#i want to write but.. god... writing... is so hard....

[loserabby]

could you write something on eating out big pussy!abby for the first time

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚.     𝐒𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 (𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐈'𝐌 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑) big clit!abby x reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧     some people just aren't into receiving, or at least that's what you think the problem is when it comes to the fact that your girlfriend of two months still won't let you make her feel good. until you accidentally catch her naked for the first time and suddenly you start to get an idea about what might actually be the problem.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :     explicit language and content, use of Y/N, no outbreak au (modern), established relationship, references to sex, enlarged clitoris (clitoromegaly), slight misunderstandings. sexual content: kissing, dry humping (once again, to quote madeline argy: BRING BACK DRY HUMPING), mentions of strap-ons and sex-toys, cunnilingus, cum eating. slight dirty talk. mentions of past bodyshaming, embarrassment 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 :     5,869k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 :     i mean i imagine her pussy to be an absolute meal in all my writing but this one really focus' on it. shout out to @onlyheluvsme for being the mvp of team big clit abby i highly recommend going through her masterlist for that it's... chefs kiss. ngl the smut is not my best but this has been fermenting in my drafts for like a week and showed no signs of getting better I'M SORRY. and finally, clitoromegaly is obviously nothing to be embarrassed by and i don't want anyone to take abby's shame/bad experiences in the past as me mocking the mutation but it is something others might not be as well educated about so i didn't want to pretend that doesn't happen.     [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ]     [ resources for palestine ]     [ boycott tlou ]

Admittedly, it takes a few times before you start to pick up on a recurring theme and when you do pick up on it? You don’t just feel guilty but… Curious, and deep down… Disappointed. 

Abby had wanted to take it slow and to her credit, you guys had only been officially dating for two months. Taking that into consideration with classes, part-time jobs and other college related things that meant you were both busy, it was understandable that she wanted to take it slow when you guys were able to see each other. 

She was a gentleman, making sure to take you out on proper dates first — not just somewhere quick and then have her hand up your skirt on the car ride home but actual restaurants with recommended dishes and signature wines that just confused you. She’d kissed you properly for the first time in her apartment on date number three, a movie forgotten about in the background but even then, she’d wanted to keep the pacing of your relationship slow.

But when you did start to get hot and heavy? God, it was good. So blindsightingly good you didn’t notice that every time it seemed to always focus on you. 

Climb on her lap? She readjusts you so you’re straddling her thigh instead and you’re so lost to the pleasure of your clit dragging against your panties and the hard muscle of her leg to pick up on it. 

Your hand snakes down to try and touch her pussy? She’s got your wrists pinned above your head in one hand, your nipples caught between her teeth and her other hand rubbing fast circles against your clit before you know it.

It doesn’t help that by the time you’re both in those situations, it’s late and when Abby finally decides she’s pulled enough orgasms out of you — slick coating your thighs, sticky against your cunt, her chin shiny from where she’d used her mouth on you and fingers still smelling of you even after she’s sucked them clean obscenely in front of you — you’re too exhausted to even think about cleaning up, never mind returning the favor.

Which fucking sucks cause when you do realise you can’t help but pout at how many opportunities you’ve been robbed of seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head, to see what her pussy looks like as it quivers. 

You were no stranger to pussy, it’s not like you wouldn’t know what to do. In fact you were proud to say you were very much a giver in that you could spend all day between a girls thighs much like Abby has done for you previously.

You’ve dated other girls before that maybe weren’t as keen on reciprocating and, given the circumstances, you assume at first that maybe that’s what Abby thinks about you. You had just rolled over and gone straight to sleep (albeit after making her spoon you and wrapping her big, strong arms around you beforehand so you’d feel safe in your fucked out state) so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she had assumed you were a pillow princess.

Respectfully to all pillow princesses, that misconception simply will not do.

So you try and subtly make it clear that you are very much interested in being a munch the next time Abby has you pressed into her sofa at her campus apartment, fingers buried knuckle deep inside your pussy, so wet you can hear every movement as she fucks you harshly. Abby’s got her mouth on your neck, sucking dark marks at your collarbones that make you whimper and keen before soothing them with her tongue and soft kisses as her thumb strums over your clit.

“So fucking pretty, baby, look at you swallowing my fingers so easily… Greedy little hole’s sucking me in” The blonde hisses against your skin, having to use her other hand that was groping your tits roughly to keep your thighs open. They’re shaking, threatening to slam shut even with Abby lying between them and you whimper as you feel her fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

Last time she left the prettiest bruises there, you’d spent days pressing your own touch to them just to feel the ache, an embarrassing wave of sadness coming over you when they started to fade. So maybe you purposely don’t hold back from letting your thighs twitch and writhe so she’s forced to hold you tighter, just so you’re maybe gifted with another reminder of her touch.

“Please, please… Let me, I wanna…” It’s unclear what you’re begging for, to cum or to touch her. You’re so close but not quite lost to the delirium Abby brings by orgasm number three so you take advantage of that, shaky hand coming out to grip at the butch woman’s jeans but faltering, instead clutching at whatever you can grab when her fingers start pounding at that gummy spot deep inside only she seems able to find as your vision starts to white out. 

You can feel yourself clenching around her fingers, the sound of your weeping pussy obscene as she continues her relentless finger fucking. “Shit, baby, you’re so.. Fucking.. Tight” she grits the words out, chuckling when she looks at you beneath her with your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your back arching off the couch and your head thrown back so far. “You coming? Gonna make a mess on the leather for me? C’mon, lets see how messy this pretty pussy can get for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t take long after that, pussy squirting all over Abby’s hand and dripping down your ass to the leather couch like Abby predicted, but even then she doesn’t let up with her relentless torture of your clit and hole. You try to grab at her jeans again, trying to unbutton them but she shakes her head, eyes wide for a split second before she’s making soft coaxing noises, your hands pinned above your head again. “All about you, baby” Is all she murmurs against your skin, before she makes sure to send you over the edge again and again, effectively cutting off any urgency in completing your task.

The next time you try and focus on Abby, try to make it clear you want to reciprocate is when the two of you are watching a movie at her apartment, your body lazily thrown over her and your head resting in the crook of her neck and your arms tossed around her.

Slowly your attention drifts from the screen, bored by some adaptation of a historical-fiction book Abby read but you’ve never heard of. Your lips slowly trail down her neck, featherlight kisses pressed to her collarbones as one of your arms drops and begins to drift below the blanket she’d pulled out to keep you both warm.

Abby’s attention is still on the film, still pointing out changes they made from the book to the movie but you know the moment she realises where your hand has gone. You feel her reaction more than see it, how her breath catches and her body stiffens. Your hand immediately stops tracing her crotch, teasing line drug along her slit over the fabric of her basketball shorts. 

“Sorry, I didn’t— I shouldn’t..” You pull your hand away quickly, your apology rushed and face hot from embarrassment. 

“We should, um.. We should focus on the film, yeah?” Abby says after some consideration, and you just wanna hide in embarrassment and shame because she clearly didn’t like that. 

You miss how she clenches her thighs together, mistake her heart racing for being out of panic and try to ignore the failed attempt at seducing your girlfriend when she has you bent over the sofa a few hours later on her strap in the low light of her living room, cooing in your ear about how pretty you look dripping down her cock.

Maybe you come to the conclusion Abby might be a stone butch, a touch-me-not, whatever the hell you wanna call it. Because she seems to shy away with every advance you make to try and reciprocate. 

You get it if that is the case but can’t help but feel like that should have been mentioned, communicated in some way so you didn’t feel so… Weird about it. Sue me, you think, is it so wrong to want to touch your girlfriend? Your incredibly attractive girlfriend? No, surely not.

You wouldn’t exactly say it’s a deal breaker, you like Abby a lot. Even in the little amount of time you both have been together already, she’s amazing and not just physically — although that is certainly a perk. 

She’s thoughtful, caring, she makes sure to check in with everyone (seemingly knowing everyone on campus). She always sends a good morning and a good night text, even when she’s deep in her study sessions or writing papers. She makes sure all your dates are ‘real’ ones, even if it’s just going to her apartment to make dinner cause she wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like you were being used for your body. Hell, she even made sure to let you know where the spare key to her apartment was kept so you could let yourself in after that time you got caught in the rain outside waiting for her.

Which leads to now; Enter you, spare key in hand after sending a rushed text to Abby saying you were coming over to talk when you realised you couldn’t go any further without discussing boundaries. 

You should have realised something had thrown a wrench in your plan the second you stepped foot in Abby’s apartment really, the small space weirdly quiet and steam slowly rolling out of her bathroom. Distantly, you can hear the low murmur of music coming from her bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

You’re calling Abby’s name as you push through the door, not bothering to knock as you assume she’s read your text. It’s only when you process what’s in front of you that you come to the realisation that you seem to do an awful lot of assuming — and you know what they say, to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.

Because Abby clearly didn’t read your text, not based on the horrified look on her face when you walk in on her stark naked on her bed. Her skin is flushed, still damp from the shower she’d clearly just taken and her hair dripping big, fat water droplets onto her chest. Her muscled thighs are spread open, heels digging into the mattress as her fingers remain still stuffed deep inside her dripping hole. Her bush is wild and untamed, a light brown that curls through her fingers as her other hand spreads her lips wide open

There’s a voice in the back of your head, a really unnecessary one that points out that it seems like Abby does like being touched after all, but maybe just not by you.

But the best part of the sight — or the worse part, taking Abby’s look of utter shock into consideration — is her pussy, just as a whole. Her enlarged clit, erect and pulsating as it seems to stand to attention. Her pussy as a whole is big, the kind of big that makes your mouth begin to salivate, embarrassingly, as you think playing with it.

It makes you realise you’d never actually seen her pussy before, that every time the two of you fucked she was either fully clothed or had her strap on over her boxers. How cruel of her to hide that perfect pussy away.

“I… I texted” You say weakly after a few moments of silence, stood in a half step in the door way. 

Abby doesn’t move, and you don’t know what else to say as you spiral, murmuring apologies and rushing back out the door before Abby is able to process what just happened.

Communicating isn’t going so well, more so after you accidentally walked in on Abby’s post-shower masturbation session. She’s avoided pretty much all your texts asking to talk and even gone as far as changing her routine to avoid running into you.

It kind of leaves you in a weird limbo where you’re not quite sure where you went wrong. There’s definitely areas you could have improved on (i.e. actually communicating about boundaries from the start so all this assuming bullshit didn’t happen) but you texted, you said you were coming by. Maybe you could have shouted a hello when you first entered the apartment but the last time Abby was in when you did she said you didn’t have to.

You’re also just incredibly unaware as to what the state of your relationship even is anymore? Is Abby still your girlfriend? Does she only like to touch herself and not be touched by others? It’s frustrating, yes, but you can’t help but feel like you owe Abby the time to digest what happened.

After all, it was her that got walked in on in her own home, completely naked and knuckle deep inside of herself. You can cut the blonde a break.

Doesn’t stop you from salivating at the memory of how beautiful and fucked out she looked that split second before she realised she’d been caught, face contorted in pleasure and juices spilling down past her knuckles.

After a dozen texts to Abby, ranging from apologies to simple messages telling her you missed her and you would wait until she was ready to talk, it’s a week later you finally get a response. It’s simple, to the point and very Abby.

[ Abs ] : You can come to my apartment for dinner, we should talk.

A terrifying text to receive, given the circumstances. The ‘you can come for dinner’ aspect giving you a sense of security, it makes you feel like everythings fine but the ‘we should talk’ part? That’s sending ‘break up talk’ alarm bells ringing through your head.

You text back nervously, asking what time and if you should bring anything. You end up outside her apartment door, pointedly ignoring the space where her spare key is hidden like it might burn, with a bottle of wine in hand as you wait for her to answer.

When she does, there’s a tension between the two of you the moment your eyes meet and — thank god — it’s not a bad kind. It’s like suddenly you’ve both had the air knocked out of you, like you hadn’t realised you’d been missing a piece of yourselves until you saw what was missing right in front of you. Two months you’ve been together, god Lesbians were stereotypically quick to get attached.

You can see how Abby’s eyes soften, warm when she sees you and she has to steady both her hands on the door frame as she welcomes you inside.

“Dinner might be a while,” She says, uncharacteristically timid seeming, her hand drifting to your lower back as she guides you into the apartment. “Sorry, took a little while longer than I thought but, um… We can sit on the sofa? Maybe, uh, if you want we could talk now? Get it out of the way?”

Get it out of the way?

You place the bottle of wine on the coffee table, heart racing as you consider what Abby might be about to say. God, is she about to break up with you? No, she couldn’t be… She’s made dinner, it would be epicly cruel to break up with you and then expect you to stay for whatever homemade pasta dish she’s made.

“I’m sorry!” The words spill from your mouth at a rapid speed, not even bothering to stop to give her a chance to cut in — her brows shot high and eyes wide as you ramble. “I-I texted and I thought that was enough but clearly I didn’t think that through, and I totally should have shouted to let you even know I had arrived in the apartment but I just didn’t think. But.. You.. I.. I froze when I saw, I mean how could I not but I thought you didn’t like that, and I guess that’s my own fault cause I never asked what you do and don’t like — we kinda forgot to have that talk a-and—”

“Woah, woah, Y/N, slow—” Abby tries to cut in, hands coming to your arms to try and stop them from moving around wildly as you talk. “What are you talking about, c’mon, slow down.”

“It’s my own fault, I didn’t notice for way too long and when I finally did, I realised you probably thought I was just a pillow princess so I kept trying to subtly show my interest but you— a-and then you kept pushing me away or turning it back on me so I just figured you didn’t like being touched, stone butch or whatever but then i-in your bed… you… you were touching yourself a-and—”

You only stop, words cutting off suddenly, when Abby takes your face in her hands and forces you to look at her.

“Y/N. Baby, stop. I need you to breathe, calm down for a sec’ okay?” Her words are spoken so softly, the care dripping off each word as she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear gently. “Can you do that for me, slow down and take a breath?”

You nod slowly, watching her reverently. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches you, taking a deep breath of her own. “I should have talked to you sooner, I’m sorry I just… got caught in my own head. Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d of done that, but if you still want… If you’re still wanting us I’d like to talk now, if that’s okay?” She sounds nervous as she speaks, the words almost practiced. You nod, giving her the time to speak and watching as her hands drop from your face to twiddle nervously on her lap.

“I… It’s not that I don’t like to be touched, I want— I really want that, but I… I haven’t had the greatest experiences in the past when it came to… Other people and what they thought of my body” Your heart aches as Abby speaks, her blue eyes cast down to where her hands lay nervously on her lap and her voice going soft.

“I just… Got used to hiding my body, you know and I didn’t even realise I was doing it until you… You remember that night we were watching the City of Thieves film and you—” She didn’t need to go any further, your face brightening in shame as you recall the awkward rejection. “I just didn’t know how to… broach the subject, y’know, and it’s not like I really thought you’d be judgemental and mean about my body but it’s just built up after so many negative reactions”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as you stare at your girlfriend. “Why would I judge you? I know you’re big, I know you’re muscle-y, why would I be mean about that?” You ask in genuine confusion, causing Abby to freeze and look at you equally as confused.

After a beat, she speaks slowly. “You… You think that I was talking… about my body-body?” After a beat, you nod just as slowly. “I was talking about my pussy” She finishes after a long space of silence, blunt and to the point.

Your head cocks to the side, confusion still clear in your expression as you process what she’s saying. What the fuck is so wrong about her pussy? You didn’t see anything wrong with it in that small (but well committed to memory) glimpse you’d had of it. “I don’t?—”

“Shit, you don’t… You really don’t see a problem, do you?” She sounds like she’s in awe, like your total lack of an issue around her genitals is something groundbreaking which makes a simmering bit of rage begin to boil inside of you because who in their damn right mind made the beautiful, the amazing Abby fucking Anderson so insecure in her body she couldn’t even show her girlfriend what she looked like?!

