. He didn't know what it was to want someone the right way.

But I was learning.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Y/N felt Sunghoon's fingers tighten around her waist, the hesitant touch, almost as if he were afraid she would disappear if he didn't hold her tightly.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (she whispered, her eyes fixed on him) You only say that because you've never had another option.

He raised his head, his black eyes sparkling in confusion.

Sunghoon: But I don't want another option.

Y/N closed their eyes for a moment, feeling their breath tremble. He didn't understand. How could he? He never knew what it was like to have a real choice. He never knew what it was like to desire something of his own free will.

And her?

She always had choices. And, at that moment, everything inside her screamed for her to choose him.

But would that be right?

She ran her fingers over Sunghoon's face, feeling the cold and flawless skin under her touch. He instinctively leaned into her hand, his eyes half-closed, as if that gesture were enough to make him crumble.

Y/N: You want to be with me because you've never had anything but pain and submission (she said, her voice heavy with emotion) I don't want to be just another person who keeps you trapped.

Sunghoon: You don't keep me trapped. (his voice came out firm, without hesitation) You are the only thing that makes me feel... something.

Y/N bit their lip, stifling a trembling sigh.

Y/N: What do you feel when you're with me?

Sunghoon blinked slowly, as if he were searching for the answer within himself.

Sunghoon: I don't know the name. But it's hot. Strong. (he slid his fingers along the hem of her dress, hesitantly) As if I needed to touch you to keep breathing.

The air between them became thick, heavy.

Y/N felt their body burn.

She wanted that. She wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his breath against my skin. I wanted to know if what he felt was real or just a conditioned response to the desire to please her.

But...

Y/N: You don't know what you're feeling.

He furrowed his brow, the wings moving slightly behind him.

Sunghoon: So teach me.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Y/N: Sunghoon…

Sunghoon: You said that freedom is being able to choose. (he moved closer, their lips almost touching) I choose you.

Y/N's body responded before her mind. She leaned towards him, her fingers sliding over the collar-marked neck.

She wanted to believe that it was a choice.

I wanted to believe that he wanted her the same way she wanted him.

But did he really understand?

And could she resist the idea of taking him for herself?

The days went by, and Sunghoon became an extension of Y/N.

He no longer stayed in the room, waiting for orders. Now, he followed her everywhere, like a silent shadow. At the lavish dinners, where the powerful exchanged false smiles and toasts full of ulterior motives, Sunghoon was by her side, observing everything with curious eyes.

On the morning walks through the garden, he smelled the flowers and asked Y/N why some people smiled only with their lips, but never with their eyes.

She taught him every day.

Y/N: This is called a lie (they explained once, running the tips of their fingers over his wrist) People lie all the time. For others and for themselves.

He frowned, holding her hand between his.

Sunghoon: Do you lie to me?

Y/N held their breath.

Y/N: I... (she hesitated) I never want to lie to you, Sunghoon.

He smiled, satisfied with the answer.

But Jaemin was not satisfied.

He observed everything from afar, his gaze growing increasingly dark as he watched

Sunghoon claim a space that had never been his.

Before, Y/N wouldn't even let him touch her.

Now, that mutant was by her side all the time, receiving the looks and smiles that Jaemin had spent years begging for.

And then, that night, everything fell apart.

He saw them.

It was late, and the mansion's hall was empty. Jaemin was descending the stairs when he abruptly stopped upon seeing a scene that made his blood boil.

Y/N was leaning against one of the marble columns, her fingers gently sliding over Sunghoon's face.

He held her waist, his gaze filled with something Jaemin had never seen before. Something raw. Something human.

And then it happened.

Sunghoon leaned in, hesitating at first, but soon gathered his courage, pressing his lips against hers.

The first kiss.

Not a rehearsed kiss.

Not an ordered kiss.

But a genuine kiss.

Jaemin felt something break inside him.

The fury took over his body like an uncontrollable flame. He clenched his fists and felt his nails dig into his own skin.

That couldn't go on.

Sunghoon needed to be reminded of who he was.

