#like... i am absolutely using this for my fic

[pullmecloseman]

HONOR & DUTY

Pre-Boyfriend!Bob x reader

summary: What was supposed to be a fun week in paradise quickly becomes something more when two quiet souls are thrown into close quarters. As the days unfold—from lazy mornings and town adventures to wedding prep and late-night confessions—tension simmers, walls begin to crack, and unexpected connections start to bloom. It’s just one week. But sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.

word count: 21.8k

A/N: If you can’t tell, yes i did rewrite it completely from the beginning, it’s a lot longer and a lot more detailed but i honestly wouldn’t have it any other way! please comment and tell me if u liked it or not :)) ALSO OMG THIS IS THE LONGEST FIC I HAVE EVER WRITTEN?? unfortunately it did cut off so i will have to post it in 2 parts 😭. Something about the whole airport chaos gets me, might need to write another squad trip

Warnings: This fic has some mild swearing and squad-style banter, a bit of drinking and party vibes (nothing too wild), and a slow-burn romance with a sweet first kiss—no explicit stuff. Lots of chaotic humor, teasing, and pranks, plus some wedding and travel stress moments. There are light mentions of past military stuff (nothing graphic), crowded group hangouts, and flashbacks to crazy party moments with some confusion and mixed-up sleeping spots. Also, some minor hangover and sore muscle vibes. Just a heads-up in case any of that’s a trigger for you!

masterlist boyfriend!bob masterlist

You’d set five alarms. One on your phone. One on your tablet. One on your smartwatch. One on the hotel alarm clock just in case. And one on a travel timer that beeped like a nuke countdown.

Because there was no way you were going to be the reason the Dagger Squad missed their 4:00 a.m. flight to Maui for Rooster and Phoenix’s wedding. You were the Maid of Honor. Bob was the Best Man. You were the only ones keeping this entire operation from crashing before wheels-up.

At exactly 2:01 a.m., your phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call from the squad group chat:

💀 DAGGER DEATH FLIGHT 207 💀

You accepted with a groan, still half buried in your comforter. The screen filled with a grid of faces, some upright, some terrifyingly horizontal.

First was Fanboy, sporting a cracked pair of Star Wars sleep goggles and surrounded by open suitcases and piles of graphic tees. “Yo. Who needs me to smuggle Sour Patch Kids in their carry-on?”

Next was Coyote, dead-eyed and already in a zip-up hoodie. “If you bring candy or collectibles, I’m reporting you to TSA before we even hit the parking lot.”

“They’re not collectibles, they’re conversation starters!”

“They’re why you get cavity searched every damn trip,” Payback chimed in, yawning as he popped up on the screen from the driver’s seat of a parked car. “Y’all better be packed. I rented a land yacht to haul everyone’s nonsense to the airport.”

You joined the call with a sigh, dragging your phone onto the pillow beside you. “If I don’t get coffee within twenty minutes, I’m murdering someone and using my Maid of Honor dress to hide the body.”

“You can borrow my tux jacket for that,” Bob said, appearing on-screen in a navy hoodie, hair an absolute disaster, voice still low and rough from sleep. “You’ll look classy while doing it.”

You gave him a flat stare. “Floyd.”

“Yes, Sweetie?”

“Did you pack?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“…Define technically.”

“I know where my suitcase is. That counts, right?”

“Bob,” you said, sitting up, “you are the Best Man. You’re supposed to be organized.”

“I am organized,” he argued, entirely too calm. “I just like to do things last minute. Keeps the blood flowing.”

Hangman popped on screen, shirtless, brushing his teeth with one hand and holding a can of Red Bull in the other. “Everyone shut up. I’m in charge of good vibes and airport mimosas. I expect full participation.”

“You’re not even dressed.”

“Yet I still look better than Coyote.”

“Eat dirt, Seresin.”

Rooster’s face appeared next, squinting against the bathroom light as he attempted to shave and talk into the camera at the same time. “If any of you idiots forget your suits, I’m replacing you with local hula dancers and calling it a day.”

From off-screen, Phoenix’s voice rang out: “We are not late to our own damn wedding!”

“Tell her I packed,” Bob muttered.

“No one believes you,” you replied, grabbing your toiletry bag with one hand and your charging cords with the other.

Coyote snorted. “If packing means bringing seventeen bottles of sunscreen and three different types of insect repellent, then yeah, Bob’s a legend.”

Payback laughed. “And I swear he’s got at least one of those bug zapper rackets hidden in his sock drawer.”

“Actually,” Bob said, leaning closer to the camera with a mock-conspiratorial grin, “I’m starting a bug sanctuary.”

“Great,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So when we get eaten alive, we know who to thank.”

Fanboy raised a tired hand. “Guys, can we just agree the real MVP is Sweetie for actually having a packing list that doesn’t include three different wigs and one portable karaoke machine?”

“Hey!” You held up your hand in defense. “The wigs are for the joint bachelorette party. Which is going to be wild.”

“Wild?” Hangman grinned, mouth still foaming a little from brushing. “Like how wild? Should I bring fireproof pants?”

You glanced sideways at Bob, who gave you a small smile and a shake of his head. No words necessary.

“Speaking of,” Rooster said, “who’s in charge of making sure Sweetie doesn’t lose her shit before the wedding?”

“Bob’s job,” you said without hesitation. “Mostly by being loud enough to drown me out.”

“Hey, I’m a delicate flower,” Bob said, mock offended. “And you need someone to balance out the planner energy.”

“You’re balancing it out by being a human wrecking ball.”

“Touché.”

The group laughed—softly now, the chaos simmering into something almost comfortable. You caught Bob’s eye on the screen, that familiar warmth behind his sleepy gaze making your heart do a little sprint.

Before you could say anything else, Fanboy’s phone buzzed with a notification, and his face went from “space commander” to “please kill me.”

“Guys, I just remembered,” he said, voice cracking, “I still need to download like, ten more playlists.”

“Great,” you muttered. “We’re going to Maui with 200% more bad music.”

Payback nodded solemnly. “I’m already blasting the sound system in the car. It’s going to be a long ride.”

“Get ready for my rendition of Livin’ on a Prayer,” Hangman promised.

You groaned. “Please no.”

Bob chuckled. “Can’t wait.”

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Phoenix: “Everyone packed? No drama. No late arrivals. I’m trusting you.”

You looked at the group, smiling despite yourself.

“Alright, team,” you said, “let’s make this nightmare happen.”

Bob’s eyes met yours again, and for a brief second—longer than it should be—everything else fell away.

The squad was going to Maui.

-

Payback rolled up to your place first, in a comically large black SUV that looked like it could transport a rock band and their entourage. The engine rumbled like it was challenging the sunrise to a duel, and the smell of lingering coffee and leather hit you before the door swung open.

You climbed in shotgun with your travel pillow, planner, and a bag of emergency chargers. Already, you could feel the familiar knot of excitement and exhaustion twisting in your gut.

“I’ve made an itinerary,” you declared, voice sharp but playful, brandishing your planner like a weapon. “If any of you derail it, I will throw you into the ocean.”

Payback gave you a solemn nod. “Noted. Ocean it is.”

The interior of the SUV was already a chaotic mess — discarded energy bar wrappers, a rogue sunglasses case, and what looked suspiciously like a half-empty thermos of Hangman’s questionable homemade “energy elixir” on the floor.

Next pickup: Bob.

He emerged from his place looking like a professional who just survived a surprise drill — single duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a neck pillow looped around his shoulders like a scarf, and a coffee in each hand.

He handed you one without missing a beat. “I got you the cinnamon one,” he said, voice low and rough with sleep but laced with that soft warmth you knew well. “Even though you called me a disgrace on the group chat last night.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You remembered that?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “You always get the cinnamon one. Even when you say you’re gonna try vanilla.”

Your heart did a weird little flip, and you forced yourself to look away, pulling the sleeve of your pajama top down over your hand. He climbed into the third row, sliding his duffel under the seat with a tired sigh. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him there anyway.

Next stop: Hangman.

He arrived like he was headlining a rock show — suitcase in one hand, a hanging tuxedo bag slung over the other, a tote full of random clinking glass bottles balanced precariously on top, and a ukulele strapped to his back.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why.”

He grinned, unfazed. “It’s Maui. I’m bringing ambiance.”

“You’re bringing chaos,” Payback muttered from the driver’s seat.

At the front door, Fanboy and Coyote were locked in their usual pre-trip standoff, voices raised just enough to be heard over the hum of the city waking up.

“I’m just saying if I don’t bring my Captain Rex helmet, who’s gonna protect me from UV exposure?”

“You’re gonna end up on a TSA watchlist, man.”

You smirked to yourself. The helmet was a relic from Fanboy’s cosplay days, too bulky for travel but apparently essential.

As the door opened, they both piled into the back with the grace of a pack of raccoons digging through a dumpster.

The SUV was filling fast.

Finally, Phoenix and Rooster slid into the backseat together, each lugging matching duffels and wearing the same slightly frazzled look.

Rooster muttered, “This is cozy.”

Phoenix swiped through her inbox on her phone. “Cozy like a warzone.”

You shifted in your seat, scanning the crowded interior — 5 groomsmen, one Maid of Honor, one bride, one groom, seven bags of snacks, a ukulele, and approximately zero patience.

Payback started the engine, and the SUV lurched forward with a groan, tires crunching over gravel as you pulled out of the driveway and into the predawn traffic.

The air inside was thick with half-suppressed yawns, the hum of sleepy voices, and the faint scent of coffee that clung stubbornly to Bob’s jacket.

You caught Bob’s eye across the SUV as he settled in next to you, and for a split second, the chaos faded. You both knew this ride was just the beginning — the slow, messy, beautiful unraveling of everything you’d been holding back.

-

The engine hummed steadily as Payback expertly maneuvered the massive SUV through the quiet, pre-dawn streets. Inside, it felt like the world had been shrunk down to this cramped, noisy bubble of blankets, chargers, and endless coffee cups.

Fanboy immediately popped his headphones on, blasting what sounded suspiciously like ’80s rock ballads, and promptly started belting out every lyric—off-key but with full enthusiasm.

“Dude, lower it!” Payback barked without looking. “I’m trying to drive, not attend a karaoke competition.”

Fanboy gave a dramatic shrug. “You don’t own the radio.”

From the back, Hangman strummed a few chords on his ukulele, setting an impromptu soundtrack that didn’t quite mesh with the ’80s rock but somehow fit the chaos perfectly.

Coyote, who had wedged himself into a tiny corner between duffels and snack bags, deadpanned, “This is how I imagine hell smells.”

Bob tossed you a grin as he took a sip of his coffee, careful not to spill in the tight space. “You know, for someone who claims to have this itinerary locked down, you’re already off schedule.”

You shot him a look, fiddling with your planner as if it was a weapon. “That’s because I anticipate chaos, Floyd. I live for chaos.”

“Of course you do,” he said, smirking.

Your eyes caught his for just a moment longer than necessary before you looked away. The air between you was charged with something unspoken—an undercurrent beneath all the noise.

Payback suddenly slammed a hand on the console. “Snack time!”

Everyone groaned but reached for the bags anyway.

You raised an eyebrow at Bob as he peeled open a bag of overly salted chips. “Watch out, Sweetie. This might throw your whole hydration plan off.”

“Better than your plan to drink nothing but energy drinks and coffee,” you teased back.

Bob grinned. “I have a system.”

“Which involves being a walking jitterbug.”

As the miles ticked by, conversations bounced wildly—from Rooster’s awkward attempts at wedding puns (“If you mess up the vows, I’ll ground you for life”) to Phoenix’s strategic analysis of flight delays (“We’ll be lucky if the plane’s on time”).

Hangman suddenly blurted out, “We should start a playlist battle. Everyone submits one song. Loser has to do the chicken dance at the reception.”

Fanboy immediately shot back, “You’re going down, Seresin.”

Coyote just shook his head, muttering, “I’m too old for this.”

You and Bob exchanged a glance—half amused, half tired—before he quietly said, “You’re gonna kill me for this, but… I actually like this chaos.”

You smiled softly. “Me too.”

Payback glanced in the rearview mirror. “Alright, squad. Ten minutes till airport. Last chance to make peace with your luggage.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hangman said, unzipping one of his bags and pulling out a questionable bottle labeled ‘Liquid Courage.’ “I’m already made my peace.”

Bob caught your eye again and gave a subtle nod, like a silent promise that he’d be there to steady you through whatever came next.

And as the SUV rolled closer to the airport lights flickering in the distance, you felt it—this trip, this mess of friends, family, and maybe something more—was going to change everything.

-

Valet parking? A nightmare.

Hangman tried to tip the valet with a shot-sized bottle of rum.

“Bro,” the kid blinked at him, “I can’t take this.”

Hangman held it out again, smiling like he was on a resort commercial. “C’mon, you’re telling me you don’t need this more than I do?”

Phoenix groaned and yanked him backward by the backpack strap. “Put the contraband away, Jimmy Buffett.”

The rest of the squad poured out of the car like clowns out of a tiny circus vehicle. Bags hit the curb. Coffee cups spilled. Someone’s neck pillow went flying.

“Whose Crocs are these?” Payback yelled, holding them up like roadkill.

“Mine,” Fanboy said proudly, slipping them on. “Flight mode: activated.”

Check-in? Worse.

Fanboy’s bag got pulled aside because his lightsaber replica “looked suspiciously real.”

“It’s a collectible!” he argued as the airline employee gently prodded it like it might explode. “It’s signed by Ewan McGregor!”

Coyote had to dig through Bob’s bag after it flagged for “unusual items.”

“Bro,” he said, pulling out what looked like thirty tiny travel bottles of sunscreen. “Are you trying to open a beachside CVS?”

Bob shrugged, completely unbothered. “Skin protection is squad safety.”

Rooster, already stress-sweating through his t-shirt, frantically patted his jeans. “Where’s my wallet? I had it—”

“Check your left jacket pocket,” you and Phoenix said in unison, not even looking up.

He paused, reached in, and held it up sheepishly. “Thanks.”

You were carrying six people’s boarding passes like some sort of chaotic air-traffic controller.

“Stop handing me snacks! I have important documents!” you barked as Fanboy tried to pass you a mini bag of Cheez-Its.

Phoenix was at the counter, all but breathing fire at the airline rep. “I paid for aisle seats. We were guaranteed aisle seats. Why does my fiancé now have to middle-seat between two strangers named Gary and Donna?”

“Ma’am,” the agent said flatly, “the system auto-assigned based on status—”

“My status is BRIDE, I will burn this system to the ground.”

You were three seconds from combusting. You hadn’t even gotten through security and you were ready to fake a medical emergency just to lie down.

“Hey,” Bob murmured, stepping up beside you while the others bickered over snacks and whose luggage had wheels.

You turned, your shoulders still tight.

“You’re keeping everyone alive right now,” he said gently.

You exhaled, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Feels like I’m babysitting grown children.”

“You are,” he said, smiling faintly as he handed you a granola bar. “But I’ve got your back.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. But your fingers brushed his as you took the wrapper. His hand lingered for a second longer than it should have. You didn’t move away.

Then Hangman yelled, “C’MON! LAST ONE TO SECURITY PAYS FOR DRINKS AT THE GATE BAR!”

Suddenly it was the Kentucky Derby and your squad was off like caffeinated horses.

-

The security line was somehow both long and entirely unequipped to handle this particular brand of chaos.

Hangman tried to flirt with the TSA agent.

“Ma’am, do you believe in love at first pat-down?”

The woman didn’t blink. “Sir, take your boots off and step aside.”

Fanboy’s backpack sang the Star Wars theme when it passed through the scanner, drawing a solid ten seconds of dead silence from the line.

“It’s the bag,” he said, holding his hands up. “It has motion sensors. It was a gift!”

You, meanwhile, nearly left your phone in the plastic bin and had to run back barefoot while Bob frantically waved it at you.

“You’re literally the one with the itinerary!” he hissed, handing it over.

“I’M UNDER A LOT OF PRESSURE,” you shouted, tugging your shoes on and stumbling forward.

Somehow — by the grace of every wedding god in existence, including probably Aphrodite herself — you made it to the gate.

The sun hadn’t even risen. The airport still smelled vaguely like bleach and stale muffins.

Only six more days until the wedding.

God help you all.

You all made it through, somehow.

Only minor casualties: Hangman got flagged for “suspiciously charming energy,” and Fanboy almost cried when TSA opened his duffel full of Marvel merch and confiscated a replica Mjölnir.

“I need that for emotional support!” Fanboy had argued while Payback filmed from behind a potted plant.

Rooster got randomly selected for an extra pat-down and immediately claimed it was “because they could sense greatness.”

Coyote, stuck behind a family of seven with matching Mickey Mouse ears, looked five seconds from committing a felony.

Eventually, the Dagger Squad emerged victorious into the terminal—sweaty, half-awake, and fueled entirely by spite and overpriced coffee.

You flopped into a chair next to Bob with the kind of boneless exhaustion that came from being awake since 3:45 a.m. and mentally wrestling the squad through security.

Bob passed you half his granola bar without looking, eyes still scanning the boarding monitors.

You accepted it without a word, chewing slowly as the chaos unfolded around you like a play no one had rehearsed.

Across the terminal, Rooster was aggressively trying to herd the rest of the group toward the gate. He was yelling something about boarding zones, final calls, and “WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING TO ME?”

Hangman, naturally, was ignoring him and live-commentating strangers’ outfits like he was hosting a red carpet.

“Okay, we’ve got cargo shorts at two o’clock—bold choice. And—oh!—a fanny pack and Crocs combo. Revolutionary. We’re witnessing history, folks.”

Payback had started singing for no reason. No lyrics, just pure dramatic humming like he was the soundtrack to an epic war film.

Fanboy had re-opened his backpack on the floor and was aggressively reorganizing his Funko Pops like they were combat troops.

Coyote, meanwhile, sat hunched over in a nearby chair, neck pillow on, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, looking like a man who had aged ten years since curbside drop-off.

It was the kind of beautiful disaster that only this group could cause in a public space.

“You okay?” Bob asked softly, voice barely above the terminal buzz.

You turned your head toward him. He was watching you, calm and quiet and steady, like he hadn’t just been stuck between Hangman’s feet and a crying toddler for a five-hour layover.

You exhaled. “It’s a good chaos. I love this chaos.”

His mouth quirked, just a little. “Same,” he said. “As long as you’re in it.”

And that was—goddammit. That was dangerous.

You turned to say something—something dumb and sarcastic and safe like, ‘aw, you’re getting soft on me,’ or ‘tell that to me after another week of wedding stuff,’—but before you could open your mouth, the gate agent’s voice cut across the speakers like a battle cry:

“Flight 176 to Maui is now boarding. First class and Group One may now approach the gate.”

Rooster stood up like he was being deployed to a combat zone. “Let’s move, assholes! We trained for this!”

Hangman tripped over someone’s duffel. “It’s not mine, but I’m suing whoever left it there.”

Fanboy dropped his Switch and screamed like he’d been shot.

Payback fist-pumped. “CHAAARGE!”

(Several other passengers flinched.)

Phoenix, holding a cold brew like it was a weapon, just muttered, “And this is why people hate group travel.”

And Bob?

He turned to you, held out his hand. “C’mon.”

You took it.

Just for a second—to help you up. Just to steady yourself.

But it lingered a little longer than it had to.

Warm. Familiar. Electric.

You didn’t let go right away either.

And neither of you said anything about it.

Not now. Not yet.

The chaos of boarding swallowed you up, but your hand still felt like his had never left.

-

You all surged toward the gate like a pack of caffeinated raccoons in overpriced athleisure.

Rooster tried to organize the line based on boarding groups. “Group Three! Where’s Group Three? Hangman, you’re Group Three! Quit trying to sneak up with Group One!”

“I am Group One,” Hangman argued, holding out his phone like it was proof of royalty. “I paid for premium. It’s called treating yourself, baby.”

“You paid for an exit row,” Fanboy snorted. “Relax, Bezos.”

Phoenix sidestepped them both and handed the gate agent her ticket with the precision of a Navy sniper. Payback followed, dragging a carry-on that kept wobbling like one wheel had committed treason.

You scanned your boarding pass, barely dodging a stray elbow from a woman who looked like she would cut someone for an overhead bin.

And Bob?

Bob had your backpack slung over his shoulder, because you’d switched with him back at security when your strap started digging into your collarbone. He didn’t complain. Just adjusted it and kept walking.

You reached the jet bridge.

“Smell that?” Hangman announced behind you.

Phoenix didn’t even look back. “If you say something weird, I will hit you.”

“I was just gonna say it smells like vacation,” he defended. “And maybe a little like disappointment and Jet-A fuel, but mostly—vacation.”

Fanboy wheezed. “I thought that was Coyote’s deodorant.”

Coyote shoved him gently into the side of the jet bridge.

Rooster handed his ticket to the flight attendant and turned to yell over his shoulder. “Remember! Assignments don’t matter. Just sit down and shut up!”

Thirty seconds later, karma hit him like a delayed airbag.

Because somehow—some beautiful, divine twist of fate—he got separated from the group and was now wedged in the middle seat of Row 21 between a man named Gary, who smelled like boiled peanuts, and a woman named Donna, who was knitting with steel needles.

“Hi there!” Donna chirped, stabbing the air three inches from Rooster’s ribs with her scarf-in-progress.

Gary gave him a solemn nod. “You with the military?”

Rooster blinked. “Uh—yeah.”

“Cool. Wanna see pictures of my lawn mower?”

Twenty rows ahead, you buckled into your window seat and looked over at Bob in the middle. His knees were already pressed uncomfortably into the seat in front of him.

You offered him the aisle. “You want to switch?”

He shook his head. “No, you love the window. I’m good.”

Fanboy flopped into the seat next to Bob with zero grace, nearly elbowing a flight attendant in the process. “DIBS ON BOB. Road trip rules, I ride with the snack guy.”

Bob looked at you like help, but you just smiled sweetly and put in your earbuds.

Across the aisle, Payback and Phoenix were already arguing about what to watch.

“Let’s do a thriller,” Phoenix suggested.

“Woman, I am barely held together with caffeine and prayer. We’re watching Moana and we’re crying about it.”

Coyote and Hangman had somehow finagled exit row seats and were now trying to convince the flight attendant that they definitely read the safety instructions.

“Of course I know how to open the emergency door,” Hangman said, leaning back like he was already on a beach. “Just throw a chair through it, right?”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand.

Bob leaned toward you slightly, voice low. “Place your bets. How long before Rooster snaps?”

You checked the clock on your phone. “We haven’t even taken off yet.”

“Exactly.”

A loud thwack echoed from the back of the plane.

Fanboy hissed, “Oh my god, what was that?”

Bob peered over the seat. “Donna dropped a knitting needle. Rooster looks…trapped.”

You looked too.

Gary was now showing Rooster something on his phone that looked suspiciously like a spreadsheet of lawn care stats.

Rooster’s soul had visibly left his body.

You turned back to Bob, trying not to laugh. “We should help him.”

Bob tilted his head. “Should we?”

You grinned. “No. Definitely not.”

The plane started to taxi.

Hangman yelled from somewhere up front, “IF I DIE, DELETE MY BROWSER HISTORY!”

Payback shouted back, “TOO LATE!”

The engine roared.

You closed your eyes and leaned back, fingers lightly brushing the armrest between you and Bob.

His hand was right there.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to feel.

And for one second—just one—you thought about linking your pinky with his.

But then Fanboy yelled, “I LEFT MY FUNKO BAG AT THE GATE!” and Bob shot up so fast he almost headbutted the overhead bin.

Chaos resumed. The moment passed.

But your hand still tingled.

And you weren’t sure if it was the altitude, or just Bob.

-

The seatbelt sign dinged off.

Which, apparently, was everyone’s cue to descend into lawlessness.

Hangman immediately reclined his seat into Coyote’s lap like a Victorian fainting lady. “Wake me up when we land, darling,” he mumbled, already yanking his hood over his face.

“Bro. I can’t move my legs.”

“Then die quietly.”

Across the aisle, Phoenix was already popping her second Dramamine like she was prepping for war. “Don’t touch me,” she warned Payback. “I’m entering my dissociative travel state.”

Payback grinned and opened a pack of Skittles with the sound of a tiny explosion. “Want one?”

“No.”

“Want five?”

You watched with silent amusement, adjusting your tray table and glancing sideways at Bob, who’d just pulled out a book. One of those worn paperbacks with a cracked spine and a small yellow highlighter clipped inside.

“What are you reading?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He showed you the cover. Dune.

“You brought Dune on a six-hour flight?”

“I like the world-building,” he said, softly.

You smiled at him, about to ask a follow-up, when—

THUD.

A kid two rows behind you kicked the back of Hangman’s seat so hard his head snapped forward.

He jolted upright like he’d been tased. “WHAT—”

The kid’s mom shushed him without even looking up from her iPad. “It’s fine, he’s just excited.”

Hangman turned around. “Excited to do what, commit war crimes?!”

Bob sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Fanboy reached into his bag. “Okay, I brought snacks. Like actual snacks. I had a coupon.”

You stared at the pile he produced: three Lunchables, a can of Pringles, two sleeves of Oreos, an unwrapped mozzarella stick, and a jar of pickles.

“A jar?” Bob asked.

Fanboy shrugged. “Emotional support pickles.”

“I’ll allow it,” you said, taking a Pringle.

Rooster, meanwhile, was suffering. From twenty rows back, you could see Donna knitting like her life depended on it, while Gary showed Rooster videos of squirrels using tiny umbrellas in his backyard.

“Did I ever tell you about my nephew?” Donna asked.

Rooster opened his mouth. “No, but—”

“Well, he’s in jail.”

“Oh.”

“For arson.”

Bob leaned forward again to peek back. “I’m giving him twenty more minutes before he jumps.”

“Optimistic,” you murmured, cracking open a Sprite.

Then—turbulence.

A hard bump shook the plane like someone had uppercutted it from below. Your drink splashed over the edge, fizzing on your tray. Phoenix cursed. Fanboy screamed “WE’RE GOING DOWN” in a falsetto. Bob instinctively reached out, hand bracing the seat in front of him—and accidentally brushing your thigh.

His touch was fleeting.

But it lingered.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But now you were very aware of the space between you.

Another bump rocked the cabin. Hangman yelped. “If I die next to this demonic toddler, I swear to God—”

“Stop yelling at children,” Coyote hissed.

“I’m not yelling. I’m disciplining.”

Meanwhile, Bob was calmly digging around in the seat pocket, pulling out the barf bag and offering it to Fanboy. “Just in case.”

“I don’t need that,” Fanboy said proudly.

Then immediately turned green.

The seatbelt sign dinged back on.

Phoenix opened her eyes. “Are we crashing?”

“No,” Bob said evenly. “Just mild turbulence.”

“Mild?” Hangman shouted. “My organs just realigned.”

A flight attendant wobbled down the aisle, bracing herself. “Folks, please remain seated—”

She didn’t finish the sentence before someone spilled their orange juice across the aisle, narrowly missing her.

Rooster suddenly stood up from Row 21, looking disheveled and haunted.

“I need to switch seats,” he said, loudly. “Gary’s showing me squirrel taxidermy. Donna just invited me to her nephew’s parole hearing.”

The flight attendant smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, please remain seated.”

“But I can’t remain mentally intact—”

“Sir.”

Rooster sat back down with a groan so loud, you heard it all the way up front.

Fanboy was now half-curled in the aisle like a shrimp. Bob was patting his shoulder with medical-grade calmness. “Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”

You were trying not to laugh.

Until Bob looked at you and said, “Wanna split a Lunchable?”

You lost it.

For the next twenty minutes, the plane jostled mildly, Fanboy whimpered quietly, and you and Bob passed back and forth tiny slices of cheese and crackers like it was some post-apocalyptic picnic.

When the turbulence finally subsided, the cabin slowly relaxed.

The kid behind Hangman fell asleep mid-kick.

Fanboy muttered, “I lived, bitch,” and passed out on Bob’s shoulder.

And you?

You leaned against the window, eyelids fluttering.

Just as you felt yourself drifting off, you felt something.

Bob.

His arm. Shifting, slightly.

Not enough to wake Fanboy.

Just enough to brush your elbow with his.

And then—he left it there.

You pretended to be asleep.

But your heart was wide awake.

-

Maui.

They say paradise smells like plumeria and saltwater.

But for your squad, it smelled like recycled cabin air, old socks, and emotional damage.

The wheels touched down on the runway with a jarring bounce that had everyone bracing like it was a crash landing. Fanboy cheered. Hangman clapped ironically. Rooster muttered, “Thank you, Jesus,” like he’d just survived war.

“Welcome to Kahului,” the flight attendant said over the speaker, way too cheerfully for a woman who had just endured seven hours of chaos and a man named Gary explaining the ecosystem of squirrel mating rituals.

The plane doors opened. A wave of heat slammed through the cabin like God turning on a blow dryer.

Coyote stood up and immediately hit his head on the overhead bin. “Maui, baby!” he yelled, while clutching his skull.

Rooster stumbled out behind him, dragging his carry-on like it was a corpse. “I need therapy,” he whispered. “And ginger ale. And possibly an exorcism.”

Hangman tossed his bag over his shoulder like a movie hero, then turned back to the toddler who’d been kicking his seat.

“Hey, champ,” he said, kneeling to the kid’s level. “Hope you step on a Lego.”

The mom gasped.

Coyote yanked Hangman by the collar. “Leave the child, Jake.”

-

Baggage claim was carnage.

The conveyor belt whirred to life, and every person on your flight swarmed like seagulls spotting a french fry.

“Okay,” Phoenix said, cracking her neck. “We grab the bags, grab the van, and get to the resort before I die of dehydration or punch someone in TSA.”

Fanboy was leaning against a column like a man freshly reborn. “I left my soul somewhere over the Pacific.”

Payback’s duffel came out first, then Rooster’s floral monstrosity. Bob’s was last, because of course it was. He stood there silently watching the empty belt loop back around like it had personally betrayed him.

“I don’t even know if my bag exists anymore,” he said.

“I think it went into another dimension,” you added.

“Maybe Donna took it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Eventually, the gang was luggage-loaded and shuffling toward the rental car lot, which was about ten minutes too far from the terminal for people running on zero sleep and spite.

Payback pulled up the booking on his phone. “Okay, I got us a van. Big one. Seats eight. Let’s ride.”

You spotted it first—silver, already running, air conditioning cranked. A beacon of hope in the Maui heat.

Everyone sprinted like it was the Hunger Games.

“SHOTGUN!” Phoenix yelled.

“HELL NO, I’M THE GROOM,” Rooster shouted, bounding up the sidewalk.

“I’M THE BRIDE!”

“AND I LOVE YOU, BUT THAT SEAT IS MINE.”

You were doubled over laughing, watching them both full-on sprint to the passenger side door like their lives depended on it.

Phoenix got there first and slapped a hand on the door handle.

Rooster, panting beside her, stared at her like a man betrayed. “Babe.”

“I’m the bride.”

He put a hand on his heart. “You’re right.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

“No, seriously. You’re absolutely right. My bad. Please—” he opened the door with a dramatic bow, “take the seat. I’ll just crawl into the back row with Satan and his gremlin friends.”

The group exploded into laughter.

Fanboy screamed. Payback wheezed. Coyote was on the ground.

“Satan and his gremlins,” Hangman repeated. “Is that us? I’m honored.”

Rooster climbed into the third row with you, Bob, and Coyote, sulking like a Victorian widow. “I was this close to freedom.”

Phoenix tossed her bag at his feet. “You’re welcome, my love.”

“Unbelievable,” Rooster muttered, wedging himself between Bob and a cooler full of snacks.