“Shit, okay, uh… I mean, you know — you saw — it’s big. Fatter than the norm’ I guess. It’s a mutation, congenital… I just.. I guess a lot of people I’ve been with have found it weird, ugly a-and they didn’t really wanna.. return the favor or do anything I guess.”

Yep, definitely rage you feel below the surface. The idea that Abby has been dealing with this because of people that were supposed to care for her speaking so badly about her body, for their reactions to something she cannot control makes you clench your fists. But you force yourself to relax, fingers stretching out on your thighs as you try to remain cool.

“Like I said, I didn’t really realise I was doing it until you started to, y’know… And I don't know, I couldn’t stop myself from panicking that it was gonna be the same reaction all over again. I just.. I couldn’t handle seeing that look of… of disgust on your face, not… you.”

Your delicate hands reach out to capture hers, stopping her from picking at the skin around her thumbs nervously as she speaks, to get her attention. “Abby, I.. I know other people have reacted that way but I would never—”

Her cheeks tinge red, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth and a small smirk etching its way onto her face. “I know, Y/N”

“You— You do?”

She nods, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, I know. I, uh.. I figured that out.”

Your face pulls together again in confusion and slight annoyance, if she knew that then why did you spend the last week getting ghosted?! “What do you mean?”

“You have this look that comes over your face whenever you get turned on… Normally see it whenever I’m getting you off but, uh… That day, when you walked in on me? You had it when you were looking at me”

Your mouth drops open, breathless as you take that in. It’s no surprise though, you had been incredibly turned on at the sight, even thinking about it now has a wet spot forming in your panties at just the thought of Abby’s legs spread to unveil that beautiful cunt.

Shaking off the haze of lust, you focus on Abby. “So… Why did you, I mean I was happy to wait as long as you needed — I mean, again, I walked in on you a-and you needed to process that shock — but… why did you wait so long to talk?”

She heaves out a slow sigh, scratching at the back of her neck. “It was just weird, this bizarre 180 I was experiencing where this thing about me and my body that was always… weird for others and that I was kind of, y’know, expecting to be weird for you was suddenly attractive. That made you get that fucked out, horny expression on your face and I… I couldn’t believe it.”

“And now?”

“I mean… I believe it”

At that, your hand comes out to lightly smack at her arm, the both of you falling into light rumbles of laughter. Your hand lingers on Abby’s arm, dropping after a moment too long.

“Asshole,” softly you shake your head, a smile forming on your lips as you dip her head down. “I meant and now what? I mean, I take it this isn’t you breaking up with me like I was worried about?”

Her eyes widen in slight horror, like she hadn’t considered all of the nightmare scenarios that had been swarming in your mind over the last week. “N-No, no, absolutely not. Shit, you didn’t think— God, okay. No, no breakup was ever considered for the record”

That definitely eases the weeks worth of tension that had built up. 

You bite your lip, leaning forward into Abby’s space slightly. After a moment of silence, your needy eyes lift to meet Abby’s “Can we just skip to the part where we kiss and make-up?”

The other girl barely gets her own eager nod out before you’re clambering onto her lap, hands in her hair as you kiss her hard and messily. Your tongue licks into her mouth aggressively, small noises falling from the two of you as your hips rocks against hers. You missed this, missed how Abby tasted, how her tongue felt against yours as she explored your mouth just as thoroughly.

“I missed— missed you… so.. much” Heavy pants bracket each and every word, only broken by Abby pulling your lips back to hers as she devours you whole. She only pulls back with a high-keening hiss when you roll your hips in a certain way against her that makes her clit throb in her boxers. “Fuck, baby, careful” She sounds so pretty when she whines, her lip bitten as her head rolls back against the back sofa cushions.

Her head rolls to the side, looking at the kitchen before she swallows thickly, looking back at you. Her large hands move down to your hips, tapping the hip bones to get you to stand up. 

“Gonna save the food before we forget and burn the apartment down, you… Get in the bedroom” The way she breathes the words out, like she’s as affected as you are makes your head spin and you’re quick to scramble off her lap and into her bedroom.

Abby’s on you quicker than you realise, shoes barely kicked off before she’s at your back and kissing down the column of your neck with her hands running up and down your sides. Turning to face her, you drag her down into a punishing kiss until you feel her bed hit the back of your knees. You don’t fall back though, turning the two of you so Abby now has her back to the bed.

You’re panting when you break the kiss, wetting your lips despite the messy kiss as you look up at Abby through thick lashes with deep arousal. She looks equally as fucked, hair messy from where your fingers have gone through it as you both made out and her blue eyes dark with need. “Get on the bed for me, Abs. Like… Like you were that day” You sound fucked out already, thinking back to when you caught her touching herself like a wanton whore. You see the moment it registers in Abby’s mind what you’re asking her to do, a single raised eyebrow as she breathes heavily.

Slowly she strips her clothes, kicking her own shoes off. You spend equal time helping her discard her clothes as you do standing back and admiring her form, salivating as her tits spring free of her sports bra. She’s just got her boxers left when she crawls onto the bed, laying back against the headboard before lifting her hips and pulling them free.

She pulls them past her ankles and throws them on the floor, landing with a soft noise by your feet. Not that you notice, no, you’re too focused on Abby. Lay back on the bed, completely bare with only her knees propped up straight and infront of her to cover that pretty pussy of hers.

Your eyes are dark, hungry as you stare ahead, right where you know her crotch is covered by her legs. “Abby, that’s not how you were lay when I caught you” The words are low, almost rough as you wait, watching.

Her long hair, free from the braid she always wears, cascading messily down her shoulders is pushed behind her nervously before she slowly spreads her thighs and finally mirrors the position you’d caught her in a week ago.

Her heels aren’t quite digging into the mattress with need the way they were that day, but Abby isn’t nearly as worked over as she was then either. Still, you move forward hungrily, almost drawn to her like a magnet with your palms spread on the mattress to catch yourself as you instinctively move to get closer to her glistening slit. You look like a predator, crawling up from the foot of the bed and settling between her thighs, eyeing her pussy like prey.

She’s wet, so fucking wet you know your fingers would glide with ease through her folds. It makes you dizzy with lust, watching how her large clit throbs as you stare it down.

“Fuck, what… What now?” Abby whines, voice soft and breathy.

“Show me what you were doing before I walked in” Your voice is low, rough and your eyes don’t lift once from her drenched core.

You can hear the needy whines from Abby, her soft little moans that make you want to bite and kiss at her skin but she does as she’s told. Her hands come down to her pussy, one hand spreading her lips wide to show you everything while her other eases in with slow circles against her clit.

Not that she needs warming up, not with how quick she is to react to the barely there circular motions she does. “C’mon baby, you can do more. What did you do with this pretty pussy after that?”

Bottom lip drawn between her teeth, Abby can’t help but watch your darkened gaze as she drags two of her thick fingers through her slick, coating them with her juices before working them inside her hole.

Instinctively you lean in closer, inhaling her scent as you watch her twitching hole stretch to take her digits. Each time she fucks her fingers into herself, slowly and so fucking erotically, you watch as her hips lift slightly to meet her fingers, clit bumping against her palm and leaving a messy trail behind.

“So fucking gorgeous, look so pretty stretched around your fingers” You barely register your own voice, that you’ve said anything as you practically drool at the sight. No, wait, you’re actually drooling. Okay, between that and the obscene sounds of Abby fucking herself you can’t stop yourself, deciding you’d waited long enough to give.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from teasing before you stop her as you begin by kissing up her ankles. Your lips make sure to suck the occasional hickey the closer you get to her inner thighs, laughing low and wickedly when you hear her whine so pretty and the muscles of her thighs quiver. By the time you make your way close to where she wants you — and more importantly, where you have been wanting to be all this time — you have to take a moment to just… stare.

Take it in.

Fucking beautiful.

Licking a stripe up her pussy, slow flat tongue against her before sucking her fat clit into your mouth and laughing as she keens, hips lifting off the mattress before moaning at the taste of her. Above you, Abby’s head eventually falls back against the headboard with a soft thud as she makes a low, whining noise.

That’s when you start eating her out like a woman starved, messy and unashamed as you go to town. Licking her long and rough, spit falling from your mouth as you suck her clit into your mouth and lay one of your hands flat against her abdomen to keep her from lifting off the bed. She melts like honey on your tongue, the sheets beneath her messy with a mixture of her arousal and your saliva as it drips both down her ass and off your chin.

You’re eating her out half with the desire to bring her over the edge, to show her what all her other partners should have been giving her this entire time, and another part of you wants to just lap at her pussy with no regards. Hungry for the taste of her juices on your lips, to swirl your tongue around her protruding bud like you’re lazily licking an ice cream cone.

Her hands are in your hair, torn between yanking you off her when you suck harshly on her fat clit, laughing as she whines and whimpers, or pressing your face against her cunt to keep you fixed in one spot when you start to go rogue

“Oh.. Oh god, yes!” She’s a mess, completely gone beneath you when you finally decide to focus on getting her off. She’s soaked, dripping down your hand when you do touch her, and flooding your mouth with her arousal so much that when you grow desperate — yanking her up and throwing her on her hands and knees, eating her out from behind — you can’t stop the way her arousal drips onto the sheets beneath. She’s too damn wet for your mouth to capture all of it and the thought makes you feel feral.

“C’mon, Abs, I wanna feel you cum on my tongue okay? Wanna feel that pretty clit throbbing in my mouth”

You’ve got your hands at the junction where her thighs and her ass meet, spreading the skin so you have the max amount of access as you bring her over the edge, Abby’s neighbours no doubt able to hear her reaching her apex with her wailing. You move one of your hands down as you focus your mouth on her clit, fingers pushing inside of Abby’s warm heat again and sighing against her slick as her hole sucks them in greedily.

It doesn’t take long until Abby goes rigid, screaming and babbling that she’s coming with her head thrown back as you continue your ministrations, working her through her orgasm happily.

“Fuck, you coming from my fingers or my mouth, Abs?” You tease against her pussy as she gushes down your wrist practically, lapping her juices up with your tongue and feeling it drip down your chin. 

Her strong fingers thread through your hair and practically have to rip you off of her once overstimulation sets in, toned thighs twitching, desperate to slam shut and hide her pussy away from you. You let her pull you off, licking your lips with a wicked grin as you hover over her.

She’s redfaced, skin glistening with sweat and she looks completely fucked out. It’s a good look on her.

“What’s the verdict?” You ask with a teasing lilt, watching as she huffs out a laugh with her chest rising and falling rapidly still.

“Uh… Might let you do it again” She tries to play it casual but you swat at her chest lightly and she quickly falls into laughter. “Fine! I loved it, 10/10, I’ll write a damn Yelp review if you want me to”

“Who the hell even uses Yelp anymore, damn how old are you” You tease, caressing her cheek. “Promise me you’ll let me do that more? No more hiding” Your voice is tender as you speak, eyes warm as you look down at her. Abby’s breath catches in her throat at the softness, the love she can feel and she nods up at you. “I promise. No more hiding away.”

[jarofstyles]

Pls pls plsss mrs jaws a blurb for the squirting community. We are so underrepresented🥲💦

I’ve got you, lovebug! Here you go. I hope you like it

Check out our Patreon for early access and over 300+ exclusive writings and series!

Warnings- squirting, soft dom!H, dirty talk, messy sex, etc

Harry gripped her hips firmly as he slammed into her from behind, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through their bedroom. She was on her knees, cheek pressed against the pillow as she let out little huffs of breath as he gave it to her, just how she liked.

His thumb pressed firmly against her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure while he fucked her, each thrust was powerful and deliberate, pressing where she needed inside her that made her whimper and push back against him eagerly.

"That's it, love." Harry praised gruffly, his other hand snaking up to tangle in her hair. He tugged her head back slightly, arching her back and changing the angle of his thrusts to hit where he wanted. "You take my cock so well, don't you? Like you were made for it." He punctuated each word with a hard snap of his hips, his fingers on her clit never stopping their relentless motion. “Made for me. Perfect fuckin’ pussy, snug around my cock.”

A sharp gasp escaped Y/N's lips as Harry's filthy words washed over her. The intense pleasure of him giving her the thrusts she needed and eager fingers circling her swollen clit had her approaching a feeling that made her want to squirm. She pushed back against him shamelessly, meeting his thrusts as her pussy clenched around him, already tightening at the building pressure. "Harry, oh God..." Her hair spilled over her shoulders and into her face, and she couldn't help but whimper. “It’s… I’m gonna make a fucking mess.” Y/N mewled out. “I’m sorry.”

Harry felt the change instantly - her inner walls tightened almost painfully around his length, and she let out a high-pitched moan that made him realize she was close. Real close. Like she was actually going squirt all over his dick close. His sheets were the least of his concerns.

His thumb pressed harder against her clit, spreading her wetness around the sensitive nub. He knew that spot - knew how easily she went from "almost there" to gushing if he hit it right. He kept the same pace, letting out a deep groan as he felt her clit throb against his fingers.

“Yeah? Gonna gush ‘round my cock, sweet girl?” He wanted it. She’d been able to do it a few times with him, but each and every time was the hottest thing he ever saw. “That’s what I want. Want you to make a mess for me, baby. God, I can fucking feel it coming.” He hissed through his teeth. “Give it t’me. Give me what I want.”

Harry's encouragement sent her over the edge. Y/N let out a loud, guttural moan as entire body tensed as a massive wave of pleasure hit her, the feeling almost as if she was going to lose control. Her pussy spasmed violently around his cock, and then it hit, hot liquid gushing from her in pulses. Harry’s face contorted in pleasure as he pulled out, immediately rubbing his cock over her clit, spreading her own slick around the sensitive nub to keep it going.

"Fuck, yes, just like that, love. There it is. Jesus Christ, look at you - absolutely flooding the sheets for me." Harry was breathing heavily, his voice thick as he rubbed her clit with the head of his sensitive dick, drawing out every last drop. "You're such a good girl when you fuckin' squirt like this..." One hand stayed on her hip while the other let go of her hair to spread her open to watch. "Keep cumming... keep cumming all over my cock. There you go, Thatta-fuckin-girl."

He could feel her pulsing against him, the sensation driving him wild. It was a reward for him, getting her here. The day they figured out how to make it happen for her, he had been trying to ensure she got as much as she wanted. "Drenching that cock, my balls, the bed... fuck, I love it. I love watching you make a mess for me." Crooning as he felt her body tremble under him, he felt his cock throb as he pressed it back into her shallowly as he let her calm down.

Y/N's mouth was open in a silent 'O', her face hot and eyes squeezed shut as her pussy contracted and released in waves around nothing. She was completely overwhelmed by the intensity, her whole body shaking as she pushed back against him, trying to get more and also pull away at the same time. Her body didn’t know what it wanted. "Oh my god... I can't... s’too much. Too empty.." She whined, burying her face in the pillow. “Please?”

"Shhh, baby, I know. I know it’s overwhelming. Just breathe for me, hmm?" Harry slowed his movements to a complete stop, burying his cock deep inside her, filling her completely. "There we go... just breathe. I’m here. Feel how full you are? Like you can’t even tell where your pussy ends and I begin? M’right here. " He whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her back onto anchor her. "Just squeeze around me. I’ve got you. So gorgeous."