And, above all, of whom he could never have.

The anger burned in Jaemin like a corrosive poison.

He couldn't erase the scene from his mind: Sunghoon holding Y/N as if he had some right over her. As if he were a real man and not a purchased object. As if that kiss meant something beyond a stupid illusion.

No.

This needed to end.

That same night, when Y/N went to take a shower, Jaemin found Sunghoon alone in the room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, with a calm expression and perfect posture, as if he belonged there. As if he had completely forgotten where he came from.

Great. He would make a point of reminding him.

Jaemin: Stand up. (Jaemin ordered, his voice low and dangerous)

Sunghoon slowly raised his eyes. Something inside them shone... Confidence? Challenge?

Jaemin gritted his teeth.

Jaemin: I said... standing up.

This time, Sunghoon obeyed. But something in the way he moved made Jaemin want to destroy him. The way he didn't lower his head. The way he seemed to believe he belonged to Y/N.

Jaemin: You forgot what it is, didn't you? (Jaemin laughed, coldly) Do you think you're more than a pet now?

Sunghoon didn't answer. But there was something in the way he stood still, as if he were waiting.

Jaemin: You need to remember (Jaemin murmured, getting closer until he was just a few centimeters away) And I will make sure that happens.

Before Sunghoon could react, Jaemin grabbed the collar around his neck and pressed the button on the remote.

The scream that tore through Sunghoon's throat was dry and desperate.

He fell to his knees at that very moment, his hands gripping the collar as his body convulsed with unbearable pain. The shock burned inside, destroying any strength he had.

Jaemin crouched down beside him, gripping his face roughly.

Jaemin: You should never have touched her.

Sunghoon gasped, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. His eyes were cloudy, but even amidst the pain, he didn't break. He didn't cry.

And that just made Jaemin press the button again.

Sunghoon's scream echoed through the mansion.

But Jaemin didn't mind.

He just smiled.

Y/N knew something was wrong the moment they opened the bedroom door.

The metallic smell in the air. The absence of any sound.

So, she saw.

Sunghoon was on the ground, his knees bent, his chest heaving as if each breath were a struggle. His arms trembled, and his hands were clenched around the collar's collar, as if he were trying to tear it off by force. The face, once serene and submissive, was pale, sweaty.

And then, slowly, he raised his eyes to her.

Y/N held their breath.

Sunghoon's eyes were... different. The submission was still there, but now there was something else. Something broken. Something desperate.

Y/N: Sunghoon… (her voice almost faltered when saying his name)

He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words came out, Jaemin appeared at the door behind her, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket with a satisfied smile.

Jaemin: You should teach your pet not to take what isn't theirs. (Jaemin said casually, as if he were talking about something trivial)

Y/N's body froze.

Y/N: What did you do?

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, amused.

Jaemin: What was necessary.

Y/N's chest rose and fell quickly. Her gaze returned to Sunghoon, who was still kneeling, his lips slightly parted, his eyes fixed on her as if she were the only thing keeping him there.

She knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as they touched his face.

He didn't move away.

He never stayed away.

But at that moment, Y/N saw something in his eyes that had never been there before.

Fear.

And it was as if something inside her broke too.

She looked at Jaemin, her hands tightly around Sunghoon.

Y/N: I swear (her voice came out low, filled with hatred) that you will regret this.

Jaemin laughed, shaking his head.

Jaemin: You talk as if you have power over something. As if he were yours.

Y/N felt Sunghoon's muscles tense under their touch. He was trembling.

She ran her hand through her hair, feeling a painful tightness in her chest.

Y/N: He is mine.

The words came out without her realizing, but upon saying them, she knew they were true.

Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment, as if those words were all he needed to hear.

And it was there that Y/N made their decision.

She wouldn't let Jaemin touch him again.

She would free him.

The price didn't matter.

That night, Y/N didn't leave Sunghoon's side.

Ignoring any protest or look from Jaemin. He took care of him with his own hands, cleaning the cuts left by the collar, massaging the muscles stiff with pain, letting him rest his head on his lap when his body finally succumbed to exhaustion.