Bob offered him a Capri Sun.

Rooster blinked. “Is this ‘Pacific Cooler’?”

“Only the best.”

“Okay, maybe this trip will be okay.”

Fanboy cranked the aux cord from the middle row. “Alright, what are we thinking? Beyoncé? Reggaeton? Or full ‘Mamma Mia’ soundtrack?”

“Option C,” Hangman said immediately.

“‘Voulez-Vous’ or nothing,” Payback agreed.

As the van pulled away from the curb, eight grown adults began belting ABBA like they were auditioning for Broadway.

You glanced sideways at Bob, who was silently mouthing the lyrics.

You bumped your knee against his. “You like this song?”

“I like any song you sing along to.”

And just like that—

You forgot about the flight. The chaos. The heat.

Because Bob was smiling at you like you were the whole reason he came on this trip.

And maybe, just maybe…

You were.

-

The van rolled to a stop under the shaded portico of the resort, the ocean glittering just beyond the palm-lined entrance like a smug postcard.

You barely had time to blink before the squad spilled out of the vehicle like gremlins escaping a box.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix said, staring up at the open-air lobby. “This is… wow.”

“I suddenly feel poor,” Fanboy muttered, dragging his suitcase like it owed him money.

The resort was absurd. Massive white columns, koi ponds, bellhops in floral shirts. Everything smelled like orchids and tax brackets.

A valet approached, and Payback tossed him the keys. “There’s an open Capri Sun in the back. It’s for emotional support.”

Rooster looked around, squinting behind his aviators. “Where’s the desk?”

You pointed. “There. Past the statue of King Kamehameha and the water feature shaped like a stingray.”

“Casual.”

Phoenix, with full bride energy, marched inside like she owned the place. “Let’s check in before I pass out and haunt this resort as a petty little ghost.”

You followed, dragging your duffel and sunglasses and the weight of a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call.

Bob, already sweating through his shirt, carried his backpack, your carry-on, and Rooster’s camera bag like the unproblematic king he was. “Do we know what name the reservation is under?”

Phoenix looked over her shoulder. “Mine. Natasha Trace.”

Hangman snorted. “Damn. Full government name. We’re serious now.”

The front desk attendant—young, shiny, and probably named something like Skylar—greeted you with a rehearsed smile. “Aloha! Welcome to the Kāne Kaiaulu Resort. Checking in?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, all business. “Natasha Trace. Bridal party.”

Skylar’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Ooooh! You’re the bride!” She tapped away on her keyboard like this was the best thing to happen all shift. “We have you in the Ali’i Suite. And you’ve got two adjoining rooms and a villa booked for the rest of your group.”

“Villa?” Rooster echoed. “We got a villa?”

Phoenix gave him a look. “I got us a villa. You’re welcome.”

“You’re so hot when you’re aggressive.”

“Shut up and carry my purse.”

Skylar handed out room keys with a flourish. “Okay! Room breakdown is as follows: Phoenix and Rooster in the bridal suite. For the villa, Coyote and Hangman in Room 1403. Payback and Fanboy in Room 1405. And then…” she grinned, “1406 Bob and—” she looked at you, then down at the screen, then back at you, “Sweetie? That’s your callsign?”

“Don’t ask,” you said.

“She’s sweet until she’s not,” Hangman chimed in.

“She bit me once,” Coyote added.

“She’s never gonna live that down,” you muttered.

Skylar handed you both a gold keycard. “You two are in the ocean-view master bedroom with a king bed, private balcony, and rainfall shower.”

There was a pause.

You blinked. “King bed?”

Bob blinked. “Rainfall shower?”

Rooster cackled in the background like this was the best sitcom he’d ever seen.

“Enjoy your stay!” Skylar said cheerfully.

-

The elevator ride up to the villa was silent.

Well, almost.

Coyote was humming “Mamma Mia.” Hangman was FaceTiming his abs in the reflective ceiling. Rooster kept smacking Bob’s shoulder and mouthing king bed like a fourth grader in sex ed.

You looked at Bob.

He looked at you.

And yeah, this was gonna be a long-ass week.

-

The elevator dinged at the top floor with an overly posh chime that felt almost offensive after twelve hours of hellish travel. A hotel staff member led the way, unlocking a large frosted-glass door with a “Kaiaulu Elite” plaque that screamed if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

You stepped inside and immediately forgot how to breathe.

“Holy shit,” Fanboy said, wide-eyed.

The villa looked like it had been ripped straight out of a travel influencer’s reel. Vaulted ceilings, sleek marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that opened to a massive balcony with a panoramic view of the Pacific. There were palm trees swaying dramatically in the breeze like they had an aesthetic to maintain. A massive kitchen gleamed like no one had ever dared touch it. The living room alone could host a TED Talk.

And the bedrooms?

All off a central hallway, each with its own locked door, each labeled with gold plaques: 1403, 1405, and 1406

“This isn’t a villa,” Hangman breathed. “This is Beyoncé’s panic room.”

Payback flopped onto the designer couch and let out a long groan. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be stuck to this leather like a Fruit Roll-Up.”

Bob hovered awkwardly near the hallway, scanning the room numbers. “Looks like… Hangman and Coyote are in 1403, Payback and Fanboy are 1405…”

He turned to you.

You were holding the 1406 keycard.

His said 1406, too.

You both stared at it. Then at each other. Then at the very large, very shared king-sized problem waiting behind that door.

“Oh, hell yes,” Hangman said, already halfway down the hall. “Roommate reveal time!”

“No shoes in the bedrooms!” you called after him.

“Too late,” he yelled.

Fanboy wheeled his suitcase in a lazy circle across the marble floor. “I feel like we’re in the final round of a reality show. Like if someone doesn’t cry in the shower by day three, it’s a failure.”

Payback raised a hand. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Bob set down his bags and looked over at you. “Do you wanna… check it out?”

You lifted your brows. “What, our shared domestic life in Room 1406?”

He blushed. “I meant the rainfall shower.”

You snorted and led the way.

-

Room 1406 was—of course—insane.

Cream walls, massive windows, a balcony with two lounge chairs and a view straight out of a dream. There was a complimentary bottle of champagne chilling in a gold bucket. The king bed looked like it could fit six people and still have room for regrets. The en suite bathroom had a soaking tub, twin sinks, and a shower big enough to host a concert in.

Bob let out a stunned little breath. “This is… wow.”

“Yeah,” you said. “We’re definitely gonna end up accidentally married in here.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but he laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean, statistically,” he said. “I do already know your toothpaste brand and how you like your eggs.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get cocky, Floyd.”

He smiled. “Never.”

You dropped your bag on the bed and sank down next to it. The mattress cradled your body like it had been blessed by saints. You groaned. “I’m never moving again.”

“Dinner’s in an hour.”

“I will simply ascend and feast as a ghost.”

Bob, still standing awkwardly by the door, gave you a look like he was about to say something else—maybe something real. But then:

“YO! WHO TOOK THE MASTER BATH?!”

Coyote’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by a crash and Hangman laughing maniacally.

You sighed. “And so it begins.”

-

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a syrupy gold light over the resort as you and the rest of the squad made your way across the winding, lantern-lit paths to the oceanside restaurant reserved for the welcome dinner.

You had about thirty minutes to unpack, shower, and pretend you weren’t feral. Somehow, you made it—barely. Your hair was damp from a frantic rinse, you were still applying mascara in the elevator, and Rooster had been yelling down the hallway for ten minutes about how “this wasn’t optional.”

You were in a beachy dress you didn’t remember packing, your sandals were on the wrong feet, and Bob had walked into the bathroom twice mid-shirt-change while politely trying to not see anything. So yeah. Normal vacation stuff.

By the time you reached the private outdoor patio at the restaurant, the place was already buzzing. Tables were strung together beneath rows of glowing bistro lights, the air heavy with the scent of plumeria, roasted garlic, and whatever cocktail was glowing bright blue in Rooster’s hand.

“Squad, assemble!” Phoenix called from the head of the table, raising a mai tai in greeting.

She looked stunning—white dress, flower tucked behind her ear, a total bridal vision. Next to her, Rooster was already schmoozing with guests like he was running for office. You watched him nod seriously at someone’s uncle, then immediately trip over a tiki torch.

“Smooth,” Payback muttered.

“Presidential,” Fanboy added.

You found your name card halfway down the table, tucked beside Bob’s—of course. He was already pulling out your chair for you.

“Wow,” you said, smirking as you sat. “Chivalry?”

He shrugged, smoothing his dress shirt. “Trying not to embarrass you in front of Phoenix’s mom.”

“Too late for that,” someone drawled from across the table.

You looked up—and nearly choked on your breath.

The man sliding into the seat opposite you was tan, broad-shouldered, with a crooked grin and hair a little too good for someone not famous. He wore his Hawaiian shirt open just enough to be a problem.

“Leo Trace,” he said, offering a hand. “Phoenix’s older, hotter brother.”

You shook it, heart skidding. “Sweetie,” you said. “Bridesmaid. Not hotter.”

“Debatable,” Leo said, smiling right at you.

Across from you, Bob choked softly into his water.

Phoenix leaned across the table and gave you a look. “I forgot to warn you. He flirts like it’s a sport. Feel free to ignore him.”

“Rude,” Leo said. “I came all this way for my only sister’s wedding and I’m being slandered already?”

“You came because mom guilt-tripped you,” Phoenix said flatly.

“She said I’d get a tan and maybe meet my future wife.”

You glanced down at your plate.

Bob quietly readjusted the silverware.

“Anyway,” Leo said, grinning at you again. “So. You’re in the squad? You fly, too?”

“She flies,” Rooster said, materializing beside the table with a fresh beer. “She terrifies.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Hangman called from three seats down. “She once threatened to land a jet on my truck.”

“Because you parked in her spot,” Phoenix added, sipping.

Leo looked absolutely delighted. “Do you come with subtitles? Because I’m trying to keep up.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get the crash course soon enough.”

Across from you, Bob adjusted his seat again.

You turned toward him. “Hey, did you try the rolls? They’re like, stupid good.”

He blinked, clearly caught mid-spiral. “I—uh—yeah. The bread. Very good bread.”

“Best man, right?” Leo asked him.

Bob nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Must be wild having your whole squad here. Feels like a reunion episode of a military soap opera.”

Bob let out a short breath. “That’s… one way to put it.”

You kicked him lightly under the table.

His eyes flicked to yours, and he relaxed—just a little.

-

By the time dessert rolled around, Rooster had spilled his third drink, Payback was crying laughing at something Fanboy showed him on his phone, and Hangman was deep in a bizarre debate with Phoenix’s aunt about whether or not Die Hard was a Christmas movie.

You were leaning back in your seat, completely full and very buzzed, when Leo turned to you again.

“So,” he said. “Any chance you’ll save me a dance at the reception?”

You opened your mouth—

“She’s sharing a room with me,” Bob blurted.

The table went quiet.

You blinked. “I—I am.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “Good for you, man.”

You watched Bob flush crimson. “I just meant—like—we’re friends. It’s not—we’re not—”

“Bro,” Fanboy said. “Abort.”

Bob let his head drop into his hands.

You turned to Leo and smiled. “I’ll think about that dance.”

-

The welcome dinner had technically ended three hours ago.

But someone—probably Fanboy—had muttered “I’m not tired, are you tired?” and that’s how eight fully grown adults ended up sprinting toward the beach with zero plan and a dangerous amount of post-mai-tai confidence.

The tiki torches lining the sand were flickering low, casting long shadows. The stars were out. The pool lights were off. Your feet were bare. Your dress was still on. Someone had handed you a half-finished drink that tasted suspiciously like tequila and regret.

Phoenix kicked off her heels with dramatic flair and yelled, “I’m getting in whether you bitches follow or not!”

“You’re the bride!” Rooster shouted. “You can’t drown till after the ceremony!”

“She’s a Navy pilot, Bradshaw,” Bob said flatly. “She’s not gonna drown.”

“Thank you, Floyd!”

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t get bitten by a crab though.”

Hangman let out a gasp from where he was aggressively digging a hole in the sand with a margarita glass. “THAT’S WHY THE OCEAN SMELLED WEIRD. THEY’RE PLOTTING.”

“Who gave Jake tequila!?” Payback bellowed.

“You did,” Fanboy said calmly. “We all watched you do it.”

Rooster ripped his shirt off like he was auditioning for Baywatch and yelled, “If I die tonight, I want my gravestone to say ‘Died as he lived: dramatic and mostly shirtless!’”

And then he sprinted into the waves at full speed.

He got maybe six steps in before a wave took him out like God personally smited him.

You doubled over wheezing.

Coyote was crying laughing. “YOU LOOK LIKE LAUNDRY IN A WASH CYCLE.”

“I’M FINE,” Rooster yelled from the surf. “MY KNEE DID SOMETHING WEIRD BUT I’M FINE.”

Phoenix grabbed your wrist. “We’re next.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit!”

Phoenix looked you dead in the eye. “Neither does anyone. Let’s go, Sweetie.”

Before you could object, she pulled you full-speed into the surf. You screamed at the cold—only for a wave to slam into both of you with unholy vengeance. Saltwater hit your face. Your hair stuck to your skin. Someone behind you tripped and yelled, “WHY IS THE SAND SO UNEVEN???”

That was probably Leo.

You pushed your hair out of your face just in time to see Hangman cannonball directly into the water in jeans.

“HE’S IN DENIM,” Coyote shrieked. “SOMEONE STOP HIM.”

“I’M MAKING ART,” Hangman hollered, soaking wet, arms spread like Jesus in a Levi’s commercial.

Fanboy tried to body slam Payback. Missed. Got dunked.

Rooster reemerged from the sea with a piece of seaweed on his shoulder and shouted, “Poseidon has accepted me as his child!”

“Good for you, buddy!” Phoenix called.

Bob was still on the edge of the water, just past the shore, standing knee-deep with a calm look on his face. His dog tags glinted in the moonlight as he adjusted his glasses and watched all of you with the fond exhaustion of a man in love with the exact chaos he’d willingly walked into.

You waded over, soaked and breathless.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice barely above the sound of the surf.

“Define fun.”

“You’re smiling.”

You splashed him lightly. “You’re wearing socks with slides, Bob. Why?”

He glanced down. Groaned. “This is bullying.”

“No, this is love.”

He gave you a long look. A real one. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something else. But you both let the silence sit there, sweet and salt-laced, just long enough for Hangman to start yelling about bioluminescence behind you.

-

You burst into the villa like a group of very wet, very overdressed burglars.

Hangman slipped first — his loafers had zero traction on the polished tile — and barely caught himself on the back of the couch. “Who builds a beach next to a resort?!” he yelled, as if the architecture was to blame for him falling in.

“Literally everyone,” Fanboy answered, already peeling off his soaked blazer. “That’s the point of beachfront property.”

Payback followed behind him, sloshing with every step. “I swear to God, if I get trench foot because you idiots started a splash war—”

“You jumped in!” Coyote reminded him, squishing past in his damp linen pants.

“You said I wouldn’t!”

You were too cold to speak. Your dress clung to you like a wet napkin, and your clutch was full of seawater. Bob walked behind you with a dazed, almost peaceful expression — like he’d accepted his fate. His glasses were fogged and useless, and his button-down shirt had become transparent enough to qualify as a scandal.

“Your hair looks like a mop,” you said over your shoulder.

Bob blinked slowly. “I think my contacts dissolved.”

“Sweetie, you got kelp in your bra?” Phoenix asked, poking her head in from the open lanai door as she and Rooster prepared to leave for their private villa.

You pulled a sad little seaweed string out of your cleavage. “I’ll never be clean again.”

Phoenix saluted you solemnly. “Godspeed.”

Rooster slung an arm around her shoulders. “If the villa floods, don’t call us.”

“YOU’RE the one who started the splash fight!” Fanboy yelled after them.

They were gone before anyone could throw a sandal.

Back inside, the rest of the squad was in various states of undress and defeat. Clothes hit the floor with dramatic flair. Coyote was already rifling through the mini fridge in the living room, dripping water onto the marble like a trail of chaos.

“Who wants a road beer?” he asked.

“You’re in the villa,” Bob said, pointing at their suite number as he dragged his bag across the floor. “Go shower.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Dad,” Coyote called, grabbing a mini tequila and sauntering off to 1403 with Hangman trailing behind him.

“I feel like I’ve been exfoliated by the sea,” Hangman muttered.

“I think you mean violated,” Payback corrected.

Fanboy was sniffing his shoe. “This smells like fish death.”

“Then don’t bring it in the bedroom!” Payback snapped, grabbing his own bag and dragging Fanboy toward 1405.

The chaos slowly filtered out into doors slamming and muffled voices as the villa quieted down — or, at least, as quiet as it could get with six Dagger boys trying to figure out the bidet in their respective bathrooms.

That left you.

And Bob.

Both standing in front of your room: 1406, the master suite.

“I’m never getting the sand out of this dress,” you said quietly, twisting your braid over your shoulder.

Bob looked like a shipwreck survivor. “You could’ve taken it off before swimming.”

“You could’ve not walked straight into a wave like a sleepwalker.”

“…I panicked,” he mumbled.

You both stepped into the suite. The bed looked like a cloud made of marshmallows and wealth. There were soft robes folded neatly on the bench at the end of the bed, and a bowl of chocolates on the nightstand. The bathroom was the size of a studio apartment.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a sigh. “We survived the flight. The check-in. The dinner. The ocean.”

Bob sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks with an exhausted grunt. “You forgot the part where Coyote tried to baptize me with a piña colada.”

“I thought you liked tropical immersion.”

“I didn’t think it would be literal.”

You both peeled off wet clothes — not in a sexy way, more like two soggy roommates trying not to drip on the expensive rug. You pulled on the villa robe, tied it tight, and rubbed a towel through your hair.

Bob reappeared from the bathroom in boxers and a soft gray t-shirt. His curls were damp, his glasses finally clean, and he looked like a man who had absolutely no control over his own life anymore.

“You want the left side or right?” he asked.

You climbed into the bed without answering, burrowing straight into the sheets like a creature reclaiming its natural habitat.

“…Okay,” Bob muttered, slipping into the other side. “Noted.”

A moment passed.

Then you both burst into laughter — half-hysterical, half-delirious. The kind of laugh you get when you’re tired and overwhelmed and slightly buzzed from an evening of dumb decisions.

“I smell like seaweed and rum,” you wheezed.

“I can’t feel my kneecaps,” he whispered back.

You rolled onto your side, finally catching your breath. “Goodnight, Bob.”

He reached over and turned off the light. “Goodnight, Sweetie.”

-

The room was quiet.

Soft hum of the air conditioning. Outside, the ocean churned somewhere in the dark. A palm frond tapped the balcony glass every so often like a polite ghost asking to be let in.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up.

But it had to be deep in the middle of the night — the kind of hour where time felt soft and blurry, like the world had gone out of focus.

You were hot.

Or maybe cold. Or maybe just tangled. The comforter was twisted around your ankle, You shifted, trying to find a less cursed position.

Bob stirred beside you.

You froze.

“…You good?” he mumbled sleepily, voice thick and rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Sorry. Just—my spine’s in a permanent state of confusion.”

He made a soft noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. “You should’ve taken the fluffy side of the pillow.”

“Why is your side fluffier?”

“Because I claimed it.”

You squinted at him through the darkness. “Are you hoarding the good pillow, Floyd?”

“I’m not hoarding, I’m just—” he paused, clearly not awake enough to argue properly. “Whatever. Take it. I’ll survive.”

There was a brief shuffle, fabric rustling, and then he passed over the good pillow like some kind of medieval offering. You flopped dramatically onto it with a sigh of relief, and he laughed again — low and tired and genuine.

Silence returned.

But only for a minute.

“Hey,” you said suddenly.

“Mm?”

“If I die of sea-fungus or mysterious ocean bacteria from swimming in a saltwater infinity pool in clothes that have never been washed, tell everyone it was Rooster’s fault.”

“Obviously.”

“And bury me in this robe. Tell Phoenix it was my final wish.”

Bob shifted closer, just a little. You could feel the warmth of him behind you now — not touching, not quite, but close. The kind of close that buzzed.

“You’re not dying of sea-fungus,” he said. “I’m making you shower in the morning.”

You grinned into the pillow. “Bossy.”

“Tactical.”

You turned your head just slightly toward him. Couldn’t see much — just the vague blur of his face in the dark.

His voice went softer. “You warm enough?”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

Then — and you weren’t sure how or why it happened — you moved back half an inch. Maybe less.

Just enough for the back of your shoulder to brush against his chest.

He didn’t move away.

His fingers brushed yours under the blanket. Not a full hold. Just—there. Light, tentative.

Your pulse did something ridiculous.

“…Goodnight again,” you whispered.

This time, he didn’t respond with words.

Just a gentle squeeze of your pinky.

-

Somewhere in the villa, an iPhone alarm went off at full nuclear volume.

“WHOSE PHONE—”

“I’m gonna kill someone.”

“Make it stop. Kill it. Smash it.”

“FANBOY TURN IT OFF.”

“I thought I did!” Fanboy shouted from the other room, smacking random buttons on his phone. “Why is it connected to the bathroom speaker?!”

The alarm continued, now echoing through the villa like a demon inside a cave. Someone groaned loudly, then there was the muffled thud of a pillow being thrown and a distant splash — possibly Payback falling off the bed.

In room 1406, your eyes blinked open in slow, confused horror.

“What the hell,” you rasped. Your throat felt dry, your hair was stuck to your cheek.

Across the bed, Bob made a noise that sounded like a dying walrus and rolled over. “Did we get trampled by a stampede of sea cucumbers?”

“No,” you croaked. “That’s just Fanboy’s alarm.”

There was another thud, followed by Hangman’s voice somewhere in the hallway:

“Jesus Christ, I thought we were under attack. Fanboy, what are you doing, syncing it to the Bluetooth speaker like a war criminal?”

“I didn’t mean to! I was trying to set an ocean sounds sleep timer!”

You threw the covers off with a groan and stumbled into the bathroom. Your eyes were puffy, your eyeliner was half-melted down one cheek, and you had a faint outline of a leaf stuck to the side of your neck. Awesome.

Bob appeared in the doorway behind you, his hair sticking up at six different angles.

“I think the seaweed tried to strangle me in my sleep,” he said.

“You have a sock in your pocket.”

“Do I?”

You both stared at his reflection for a moment in silence.

“…We need to go eat something,” you finally said.

-

The squad stumbled into the hotel’s grand buffet like a group of very pretty, very hungover zombies.

Coyote had one shoe on. Phoenix was wearing sunglasses indoors. Rooster looked like he’d been dragged backward through a wedding centerpiece. Hangman kept muttering about “Bluetooth betrayal.”

The buffet itself was absurd.

Six omelet stations. A waffle bar with ten syrups. A juice fountain. There was a cheese concierge.

“I feel like I’ve wandered into a very sexy fever dream,” Fanboy whispered as he picked up a plate.

“I’m gonna get married just for this buffet,” Payback said, already scooping eggs like a man possessed. “Put it in the vows. Till death, waffles, and bacon do us part.”

Bob, still half-asleep but holding two mugs of coffee like lifelines, handed one to you without a word.

You took it gratefully, barely awake enough to register that it was somehow exactly how you liked it.

“Sweetie, you have a seaweed strand in your hair,” Phoenix deadpanned, not looking up from the fruit bar.

“I know,” you said flatly. “It’s part of my look now.”

You and Bob returned to the table, plates fully loaded, just in time for Payback to hold up his third croissant and say, mouth full: “So, what’s the plan today?”

“Town day,” Phoenix announced, still wearing her sunglasses like a celebrity in hiding. “We explore. We shop. I buy things I absolutely don’t need. I bully Rooster into matching outfits. I taste twelve flavors of shaved ice and rate them on a spreadsheet.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “I accept my fate.”

“And,” Hangman added, pointing dramatically with a fork, “we all buy horrendous tourist merch. Like coconut bras. Or shell necklaces. No one’s leaving Maui without looking like a budget Survivor contestant.”

“You just want an excuse to wear a floral sarong again,” Bob said.

“Again?” Fanboy blinked. “I’m sorry, what do you mean again—”

“I said what I said.”

Phoenix raised her mimosa. “Squad goal: spend money. Avoid sunburn. Only two emotional breakdowns allowed today.”

“And no one gets left behind this time,” you added pointedly.

Everyone looked at Rooster.

“OKAY,” he barked, holding up his hands. “I got on the wrong shuttle one time—”

-

The hotel shuttle door slid open with a hiss, and the Dagger Squad spilled out like contestants on a deranged group vacation special.

Phoenix immediately clapped her hands. “Okay, listen up. Here’s the plan: shaved ice, souvenir shops, matching t-shirts, tourist photos by the banyan tree, and then happy hour at that place on the beach. No one wander off. No one get another tattoo.”

“I regret nothing,” Fanboy muttered, tugging down the collar of his shirt to show off the tiny pineapple on his collarbone.

Rooster was already squinting against the sun. “It’s hot. Why is it so hot.”

“Because it’s the tropics and you refused to wear sunscreen,” Coyote said, handing him a floppy hat. “Put this on before your face peels off.”

“I look like a grandma.”

“You are a grandma,” Hangman said cheerfully. “Now smile. Squad photo time.”

-

You were in a full pineapple-printed outfit: matching shorts and crop top, courtesy of a wildly overpriced souvenir shop that you all ransacked like drunk pirates.

Rooster was in a shirt that read I GOT LEI’D IN MAUI. Phoenix had a tote bag that said Bridezilla Mode Activated. Payback was carrying two coconuts like he was dual-wielding them in a cartoon.

Bob was in a navy blue Hawaiian shirt patterned with tiny fighter jets and palm trees. His bucket hat said ALOHA, NERDS. He looked unreasonably good.

You told him that.

He promptly forgot how to breathe for a full three seconds.

Hangman, of course, noticed immediately.

“Oh, did Sweetie just call Bob hot again?” he gasped, hands to his chest. “I think I felt the earth quake.”

“Shut it,” you said, but you were smiling.

“I hate to say this,” Coyote added, “but you two are getting dangerously close to ‘mom and dad on vacation’ vibes. If you start arguing about dinner coupons, I’m out.”

“WE ARE NOT—”

“Sweetie, do not yell at me like I’m the manager of a resort timeshare,” Fanboy interrupted.

“I hate all of you,” you muttered.

-

You were halfway through your mango shaved ice and actively ignoring Hangman trying to barter with a street vendor over shell necklaces when you heard someone whistle low and familiar.

You turned—and there he was.

Leo Trace, wearing swim trunks, sunglasses, and a sleeveless tank top that showcased his deeply unfair arms. His hair was windswept. His grin was criminal. His tan had gotten even better overnight.

“Oh no,” Bob muttered.

“Oh yes,” Hangman said under his breath.

Leo jogged over, flashing a grin that was already trouble. “Hey, you guys made it! I just got done surfing—figured I’d come see if you all survived the buffet hangover.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Leo, go away.”

“You invited me to your wedding?.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Leo ignored her, turning to you with a lopsided smirk. “You look good in pineapples.”

“Thanks. You look like you belong in a cologne commercial,” you replied dryly.

“Appreciate that.” His eyes flicked to Bob. “Nice shirt, man. Really brings out the existential dread.”

Bob didn’t blink. “Thanks. So does your tank top. You buy that in the children’s section or was it just pre-shrunk from all the attention-seeking?”

You choked.

The squad exploded.

“Oh my god,” Fanboy whispered.

“Bob!” Payback clapped a hand over his mouth.

Leo blinked, then grinned wider. “Damn. You finally got teeth. Love that for you.”

Bob looked entirely unbothered. “Love that you noticed.”

Hangman was doubled over. “Someone give these two a kiddie pool and let them wrestle it out. I am begging.”

“Let’s not do this,” you said, somewhere between amused and horrified.

“We already are,” Rooster said, filming the whole thing on his phone.

Leo leaned toward you just slightly. “Hey—if you want to escape the senior citizens’ discount tour, I was gonna grab lunch by the cliffs. You in?”

Before you could answer, Bob said flatly, “She’s booked. Shaved ice, matching shirts, group meltdown scheduled for 2:15. Full itinerary.”

Leo snorted. “Well. In case you change your mind…”

He shot you a wink and sauntered off, giving Phoenix a noogie as he passed. She slapped him in the stomach and shouted “STOP BEING HOT AROUND MY FRIENDS” like she said it twice a week.

When he was gone, the group just stood there in stunned silence.

Then Fanboy whispered, “I’m scared to check Bob’s blood pressure.”

You turned to him. “Are you seriously beefing with Leo now?”

Bob didn’t look at you. “I’m not beefing.”

You just stared.

“Okay. I’m passive-aggressively defending your honor.”

Rooster howled.

You bit back a laugh. “My honor?”

“You heard me.”

“Okay, medieval knight.”

“Dibs on writing his dating profile,” Coyote said. “Bob Floyd: Defends Your Honor. Wears floral. Hates Leo Trace.”

“I don’t hate him,” Bob mumbled.

Everyone: “Mmmhmm.”

-

“I need an hour away from testosterone,” Phoenix announced, already peeling herself away from the group. “No offense, Bob.”

“None taken,” he said, still glaring in the direction Leo had walked.

You looped your arm through hers. “Are we ditching them?”

“We’re escaping them,” she corrected, pointing across the street. “That boutique. You’re coming with me.”

“Is this a bride-zilla errand or a retail therapy errand?”

“Yes.”

-

The shop smelled like plumeria and coconut candles. Soft acoustic covers of early 2000s hits were playing over the speakers — Norah Jones was crooning something about waiting. There were racks of linen sundresses, lace coverups, and flower-print wrap dresses. The kind of place that makes you believe in soft lighting and second chances.

Phoenix bee-lined toward a rack of flowing white maxi dresses.

You wandered toward a blush pink one with a tie at the waist. “You realize you already have your dress, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t have a brunch after the wedding, please excuse my post-nuptial glow dress,” she said, holding a sheer one up to the mirror. “This is logistics.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

“I am the bride.”

“…Fair.”

You flipped through hangers. “So what’s the vibe you’re going for? Effortless goddess? Sexy domestic vacation wife? Do you want to look like you own a villa or like you own an espresso machine and a quiet divorce?”

She held up a white halter with a gold clasp. “This says I make organic smoothies and my husband writes screenplays.”

“This says you eat your husband,” you countered.

“Perfect,” she grinned, and slung it over her arm.

-

A few dresses later, you found yourself half-draped across the plush pink chair in the dressing room lounge while Phoenix modeled her fifth option.

“This one’s kind of giving… spiritual retreat leader,” she said, turning in front of the mirror.

You squinted. “You look like you’d charge me $800 to rebalance my energy with ethically sourced moon crystals.”

“Okay, that’s a yes.”

You both laughed — the kind of easy, familiar laugh that came from years of this exact routine. Dress shops. Dumb commentary. Her being fearless. You being her anchor.

Phoenix stepped out of the changing room again, barefoot now, holding a gauzy shawl like she wasn’t totally convinced about it. “Hey… you okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re doing the thing where you go quiet and start folding clothes that don’t belong to you.”

Sure enough, your hands were smoothing out a top that had nothing to do with you.

You sighed, sitting back down. “Just… exhausted. Long night.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Did Bob snore?”

“No. He was actually weirdly quiet. Like, suspiciously polite. Like he was pretending he was asleep for most of it.”

“He probably was.”

“I don’t think so.”

She gave you that look. The one that meant: Say it out loud or I will. “What happened?”

You exhaled. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

Phoenix sat beside you. “Sweetie.”