Her body relaxed slowly as she adjusted to having him inside her again, her trembling subsiding. Harry stayed still, not moving even an inch, letting her feel just how full he was making her, grounding her to the moment. "That's my girl." He cooed softly, pressing gentle kisses along her shoulder. "God, your pussy is still pulsing around me." He let out a low hiss at the feeling. "You okay, lovie? Still with me?" His hand stroked her soothingly.

"Mhm.” She mumbled into the pillow, her voice soft and hazy from pleasure. Her inner muscles continued to flutter around him, still sensitive. "I'm... I'm still here." Her breath hitched slightly as she adjusted to having him so deep. "Don't move... just-stay right there." She needed a moment to recover - and also never wanted him to leave. Having him there felt perfect, complete. “Can go again in a few minutes.” The woman whispered as her body grew more lax.

A low chuckle escaped him as he felt her body relax completely around him. "Take your time, love." His voice was gentle, almost tender. He knew her well enough to understand that it left her sensitive and needing a moment before she could handle more. “I’ll always take care of you.”

[dandydilfdiddler]

You fucking slaughtered me with the last one. We are now pivoting from my doom scrolling to read all your Bob works I can before I need to go to sleep for work tomorrow. Let’s play the age-old game of chicken, I can read all this and get enough sleep to function ☺️

Oh god jealousy as a tag

Oh, fucking helllllllllllll too young as a tag. Yep. I am SAT

Furiously writing notes to pretend that this would work irl “You, in that damn sundress and those ridiculous cowboy boots that shouldn’t be giving Bob a semi in the middle of the goddamn bar.”

I love when Bob gets annoyed at others antics when it comes to a reader insert. Like yes, please, be possessive.

Yes Nat, you fucking tell them. A GIRL’S GIRL!

Oooooooo tension! A date that ain’t with Bob. Already we are setting up for that jealousy tag and I am on the edge of my seat

Jake is an antagonistic little shit and the way you write the team dynamic is how I aspire to write for multiple characters being in focus at once

“Bob’s jaw twitches. His teeth are clenched so tight it hurts, but he can’t relax—not with that guy’s hand on your hip, fingers digging into the soft fabric like he has some right to touch you. Like you belong to him.” Dropping to my knees and barking like I want it. Already. This. Yummy. This is what my creative writing teacher would call an A+ at show not tell

“He lives for it.” Heart ripped out and thrown across the room because this is delicious and also OUCH

Okay, Reuben this is fic #2 you are a good wingman. I love you once again I give a lil friendly smooch on your forehead for being a catalyst to try and shove Bob and I together like a toddler ramming their doll’s faces

Fuckkkkk. If I had a peen, it would be hard at “You’re young—too young.” Something about those lil (or big… who said that) gaps that are just the right side of making one person feel like a creep are my Achillies heel. I know it’s toxic. I know it’s bad. But good god I am called DILF diddler as a username for a reason. I wanna be that controversially young girlfriend. I started to listen to fucking ethel cain and lana del rey because they are apparently the sirens of this sorta relationship (citing tiktok as my source here)

“And it kills him. Because he’s not the one making you laugh tonight.” SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU’RE TO BLAME

“he’s a carpenter” Baby I am thinking of Joel Miller. Why he gotta be named Ryan, my vagina just curled in on itself to run away

Ew. Okay yeah, I see why he was named Ryan. That is such a Ryan thing to do. The first Ryan to hit on me dead ass went “wanna play the firetruck game” and if you know anything about that it is for real the childishness. No offense to any other Ryans reading this but imma side eye you for that shit at this point.

OOOOF FUCK eMotIoNaL dAmAgE with “you’re not him”

Sobbing helping at the bar is so cute. I love this. This is a dream actually. Almost wanted to give up STEM so I could bartend because I read a book called the Drunken Botanist and I loved it so much

A compliment. I am tucking it away. This would work on me, I fear.

Lmfaooooo see you wrote this just for me because the next line!!!!!!!

Bob! Improper! Commenting on a girl’s-

Oh shit. Get outta my head! I am trying to be witty and funny to add to commentary and it is exactly right. The way I can see myself in this character!

“Hell, if you did it more often, I might take you to heaven.”  HELLO??? Can you chill on dropping banger quotes because I have flooded my friend IRL with little snaps of this. She is tired of my shit, she doesn’t like Bob and I need to be able to chill out about how fucking good your writing is

AHAHAHA CALL HIS ASS OUT

AHAHA PENNY CALL HER ASS OUT

I loved nights on the ships… I did oceanography and my shift was always 3 pm to 3 am and it was the coolest. When we weren’t actively sampling and in the research zone the crew showed me that you can shine lights off the side of the boat and get cute lil squid to zoom up at the surface… also may I interest you in bioluminescent phytoplankton propaganda… or hell even a copepod… Please love nights.

Jake with whale noises? Adorable. Stop making him cute when he annoys me lmfaoooo

THE DODGE TO COYOTE I AM SCREAMING

Lmaoooooo Nat said “girl I don’t even play about him”

CORRECT IF HE’S GREY I LIKE TO PLAY

MAVVVVV YOU KILL ME

I feel like a fucking pavlov’ed dog ““Don’t move.” The voice is low. Steady. Too close.” and my body is creaming… screaming for more

Ugh jesus christ I have nothing appropriate to say about an older man, even if it is slight, giving direct orders and fixing something. Nothing appropriate and I cannot scare off my new favorite fic writer addiction okay. So all I will put for this one is kgnojsnegouhgoirh mmmmmmmmm

“the pad of it grazing down along the side of your face, slow and careful.” I lied. I cannot hold myself back from this. I am a freak on main and proud about this man and how hot you make me during your writing. BARK BARK BARK BARK

ONLY YOURS HOLD THE FUCKING PHONEEEEEEE AAAAAAAA

“My life’s in the hands of Phoenix’s baby on board.” I feel like he already put a baby in me from this point at the fic - and if it didn’t take, we’re trying again until it does

Jake isn’t wrong, he is annoying but he isn’t wrong

LMFAO BECAUSE THEY DO IT QUIETLY

“Did Bob really just override a direct order?” It’s just a fic I say to myself as I start to sweat because fuck that is hot. Feels all protective and shit and there is nothing quicker to make me swoon and open my legs to bring him home than that

Oop I know logically that would piss me off out in the field so this is correct but also awwww protective mmmmmm and bossy like yes daddy (who said that)

I hate to love you Bagman

DAMN RIGHT NO MAN IS THE BOSS ONCE THOSE DOORS OPEN

Okay that was a lie. A 24/7 dynamic but still, for the purposes of this, DAMN RIGHT

Yeah, you fucking apologize (adorable baby I could never be mad at you)

“I know”… “That’s why I’m apologizing”… HE’S A GOOD MAN SAVANNAH

“I couldn’t breathe. I thought, what if something happens to her?”  I’m in love. Period. I’d fold like laundry with extra fabric softener

“His fingers hook gently into the edge of your suit’s hip pocket, tugging you forward just enough to make your breath hitch. ” Breath hitch? Baby not just that is reacting to this kinda move. I’d be belly up and panting

“Don’t you get that? I care about you. More than a teammate. More than a friend. I—”  YOU EDGE ME AGAINNNNN. I should expect it but I am ANGRY. I am throwing my phone, apologizing to it, and starting back up

“renowned little chaos gremlin” this. This. This. I need it. I need to be this. I am not getting called this IRL. I need this.

Grinder. GAE

OOOP he gave the call sign… ooooop

“you’re a living, breathing vexation who’s going to be the sole reason for his retirement” I am not living up to my full potential and I never have been more disappointed in myself

HE IS GAY

HAHAHAHA

U R HILARIOUS

Oh god remember that hangman x bob fic I mentioned before? I also indulge in hangman x rooster because I like slutting this annoying fuck out like some sort of cheap whore. Please tell me he swings that way too in this fic. I need queer free ride for all jake

“has been living rent-free in your head all week—and honestly, it’s starting to redecorate.” okay I give up because there is no way my brain can produce lines like this

Lmfao Grinder is gonna wind her ass up. Fucker knows hook, line, and sinker

“I mean, if I was in love with a guy—which, you’re clearly in love with him—I wouldn’t stop until he had a restraining order against me.”  Does he take friend applications because I need to learn from this diva

“Just keep it down if you bring him home. He might look like an uptight officer, but I can tell that man fucks.”  HELL YEAH BROTHER *caw caw*

My grandmother had us in bowling lessons during the summer because she played league and to see this lil bowling part mentioned warms me

“All in the name of science, of course. And your hypothesis?” A GIRL IN STEM MENTIONED. Ah another level of warmth.

Nat knows, she always knows, that is a woman who could read a room the second she came out of the womb

Everyone shortens his name to Roo and I always giggle going ‘cock’ because I secretly have the humor of a teenage boy

I need to know, is Bob just a leg man? Like my own HC this man when asked is all about the ass.

Unofficial nicknames because I am invested in their silly shorts. Maverick - Rick (like a Rick Roll because he’s old). Rooster - Cock. Hangman - Bag. Phoenix - Phone (big brain for you I love it). Payback - Back (because Pay is too easy). Fanboy - Boy (why does make me giggle). Coyote - Yote (I am from a college town that this was the official shortened name for the coyote mascot).

Jake you play too much - good for you

FOGGY GLASSES ARE BACK I LOVE YOU

Lmfaooo baby boy the question was noton the dress

“Don’t worry, Bobby,” you murmur. “I wore this dress just for you.” *clutching my pearls* bitch I woul fold too. My fucking glasses foggin too irl in my mf air conditioned room!!!!!

Omg Fboy is so much betterrrrrr yes!!!!! Yessssssssss!!!!! Nix like the goddess. I see you, intentional or not I see you.

Mickey, honey, lemme kiss your booboo

Marry me Nat

My grandma would offer me up to him on a silver platter to secure his bowling for her league

The only time I crave to be objectified is by fictional characters and I am eating this with a spoon

Bradley, I would love to see you in a skirt. I would pay for it really. I love hairy thighs. I need them.

Oh not the hand kink. Oh god. Oh no. I am about to start being disrespectful because Lewis Pullman has veiny arms and I have been looking at them all day.

Big fucking hands.

Hands to choke me with. Hands to grip me with. Hands to hold the heft of a titty or an ass cheek

Yep, there you are, correct.

Mmmmmm fucking MARK ME

“You could write poetry about those hands. Recite sonnets. Start a religion.” Correct. Right. Yes. You feel me. You basically writing fucking poetry as is

“And when those fingers sink into the bowling ball holes?” Suddenly I am Rhett Abbott and I am about to RIDE

HE OFFERED HELP!!! YES

Solid grip, not too tight, like holding your dick - who said that!

Oh what I wouldn’t do to feel this man’s thighs. Why did you remind me they exist and not have me on top of them?

Oh he would talk you through it. Nothing like dirty talk with him

I BEG, PLEASE LET IT BE A BONER

BATHROOM? BONER. PLEASE BE A BONER.

I am a dog with a… bone… heheehe

A bitch in heat

Okay I’m done, not sorry about this though. You have had two fics and so far, no fucks and I am just foaming at the mouth

See? Natasha knows. She just knows things. These boys are idiots and I love them. My idiots.

AHAHAHA NATASHA FUCKING CLOCKED THAT SHIT TOOOOO

I swear on Lewis Pullman’s veiny arms, this has not been edited or changed as I go on. I write a thought like I am narrating, raw and unfiltered for the purpose of expressing my joy at these fics. All natural.

Lmfaoo Jake just caught up on the “extra”

He is pretty. You be right.

Because nerds are hot. Like it feels almost like a circle rather than a venn diagram as to kinky/freaky and nerds. Especially if you throw autism in there. “oh you mean direct and clear outlines of everything in the bedroom? Oh masks so I don’t have to make eye contact?” come on.

OH PLEASE TELL ME YOU WROTE FLOYD AS A FREAK

Begging. Knees. For you. Please write a lil freaky deak.

Brother coded Bob for Nat. Sobbing. Yes. Heart. Love. (but being between them both… yeah my bisexual heart also loves that flavor).

No distance, I wanna cuddle the man. He is warm. Short skirts means needed huddles for warmth

I have written so much my notes on my desktop is freaking out, look what you have done

OUCH REJECTION NOOOO OUCH MY HEART SOBBING THIS HURTS

“what did you do” immediate. 0 lead up. No other question about it being me/her. Accuse and abuse. I love you Nat.

OOOOOF THE DISAPPOINTMENT HURTS ME

The sound of ‘ooo I fucked up’ is just looping

Bradley revoked his first name privileges for that fuck up. Called him “Floyd”

Nat should still chew him out imho

A good man fears women

I am also terrible because I am eating his guilt like fine caviar

Oh shit my chest hurts at that ignoring. Props to you being a good writer but this better resolve fast because I need to breathe

Awwwwww he needs me

“because deep down, he doesn’t think he deserves you.” twisting the fucking knife

“Because Robert Floyd knows now, without a doubt, that he’s in love with you.” YEAH BUDDY!!!!! YES YOU ARE

I think he is an ass man, this is another mention. A solid choice.

Okay, once again I must say, fictional men being like “yeah I got off to you” fucking HOTTTTT

Oh no… oh no… Bob is a boy. Boys are stupid. Bob isn’t gonna know this man is gae is he

And like that my chest hurts more. This feels like when I went through my breakup. Fuck you, but also I love you but also fuck this hurts. You tagged it properly, this was my own fault and I have no one else to blame but damn it.

No dummy you don’t have the right to be mad even if you are wrong

Mother fucker I been fucking waiting. Trying. Asking. Oh you stupid son of a bitch my chest doesn’t hurt no more I wanna start swinging. You cute but that doesn’t make you immune from catching these hands

Oh you stupid girl, Trevor is also right

I broke my cardinal rule about hating the miscommunication trope because I loved your writing, you should know this and also feel special.

Nat you are a good friend and I love you

I would be so mad if he kept correcting, I love you boo but one more word and I am crashing my plane into yours. You are just a jilted lil bitch (said with love and affection)

NOT THE EJECT – PLEASE I SAW WHAT HAPPENED TO GOOSE

“Like the world took a breath—and left you behind.” This is what I would read in a traditionally published book at the end of a chapter that would leave me screaming

“softness was there fades fast, replaced by something harder. His lips flatten into a thin line. His hand tightens around yours… then lets go.” I’m gonna kill myself

Oh no, I’m really gonna kill myself this hurts so bad

Where is my comfort you hoe

WHER ARE YOU GOING NOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOO

“The Dagger Squad isn’t just a group of friends—they’re your family.” Girl I know you read the other bits I wrote, I know you know this is my shit. I know you know that this is going to make me weep from love

“In a completely non-incestuous way, obviously.” Stop being the funniest one in the room, some of us also have to creatively spin to get readers

Nat is a tattle tale, I love you

I love this internal monolog. I would quote it all but you read it and I just am giggling at it. There is a lil comfort for the HURT YOU THREW AT ME

Nat is an accomplice, I love you

He has a throw blanket, this is a MAN

He makes a house a home

Awwwwwww helps, points back for the meanie

I am screaming at my screen, wanting to smack the both of them

“I have never cared about anyone the way I care about you. You are the only damn thing I think about. I can’t sleep, I’m not hungry, I can’t focus—I just want you. All the time. Do you know how maddening that is?” It’s giving… “You are what I treasure most in this world. Not because you are pretty. Not because you are smart. But because you love me and I love you and you can try to deny it, but I will not believe you. When certain atoms collide, it is instantaneous and it is inevitable. It’s basic chemistry.”