She ran her fingers through his dark hair, feeling her heart tighten at seeing him so vulnerable.

Y/N: I promise... (murmured against her skin) I will never let this happen again.

Sunghoon slowly opened his eyes, staring at her with that blind and devoted intensity that took her breath away.

Sunghoon: If you want this... then I believe.

He believed in her. Even after everything.

And it was there that Y/N decided.

Jaemin would pay.

The following days were silent, but full of meaning.

Y/N didn't allow Jaemin to get close to Sunghoon. She was attentive to every detail, every movement, every shadow of danger that might loom over them.

And, in the midst of it all, she was plotting.

Sunghoon started helping her without even needing explanations. He was observant, intelligent — more than Jaemin ever suspected. Each order from Y/N was followed without hesitation, each test, each small strategy.

And then, on the exact night that Y/N chose, they attacked.

Jaemin was in his office when the door slowly opened. He looked up, surprised to see Y/N standing there, alone.

She rarely went to him.

Jaemin: What happened? (he asked, swirling the whiskey glass in his hand)

She entered, her steps slow and measured.

Y/N: I need to talk.

Jaemin smiled, satisfied.

Jaemin: Finally.

He stood up, ready to approach, but before he could take a step, a shadow appeared behind him.

Fast.

Feroz.

Sunghoon.

Before Jaemin could react, Sunghoon grabbed his arms and pushed him against the table. The mutant's superhuman strength kept him immobile.

Jaemin: What the hell—?!

Jaemin shouted, but was interrupted when Y/N approached and, with steady hands, pulled something from their pocket.

The control of the collar.

Jaemin's eyes widened.

Jaemin: No.

But Y/N just smiled.

Y/N: Yes.

She pressed the button.

And then, everything happened too fast.

Sunghoon pulled the collar from his own neck, the clasp coming undone as if it had never been strong enough to hold him. Jaemin was still trying to understand what was happening when he felt the leather tighten around his throat.

The roles were reversed.

Now, it was he who was caged.

Now, it was he who was defenseless.

Y/N held the controller tightly, satisfaction shining in their eyes.

Y/N: Let's see how you handle this.

She pressed the button again.

And Jaemin fell to his knees.

Jaemin's screams echoed through the dark room.

The floor was stained with sweat, blood, and despair.

Sunghoon was next to Y/N, watching her in silence as she pressed the button on the remote again. Jaemin writhed on the floor, foam forming at the corners of his lips.

He no longer seemed like the same powerful and untouchable man.

Now, he was just a wounded animal.

And Sunghoon liked seeing him like that.

Y/N: I think he's going to faint. (in a voice heavy with coldness)

Sunghoon tilted his head, his black eyes shining under the dim light of the room.

Sunghoon: Not yet. (his voice was low, serene) Not before the true punishment.

Jaemin gasped on the ground, trying to catch his breath. His head tilted to the side, and he looked at Sunghoon with hatred in his eyes.

Jaemin: You... will... pay for this...

Sunghoon knelt beside him and held his chin with a force that made him groan in pain.

Sunghoon: No, Jaemin... (Sunghoon whispered, a small smile playing on his lips) You are the one paying.

Jaemin tried to spit on him, but Sunghoon just laughed.

It was then that he looked at Y/N.

Sunghoon: I heard his conversation with the museum owner. (Sunghoon said softly) He said he never touched you.

Jaemin froze.

The silence that followed was heavier than any scream of pain.

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine upon seeing Sunghoon's gaze. She knew. She knew what that meant.

Sunghoon: That... would destroy you, wouldn't it? (Sunghoon continued, leaning closer to Jaemin) Knowing that she never wanted you. Never gave you anything. But she wants me.

Jaemin's eyes widened, and Y/N held their breath.

Sunghoon turned his gaze to her, and his expression changed completely. The fierce look softened, and he approached slowly.

Sunghoon: But... (his voice became a whisper) Do you want this?

Y/N's heart was pounding.

She wanted him.

I wanted it so much it hurt.