You rubbed your hands over your face. “It’s just… I got in bed thinking it’d be awkward, or maybe funny, or we’d have a weird moment and joke about it. And instead, it was just—quiet. And warm. And he said goodnight like he meant it. And I—” you trailed off. “I didn’t sleep.”

“Because of Bob.”

“Because of Bob.”

Phoenix was silent for a beat. Then: “Can I ask something real?”

“Always.”

She turned toward you. “Are you scared it’s not just a crush anymore?”

Your breath caught. Then you whispered, “Yeah.”

“Sweetie.”

“I don’t know when it happened. Or how. It’s just—he’s always there. He listens, and he knows all my shit and doesn’t flinch. And when I wake up, I always kind of hope he’ll be there too.”

Phoenix leaned her head on your shoulder. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You’re already halfway in. And so is he. The rest is just one of you being brave enough to say it.”

You didn’t answer. You just sat there, surrounded by linen dresses and the smell of coconut, trying to breathe around the weight in your chest.

“Anyway,” Phoenix said, brightening, “I’m buying the expensive one.”

“I knew you would.”

“I deserve it.”

“Absolutely.”

-

By the time you and Phoenix made it back from the boutique, the rest of the squad had migrated to a beachside bar just down the road from the resort — the kind of place with frozen drinks served in pineapples, no walls, and a ukulele player crooning something vaguely Jack Johnson-adjacent in the corner.

You spotted them immediately: Hangman and Coyote arguing over who could bench more (both wrong), Fanboy building an elaborate tower out of coasters, Payback filming it for “scientific documentation,” and Rooster sipping a neon-colored drink that did not match his energy.

Bob was sitting between Rooster and an empty chair — sunglasses on, cheeks a little pink from the sun, shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked up as you approached.

And then blinked. And blinked again.

Because you weren’t wearing that hideous pineapple set anymore—no—you were wearing a dress. The one Phoenix had convinced you to buy. The one with the low back and the soft pink floral print and the sash that tied at your waist just so. Your hair was swept up in a lazy clip, and the breeze had pulled a few strands loose. You looked… warm. Relaxed. Like vacation agreed with you.

Bob? He looked like his brain had just short-circuited.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat beside him.

He made a sound that might’ve been a word.

You tilted your head. “Everything okay?”

He took a slow sip of his drink and muttered, “That dress should be illegal.”

You laughed — and okay, maybe blushed a little too. “It was on sale.”

“That’s a crime.”

Rooster leaned over with a smirk. “You gonna say something or just sit there like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time?”

Bob didn’t even bother to answer him.

Phoenix returned a moment later, flopping into the seat next to you and stealing a sip from your drink without asking. “This is awful. I love it.”

“It’s a coconut mojito,” you said. “You ordered it.”

“Yeah, well, past me had terrible taste.”

Fanboy pointed dramatically across the bar. “Incoming hot older brother. I repeat: Leo approaching at six o’clock.”

You didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.

“Afternoon, degenerates,” Leo said, all golden confidence and lazy charm as he slid into a chair beside Phoenix. “Y’all survive the swim last night?”

“No thanks to you,” Bob muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Floyd?”

“Nothing.”

Leo stretched like a cat and nodded toward your drink. “Sweetheart, you gonna let me try that or do I have to earn it?”

You gave him a slow blink. “You want to earn it? Go build a sandcastle with Fanboy and don’t speak to me for fifteen minutes.”

Fanboy gasped. “Wait yes, we should build a moat.”

“Only if it has tiny turrets,” Leo said, immediately on board.

Phoenix snorted. “God help us.”

Rooster leaned toward Coyote, deadpan: “How long you think until Leo gets himself kicked out of this bar?”

“Ten minutes,” Coyote said. “Five if he starts flirting with someone’s mom.”

“I don’t discriminate,” Leo said, raising his drink. “Moms deserve attention too.”

Bob looked like he was internally screaming.

You nudged him with your knee under the table. “Hey.”

He turned, and you smiled — soft, real, just for him.

“You okay?” you asked.

He exhaled slowly, lips quirking. “I think I liked last night better when it was just us and the fish.”

You laughed. “Me too.”

He looked at you for a long beat, like he was trying to memorize something. Then nodded, like he’d just come to a decision.

“I’ll get us another round,” he said, standing and heading to the bar.

You watched him go — watched the way his hand rubbed the back of his neck, the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the way he still looked a little like your favorite secret.

Phoenix elbowed you. “You’re so gone.”

You didn’t deny it.

-

The squad villa was bursting at the seams with food, noise, and the unmistakable scent of garlic, salt, and something suspiciously sweet coming from a giant bowl of leftover Mai Tais.

The long dining table groaned under the weight of the feast: heaping platters of crispy fries, sushi rolls stacked like towers, at least four kinds of pizza (including one with jalapeños that had everyone pretending to be braver than they were), and a massive bowl of spicy noodles that was being eyed like a ticking time bomb.

Rooster was already halfway through a pizza slice, balancing it precariously in one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other. Phoenix sat at the head of the table, eyes darting between the squad and a list of last-minute wedding to-dos on her tablet, but a faint smile betrayed her amusement at the chaos unfolding.

“You know,” Phoenix said, “I feel like I should be stressed right now, but instead I’m just watching you all try to eat without setting something on fire.”

“You say that like it’s not a talent,” Payback said, dipping a fry into a suspiciously generous amount of ketchup.

Coyote gave him a side-eye. “You’re the reason we almost had to call the fire department last trip.”

Fanboy, meanwhile, was meticulously organizing his sushi pieces by type and color, while Hangman somehow managed to juggle a bowl of noodles, a slice of pizza, and a cocktail all at once.

Bob sat next to you on the couch, his plate overflowing with a dangerously large pile of fries and half a slice of pizza, eyes flickering between his food and you. You caught him staring and smirked, adjusting the sash of your dress as you took a bite of a spicy chicken wing.

Bob? Poor guy looked like he was short-circuiting.

Coyote nudged him. “You good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because you haven’t blinked in like… two minutes.”

“Totally fine.”

You leaned back casually, taking a bite of your fries. “He’s just trying to process how dumb you all are.”

“I’m trying to process how good you look in that dress,” Bob mumbled into his fork.

The room fell suspiciously silent.

Hangman’s head whipped around. “Sorry, what was that, Floyd?”

“Nothing,” Bob said, way too fast.

You gave him a slow side glance, lips twitching. “That wasn’t nothing.”

Fanboy whispered, “Y’all gonna kiss on this pizza box or what.”

Payback wheezed.

“Hey,” Rooster said, throwing a pizza slice onto your plate with mock generosity. “Eat before you turn into a stressed-out statue.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Captain Romantic. Don’t strain yourself with all this charm.”

Rooster smirked, glancing at Phoenix, who shook her head with a knowing smile.

The conversation swirled between silly and serious: debates over which wedding song would destroy the dance floor, last-minute checklist panic, and playful teasing about who would actually survive the wedding day without embarrassing themselves.

Fanboy made a passionate case for an ‘80s dance medley, which Payback immediately mocked by launching into an exaggerated version of the moonwalk that left everyone laughing.

Hangman attempted to one-up him with a clumsy breakdance move that ended with him sprawled on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Coyote rolled his eyes but grinned. “Remind me why I agreed to come on this trip again?”

“Because you love us,” you said, tossing a fry at him.

Bob laughed quietly, then leaned closer to whisper, “You really look incredible tonight.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but kept eating like it was no big deal.

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad you didn’t forget your manners and pick a fight with the food,” you teased.

Bob shrugged. “I saved my energy for keeping you alive all weekend.”

You glanced at him, catching that brief flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

Phoenix clapped her hands, cutting through the noise. “Alright, lovebirds and degenerates — dessert’s on me. Let’s order something ridiculous.”

“Brownie sundae with extra whipped cream,” Payback declared.

“And a pineapple upside-down cake,” Fanboy added.

Rooster raised his glass. “To surviving weddings, friendships, and all the chaos in between.”

Everyone cheered, the noise swelling into laughter and loud conversation that carried well into the night.

-

Somewhere in between pheonix and rooster leaving, the boys going to bed and room service coming by to get the dirty dishes, you and bob went outside on the villa balcony.

It was quiet outside — just the distant sound of ocean waves and the soft hum of island nightlife. The breeze had cooled slightly, salt-heavy and sweet, rustling the palms below. The villa balcony overlooked the water, soft yellow lights strung around the railing and casting warm glows over the white cushions.

You leaned against the edge, arms crossed loosely. Bob stood next to you, one hand braced on the railing, the other shoved in his pocket.

“That dress really is…” he started, then gave a helpless little shake of his head. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled, turning slightly toward him. “Thanks, Bobby.”

His ears flushed. “Don’t call me that.”

You grinned. “You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“I know you like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

A few beats of quiet passed. You both stared out at the water like it had answers. Like it might solve whatever tension had been simmering beneath the surface all day.

“You ever think about it?” you asked softly.

Bob glanced at you. “About what?”

“Weddings.”

That startled him more than he expected. “Yours or in general?”

“Both.”

He hesitated. “I guess I think about… being there. The people I’d want. The vibe. Good food, live music. Definitely no choreographed dancing.”

“No chicken dance?”

“God, no.”

You laughed, and he relaxed a little.

“What about you?” he asked.

You shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that meant yes, a lot. “Used to want a huge wedding. Now? I think I’d be happy with something small. Family, friends. Just… people who really know me.”

His eyes softened. “They’d know you picked that dress.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You gonna talk about this dress the whole night?”

“Possibly,” he said. “I’m in a bit of a spiral.”

You bit back a smile, looking away again. “I don’t think I’d want a big venue. Maybe something outdoors. Garden, beach. Sunset ceremony. Then dancing under lights just like these.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then quietly: “I’d dance with you.”

You turned.

He was still watching the water, but you could see the way his hand curled tighter around the railing. Like he was holding onto something that scared him a little.

You stepped closer.

“Maybe you will,” you said softly.

That finally made him look at you — really look. Like his heart was right there in his eyes and he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“…Are we still talking hypothetically?” he asked.

You just smiled.

-

The first light of dawn filtered softly through the tall windows of the villa, painting the rooms in gentle hues of pink and gold.

The squad villa was still, the kind of quiet that felt like the calm before a storm — and with the Dagger Squad, storms were basically guaranteed.

One by one, the bedrooms slowly came to life.

In room 1403, Coyote stirred under his rumpled sheets, the early sun warming his face. His phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand with a message from Fanboy: “You up yet? The plan’s happening.” He groaned, stretching, and reluctantly shoved his feet into slippers.

Down the hall in 1405, Payback lay half-curled on one of the queen beds, eyes fluttering open as his playlist softly filled the room. He reached over to silence his phone and immediately regretted it—the text preview read: “Coffee or death? Choose wisely.” He chuckled and rolled out of bed.

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom 1406, Bob was still tangled in sheets, the soft hum of his smartwatch quietly alerting him to a reminder: “Maid of Honor + Bachelorette Planning @ squad villa today.” He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, glancing toward the door where he knew you were likely stirring too.

You stirred as well, stretching beneath the light linen sheets, the faint scent of salt and island flowers lingering in the air. Your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand—a group message from Phoenix: “Ready to get the party started?!” You smiled and set the phone aside, deciding to give the squad a little more time before the inevitable morning chaos.

The kitchen slowly came alive as the first of you shuffled through to start coffee. Coyote was already up, pouring the first strong cup of the day, while Payback helped unpack a stash of pastries and fruit from the previous night’s haul.

Fanboy, freshly showered and still humming a half-remembered tune, appeared next, arms full of juice cartons and yogurt cups.

Gradually, the others joined in, drawn by the promise of caffeine and the low hum of morning chatter — no yelling yet, just sleepy smiles and the occasional groan.

Phones glowed as someone pulled up an iPad on the kitchen counter — Phoenix’s weapon of choice for today’s mission — a blank note ready to become a master plan.

The villa was calm, the squad gearing up for a day of strategizing and laughter, before the inevitable arrival of Phoenix and Rooster, who would soon burst through the door and kick everything into overdrive.

-

Just as the squad was settling into the rhythm of a slow, caffeine-fueled morning—quiet conversation, half-finished coffee cups, and the soft glow of the iPad screen—an abrupt knock-knock-KNOCK shattered the calm.

The door to the villa rattled under an enthusiastic pounding.

“Get up, you maniacs!” Phoenix’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Rooster’s followed, just as insistent. “Open this door before I come in like a wrecking ball!”

Coyote groaned loudly, sinking deeper into his chair. “Is it too early to declare war on the bride and groom?”

Payback rolled his eyes but stood, heading to unlock the door.

You exchanged a look with Bob, the slight smile that said: Here we go again.

The door swung open, and Phoenix and Rooster burst inside like a whirlwind of energy and purpose.

Phoenix’s eyes sparkled with that determined “leader” vibe, while Rooster sported that half-smirk that meant he was ready to play referee and ringmaster all at once.

“Morning, degens,” Phoenix announced, dropping a bright tote bag on the kitchen island. “We’re officially on squad time now.”

Rooster followed, tossing his keys on the counter. “No more leisurely wake-ups. We’ve got planning to do — and someone’s got to keep Bob from going back to bed.”

Bob raised his coffee cup in mock surrender. “I’m awake. Mostly.”

Phoenix smirked and pulled out her iPad. “Alright, team. Let’s turn this beautiful chaos into a legendary bachelorette party.”

The squad circled the island, eyes on the screen as Phoenix started typing up ideas.

“Beach bars, scavenger hunts, ridiculous costumes,” she rattled off.

“Don’t forget the karaoke,” Hangman added with a grin.

“Only if we can force Rooster up there,” Payback laughed.

Rooster shook his head but laughed along. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t burn the island down.”

You caught Bob’s eye as the buzz of ideas filled the room — the quiet, simmering energy between you two suddenly feeling warmer in the tropical morning light.

-

The squad was gathered tight around the kitchen island, the iPad glowing like a beacon of organized chaos as Phoenix tapped furiously on the screen.

“Okay, so first things first — themes,” Phoenix declared, eyes scanning the eager faces.

Fanboy was the first to shout out: “Tropical fiesta! You can’t go wrong with palm leaves, flamingos, and endless fruity drinks.”

Hangman grinned. “Or how about a ‘Spy Games�� theme? Secret missions, disguises, and definitely some harmless sabotage.”

Coyote deadpanned, “Because nothing says ‘fun’ like covert ops and broken hearts.”

You laughed, setting down your coffee. “I’m voting for something that screams Dagger Squad chaos. Maybe an obstacle course with a cocktail at the end?”

Payback nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And challenges like ‘Find the Worst Tattoo in the Bar’ or ‘Convince a Stranger to Buy You a Drink.’”

Bob raised an eyebrow, voice dry but amused. “Public humiliation already sounds like a plan. I like where this is going.”

Rooster shook his head, pretending to be the voice of reason. “Remember, Phoenix wants this memorable, not the next viral disaster.”

Phoenix smirked. “Speak for yourself, Rooster.”

The ideas flew fast and furious. There was talk of ridiculous costumes — you and Bob shared a look, imagining the horrors that might entail. Fanboy suggested a dance-off challenge, which Hangman immediately turned into a full-blown mock battle, complete with terrible dance moves and exaggerated trash talk. You caught Bob’s gaze again. His eyes lingered just a beat too long, that familiar warmth making your chest tighten.

“Alright,” Phoenix said, trying to regain control amid the laughter, “here’s what we have so far: a bar crawl hitting the best beachside bars, a scavenger hunt with ridiculous dares, costumes that may or may not involve glitter and tutus, and a dance-off karaoke showdown.”

Payback raised his coffee cup. “To the best chaos we’ve ever caused.”

Everyone echoed the toast, laughter filling the villa.

Bob leaned closer to you, voice low and teasing. “You ready to lose?”

You smirked. “In your dreams, Floyd.”

fic continued here

taglist: @yagurlannastasia , @funkyfable , @msfirth , @eclipse134 and sorry to anyone else that wanted to e tagged but didn’t i posted this in a rush

[g1rld1ary]

mister carter - jily x fem!reader pt 3

prev wc: 4121 summary: lines are crossed between you and both the potters, a torrid love affair developing between the three of you warnings: nsfw mdni! pervy boss, inappropriate work relationships & hr nightmares, age gap, objectifying, kissing, nipple play, groping, piv sex (not involving r), boss-employee flirting, praise kink? power dynamics, dom!lily and james and submissive!r, oral f!receiving, eating out, fingering, pls let me know if i have missed any i'm not used to tagging smut!! me: inspired by the song mr carter/milktown by nep! absolutely taking feedback on my smut as i haven't done much and would love to improve! also like how is this my third fic this wk i am on fire (ie obsessed with conrad fisher and james potter)

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You hadn’t had any particularly exciting encounters with either Potter since the day Lily took you shopping. Yet, the dynamic had changed between you. Now that you had confirmation you weren’t making up James’ interest in you because of your own crush, you felt you had permission to be bolder, less meek.

You weren’t surprised anymore when James came to chat to you during the work day or offered to do things for you. In fact, you leaned into it, excited for the interactions. Besides, you figured, if you were being used to help the Potters have good sex and explore their kinks, James could at least shell out for a free coffee at lunch.

Things started to stagnate — not in a bad way, it was fun having that dynamic with James, knowing you could get away with almost anything. Lingering touches, heavy innuendos, all the things you’d normally reserve for teenage flirting. That was, at least, until one night when you were still in the office by nightfall.

It wasn’t uncommon for people of all ranks to stay late in the office. The opposite, really. If a case was coming up, it had to be finished; there was no way around it. Tonight, though, you and James were the only ones still working as the final sun rays slipped beneath the skyscrapers surrounding your own.

About an hour after you should have gone home, James had come down to your floor, inviting you to work with him on the break room couch since you were both predominantly completing readings. At first, it was strictly professional; you were both too busy for it not to be. After you’d finished the final reading, James let himself be distracted by you.

“You should head home, it’s late. Don’t you have somewhere to be? A date, a club…” He trailed off, eyes still mostly on his paper.

“Oh no,” You laughed, “I’m not much of a partier and I can’t even remember the last date I went on.”

“Come on!” James cried, putting down his paper with a start, “You’re a beautiful girl, I bet you get a dozen numbers when you go out on a weekend.” You blushed under his praise, looking down at the space between you both on the couch.

“Oh, I don’t know about a dozen, four or five maybe,” You joked with a small smile.

“And drinks?”

“Hey, if they’re free, they’re free!” You defended yourself in good humour.

“God, I wish I could still go clubbing, but I’d feel ancient.” James messed with his hair and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose like they made him look older when you’d seen at the Potter’s home that he’d had them since he was a kid.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Respectfully, you’re still hot and look young. I’m sure if you went out tonight, you’d have girls fighting for your attention.” You didn’t fully realise the implications of what you’d said until James spoke, his voice suddenly deeper.

“What about you?” There was something challenging in James’ eyes, “If you saw me at a club, would you try and flirt with me?”

“Oh, for sure, look at you!” You kept the tone light, but the air between you was getting thicker.

“And what if I tried to dance with you, how would that go?”

“Well, how good at dancing are you?”

“I’d like to think I’m pretty good, I’ve got a steady rhythm.” It might have been the low light of the break room, but you could have sworn James winked.

“Well, then we’d probably just sway to the beat; have some fun.”

“And what if I tried to kiss you at a club? How would that go?” There was no more uncertainty; James was making a move on you right there in the office break room. You knew how to fight fire with fire.

“Depends on whether I’m being a good girl or a bad girl.” You shrugged, batting your eyelashes up at him like you had no idea what you were doing.

“Which is the one that kisses me?”

“If it makes me feel good… then I’d say I’m being a good girl.”

“And what are you feeling like now?” Both of your papers were long abandoned, strewn across the break room table.

“You saw me, I’ve finished all my work. I’m definitely being a good girl, Mister Potter.” Your breathy tone was completely intentional, lowered to a slutty husk as you saw the defined bulge in his trousers.

The silence was heavy in the air as you both leant towards each other. You could taste his breath on your mouth, and the heat emanating between the two of you made you crave him even more. Just as his lips were brushing yours, though, doubt crept into the back of your mind. Yes, the Potters were using the idea of you to spice up their sex life. Yes, they were flirting with you and teasing you for some kind of competition between them. But they were still married, and no one had crossed the official boundary of infidelity yet. You pulled back.

“Mister Potter, you’re married, won’t Lily mind?” Despite your flirting and the sexy voice, you didn’t want to break up a marriage, and the worry you were feeling was very real.

“Is this what you want?” James asked, staring at you intently.

“Yes,” You swallowed, running your tongue across your lip quickly, tasting the strawberry flavour in your lip gloss.

“We’re two adults. If you want this and I want this, Lily won’t mind. Don’t you worry, sweet girl.”

After one more moment of hesitation, you leaned back in, connecting your lips. It was everything you’d been fantasising about since you first met James. His lips fit perfectly between yours, moving softly as his hand crept up your arm to cup your face.

It wasn’t long before James’ tongue was in your mouth and your hands had made their way to him, one threaded through his curls and the other grasping and wrinkling his otherwise crisp white shirt.

You’d almost lost yourself in the moment, mind free of anything but the taste and sensation of being with James. Yet, when James moved to lie you down under him on the couch, you pulled away, standing up and straightening out your clothes. You were not going to get hot and heavy with a partner of the firm you interned for on their couches.

James didn’t look offended, rather quite satisfied with himself. He looked up at you as you adjusted yourself to be more presentable, his pupils blown out with lust.

“It’s getting late, Mister Potter, and I have to get the train home. Besides,” You picked up your bag, “Mrs Potter told me she’s making green curry tonight, you wouldn’t want to disappoint her.” You strutted off to the elevator, satisfied smile light on your lips.

James followed you up, tipping things haphazardly into his bag so as to catch the same lift as you. He pressed you against the wall as you entered, hands huge on your hips.

“Fuckin’ tease,” He grumbled, wasting no time in capturing your lips again. You made out like two repressed teenagers as the floors counted down, jumping apart as the doors opened again.

James’s hand sat warm on your ass as you crossed the ground floor, waving to the nightshift security guard.

“Please let me drive you home,” James begged, holding you close in front of him on the pavement. You shook your head, doing nothing to pull your hips out of his grasp.

“You know we live in opposite directions. I’ll be okay, don’t keep your wife waiting. She told me she loves hearing about your day.” You bit your lip in a way you hoped was teasing, content when James groaned.

You’d just stepped back to part when you knew you weren’t entirely satisfied for the night. With a spring in your step, you closed the distance between you for one last sloppy kiss, moaning quietly when you felt his bulge press against your hip bone. You were both panting when you pulled away, breaths still mingling in the summer air.

“Picture me when you fuck her tonight,” You whispered in his ear, pecking his cheek before strutting off towards the metro station, hips swaying more than usual.

Every time you thought about the night on your commute home, you felt it in your crotch, butterflies tingling in your clit as you remembered the way James tasted or his scent up close.

As you lay in bed later, fingers thrusting in and out of yourself, you couldn’t help the satisfaction blooming in your chest. You were sure that the Potters were probably already rounds in, James fucking Lily with renewed vigour as they replayed every moment of the night, dissecting your actions and fantasising about you joining them. That thought alone had you crying out with your release, soaking your fingers and probably disturbing your flatmate.

You’d started seeing someone. It was incredibly casual, just something to do after work or on the weekends. The tension between you and the Potters was unbearable, but no one had made a move since, with the exception of one steamy make-out session with James pressed up against the tile wall of the disabled bathroom, and you needed someone else to get you off for a change — your fingers simply weren’t cutting it anymore.

All things considered, it was going pretty well. You’d met the guy off of a dating app, and while you were pretty sure you weren’t going to marry him or anything, he was nice to talk to and spend some time with. That was, at least, until you had to bail on a date because of another work project. It had happened from time to time, but you hadn’t thought much of it, your boyfriend had too, and you’d made it clear on the first date that your career would always come first.

And yet, when you called him up to reschedule, he unloaded on you, spewing a string of gender-oriented insults that had you crying in the bathrooms, gasping quietly so none of your coworkers would hear.

When you could finally leave the office, you called Lily immediately, needing to not be alone for the night. She was immediately sympathetic, ordering you an Uber to deliver you to her house, wrapping you up in warm arms the second you crossed through the door.

There was Chinese takeout waiting on the coffee table in front of the television, and Lily switched on whatever Friday night movie was playing — a 90s romcom you’d been meaning to watch for ages.

“Is Mister Potter still away? I thought the trip was only supposed to be a week?” You asked halfway through, noticing her husband was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes,” Lily rolled her eyes, “He said the negotiations are going just awfully, he won’t be home for another few days.” You expressed your sympathies, but Lily just shrugged them off. “It’s okay, means I can watch whatever films I want and we can hang out!” You smiled shyly in response, focusing back on the movie playing.

“So, do you wanna talk about it?” Lily asked as the credits rolled, and the tears you’d momentarily forgotten about welled up with full force.

Suddenly, you were talking, word vomiting feelings you didn’t know you even had until you were verbalising them. Lily was exactly who you needed at that moment, soft and comforting as you sobbed on her couch.

She stroked your arm lightly as you cuddled into her side, sobs still wracking through your body.

“I don’t know,” You sighed despairingly, “I just feel like I’ll never be able to have something real and value my career. I want something like you and Mister Potter.”

“Darling, of course you’ll find love. You’re beautiful and sweet and utterly delectable. Any partner would be lucky to have you.” Her fingers were still running up and down your side.

You mumbled out something that sounded similar to gratitude, but Lily’s repetitive, comforting touches and her generous compliments were making you hazy, the intimacy between you not feeling so strictly platonic all of a sudden.

Maybe it was the rosé Lily had been feeding you, maybe it was the loneliness you’d been feeling since you moved to the city, but one moment of heavy silence and you were tilting your head up, connecting your lips with Lily’s.

Her lips were soft, pillowy, and tasted like an alluring mix of cherry lip balm and rosé. Your brain fizzled into silence as the feeling overwhelmed you, surging forward to deepen the kiss as Lily pushed back with equal fervour. This kiss was heated, messy as you both desperately pressed into each other, Lily cupping your neck to bring you even closer.

She didn’t wait to elevate the kiss, tongue swiping over your bottom lip before licking into your open mouth, an unholy moan escaping you. Your hand slid into her hair, gently tugging on the gorgeous red strands.

This seemed to spur Lily on further, pushing you back so you were lying on the couch. She followed you down, moving from your lips to press open-mouthed kisses down your neck, grinning as you spasmed from the pleasure, desperately pressing your thighs together.

You sighed in ecstasy, giggle turning into a moan as Lily licked a stripe up the column of your throat. She nibbled on the join of your neck and shoulder as you mumbled incoherent affirmations, thanking her profusely and begging for more.

“Are you needy for me, baby?” Lily asked, hand running up your body to cup your breast under your top, “You needy for someone else’s wife?”

“Yes!” You cried, arching your back to press into her, “Fuck, yes. Please, Mrs Potter, I need more.” You were mumbling, begging for anything she’d give you.

Lily entertained you, moving down your body with wet kisses, stopping momentarily to pay attention to the breasts she’d been thinking about since she helped you pick out that lingerie. She pushed your shirt up to your collarbones, manipulating the cup of your bra — the lavender one she’d chosen — just enough so she could envelop your rosy peaked nipple in her mouth, letting her teeth just graze the sensitive skin until you were crying out in pleasure. She nipped one more time before continuing on her path down south, smiling into your skin as she felt you tense under her lips.

“Can I take this off, baby?” Lily asked, fingers already playing with the zipper of your work skirt, the dainty purple lace of your panties just peeking out from above the waistline. You nodded aggressively, your whole body shifting with the movement. “No need to be so desperate, angel, I’m gonna take care of you real good.”

You lifted your hips to help Lily drag both clothing layers down your legs, revealing to her your glistening folds, dripping with need for her. She shot you one last glance, eyes gleaming with hunger, before diving in.

Lily’s tongue lay flat as she dragged it heavily over your folds, the sensation drawing another sigh. You ground helplessly into her mouth, legs already shaking from the pleasure. Lily’s tongue circled around your clit before sucking hard, and you cried out, high-pitched and broken as you bucked.

Just as you were reaching your climax, chest heaving with shallow breaths, your phone rang, shrill and loud in the otherwise sensual environment you and Lily had created.

“Fuck!” You yelled, your building bliss fading as your phone rattled on the sofa armrest. “It’s my mum.” You reluctantly picked up the phone, knowing she’d only keep calling if you ignored it.

She didn’t want anything important, of course, asking how to fix an issue with the old piece of shit television. With the mood utterly ruined, you and Lily both redressed yourselves, a certain awkwardness arising, but maybe that was just you. Actually, Lily looked completely at ease, fingers tracing patterns into your thigh as you pulled your shirt back over your head.

“Shall I drive you home, lovely?” She asked, and you hesitated, not wanting to put her out, then nodded shyly.

“That would be really nice, thank you.”

You sat in Lily’s fancy car, silently trying to imprint every luxurious feeling into your soul. The leather beneath your legs, the perfectly clean carpet, the heated seats. It was probably the nicest ride you’d ever had.

A jazz radio station was playing, the mood still sensual and making you shift on the very leather you were just admiring. You admired the city lights as you sat in mostly silence. Lily’s hand found its way to your thigh, a warm weight near your already pulsing core. You hadn’t finished, and it was taking its toll on you. Your shifting was steadily increasing as your frustration from your ruined orgasm grew, and you knew Lily was beginning to notice by the way her hand began to caress your thigh.

“You still wanna get off, princess?” She asked, voice thick with a seductive husk, and all you could do was nod, staring as Lily’s hand crept gradually higher. It disappeared beneath the hemline of your skirt and soon found its way to rubbing you over your soaked panties, the lace creating intoxicating friction with your needy cunt.

“How much do you want me, honey? Gotta tell me.” You whined, needy and already getting overstimulated, as Lily pressed hard against your clit.

“So much,” You stuttered through a pleasurable shiver, “Need you so bad, please, Mrs Potter.” Lily was evidently satisfied with your begging, pushing aside your slinky underwear to tease your entrance, one finger pushing slowly into your hole as you gasped in shuddering bliss.

Lily paid you hardly any attention as she navigated the streets near your flat, controlling the wheel with one hand while her other hand absentmindedly played with you as you panted. She finally parked in front of your building, and you tensed with anticipation, hips jerking to push Lily’s middle finger deeper inside you for more pleasure.

“Alright, baby,” Lily turned the car off, her attention on you, “You ready for my fingers?” You nodded, the action so eager your whole body shifted with you. You descended into a loud moan as Lily inserted another finger into your tight, warm hole, hands grasping for anything in reach as she scissored inside you.

“Think you can take one more, honey?”

“Yeah, please. Please give me more — uh — I can take it,” You babbled as Lily thrust in and out of you with slender fingers. The third finger added a delicious stretch inside of you, and your legs spread of their own accord, one pressed up against the passenger door whilst the other lifted over the centre console into Lily’s lap. She held it tight, clearly enjoying your wanton abandon of any shreds of decency.

“There you are, knew you’d be such a nice little slut when you stopped being so shy,” She cooed, almost condescendingly, curling her fingers inside you to draw more moans. You were on fire, totally blissed out just from Lily’s fingers as your walls tightened around her.

“Fuck, fuck! I’m close, I’m close, I’m close.” Your hand flew up to your breast, pinching and twisting the nipple for extra stimulation, your high close approaching as your body responded with responsive quivering. Lily grinned as she sensed your orgasm, thumb moving to focus on your throbbing clit, circling it vigorously as your voice broke into a desperate moan.