IT’S CHEMISTRY

Aka you wrote a line that invokes the same level of awe and swooning and love that damn near broke me in Lessons in Chemistry

Oh it keeps going, oh god, oh I am not going to survive this

I came this far to crash too

HELP I’VE BEEN WOUNDED. He didn’t ruin anything you sweet stupid man

Oops when you assume…. It makes an ass out of you and me lmfaoooooo

“His mouth is on yours before the word leaves your lips.” FUCKING FINALLYYYYYYYYYY

“It’s not a kiss—it’s a collision. A detonation. A goddamn freefall.” Hey. Is there a way that you are not poetic because I love it but also you just upped this from a simple kiss to something that has me having to pause to take a breather and remember my senses.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips. “I love you. I love you. Please don’t go. Don’t ever leave.” Help. Help. Help. 911. I need help. This is too good. Too sweet. It hurt for so long my body cannot handle this. It feels like I am being chased by a bear.

The goddamn shirt

Give her yours

Take your shirt off

I know what you’re packing Floyd

Lay a claim if it bothers you

AHAHAHA FINALLY A FUCK

Try

Oh good god

END

END

END

WHERE?

YOU HAD A POST ABOUT WRITING SMUT FOR BOB BEING HARD AND YOU FUCKING END THIS ONE TOO WITHOUT PEEN?

GIRL

GIRL

GIRL

HEY

THIS

EDGING ME

I NEED A COLD FUCKING SHOWER

I AM

I DON’T

THIS

YOU

>:[

Damn it the writing is amazing I can’t even be pissed but I need feral bob

short skirt weather ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you and bob are obviously into each other, but he's hesitant to make a move claiming you're too young for him, until a whole lot of miscommunication—jealousy, tension, the works—and a training accident lands you in hospital...

notes: the lew spiral is still spiralling and i almost struggled writing this because i love him so much??? anyways, it's heaps of fun, has all the tension, jealousy, angst, fluff, and of course... lots of horny thoughts! please let me know what you think!!! (p.s. shout out to the critical role nerds for the callsign, iykyk)

warnings: swearing, miscommunication, reference to a slight age gap (but it isn't specified and it's also described as 'barely there'), teasing, short skirts (sorry bob), jealousy, switching pov (kind of), plane crash, very minor description of injury, and horniness so 18+ ONLY MDNI! (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 18022 (i have no chill whatsoever)

your callsign is vex

Bob Floyd never thought of himself as someone who took particular interest in the weather—unless it had to do with flying, of course. But on the ground? He couldn’t care less. Or, he shouldn’t. 

Especially not when it comes to what the weather makes people wear. How is that any of his business? It shouldn’t matter how hot it is outside or how that directly affects the amount of material someone’s wearing. It really shouldn’t. 

But it does. And not just with anyone. No—this has everything to do with you. 

You, in that damn sundress and those ridiculous cowboy boots that shouldn’t be giving Bob a semi in the middle of the goddamn bar. 

And yet, there you are in all your glory. Legs on display, that flowy little skirt just barely covering the curve of your ass. And fuck if it isn’t making it impossible for Bob to keep his eyes from wandering. 

“God damn,” Jake says, his southern drawl thick as his green eyes lock onto you—or more specifically, your ass. “Do you think she knows?” 

Bob blinks, brows pulling together as he turns toward Jake, trying—and failing, miserably—not to sound annoyed that he’s checking you out. “Know what?” 

“What a girl like that does to guys like us,” Jake replies easily. 

Reuben chuckles and takes a slow sip of his beer. “Oh, she knows. She definitely knows.” 

“Ugh,” Natasha groans. “Could you creeps stop looking at her like she’s something to eat? It’s gross. She’s our friend. Our teammate.” 

Jake opens his mouth, lips already curled into his usual smirk, but Natasha puts a hand up to stop him. 

“And she’s barely younger than us, so don’t say anything weird about her age.” 

Jake rolls his eyes and lifts his beer. “Wasn’t gonna…” 

There’s a beat of silence as Bob lets his eyes drift back to you, drinking in the way you’re leaning against the bar. Elbow propped, hip cocked, one boot crossed over the other, and your head tipped just slightly as you talk to the dark-haired stranger beside you. 

“Wait,” Mickey leans forward, squinting—very unsubtly—across the bar. “Is that her date?” 

Natasha nods. “Think so. Looks like the guy she showed me.” 

Bob’s head snaps toward her, dark blue eyes wide. “She’s on a date?” 

Mickey giggles. Reuben snorts. Even Bradley has to hide a laugh behind his beer. 

“Alright,” Jake says, slapping a hand on the table in mock outrage. “Who didn’t tell Bob?” 

Natasha shoots him a flat look before turning back to Bob. “Didn’t you hear us talking about it at lunch? She met some guy on Hinge or something.” 

“Said she was gonna go home with him and let him keep her up all night,” Jake adds with a wicked grin. “Y’know, since we’re starting night rides next week—figured she’d get used to staying up late.” 

“I was intentionally leaving that part out,” Nat says, glaring at Jake. “But thanks for clearing it all up, Bagman.” 

Jake tips his beer toward her. “Anytime.” 

Bob’s jaw twitches. His teeth are clenched so tight it hurts, but he can’t relax—not with that guy’s hand on your hip, fingers digging into the soft fabric like he has some right to touch you. Like you belong to him. 

Which you don’t. You don’t belong to anyone. 

At least, that’s what Bob has to keep telling himself. 

“Easy, Floyd,” Bradley mutters beside him. “You keep staring like that, the poor guy’s gonna catch fire.” 

Bob doesn’t respond. He can’t. His voice is gone, breath caught somewhere in his throat. He’s too focused on your smile—how it flickers, just a little off. Not quite like the one you wear with them. With him. 

It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t care whether or not you’re giving that stranger the same bright smile or soft laugh you always give him. Because it’s none of his business. 

Who you date and what you do—none of it is his business. You’re allowed to wear tiny dresses, flirt with strangers, and laugh at guys who think they’re clever. 

It shouldn’t matter. 

But it does. 

God, it fucking matters—way more than it should. 

Because for the first time in weeks, you’re not looking at him. You’re looking at... that guy. 

And even though he tells himself—repeatedly, a thousand times a day—not to enjoy being the centre of your attention... he does. 

He lives for it. 

“You know,” Reuben says slowly, lips curled into the tiniest smirk, “this wouldn’t even be happening if you’d sack up and—” 

“Payback,” Natasha warns. “Don’t.” 

“What?” He raises both hands in mock innocence. “All I’m trying to say is, if he likes her that much, he should just ask her out. She’s clearly into him. We all know it.” 

Bob’s eyes flick between you and Reuben, his brows furrowed slightly as his thoughts tug in opposite directions. On one hand, yeah, Reuben’s logic makes perfect sense. Bob’s not blind—he sees the way you look at him. The way your face lights up when you talk to him, the quiet smile you wear just for him, the blush you try to hide when he says something low and teasing. 

But on the other hand? He just can’t do it. You’re young—too young. And he’s... well, he’s not old, but he’s older. It’s not a huge age gap, not really, but that paired with how drop-dead gorgeous you are? It’s enough to make him feel like a— 

“Nothin’ wrong with being a cradle-snatcher,” Jake chimes in, eyes sparkling as he lifts his beer. 

Bradley chuckles quietly. “Jesus, Hangman. You’re on fire tonight.” 

“Why thank you, Rooster,” Jake replies smoothly. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and downs the rest of her beer in one long swig, looking thoroughly done with all of them. 

The conversation shifts then—to next week’s night ops training—but Bob barely hears it. The pounding of his pulse is too loud, drowning everything out. And he can’t stop watching you. 

The way your hands move when you talk, how your dress sways as you shift your weight, the gentle curve of your smile. Even over the music and chatter, he swears he can hear your laughter—if he strains. 

And it kills him. Because he’s not the one making you laugh tonight. 

- 

“Wanna get out of here?” Ryan asks, his voice low in your ear, breath warm against your neck. 

But not in a sexy way. Not in the way that sends goosebumps down your arms or makes your skin prickle with anticipation. It just makes you feel warm—too warm—in the packed, overheated bar. 

Honestly, for the last forty-five minutes, while Ryan has been telling you all about his super interesting job—he's a carpenter, it’s not that interesting—you’ve been seriously considering hopping behind the bar to help Penny and Jimmy. 

“It’s barely nine,” you say, forcing a polite smile as you tilt your head. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “But I’ve got to be at work by six tomorrow morning, so I figured if we ducked out now, we could... you know, mess around a bit before bed.” 

The way he says it nearly makes you laugh. He sounds like a teenager trying to sneak in some action before curfew. 

“Look,” you sigh, laying a hand on his knee, “this has been fun, but I’m just not your girl. And honestly? I was kinda hoping this would distract me from someone else, but... you’re not him. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault—this one’s on me. But, uh... good luck!” 

He looks completely flabbergasted. Like the blank stare you’ve worn for most of the evening—or the way your gaze kept drifting across the bar toward someone else—wasn’t a hint. God, he might be even dumber than you thought. 

You slip off the barstool with a clipped smile, wishing you looked more sincere, but your body is already moving toward where you really want to be—where your squad is. 

Where Bob is. 

You’re just about to head for the booth when your eye catches on Penny—and the very large crowd waiting to be served. 

“Damn it,” you sigh, pivoting sharply and hurrying around the bar. 

You slip through the swinging wooden doors behind the bar and fall in beside Penny, listening closely to the man ordering drinks—his voice raised over the music and chatter. Without hesitation, you start grabbing clean glasses, catching Penny off guard as you begin pouring pints of golden beer. 

“Sorry,” you say with a soft laugh. “I saw the crowd and couldn’t just let you suffer.” 

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “I’d tell you to scram if you weren’t so gorgeous—and a literal lifesaver.” 

You give her a cheeky wink before lining up the beers on a tray for the man. Penny swipes his card, and he’s gone in half the time. Then the next patron steps up, and you keep working smoothly, moving effortlessly behind the bar and easing the pressure. 

Eventually, the line dies down, and Penny takes full advantage of your presence by sending Jimmy out back for more stock. You stay behind the bar while she ducks off to collect empties, keeping yourself busy wiping benches, refilling lime wedges, and unloading the freshly washed glasses. 

You’re so focused on scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain on the bar top that you don’t notice someone approach—someone you usually have a hard time not noticing. 

“You don’t work here,” Bob says, voice light, lips twitching at the corners. 

You glance up, your heart immediately jumping into overdrive. “I could,” you say, straightening. “Maybe I should quit the Navy. Bartending might be my true calling.” 

He chuckles. “You’re one of the best fighter pilots in the country, and you think slinging drinks is your destiny?” 

You shrug, leaning forward casually—knowing exactly what you’re doing. His eyes flick down to your chest for a split second before snapping back up, fast enough to pretend it didn’t happen. 

“Hey, don’t knock it. This job is harder than it looks.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he says softly, watching with quiet intensity as you pour him a pint of cherry soda—without him even needing to ask. 

You slide it over with a small smile. “What do you think? I’m a pretty good bartender, huh?” 

His cheeks tint pink, the flush dusting across his nose. “Yeah. I think you make a very pretty bartender.” 

You smirk. “Was that a compliment, Lieutenant?” 

He rolls his eyes and drops a crumpled ten onto the bar like it might save him from saying more. 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” 

“You sure you’ve got that kind of authority?” he teases. 

“Penny said our drinks are free tonight,” you reply, smug. “Payment for being an excellent bartender.” 

“And for filling the tip jar faster than I’ve ever seen,” Penny chimes in as she reappears, arms full of empty glasses. 

Your cheeks heat as Bob’s gaze flicks toward the overflowing jar. 

“Wow,” he chuckles softly. 

You flick your hair dramatically and bat your lashes. “Perks of being a pretty bartender, I guess.” 

Then you turn around and bend over to grab something from the fridge—very aware of the effect—and sure enough, Bob promptly chokes on his soda. He coughs, his whole face turning red as he pounds a fist against his chest. 

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, “more like consequences of a skirt that short.” 

You snap upright, brows lifting and eyes gleaming with amusement. “Bob Floyd, did you just comment on the length of my skirt?” 

He blinks fast. “No.” 

You tilt your head, fighting a grin. “You sure? Because the colour in your cheeks looks a little guilty to me.” 

He straightens up, his usual walls clicking into place like armour. “Didn’t say anything.” 

You roll your eyes and plant both hands on the bar, leaning forward just enough to make him squirm. “Bob, I’m not a baby. And I’m not some virginal schoolgirl, either. You’re not going to hell just for flirting with me.” You pause, letting your gaze hold his. “Hell, if you did it more often, I might take you to heaven.” 

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and you see the want flicker in his eyes—just before he reins it back in. 

“But if the age gap is that big of a deal to you—which, for the record, is barely anything—then maybe stop looking at me like you’re picturing me naked.” Your voice drops. “Mixed signals can really confuse a girl.” 

You hear the softest laugh from Penny, but your eyes stay locked on Bob’s—daring him to look down again, to do something other than walk away. 

He clears his throat. “Thanks for the drink.” 

Then he turns and walks away, heading straight back to the booth where all your friends are—acting like they haven’t been watching, but you know better. They’re all too nosy for their own good. 

You sigh heavily. “Men. Fucking impossible.” 

Penny laughs again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Fighter pilots, actually. They’re a very special breed of difficult.” 

“Hey,” you giggle. “I am a fighter pilot.” 

She nods, smirking. “And there’s not a doubt in my mind how difficult you’re makin’ life for that boy right now.” 

You press your lips together and give her a flat look—because yeah… she’s not wrong. 

After all, why else bring a guy to the bar you knew your friends would be at—you knew he would be at? Why wear a dress this short? And why spend half the night with your eyes locked on him, just wishing he’d walk over and interrupt your lousy date? 

- 

Graveyard shift. Bat hours. Vampire runs. Ghost hops. Night rides. 

Whatever you want to call it—the squad hates night ops. 

It’s dark, it’s eerie, and your NVGs fog up if you so much as breathe wrong. Fatigue hits harder, the skeleton crew slows everything down, and visibility is shot—so you’re flying blind, trusting your radar and your WSO to keep you alive. 

“You know what’s great about night ops?” Mickey says, head tipped back in his chair. “Nothing. Not the dark, not the sleep deprivation, not the existential dread at two a.m. while staring into the black void wondering if your wingman ghosted you or just changed frequency.” 

You roll your eyes and take a sip of coffee. 

“It’s night one, Fanboy,” Natasha mutters beside you. “We still have four weeks of this. Are you going to complain the whole time?” 

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah. Probably.” 

“Did Mav piss Cyclone off or something?” Reuben asks. 

You shake your head. “Nah. He heard there might be a mission coming up with night flying. Figured we should get ahead of it.” 

“Or he just hates us,” Javy sighs, eyes half-shut. 

Natasha snorts. “Did you sleep at all today, Coyote?” 

“Nope,” he grumbles, shifting a glare toward Jake. “Someone had his whale noises up too loud and bit my head off when I told him to turn it down.” 

Jake shoots him a look. “They help me sleep. If you’ve got a problem, buy some earplugs.” 

“Damn,” you mutter. “Glad you’re not my wingman tonight, Coyote.” 

He shifts his glare your way and flips you off lazily before letting his eyes shut completely. 

“So, Vex,” Jake says, twisting in his seat toward you, “never did hear how that date went the other night.” 

You arch a brow. “Oh, so now I have to report back on all my dates?” 

Jake’s lips twitch, his gaze flicking toward Bob. “Dates? As in plural? Just how many are we talking here?” 

“That’s none of your business,” you reply, taking another sip of coffee. 

There’s a brief pause, and his eyes narrow—seeing through you a little too easily. “The date tanked?” 

Natasha snorts and you quickly elbow her in the side. 

“Yes,” you mutter. “It sucked. He was boring. And no, I didn’t get laid. So yes, I’m in a less-than-favourable mood.” 