But there was something inside her that hesitated. He had been used before. Touched by hands he did not desire.

She didn't want to be just another person to hurt him.

Y/N: I... (she wet her lips, hesitant) Sunghoon... and if…

He raised his hand and touched her face with a gentleness that made her gasp.

Sunghoon: I want you. (his voice was sincere, raw, filled with emotion) Only you.

Y/N felt something inside her shatter.

The hesitation disappeared.

Jaemin watched everything without being able to say a word. He knew. He knew that would be the end.

And when Sunghoon held Y/N by the waist and pulled her against him, he knew he was right.

The true hell for Jaemin was just beginning.

The room was filled with a thick, suffocating tension. The only sound was Jaemin's ragged breathing, still trying to recover from the pain, and the erratic rhythm of Y/N's heart.

Sunghoon was too close, his warm body against hers. His black wings enveloped them both, creating a cocoon of darkness where only they existed.

Sunghoon: I want you. (Sunghoon repeated, his voice low, almost pleading) Only you.

Y/N held his face between her hands, her fingers caressing his pale skin. The black eyes were filled with something intense, something he barely understood, but that desired her with everything he had.

Y/N: If it's too much... (she started, but he interrupted her)

Sunghoon: You are my first choice. (Sunghoon whispered against her lips) I want this. I want to feel you. I want to know what it's like.

It was enough for any hesitation to disappear.

The desire had been burning in Y/N for days, the hunger growing with each touch, with each submissive glance he cast her way. Now, she had him there, ready, surrendering without reservations.

And Jaemin was watching everything.

Sunghoon kissed Y/N with a mixture of need and adoration. His mouth was warm, eager, desperate to know her in every way. His hands slid over her body, hesitant at first, but soon firm, learning how to touch her.

The control of the collar slipped from Y/N's hands as she pulled Sunghoon closer, her nails scratching his back, feeling the tense muscles under her fingers.

Sunghoon: You are beautiful... (he murmured between kisses, each word laden with reverence) Perfect.

Jaemin groaned in frustration on the floor, but neither of them looked at him. He no longer existed at that moment.

Sunghoon laid Y/N on the table, his dark eyes scanning her body as if he were seeing something sacred. His hands slid slowly, tracing every curve, every shiver, while his lips explored her skin.

Y/N felt adored, desired in a way they had never felt before.

Sunghoon: Tell me what to do... (Sunghoon asked, his voice trembling, his lips parted in a silent plea)

Y/N's heart melted.

She guided his hands, showed him what she wanted, how she wanted it. And he obeyed every command, each of her moans being a reward for his devotion.

The movements started slow, but soon became urgent, desperate. Sunghoon trembled against her, his eyes closed in pure ecstasy.

Sunghoon: Is this... is this good? (he asked, panting, as if he needed her validation)

Y/N smiled against his skin, holding his face with both hands.

Y/N: It's perfect. You are perfect.

Sunghoon groaned, pressing his forehead against hers.

And then, finally, he surrendered completely.

Pleasure enveloped them like a storm, consuming them mercilessly. Sunghoon held Y/N tightly, as if fearing she would disappear, his warm breath against her neck.

Sunghoon trembled against Y/N, his eyes half-closed in pure confusion and pleasure.

She guided him with patience, with affection, as if each of her touches were something precious, something he should savor slowly. Her hands glided over his skin, feeling the muscles contract under her touch.

He had never experienced this before.

He never knew he could desire something beyond what was imposed on him.

And now, Y/N was there, teaching him that pleasure could be given, not taken.

Sunghoon gasped when her lips brushed against his chest, slowly descending. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked down, confused.

Sunghoon: What…? (he couldn't finish the sentence)

Y/N smiled, their fingers tracing the firm line of his abdomen before descending to his penis.

Y/N: Trust me. (his voice was a whisper, a promise)

He trusted.

I would always trust.

Sunghoon propped himself up on his elbows, watching her as she slid down.

The air escaped from his lungs with a sob when her lips brushed the tip of his member.