With a final, pathetic cry, you were coming, your juices oozing from between your folds out onto Lily’s fingers and the expensive leather of her car seats. You panted, chest heaving and bouncing as you came down from your high, eyes closed as your mind went blank from the overwhelming pleasure.

When you recovered from your orgasm, Lily was there, rubbing soft circles into your skin to soothe you.

“Was that good, baby?” You couldn’t even form words to reply, just nodding and babbling nonsense as you slowly closed your legs.

You both paused for a moment, putting off getting out of the car and leaving Lily.

“Thank you so much for… uh, everything, Mrs Potter,” You said shyly, cracking open the door. Lily grabbed your other hand, pulling you back for one last heated kiss, all lips and tongue and teeth as she stole your soul.

You were panting when she finally let you go, lips red from the bruising collision.

“Come over whenever, pretty.” She smiled coyly, and you nodded, flustered, finally heading towards your flat.

Safely in bed, you got yourself off twice more to the fantasy of Lily and James discussing the night on the phone as they both jacked off, still competing over you despite being miles apart.

On Monday morning at work, a beautifully wrapped gift sat on your desk. You knew it was hush money of sorts, a bribe, so you didn’t go gossiping about being either Potter’s affair partner.

You looked around to check that no one was looking at you before opening it. Inside sat a few things that stunned you: a pair of lacy black panties — the fourth set of lingerie that Lily had bought you, a bracelet far more expensive than anything you ever expected to own, and a polaroid of Lily’s naked body, miles of creamy skin smattered with freckles, her tantalising breasts the feature of the photograph.

Your thighs snapped together, arousal already growing even at half nine in the morning, the image of Lily’s body setting your senses on fire as you relived the ghost of the orgasm she’d coaxed from you.

You slammed the photo face down on your desk, flushed just at the image and the thought of someone coming up behind you and catching a glimpse of Lily’s naked body in your hand.

An hour later, James walked by, finally back from his business trip. When you made eye contact, he winked, eyes dragging over the section of your figure visible to him. You smiled, subconsciously pushing out your chest for him to appreciate. He didn’t say anything, of course, but his tongue swiped quickly out across his pillowy lips, eye contact long forgotten in favour of memorising every curve of your breasts.

You were almost entirely useless for the rest of the day, particularly after your lunch break, spent pressed up against the wall of the alley behind the skyscraper with James’ tongue shoved down your throat.

That was how much of your summer went, sneaking around with both Potters, never directly admitting to either that you were messing around with both. It wasn’t that they didn’t know or would even care, but it almost made it hotter, adding another layer to the already forbidden flings.

You hardly ever saw the Potters together, though. Due to all of your busy schedules, all being the kind to prioritise your work over anything else, it seemed almost impossible to coordinate being in the same place. Lily popped by the office occasionally, which meant you could sit with them in the food court, which was good for your blossoming friendships, but left you with unsatisfied desires.

By the end of summer, you’d been shoved into more bathrooms and broom closets than you thought possible. James was positively incorrigible, never tiring of stealing you away after meetings or eating into your lunch break. You never got past a heavy make-out or occasional groping — you both had far too much to lose to go any further, but it was at least enough to keep the growing hunger at bay for a while.

As for Lily, you two made do. James often worked weekends, absorbed in the high-profile cases he worked as partner. That meant that you got to bond with his wife. Cinema dates, fashion education, eating each other out on the sofa. Just girl things!

You were totally sure it was the best summer you’d ever had.

[theseventhdimension]

you know the migraine fic you wrote with reader x Hotch?

it’s like my go to now when i have a headache (which is, unfortunately, a lot)

when rewatching, i remembered Reid’s headache plotline, maybe we can get a fic where reader and Reid bond over bad headaches? or maybe like reader’s still in a relationship with Hotch, but Hotch asks his SO about how to help Reid and then they get talking?

or maybe Reid sees Reader getting a migraine or just a headache or something while the two are working together someplace and Reid takes care of reader before getting Hotch?

Honestly; i love both Reid x Reader and Hotch x reader, so i don’t have a preference which you do :)

Pain in Good Company

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gn! Reader + Platonic! Spencer Reid (Continuation of this fic)

Word count: 1.9k+

DNI: All are welcome!

Author's note: Aw I'm so sorry to hear about your headaches, they're the absolute worst, but I am happy my fic is your go to remedy lol. xoxo (..＞◡＜..)

I'm such a sucker for Reid's addiction story but i really wish we got to see it exposed to some of the other characters (눈_눈), because how in the hell didn't a bunch of profilers notice he was using?

As always, all feedback is appreciated!! hope you enjoy ٩꒰ʘʚʘ๑꒱۶

Spencer slowly slipping away wasn’t a loud thing. It wasn’t missed alarms or screaming matches or dramatic meltdowns. It was quieter than that. Slower. Like water starting to boil before anyone noticed the heat.

It started with a delay—subtle, almost imperceptible. He paused longer between questions during debriefs. Sometimes he’d repeat himself. Once, you asked for the GPS coordinates on a case and he blinked at you like he had to remember what year it was before he could answer.

He missed a turn on the way to a crime scene in Baltimore. Not once, but twice. He wrote it off as being distracted—'too little sleep, too many files'—but Reid was always distracted. That wasn’t new. What was new was the way he gripped the steering wheel. White-knuckled. Jaw tight. Like if he didn’t hold on that hard, he might unravel.

No one flagged it. Not Garcia, who’d been buried under system glitches for a week. Not Morgan, who was dealing with the fallout of another self-defense case review. Not Hotch, who had five agents on leave and half a unit running on fumes. Spencer always bounced back. That’s what they told themselves.

But something didn’t sit right with you.

You noticed it in the details. How he blinked too often under the overhead lights. How he winced when the elevator chimed too loud. How his fingers tapped the edge of his chair in an irregular rhythm—three quick, two slow. Three quick, two slow. Over and over.

And his pupils. Always a little too wide. Even indoors. Even in high light.

You told yourself it was the trauma. The Hankel case was barely two months behind him. You’d all seen the footage. Watched the livestreamed nightmare unfold in real time, powerless to stop it. You’d seen the bruises, the blood, the way his voice shook when he said “I’m fine.” through a mouthful of lies.

You knew what that kind of thing could do to a person.

But that didn’t make it easier to watch.

The confirmation came midweek. You’d been on your way to the briefing room, juggling a stack of printed psych profiles and two half-dead coffee cups when you turned the corner too fast and nearly collided with him.

He didn’t notice you at first.

He was standing with his back to the wall, hands shaking as he fumbled with something near his coat pocket—small, clear, just a flash of glass catching the light before it disappeared into the fold of his jacket.

You stopped cold.

Spencer turned, startled, eyes wide and distant. Glassy.

“Hey,” you said carefully, neutral. Casual. Like you hadn’t just seen what you saw.

He gave you a tight, strange smile. The kind people use when they’re trying not to fall apart.

“Just… heading in,” he mumbled, brushing past you too quickly.

You didn’t follow him. Didn’t ask.

Didn’t corner him like some melodramatic intervention scene.

You just stood there, staring after him, heart beating too hard and too fast. That cold pit opened up inside your chest and settled there, gnawing. You’d seen enough. You’d seen too much not to say something.

That Friday, you knocked on Aaron’s office door and didn’t wait for him to invite you in.

“I think Reid’s using,” you said before the door had even closed.

Hotch didn’t look up right away. His fingers were still curled around a case folder, thumb tucked neatly under the page like he’d frozen mid-sentence. He went still. Not startled. Just… bracing.

“What makes you say that?” His voice was calm. Neutral. But not dismissive.

“I saw something in his pocket,” you said. “Glass vial. Shaking hands. Dilated pupils. And—he’s just not there, Hotch. Not the way he usually is.”

His jaw ticked slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You hesitated, then added: “It makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s only been two months since he was kidnapped and—”

You didn’t say the name. Didn’t need to.

“Tobias Hankel,” Hotch finished quietly.

You nodded. “It could be a coping mechanism. He was drugged for days. If he came out of that needing something to quiet his head down… I wouldn’t blame him. But it’s not safe. And it’s not sustainable.”

Hotch closed the folder slowly. Set it aside with deliberate care.

“Alright,” he said.

Not a demand. Not a command.

Just an admission.

You sat in the silence for a moment, then finally asked: “What do we do?”

Hotch looked at you then. Not like a unit chief. Like a man who didn’t have all the answers.

“We help him. However we can.”

Two nights later, you found Reid buried in a corner of the BAU library, surrounded by towering stacks of books that hadn’t been checked out since before you joined the Bureau. Ancient criminal law texts. Roman procedural records. He was reading like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

You didn’t ask what he was looking for. Just brought him a mug of tea and sat on the opposite side of the table without speaking.

It took almost an hour for him to say anything. And even then, it wasn’t really conversation.

“I’m not using during cases,” he said quietly. Defensive. Like that made it okay.

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“I can still work.”

“I know.”

He looked down at the mug. Didn’t touch it. His fingers curled around it, but his knuckles were white.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said gently. “But if you ever want to stop… I’ll help. No lectures. No reporting. No strings.”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t look at you.

“I don’t think I can,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to be sure yet,” you said. “You just have to want to try.”

His gaze dropped to the mug. No words came. But he didn’t move away. That was enough.

The following week, when the team flew out to Des Moines, he didn’t pack anything extra in his coat. You checked. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you did.

It wasn’t a triumphant clean break. It was quieter than that—like a slow current beneath the surface, barely visible, but real.

He got quieter. Not withdrawn, exactly, but less present. His hands trembled sometimes when he thought no one was watching, fingers flexing and curling as if he were fighting some invisible battle. You caught him once, in the break room, staring at his coffee cup as if it were a riddle he couldn’t solve.

But he stayed clean.

That alone was something.

Then came the migraines.

At first, they were small things—headaches that he dismissed as tension or exhaustion. “Long days,” he’d say, voice tight around the words. But you knew better.

You saw the way he rubbed his temples with the heel of his hand when no one was looking. The slight wince whenever the overhead fluorescent lights flickered, a sound you swear got louder just for him. You watched as he stopped reading during briefings. Spencer Reid—not reading—was practically code red.

It all came to a head in Philadelphia.

Bright, buzzing overhead lights in a cramped conference room. Long interviews stretching thin. The kind of case that gnawed at every nerve until they were raw.

You noticed he was off as soon as you walked in. His skin pale, slick with a sheen of sweat, eyes shadowed. But you said nothing—he hated fuss, especially from you.

During a break, he excused himself too fast. Almost bolted.

You caught up with him outside the precinct, finding him slumped on the curb in the alley, head buried in his hands like he was trying to hold all the pain in one place.

The city’s noise pressed in—car horns, distant sirens, radios squawking. Too much.

You crouched down beside him, voice low, careful. “Bad one?”

He didn’t even nod. Just flinched at your voice like it was a harsh sound.

You stayed with him a moment longer, hand resting lightly on his back.

When you went back inside, Aaron was already there—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable.

He glanced at the alley behind you.

“He’s in a bad way,” you murmured.

Aaron’s jaw tightened. “I know. But I don’t know how to help him.”

You blinked up at him. “You’re asking me?”

He gave you a small, almost tired smile. “You always carry that peppermint oil in your bag. And the gel eye mask in the drawer. Considering your experience with migraines, don't you think you're fit for the job?”

You gave him a weary half-smile. “You notice everything, don’t you?”

“Only when it matters.”

Later that night, you found Spencer again.

His motel room was dark, the only light the muted hum of the air conditioning. He lay curled in the corner, face buried beneath a pillow. His breathing was shallow and uneven.

You sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t say anything at first.

You set down the little kit you’d brought—cold compress, soft gel eye mask, a bottle of magnesium drops, peppermint oil.

He cracked an eye open, wary.

“I don’t want drugs,” he whispered.

“It’s not drugs,” you assured him. “Just things that help. Stuff I wish someone had told me years ago.”

He didn’t move, so you uncapped the oil, dabbed a bit between your fingers, and gently rubbed it into his temples. Slow, deliberate circles, light pressure.

“There’s a pressure point here,” you said quietly, thumb and forefinger finding the hollow between his thumb and palm. “Hurts like hell when you press it, but it helps.”

He winced, then stilled. His breathing slowed.

“I used to get these every week,” you said, voice soft but steady, as if sharing a secret. “Stress. Fluorescents. Certain kinds of perfume., just ask Hotch.. I learned tricks. Dark rooms. Ice packs on the back of the neck. Ginger tea if you’re nauseous.”

Spencer shifted slightly, muffling his voice beneath the pillow.

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Because you’re trying,” you said honestly. “And because I know what it feels like when no one knows how to help. You deserve better than that.”

There was a long pause. Just the quiet hum of the AC and the soft weight of the night around you.

Then, barely audible: “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest loosening a little.

“I did.”

You stayed with him until he drifted off to sleep, your fingers lightly brushing over his hand, offering silent comfort.

When you finally slipped out of the room, Aaron was waiting outside, leaning against the opposite wall like he hadn’t moved.

You gave him a nod.

“He’s sleeping,” you said.

Hotch nodded once. “Thank you.”

You glanced at him, tired but honest.

“For what?”

“For being what he needs.”

You shrugged. “Someone had to be.”

Aaron reached for your hand and squeezed it once.

“Lucky it was you.”

[angellekookie]

"Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave 🥹" is how I feel about my pigments couple. Like, yes I could read them forever and always, but also I love the note they end on🥹

Yes, I have been trying to put this in words for weeks.

Ktownshizzle, you genius, you.

Everybody clear the way, Mr. MIN YOONGI is existing and making us swoon. The phone call, the lil gifts, helping her sort through products, him breathing 😔🩷✨️✨️ (can we tell I'm down bad or am I normal? Be honest.)

Just wondering, so if I call Min Yoongi and tell to take responsibility and own up for what he did, he'll just come over? Say less, omw to become a makeup girlie TONIGHT!!!!!

I love love love love the interactions between the rest of the tannies and Yoongi and Mc 🥹🥹it's just soo.. soo perfect🥹 I love it. Like, it's not the heart of the fic, but it feels like it's in the heart of the fic if that makes sense.🩷💯🩷

Very sexy of him to leave after that kiss, very sexy of him to have all that restraint. Very sexy of him and and actually, this was one of the best things in the fic for me because you can just tell how much more he would have wanted to do and the fact that he didn't 🫦

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed. 

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him. 

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol. 

He’s Min Yoongi, yours.

I keep calling you Shakespeare because honestly. Beautiful. 🥹

Y'all I'm not bragging or anything but I was there the night the skirt scene was born 🫦 and know that IT DID NOT DISAPPOINT! I'VE BEEN WAITING ON THIS 😭🤭 K LEMME TELL YOU HOW I WAS SCREAMING AS I READ THIS AND I'VE ONLY JUST TODAY BEEN ABLE TO READ THE SKIRT SCENE WITH A SEMI STRAIGHT FACE MY GOSH. But anyway, glad I didn't overreact.

But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

Same. Valid.

“But aren’t you glad you did?”

I feel like i can hear him saying this. And maybe I'm delusional but damn, every reaction is valid, mc. You better than me cause I'd actually just fall to my knees since they would have most definitely lost strength 😔💯

You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

😑 smug little..

The whole Thanksgiving dinner 🫦 but also I remember being all too happy about it and felt like something was looming on the horizon....

And I was right cause what's up with HR? Did she attend a Coldplay concert and get caught on the jumbotron, perchance? 😕 (this reblog is late but I'm glad. Maybe it was waiting for this absolutely perfect brain rot reference 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️💯💯💯)

That aside, HR this is for you 🖕🏽😔🖕🏽

K, idk if you've ever seen this k-drama, but it's one of my favourites– Romance is a Bonus Book. But like essentially, it's a workplace noona romance and the female lead does get fired from her job and the boyfriend is there just wanting to cheer her up from the whole ordeal. Now ofc the cheering up in the drama didn't include them being so close🫦 but I'm typing this today and Yoongi’s willing to be there for Mc just reminded me of the male lead from that drama🥹💯💯

I love Pigments & Playlists Yoongi

Is all I'll say on the scene. That and Yoongi I'm available Monday ✨️

The rest of the fic honestly had me like this K😭 No words or notes actually it was just so freaking cute and warm and I'm just happy for em🫶🏽

Pigments & Playlists [Final] | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluffy coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, Undercut Yoongi!!, MC-noona is the embodiment of “independent check, got her own check”, office shenanigans as always, exhibitionist kink, fingering, edging, very minor pain kink, use of a blindfold, power play (im new to writing this so pls forgive any errors), unprotected p in v, idk tell me if i missed any of it, unfair/sexist HR practices, insinuation of self-harm (assumed wrongly), MC hatin’ on HYBE, happy ending woohoo ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 9k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 21, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Yoongi’s discharge today. So proud of you, baby! 💜 Thank you so much @tea4sykes for your brilliant ideas, betareading, and basically keeping me motivated in writing this! Love yew! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Hope you guys enjoy reading this~ Made it a personal goal to publish today, because I didn't know how June 21 was gonna go for us, but I was sure it was going to be emotional. Consider this a gift from me to you. However you may be feeling today, I hope this makes you smile.

[Full taglist to follow in rbs.]

Part One | Yoongi Masterlist

So Yoongi disappeared after he did that. Frankly, how dare he?!

Way too many thoughts swirling in your head while you lay awake and there is no way you’ll be able to sleep.

Your arm flies across the bed as your hand pulls your nightstand drawer and fumbles inside for the one thing you need to help yourself relax…

Nah. Not the rabbit.

Tiger Balm.

You dab a bit on your temples and the tip of your nose and inhale deeply, letting the menthol work its magic. Yup. That’s the stuff.

Unfortunately, you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, heart thudding like something’s wrong. Except nothing’s wrong. You kissed. That’s all.

You kissed and now you’re thinking about it way too much. Not because it was bad. Because it was… something.

And because the more you think about it, the more it’s starting to scare you how much you need it to happen again.

You sigh. Rub at the menthol on your nose, frustrated it didn’t thwart your torturous thoughts.

And then you do the logical thing. You call.

It rings once. Twice.

“...Noona?”

His voice is low, a little scratchy. Not groggy, just sleep-warm.

You swallow. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says. “You okay?”

You hesitate. “Kind of.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t fill it. Just waits.

You exhale, quiet. “Remember when you said I could call you if I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t about my ex though,” you say.

“Okay.”

“It’s about you.”

That makes him hum. You hear the faint rustle of his sheets, like he’s sitting up.

“Me?”

“Own up to what you did.”

Faint chuckles crackle through your phone and you can almost imagine how he looks. Eyes like the moon, shoulders bobbing, grin smug as shit.

“What did I do?”

You groan, tack his name at the end of it.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says after a beat. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” you reply. “It makes me anxious.”

He hums softly. “Because?”

“Because I liked it,” you say. “And I kinda hate how much I’m thinking about it. And you’re probably chill.”

There’s a long silence.

Then he says, calm and careful: “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Thought you don’t date coworkers.”

“And then there’s you.”

You let out a huff—relieved, breathy, kinda giddy. “That’s… okay.”

“Yeah.” 

You sit up in bed, pulling your knees in.

“I was gonna wait,” you admit. “To see if you’d make the next move. But then I figured that’s dumb. I’m not a teenager.”

“No. You’re definitely not.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m older?” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Noona,” he breathes. “I’m not really someone who cares about things like that. At the end of the day aren’t we all just human beings trying to find a connection?”

God this man. Your mouth moves before you can think about it any more. “If you’re not too busy… you wanna come over sometime?”

There’s a pause. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

 “Noona,” he says, teasing, “are you asking me on a…”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you cut in. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He laughs. Really laughs. Low and bright and warm through the speaker. You want to bottle that sound.

“Technically, I did ask first,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll come over.”

You kick your feet under the duvet before replying, “Okay.”

You talk more.

About nothing. About music. About how Namjoon’s on his ass about a song. About how he’s been working out. You tease him mercilessly about how he just casually dropped the last part.

At some point, the sky turns blue.

When you finally hang up, your body feels softer, a little less anxious. And when you fall asleep, it’s his cute throaty laugh still echoing in your head.

“Yoongi, will you please stop making that face? I’m trying to even out your eyeliner,” you scold, trying not to laugh.

Yoongi, the piece of shit, still keeps at his :] while you skim a q-tip along the outer corner of his eye.

“Yoongi-hyung, why are you acting cutely?” Hobi asks from the next chair. “Are we even filming right now?”

A flush creeps up Yoongi’s cheeks as he responds, mock indignant, “What? This is my face. Not my fault I was born cute.”

You meet Hobi’s eyes in the mirror. Then, he winks. You immediately look away, vaguely mortified.

Wait—does everybody know?

Trying to recover, you boop your powder puff on Yoongi’s nose, sending a cloud of setting powder into the air. “Quit it.”

He coughs once, laughing as the puff drops to his lap. Okay shit, good thing he is wearing khaki slacks and not black pants. But finally, he relaxes.

“Noona, you have a Rejuran appointment later,” Jimin chimes in.

Your head snaps up. “What? How did you…?”

Jimin grins from across the room, eyes glued to your phone screen where it’s charging in one of the other stations. Your sockets were full, so you left it there earlier and a calendar alert must’ve popped up.

“You’re so nosy, Jimin.”

“What’s Rejuran?” Hobi asks, peering over with mild curiosity. “I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“It’s just a kind of facial,” you say breezily, catching Hyein’s knowing glance as she smooths Hobi’s hair with her Dyson. These boys don’t need to know your anti-aging secrets.

“They inject salmon sperm into noona’s face,” Jimin announces with a totally straight face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Salmon what?!” Yoongi blurts, snapping his head up to look at you. Hobi recoils with a horrified grimace.

“Park Jimin, when I catch you—!”

Jimin squeals and ducks behind a rack of stage outfits as you toss a blending sponge in his direction, trying not to laugh yourself.

The commotion dies down, and you go back to packing up your powders, muttering under your breath, “It’s not even that weird. Just some polynucleotides. Helps stimulate collagen. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

Hobi raises a brow. “I don’t see wrinkles, noona.”

“Exactly.” Now it’s you who sends him a wink back.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You glance at him and catch him typing something into his Notes app. Thankfully everyone goes back to their own damn business.

A second later, Yoongi tilts the screen toward you just enough for you to read it: Friday night?

Your hand holding a brush freezes for half a second over his cheek.

He’s already looking away like he didn’t just casually drop that invite.

“Okay,” you mumble softly under your breath.

The lilt of his lips tells you he heard it anyway.

The door buzzes. You’ve been so chill all day. Still chill. You're chill. (No, you’re not.) You rush to open the door before you make him wait too long.

Yoongi looks… casual. Just a black sweater layered over a gray tee, soft black pants. Hair tucked neatly under a beanie. He looks like your neighborhood ahjussi.

“Noona,” he says, voice muffled behind a white face mask.

“Wow. You’re on time.”

“I try to impress on the first date.”

You try not to smile too big, but fail.

He takes his mask off and hands you a small paper bag. “Dessert.”

You peek inside. Cream puffs from that place in Sinsa-dong that always sells out by 3 PM. “Did you have to bribe someone for these?”

“I have my ways.”

Dinner is simple, something you can make with your eyes closed. Miso salmon, cilantro lime rice, and a cucumber salad. You make this at least twice a month. You could’ve cooked steak or some grilled chops, something that gave a more date-night vibe, but you wanted to make the menu fool-proof.

You eat at the kitchen counter with his insistence, saying you didn’t need to set the dining table all fancy. (“It’s just me.”) So you sit close together on your bar stools, knees almost brushing. He clears his plate like it’s the best thing he’s eaten. You beam.

“Noona, this is really good,” he says, tapping a napkin against his mouth.

You smirk. “Better than Jungkook’s?”

He slides an arm on the backrest of your chair. “Are you as competitive as the maknae?”

“I’m just playing.” You chuckle. “I know mine’s better.”

He smiles, watching you quietly but intently as you sip your wine.

“What?” you ask, his stare is warming the side of your face.

“Just... haven’t done this in a while.”

“Eaten?”

“No.” He tuts, picks up his wine glass and sips before explaining, “Sat with someone like this. Them cooking for me. In their home. Talking.”

Your stomach dips. Not from nerves this time. From the way he admits it. Simple. Open.

You shrug, keeping it light. “Well. You’ve still got it.”

“Got what?”

“You know… the kids call it rizz.”

He laughs heartily, and you feel his fingers curling against your arm. “Was worried I might’ve lost my… rizz.” He overenunciates the last word, his lisp decorating the edge of the sound.

You raise your brow, not buying it. “Liar.”

He bites his lower lip and shakes his head at you. Your eyes track the way his pretty teeth sink against the pink plush and ugh. Again with this rizz.

After dishes are rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and dessert’s split between bites and laughter, the two of you end up on the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest yet again, just shy of your shoulder. Your head tilted toward his, but not touching, even if you wanted to.

There’s some Netflix movie playing in the background, purely for vibes. Neither of you are really watching. You talk about work. Gossip a bit. He asks about that corner shelf in your living room, the one with the knick knacks. You tell him stories about your travels, touring with Seventeen. He says you have the same lucky cat figurine from Hong Kong.

You try not to let his voice get under your skin. It’s different hearing his warm, caramelly tone when you’re not otherwise occupied with evening out his contour or with the buzz of a hair dryer in the background. It’s criminal how smooth it is when it’s all you need to focus on, even more so when he’s being earnest.

He glances at your hand resting on his thigh. (How did it get there???) Then up at your face. You nod before your brain realizes that he in fact did not ask a question.

But then he leans in and all thoughts fly out the window. His lips taste like vanilla cream and maybe the wine you shared earlier. It’s sweet. Even better than the first one because you’re ready for it.

You shift closer, hands finding their way to the hem of his sweater, thumbs brushing warm skin underneath. His breath catches a little. And then his fingers are trailing up your arm, until they settle gently on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, coaxing your mouth open so he can press his tongue against yours. You feel dizzy with want.

His hands stay respectful, never wandering too far. Just the faint brush against the back of your neck, the side of your thigh. But every press of his calloused fingers leaves a quiet, contained fire in its wake. You need more.

You move closer, straddling his lap, never breaking contact with his mouth. He kisses you deeper, sloppier when your weight settles against him. His tongue licks into your mouth expertly and you welcome it. It teases you long enough to make you wonder how it might feel in other places, too. 

Like butter, you're melting, unraveling as his hands find more courage—one sliding up, pausing at your ribs, then higher to cup your tits. He groans into your mouth and it nearly ruins you. You roll your hips forward, barely a grind, just enough to feel him straining between you. Just enough to hear him groan again. 

You make out for what feels like an eternity. But you think you’re both on the same page, when your mouths move a little slower, softer. Air starts to seep between your lips as you retreat. You’re somewhere between wanting more and knowing it’s not time. Not yet. But god, it’s close.

Eventually, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, both of you breathless–maybe a little embarrassed.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, even as he hugs you tighter at the waist.

“Probably,” you sigh, his undercut grazing your neck and igniting a dull, sweet tickle.

You stay like that for a moment, sharing the soft beat of your hearts as they slow back to normal.

He finally rises, slipping back into his white sneakers as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, lingering by the frame.

“Thanks for coming,” you reply, fingers tightening on the knob as you hold it open.

“Next time, my place?”

“Already booking that second date?”

He pulls his mask on, but not before you catch the shy grin he tries to hide.

“I’ll bring dessert,” you offer.

“Just bring yourself. “ he says, gaze flicking down your body, before settling back on your eyes.

Oh. You are the dessert.

And this time, when the door clicks shut behind him, your heart isn’t racing from confusion. It’s welcoming the slow bloom of potential.

You: Thank you for dropping off coffee and donuts for the team Yoongi: 👌

Yoongi: finished it one sitting You: what? You: i got you 10 pcs 🍊 Yoongi: and? You: you dont get acidic? Yoongi: it’s my favorite!! You: i noticed

Yoongi: [spotify playlist link] You: hey dj suga Yoongi: thought you might like You: listened to it on the drive home Yoongi: favorite track? You: musiq soulchild - just friends Yoongi: me too

It’s not like there was a talk. No formal check-in or DTR. But somehow, as the weeks pass, the rhythm between you and Yoongi settles into something steady. There’s no pressure. No constant push for reassurance. No need to define what already feels known.

You see him constantly at work—during rehearsals, music shows, brand shoots. He’s not overly affectionate, that’s just not him. But there are moments. The way his fingers graze yours when no one’s looking. The way his eyes seek you out as soon as he walks in. The way he’ll shift his chair an inch closer when you’re touching up his base, so your knees knock just enough.

He really makes this whole thing feel easy. Comfortable in a way that still thrills you. Because what can be more thrilling at this point in your life than to finally meet somebody that makes you feel vibrant.

What surprises you most is how little insecurity you feel. You’ve seen how people look at him—the other makeup artists, stylists, managers, external clients. There’s something magnetic about him that draws attention without trying. You’ve clocked it. But Yoongi has a way of making sure you never wonder.

It’s in the way he says your name. How his eyes soften when he talks to you. How he remembers the little things. The tea you like. The one concealer you always complain about running out of. Sometimes you find a sticky note in your kit. Or a box of snacks with your name scribbled on it. Just things that say: I see you. You’re on my mind.

And then there are the others. The rest of Bangtan.

It’s a choreography video shoot day, which always means chaos. Full glam’s not required since most shots are wide, so it’s just you and Hwapyeong handling light touch-ups.

You’re finishing Yoongi’s concealer when Jungkook suddenly rests his chin on your shoulder. “Noona, if I promise to sit still, can I go next?”

Before you can answer, Jimin appears behind him. “She’s doing me next. I called dibs.”

“Not how dibs works,” Jungkook pulls back his arm for a mock-punch and Jimin clutches his heart, rattling off a litany of how Jungkook wounds him.

“Hajimaaa,” Yoongi gives them all a staredown. 

But then from across the room, Taehyung yells, “Noona, help! My concealer’s making me look gray!”

“AISH!” Yoongi snarls with his non-existent fangs. It’s not even menacing. You know now that his canines are blunt. But he tries, so you giggle.

Jin comes to your rescue. “Why are all of you crowding her? You never even get your faces done for choreo. Fuck off,” Then, sweetly, “Hi noona, just a dab of lip balm, please.”

“HYUNG!” Jungkook giggles as he shoves his elder playfully away from you and they continue to horseplay elsewhere.

Yoongi turns slowly to Jimin and Taehyung, unimpressed. “Why are you still here?”

“Because she’s nice to us,” Jimin says, fluttering his lashes at you with zero shame.

“Because we love her more than you do,” Taehyung declares with a shit-eating grin.

That gets Yoongi to raise a brow.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, pointing your brush like a weapon. “If you want me to do all your faces, line up like kindergarteners and bring me coffee.”

“Done,” Taehyung shoots up immediately.

When they disperse to bother other members of the staff, you catch Yoongi watching you through the mirror.

“I think…” you murmur as you smooth out the edge of his eye shadow, “I just got myself a new set of boys.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his smile lingers tells you everything.

When he stands up to finally let one of the maknaes take his spot, he whispers, “For the record, I called dibs.” Then pinches your hip slightly.

You’re still grinning when Jimin plops into the chair and narrows his eyes at you. Eye-smiling. Suspicious. Rightly so.