Jake’s smirk turns wicked. “Sweetheart, if getting laid is what you need, you only have to ask.” 

Your brows shoot up. “That so?” 

He nods. 

You turn to Javy, who’s about one breath away from snoring. “Coyote.” 

His eyes snap open. “Huh?” 

“Want to fuck me?” 

He startles—eyes wide, mouth dropping open. “I—uh, what?” 

Laughter rumbles through the room—everyone giggling softly at poor, confused Javy. 

Well... almost everyone. 

Bob isn’t laughing. In fact, he’s not even smiling, or looking your way. His eyes are glued to his phone—even though you can see the screen is blank. 

Which means he’s definitely listening. 

You shift in your chair and give Natasha a sidelong smirk. Her brow furrows slightly—a silent question about what you’re up to—but she nods anyway, signalling that she’ll follow your lead no matter where it goes. 

“Does anyone know if Cyclone’s single?” you ask, voice light and dripping with faux innocence. 

Mickey’s eyes go wide. “Admiral Simpson?” 

You nod, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. He’s hot.” 

“Agreed,” Natasha says—and from the way her mouth curves, she’s not just playing along. She definitely agrees. 

“Isn’t he married?” Reuben asks. 

Javy frowns, still half-asleep but clearly paying attention now. “Nah, I think they divorced.” 

“So,” you say slowly, “what I’m hearing is... he’s single?” 

Bradley’s gaze flicks to Bob—just for a second—before settling back on you, reading you like a damn open book. “Bit old for you, isn’t he, Vex?” 

You shrug with a smile. “Not at all. I like older men. More experience.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the way Bob shifts in his seat—just slightly, but it’s enough. He’s not looking at you, but the tips of his ears have turned pink, and his jaw is locked tight as he keeps his eyes on his phone. Still blank. 

“I swear he’s still married,” Mickey says, clearly trying to get this train back on the rails. 

“Yeah,” Reuben adds. “Didn’t they do couples counselling?” 

“They did,” Maverick says, breezing into the room like the punchline to your joke. “Didn’t stick. So yes, he’s single.” He pauses in front of you, green eyes sparkling with amusement. “But I’m not sure how he feels about dating subordinates. Want me to find out?” 

You match his smirk with one of your own, sitting up a little straighter as you meet his gaze. “How generous of you, Captain. That would be great.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to the front of the room and sets a stack of papers down on the desk. “Alright, aviators,” he says. “Welcome to night ops.” 

After an hour-long briefing and way too many questions about why you’re all stuck on night training, Maverick orders everyone to get ready for the first hop. You’re on deck with Jake, Natasha, and, of course... Bob. 

The four of you ride in silence across the flight line, packed into one of the motorised carts as Maverick drives you from the squadron building to the hangar. There’s a low buzz of anticipation in the air, but no one says much. It’s late, and everyone is focusing on their own little preflight rituals. 

Once you reach the hangar, the ground crew directs you toward the night ops staging area where your NVGs and gear are laid out. You’ve done enough of these late-night flights to know the drill, so you join the others in wordlessly collecting your kit and starting to suit up. 

By the time you make it out onto the tarmac, your jets are already prepped and the crew chiefs are finishing up their walk-arounds. You head over to your jet, nodding to the plane captain before starting your own pre-flight check—walking the length of the fuselage, scanning for anything off, running a practiced eye over control surfaces, landing gear, intakes. It’s second nature by now, but you don’t cut corners. Especially not in the dark. 

Once you’re satisfied, you turn to face the runway and pull your helmet on, checking the vision through your NVGs. It’s blurry—just enough to make you squint. The image is skewed, the edges fuzzy, crawling inward like shadows that shouldn’t be there. 

You mutter something sharp under your breath, reaching up to adjust the settings yourself when— 

“Don’t move.” The voice is low. Steady. Too close. 

You freeze instinctively as Bob steps in—right into your space, like you’re the only two souls on the glowing stretch of tarmac. His gloved hand finds the side of your helmet, fingers sliding into place with steady control. It should feel clinical—routine—but it doesn’t. It burns. Even through the goddamn helmet. 

“I can fix it,” he murmurs, eyes on your goggles, not your face. “Tilt your chin up.” 

You obey—barely—and he leans in, his body almost touching to yours. One hand on your cheek-plate now, the other carefully turning the tiny focus dial above your temple. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and shallow, and it sends a pulse through your ribs that you’re trying desperately not to show. 

“Didn't this happen last time?” he asks, the corner of his lips twitching. “You jam the strap too tight.” 

“I like it snug,” you mutter, not trusting your voice with anything flirtier. Not when he’s this close. 

Bob hums, low in his throat. “Of course you do.” 

Your heart stutters. 

He adjusts something with a flick of his thumb—the pad of it grazing down along the side of your face, slow and careful. Like he's memorising the shape of you under the gear. Your jaw flexes. 

“You always get this close when you’re adjusting gear?” you ask, pretending the heat in your voice is a joke and not a plea. 

Bob stills for a beat. Just one. 

Then—very softly—he whispers, “Only yours.” 

You swear your knees nearly give. 

But before you can breathe or speak or lean the half-inch forward that would start something you probably shouldn’t want this badly, Bob finishes the final adjustment and lets his hands fall. Slowly. Like it costs him something. 

“There,” he says, voice low but distant now. “Better?” 

You blink behind the goggles. “Yeah. Clear.” 

He lingers for half a second more—just enough to feel like maybe he wants to say something else—then turns and walks back toward the others without another word. 

You don’t move. You can’t. You’re just standing there in the dark, goggles perfectly focused, heart pounding like you’re about to hit Mach 1. 

It takes an embarrassingly long minute for you to remember how to function. To stop thinking about how close he’d just been—how you could smell him, feel his heat, and how, if you’d tipped your chin up and stretched just a little… you might’ve been able to kiss him. 

But then you hear Maverick shouting across the tarmac, calling for a final rundown before wheels-up. 

You shake your head, yank your helmet off, and join the others for a quick debrief before splitting up again and climbing into your jets. You settle in, strap your helmet back on, check your now perfectly focused NVGs, and run your usual internal systems check. 

Then—after the green light from ground crew—you’re in the sky. Squinting through your goggles, seeing the world saturated in green and grey, and wondering why the fuck no one has invented a better form of night vision yet. 

“Remind me again why we’re stuck on the graveyard shift,” Jake says, voice dry. “Because as much as I love flying blind through pitch-black nothingness, I’d really rather be in bed right now.” 

“You’re not blind, Hangman,” Maverick replies. “We’ve got one of the best WSOs in the world with us.” 

“Oh, good,” Jake says sarcastically. “My life’s in the hands of Phoenix’s baby on board.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’d rather have my life in Bob’s hands than yours, Bagman.” 

His chuckle crackles through the radio. “Yeah, I know where you’d like to have Bob’s hands. And it’s not holding your life.” 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, making the cockpit suddenly feel way too hot—your flight suit practically suffocating. 

“Hangman,” Maverick warns. “Be professional.” 

Jake scoffs. “Oh, so those two can eye-fuck each other all night long, but I can’t say the obvious out loud?” 

There’s a pause—a beat where you wonder if he’s finally pushed it too far—but then Maverick’s laughter cuts through. 

“Yes. Because they do it quietly.” 

Your eyes go wide and you almost—almost—fumble a right bank. “Mav!” 

More laughter crackles through the radio, Natasha now joining in. You’re just about to tell them all to stick it when the mood shifts, and the laughter stops. 

“Vex, check your two,” Maverick says, voice sharp and low. “Something’s throwing heat.” 

“Negative,” Bob cuts in. “Let me scan it first.” 

You hesitate, holding formation, but frustration flares under your skin. Did Bob really just override a direct order? 

“Confirming IR spike,” Bob says after a beat. “Something’s cooking down there, but it doesn’t match any known signature.” 

You glance down at the blur on your MFD. “I’ll break off, check it out.” 

“Wait. Don’t.” Bob’s voice is low but tense, edged with something more than caution. 

“Why?” you snap, anger prickling your chest. 

“I... I don’t like it,” he says. “It’s not worth the risk.” 

You grit your teeth and break off anyway, flying low and steady toward the suspicious heat signature. 

“I’m going to check it out, Mav,” you say, voice tight. “Hangman, got my six?” 

“Copy,” Jake replies. 

You bank left, staying quiet as you approach the stretch of uninhabited grassland. Your HUD flickers with the steady IR pulse—a dull orange glow against the dark terrain. Too concentrated for a campfire. Too controlled for a random burn. It’s creeping north—methodical. 

You drop lower when you spot flashing lights—fire crews moving with purpose, reflective gear flickering like stars in the NVG haze. This isn’t an accident. It’s a controlled burn. 

“Mav, why is there a fire in a training zone?” you ask. “Shouldn’t that be logged?” 

“It’s just brush management?” Maverick asks, sounding almost relieved. 

“Affirmative,” Jake replies before you can. 

“Copy. I’ll flag it with air traffic—looks like someone forgot to tell the rest of us.” 

You and Jake return to formation without issue. 

“Lucky it wasn’t Bigfoot, huh Bob?” Jake says, his smug grin practically audible. “Might’ve leapt right onto Vex’s jet and dragged her into the woods.” 

There’s no response, just the soft static of the open channel. 

Then Natasha mutters, “Don’t be a dick, Hangman. He was being cautious.” 

“Well, I’m sure she appreciates the concern,” Jake says. “But she’s not made of glass.” He waits for a retort—gets none—and chuckles. “And if she’d died out there, I would’ve avenged her. Dramatically.” 

“Hangman,” Maverick sighs. “That’s enough. Bob’s got better eyes than the rest of us tonight. Maybe don’t piss him off.” 

Still, nothing from Bob. You even crane your neck, catching sight of his and Natasha's jet—nothing but a shadow at your five o’clock. Like you could somehow see him in the cockpit, tensing his jaw or rolling his eyes at Jake’s jabs. 

Frustration simmers in your chest. You know he was just being cautious—or protective—but this is your job. He doesn’t get to tell you what you can and can’t do, especially when it’s a direct order from your CO. Even if you were dating, you wouldn’t let him boss you around—well, not outside of the bedroom, anyway. He can care. He can worry. But making it sound like you’re incapable? That’s what he just did. And it makes your skin crawl. 

The rest of the flight passes without incident, but the comms stay unusually quiet—even Jake gives up his teasing—and you’re still pissed by the time you’re back on the ground. 

You move through the post-flight motions with a frown on your face and your jaw locked tight. First, the ground crew helps you out of the jet and you do a quick walk-around. Then you ditch your night gear, knock out a maintenance report, and sit through a short debrief with Maverick before jumping in the cart back to the ready room. 

By the time you walk in, the others are already gone. You’re not sure if you were too caught up in your own grumpiness to notice them pass you on the way over, but you don’t bother asking. You’re still too busy being pissed. 

In fact, you’re so busy scowling at the coffee machine as it splutters out an espresso shot you know is going to taste like dirt that you don’t notice someone step up beside you. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob says, voice soft. “About what happened up there.” 

You jump—just slightly—then twist to face him, arms crossed tight over your chest. He's standing just a few feet away—helmet gone, flight suit half unzipped with the collar tugged open just enough to make your stomach flip. 

“I didn’t mean to undermine you.” 

“Sure felt like it,” you mutter. 

“I know.” His eyes finally lift to meet yours—midnight blue, heavy with regret and something else that makes your breath catch. “That’s why I’m apologising.” 

You turn back to the coffee machine, hoping the clatter and gurgle of the old machine will cover the sudden pounding of your heart. “Look, I get you were trying to be cautious, but Mav gave me a directive. You don’t get to override that just because your gut didn’t like it.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about you as a teammate back there,” he says quietly. “I was thinking—” 

“That I’m a little kid?” you snap, spinning to face him again. “Because whatever issue you have with my age, I need you to remember that I got here the same way you did. I worked my ass off to be the pilot I am today, and I don’t need someone second-guessing me just because they’re a little older. Especially when I know what I’m capable of.” 

His frown deepens. “No, it—it’s not that at all. I just—I didn’t see what it was, it was dark, and when you went low...” He drags a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t breathe. I thought, what if something happens to her?” 

You blink, startled by the raw edge in his voice. 

“If anything had gone wrong, it would’ve been my fault,” he says, softer now. “I’m the WSO. I should’ve seen it first.” 

“Bob,” you whisper, stepping closer before you can stop yourself. You can feel the heat radiating off him now. “If I ever end up in a bad spot, that’s on me. I trust you to have my back, always—but it’s my responsibility when I make a call. And I broke off because I knew you’d be there. You and Phoenix, Mav, Hangman... I knew I had the best team in the sky behind me.” 

His jaw clenches as his gaze drifts over your face, like he’s trying to memorise every inch. 

Then he moves closer—close enough for one of the clips on his suit to catch yours—and reaches out. His fingers hook gently into the edge of your suit’s hip pocket, tugging you forward just enough to make your breath hitch. 

“You’re not just my teammate,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get that? I care about you. More than a teammate. More than a friend. I—” 

“I don’t believe it,” a familiar voice cuts through the room. “The famous Dagger Squad stuck on the graveyard shift? What’d you do, lose another bet?” 

Bob startles, stepping quickly away from you with bright red cheeks, unnecessarily adjusting his glasses. 

You turn toward the door, ready to rip into whoever just decided to interrupt the closest you’ve ever gotten to Bob... when you realize who it is. It’s Trevor—an old friend from flight school and one of the newer instructors on NAS. You’ve been meaning to catch up with him, but being in an elite squadron doesn’t leave you much time for a social life. 

“Damn,” you say with a playful smile, “who let you in the building?” 

He steps fully into the room, wearing his signature shit-eating grin. “Vex,” he says, voice full of mock disbelief. “You’re still here? I figured Maverick would’ve canned your reckless ass by now.” 

Jake swivels in his chair to look at you. “So you’re a renowned little chaos gremlin? Good to know.” 

You roll your eyes and step toward your friend. “Guys, this is Trevor—or Grinder—I’ve known him since flight school. He gave me my callsign, actually.” 

Trevor snorts. “Technically, Admiral Prescott gave you your callsign. What exactly was it he said again? That you’re a living, breathing vexation who’s going to be the sole reason for his retirement?” 

Jake and Natasha giggle from across the room, and Trevor grins proudly. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Want to tell my squad how you got yours?” 

He tips his head, brows raised. “Maybe I should get to know them first.” 

Then his eyes flick toward Jake—grinning, handsome, utterly clueless Jake. Yep. That’s the real reason Trevor decided to drop by your squadron building tonight, because he knew Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin would be here. The very pilot he’s had a crush on for more months than you care to remember. He’s been bugging you for ages to introduce them, even though you told him—repeatedly—that you’re not sure Jake swings that way. He wasn’t deterred though; he said he’s happy to figure it out and see if he can negotiate if not. You just rolled your eyes. 

“So, Grinder,” Natasha says, “what do you do?” 

Trevor’s face lights up and he quickly launches into a long-winded explanation of his new role as a flight instructor. He walks toward her as he talks, inching closer to where Jake is seated not far from Natasha. 

You turn back to Bob, clearing your throat. “Sorry about him. He’s... a lot. But you were saying...?” 

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “Nothing. It’s fine.” 

You frown. “It didn’t sound like nothing.” You take a slow step forward. “Didn’t feel like... nothing.” 

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, his eyes snapping up as he forces a tight smile. “We can talk later. Really, it’s fine.” 

You hesitate, wanting to push but knowing it’s no use now—those walls are well and truly back in place. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding once. “Later.” 

- 

Unfortunately, later never comes. 