Sunghoon: Y/N… (he trembled, his entire body shivering)

She looked at him, her eyes shining under the dim light of the room.

Y/N: Has anyone ever touched you like this? (the question was asked gently, but he felt its weight)

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

Sunghoon: Never... (his voice was a whisper) No one... has ever done this to me.

Y/N's eyes softened.

Y/N: So, I want you to just feel.

And then, she enveloped him with her lips, slowly and deeply.

Sunghoon shouted.

Pleasure hit him like a shock, an intense shiver running down his spine.

He had never felt anything like this before.

It has always been something forced, painful, impersonal. But this? That was warmth, it was softness, it was desire.

He grabbed the papers that were under the table, his eyes wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Sunghoon: Y/N… (your name slipped from his lips like a pleading moan)

She devoured him patiently, savoring every reaction from him, every interrupted sigh. Her hands held his thighs, keeping him in place while she explored every inch with her tongue.

Sunghoon didn't know what to do.

I didn't know where to put my hands, how to contain the overwhelming pleasure that surged through my body like a furious wave.

Y/N: Is it good? (Y/N murmured against him, their warm breath making him tremble)

Sunghoon: Yes... (the answer came out in a drawn-out moan) It's so... so good…

He didn't want it to end.

I didn't want that touch to disappear.

It was as if, for the first time, someone was touching him because they wanted to, because they desired to.

And it made his heart ache in a way he didn't understand.

He grabbed her hair, not to force her, but because he needed to hold her, needed to feel that it was real.

Sunghoon: I… I don't... I don't know how long... (he could barely form words)

Y/N smiled at him.

Y/N: Just give in.

And he surrendered.

Pleasure took him violently, his eyes closing tightly as his body arched beneath her. He moaned her name like a prayer, his fingers gripping until his knuckles turned white.

It was intense.

It was liberating.

It was the first time that pleasure was not something taken from him.

It was given.

And when he finally opened his eyes, he found Y/N watching him, her lips slightly swollen, a glimmer of satisfaction and tenderness in her gaze.

Sunghoon pulled her up, hugging her tightly, burying his face in her neck.

Sunghoon: Thank you… (his voice was hoarse, almost inaudible)

Y/N stroked his hair, smiling against his skin.

Y/N: Always.

Jaemin was sobbing on the floor, devastated.

Y/N smiled, satisfied.

The revenge was complete.

Sunghoon didn't care about him anymore.

There was only Y/N.

And he wanted her forever.

The silence was almost absolute, except for the heavy breathing of Sunghoon and Y/N, still wrapped in the heat of the moment. Jaemin was lying on the floor, his body trembling, his eyes fixed on them with a hatred that mingled with pure despair.

He was devastated.

Sunghoon watched him for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he absorbed what had happened. Something inside him felt different, as if an invisible chain had been broken.

He felt free.

But it still wasn't enough.

Sunghoon reluctantly stepped away from Y/N, standing up. He approached Jaemin, his dark eyes shining with something dangerous.

Jaemin tried to pull away, but the collar around his neck kept him restrained.

Sunghoon: What happened? (Sunghoon asked in a calm tone, but laden with irony) Didn't you like the show?

Jaemin grunted, his face red with anger.

Jaemin: You... bastard... (he tried to get up, but Sunghoon pressed a foot against his chest, pushing him back to the ground)

Y/N: Be careful with what you say. (the voice of Y/N cut through the air, smooth but lethal)

Jaemin swallowed hard. For the first time, it seemed he truly understood that he no longer had control.

Sunghoon bent down, his fingers gripping the collar control. He twirled it between his fingers, experiencing the feeling of power.

For years, he lived under the dominion of this pain, feeling each shock as a reminder that he was not his own master.

Now, it was different.

He had control.

He pressed the button.

Jaemin screamed, his body arching on the ground as electricity coursed through his spine.

His skin glistened with cold sweat, his eyes rolling for a moment.

Sunghoon observed everything with a neutral, almost indifferent expression.

Y/N approached slowly, kneeling beside Sunghoon. His hand slid over his, guiding his fingers to press the button once more.