You: check your studio door Yoongi: ? Yoongi: why Yoongi: what did you do You: just do it

(three minutes later)

Yoongi: you cooked? You: 👩‍🍳 Yoongi: you even packed utensils?? You: i’m considerate Yoongi: shit you the best You: i know you’re busy but now you don’t have an excuse Yoongi: you tryna wife me up huh? You: idiot Yoongi: cmere eat with me You: i have a thing You: meeting a makeup artist friend who started her own salon Yoongi: thats nice Yoongi: but next time come in You: k Yoongi: 134340 You: ? Yoongi: door code You: guarding it with my life

(fifteen minutes later)

Yoongi: (photo attached: empty bento box)

Curious how time has passed and with frequency and proximity, you discover new things about Yoongi. Things that only came with time. Things you wouldn’t catch if you weren’t paying attention. Things you couldn’t have known before.

There are lines you never noticed until you were tracing them at rest. Creases that only surface when he’s thinking too hard, or biting back a smile. Dimples, not on the smile lines, but on his chin, when he’s bored. And then there’s the slightest double chin when he’s slumped and snoozing when schedules get rough. It’s your job to know his face, to fill the lines. There are times you touch him a little longer, not for anything but comfort and maybe your greed. He lets you.

Lips, sweeter than any cherry balm you could ever swipe. But far more frequently chapped than you like so you’ve started packing bottled water inside your kit, making him sip while you let lip mask seep between the patches of dry skin. His lips have become your favorite. Sometimes it splits when he does that shriek he often pulls to make others laugh but then it also presses against your shoulder when he’s too tired to kiss you properly. Sometimes they murmur your name like it’s a sexy secret, and you wonder how you lived before hearing it said like that. 

There’s also his eyes. Small, but somehow holds a significant power. He has a habit of narrowing them, but now you can tell why, when he’s suspicious, or teasing or just tired, or forgot his glasses. You don’t need him to speak. Sometimes the way he looks at you says more than full conversations ever could.

His default expressions are even more cat-like up close. On default :< When he’s playful :] But your favorite is the :3. You always make sure his features stay sharp, complimenting his felinesque features. You pull his liner outward, shade his jaw, angle his brow. Lil Meow Meow, apparently he is called. And what ARMY wants, ARMY gets.

His hair is finer than it looks. Silky in a way that slips easily between your fingers when you card through it absentmindedly, especially when he’s resting his head in your lap. The strands at his nape get extra soft after he showers, curling ever so slightly where they brush against his undercut. He likes when you play with it, especially the buzzed edges, more than he lets on. You figured that out the first time you tugged a little harder and heard the way his breath caught, low in his throat. Now it’s something he leans into, shameless. One tug and suddenly he’s pliant, open.

He smells like tangerines. Rarely does he not have it in his pocket. But also, there’s this perfume he wears. It clings. Intoxicating and addicting, and you wonder if it’s just you who’s not immune. It lives in your hair, your pillow, your skin. You catch yourself breathing deeper when you catch it, like your body recognizes what’s safe faster than your mind can.

You no longer think about what you used to think of him. When he only said four words, and always closed his eyes.

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed. 

But you’ve come to know him more in the quietest hours, too. When he wakes beside you in his California king, face bathed in the kind of morning light no makeup could ever imitate. When he opens his eyes, and leans into your space like he always does, all soft and sleepy and sexy.

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him. 

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol. 

He’s Min Yoongi, yours. Even without the labels, yet.

You: yoongi. Yoongi: ? You: we almost got caught in the fucking meeting room 😭 Yoongi: that was close. You: close??? do you know what would’ve happened if someone saw? Yoongi: i’d probably get a raise You: ddaeng i’d get fired Yoongi: we’re fine You: you are not serious Yoongi: you kissed me You: you pulled me in Yoongi: yeah and? You: AND?? Yoongi: should’ve locked the door You: Yoongi 😩 Yoongi: you wanted it You: i did NOT Yoongi: your hand was where? You: BYE

You (photo attached: wine glass, bare legs, tv in background): guess what i’m watching Yoongi: don’t care Yoongi: all i see is leg You: rude Yoongi: wear a skirt tomorrow You: so direct Yoongi: thought we’re not teenagers You: thought you said you’d behave Yoongi: sure 😃

Another day in the glam room, another TikTok dance challenge Yoongi somehow said yes to. This time with members of TXT. He’s really never beating the allegations of rizzing up his juniors.

He’s already styled when he walks in. And looking at what he’s wearing... Honestly? He’s wearing you the fuck out. And it’s barely noon.

White tank under a greige short-sleeved shirt, pretty, purple embroidered butterflies sitting on either side of his chest. But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

“Good morning,” you greet.

He hums, eyes you up and down shamelessly and you know the conversation last night is about to resume in the flesh.

“Hey,” he takes his spot on the chair.

“Looking forward to today?” You ask, turning to pluck a brush and pot from your kit.

“You can say that…”

As you face him, he parts his legs, glancing down at the freshly cleared spot on the floor, then looks back up at you. Waits.

You sigh, already knowing what it is. An unspoken invitation to take your place between his knees. To get closer. So you do.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, feigning indifference, as you swirl the spoolie through your brow gel, wiping off the excess on the rim.

“Not exactly,” he says, smirking, knees closing in on the side of your hips. “But close.”

You start brushing his brows up, grooming them into a perfect arch when you feel it. His fingers, slow and sneaky, sliding up your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

You look him dead in the eyes.

He winks.

“Yoongi…” you tsk, moving to brush up his other brow.

“Noona…” he shifts forward, tongue peaking on the side of his mouth, which you try try try to ignore.

“Somebody might see,” you mumble. 

“Let them.”

“Such a little shit.”

“You love it.” You freeze when you feel his fingers hook your panties to the side and when he discovers that you’re more excited than you let on, “Oooh. You really do.”

Mortified, is what you are. Soaked from anticipation and some light, slight petting. How dare your body betray you like this?!

“I like your skirt,” he murmurs. The hand that isn’t currently violating you taps the floofy fabric like it’s innocent. As if the other one isn’t busy toying with your cunt.

Dignity hanging by a thread, you grit, “Didn’t wear it for you.”

A bold-faced lie. He knows it, too. “Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles.

His index swipes your folds, lazy, teasing strokes that get deeper with every pass, never quite reaching the one spot you need him to.

“But aren’t you glad you did?” At that exact moment, he flicks your puffy clit, circling it like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“Fuck,” you gasp, pitching forward, hands gripping his knees just to stay upright.

The pot and brush drops to the floor and rolls into oblivion. Much like your sanity.

He hisses through his teeth as he eases his middle finger inside you, walls fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“So wet for me, baby,” he grins, lower lip caged between his pretty teeth in his pretty mouth. It’s devastating. He’s devastating. And the way he’s watching you fall apart while knuckles-deep, pumping steadily in and out of your dripping pussy only makes it worse. Or better. Definitely worse. But shit, it feels so good.

“Yoongi… shit…” you breathe, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as your knees threaten to give out. Your palms, slick with sweat, slide beneath the frayed denim of his jeans, desperate for more skin, more heat, more of him. Fingertips dig into his thigh, surely to leave little crescent moons in his flesh. He groans, but doesn’t stop. If anything, he moves with maddening precision, adding just enough pressure to make you whimper. You moan, high and sharp, the sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it,” he licks the shell of your ear. “I got you, baby.”

That fuckin’ does it. 

You come with a soft gasp, body jerking slightly as heat rushes through you in quiet waves. It’s not loud, not messy, but it rocks you all the same—your breath hitching, muscles clenching, forehead buried in his neck to muffle the sound.

“Shit…” you breathe, blinking as the aftershocks melt through your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slow and slick, and you wince at the emptiness he leaves behind. 

Your mouth falls open. “Yoongi.”

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours so you look up. “When you lose control.”

His lips meet yours, stirring more chaos in your mind. When you pull back, trying to reorient yourself, he leans in again.

“Yoongi… fuck, you need to behave, okay?” You mumble against his lips, nipping his plush lower lip before attempting to pull away.

“But noona,” he lifts himself up, bucking against you once just so you feel the hardness between his thighs. “You're making it hard….”

You’re about to give in, when the door creaks open.

You spring backward like your life depends on it, bumping your back against your kit and you suppress the dull pain across your spine. A familiar voice floats in, Hyein, asking if you saw Jimin.

“Nope,” you reply as you start fixing bottles and palettes randomly. You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

You nearly choke on air.

“Yoongi needs to be out in 5,” Hyein calls out and closes the door.

The company Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really optional, since you’re both employees. But after a magazine shoot, Yoongi lingers as you pack up and still asks if you want to go with him.

“Why do you say it like that,” you laugh. “Like you’re inviting me to prom.”

 “Well… I’m down if you wanna match…” He shrugs, leaning against the wall as he watches you zip up your Zuca.

That’s how you end up in all black—simple, classic, and just a little coordinated with his own sleek black button-down shirt and pants. Yoongi always finds a way to underdress the right way. You compliment him, but he downplays it saying, he just ‘wore an old shirt.’ Yeah, it's the same look from their Grammy performance, but he says it like it should somehow make him look a little less. Joke’s on him, your humble king.

The event is important, but low-pressure. Not quite a red carpet, but still enough eyes to notice when the two of you walk in together. Thankfully Namjoon and Jin are not too far behind with one of their female producers.

You keep a respectful distance, like the professionals you are. But people see. You know they do. A couple of glances. Some whispers. Nothing rude, just… curious. To your insistence and his disappointment, you have dinner with your glam team. Because wouldn’t it be strange if you’re seated with them? You don’t know if you’re ready for a soft launch.

But it sure seems he is. The way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the room. And it’s in the way he caters to you. Like while you’re walking toward the open bar, the strap of your heel suddenly slips loose. You pause, bending slightly to fix it, but Yoongi beats you to it.

He kneels (!!) right there on the marble floor, one hand steadying your ankle as he buckles the strap with steady fingers.

You panic, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt. “No, you don’t have to—”

 “Let me,” he tells you as he so often does. Head down, thumb brushing the side of your foot, he fixes your shoe and suddenly you’re Cinder-fuckin’-ella in your own damn fairy tale.

Obviously, more than one pair of eyes are turning toward the scene. Cos the scene is not something you see everyday: Min Yoongi, rapper-producer-self-proclaimed bad boy, on his knees for this random girl, rugged hands wrapped delicately on her ankle. 

A couple of stylists from another team, wide-eyed. One of the project managers from digital looks like she might combust. 

Yoongi rises slowly and nods his head towards the bar. You follow him. And that’s that.

After the dinner, you end up at his place. Still dressed up, both of you nursing hot tea listening to a record he chose. Something low and jazzy filters through the room as you curl into his sofa.

“I usually don’t like company parties,” you murmur. “But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think it would be,” he says. “I’m glad you came with me.”

He looks at you for a moment, asks, “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

You were always a good kid, so you never knew what it felt like to be summoned to the principal’s office. It’s probably something like this then. When two days after the company dinner, you were asked to go to HYBE’s HR department.

You’ve never met this woman before, but it’s clear she’s a higher-up. The tightest hair bun you’ve ever seen, cartoonishly wide cat-eye glasses, you already know she’s ripped at least one person a new asshole in the last five business days.

Not much preamble. When she started, oh, she really didn’t mince words and waste time. The way she looked at you spoke volumes of what she thought you had plotted.

“Miss Y/L/N, it has come to our attention that you have gotten involved with one of the members of BTS. As such, you can no longer be the lead makeup artist for the group effective immediately.”

“Due to our current headcount, we are unable to reassign you to another division.”

“Given the years of our professional relationship, we will still provide you with any recommendations you need should you choose to find employment in another company.”

“Your final pay will be sent to you within 30 business days. Please pack up your things and surrender your ID on your way out.”

Somehow, you are able to hold your head high, temper the storm in your chest, and nod as dignified as you can. “I understand. I’ll see myself out.”

You saw this shit coming. Sniffed it out from a mile away. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. You spent more than a decade in this company, shaping and sharpening the creative vision for their two biggest acts, and they’ll let you go all because you decided to date a coworker.

Although they are clearly correct, you are involved with Yoongi, no clear evidence was even presented to you. Nothing was said to indicate that they were in touch with the member of BTS in question to get his side. Regardless, it was never gonna be a man’s fault. She thinks you probably seduced him and took advantage of your close working relationship. Ahh, this is so fucked up. 

“Noona…” a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Namjoon.

“Hey—are you…?”

You swipe a tear quickly from your cheek, but he already saw.

“What happened?”

You pull your cardigan tighter around your frame. Was there a point in lying about it? You sigh, “Got fired.”

“WHAT?” Namjoon’s voice echoes down the hall and your eyes widen like saucers.

He springs into action, stringing you like a marionette into every direction until then you end up in… his studio?

“The hell’s goin’ on?” 

You shrug, take a spot on the couch. “Not much to it, Namjoon. They fired me because they found out about me and Yoongi.”

It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this to any member verbally. It feels oddly comforting to say it out loud.

“Does he know about this?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Imma call him right now,” Namjoon fishes his phone from his pocket, but he knocks over something from the side table. It’s a half-full cup of coffee from god-knows-when. “Shit.”

You take some paper towels from his desk and help him soak the brown liquid from the carpet. It’s not really working. His paper towels are kinda thin. And the brown liquid is almost black at this point and it’s making you gag.

“You know what, shit,  let’s just leave that. We’ve got bigger problems…”

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna go.” You rise to your feet, smoothing your skirt down.

“Yoongi won’t allow this.”

“I know. But I did break the number 1 rule.”

“Let’s call him.”

“It’s ok, Namjoon-ah. I’m gonna pack up my stuff and go home. It’s a lot to process and I think I need to just… yeah. I’m gonna go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give him what you hope is a placating smile. “I just wish I got to say goodbye to everybody.”

“We’ll fix it,” he promises.

“No need,” you call over your shoulder. “Nothing’s broken.”

Bzzt… bzzt…

Your eyes crack open, a slow, confused blink. You’re warm, groggy, skin dry from sleep and mouth sticky from wine. The room’s dark except for the kitchen pin lights still on.

You glance at your clock: 11:02 p.m. it says.

The hell? There’s some heavy knocking going on now.

You pull yourself off the couch, legs slightly cramping, brain not quite awake. So out of it you don’t actually check the peephole before you pull the door wide open.

“Baby—what the fuck?!”

Yoongi’s voice hits first. Then his body—arms wrapping you up so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip between his fingers. His coat’s cold but he smells like cedar and mint shampoo..

“I thought you—” he chokes out, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the back of your sweatshirt. “You weren’t answering, I—fuck, I thought you—”

“I fell asleep,” you whisper, dazed, unsure how to hold all of this emotion spilling from him. “I’m sorry.”

His hands come up to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s checking if you’re real. His eyes are wet. His breathing unsteady.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did,” you say. “You didn’t pick up. So I just… went home.”

He follows your gaze to the half-full wine glass on the coffee table. His jaw flexes.

“Had a few drinks and crashed,” you add, quietly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just exhales shakily and pulls you into his chest again, tighter this time. You press your face against his shirt, feel the way his heart is hammering through the fabric.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer that either. Just holds you there, arms wrapped around you like he needs to physically keep you in his orbit.

You pull back slightly. Look up. “Let me just wash my face real quick. Just sit, okay?”

He nods, wordless, and sinks into the couch like he’s been holding himself up all day.

You go to the bathroom, splash cold water on your cheeks. Brush your teeth. Run a brush through your hair. Change to a lounge set.

You can hear Yoongi’s voice outside. He’s on the phone with someone, and he just told them that you’re okay.

You stare at your reflection, pale and puffy-eyed. Yeah, you’re okay. The lines under your eyes are deeper than usual. But overall, you’re fine.

When you step back out, Yoongi’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. He lifts his eyes the moment you enter, teeth pulling at the skin of his lips.

You sit beside him on the couch, tuck your legs under you. Let your knee rest against his thigh.

“So I got fired…” you say softly, voice thin.

“Namjoon told me,” he says. “I wanted to punch that new HR guy.”

“It’s a woman.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Found that out belatedly after I barged in.”

You smile despite yourself.

“Anyway, I talked to Bang PD. He didn’t authorize this. This HR lady, she’s new. A bit too eager, trigger-happy. I think she wanted to make a statement.”

“Well what kind?”

“She said she just wanted to protect Bangtan from people…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Who might be taking advantage of us. I told her you’re my girlfriend. Fuckin’ idiot!”

Oh?

“They could assign you back to Seventeen,” he prattles on, nostrils flaring. “Not like they’ve found a new person to take over. It’s not easy to find your level of talent and they’re stupid to…”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You said something…”

His mouth parts, a little confused.

“No cause you just casually dropped that.”

“Baby,” he hangs his head, pinching the space between his brows with his index and thumb. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Well,” you shrug. “News to me.”

“You’re my woman, okay? Don’t–” he tuts when you almost cut him off. “Baby please don’t even argue with me on this. You know I’ve been yours. And right now I feel guilty. I should have said so earlier and done my due diligence with the paperwork and shit. But I hate getting legal involved in my personal life. Hoba told me to do it. Cause he’s doling out NDAs left and right, but I don't want you to think you're just some hookup. This is on me. And I’m fixing it, okay. They will transfer you to any group you want.”

“I don’t want it,” you say, more firmly than you expected.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want it,” you repeat.

“You don’t want your boys?” 

You roll your eyes, because Seventeen is still some kind of chip on his shoulder. “No. I don’t want pity. Or to feel like they just let me stay because they’re afraid of you.”

“Damn right they are.”

You breathe out, jaw tight. “I want to leave with my head up. And I did.”

Yoongi nods, slow. Like he gets it. Because of course he does.

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t last. Yoongi is still a ball of fire.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Why?”

“You’re so calm.”

You take a moment before you articulate your introspections as you enjoyed your merlot earlier. “You know what? Deep down, I knew it was gonna come to this,” you say. “And if it came down to it, I’d rather just leave HYBE… than you.”

That finally pulls a gentler sound from him. A quiet, pained exhale. His hand finds yours, holds it tight. When you look over, his eyes are glassy again, but his smile is faintly there—gummy, a little lopsided..

“What?” you ask.

He just shakes his head.

“Seriously, what?”

He presses his forehead against yours, closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You kiss him, and he lets you. For a minute or two you savor the way his lips slide against yours, no thoughts, just love. Then he pulls back and says something kind of out of pocket.

“I’m rich.”

You stare. “Okay…?”

“You know I can take care of you.” He says it so earnestly, but you can’t help but giggle.

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy. How do they even call it if the woman is older?”

“How the hell are you so cool about this?”

“Because I know I have you, but I know I got me, too. I have some money saved up and some stocks I can sell if need be. Market’s looking bullish anyways…”

“You know how sexy you sound right now?”

“Umm talking about the stock market turns you on?”

“Something about a bull…”

“Want me to ride you like a bull?” You raise your brow.

“If you don’t let me fuck you right this second…”

Yoongi removes each button from your top, one by one, kissing every patch of skin revealed to him. You close your eyes, savoring the tiny, wet kisses deposited to your neck down to the valley of your breasts where he lingers for a beat. Purrs as he presses his cheek against your soft mounds and sighs before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Use me,” he says. “I know you’re angry, baby.” He peels your shirt down your arms. “Let it out…”

He holds your nipple between his fingers, twists it, and you groan helplessly in response.

“You can punish me. if you want…”

It takes a while for you to process his offer, between butterfly kisses and the teensiest sucks against your skin, a combination that's driving you wild. 

But he’s right. As always. You are mad. Not at him. But the broken sexist system.

“Yoongi?” You tug his hair.

“Hm?”

“Sit back against the headboard.”

He nods and situates himself as you asked.

You walk over to your closet to find a scarf, this white and black Valentino that he gifted you some weeks back. You climb onto him, knees bracketing his hips as you watch the curiosity glistening from his eyes. 

You’ve never really done anything like this before. But you’re familiar with it and you’ve always been down to try anything new. Bonus is you know Yoongi likes to play, so this is perfect. Honestly, he is perfect.

“I’m gonna blindfold you. And you’re not allowed to touch me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The scarf drapes over his eyes, darkening everything he knows, leaving him with nothing but sensation. Breath. Sound. You.

“Use colors, okay?” you whisper, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

He nods, swallows. “Yes.”

“What’s it now?”

“Green:”

You hum in approval, fingers ghosting down his chest. “Good boy.”

You take your time with him. Explore his body in ways you never have before. Yoongi shivers. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, the breath hitch in his chest. 

“You asked for this,” you say softly, dragging your nails across his ribs, just enough to raise goosebumps. “So I’m going to use you.” You slap his cheek, earning a soft gasp from him, before his lips curve into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can already tell.

You trace the lines of his body with your mouth. Flick your tongue on his nipples before nibbling on them until they're raw, slightly bruised. You blow cool air against it, earning you a low purr from the back of his throat.

He’s hard already. His huge cock straining against the waistband of his boxers, but you don’t touch him there. This is not like other nights. You want him aching for it.

You slink down to suck faint bruises into the soft dip of his hipbones. Let your nails wander, grazing his soft tummy where pink lines have bloomed like cat scratches. When he moans, hips bucking slightly, you press a palm flat to his stomach.

“Stay still,” you warn.

His voice is a rasp. “Yes, noona.”

You peel his boxers off slowly. His cock springs free—dark at the tip, already leaking. The bead of cum on his tip shines. You circle it once with your finger, feather-light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching again.

You slap his thigh—not hard, just enough for pain to mix with the pleasure painted clearly on his face. “I said still.”

His hands flex against the sheets he’s gripping sooo tightly. You see the tension, the need. His mouth opens, lips trembling.

“More…”

You smirk, finally leaning down and licking a slow stripe up his shaft. He whimpers, whimpers! And by god, if it’s not the prettiest sound in the world.

And just for that you can throw him a bone. But you suck only the tip into your mouth and let it pop free. 

His body arches off the bed instinctively and one errant hand makes its way to the back of your neck.

Another slap—gentler this time.

“Sorry, noona.”

“Patience, baby. You wanted to be used, right? That means you wait until I’m done.”

You tease him for what feels like forever. Stroke him gently, then quicker, then stop just when he thinks you’ll give him more. Every whine you pull from him shoots straight to your cunt.

His thighs are trembling. “Noona. More…”

You finally straddle him, not lowering yourself yet, just grinding super slow against the base of his cock, letting your slick drag across him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek where the blindfold wraps around his head. 

“Fuck, noona, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you lean forward, let your tits press against his chest, and drop a small peck on the corner of his mouth. His lips pucker belatedly as you pull back.

“You are so hot like this, baby. So good to me,,” you assure him, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping it just once, then again, tighter. “Color?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

Finally, you shift to guide him to your entrance. Still hovering. Still making him wait.

He’s breathless now, forehead sweaty beneath the scarf. “Fuck noona. Put it in. I need to feel you—fuck—need to cum in you, please.”

God, he sounds broken. Ruined.

You sink down in one slow, aching glide, and you moan in unison, in pure fucking ecstasy. Your voice high and needy, his low and desperate. He’s pulsing inside you as you steady your hips, letting your walls adjust, keeping him warm.

“Fuck, you feel—fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, noona. So warm—please let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you grit out, riding him slow and mean, using him. You let your clit drag against the short hairs on his crotch, finding the perfect angle to get you off. He can probably sense it now in the steady swivel of your hips and the stutter in your breath. 

“Yeah, just like that, noona,” he says, voice hoarse. “Use me.”

You dig your nails into his chest, bite at his shoulder. You pant. Speeding up your grind. His legs are trembling now, the muscles on his thighs, stomach, taut. “Noona…” He’s babbling now, half-words and curses, his head tossing side to side. “Can’t—shit, please—I’m….”

He’s close. You’re almost there.

“Touch me.”

His hands immediately fly towards your hips, pressing you down, deeper. Grabs your ass and guides your movements.

You fuck him harder like this, ride him like your life depends on it. You feel him losing it. Coming undone beneath you. 

“Where?”

“Inside me, baby. Fill me up…”

His whole body convulses, a strangled moan torn from his throat as he spills into you. You follow a heartbeat later, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as you unravel together.

You don’t move for a moment. Just feel his chest heaving beneath you, the sweat between your bodies. You remove the blindfold.

His lashes are wet. He looks wrecked and raw and beautiful.

“Was that okay?” you ask softly, fingers combing his damp hair back from his forehead.

He nods slowly. Smiles. “More than okay.”

You guide him to lie flat again, press your palm to his chest to calm his breathing. You grab a warm towel and clean him gently, kissing each place you left a bruise or scratch.

He pulls you close afterward, arms around your waist, face pressed to your shoulder.

Before you drift off, you remember something you wanted to address.

“Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

“Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Namjoon said you looked a little, like, out of it, you know. And when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I thought you…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why my mind went into that. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s not gonna happen, Yoongi. I’m yours.”

He hugs you and doesn’t let go.

Post-HYBE life turns out to be pretty… as Yoongi says, slayyy. 

It was tough in the beginning, starting from scratch. You start your own website and portfolio, reach out to friends and contacts to help get your skin back into the game. A few months in, you’re now affiliated with a salon who specializes in editorial and product campaign shoots. Your last one was with Choi San for D&G Beauty.

Yoongi slips deeper into your life until the boundaries blur. A toothbrush in his cup. His shirt in your hamper. 

You never needed to say it. Because you both knew that this wasn’t fleeting. That you weren’t getting any younger. That whatever this is feels constant. 

One night he sends you a Spotify link. To one song. It’s a BTS track.

He usually doesn’t send his own stuff when you exchange playlists (a ritual that stayed on). You listen to it.

🎵Home - BTS

Your chest tightens. Your fingers hover over the reply. But then he calls.

No hi or how are you. Just one question: “Move in with me?”

Life with him is a burst of pigments.

Yellow, in the warm sunlight that wakes you both every morning. Orange, in the tips of his fingers when he’s peeled his umpteenth tangerine. Blue, in the fabric softener he overused to the point that it triggered an allergic reaction for both of you. (Downy is now banned.) 

Green, in the hangover soup you cook for him after a night out. (You, on the other hand, are sober for 2 months now.) Purple, in the marks he leaves on your inner thighs and the soft bruises on your chest. Pink, in the way he blushes when you walk out in his clothes. 

And then, finally:

Red, in the two faint lines. 

You blink down at the stick in your hand, seated on the toilet, heart pounding.

It’s only a minute before the door creaks open.

“Babe?” Yoongi floats in. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He sees your face first. Then the test clutched around your fingers.

He’s piecing it together.

“Omo,” he breathes, stunned.

You nod, heart tight in your throat.

“OMO OMO, you’re pregnant?” he says it with so much disbelief it makes you laugh through the lump in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?!” he kneels on the tiles in front of you. His hands are on your cheeks, your shoulders, your belly. “Holy shit!!!”

You’re laughing now, ugly and teary. He pulls you into a tight hug, still stunned.

He leans back, eyes wild with emotion. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

“I guess we are.”

And then the tears come, his. Yoongi chokes out a wet little sound and buries his squishy face in your neck. “Fuck. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.”

You are.

So happy.

So ready.

So loved.

Between pigments & playlists. 

In technicolor. In surround sound.

In the forever you never thought possible.

This spring day.

:)

A/N: Soooo?? Did y'all bogo your shipdas? (dk what the means, but hope you liked it?)

Yoongi is back! While it was a bittersweet note that we got today, I know things are only going to get better from here for him and us. I hope and pray that he knows that he is so so so loved by ARMY.

So the fic! Yes the fic! I’d love some feedback. And a reblog if you are so inclined?

Thank you for reading this you lovely beautiful human, xo

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Divider by: @/cafekitsune

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Okay so like, I'm in the middle of writing a 4k word smut oneshot because of all your headcanons and fics of Ford- THANK U BTW for "His hands know you better than you do"

Can't stop thinking of Ford having a dumbification kink dbjsabka. Anyways, I think Ford would mercilessly spoil reader to the point where words just don't form from their lips anymore and all they can do is spell out their name.

Or him having Reader writhe and spell his name with her hips.

That's it, thats my ted talk, I'm too shy for more details but I can't stop thinking of Ford just switching up and teasing reader relentlessly.

I am so sorry though if this is way too much, please feel free to ignore if this ask crosses any boundaries and I will understand!! ^^

omg hun. first of all there’s nothing to be shy about. literally nothing. we are all mad here :) so pls never apologise for this. we are simply telling the truth about this man.

second of all, im SCREAMING about your 4k smut oneshot, tag me when you'll post it pls? <3

nsfw bc YES. im such a big fan of the headcanon that Ford has a dumbification kink.

also using the “good girl” because i couldn't resist sorry

Ford never even considered himself a good lover in bed because he was still a virgin before you. so even now, after countless nights of slow, overwhelming sex, he still doesn’t really believe he’s the best you’ve had. not until you scream for him and your legs shake and your voice goes high and helpless, so suddenly he’s like “WTFF was that because of me?” YES. YES IT WAS.

listen, he doesn’t even mean to go that deep. it’s just. your pussy is so warm and wet and greedy and his cock slides in so naturally that he loses track of how far he’s going, until the head bumps your cervix and you jolt, crying out.

“shh, oh im sorry, sweetheart. did i hurt you?”

but you’re clawing at him, choking out little “n-no, just slow down but keep going, please, Ford oh fuck”

awww and he’s half-whimpering into your neck, because fuck, he feels bad for your poor, overstimulated body, but he can’t stop, kissing your tears away so gently. so that's how he fucks you stupid and finds out about dumbification existence. and of course he's obsessed by how quickly you unravel. how a few hard deep thrusts or a bit of dirty praise whispered in your ear turns you from a sharp, witty thing into a soft, drooling, incoherent mess.

he’s all “use your brain, darling,” while stuffing you full of cock and then seconds later going “no, no, don’t think. let me do it for you.”

“but F-ford, can’t think when you’re doing that“ you sob and that’s what he wanted, perfect, that's why he spreads your legs wider, murmuring “exactly,” while pinning you to the bed. “don’t think. let me handle everything.”

also overstimulation. he needs to see you babbling, drooling, blinking slow because your brains are gone. he’ll keep going, murmuring about how you’re too precious to be thinking anyway, “i’ve got you, just let me do the work” and you’re sobbing under him, mumbling nonsense and he’s so fucking proud.

and don't even try to say something smart like a full sentence, he will shut it down immediately with a kiss and another hard thrust.

hes so satisfied when he sees you literally melting from his cock. Ford absolutely loves that glassy-eyed look when you’re gone, when all you can do is hold onto him and moan his name like it's the only word you remember. he loves that pretty empty head of yours. the fact that if he pulls out right now and asks what day of the week it is, you won't even know what the word week means.

you start trying to say please but all you can manage is some soft garbled “pluh–pluhh—“ and then nothing but the sound of your body begging for him.

god is he relentless. he’d do it again. and again. and again. until you’re blinking up at him with no real thought in your head besides more and please and him. just his pathetic fucked-out thing who can’t even say “faster” without crying.

“sweetheart,” he says, cupping your flushed face, “you’re doing so well. but you haven’t said my name properly once.”

and your only reply is a whimpery gasp of “sh-shiit, i— mmn—can’t—“

“mm, no? can’t?” Ford drags his fingers down the inside of your thigh where you’re already shaking, overstimulated and barely holding on. “then show me, please? come on, spell it out for me, darling. you know how. S–t–a–n–f–o–r–d. just like that, good girl.” ugh, brain all fogged up so your body moves on its own, soaking him without even realising it. and if you’re too dumbed down to even do that, don't worry, he’ll take over. puts those big hands on your waist and guides you into slow, lazy circles on his cock, groaning.

your head’s tipped back, just letting out pathetic “ah ah ah” as he fucks into you. you smile stupidly hearing millions of “good girl” from the man who is pushing you into the bed with his deep thrusts, spreading lewd sounds of slaps throughout the room

Ford loves when you stutter. he’ll keep going even when you’re so overstimmed you’re sniffling and twitching, pushing his twitching cock into your sopping pussy while cooing, “can’t stop yet, sweetheart. not until you forget everything but my name.”