You want to talk to him toward the end of the shift, but you’re both so exhausted after the first night that you can’t find the energy to push him for answers. So you let it go and head home. 

The next night, you’re on opposite hops, which means you don’t see him until the debrief in the early morning—when, once again, everyone is too wiped out to talk and just wants to wrap up and get home. 

The rest of the week slips by the same way. Every little thing keeps getting in the way of you and Bob actually talking. Even Thursday night, after a routine hop, when you’re both finally in the ready room and the moment couldn’t be more perfect—Trevor bursts in again, and Bob shuts down. 

When you finally leave base on Friday morning—glaring at the well-rested day-shifters on your way out like it’s their fault you’re dead inside—you make a promise to yourself. You’re going to talk to him this weekend. It doesn’t matter when or how or if you have to fake an emergency just to get five uninterrupted minutes. You’re going to do it. Because whatever weird, half-finished thing is hanging between you and Bob has been living rent-free in your head all week—and honestly, it’s starting to redecorate. 

“You sure you don’t mind?” Trevor asks, even though he’s already at your door with a duffel bag and a pillow. 

You roll your eyes. “Why would I mind?” 

He shrugs as he steps into your apartment. “I don’t know. Maybe you were planning to invite that gorgeous little blue-eyed lieutenant over.” He throws a cheeky wink over his shoulder. “You know, the one with the glasses. I’ve seen the way you look at him and—oof—does the man know what he’s in for? I mean, he looks at you just the same but—actually, come to think of it… why haven’t you screwed his brains out yet?” 

You shut your eyes and let out a deep sigh. When you open them again, Trevor is already sprawled across your three-seater couch like he owns the place. 

“First of all, he’s not little—you’re just freakishly tall—and secondly…” You step slowly toward the lounge, shoulders sagging in defeat. “He’s too good.” 

Trevor frowns. “Too good? Like… too good for you or—?” 

“That. And he’s respectful,” you say, flopping onto the end of the couch. “He’s got this thing about our age gap. It’s not a big one, but it’s… there, I guess. Maybe it’s also because we’re in the same squad.” 

Trevor watches you, eyes narrowed slightly, expression unreadable. 

“Wow,” he mutters. 

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugs. “Just never took you for a quitter.” 

You rear back, incredulous. “A quitter?” 

“Yeah,” he says, tone cool and baiting as he casually searches for the TV remote. “I mean, if I was in love with a guy—which, you’re clearly in love with him—I wouldn’t stop until he had a restraining order against me.” 

You snort. “Yeah? Well, I like my job and my squad, so—” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “My God, Vex. Don’t take everything so literally. The man’s in love with you too. Just fucking go for it before your whole squad murders both of you for being whiny dumbasses.” 

He finds the remote and flicks the TV on, giving you a very pointed look—brows raised—before settling in and scrolling through streaming apps. 

And God, you hate to admit it, but maybe he’s right. Maybe instead of teasing Bob, you just need to go for it. Cut through the hesitation, stop him from overthinking, and make the damn decision for him. 

“Fine,” you say, standing up with purpose. “I’m going out tonight, by the way.” 

“Good,” he replies, not even glancing your way. “Just keep it down if you bring him home. He might look like an uptight officer, but I can tell that man fucks.” 

“Trev!” 

He chuckles. “What? I’m just saying.” 

You roll your eyes, cheeks burning, and storm off toward your room. 

Tonight, the squad has decided to go bowling. Everyone wanted to shake things up from the usual at The Hard Deck, and the only thing you could all agree on was bowling. 

Even though you hate the gross bowling shoes that have been worn in by a hundred other people—and the sticky holes on the balls after grubby little kids have been shoving their nasty fingers in them. 

But when Bob mentioned that he’s actually pretty good at bowling… well, how could you protest? 

Plus, it’s still short skirt weather—Bob’s favourite, as you’ve come to notice—and bowling in a tiny skirt feels like a fun, flirty little risk you’re more than willing to take. 

All in the name of science, of course. And your hypothesis? Bob doesn’t stand a chance. 

At 7PM, Natasha picks you up, shooting a very pointed look at the flowy little sundress you’re wearing under your denim jacket. But she doesn’t say a word. 

The drive to the bowling alley isn’t far, and soon you’re walking inside with Mickey and Reuben—who arrived around the same time. Jake, Bradley, Javy, and Bob are already there. They’ve got a lane, swapped into their shoes, and Jake is busy squeezing creative versions of everyone’s callsigns into the limited-character name slot. 

“Can’t you just be ‘Roster’?” he asks Bradley. 

Bradley frowns. “Can’t I just be Brad?” 

“Ugh,” Natasha groans. “No way. You’re not a Brad. Just put Roo.” 

Jake’s face lights up like he just solved the mystery of why the sky is blue. “Good one, Phoenix. Thanks.” 

“What am I?” she asks. 

“Phone,” Javy replies, deadpan. 

Natasha blinks. “Phone? As in P-H-O-N-E?” 

“Yep,” Bradley chuckles. 

“What the fuck, Bagman?” She steps up to the little tablet where he’s typing the names. “Move. You’re an idiot.” 

You stifle a laugh and turn to Mickey and Reuben. “Want to get shoes?” 

They both nod, and you head toward the main counter—though not without catching the way Bob’s eyes drop to your legs, his throat working on a swallow as you walk away. 

You grab your shoes and rejoin the group, flopping down beside Bob just close enough to make him squirm. Then you lean forward, swapping your Converse for the white, red, and blue striped Velcro bowling shoes. 

When you’re done, you stand up and put one foot out. “These shoes are hot. Might have to steal them.” 

“You know what,” Jake says with a smirk, “I think you’re just gorgeous enough to make ‘em work. What do you think, Bobby?” 

You glance down at the man sitting beside you. The poor guy who’s basically eye-level—thanks to these ridiculously low seats—with your ass. The man whose glasses are just a little foggy by the bridge of his nose as he breathes a bit faster than usual. His cheeks are pink, lips parted, and his eyes are so wide—and so blatantly glued to your short, short skirt—that you can barely keep from laughing. 

“Bob?” you ask, voice full of faux innocence. 

He clears his throat, blue eyes flicking up to your face. “Y-Yeah. It’s a nice dress.” 

There’s a beat—everyone turns to Bob—and then they all burst out laughing. Mickey curls over, Reuben tips his head back, Jake’s face twists up, and Natasha has to hold on to Bradley’s shoulder to keep from falling over. 

Bob blinks, brow furrowed, looking back at you as the red in his cheeks deepens. “He wasn’t—we weren’t talking about the dress… were we?” 

You shake your head, biting back a smile. And with the way he’s looking at you—wide-eyed, breathless, full of heat—you feel a spark of boldness rise up in your chest. 

You reach out, pinch his chin between your fingers, and tilt his face up toward you. Then you lean in, slow and teasing, until there’s barely an inch of air between you—your voice a soft whisper just for him. 

“Don’t worry, Bobby,” you murmur. “I wore this dress just for you.” 

Then you straighten up with a wicked smile, leaving him speechless, blushing, and absolutely wrecked. 

You resist the urge to look back—even with all the teasing going on behind you—as you browse the rack of bowling balls. You pick one, mostly for its colour rather than its weight, and carry it over to the ball return where the others have already placed theirs. 

“We ready?” Natasha asks, finally tapping ‘finish’ on the tablet. 

The names pop up on the screen above the lane: Roo, Hngmn, Pback, Fboy, Nix, Bob, and Vex. 

“Rooster,” she calls, “you’re up.” 

Bradley steps forward, grabs a ball, and promptly sends it flying into the gutter. That’s all it takes. One terrible bowl and the trash talk ignites—like gasoline on an open flame. 

“Jesus, Rooster,” Reuben says. “My nephew could bowl better than that blindfolded—and he’s six, man.” 

“Yeah, dude,” Mickey laughs, “you sure you should be flying jets with that kind of coordination?” 

Bradley flips them off before picking up the ball again, dialling in his focus and managing to knock over seven pins on his second try. 

“Alright, losers,” Jake says, swaggering up to the ball return. “Time to watch how a real man bowls.” 

Unfortunately for everyone, Jake is obnoxiously good at bowling and casually lands a spare without breaking a sweat. But then Reuben steps up and nails a strike, which earns him an impressive amount of booing. 

“What can I say?” he grins as he drops back into his seat. “I’m just too good.” 

Next up is Mickey, who insists he has a ‘signature move that never fails’. He then immediately wipes himself out and lands on his ass as the ball rolls tragically slow down the lane. It takes everyone a solid few minutes to recover from laughing. 

Natasha follows, and—with terrifying precision—manages to hit a spare, knocking down a seven-ten split like it’s nothing. 

“Alright, Baby,” Jake says, clapping a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “You ready to show us what you got?” 

Bob rolls his eyes and shrugs off Jake’s hand, the corner of his mouth twitching as he stands and heads for the ball return. You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but the jeans hugging his ass are outrageously distracting, and it takes a considerable amount of effort to look at the pins instead of his backside. 

By the time you finally manage to drag your eyes down the lane, the pins are already gone—swept clean away as Bob turns around with just the faintest hint of a smug grin. 

“Fuck,” Reuben mutters. “Bob can bowl.” 

“Oh, damn,” Mickey giggles. “Going after that is gonna suck.” 

You shoot him a look as you push out of your seat. “Thanks, Mick.” 

Bob doesn’t sit down right away—he steps over to the ball return, picks up your ball, and hands it to you with a soft smile. 

You take it, intentionally placing half a hand over his. “Thanks.” 

He nods once, then retreats to where the rest of the squad are waiting. 

“Need a little guidance, Vex?” Jake drawls, voice low and smug. “I give excellent hands-on instruction.” 

You roll your eyes, sliding your fingers into the holes. “I think I’d rather roll a gutter ball than have you breathing down my neck, Bagman. But thanks for the offer.” 

There's a chorus of oohs behind you as you turn back toward the lane. You step forward, swing the ball back, and—thunk—release it way too late. You’re honestly surprised it doesn’t leave a dent in the floor. It wobbles down the lane before veering off and sinking into the gutter just before the pins. 

“Damn,” you sigh, turning around with a sheepish grin. “I’m going to score lower than Rooster.” 

There are a few murmured insults about your lack of bowling skill, but you barely hear them. Bob catches your eye, his lips parted like he’s about to say something—offer to help maybe—but then he just... doesn’t. 

You watch him sink back in his seat as you pick up your ball and turn to the lane—this time with a bit more intention. 

Bending lower than strictly necessary, you wiggle your fingers into the ball’s grip and line up your shot with exaggerated focus. The hem of your dress shifts just enough to tease the tops of your thighs, and you don’t have to look to know Bob’s watching. You can feel it—the weight of his stare, the sudden shift in the air like gravity is a pressing down just little harder. 

You swing the ball back and release with a cleaner motion this time. It rolls straight—miraculously—and clips five pins on the right. Not bad. Not great. But right now, you're more interested in the reaction behind you. 

When you turn, Bob’s gaze jerks up like he’s been caught red-handed. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and he looks absolutely wrecked—like someone just knocked the wind out of him with a feather. 

Jake whistles low. “Pretty sure what I just witnessed is actually a crime in several states.” 

Reuben leans forward, eyes on Bob. “Oh, no. I think Bob is broken.” 

Mickey snorts. “Somebody reboot him.” 

Bob blinks hard, still dazed, and mumbles something under his breath. The rest of the squad continue laughing quietly, their eyes flicking between you and the flustered lieutenant—who is now very interested in the floor.  

You smile to yourself as you walk back, fighting the urge to smirk too hard as you drop into the seat beside him. 

“You know,” Bradley says as he steps up to the ball return, “if I’d known this game was about showing as much ass as possible, I would’ve worn my shortest skirt.” 

You roll your eyes and lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Please. You would've blinded everyone—and that’s probably the only way you'd have a shot at winning.” 

The squad bursts out laughing again while Bradley shoots you an unimpressed glare. Then he grabs his ball, turns toward the lane, and kicks off the next round. 

You stay quietly pressed to Bob’s side while the others take their turns. And honestly? You don’t care if the game ever continues. With his jean-clad thigh snug against your bare one, you could stay right here all night. 

And Bob doesn’t seem eager to move either. He stays close, legs aligned, knees brushing, arm grazing yours—his warmth wrapped around you like your favourite blanket. 

You’re seconds away from resting your head on his shoulder when Mickey pipes up, announcing that it’s Bob’s turn. He shifts slowly, giving you a soft smile as he stands and walks toward the ball return. 

This time, instead of watching his ass, your eyes track his hands. 

You’ve always had a thing for hands—especially Bob’s. They’re just... really nice hands. Big and steady, with long fingers that look like they could touch you in ways that would rewrite your entire understanding of pleasure. You’ve imagined those hands everywhere—ghosting over your skin, gripping your thighs, digging bruises into your hips, clawing down your back. 

You’ve thought about them more than what could ever be considered healthy. You could write poetry about those hands. Recite sonnets. Start a religion. 

And when those fingers sink into the bowling ball holes? 

Well, fuck. There’s nothing PG about this game—not when your brain is spiralling into fantasies about all the downright filthy ways that Bob Floyd could ruin you. 

“Hey,” Javy nudges your shoulder, knocking you out of your Bob-induced daydream. “It’s your turn, dude.” 

You blink, shaking your head and hoping your blush isn’t as obvious as it feels as you push out of your chair and walk up toward where Bob is. 

“Do you—uh, do you want some help?” he asks, holding your bowling ball in his hands. 

You fight the grin threatening to break across your face, nodding. “Sure.” 

“Hey!” Jake calls from behind you. “I offered first.” 

Reuben snorts. “Yeah, but she doesn’t want to bone you, does she?” 

Both you and Bob ignore them. You take the ball from his hand and move up to the lane, slipping your fingers into the holes and holding it at your chest. 

“Okay, coach,” you say with a small smirk. “Tell me what to do.” 

“Alright, here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches out and gently takes your wrists. 

His touch is light, reverent, and it makes your breath catch. He adjusts your hands around the ball, slow and precise, like he’s memorising the shape of you. How warm you are. The way you respond so eagerly to his touch. 

“Fingers like this,” he murmurs. “You want a solid grip. Not too tight.” 

Your heart stutters. His hands are big—warm and rough in the best way—and they settle over yours like they were made to. When he steps closer to correct your stance, his chest brushes your back, and you feel everything. The press of him. The tension in his thighs. The tremble in his exhale. 

“Now,” he says, gently guiding your arm, “swing back like this—smooth, steady…” 

You try to follow, but it’s hard to focus when his hands slide down to your hips, positioning them with the lightest squeeze. You swear he groans under his breath—just barely audible, like he’s suffering. 

“That’s… yeah. Perfect.” 

He freezes. 

You don’t move. Neither does he. His hands are still on your hips, his breath coming faster now, his body just slightly more rigid. 

And then you feel it. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You shift your hips—just a fraction—and he instantly jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. 

“Shit—uh, yeah, you—you got it. You’ll do great,” he stammers, voice suddenly strangled and two octaves higher. “I—uh—I’ve got to—bathroom. Real quick.” 

You turn just in time to see him rush off, pink in the ears, tripping slightly over a chair leg. 

“Was it something I said?” you call after him sweetly. 

Jake cackles from the bench. “Nah, I think you just short-circuited the poor guy.” 

Natasha leans forward, watching Bob disappear down the hallway. “Oh no,” she says with a grin. “I think Bob is completely falling apart at this point.” 

You grin, still tingling from where his hands touched you, as you turn back toward the lane. You roll the ball and, somehow, end up getting a spare—despite your brain being completely stuck on Bob... and what exactly had made him bolt so fast. 