Jaemin let out a groan of pain, his resistance breaking more with each passing second.

Sunghoon: You liked doing this with me, didn't you? (Sunghoon asked, tilting his head) Now do you understand what it's like to be on the other side?

Jaemin opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a weak groan.

Y/N: You are nothing but a pathetic piece of trash. (Y/N whispered near his ear) And now, you will pay for everything.

Sunghoon pulled Jaemin by the collar, their faces just centimeters apart.

Sunghoon: What happened? Got nothing to say? (he mocked, a dark smile appearing on his lips) It's not fun when you're not the one in control, is it?

Jaemin gasped, his body completely surrendered to suffering.

Y/N took the collar key and looked at Sunghoon.

Y/N: What are we going to do with him?

Sunghoon looked at Jaemin, analyzing him as if he were deciding the fate of an insignificant insect.

Then, a cruel smile curved his lips.

Sunghoon: I think he deserves to taste a bit of his own medicine.

Jaemin's eyes widened, the understanding of what was to come finally sinking in.

Sunghoon slid his fingers along Jaemin's neck, tugging at the collar chain before turning to Y/N.

Sunghoon: Shall we play a little more, my love?

The wicked gleam in Y/N's eyes was the only answer he needed.

The revenge was just beginning.

Jaemin trembled, his body surrendered to exhaustion and despair. The pain was eating him from the inside out, but the worst part wasn't the shock of the collar, nor the precise blows that Sunghoon dealt. The worst part was looking at Y/N and seeing the glimmer of satisfaction in their eyes.

She was enjoying seeing him like this.

And that destroyed him more than any physical pain.

Y/N approached slowly, the heels of her shoes echoing on the marble floor. She knelt beside Jaemin, holding his face between her delicate fingers.

Y/N: You wanted so much for me to look at you, didn't you? (her voice was low, almost a poisonous whisper) You wanted me to desire you... But just look at you now.

Jaemin's eyes filled with hatred, but there was something else there. Humiliation.

Sunghoon knelt beside them, the shadow of his black wings casting across the room. He smiled slightly, tilting his head.

Sunghoon:: Tell me, Jaemin… Do you regret it?

The silence was heavy.

Jaemin didn't respond.

Sunghoon grabbed the collar remote and pressed the button again, making Jaemin scream, his body bending in pain.

Sunghoon: I asked... (Sunghoon whispered against his ear, his fingers gliding softly over Jaemin's sweaty skin) Do you regret it?

Jaemin was gasping, tears welling up in his eyes. His body no longer had the strength to resist.

Jaemin: Y-yes...

Y/N smiled, satisfied.

Y/N: Too bad it's too late.

She looked at Sunghoon, who already understood what she meant.

He pulled Jaemin by the hair, forcing him to look at him one last time.

Y/N: You won't hurt anyone anymore.

And then, Sunghoon broke his neck with a single move.

A crack echoed through the room.

Jaemin's body fell lifeless to the ground, his eyes still wide open.

Sunghoon stood still for a moment, looking at him. He felt something new within himself.

Freedom.

But it wasn't Jaemin's absence that gave her that feeling.

It was Y/N.

He turned to her, his wings fully spreading.

Sunghoon: It's over. (he murmured)

She smiled softly, extending her hand to him.

Y/N: Come with me.

Sunghoon didn't hesitate. He took her hand and pulled her close, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

Sunghoon: Am I free now? (he asked, his voice heavy with emotion)

Y/N ran their fingers through his hair, their eyes softening.

Y/N: Yes, my love. You are free.

He held her close, inhaling her perfume, feeling her warmth.

So, he smiled.

Sunghoon: If freedom means being without you... then I never want to be free.

Y/N felt her heart tighten in her chest, an intense emotion taking over her.

She held his face and kissed him, slowly, deeply, sealing her promise.

Sunghoon was no longer a collectible piece.

He was hers.

And, for the first time, it was a choice.

Y/N: Let's finish what we started.

Y/N slid their fingers gently across his face.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

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