It's a pity that you can't see yourself from the outside. just how dumb you look underneath him, how sweet and eager to take everything he gives, tears on your cheeks and tongue slipping over nonsense, and how he makes you cum without a single coherent word from your mouth. he’s so in love. and he’s so going to do it again.

i imagine he’d pin your wrists with one hand and press the other flat across your stomach to feel how deep he is, how far gone you are. “poor thing, so full of me you’ve gone completely soft up there, haven’t you?”

and you’d sob out some broken little “mmm, uh-huh, can’t, feels good, Ford. . . can't think”

“i know you can’t, love. that’s the point. just like that. don’t worry your pretty head, i’ve got it all handled.”

pls don’t get me started on his hands. he'll finger you until you’re numb, wet, overstimmed beyond logic, holding your thighs open and saying “one more” when it’s been three

so yeah im a big believer in Ford fucking his girl stupid. and knowing his narcissistic tendencies, after all this, if you also thank him once your voice comes back, you'll receive “any time, darling. i take my work very seriously.”

[margoblack]

Margo, my love, share with us.

❄️🔪🥐

❄️what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

This is really hard and I began writing all the WIPs I am currently obsessed with, read the question and wrestled myself to the ground so, if I could prompt ANY story

Barba death threat arc realised @spacemonkeeys

Anyone Can Whistle Barisi version @doriswishmans

I have literally sent every single prompt I have ever wanted to this person WHO WROTE THEM but…Wheatley and Barba and that thing... we discussed @barisistill

The Shop Around the Corner Barisi version @kenobifitz

Hostage situation with Nick rescuing Barba OR my absolute favourite trope Enemies to Lovers Office Mates (yes, yes, I know I'm weird) @ae-nar

Barba as the President and Sonny as his Secret Service AU @request-remand

Fantasy AU @capekelpie (but also Barson Omega please please please)

Friends with Benefits and one catches feelings but is it unrequited?? @perpwalkofshame

Soulmate AU (Hannibal) @disarminglybright

Speed Dating Strangers @raulcentric

Rita and Barba fake relationship for reasons to be declared but both have feelings actually @froghbertthefrog

Just Like Heaven AU @chiazu

Dark Ella Enchanted @malevolent-muse

That thing discussed in Let's Talk About... @vaalntine

Charlie is so original, I can't give out a story because it's just capping sunlight, so whatever angst @aliengoth3 wishes to bestow us with.

Good Intentions Pave the Way @ficexperiments (you see, my perfect fic already existed...)

Enzo Conception Case Fic @dotrousersmatter

One day @pjktiny will write me Barba admitted to e.r and he meets Luka and Carter...

🔪 Hmmm, oh, where can I, as an American criminal, go that’s sunny, pleasant, and doesn’t extradite… oh, fuck it, I have another idea...

🥐name one internet reference that will always make you laugh

Okay, I am not very good at this, but I am madly in love Tiny Chef memes currently?

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Keep Me In A Daydream

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Your favorite inmate can't seem to stay out of trouble. This is the first fic in my Jailhouse Rock Series!

Tropes: Slow Burn, Forbidden Love.

Word Count: 3.6K (Are y'all surprised that I finally wrote something under 10k? Because I AM!)

Warnings: Mentions of Blood and Prison Fights, Stitching Up A Wound, Cursing, Angst, Flirting, One mention of orgasm? Reader trying not to be in love with a hot man in prison? Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Listen While You Read ❤️‍🩹: Superstition by Stevie Wonder title of fic is taken from this song!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Jailhouse Rock Masterlist

A/N: Oh look it's me, the glutton for punishment as I start another slow burn fic series. But also thank you so much to my wonderful friends @zepskies and @jollyhunter for supporting me and inspiring me to write this fic 💗

The weirdest thing you learned in medical school was not that stomach acid can dissolve metal, not that your liver can regenerate up to 90% of itself, and definitely not that vibrators were made by doctors in the 1900s to solve female "hysteria" through orgasm. Rather the weirdest thing you learned was that:

Doctors are superstitious.

Salt over your shoulder, don't break a mirror, never walk under a ladder, stay away from black cats, superstitious. At first it was almost a laughable concept, something that you didn't believe when your college roommate whispered it to you around her morning coffee the second you sat down at your first lecture.

But then you began to pay closer attention.

Your pharmacology professor who always gave the stuffed pheasant on his desk an encouraging pat when he passed by on the way to the whiteboard.

Your OBGYN who always brushed a finger over her locket before she put on her gloves.

Your chief resident at Los Angeles General Hospital never wore black scrubs because he thought that it was bad luck and welcomed "chaos."

And your fellow doctor that worked with you at the Palmdale Correctional Facility believed that if he didn't wear his 2004 duct taped limited edition red and white Nike Air Jordans to work, there would be a riot.

It was ridiculous, crazy, insane, certifiable, mental, totally improbable, absolute madness... a wild paradox that some of the top scientific minds were more in touch with the supernatural than anyone else.

But that never stopped you from wearing a pair of crazy socks each day just to be on the safe side. Not that you believed it for a second, but you figured it couldn't hurt to walk with luck on your side. Goodness knows you needed it.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this Doc."

A smooth voice rumbles through the room over the familiar sounds of the rest of the inmates settling down for the night.

The usual sharp buzz of an alarm when a door opened, the murmur of voices soaking into the concrete blocks that never saw the sun, and the jingle of handcuffs that curl up against the curve of your ears beyond the small room. After working at Palmdale for the past year now you never noticed them as much as you used to.

You glance up from the book on your knee to see Walker standing just inside the double doors on the opposite side of the small jail infirmary. His dark hair hangs long into his face, green eyes crinkling around the edges with his wide smile when he spots you, and even though his hands are chained together at the wrist, the silver of the handcuffs twinkling in the fluorescent lights above, you wouldn't be able to tell it.

Sometimes you thought that Walker was far too happy to be an inmate at Palmdale Correctional Facility. As one of two doctors that worked in the clinic you had seen your share of the population of inmates that shuffled along the gray hallways aimlessly, but none of them ever seemed to talk to you or greet you with the same enthusiasm that Walker did.

Given how many times that you saw him when he was covered in blood it was even more surprising and right now is not any different.

Dried blood sits just below the plump curve of his bottom lip where it's been split, a bruise is already forming around his right eye, a jagged slash cuts deep through the eyebrow above, and there's an impressive amount of blood flecked over the skin of his cheeks covering the boyish dusting of cinnamon freckles hidden beneath his thick beard.

But somehow he's still smiling at you.

The guard behind shoves Walker forward, impatient, rolling his eyes at the inmate's cool attitude.

"Perhaps if you did not insist on starting fights that you can't win Mr. Walker," You shake your head with a knowing smile as you stand from the desk chair with an unceremonious creak.  "We would see less of each other."

You know that you shouldn't encourage him, but there was just something about him. You weren't sure if it was his charm, his sense of wit, or if it was how sometimes you thought that there was something beneath all the smirks and bravado… but he was interesting, different than all the other men you'd met in your life, none of which had been behind bars.

Of course it was the same kind of interesting that you told yourself nothing could come of. A mantra you repeated to yourself when you got a little lonely and had maybe one too many glasses of wine while reading the next book your sister suggested to you, the books that always had the kind of love interest that reminded you of just how single you were.

Walker sits down on the bed, the weight of his body crunching against the sterile paper. "This time I didn't start it."

"I find that very hard to believe."

You'd been working at Palmdale for the past year, arrived straight out of your emergency medicine residency, despite the exhaustive efforts from your mother to take the job you had been offered closer to home or at least something outside of a prison. She still called you almost every day to "make sure you were alive" as she put it, and as soon as she did she then shifted the subject to something even more horrific to her… your *gasp* absence of a dating life.

Being single at your age to your mother, while your sister was happily married and expecting again, was more grotesque than where you worked. But you genuinely didn’t have time for a relationship, at least that was what you told yourself.

It was easier than admitting the alternative, that you did have time, but you just didn't meet anyone worth letting into your life. You were so sick of boys mascaraing in suits and ties pretending to be the men they weren't, but was it wrong that you had a full time career and you didn't have time to be a babysitter too for the man who was supposed to comfort you when you had a long day?

You didn't think that you were reaching for the stars in that scenario.

The medicine cabinet creaks open as you begin to sift through the supplies, mentally ticking off everything that you'd need.

Sterile gloves, suture kit, lidocaine, saline-

Each thing tucked into the crook of your arm as you made your way down the list.

In the six months since Walker had been at Palmdale you'd seen him more than the other inmates. You never knew somebody who was so prone to get into fights, and also anyone so lucky to get away unscathed.

Maybe I should lend him some socks.

But working in the prison wasn't all sutures and fractures, it was more primary care. Making sure that medications were being taken, soothing the occasional GERD flare when the food in the cafeteria got a little too fatty as it always did, dealing with the anxiety masquerading as chest pain, and also checking in on inmates who struggled with mental health.

That last one you believed was more important than anything else. But you weren't complaining, you loved your job, knew exactly what you had signed up for the first day you were buzzed through the gates and a wand was waved up and down your body. You felt like you were making a difference here, more so than you would have been making more money at some hospital in downtown LA.

"You should see the other guy." Walker breezes when you turn back towards him. His head is tilted to the side slightly, gaze warm and welcoming, smile quirking on the end of his mouth.

I'll never understand how he can look so good covered in blood, or really how the pale blue prison garb actually makes his eyes turn an even deeper green.

You distract yourself by placing the supplies on a small table beside the bed, doing everything you can to avoid his gaze, before you wheel it a little closer.

"I'm sure that I'll see him next." Your eyes flick to the guard standing beside Walker, who gives you a single nod in confirmation.

"Good, because he really needs a doctor."

You snort, the plastic gloves snapping around your wrists. "Please, tilt your head back for me."

"Anything you say doc." Walker replies, green eyes shining with curiosity and tracing over your face in a way that makes your heart stutter a step.

Stop it.

That was maybe the worst thing about seeing him so often… that Walker was nice and had the kind of charm and good looks that usually made smart girls like you stupid. It also probably didn't help that Walker didn't strike you as a boy pretending to be a man, that he actually possessed some of the qualities you found attractive.

But you knew it was crazy, unprofessional, knew that the witty borderline flirty behavior between the two of you couldn't go anywhere.

You gently push his hair out of his face so you can clean the blood from his face and examine the cut on his eyebrow and the split in his lip.

The cut through his eyebrow was only a few centimeters, stretching more up into his forehead than down into his eyelid, lucky because if it had dropped lower or deeper then it would have gotten too close to one of the glands and you wouldn't have been able to suture it without sending him out to another hospital. And while the cut in his lip is deep, you think that the best you can do is clean it out for him and let him ice it for a few days.

While you stroke the cloth against his skin to clean away the blood flecked on his cheeks and under his lip you think about the other times you'd seen him.

Truthfully, Walker had been in here with worse. The first time you'd met, you'd had to irrigate and stitch a long two inch laceration that curved around his left bicep he'd gotten from a piece of glass, staple a jagged cut that ran along the back of his skull from an inmate slamming his head against the ground, and had to set the index finger on his right hand that he'd dislocated on someone else's face.

"How's it lookin Doc? Are you gonna be able to make me pretty again?" He smiles at you wider and you wonder how he can do that without wincing.

It can't be comfortable smiling like that with a split lip.

"Nothing a little ice can't fix, that, or you could wear some foundation for a few days around that eye." You crack another smile as you gently probe at the skin around the eyebrow laceration. Walker again doesn't flinch.

"I'm sure that'll go over real well with the fellas." He chuckles. "You going to lend me a few makeup tips?"

"I think you should be able to figure it out. This however, will need a few stitches, and your lip-" You lean closer, pulling around his lip with the pad of your thumb.

It was hard to focus on his split lip, not when Walker was staring up at you with those eyes that somehow seemed to see right through you, and not when every warm exhale of his breath wafted up over your face.

What is wrong with me?

"I think I can just clean it out and send you on your way. Now about your hands-"

You look down where his hands sit in his lap looking for bruising around the knuckles or possible tearing along his skin. Walker holds them up for you, handcuffs jingling merrily, but the motion makes the guard to his left twitch in preparation.

Despite reading Walker's file and knowing why he was at Palmdale, you weren't scared. Call it a gut feeling or an instinct, but you didn't think that Walker wanted to hurt you. Sure he might act all big and bad when the rest of the guys were around, but Walker had been nothing but nice to you since the moment you met.

Plus you figured that if you were taking the time to help him and had good intentions, he wouldn't want to.

There's significant bruising around his second and third knuckles on his right hand, but you didn't think that anything was broken. The abrasions on the palms of his hands were barely anything to write home about and didn’t need more than just a good wash in the sink.

"Easy there hoss." Walker says with a chuckle, eyeing the guard that stands at his bedside. "I ain't gonna hurt her."

The guard frowns when he looks over at you. "How long is this going to take? I've got to write a report."

"Can't rush perfection." Walker shrugs. "And doc's gotta make sure I look nice. My right side is my good side, you know?"

The officer doesn't laugh.

"Fifteen or twenty minutes maybe." You don’t bother to smile at the officer, didn't feel like he deserved it, not when he obviously didn't care that Walker was in need of medical attention.

The officer looks from you to Walker, his eyes tracing along the supplies that rest on the small table, before finally he huffs something under his breath and sits down on the bedside chair. His arms cross over his chest when he reclines back, resting his muddy boots on the space in the bed behind Walker. "Well go on. I don't have all day."

Your jaw tightens.

Working at the prison had it's downsides. No it wasn't the 24/7 monitoring or the few hundred inmates that were in for things worse than stealing a candy bar as you had when you were eight and didn't know better, it was the staff. You'd never met people so ready to turn their backs on a community such as this, but it was that way here, and you hated it.

When you’d tried to bring that up with the other doctor he’d said that the inmates “should’ve thought about that before they broke the law.”

Obviously he didn’t seem to care either.

Instead of responding, you drop your gaze to the sterile gauze and begin to apply saline to the cloth before raising it to Walker's face.

"What socks today?" Walker asks, when you pull down his lip, his eyes flicking downward to your ankles as if he'll be able to see them. Again you're surprised that he's acting like it doesn't hurt, but you figure that he's been through worse.

He'd caught a glimpse of your socks once on a day that you'd worn a pair of high ankle dancing multicolored pickles and he'd asked you why you had them on. And after weeks of him wearing you down, you'd told him your secret shame, all the while explaining the aforementioned ridiculous paradox of doctors being superstitious.

"Dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs?" He crooks up an eyebrow, eyes shining in amusement.

"Yeah. My nephew picked them out for me. He's on this dinosaur kick right now, trying to get my sister to let him see Jurassic Park, but he's only seven and she keeps telling him that he's not old enough."

You crack a smile. It had been at least a year since you'd seen him, missed him and your sister so much that it formed an odd ache in your chest whenever you thought about them. She had just told you that she was expecting her second, something that your mother dropped into every conversation you had with her. As if you being a doctor wasn't enough, you needed to justify your entire existence through procreation. 

"He's been trying to get me to talk my sister into it."

"Are you going to?"

"Hell no. That movie is not for kids. Maybe when he's ten." You dab softly at his lip with the cloth, before lifting the saline to the cut to irrigate. “He’s got a better chance of getting his dad to say yes.”

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Henry is really good at wearing down his dad." The saline drips down the front of Walker's chin, but you wipe it away with another cloth. "It's how he got a PS5."

"Sounds smart."

"He's no Albert Einstein, but he's definitely crafty." You laugh to yourself as you lower the cloth and reach for the lidocaine. "I believe he made a Powerpoint presentation on the pros and cons, and investment potential of getting him one. Though I also think that his dad has also been wanting one for a while now."

"A Powerpoint?" Walker scoffs.

"Yeah, put on his Sunday best and everything. Sat his dad down on the couch. Very professional. Kid's going places."

"Damn."

Somewhere deep in the prison you can hear someone shout something, followed by the sound of a buzzer when another door opens. The officer at bedside has begun to snore softly, hat pulled low across his brow to block the almost oppressive set of florescent lights that line the ceiling.

"So, how goes The Sun Also Rises?" You ask Walker, injecting the lidocaine into his forehead to numb the area.

You had lent it to Walker when he'd spotted you reading it two weeks ago. Loaning a book to an inmate had probably been a bad idea, was written somewhere in the code of conduct as something you shouldn't do, but he'd been interested in the book and you wanted to let him borrow it. 

It's not like I hid a shank in it or a key. What's he gonna do with a book, give someone a papercut?

Walker's face scrunches up slightly. "Um."

"No scrunching! I don't want to sew your eyebrow to your hairline." You say earning a snort from Walker. "You haven't even started it have you?"

"I don't exactly have a lot of time on my hands doc-"

"You've got nothing but time. What else are you going to do in here? Make license plates or get your ass handed to you by a guy 4 times your size?"

Walker laughs at you, the motion jostling the place where you'd begun sewing up his eyebrow. You frown at him when he does, earning an apologetic smile. He doesn't appear to be the least bit uncomfortable with this turn of events of him having to be here after a fight.

"He wasn't that big and I didn't figure that you were one to hit below the belt-"

"I'm serious," The thread pulls through his skin in a soothing motion, the sutures knotting together one by one. "I see you in here more than anyone else. Reading might save you a lot of pain-"

"But then I wouldn't get to see you doc." Walker smiles even wider, enjoying the way your eyes drop to the tray of utensils, afraid that he can somehow hear the way your heart stutters in your chest.

"Oh please." You roll your eyes at him, ignoring the way your cheeks have warmed so hot you feel like you're standing on the lip of an active volcano. "Save it for the warden. I'm sure he's gonna need you to sweet talk him to avoid solitary if you keep going the way you are."

"Seems like a waste he's not nearly as pretty as you."

Damn it. Why don't other actually eligible men do what he does to me?

You scold yourself while doing everything in your power not to look into his green eyes. Now they've cooled to a light jade, like the potted plants that sat along the window sill in your apartment back home. The kind of green that looks soft in the morning light, but hardens to a rich forest when night falls.

The guard sitting on the chair at bedside stirs and nudges Walker's back with his muddy boot. "Watch it."

"I can't give her a compliment?"

"Not like that."

Walker sighs, but smirks up at you as you finish up.

You can only imagine what's going through his head at the moment. Maybe the same thing that was going through yours or maybe not… that there was something deep down inside of you that was screaming "I can fix him!" The same thought that paraded around on a float inside your head whenever you read a book with a morally gray villain that no one else seemed to appreciate the way you did.

It was usually the same idea that came up whenever you were at home alone at night and you couldn't shake the memory of Walker's green eyes or deep rumble of his voice. The same thing that popped into your head whenever your mother asked if you'd "met anyone recently." Sometimes you imagined the look on her face if you told her you were interested in a guy that was facing 10-15 for armed robbery.

Then again maybe that would make her stop sending single men dating profiles to my email.

You'd already made the mistake of mentioning something about Walker to your sister who now teased you relentlessly about your "prison husband."

"Okay, you know the drill." You say, removing your gloves. " Come back in 3 days and I'll remove the sutures." You take a few steps back in the direction of the medicine cabinet to pull out an ice pack, snapping it once in half to active the cooling gel inside. "And ice your lip with this. The swelling should go down in a few days."

"Thanks doc." Walker stands up from the bed. "You got a gentle touch." The officer behind him shoves Walker forward, but it does little to make the signature smile of his go away. "All right, yeesh. Maybe use your words to tell me what you want to do"

"Davis will bring in the next one." The guard says to you before shoving Walker again.

Anger bubbles up in the pit of your stomach when he does, but you try to tamp it down. A part of you hated that you cared so much about Walker, you knew that nothing good could come of it, but the other part of you tried to take your feelings and associate it with something else, how poorly the staff treated all the prisoners inside of Palmdale.

Unfortunately, lying to yourself isn't half as easy as it sounds.

They've begun to make their way to the double doors on the opposite side of the room painted in the same bleak gray shades as the concrete blocks outside, giving the room the dreary appearance as the rest of the prison. The only difference was the glass windows on the back wall that brought more light in from outside.

"I'll see you around." Walker says merrily over his shoulder, throwing a wink in your direction that makes your heart start going flip-flop in your chest like a see-saw.

"Try to stay out of trouble Mr. Walker." You warn, but honestly you were wishing that you could take your own advice.

Because Walker was trouble, and unfortunately you knew just how much that trouble had begun to seep into your daydreams.

No amount of crazy socks was going to keep it away.

A/N: It begins! I honestly don't see this series as being too long? Maybe 3-4 fics total, but it's going to be an angsty ride 😉

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think and the comments really keep me going! ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @roseblue373 @angrydragon90

@kmc1989 @lunaleah

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Thank you for tagging me !! 🥹

Currently Reading: Lord of the Flies and Crime & Punishment… kind of a crazy duo.

Last Song: 2econd 2ight 2eer by Will Wood from my shuffled playlist on Spotify.

Last Film: China Salesman (2017)… listen. My friends and I watch random movies on Tubi every week. This one wasn’t good (the worse the film is, the better), but the fight scenes had us hollering!!

Last Series: Game of Thrones for the first time! Just finished season 5. The last series I completed was probably Dexter…?

Sweet/Savoury/Salty: I have a preference for salty snacks - movie theatre popcorn specifically!

Tea or Coffee: Neither! I never got the taste for it, and I can’t really have caffeine now. I enjoy plain water like a boring person.

Working on: Developing and illustrating a comic book, writing some various fics, aaaaaand trying to 100% video games when I am doing absolutely nothing else.

Tag: @ineedmorefanfics2 ‼️

— TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW MORE !

thank you for the tags LOVE you guys and hit me up on my disc for a kiss: @gojodickbig @fayerie @sugurusladyknightt @fear-is-truth

currently reading: haha who reads lol... last song: cowboy gangster politican - goldie boutilier last film: superman last series: overcompensating sweet/savory/salty: spicy i make my own rules tea or coffee: anything with caffeine to keep me going working on: getting over this gosh darn cold that wants to keep me shackled in my bedroom

✦ nine no pressure tags my loves: @prosypepper @joemama-2 @letteremi @hellowoolf @redrrem @getouyuri @eraserbread @nialovessatoru @kunareads

[colouredbyd]

rant about your drafts!

YOU JUST UNLOCKED A BEAST (i will be yapping non-stop about the upcoming fics)

1) so first up is matilda, which i actually started writing two days ago. i can’t lie, i’m really excited but also super nervous for this one because it is absolutely stacked with angst. like, the warnings alone say everything.

one major headcanon i’m working with is that when regulus is being abused, he downplays it and rewrites it in his head as just his parents’ way of showing love. and while i know the fic is going to need even more tags later on, i’d always rather over tag than risk missing something important.

writing two characters who are both going through abuse is a lot, and i haven’t gotten to those scenes yet, but the entire concept is inspired by the harry styles song matilda.

it centers around both reader and regulus coming from horrible households and sharing a lot of that same pain, except the reader is more rebellious and refuses to romanticize any of it—she despises her family and wants out, basically think sirius but in girl form. regulus, on the other hand, clings to the idea that his parents love him, even if it’s hurting him, and refuses to let go or even call it what it is.

it’s really just a fic about learning how to let go of what hurts you and stop living in denial, especially for regulus. it will 100% have a happy ending, but it’s going to be long, heavy, and very real, so i know it won’t be for everyone

2) next is lacy, oh lacy, which is probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve ever written in my life. it’s soft and aching and insecure in the exact way i think a lot of us have felt at one point or another </3 it’s rooted in that feeling of not being enough, but worse—of feeling like you could’ve been, if only someone else didn’t exist.

and for the reader, that someone is lily. she’s smart, beautiful, kind, magnetic in that effortless way that makes everyone love her, including the reader. and that’s where the pain starts, because it’s not even real hate. it’s admiration that twists into comparison and then curdles into something bitter and quiet.

she’s the one james used to like. she had a thing with remus for a while. she’s friends with everyone, even the reader. and it makes the reader feel like she’ll always be second-best, even when no one says it out loud.

it’s not about jealousy, it’s about feeling invisible in someone else’s light, and pretending that doesn’t hurt. so yes, it’s another angst-heavy one, because of course it is. but it’s also very human, and very personal.

3) no name bec i actually don’t know okay. smth about flicker 😔

4) uhh as for share your girl, the title says it all…that one has been in my drafts for a while because of how terrified i am of posting it (literally 1k plot and 7k filthy smut)

5) OMG the pickle theory was SOO cute to write ☹️ i am a sucker for jegulus tooth-rotting fluff. i cannot wait to post that one very soon <33

6) that time of the month is genuinely one of the most fun and soft fics to work on, because it’s all about reader being on her period and remus dealing with the pain right before a full moon.

they’re both miserable in different ways, and sirius is just absolutely losing his mind trying to take care of them. like, he’s torn between heating up water bottles, making tea, offering snacks, and trying not to say anything that might get him killed.

the best part is how remus and reader both try to downplay their pain so the other can get more attention and care. they’re hurting, but all they can think about is making sure the other one is okay. remus 🤝 girls when it’s that time of the month

7) OMG OMG OMG OKAY so cinnamon oat latte, please? i am actually so excited for this one i could scream. barista!remus has completely taken over my brain and i just know it’s going to be the softest, fluffiest thing ever.

it’s the kind of fic that feels like warm drinks and stolen glances and falling in love in a quiet little café. i haven’t started writing it yet because i’m still brainstorming and figuring out the details, but i really want it to be a longer fic, definitely 6k+ if not more. it deserves time and care and a full week of romantic pining energy.

the whole vibe is just built on every perfect cliché: shy smiles, lingering touches, way too much overthinking, and all the yearning in the world. i want it to be cozy and sweet and maybe a little achy in the best way. honestly, i can’t wait to get started.

8) trash friends is pure chaos in the best way. it’s just barty and flicker being absolute magnets for trouble and somehow getting themselves dragged into the muggle world, where they end up befriending actual animals living in a trash can. like full feral energy, zero shame, and they’re thriving. except they’re not, because regulus finds out and quite literally hunts them down like they’re horcruxes (see what i did there)

they’re on the verge of being single, honestly, and it’s entirely their fault. i’ve been delaying writing this one though, because it might end up being the last real appearance of flicker and barty together (I AM SO SORRY GUYS PLEASE DON’T BLOCK ME ☹️☹️)

i just really want to start exploring flicker in other dynamics too, like with lily, snickers, and maybe even other animagi. it’s gonna be a sendoff, but hopefully a very unhinged, hilarious, and iconic one <\33

AND THAT'S ALL!! thank you for reading my long rambles

[steviewashere]

They Were Roommates 2: Electric Boogaloo

Rating: Mature Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Chrissy/Robin, Chrissy & Eddie, Steve & Robin, Eddie & Robin, Chrissy & Steve CW: A Couple Lines About Disordered Eating/Unhealthy Dieting, Talks About Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Light Themes of Mental Health Issues, COVID-19 (as this takes place in 2025) Tags: Modern AU, Roommates/Housemates AU, No Upside Down/No Supernatural Elements AU, Mentions of Canon Events (such as the starcourt incident, but instead it's Steve and robin having a bad high together instead of being tortured and yada yada), Text Fic, Dialogue Only (again it's a text fic), Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing and Making Up, They're All Little Shits, Mild Sexual Humor, Chronically Online Eddie Munson, Online Steve Harrington (but not as chronic as Eddie), Gender Discussions, Beginning Social Transition, MtF Steve Harrington (but I would still stay he's ver masculine presenting and also uses he/him pronouns), Steve Harrington Has Anxiety, Disabled Steve Harrington, Chronically Ill Steve Harrington, Disabled Eddie Munson, They Are All Neurodivergent in Some Way, Happy Ending, Healthy Communication, Sims References This is a Part Two to This Fic (They Were Roommates!); This work is in a Series Also on AO3 (full tag list and such on AO3)

📱—————📱 Steve: I have something to rant to you about. Can I bother you for thirty seconds?

Eddie: u know u can bother me any time bebe

Eddie: wat do u need to rant about ??

Steve: Okay. So. You know how my AMC hired a couple teenagers for over the summer?

Eddie: sorta kinda u have expressed irritation at these people b4

Steve: That’s because they are! These fucking teens are literally the most irritating people I’ve ever had to work with. Which is saying something because there was that older woman from a couple years back, who fucking smelled like tea tree oil all the time and when I had told her that I’m, like, deeply VERY allergic to tea tree, she just scoffed at me and got all huffy. She had complained to my fucking boss that I was purposefully targeting her or whatever. Earned me my first write up as if it was a crime that I couldn’t breathe. Just absolute bananas.

Eddie: she was indeed bananas and very mean

Eddie: nobody is allowed to be mean to my bebe

Eddie: wat’s going on with these hooligan teens tho

Eddie: are they being mean to you ?? I can fight

Steve: No! They are just! UGH!

Steve: I had told them that we have to put extra butter on the popcorn if the customer asks, right? Because, you know, the customer ASKED and they are paying us to do so and it’s not an inconvenience to just pump a little bit of extra butter. In fact, it’s more of an inconvenience to deny them because they start throwing an absolute tantrum and then they’ll complain to our bosses and then we will get in TROUBLE which is bad on our record!

Steve disliked a message: “are they being mean to you ?? I can fight”

Steve: No, you can’t. Please don’t go do something stupid and get yourself hurt. Defending my honor physically is doing something stupid, before you can protest.

Steve: Anyway!

Steve: Dude, all I did was just gently go like, “Hey, by the way, if a customer asks for extra butter, you have to give it to them. It’s kind of policy around here. Also it just keeps them satiated.”

Steve: And these motherfuckers looked me dead in the eyes and just, like, scoffed. SCOFFED, Eddie! They fucking scoffed at me! Like…I am training you to be good at your jobs. So that you get paid. And so you can keep your job for longer. And be paid for longer. Why are you making this ten times more difficult than it needs to be? Oh my god. Just fucking butter the popcorn so we can move on and you don’t need to be on shift with me anymore.

Steve: Just absolutely no respect whatsoever. Like I can understand a little bit of attitude when it’s really early in the morning when you’re opening the theater before any sort of rush comes in. But when it’s in a lull moment and there aren’t any customers around and this is definitely something they haven’t been taught before? Just driving me absolutely fucking bonkers.

Steve: Then, they had the audacity to leave in the MIDDLE of a lunch rush to go smoke from their stupid little pink vape boxes that smell like disgusting rotten cherries. And when I went out back to call them back in for, you know, their work??? They BLEW the air in my face! My FACE, Eddie. They blew gross fruity smoke directly into my face. That’s not even the worst part! I caught them smoking INSIDE, behind the popcorn counter, directly onto the glass case full of popcorn! Onto people’s potential food! So completely unsanitary. When I told them to stop? Oh my god, they just rolled their eyes at me and muttered under their breath that I’m an “uptight bitch”.

Steve: Like, no??? I’m angry that you’re disrespecting your trainer. And also blowing smoke all over the theater as if it’s not only: 1) a food safety hazard, but also 2) a building safety hazard.

Steve: Anyway. I complained to my manager and guess what?

Eddie: did she brush you off bebe

Eddie: plz tell me she didn’t do that

Steve: No, actually. She did something amazing and correct for once.

Steve: She fired them.

Steve: Is it bad that I didn’t even feel bad? Not even remotely?

Eddie: no bebe

Eddie: they put you and the customers in harm’s way

Eddie: and they clearly didn’t want to be there

Eddie: it’s just karma striking when it needs to

Steve: I feel bad for saying that they deserved it, but they so totally did. You don’t get to come into my place of work and fuck everything up just because you think being young is cute and is enough to get you paid. You’re not “serving cunt” for blowing smoke around. You’re just being an asshole.