Bradley gets up for his turn as you move dazedly back to your seat, mind hazy with thoughts of how Bob had felt pressed against you. 

“God, you’re so gone,” Natasha says with a soft laugh. 

You roll your eyes, but the dopey smile refuses to budge. 

“It’s a shame he’s too stupid to do anything about it,” Jake mutters. 

Natasha shoots him a look. “He’s not stupid. He’s cautious.” 

Reuben chuckles. “Yeah, well, if tonight’s anything to go by, Bobby might be throwing caution to the wind pretty soon.” 

You sigh as you sink into one of the low seats. “Not tonight, unfortunately.” 

They all look at you, confused. 

“Trevor’s staying at my place,” you explain simply. 

The group gasps—everyone but Natasha staring at you in disbelief. 

You frown. “What?” 

“I thought—” Mickey glances around like someone else might back him up. “I thought you only liked Bob.” 

You and Natasha—the only two in this group with any emotional intelligence, apparently—exchange a look. 

“She’s not into Trevor,” Nat says dryly. “And he’s definitely not into her.” 

“Yeah,” you add. “He’s gay.” 

“Like, very gay,” Natasha says. “Like, into Hangman gay.” 

Jake’s head snaps toward her. “Excuse me?” 

“Ohhh,” Mickey sighs. “That makes so much sense.” 

Reuben laughs. “Is that why he’s been stopping by every couple nights?” 

You laugh too, nodding. “Yeah. He’s been stuck on nights since getting stationed here, and he’s been bugging me to introduce him to Hangman. Thought it was fate when he found out our squad got moved to nights too.” 

“Excuse me,” Jake repeats. “What exactly makes a man extra gay for being into me?” 

The whole group breaks out laughing—Bradley included as he returns from taking his turn. 

“You’re just... pretty,” Javy says with a shrug. 

“So?” Jake throws up his hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s a compliment, dude,” Reuben says. “Just take it.” 

Jake huffs, but the rest of the group turns back to you. 

“So, why is he staying at your place?” Mickey asks. 

“Yeah,” Bradley adds, “and why can’t you bring someone home? It’s your place.” 

“His plumbing at the barracks is all messed up, so I offered him my couch,” you explain, before looking at Bradley. “And I could bring someone home, but I’m pretty sure he’d make it weird. Plus, I’m not exactly a fan of… being quiet.” 

Jake tips his head back with a dramatic groan. “God, why is it always the quiet nerds who get the hot freaky girls?” 

You giggle and pat his knee. “Oh, Hangman. You’re delusional if you think Floyd isn’t a freak too.” 

“Ugh,” Natasha groans. “Why does this feel like you’re talking about my brother?” 

“She’s right, though,” Mickey says, thoughtful. “Bob’s got something about him.” 

The rest of the squad nods, unspoken agreement passing between them while Jake’s eyes flick around in horrified disbelief. 

“What’d I miss?” Bob asks, suddenly reappearing at the edge of the group. 

Everyone falls silent. 

“Hangman’s stalling,” Natasha says coolly, “because he realised he’s going to lose.” 

Jake narrows his eyes at her as he stands. “You’re going down, Trace. This next one’s a strike.” 

He stalks off toward the ball return, and the game resumes. 

Thankfully, Bob doesn’t question the odd look Mickey gives him as he sits down beside you. Only this time, he keeps his distance—at least an inch between your bodies, careful not to let even the fabric of his shirt brush your arm. He doesn’t look at you, either. His gaze stays locked on the lane, watching each turn with intense focus. And he definitely doesn’t offer any more hands-on guidance for the rest of the night— though the blush on his cheeks stays stubbornly in place. 

After two games of bowling, a round of hot dogs, and more shit-talking than could possibly be quantified, everyone decides to call it a night. It isn’t even that late, but with your wrecked sleep schedules, you’re all starting to feel a little loopy. 

You swap back into your own shoes, return the bowling pair, duck into the bathroom, and head for the door. Everyone but Bob is already outside, but like the gentleman he is, he’s still inside—waiting by the claw machine with his nose buried in his phone. 

“Hey, superstar,” you say as you approach. “How’s it feel to be the best bowler in the squad?” 

He glances up with a soft smile. “One of the best,” he corrects. “I only won the first game.” 

You smirk, confidence flooding your gut. “Was it first-game luck or my skirt that threw you off during the second?” 

His face flushes bright red, eyes going wide like he’s just been caught in a lie. “I—uh, no, I just—” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “I was joking, Bob. Calm down.” 

He presses his lips together and nods, eyes flicking down to your bare legs for the briefest second before returning to your face. 

You nod toward the doors. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before the others get suspicious.” 

He nods and gestures for you to lead the way—so you do, swinging your hips just a little extra. 

He hesitates for a beat, and you can feel his gaze sear into the exposed skin of your legs before he doubles his steps to catch up and walk beside you. 

“I was wondering,” you say quickly, forcing the words out before you lose your nerve. “Did you—um,” you clear your throat, “want to hang out tomorrow night?” 

He glances at you, blue eyes swimming with something you can’t quite place. 

“Just us,” you clarify, voice dropping. “Kind of like… a date?” 

There’s a pause. An awkward pause. 

The hairs on the back of your neck rise and your stomach twists. 

“Um,” he drops his gaze to the ground, brows knitting. “I—I can’t tomorrow. I’ve got—I mean, I haven’t done laundry like… all week with the shift change, and I really need to catch up before Monday.” 

Heat floods your face, embarrassment settling heavy and sour in your gut. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, still staring at the floor. 

You dip your chin and blink hard, swallowing the burn rising behind your eyes. “No problem,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Hope you have fun doing laundry.” 

Then you double your pace and slip out the doors, not bothering to hold it open. You cross the parking lot quickly, making a beeline for Natasha’s car without so much as a glance toward the others. You yank the passenger door open, slide in, and slam it shut. 

- Bob - 

“What’d you do?” Natasha asks, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 

Bob takes a slow breath as he drags his eyes up to meet her glare. “Nothing,” he mutters. 

“Yeah?” She arches a brow. “So, Vex will say the same thing when I ask her?” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing the spot where his glasses sit. “Probably not, Phoenix. But you know what? I don’t really feel like explaining myself to you right now, so please—just drop it.” 

She rolls her eyes and lets her arms fall to her sides, keys jingling in one hand. “I really thought you were one of the good ones, Floyd. I’m a little disappointed.” 

Then she turns and mumbles goodbye to the rest of the squad—who are all watching with wide eyes—before walking to her car and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

Bob can still feel your glare through the windshield, even if the dark night doesn’t let him see you clearly inside the car. 

As soon as Natasha peels out of the lot, Bob feels the shift—the boys’ eyes snap toward him. 

“So,” Jake says, brows raised, “what did you do?” 

Bob exhales and leans back against his car, arms crossing over his chest. “She asked me out,” he says quietly, “and I told her no… because I have laundry to do.” 

There’s a collective intake of breath. The atmosphere sharpens with something unspoken but easily understood: Bob fucked up—bad. 

“You what?” Reuben asks, leaning in. 

Bradley lets out a low chuckle. “Holy shit, Floyd. That was dumb.” 

“I know,” Bob huffs. 

He’s not sure why he couldn’t tell Natasha but has no issue telling the others. Maybe because Natasha was about to get in a car with you and hear the story anyway—so why bother? Or maybe it’s because he’s a little afraid of Nat. And he knows, deep down, that he messed up. He just didn’t feel like getting chewed out by his sharp-tongued pilot tonight. 

“Why the hell wouldn’t you say yes?” Jake frowns. “She’s so into you—it’s almost a joke. And she’s gorgeous. Who cares about the age gap?” 

Bob’s eyes snap toward him, brow furrowed. “You’re the one who always has something to say about it. You literally call me a cradle-snatcher, like… once a week.” 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Because it’s fun to get a rise out of you. I don’t actually mean it.” 

“Yeah, dude,” Javy adds. “If we thought it was wrong, we’d say something. We make fun of you both because it’s obvious you’re obsessed with each other.” 

“Honestly,” Mickey pipes up, “I thought you two were already dating and just keeping it from us.” 

Bob buries his face in his hands, the heat in his cheeks burning against his palms. “For fuck’s sake.” 

“Oh, wow,” Reuben mutters. “Bob just swore.” 

Bradley drops a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Maybe you should call her. Or—I don’t know—go see her tomorrow. Apologise. You don’t have to date her, but if that’s how you feel, you need to be clear. Don’t lead her on. And you definitely owe her an apology for that shitty laundry excuse.” 

Bob nods slowly, letting his hands drop. “Yeah. I know.” 

Mickey chuckles, pulling his keys from his pocket. “Good luck, dude.” 

They all say their goodbyes and head for their cars, leaving Bob still leaning against the side of his own, a far-off look in his eyes and guilt twisting in his chest. 

He barely sleeps that night. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the profile of your face after he said no—the way your eyes glossed over, your jaw clenched, and your lips pressed into a thin, unshakable line. The memory cuts through him like a blade. 

He hates the thought of hurting you. But more than that, he hates himself—because he knows he did. He knows you cried, whether it happened in the car or the moment you got home. Either way, the result is the same—he made you cry. And that thought alone makes him feel sick. 

Before the sun even rises, he’s out of bed. Sleep abandoned, guilt gnawing at his insides, he laces up his shoes and goes for a run—trying to outrun the tight knot in his chest. He knows he’ll have to sleep later and stay up again tonight, thanks to another stretch of night shifts. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is talking to you. This morning. If you’ll even let him. 

After his run, sweat still cooling on his skin, he finally works up the nerve to text you: ‘Hey, sorry about last night. Are you free this morning?’ 

An hour passes. Nothing. 

And he knows you’re ignoring him—because you’ve reacted to a couple of messages in the group chat. You’re awake. You’re just not answering him. And honestly, he doesn’t blame you. 

By ten o’clock, he can’t stand it anymore. 

The ache in his chest is unbearable. His head is pounding. The guilt in his stomach is curling tighter with every passing second. But it’s not just guilt. It’s not just the regret of hurting a friend’s feelings. 

It’s worse—because it’s you. 

You’re his favourite person in the whole damn world. He can admit that now. You make him laugh. You make him feel like himself. And as much as he’s tried not to need you… he does. Desperately. 

The age gap isn’t the real problem—it never was. Maybe it’s just an excuse, something to hide behind because deep down, he doesn’t think he deserves you. But that’s not good enough anymore. He has to fix this. Even if you never forgive him, even if things can’t go back to how they were—he has to try. 

Because Robert Floyd knows now, without a doubt, that he’s in love with you. 

And God, he hopes he can say it out loud—because it might be the only thing that can save him now. 

Before Bob even knows exactly how he’s going to say everything that’s been spinning through his head, he’s already outside your apartment building. He knows where it is because he helped you move in after the Dagger Squad was made a permanent unit at North Island. 

He still thinks about that day, too. About the exercise tights you wore—how they clung to your ass like a second skin. About the loose tee you eventually peeled off because you were overheating, leaving you in nothing but a sports bra. And when you finally took a break, beer in hand on your new balcony, he watched you cool down… and watched your nipples pebble beneath the Lycra fabric. 

Bob felt like a total creep that day, but that hasn’t stopped him from—repeatedly—getting off to the memory of you on that balcony. Cheeks pink, lips wet with beer, eyes so wide and innocent, even though he’s pretty sure you knew exactly what you were doing to him… 

He shakes his head and forces his feet to move—into the building, into the elevator, and up to your floor. The hallway feels both way too long and not nearly long enough as he approaches your door. Then, with a deep breath, he raises his hand and knocks three times. 

His heart is caught in his throat, hammering like it’s trying to escape. He’s felt pressure in the cockpit, but nothing like this. This is worse than pulling 8 Gs. 

The door swings open, and he opens his mouth to immediately beg you to hear him out—but… it’s not you. 

“Bob,” Trevor says with a sleepy grin and a wicked glint in his eye. “What a surprise to see you here.” 

His hair’s a mess, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are half-lidded. He looks like he either just woke up… or just got done doing something naked and personal with someone else. Which might explain why he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a crooked pair of boxers that—at least in Bob’s opinion—aren’t leaving much to the imagination. 

“I—uh, Trevor?” 

Trevor nods, brow furrowing slightly. “The one and only. You good, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Bob wishes it were a ghost. Because what he’s seeing right now is ten times more horrifying than anything spooky or undead. 

He clears his throat. “Y-Yeah, I’m good. I just—um, I was going to ask Vex if—” 

“Who is it?” you call groggily from deeper inside the apartment, your voice thick with sleep. 

Trevor smirks over his shoulder. “Floyd!” 

“What?” 

He nudges the door open a little wider, revealing you in nothing but an oversized U.S. Navy tee. Your hair is mussed, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are narrowed—definitely not surprised. Just… pissed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, arms crossed tight against your chest. 

Bob stares, wide-eyed. You’re not shocked. You’re not flustered. You're still mad. How could you still be mad at him now? 

“I—uh, well—” He shakes his head and steps back, his stomach swirling nauseously. “Nothing. It’s fine. Just—forget it. You two have fun.” 

Then he turns on his heel and practically jogs down the hall, mashing the elevator button hard enough to hurt. He can hear your voice behind him, Trevor’s too, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to care. He just wants to get the hell out of here before he goddamn cries over the fact that the woman he loves just jumped into bed with the next guy right after he turned her down. 

Does he have any right to be this angry? Probably not. But still—why couldn’t you see it from his point of view? Why couldn’t you understand he was just… hesitant? That he needed some time to wrap his head around it? 

But no. You couldn’t be patient. You couldn’t wait. 

Because maybe you’re not as into him as everyone keeps saying. Maybe you never were. 

God, he should’ve known. He should have known it was too good to be true. Why would someone like you want someone like him? And why would you waste your time waiting—when you could have just about any man you wanted? 

- You - 

“What was that about?” Trevor asks, his head still half-stuck out the door like Bob might suddenly come back. 

You drop onto the couch, shoving aside the blanket Trevor had been using. “Don’t know,” you mutter. “Maybe he was thinking about apologising for being a jerk, but then decided to just keep being one.” 

Trevor turns to you with a puzzled frown. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

He shuts the door and walks slowly toward to the lounge. “Yeah, but I didn’t understand you. What’s with the attitude?” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I asked him out last night.” 

Trevor gasps—loudly. 

“But he said no.” 

He rears back, brows drawn. “What? Why?” 

“Because he has laundry to do.” 

Trevor’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open. “No.” 

“Yup,” you mutter, sinking deeper into the cushions. “That’s what the attitude is for.” 

He nods slowly, still staring. “Right… but then why did he show up here?” 

You shrug. “Maybe to apologise. Or maybe he was going to let me down for good. Tell me to stop flirting with him, or whatever.” 

Trevor frowns again, his eyes glazing over like he's lost in thought. 

You nudge his knee with your foot. “What’s that look for?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly, though the curiosity stays fixed on his face. 

“Trevor…” 

He exhales a short breath. “I mean—do you think he thought… you and I…? You know?” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “He knows I’m gay, right?” 

You snort. “Yes, Grinder. Bob Floyd, along with all of North Island, is very aware that you’re gay. I was literally talking about it with the squad last night.” 

He nods. “Good. ‘Cause if he didn’t, me opening the door shirtless and you in that ridiculously oversized tee might’ve looked real bad.” 

You barely hear him as he continues to rant about men and miscommunication. Instead, you flick on the TV, letting the background noise of old cartoon reruns wash over you while the memory of last night replays on loop. 

You let yourself feel it—let your chest ache with it—and hope it’s enough to kill off this stupid crush once and for all. 

But deep down, you know the truth. 

Whatever this is, it stopped being just a crush a while ago. 