Eddie: why do the people u work with like to try and kill u I literally do not understand

Steve: Because I’m uptight and actually care about my work. If I’m not there to police them and boss them around, then they’ll still make money by just being lazy and mean. It’s not gonna make me quit, if that’s what they want. I’ve got bills to pay, man. I’m staying.

Eddie: very happy u are saying

Eddie: *staying

Eddie: on one end bcuz u r very good at ur job and anyone wood be and shood be thrilled to work with u

Eddie: but also:

Eddie: my bebe is soooo very hot when he cums home and talks movies to me :3

Steve: Yeah? You wanna know the movie that I can’t wait to see? It’s coming out verrrryyy soon…

Eddie: mmm wat movie sugar ??

Steve: Superman :)

Steve: The new Superman is so freaking handsome. And all the trailers make him look like an actual good guy. Like a guy that willingly wants to help people. I’m very excited :)))

Eddie: we should see it together

Eddie: I could be your Lois Lane

Steve: You think I’m superhero material? Don’t know if I can live up to the likes of Clark Kent.

Eddie: mmmm I think you can

Eddie: goofy and alluring and handsome and sweet and selfless…

Steve: Very good points, Teddy.

Seen 30 seconds ago

Steve: I can be your hero, baby

Eddie: yeah u can want u 2 be my hero

Steve: I can kiss the pain away

Eddie: oooo we r singing huh ??

Eddie: u have such a bootyful voice bebe

Eddie: sing 2 me my bootyful angel of song and luv and good things

Steve: I will stand by you forever

Steve: You can take my breath away

Eddie loved a message: “I can be your hero, baby”

Eddie loved a message: “I can kiss the pain away”

Eddie loved a message: “I will stand by you forever”

Eddie loved a message: “You can take my breath away”

Eddie: luv u lots bebe :3

Eddie: butt why do u have full knowledge of Enrique Iglesias’ lyrics ??

Steve: Because I’m a hopeless romantic. Romantic ballads are like a second language to me.

Eddie: I don’t know if I should laugh or make a pathetic sad sound at that

Eddie: but it was very beautiful what u did

Eddie: serenading me through text~

Eddie: got the prettiest superman ever in my phone 🥰🥰🥰

Steve: Maybe we could do a couple’s costume again for Halloween this year? You can help me with my Clark Kent outfit.

Eddie: with honor bebe, I will lay my sewing needle and thread down for you

Steve: I love when you talk nerd to me.

Steve: Save your pretty words for when I get home, okay? Been a long day. Need some…relief if you know what I mean.

Eddie: *u can hear incomprehensible animal screeching in the distance*

Eddie: HOT SUPERMAN SEX!!! WOOOOO!!!!

Steve: Jesus Christ.

Steve: I love you so much.

Eddie: WOOOOO YEAHHHHHHHH RAHHHH!!!!!

Eddie: (sends an image of a werewolf tearing off its own shirt)

Eddie: me rn

Eddie: u r gonna make me ovulate

Steve: You haven’t started?

Eddie: gonna start now for you m’lord

Eddie: I can feel myself activating my own superpower just for u

Eddie: we will be wed in the morn and have a baby in the winter

Eddie: tonight we shall tear apart everything we’ve ever known

Eddie: pre-marital sex is sexy

Steve laughed at a message: “pre-marital sex is sexy”

Steve: Damn right it is.

Steve: Gonna get in my car right now, though, okay? Be home in about thirty or forty minutes depending on traffic. Want me to pick up any food on the way?

Eddie: 2 beefy five layer burritos, a Doritos taco, and a large root beer

Eddie: do a soft shell taco if they don’t have the Doritos one

Steve: You don’t want your battery acid drink?

Eddie: mmm…no not 2nite

Eddie: I have work in the morning :(

Eddie: gotta make sure I actually sleep 2nite since my shift is an opener

Eddie: worried that the closers might leave a crate of hot pans for me

Eddie: don’t wanna do a bunch of dish loads that r just pans

Eddie: but such is life

Steve: Such is life. Well, I’ll bring home our food. And we can have sex, obviously. And afterwards, wanna cuddle and play Stardew Valley together? Maybe we could watch an episode of The Bear—if that isn’t too traumatizing before you have to go into work tomorrow.

Eddie: course we can watch our show

Eddie: nothing else I wanna do

Eddie: after sex of course

Steve loved a message: “after sex of course”

Steve: Don’t use a condom tonight. I wanna feel every inch of you.

Seen 10 minutes ago

Eddie: nosebleed

Eddie: boner

Delivered just now

——— Robin: do we have a plan for dinner tonight?

Steve: What are you up to?

Robin: whatever could you mean?

Steve: No, we don’t have a plan for dinner. Unless Eddie brings home takeout from the restaurant. Though, I doubt he will. His shift ends right before the dinner rush, I’m sure the line cooks don’t want to make a bunch of food that won’t go to paying sit down customers.

Robin: cool cool cool

Robin: can we get something dashed

Robin: maybe some Thai or…we could do Mexican?

Steve: Do you have a specific craving? I’m fine with either.

Steve: Oh, is Chrissy eating with us, too? Or is she stuck at her family’s?

Robin: ugh her family’s unfortunately

Robin: they don’t appreciate her like we do

Robin: should we go ahead and get her something too just in case?

Steve: Who’s paying for the food today? Is it my DoorDash turn or yours?

Robin: uhhh it’s yours

Robin: I did it last Thursday

Steve: I mean, I wouldn’t mind paying for her food either way. Just wondering. You think she’d want Thai or Mexican more?

Steve: Could’ve sworn she was craving salad rolls and pad with tofu. Maybe a tea, too?

Robin: already putting down her order

Robin: what would you want Stevie

Steve: Ummm…fill me in for some lemon chicken and sweet sticky rice and a bottled Coke if they have it. Otherwise I’ll just have some orange juice from the fridge.

Robin: citrus forward tonight

Robin: you have scurvy or something

Steve: I work in a dimly lit theater most of the time and don’t spend any extra time outside, at least nothing extra compared to what I need to. Which is just walking to my car and then walking either inside the apartment or the AMC. So…honestly, who knows? It’s not like I’m eating oranges constantly or whatever.

Steve: I’d make a joke about maybe getting scurvy from Eddie, but he’s actually getting more sun compared to me because he goes on walks every morning. Like ass crack in the morning.

Robin: he’s got his tan earlier than you this year

Robin: honestly shocked because he’s usually such a hermit

Steve: He told me he’s trying to “rally the rats”. Whatever the fuck that means.

Robin: if your boyfriend brings home an army of possibly diseased little freaks to our apartment, I’m gonna be so pissed

Steve: Rats are cute!

Steve: But it would definitely hinder some things if a bunch of rats just suddenly showed up at our door. Like losing our security deposit kind of hindering.

Robin: and I actually like this apartment complex compared to the one back home in Hawkins

Robin: I genuinely do not want to lose our lease because your boyfriend wants to Snow White serenade all the creatures lurking near the L train

Steve: I’m kinda worried he’s luring them in with Chicago dogs. He always comes home reeking of fucking celery salt and pickled peppers. What if when he’s showering off the stink, he’s actually luring rats to our drains? Oh my god, if I sit down to take a shit, there might be a rat trying to crawl up my ass one these days.

Robin: I know for a fact that won’t happen.

Steve: What? Why? It very well could! I’ve heard stories of it happening to other people! Sometimes with snakes!

Robin: It’s BECAUSE you haven’t experienced a normal bowel movement in, like, three weeks. You complain to me everyday that you’re bloated and that your tummy hurts. Which, ew, why the word tummy of all things? But you don’t shit frequently enough for a rat to be curious about your ass.

Steve: I think the rats would actually be VERY curious of my ass!

Steve: Eddie tells me that I have a…what did he describe it as…

Steve: Oh!

Steve: A “bodacious bouncing stack on your backside”

Steve: Literally a direct text from him.

Steve: And if the rats are being trained by my beautiful, loving, and HONEST boyfriend, then I know the rats are gonna be obsessed with getting a little peek at the heavy load I’m carrying.

Robin: your boyfriend is horny and biased

Robin: you have a simple bubble butt and you wear too tight jeans and that’s why it looks bigger than it actually is

Robin: just accept reality

Steve: Um…my butt is my best asset. Ha! Ass.

Robin: you’re ridiculous

Robin: I put in the order. Used your card. Should be here in about forty-five minutes.

Robin: I made sure to get Eddie his usual.

Steve: Thank youuuu

Steve: Now tell me my ass looks great or else I refuse to pay for DoorDash in the future.

Robin: based on my lesbian principles, I refuse to do that

Robin: and you love me too much to deny me my future pint of ice cream

Robin: and you know it

Steve: Damn it.

Steve: Yeah, I guess I love you too much to do that.

Steve: But some day! Some day I will say no!

Robin: mmm

Robin: until that some day, your ass looks average in your jeans

Robin: and you can’t change my mind

Steve: I’m gonna tattle on you to Eddie.

Robin: realistically, what’s he gonna do to me?

Robin: sic his rat army on me?

Steve: Y’know what…

Steve: Yeah…

Steve: Yeah, he will. Keep one eye open, Robs. The rats will find you one way or another.

Robin: oooo so spooky

Steve: You’ll see.

Delivered just now

——— Chrissy: Guess who started a new Sims save???

Steve: If the answer is you, then that’s wild because I also just started a new save.

Steve: Recently pre-ordered that new fairies pack. And so now I’m just making all of us as different supernatural Sims. Except for you, Chris because I want to make you a fairy.

Eddie: aren’t we all fairies ??

Steve: Eddie.

Eddie: it’s a legit question r we not all fairies yes or no señorita 

Steve: Technically, sure, yeah we’re fairies. But I’m making you as a vampire. I’m gonna be a werewolf, even though they’re so fucking ugly in this installment. Robin’s a mermaid because she forced me to make her as a mermaid. And then Chrissy’s gonna be a fairy.

Steve: Actually, I think I’m gonna make myself be a spell caster. Unless you wanna be the spell caster, Eds. Then, I’ll be a vampire instead.

Robin: you should actually make me as the vampire because then Chrissy can cure me

Robin: I saw that that’s one of the features

Steve: But then you’ll just be a regular human.

Steve: Don’t you wanna be an occult Sim?

Robin: sure, but also maybe Chrissy’s Sim can turn me into a fairy or something

Eddie: I don’t think other people can turn u into a fairy, Robs

Eddie: u were born that way homie

Robin: when will I be legally allowed to strangle you

Robin: I know a good WWE style headlock maneuver that I’ve been dying to test out on somebody

Eddie: 2 kinky 4 me dood

Eddie: don’t think ur girl wood be happy about that

Robin: you are the bane of my existence

Eddie: luv u 2 homie :3

Steve: So I’ll be the mermaid

Chrissy: Steve and Eddie had a baby in my game today ❤️

Eddie: name that bby corn

Eddie: it’s funny I swear

Steve: Do NOT name the child Corn, Chrissy. The moment you let Eds bend your arm is the exact moment he has more control. Trust me, he will only cause chaos.

Chrissy: I have bad news

Chrissy: You took too long to send that message. Your daughter’s name is Corn. The good news is, is that you guys already had another baby, which I elected to name Sugar after the character in The Bear. So, in a way, you guys have Sweet Corn. Isn’t that great?

Eddie: finally corn has been avenged

Eddie: next corn will be president of the sims world

Eddie: she will make smoking weed legal

Eddie: and she will outlaw the rich

Eddie: oh yeah it’s all coming together

Steve: Ew, why do you want our child to be a politician?

Eddie: I literally just gave my reasons

Steve: Politicians are corrupt. My dad ran for mayor back home, like, five times. All on a strict conservative campaign. He’s a liar and a cheat.

Steve: You want our daughter, our little baby girl, to end up like her bastard grandfather?

Steve: You—You wish for the worst on our little tiny angel? How fucking dare you.

Chrissy: Why do you always drop the biggest chunks of lore in the middle of a stupid conversation?

Chrissy: Next, you’re going to tell me that your mom made large investments in Weight Watchers or something. Literal bane of my existence.

Steve: No comment.

Chrissy: You’re fucking kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding.

Seen just now

Eddie: oooo it’s getting heatteeedddd

Steve: You think I dieted in high school just for the fun of it?

Steve: I was forced to eat salad every lunch, no bread in my diet whatsoever, and the only dessert I ever had were those stupid Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches. I mean, Skinny Cow? What kind of name is that? How is that appealing at all?

Eddie: now I feel bad 4 trying to make jokes

Eddie: I’m sorry that happened to u, baby

Eddie: and I’m sorry it happened to u too, Chrissy

Chrissy: Is it too much to say that I want to make your mom in the Sims, Steve, and just, like, remove the ladder to the pool?

Steve: Are you in your room with Robin?

Chrissy: I mean, I’m in my room, but Robin’s at the library studying right now. Why?

Steve: What if I ordered pizza and hung out with you in your room and we watched it happen? Little bit of a cathartic release for the both of us.

Eddie: …I’m scared

Eddie: shood I go to Wayne’s for a little bit ??

Steve: You don’t wanna watch?

Eddie: I’m afraid to watch

Eddie: cuz I know if I ever wrong u, I will end up as one of those sims

Eddie: no thx

Eddie: don’t wanna see the future of my own demise

Steve: Suit yourself, loser.

Steve: Chrissy, you want me to come in and hang out?

Chrissy: Cheese pizza with garlic breadsticks and also bring the pint of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream from the freezer. We are going to have so much fun.

Steve: Yess now you’re talking

Delivered just now

——— Robin: Steve’s drunk just thought you should know in case he texts you

Eddie: thx for the heads up

Delivered just now

——— Steve: wehnar e you coming backk

Delivered 10 minutes ago

Steve: noo answer?

Steve: I wish you were home and we could cuddle

Seen just now

Eddie: my shift is over at midnight but I might not come home until 2

Eddie: u missing me bebe ?

Steve: like fuckin crazy

[Steve: want to be your pretty girl tonight]

Steve: Eds

[Steve: can I be your pretty girl?]

Eddie: babe u can always be my pretty girl

Eddie: if that’s what u need

Eddie: everything alright?

Steve: I feel weird tnogith

Steve: tonight tonight

Steve: I had a couple of those tall beers you have

Eddie: the IPAs?

Eddie: baby, that’s a lot in one sitting

Eddie: drink water for me okay?

[Steve: I feel like I’m not a boy]

[Steve: do you ever feel like that?]

Steve: I wanna be Lois lane for halloween

[Steve: be the pretty girl]

Eddie: Steve, baby, I think you should drink some water and have a little snack

Eddie: and go to bed, wait for me to come home and snuggle you

Steve: I know what I need and what I’m feeling

Steve: why aren’t you listening to me

Eddie: I am listening, I promise you

Eddie: you want to be my pretty girl and you can be my pretty girl

Eddie: you can be Lois Lane if you want to be I’m not gonna stop you

Eddie: but maybe we should talk this out more when you’re sober

Seen just now

[Steve: she hides when I’m sober]

[Steve: like she’s scared]

Eddie: who?

[Steve: pretty girll]

Steve: I’m gonna go to bed and sleep

Steve: tired from crying

Eddie: why are you crying sweet thing?

Eddie: honey, what’s going on?

Steve: feel wierd an sad

Steve: need to sleep

Steve: be quiet when you get in bed

Steve: robs is asleep

Seen just now

Eddie: oh baby

Eddie: sleep well

Delivered 30 minutes ago

——— Steve deleted multiple messages

Steve: Ignore what I sent you last night. I don’t want to talk about it.

Eddie: it’s ok to talk about it bebe

Steve: There’s nothing to talk about. I was drunk.

Steve: Have a good day at work for me, okay? Ignore what I sent you last night.

Eddie: if u want to talk about it at some point, I am all ears

Steve: I have nothing to say about it. It was just my dumb drunk brain. Probably heard something in a show I had been watching and just repeated it or whatever. I don’t feel like that. I don’t.

Eddie: if u did it’s ok

Eddie: things are tricky sometimes

Steve: I don’t feel like that, Eddie. Just let it go.

Eddie: ok baby

Eddie: I’m sorry

Steve: You don’t have to be sorry, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry you had to see any of that.

[Steve: Nobody’s supposed to know about that part of me.]

Steve deleted a message

Steve: Have a good day at work

Seen just now

Steve has do not disturb active. Send a message anyway?

——— Robin has created a group chat

Robin has changed the name to: “girls night out”

Robin has added two people

Chrissy: Oh! Hey, baby, what’s up?

Steve has do not disturb active. Send a message anyway?

Robin: we should all have a girls’ night in

Robin: I bought some face masks and ice cream and found out that We Live in Time is on my HBO Max thing

Robin: why does he have do not disturb on?

Chrissy: Eddie told me he’s upset about something, but I’m not sure what. He didn’t specify.

Robin: did they get into an argument?

Chrissy: Not that I’m aware of. I think I’d know, though. Eddie makes it very clear when he’s upset about something. He just seemed sort of…I don’t even know. Sad, but not for himself?

Steve: We didn’t get into an argument. I just may have said something that I don’t want anybody to know about.

Robin: ooo a secret??

Robin: that’s perfect for a girls’ night!

Steve: It’s not some dirty little secret. I just said something when I was drunk and I should’ve kept it to myself. Also, I don’t want to be a part of girls’ night.

Steve has left the group

Robin: what crawled up his ass?

Chrissy: I don’t know, babe. Maybe we should just let him be for now. His mood usually resolves after a while anyway, right? This isn’t the first time he’s been snappy through text.

Robin: yeah, I guess you’re right

Robin: you know me, though, I just get really worried about him sometimes

Chrissy: I know, but I’m sure that if he needs to talk, then he’ll reach out to one of us.

Chrissy: Did you still want to do a whole thing tonight or just do our usual cuddle in bed and watch TV thing?

Robin: let’s just…I don’t know

Robin: we’ll save the face masks for another day, I guess

Robin: maybe he’ll be better some other day and we can just do it all then

Chrissy: Sounds good, babe. I���ll be back at the apartment in a couple hours once my manager let’s me off the hook. Let you know if Eddie follows up with anything else, okay?

Robin: yeah, okay, sounds good

Delivered just now

——— Eddie: baby, how r u doing

Steve: I’m okay

Steve: Tired from work. Hungry and craving burritos from Taco Bell.

Eddie: well, I’m out rn and I already have something 4 u

Eddie: want me to pick up some taco bell ??

Eddie: get u ur baja blast

Steve: You didn’t have to get me anything. I’m doing okay.

Eddie: I wanted 2

Eddie: remember how u saw that pic of a kitten on ur instagram

Steve: Teddy, did you get me a cat?

Steve: I don’t have the money right now to get all the things it’s going to need.

Eddie: well, that’s why I got it

Eddie: bcuz I knew it wood make u happy

Eddie: I got food and a scratching post and a litter box, some litter and all the other good stuff in between

Eddie: now let me spoil u bebe

Eddie: do u want taco bell or no ?

Seen just now

Steve: Please, I’d love that

Steve: I really want a big order of those Cinnabon bites, too.

Eddie: consider it done bbygirl

Eddie: sorry

Eddie: bby, I’ve got it for u bby

Steve: Why are you saying sorry?

Eddie: well…I don’t wanna push u into talking about that stuff from the other night

Eddie: so I figured maybe giving u nicknames like babygirl wood not be the best move rn

Eddie: unless u want that??

Seen just now

Steve: I don’t know what I want, if I’m being honest.

Steve: I’m not ready to talk about it. But I’m also tired. Just so tired of carrying it all around, you know? It feels like it’s been all heavy inside me for years. I don’t know what made me want to start talking about it with you the other night.

Eddie: I don’t know either, bby

Eddie: but I want u to know that if u do consider urself a girl or whatever, then I’m behind u on it

Eddie: I will support u no matter what

Eddie: it won’t change how I feel about u, bby

Eddie: bcuz I’m completely in love with u, no matter what shape or words or name or whatever else u take

Eddie: it’s just u and it’s only been u for me for a very long time, sweetheart

Steve: Thank you, baby

Steve: Maybe only you can call me a girl for now? I really like babygirl. Even if that’s sorta weird.

Eddie: it’s not weird 2 me

Eddie: well ur always weird 2 me bcuz ur the biggest dork I know outside of myself

Eddie: but I’ll be home soon, ok and we can talk more if u want

Eddie: gnna bring a baby girl to MY bbygirl

Steve: I love you, Eds

Eddie: love u 2, sweet thing

Steve loved a message: “bcuz I’m completely in love with u, no matter what shape or words or name or whatever else u take”

Steve loved a message: “it’s just u and it’s only been u for me for a very long time, sweetheart”

Steve loved a message: “I love u 2, sweet thing”

Steve: Drive safely

Delivered just now

——— Robin: hey can I talk to you?

Steve: Is that even a question? Yeah, of course you can.

Robin: don’t be a smartass, dingus

Robin: it’s about you

Steve: Oh

Steve: Did I do something?

Robin: no, of course not

Robin: you didn’t do anything wrong, Steve, I promise you

Steve: Is this about the whole thing with Eddie?

Steve: It’s not anything bad, I don’t think.

Robin: I mean…it’s sorta about that

Robin: I can’t get you to come out of your room recently, y’know, and I miss you being around the apartment

Robin: I’m just worried about you. Did Eddie do something? To hurt you?

Steve: No! No, Eddie wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, oh my god!

Steve: I just am working something out about myself, okay? And I had accidentally let it slip first to Eddie. He’s being sweet about it. He’s tolerating it. I’m not ready to talk about it with anybody else.

Steve: Like, I know I can come to you with it, you’ll be yourself about it. Accepting and whatever. But I don’t know. It’s a lot. I’m not ready to make it real, put it out there beyond what Eddie knows.

Robin: Oh, Steve

Robin: I don’t want to push you, so I’ll back off for now

Robin: but you know that anything you have to tell me won’t change a thing, okay?

Robin: unless you, like, killed somebody I loved. That would change things.

Steve laughed at a message: “unless you, like, killed somebody I loved. That would change things.”

Steve: Maybe I did, in a way.

Robin: very ominous

Robin: but just the right level of ominous for you. I’m letting it slide

Robin: but seriously, when you feel ready, you can talk to me

Robin: maybe I can find a good bathroom floor for us to talk on, just without all the drugs and whatever in our system

Robin: also hopefully without pissing our pants and puking up our guts

Steve: I’m sure when I’m ready, we’ll figure out a way to have this big stupid conversation. For now, I’m keeping it between Eddie and I. No offense.

Robin: none taken

Robin: I get it, big crazy conversations are really hard to have. It was hard to come out to you, even when I noticed you weren’t the same guy I knew from high school.

Robin: soooo when you come out of your room

Robin: we’ll do face masks and eat ice cream and eventually, some day, we’ll have all the conversations we need to have. And I’m gonna be right by your side the entire time

Steve: Sounds like you have it all planned out for me.

Robin: sure do Stevie-boy

Robin: but, like, one step at a time

Steve: Perfect girls’ day to me, yeah?

Steve: Sorry for being snippy with you the other day

Robin: oh, it’s fine

Robin: but now you’re gonna have to deal with me sending a million memes

Robin: hope you’re readddyyyy

Steve: Oh God. Oh no.

Robin: mwahahaha

Delivered just now

——— Steve: Guys. I’m pissed off at work again.

Robin: uh oh

Eddie: o no wat happened this time bebe

Steve: Just. Heads up. I might have COVID now.

Seen just now

Robin: what.

Chrissy: I’m sorry?

Eddie: u better not

Steve: Okay, listen, it may just be me getting all huffy and worried. But one of the new new hires, y’know since the other ones had to be fired, one of these new hires to replace the old ones came in with COVID the other day. And I only found out about it today. The girl that I usually man the counter with, who I also tend to give a ride home to, she was all masked up today and was telling me how she wasn’t really feeling good. And I was like, “Oh, yeah, that’s reasonable. The mask seems like an extra step though.” But then she proceeds to tell me that the new hire, Delaney, came into work with COVID and that the managers knew!

Steve: The managers knew this girl has COVID and yet they still let her come into work. Which is, like, totally against the rules we’ve had set out since the lockdown. Or at least since we were able to reopen during the start of the pandemic.

Chrissy: Well, that’s bullshit. 😕

Robin: total bs steve-o

Eddie: that has to be illegal, right ?

Eddie: like intentionally cumming into work while sick and spreading it to your coworkers

Steve: I don’t even know. I’m not gonna sit here and get all concerned over the whole legality of this absolute horseshit. My pay is like $16/hr, coworkers are mostly bumbling idiots, and I’ve had tubs of popcorn and giant cups of soda thrown at me at least three separate times by different people. First sign of COVID symptoms, I’m calling out and quitting over the phone. They can flounder for a replacement.

Robin: damn right

Chrissy: If you stayed there, I’d be shocked. Just work for the Target or something near your theater.

Steve: Well, if I pick up this virus, then it’s possible it might further disable me or something. I’ve already got IBD and fibromyalgia and my chronic migraine shit. I’m probably bound to get some sort of autoimmune bullshit if I do end up getting sick. Don’t want to jinx it, but it’s possible. And if I get another condition on top of the ones I already have, it may just put me out of commission. Like having to rely on disability checks kind of commission. Which I really don’t want to do because that’ll limit how much I can make in a month and then how much I can spend and all that other stupid stuff.

Steve: Fuck, if I end up out commission from catching COVID, I may just have to suffer through it and work a slow sort of job or something. I need some form of income. And I also want freedom. God knows you can’t get that here anymore.

Eddie: honestly, bebe, ur right

Eddie: I can’t even imagine u even being able to earn fuckin disability income with the fucking clown show in office right now

Steve: Shit’s fucked. And this fucking coworker may have fucked my shit even more.

Steve: I’m livid.

Robin: you should be

Chrissy: I’d be shocked if you weren’t.

Steve: You know what I just realized, too?

Eddie: wat bebe

Steve: That girl that I give a ride to every once in a while, her name’s Kelsey, she’s had cancer before. Like literally beat cancer probably, what, three or four months ago? Her immune system is shot to shit.

Steve: If she does have COVID, then it’s gonna fucking destroy her. Like worse than what it could do to me. And even saying that is crazy because it could also very much so destroy me if I catch this. Her immune system is so bad that she could still die from it, you know? It’s just. How inconsiderate and selfish and stupid are you to bring a known deadly virus to work with you and just expect everybody to be okay with it? If anybody gets disabled or dies from this one person spreading COVID around at work, then she should be held liable. Like full blown sue in court kind of liable.

Steve: As much as I dislike my dad sometimes, it might be worth it to go to him and see if there’s legally anything I can do about this. Because even if I don’t spend my energy actually suing anybody, maybe Kelsey can?

Steve: I don’t know. There might be nothing to do about it. Other than report the theater and my current managers to HR or corporate or something. Get them fired. Jesus, if that happens, then that means I’d have gotten, like, four or five people fired within the last two or three weeks.

Robin: don’t feel bad about it dingus

Robin: it’s their own fault for being so careless and having favoritism towards these new coworkers

Eddie: y r ur coworkers obsessed with trying to kill u

Steve: Because God hates me.

Steve: Also.

Steve: Nobody here respects me because I’m such a hardass. I know it’s been a joke before about how I’ll run a store like the navy or whatever, but I genuinely have to be like that here. These people are so fucking incompetent. Makes me look smart as hell.

Eddie: bcuz u r smart, Steve.

Eddie: u just have ur moments where ur brain walks out the backdoor

Eddie: much like everybody else

Robin: yeah, so stop being so hard on yourself

Robin: or else I’m gonna risk getting COVID and come into your bedroom and blow my trumpet directly into your ears

Steve: You end up giving me worse hearing loss, I’m gonna rock your shit.

Chrissy: Worse? What do you mean by that?

Steve: Ohhh yeahhhh

Steve: By the way guys, I think I’m losing my hearing or something. Probably from playing music too loud, but it should be fine.

Eddie: GO TO THE DOCTOR!

Eddie: why do I always have to bully you into going???

Steve: 🤷‍♂️

Steve: Because it’s funny when you get mad sometimes. Your voice goes up, like, twelve octaves. It’s very entertaining.

Chrissy: I’m gonna go ahead and put my phone on do not disturb. This is about to be the biggest blow up of the century.

Robin: ditto

Chrissy has do not disturb active. Send a message anyway?

Robin has do not disturb active. Send a message anyway?

Eddie: I’m gonna roundhouse ur ass

Steve: I’d like to see you try.

Delivered just now

——— Robin: they’re totally going to have gross sex when Steve comes home from work, right?

Chrissy: Yeah, probably. Unless Steve gets too anxious about spreading any sort of illness or something. You know him.

Chrissy: Wanna go pick up some COVID tests and put in headphones and watch our show?

Robin: sounds perfect

Delivered just now

——— Eddie: Robin’s in the clear

Eddie: so is Chrissy

Eddie: u get a result on urs yet ??

Seen just now

Steve: Five minutes left on the counter. Then I should be able to tell.

Steve: Do you have a result?

Eddie: I’m negative

Eddie: sooo what do we do if u do end up having the rona

Steve: First of all, don’t call it “the rona” you sound like my bumfuck republican dad.

Eddie: sorry

Steve: Secondly, I don’t know. If you’re negative now, but I’m positive, then it’s probably showing you a false negative. Or, like, I’m showing a false positive, but I don’t think that’s very likely. Chances are, if you do undoubtedly end up being negative, then you’re gonna have to go stay with Wayne for a little bit until this clears.

Steve: Or I could go back to my parents.

Steve: Though that could be a bad idea. My dad has diabetes and my mom had a kidney transplant a couple years back, so she’s immunocompromised.

Steve: So if Wayne isn’t immunocompromised, it might be better for you to just stay with him while I fight my way out of this.

Eddie: if u get covid, I’m not leaving you by urself

Steve: That’s stupid. You know that, right?

Eddie: u already get super sick as is

Eddie: I’d rather be home to help take care of you than leave you all by urself

Eddie: love and all that shit

Steve: Orrr you could make sure you stay safe and just go live it up with Wayne for a little while. So that at least one of us in this relationship comes out of this virus bullshit unscathed.

Eddie: orrrrrr I stay home and take care of u bcuz I luv u and want u to be safe and healthy and if I know u, ur gonna just lay in bed for most of the time and not take any sort of medicine or drink enough water or eat enough food

Eddie: bcuz u suck at taking care of urself when left to ur own devices

Eddie: no offense.

Steve: …All taken.

Steve: I don’t want you to get sick, Eddie.

Steve: Aren’t you immunocompromised because of your heart? Had open heart surgery as a kid? You don’t come out of that fully healthy and ready to take on the world. You come out of that with surgery finished and close monitoring on your heart. I’d rather not be the person that puts it out of commission, thank you.

Eddie: 🙄

Eddie: y r u making this so complicated

Eddie: I will be fine.

Steve: I’m not arguing with you, Eddie. If I am positive for COVID, then I want you to not be in the room with me at all.

Eddie: Well I’m already exposed to it! I sleep in the same fucking bed as you! If you’re positive, then I’m positive, too! I’m just not showing symptoms yet.

Eddie: Which one of us is gonna be healthiest to take care of the other? Probably me because I have only, like, one condition I have to worry about. Meanwhile, you have at least two that will fuck with you while you’re sick.

Steve: That’s not how that works.

Eddie: Steve. Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me? Do you remember when you caught the flu and had a Crohn’s flare up and you were literally so miserable that you couldn’t get out of bed? I had to make sure there was a trash can in the room because you were vomiting, like, constantly. And you kept refusing to eat. To drink water. To sleep. I’m not leaving you alone.

Eddie: whether you like it or not

Eddie: I will fucking handcuff myself to u if I need to.

Eddie: don’t fucking try me.

Seen just now

Steve: Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Eddie.

Steve: Just please do what I say and stay with Wayne if I end up testing positive for this shit.

Eddie: No. End of.

Steve: End of? Are you fucking insane? I’m telling you that you can’t be here. That’s not something I’m compromising on, it’s me TELLING you or ORDERING you to not stay here with me. I’ll be miserable and it will suck, but at least you won’t be miserable with me.

Eddie: sickness and health, babe

Eddie: if I’m marrying you in the future, I cannot in good conscious leave you by yourself

Eddie: either I stay in the room with you and we have Robin and Chrissy leave stuff at the bedroom door for us when we need it, or I’m sleeping in the living room and I’ll be at your beck and call

Eddie: choose one.

Steve: I don’t want to.

Eddie: choose. one.

Eddie: stop fighting with me on this.

Seen just now

Steve: Come on, Eddie. Please.

Eddie: No!

Steve: I’m not listening to you. I’m not doing this right now.

Steve: Let me check my fucking test results and then we’ll go from there.

Steve has do not disturb active. Send a message anyway?

Eddie: COVID or not, we are having this conversation. I am not just gonna leave you alone to be miserable.

Seen just now

Steve: Okay, it’s negative. Thank God.

Steve: What do you want to pester me about now?

Eddie: oh my god, you are so insufferable sometimes

Eddie: look at the words in our chat.

Eddie: just look at them.

Eddie: I want to be there for you when you’re sick, okay? That’s it. That’s all I’m trying to say. And you are so adamant on refusing my help. Why?

Steve: With a cold or a flare up? Yeah, obviously I enjoy your help. But when it comes to a virus that’s literally been killing people for five fucking years?

Steve: No dice, Eddie. Fucking deal with it.

Eddie: deal with it?

Eddie: you’re actually joking.

Eddie: Steve, this is serious.

Steve: Can you just shut the fuck up about this for five minutes? Jesus Christ, Eddie. I get it. You want to help. I’m not letting you. I refuse to. Get over it.

Steve: I want to take a nap and I want to just be left alone for a little bit.

Steve: Can you do that? Or do I need to go be insufferable somewhere else?

Steve: Hurt my feelings by the way, thank you for that. You’re being so nice.

Eddie: Well, you’re being an ass, too.

Steve: You’re a fucking asshole when you want to be. Just leave me alone.

Steve has do not disturb active. Send a message anyway?

Eddie: Yeah, I guess I can do that.

Eddie: Love you.

Delivered just now.

——— Chrissy: I think you guys need to apologize to each other. I’ve never seen you guys get so massively explosive and mean to each other before.

Eddie: Was I being too much do u think

Chrissy: No, Eddie. Neither of you were being too much.

Chrissy: Maybe, though, I think Steve was just stressed out. And he gets very worried about you, like, a lot. And he just wants you to be safe. That’s probably why he’s trying to push you away.

Eddie: but who cares if I’m safe or not he and I share a bed, does it really matter

Chrissy: It matters to him.

Chrissy: Wasn’t there a whole thing where he had to perform CPR on you or something?

Eddie: u mean when I had a heart attack a few years back ?? Yeah, that’s a “whole thing”

Chrissy: Dude, don’t be an asshole with me. I’m just asking for clarification because that was the same time I was in ED recovery. Shit was all sideways during that time.

Chrissy: Maybe he’s just…I don’t know. Maybe he’s worried he’ll have to do that again. And maybe it won’t be enough the next time he does.

Eddie: oh.

Chrissy: Yeah, oh.

Eddie: Shit. I fucked up. Majorly.

Chrissy: You both kinda did. It’s nobody’s fault. You guys are just stressed for each other, not at each other, but took it out on one another anyway.

Chrissy: It’ll be fine. Just let Steve cool off and you also cool off.

Chrissy: You’ll come around again. It’ll be okay.

Eddie: but I want to apologize now

Chrissy: He wants space, Ed. Give him space for right now. That’s all you need to do. And also stop biting your nails, I know you’re biting your nails.

Eddie: can u sense when I have slobber on my fingers or something

Eddie: wth kind of superpowers do u have

Chrissy: I’ve known you since 2018. Literally almost a decade. I just know your bad habits and you know mine.

Eddie: ohhhh yeah I guess that makes sense

Eddie: u think he and robs are talking to each other??

Chrissy: Most definitely.

Eddie: I mean…I guess I shood know bcuz I’m in the bathroom and he’s in our room

Eddie: he’s being really quiet

Chrissy: Maybe they’re texting?

Eddie: no cuz if he’s mad at me and needs to rant, he’s gonna call her

Eddie: wait I think I hear him

Chrissy: Give him space, Eddie. Why don’t you and I go catch a movie while he’s deliberating with her?

Eddie: and leave him by himself in the apartment to lose his mind??

Eddie: no thx

Chrissy: Eddie. You have to leave him be. Robin will be back from the grocery store in a little bit, I’m sure. They’ll probably talk shit about you at least a little because he’s frustrated. And then he’ll text you eventually or you guys will talk it out face to face or whatever you two nutjobs do when it’s time to make up.

Eddie: what movie do u wanna see ?

Chrissy: Wanna go see Jurassic World Rebirth? You can gush over Jonathan Bailey…

Eddie: Jonathan fucking Bailey is in that movie ?!

Chrissy: So is Scarlett Johansson 🥵

Eddie: simmer down

Chrissy: I’m going to go crazy in therreeee

Eddie: oh god this is going to be just like when we saw Freaky Tales and then you couldn’t shut up about Pedro Pascal for two weeks

Chrissy: He’s hot shit. Are you saying Pedro Pascal isn’t hot shit? Are you blind?

Eddie: not my personal taste

Chrissy: OMG

Chrissy: That feels blasphemous, Eddie. That’s literally the most insane thing a person has ever said to me. Ever.

Eddie: 🙄 u sound just like Steve rn

Chrissy: Yeah, well, Steve has taste. And you don’t. Actually. Who’s your big celebrity crush?

Eddie: rn?

Chrissy: Yes right now. Old? Young? Who the fuck is it, Edward?

Eddie: ew don’t call me that

Chrissy: Just tell me!!!

Eddie: it’s Jeremy Allen White

Eddie: something about those scary ass blue eyes just does it for me

Eddie: and the curls

Eddie: or are they waves??

Eddie: whatever he’s hot

Chrissy: Why is this not shocking to me?

Chrissy: Of course he’s your celebrity crush. He looks almost identical to Steve.

Eddie: ummmm no he doesn’t?

Eddie: first of all, I think he’s shorter by a lot

Eddie: secondly, blue eyes.

Eddie: third is that he’s, like, very beefy and also has an entirely different face structure and has wavy hair

Eddie: definitely nothing like Steve

Chrissy: Steve sorta has wavy hair. And their noses are kinda similar. And also if Steve were to bulk up more, I’m sure he could be right on it with nearly identical builds. They could be cousins.

Eddie: oh my god stop

Eddie: he’s hot that’s all you need to knowwww

Chrissy: So is Pedro Pascal.

Chrissy: We stand on different fronts, but we are united by talent. That’s all we need.

Eddie: are we seeing a movie or not

Chrissy: omg yeah let’s go

Chrissy: Maybe we can see Eddington afterwards?

Eddie: ur gonna talk my ear off about Pedro Pascal the entire time

Eddie: bad theater etiquette

Chrissy: Unless I wait until we’re back in the car.

Eddie: where you can trap me for hours ??

Eddie: ur insane

Chrissy: Pshh whatever. Let’s go, though. I don’t wanna miss the previews.

Eddie: of course you don’t

Chrissy: What’s that supposed to mean?

Eddie: nothing, I’m getting ready now

Chrissy: Thank youuu

Delivered just now

——— Steve: Teddy?

Seen just now

Eddie: Stevie, wats up

Steve: I’m sorry for getting snippy with you the other day.

Steve: I was just feeling a lot. Like mainly super stressed. And it felt like you weren’t listening to my concerns. I’m sorry for being an asshole.

Steve: I know you’re at work right now and you can’t really text me back right away and I’m also sorry for apologizing over text. It’s a really stupid way to go about this. But I don’t know. It feels like the last couple nights when you’d come to bed, you’d still be super tense and, like, mad at me? And I don’t want you to be mad at me. I just want my baby back and it’s my fault that you’re mad. I’m sorry.

Delivered 20 minutes ago

Seen just now

Eddie: don’t feel bad for texting ur apology to me

Eddie: I should say I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t fair of me to bulldoze all your concerns and then keep pushing and prodding.

Eddie: When I was talking to Chrissy about all my frustrations, she brought up the idea that you might be anxious. You know, ever since you had to perform CPR on me. Which I’m sure isn’t a pleasant memory to revisit. And all I remember from it was not being here and then being in the hospital, you know? So I didn’t really fully understand all the commotion and the chaos surrounding when I was out.

Eddie: I never considered that it would affect you as much as it did. And then to just insist on staying with you. I’m sure you were just scared of all of that happening again. Like if I, y’know. Yeah. If it happened again.

Seen just now

Steve: I should’ve told you I was scared.

Steve: Instead of arguing with you about why you shouldn’t be in the room with me.

Eddie: Yeah, well, I should’ve just accepted that it would’ve been bad if I did get sick. Like at the very least, I should’ve just volunteered to be in the living room. And at the most go to Wayne’s.

Steve: Yeah.

Steve: I worry about you all the time. I worry about, like, a lot of things all the time. Makes my stomach hurt, you know? Thinking about what could happen. And then I just start to spiral. And then I get these panic attacks, right? I forget to breathe. I forget that you’re in the world somewhere. It just freaks me out.

Steve: You were almost gone.

Eddie: I know baby, I’m sorry

Eddie: Maybe we should get you in touch with a therapist, sweetheart. Get somebody you can talk to and can help manage your anxiety. Cause that’s what it sounds like. Getting an upset tummy all the time from worrying over every last little thing isn’t good for you.

Eddie: You get panic attacks, though? How come you haven’t told me?

Steve: I don’t know, Teddy.

Steve: They never feel like something you can help with. It’s like I just shut down.

Eddie: I can find a way to reach you, baby. You just have to let me in.

Eddie: Let me know when things are getting bad or you aren’t feeling good or there’s something bigger happening.

Steve: I’m trying. It’s not easy. It never has been, you know?

Steve: I used to tell my parents about all this stuff. The anxiety kind of shit. And it would just be something to brush off. That it wasn’t serious. But I don’t know. I almost dropped out of high school because of it. And then it didn’t go away when I moved out. It just stayed. Stuck inside me like tar or something.

Steve: It takes so little to set it off, too. And then I have to remind myself that I can’t be present to worry about things if I get stuck in my head in the process. How am I supposed to be helpful or how am I supposed to figure out a solution when everybody’s busy worrying about me? I don’t know. It just never seemed important until now.

Steve: And then it reared its ugly head. And I took it out on you. I don’t know how to rope it back in. It just all comes out of me. Like spilling. And it makes everything suffer.

Steve: Shit, sorry. I’m totally unloading onto you. That’s not cool of me.

Seen just now

Eddie: Baby, you are not unloading onto me. I promise you that it doesn’t feel that way to me at all. You are finally talking to me. You are letting me know what’s going on. That’s not you leaving me with your shit.

Eddie: If you need to talk to me about any sort of anxiety, or you need to just find a way to make sense of things, then you talk to me. I want to help you and I want to take care of you. I want to love you the best I can.

Eddie: Are you okay right now?

Steve: Yeah, I’m just trying to breathe through this. It’s scary to, like, talk about it? It makes it real, I guess.

Eddie: It sucks, but you gotta let it be real. Or else there’s not a good way to help you minimize or manage it, you know? We’ll find out solutions and stuff, baby, one step at a time, I swear.

Steve: Yeah, okay.

Steve: Sounds good.

Seen just now

Steve: Did you mean it when you said all that in sickness and health stuff? About marrying me in the future?

Steve: I know that wasn’t the whole point of the argument. But did you mean it? Or was it just something to get me all focused on your words?

Seen just now

Eddie: Of course I meant it.

Eddie: Did you think I was making that up? Because if we had the means, I’d marry you right now. I’d go all out. Rent us some tuxes or, if you wanted, I could rent you a dress? You’d look good in a dress. Not that that’s the whole thing about this. Anyway. I just mean that I’d go full out and stuff, you know? Biggest bouquets. Prettiest, shiniest rings. Live music. All that.

Steve: I like the idea of a dress. But a simple one. Like floor length, but silky. No bulky lace or skirts or anything. Just straight down. Straps.

Steve: That’s so silly, though, isn’t it? For me to want a dress?

Eddie: You want a dress, babygirl, then you’re getting a dress.

Eddie: Little bit of eye makeup if you want? Mascara and glittery eyeshadow. Make your eyes pop like crazy.

Steve: And lipgloss?

Eddie: :)

Eddie: Yeah and lipgloss. All shiny and glittery and pretty. You my pretty girl, Stevie baby?

Steve: I could be.

Steve: Do you want me like that?

Eddie: I want you.

Eddie: Any single way. Doesn’t matter too much to me what that looks like, as long as you feel like you.

Steve: What if I stayed as Steve? And I used he/him pronouns and I still really liked all my regular clothes?

Steve: But you referred to me as your girlfriend? Eventually your wife?

Steve: And we took care of each other. Even if sometimes that was risky kind of stuff. But we laid in bed together, your hand in my hair, and I leave sticky lipstick kisses all over your face. And we were just together.

Steve: Is that okay?

Eddie: It’s perfect is what it is.

Eddie: I love you. I want you. I want everything with you.

Eddie: Even the miserable shit, you hear me? I’ll be miserable with you. As long as I’m with you.

Steve: Just don’t go keeling over for me, okay? Promise me that?

Eddie: I’ll promise as much as I can. Just can’t promise away accidents. But I won’t go dying for you. Don’t go dying for me either, baby.

Eddie: Don’t let go and I won’t either, sweetheart. My sweet sweet girl.

Steve loved a message: “Don’t let go and I won’t either, sweetheart. My sweet sweet girl.”

Steve: You’ll have to pry me off of you, Teddie.

Steve: Wanna go see Superman tomorrow?

Steve: I need to know how to look the part of Lois Lane.

Eddie: Of course, baby.

Eddie: I’ll pay for the popcorn. We sharing a Slushie?

Steve: Only in your dreams. My cherry-coke-blue raspberry monstrosity is mine and mine only.

Eddie laughed at a message: “Only in your dreams. My cherry-coke-blue raspberry monstrosity is mine and mine only.”

Eddie: Alright, fair enough babygirl

Eddie: I know this is off topic, but do u want me to change out the litter box tonight

Steve: Yes, please. I fed her this morning. And let me tell you, our little Farrah is fucking insane and is also maybe a garbage disposal. Or maybe a vacuum. She’s crazy.

Eddie: got it, angel

Eddie: u want me to bring home any food from work or u want me to pick something up on the way back ??

Steve: Is there any of the red velvet cheesecake left at the bakery counter? Because that sounds delicious.

Eddie: I’ll set some aside for u

Eddie: u want any dinner food ?

Steve: Is it too complicated to pick up taco bell again on the way home? Don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but I’ve been craving the cantina chicken quesadillas every single fucking day. They’re too good.

Eddie: got it, so red velvet cheesecake and then I’ll get u two quesadillas and also a medium Baja blast

Eddie: sound good ?

Steve: Sounds perfect, Teddie. Thank you. I love you

Eddie: I love you too, babygirl

Steve loved a message: “I love you too, babygirl”

Steve: I’m never gonna get tired of that

Steve: Call me your girlfriend really quick?

Eddie: You are the most perfect girlfriend in the world. How’s that, sweet thing?

Steve: Oh, it’s everything I hoped for. Feels so right.

Eddie: Love you, sweet girl. Gotta finish my lunch and get back to work, okay? Take care of yourself?

Steve: I will, Teddie. Have my heating pad right now for some hip pain and I’m laying in bed watching Jaws for the nineteenth time. Having a decent time right now.

Eddie: Good, I’m glad. Gotta go. Loveee youuuuu

Steve: Love you, too <3

Delivered just now

Steve: Also, remind me to revive your Sim later in my game. I may have done the remove ladder trick the other day when I was still freshly mad at you.

Seen just now

Eddie: u r a scary motherfucker

Eddie: how bout u revive me and our sims get married ??

Steve: EEEE!!! YES!!! I’VE HAD IT PLANNED FOR MONTHS NOW. FINALLY!

Eddie: revive me first, tho, bebe

Steve: Okay, yes. Doing that now.

Eddie: heating pad, baby, make sure u use it

Steve: Yes, of course. I’ll bring it with me to the computer. Okay, going now, so now I’ll leave you to your lunch..

Eddie: I wanna watch us get married later. Save it for me?

Steve: Okay babe <3

Steve: We’re gonna be such a cute married couple!!

Steve: Oh my god, I can’t wait to tell Chrissy later. She’s gonna freaking lose her mind.

Delivered just now

——— Steve: Is Chrissy home?

Robin: No, she’s studying for her finals at the library.

Robin: Why? Do you need her for something?

Steve: No, not yet. Just need you by yourself. I figured now would be a good time because Eddie’s at work and I’m on my way home.

Seen just now

Robin: everything okay?

Steve: Yeah. Just. I’m ready to have that bathroom conversation, I think.

Robin: Oh! Yeah, okay! Yeah, I’m by myself. I’ll be ready. Want me to just wait in there or…

Steve: We’ll go in there and chat when I’m home. I call dibs on the bathtub.

Robin laughed at a message: “We’ll go in there and chat when I’m home. I call dibs on the bathtub.”

Robin: All yours.

Steve: Cool.

Steve: I’m a girl, by the way. That’s what I wanna talk about. It’s more than just that.

Robin: Okay, cool. We’ll talk it all out.

Steve: Would it be weird to see what it looks like if you call me your sister?

Robin: I can do that

Robin: You’re the best sister in the world. Like the best.

Steve: :)

Steve: That’s nice. I like that.

Steve: Is it weird to want to be your sister?

Robin: I already thought of you as my twin separated at birth. You’re my sister whether you like it or not.

Steve: Yay! Awesome. This is so awesome.

Steve: Be home in twenty minutes, we’ll talk more. Wanna break out face masks?

Robin: I’ll break out face masks, make a charcuterie board, and get the bathroom smelling like lavender instead of your boyfriend’s dumb AXE cologne.

Steve: Oh god, yeah. That stuff is strong. Don’t cause chemical warfare in the bathroom though.

Robin: Yup, I got it! I’ll light candles and stuff, too.

Steve: Jesus, please be careful. Last time I left you with candles, you burnt the ends of Chrissy’s hair somehow. Please for the love of god be careful.

Robin: Girl, I got you. Just drive home and be safe.

Steve: I’m serious.

Robin: Whatever you say, dingus. I’ve got it handled.

Steve: Does not ease my anxiety. But sure.

Steve: See you then, dude.

Robin: Okay, butthead. See you soon. <3

Delivered just now

——— Robin has created a group chat

Robin has changed the name to: “girls night out”

Robin has added two people

Robin: girls’ night is back on

Robin: be there or be squarreeeeeeee

📱—————📱

[madamechrissy]

hi sweet babie! This is an anti-part-2-ask. An un-part-2-ask if you’re feeling fancy. You’ve been working so hard to put out gold tier fiction for all of us and you deserve to feel good and not pressured while creating your art.

Please remember the central point of art was always expression/creation, not consumption.

I await your fics like your readers wait for their loves to come back home after work- eager, desperate and in want, but its wrong to feel entitled a constant churn of free content. To all of chrissy’s readers, please keep this in mind.

This is also a check-in. I know you must love writing with the sheer volume of content you put out while still maintaining the quality, but are you still enjoying the process or is the pressure from the part 2 requests building up? Please take care of you and yours first!

Most writers start out writing as a way of self expression but they lose their love for it because of how their work is consumed and reacted to. Do whatever it takes to not let yourself become a part of that statistic.

Love you and your work sm ! Take care of yourself, hydrate, spend time with people you love and eat well<3

Lovve this is so sweet 😭😭💓 thank you so much for being supportive and patient 🥹💓 I really do appreciate that, I don't think a lot of ppl know how much time I put in writing. Like hours a day 😭 it absolutely is my passion!! But demanding more would literally mean me having no job at this point lol! And it rly is my hobby, so I want it enjoyable!!!

I also agree, demanding pt 2 and no other comments just feels frustrating 😭 I like to write whatever project speaks to me at the time, and I think when ppl see me updating stories they don't read they're even more inclined to bug me on them 😭 which does make me not wanna write the ones they're being pushy on.

Its def making me back off just a bit (ofc I still write alot bc I so love it!) The pushiness of some ppl makes me wanna be bratty and shove the project on a shelf 💀💀😂 so it doesn't have whatever effect they're going for. Burn out is frequent and I see why 😔 if it gets too bad i'll hop my ass to ao3 though hehe 🤭

I am doing so good baby! I got a promotion 😎 but that means learning and more work!! And the fam is good hehe 💓 you're so sweet I just adore you!!! 🥺🫶

[jillsandwhichs]

Chemistry

Chapter 18 to RE Characters x Reader Smutshot Collection

Masterlist

Pairing: F!Reader x Albert Wesker

Summary: Your husband, Albert, comes home from a stressful day at work and uses you for his own pleasure (Consensually!!!)

Status of your guy's relationship in this one shot: Married

WC: 2.1k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Making out, Dirty talk, Lap grinding, Blowjob, Sub!Reader, Dom!Albert, Unprotected P in V, Riding, Slapping, Hair pulling, Biting, Both of you finish, Albert finishes inside of you

Song to listen to whilst you read: I'm your man - Leonard Cohen

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

You were sitting on the couch, typing on your laptop as you heard the front door open, then close. It didn't freak you out at all, knowing the door was locked and the only way someone could've gotten in was with a key - therefore you knew it was your husband, Albert. Instead of making a fret of it, you continued to type away on your keyboard, focusing on finishing up your paperwork.

While your husband works for an organization known as Tricell, you are employed through a different agency, but it isn't too different, work wise. For you however, you're a bit of a rookie and are constantly on paperwork duty. Until you're able to move up in the job world, you'll be stuck here while your husband is at the top of the food chain, absolutely thriving.

Speak of the Devil, Albert entered the living room. He was wearing the same outfit he put on this morning, except his dress cost was off. He must've hung it up when he first got into the house. Now he's just in a black button up with fancy pants, his dress shoes off too.

The man was glancing down at you, watching you intently as you typed until you broke contact with your screen, then began it with him. "Hello." "Hi." He said as he ambld around the couch and over to you, standing directly behind you. This made you smirk. He placed his hands upon your shoulders and sighed deeply from behind you, hoping to grab your attention.

You stopped your typing completely and tilted your head up, practically looking at him upside down. "Too focused on your work?" He questioned you, his voice deep. "When am I not?" "Never." He smirked, quietly praising you for your work ethic. You smiled, then without looking closed out of your tab, then closed your laptop, shifting your head back up as you moved your laptop from your lap and onto the table in the center of the living room.

Albert then walked along the couch and sat at the end of it. You went from laying down to sitting up, crawling over to him on the couch and sitting on his lap, not straddling him, just sitting. He sighed deeply and placed an arm around you, his other resting his elbow on the back of the couch so his hand could reach his face to rub his temple.

He seems more frustrated than usual.

"What's wrong, my love?" You asked him, concerned now. He shook his head then opening his eyes, his dark gaze resting upon you. "People are simply idiotic, that is all." That's nothing the two of you didn't already know. You nodded and validated his stress. "People at work, I presume?" "Always." He replied, his tone dense. You've always wondered how people are at Tricell. Albert has always described them as useless beings but that's just Albert being himself.

You felt him stroke your waist as he looked at you, his body language calmer than his actual demeanor. You leaned in and set your head on his chest, exhaling sharply. "I missed you today." "Likewise." He responded. He's never been the best with affection but for you, he tries. He's always viewed you as different from anyone else; As if you're otherworldly so truthfully, he'd do a lot for you.

End the world even.

You felt him plant a kiss on the top of your head as he moved his hand from your sides and to your hand, caressing your touchable hair lovingly. Your stomach was doing flips - you adore affectionate Albert. You then moved away from his chest and tilted your head up, looking at him in awe. He was happy to see such a light in his life after such a dull day at work.

Albert pressed his lips to yours, kissing you passionately as he held you close. You reached up and used both of your hands to hold his face, keeping the kiss going. Albert's hands slithered around you, pulling you closer into him. It's clear - he needed this kiss, if not more than you. He squeezed your body and that indicated you to change your positioning.

As you switched your body to now straddle him, you asked him a question. "Are you...?" "Very." It's funny that he knew so quickly what you meant because indeed, he is horny right now, as are you. You nodded and chuckled, now entirely straddling him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he grabbed your throat, pulling you into a nasty kiss as he shoved his tongue into your mouth, making out with you, his other hand on your hip.

Albert must've had a really upsetting day at work. The second he got home, he's all over you, needing that stress reliever. He can use you as he pleases, you far from mind. You moaned into the kiss and rolled your hips forward on him, causing him to grunt and his cock to grow even harder, making it so now you could feel it. He's hard, and you're the cause of it.

Smiling into the kiss, you then brought your hands down to his black belt that was raced through the loops of his dress pants. "I bet I could be of some use to you." You said to him in a seductive voice, kissing him again as you started to undo his belt. Albert nodded and licked his lips, "That is true." It is. You pulled his belt off then set it to the side, slipping your hand into his pants and palming his manhood from outside of his underwear.

"You are so hard." You laughed out cutely, biting his lower lip before kissing him. Albert grasped your ass and squeezed it, pulling you into him, causing a grinding motion. "I really need you right now." His voice was gruff, "Badly." His accent really peaked when he said that. You shook your head up and down before getting off of his lap and standing before him.

Currently, you're wearing one of your black & lavender purple nightgowns. It is all black with faint purple lace trim along the top, sides and end of it - it is one of his favorites. As for panties, well, they match the attire quite well. Overall, you look sexy and Albert can see that clearly.

Getting down on your knees, you watched as he smirked, then lifted himself up for just a moment as he pulled his black pants down, then let you do the rest. You took them down to just above his ankles, then did the same with his boxers. You gleamed. You love pleasing Albert, truly. Anything for him. He treats you well and takes good care of you, you have no reason to not love it.

"I'm sorry you had such a tiring day at work," You spoke softly, now taking his length into your small hand as you started to move it up and down on it, getting him further going. "When you have days like this Albert, just know," You drew yourself closer to his cock, your heart pounding as you did, "You have me to help relieve any bad feelings you've got." Then, you licked your lips before suctioning then around his erection.

An instant groan of relief emitted from Alberts mouth as he felt the warmth of your pink lips around his pale member. It was glorious - he knew this is exactly what he needed. Soon enough, you moved your head up and down on him, going from his tip and all the way back down to the base of his dick. You took it well, and you know that. You hardly ever gag, you just let it all happen to you with joyous.

"That's my girl," Albert hummed out to you, moving his hand from his thigh and to your silky hair, caressing it smoothly as you sucked him off amazingly. "Ugh." He gruffly muttered out, the feeling being so good, he couldn't help himself.

The more it went on, the more you became aroused too. You love having him in your mouth. That sweet taste of his slightly salty pre-cum always makes you want you buried inside of you. Albert has always managed to make you feel all sorts of ways. You rocked your head up and down, taking him deeply and quickly with each swift move of your head. Albert simply watched you in awe and lust.

You licked around his tip and primarily focused on that area to begin with, knowing it is his most sensitive. You would also occasionally take him so deep, it felt as though he was hitting your throat. You'll do anything to provide Albert with sexual pleasure. "I-" Albert went to speak but quit as you moved your head faster. He then gripped your hair tightly and pulled your head up, holding your head in place as he looked at you with dominance in his eyes. "On my lap, now."

Nodding, you got up from your knees and wiped your mouth before getting back into his lap, each thigh on either side of him. From underneath your thin nightgown, Albert put his hand beneath it and took the side of your panties, moving them to the side as he pushed himself inside of you, having you ride him this time around. Once he reached the deepest point inside of you, he mumbled something to himself before taking his hands to your waist.

Adjusting to his rather large member, you slowly but moderately moved on him. You'd switch it up - you'd go from back and fourth to up and down, knowing he was content with either or. Your hands this time around were placed upon his chest, holding onto his black dress shirt, one that he wears pretty often. He gazed at you, his eyes stark and filled to the brim with ecstasy.

"You are so," he reached one hand up from your waist and up to your face, taking your chin into a tight grip, "Beautiful." Then, a slap came across your face. Of course, he is never too hard with you. You like it, you've expressed that, so he continues to do it. Once he smacked you, you just smiled deviously and moaned softly, picking up the pace in which you rode your husband.

And again, he slapped you, this time grasping your face as he did. "Look at me while you ride me." He demanded, now thrusting his hips upwards into you, causing your breath to shift in its breathing and your body to bounce more. You stared right into his eyes as you rode him, never breaking the sensual contact. "That's it, my dear. Just like so." You two continued your harmonious rhythm.

With each movement, you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm. You could feel his tip literally hitting that sweet spot inside of your tight walls. He's just so big and wide, it's a lot for you to take. He slapped you again before briskly slipping his hand from your face and to the back of your hair, pulling your head back as he took a handful of it, fisting it into a ball. You practically screamed out a moan as he did it, liking the pain.

Riding him, feeling his hand in your hair and now, his teeth sinking into your neck faintly, it was all too much. "I can tell you're close..." He began, "Cum for me, my love." Albert said sweetly to you, digging into your hair harder and his lips coursing along your throat, leaving his mark everywhere. "Just let go darling." He concluded. "Oh mmm." Were the last noises you made as it only took a few more bounces on his member for you to finish.

Cumming around him, your pussy clenched around him, which led to his then undoing. You basically came together. Albert swiftly released your hair and swathed his arms around your body, holding your frame against his as his semen seeped inside of your wet walls, filling you right up. You shook in his arms, and he just held you close, making you feel totally comforted.

Coming down from your high, you smiled against his shoulder before sneaking away from it, now looking into his eyes again. "That was..." "Perfect, as always." He cooed out to you, caressing your rosey cheeks, gazing at your flushed face. "I love using you like that." "Hehe." You snickered, then leaned in and kisses him.

[iamyourwayout]

So I finally got my hands on some deleted scenes (courtesy of the Remmick Discord🩷) and we see Bert playing a guitar and singing with Joan right before Remmick comes.

Which means they were singers and musicians already, and the instruments (that I assumed were stolen or something) actually belonged to them.

And it got me wondering about just how far Remmick's influence goes -- I assumed that via the hive-mind, his thralls would just absorb his abilities / talent just like they absorb his memories, but maybe that's not the case?

He does of course dictate what and how they sing, but do these abilities have to be there in the first place?

Later in the dancing circle, everyone knows the moves, but you can see (like with Cornbread for example), that not all of them are experienced dancers like Remmick.

It's just interesting to see that the control is mostly in the mind, and doesn't necessarily affect muscle memory and physicality in general.

[gieoki]

LOVE FINDS THE GIRL

[starkspi]

From "Unadulterated Loathing" in which Charlie chains these two idiots accidentally together by @otsmosis (who made this comment at the end of the last chapter and inspired me to do whatever this is above)

[elleloquently]

is there even room for slowburn character study fics here anymore or is everyone just occupied w gun play and pretending that ellie is an abuser