And you’re starting to fear that maybe—just maybe—you’ve accidentally fallen in love with Bob Floyd. 

You spend the rest of the day sulking on the couch like it’s your full-time job, while Trevor obliterates your kitchen trying to make homemade macarons to ‘cheer you up.’ Normally, you’d be in there with him, correcting his technique and keeping the apartment from burning down, but not today. Today, you’re tired and heartbroken. 

The two of you stay up late trying to adjust to the coming week of night shifts, but by two a.m. you’re passed out on the lounge… and promptly woken at four by Trevor’s snoring. That’s when you give up, throw on your shoes, and go for a run—hoping to burn through enough energy to sleep through the day before shift. 

Trevor is gone by the time your alarm goes off at eight p.m., giving you an hour to tidy the apartment before showering and heading off to base. You stopped living on base when the Dagger Squad was made permanent at North Island, same as most of the others. It’s nice not having to share bathrooms or constantly wonder whether you’re going to get all your socks back from the laundry room. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss running into your friends all the time—running into Bob. 

The sky is dark and the base is quiet as you park your car and make your way to the squadron building. Your stomach twists nervously at the thought of seeing not just Bob, but your whole squad. You know they’d all know by now—that you asked Bob out and he shut you down. 

Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if Maverick knew. 

“Hey,” Natasha says, meeting you by the stairs before you enter the briefing room. 

You give her a tight smile. 

“Feeling any better?” 

You shake your head, lips still pulled into a watery smile as you push the door open. 

Bob is already in his usual seat—because of course he is—but he doesn’t look up when you walk in. He doesn’t give you that soft smile he usually does whenever he sees you. 

Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on the lid of his travel mug, jaw tight as he flicks the little tab open and closed. 

Natasha gives you a sidelong glance, her brows drawn curiously. She knows what happened—you told her—but you haven’t yet filled her in on the part where he showed up at your apartment and then left in a hurry. 

You shake your head, giving her a silent look that says you’ll fill her in later. Then you turn and make your way to the back of the room, sinking into one of the furthest possible chairs from where Bob is seated. 

It isn’t long before Maverick walks in and starts the briefing. He rambles on about a possible mission on the horizon, which means upcoming hops and drills are going to be more purpose-driven. He wants to work closely with the WSOs, having them and their pilots fly point to spot anything the night might hide from the F/A-18E drivers. 

You’re not particularly bothered by that, because after tonight, the rest of your hops are scheduled with Reuben and Mickey. Which means you only have to deal with Bob for one night. Just one. You only have to pretend to listen to him for one night. Then you get almost a full week’s reprieve. 

“Alright,” Maverick says, shutting his notebook. “Phoenix, Bob, Hangman, Vex—you’re on deck. The rest of you, head to the ready room.” 

Everyone shuffles out, the group splitting down the corridor as half of you head outside and the other half veer toward the ready room. 

You let Natasha and Bob take the lead, half-listening to Jake whine about how much he hates NVGs and how night shifts ruin his gym schedule. 

Then the cart ride is silent—tension so thick that even Maverick doesn’t bother breaking it. 

Once at the hangar, you start gearing up and going through the motions—chatting with ground crew, checking your jet, adjusting your equipment, running internals. You wait until it’s your turn to be taxied out, then climb into the cockpit and try to settle your nerves. 

You take a deep breath and call on every ounce of focus and maturity you have just to stop yourself from shutting off comms. You might be pissed right now, but this is your job. The job you worked way too hard for to let some ridiculously gorgeous lieutenant break your heart badly enough to get you grounded. 

Tonight, the sky is clear but moonless—the darkness heavier than usual. You check your instruments twice—three times—and remind yourself it’s just another hop. You’ve done this a thousand times before. 

But still, your hands stay tight on the controls. 

You fly in relative radio silence for the first twenty minutes, squinting through slightly misaligned NVGs. You’d fiddled with them on the ground until you gave up and told yourself your vision was good enough. It’s quieter than usual, and you’re not sure if that’s because no one has anything to say—or because the night feels eerily still. 

Natasha and Bob are flying point, with you and Jake in the second element. Maverick is out here too, but only observing—watching closely as you run a low-level, terrain-following route meant to simulate a high-risk strike. 

You’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times, even at night. But something about this hop feels off. Or maybe it’s just you, flying like you’ve got something to prove—to yourself, or to someone else. You haven’t decided yet. 

Then Bob’s voice crackles through the comms, steady and low. “Vex, you’re a little wide on your spacing.” 

You don’t answer, but you adjust—barely. 

“Maintain visual, Vex,” Natasha adds, voice firm. “Don’t ride solo tonight.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and flick your radio toggle. “Copy.” 

You fall back into formation as the terrain-following manoeuvres begin—tight dips, sweeping curves, a mock run on radar targets ahead. You lock in, gripping the stick, head tipped forward, forcing your focus to drown out the simmering frustration. 

It’s not an easy run, but you’ve done it before. You know the tricky spots, and you’re watching out for your team, flying just a little closer than what’s usually comfortable. You’d be flying almost perfectly—if it weren’t for Bob’s corrections crackling through the radio. His voice in your ear every few minutes, low and steady. Commanding. It’s making your skin crawl and your pulse race. 

You know you’re better than this. You’ve trained to handle the worst. To stay sharp pulling 10 Gs, to keep cool weaving through canyons at Mach 2. And yet somehow, Bob Floyd’s maddeningly smooth voice telling you and Jake how not to crash is what’s making you consider pulling the damn ejection handle. 

“Vex, you’ve got a ridge coming up,” Bob says, his tone sharper now, more urgent. “Drop throttle. Adjust heading five degrees right.” 

You hesitate. Your altimeter says you’re good, and your gut says you’re fine. You think—no, you know—you can hold it. 

“Vex—” he tries again. 

“I’ve got it,” you snap, breathless as you press on, trying to hold your line. 

Jake cuts in with something sharp, but you don’t catch it—because suddenly the warning tone in your headset screams. 

Your heart lurches. 

Terrain. Too close. Too fast. 

“Pull up! Pull up!” Bob’s voice slices through the comms. “Vex, you’re too low!” 

You grit your teeth, trying to correct, trying to climb—but it’s too dark, too fast. Everything is a blur. 

“Vex, listen to me—pull up!” His voice cracks. “You’re going to hit—” 

“Eject!” Maverick shouts, raw panic in his tone. “Vex, eject now!” 

“I can save it,” you mutter, voice strained. “I can—" 

Then you see it. A flash of jagged terrain through the cockpit glass—a dark silhouette where there should be sky. And in that split second, the truth hits you like a punch to the chest. 

You’re not going to make it. 

Your hand flies to the ejection handle, pulling it hard. 

The canopy blasts away with a deafening crack, wind slamming into you like a freight train. The violent jolt of the seat launches you skyward, your body wrenched into the dark as the jet disappears in a blur of motion below. 

Then—freefall. 

The sky spins. The world tilts. The parachute deploys with a brutal yank that rattles your spine. 

But you’re too low. Far too low. 

You don’t even have time to brace. 

You hit the ground hard—a bone-snapping impact that knocks every breath from your lungs. The force slams through your leg with a sickening pop. 

White-hot pain detonates through you. 

Your vision flashes. Your stomach turns. You can’t even scream. 

And then… everything goes still. 

Muted. 

Quiet. 

Like the world took a breath—and left you behind. 

- 

You wake to the steady beep of a monitor. Your eyelids are heavy, your mouth is dry, and there’s pain everywhere. It’s not as excruciating as it had been right before you blacked out, but it’s there—dull and throbbing, a bitter reminder of what had happened when you ejected from your jet. 

It feels like it was only seconds ago, but you know better than that. You’re not that out of it. 

The sharp sting of antiseptic hits your nose. There are low murmurs nearby, the shuffle of feet across tile, and the distant sounds of other beeping machines. Even before you manage to open your eyes, you know—you’re in a hospital. 

The white and blue walls are almost blinding, but after a few sticky blinks, your vision finally sharpens. You roll your tongue against the roof of your mouth, searching for moisture. 

You try—and fail—to sit up. Your body is too heavy against the crunchy hospital pillows, and your right leg is pinned down even more by a thick black-and-white brace. 

“Ow,” you mutter, voice hoarse and barely audible. 

There’s a sudden gasp beside you, then a quick shuffle of movement. 

A warm hand wraps around yours as dark blue eyes swim into focus above you, wide and full of concern—rimmed red, with deep purple shadows underneath. 

“You’re awake,” he says, voice rough before he clears his throat, like he's trying to swallow down something heavier. 

“Bob,” you whisper, lips cracking as they stretch into a soft smile. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. His face is pale, exhaustion carved into every line, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorise it. Or maybe—trying to recognise it. Because whatever softness was there fades fast, replaced by something harder. His lips flatten into a thin line. His hand tightens around yours… then lets go. 

He stands straight, jaw clenched, and turns to the wall to press the nurse call button. 

You frown, but before you can speak—if you even could with how dry your mouth is—a nurse rushes in. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” she says brightly, green eyes lighting up as she stops beside the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

You clear your throat. “Thirsty.” 

She nods and quickly wheels the little table over, pouring water from the pitcher into a small plastic cup. She then hands it to you before using the bed remote to ease you into a more upright position. 

“Thanks,” you rasp after a few sips, your voice clearer now. 

The nurse smiles softly, her eyes flicking between you and Bob. “He didn’t leave your side. Not for a second.” 

You turn to look at him, but all traces of warmth are gone. He looks almost angry, his gaze fixed straight ahead—not at you or the nurse, but at the wall. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and his hands are clearly balled into fists in his pockets. 

He’s still in his flight suit, which means he’s been with you since the second search and rescue found you. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” the nurse says. “I’m just going to grab the doctor, alright?” 

You nod, not even looking at her, and she shuffles out of the room, swinging the door half shut on her way. 

Bob’s eyes flick to you. “Are you in pain?” 

You shift slightly, the dull throb in your leg pulsing back to life. “Yeah,” you wince. “A little. But it’s bearable.” 

He doesn’t move. His whole body is tense, only his eyes locked on you—sharp and unrelenting. 

“You have a hairline fracture in your femur,” he says. 

You glance down at the brace wrapped around your leg. 

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a full break,” he adds. “You’d have been grounded for at least six months—or longer. Probably would’ve had to requalify, if you even got cleared again.” 

You swallow hard. He’s angry—really angry. The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s torn between wrapping you in his arms or walking out the door and never looking back. 

“You didn’t listen,” he says, voice cracking as he takes a step forward. “You were supposed to listen to me, and you didn’t. I—I told you just last week that if something happened, it would be my fault.” 

Tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision. “This isn’t your—” 

“No,” he snaps. “It’s not. This is your fault. Because you were reckless, and cocky, and too caught up in your own shit to listen to a perfectly sound call from your WSO.” 

You blink, warm tears slipping down your cheek. “Bob, I—” 

“Don’t,” he says, voice low and raw. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t look at me like I’m the only person you want to see right now.” He lets out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve been here for two days. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were dead. You went down so fast, you—you—” 

The door swings open and a middle-aged woman with white-blonde hair pulled into a tight bun steps in. “Lieutenants,” she greets briskly. “Sorry to interrupt, but there are a few things we need to go over.” 

Bob straightens immediately. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be leaving now.” 

Her brows knit together, but she doesn’t stop him as he turns and walks out. 

His footsteps are heavy. Forced. Like it’s taking everything he’s got to walk away and not look back. 

After a whirlwind of doctors, nurses, and a long debrief with the flight surgeon, you're finally discharged. You can’t drive—of course—so they pack you into a general escort car with your leg still in the brace and a pair of crutches tossed in beside you. Fantastic. 

Once you’re home, you collapse into bed and immediately pass out. But it’s not exactly restful. Your brain won’t shut off—won’t stop replaying the way Bob looked at you, the anger in his voice, the exhaustion written all over his face. How he never left your side. How he still hasn’t responded to your text thanking him for staying. Or the one where you apologised for not listening to him in the air. 

You want to talk to him. Need to talk to him. Because you're not planning on staying grounded forever, and when you’re back on your feet, you’re not transferring out. The Dagger Squad isn’t just a group of friends—they’re your family. Bob included. In a completely non-incestuous way, obviously. Even though there are definitely some things you’d like to do to him that would make a family dinner wildly uncomfortable. 

But first, he has to reply. He has to acknowledge that you exist. 

When you wake again, it’s dark, and your phone is lit up with a flood of messages from the team. You take your time replying to each one, then hobble into the bathroom, ditch the brace, and take the hottest, longest shower your body can tolerate. 

The next few hours are spent on the couch, anxiously watching the clock until Natasha finally texts you to say they’ve been dismissed. Which means Bob is off. Which means he has no excuse. 

But still—nothing. You call. He doesn’t answer. Then Natasha texts again to let you know she watched him decline it. 

Great. Another win. 

Two whole days pass, and still no word. 

You’re supposed to be on bed rest for two weeks before the flight surgeon clears you for light duties, but you’re going stir-crazy. With the squad on night shifts and your circadian rhythm completely fucked, you haven’t spoken to anyone but Trevor—once, over the phone—in forty-eight hours. Unless you count text messages, which you don’t. 

All you want is to talk to Bob. Ask him why the hell he came to your house that day. Why he was so pissed at you that night. And why he thinks it’s okay to spend two full days sitting beside your hospital bed and then just vanish like none of it happened. 

At this point, you don’t even care if he professes his undying love for you—though you’d strongly prefer it—you just want an explanation. You want to know what you did to hurt him so badly, and how to make it right. Because more than anything, you need him. And if friendship is the only version of him you’re allowed to have... then you’ll take it. 

Even if it kills you. 

By the third day… or night—you’re not even sure anymore—you decide to take matters into your own hands. 

Your alarm blares at four a.m., an hour before you know the squad will be dismissed, and you wriggle out of bed and into a loose pair of sweatpants before securing your brace over the top. Then you tug on your stupidly oversized U.S. Navy shirt, grab your crutches, and hobble out the door. 

You know where Bob lives—in the least creepy way possible—because you all moved out of the barracks around the same time, and you helped each other move. So, you call an Uber, hauling your injured self into the back seat with grim determination and only a small amount of whining. 

It’s barely a ten-minute drive, which gives you about half an hour to crutch your way up the fire stairs—because of course the elevator requires a swipe card—to his apartment. 

You know it’s ridiculous. You could’ve just waited in the lobby. But you don’t want to give him the chance to run away—again, in the least creepy way possible. The plan is to corner him at his apartment door, and maybe guilt-trip him a little with how much effort it took just for you to get there. At the very least, he’d have to escort you back down to the lobby with his swipe card… and maybe you could ‘accidentally’ sabotage the lift so it broke down. Then he’d be stuck with you. 

Jesus. Thirty-six hours alone and you’re already in full-blown serial killer mode. 

It takes twenty minutes to reach his floor, with plenty of breaks along the way, but eventually, you make it. You hobble down the hallway and lean against his door, dropping your head back with a soft thunk. 

Not even a minute later, Natasha texts you to say they’ve been dismissed—because of course you filled her in on your plan. 

And then you wait. With a racing pulse, a throbbing leg, and about a thousand thoughts spiralling through your brain. You wait. 

At one point, a neighbour emerges from a nearby door, startling you. They give you a deeply dubious look before slipping into the elevator, and you make a mental note to tell Bob that they might warn him about a crazy, broken-legged woman lurking outside his apartment. 

Your breathing picks up as the minutes pass—faster and faster until it feels impossible to catch. You feel dizzy, like you might pass out just waiting for him. But then—ding. 

The elevator doors slide open, and Bob steps out. 

Seeing him for the first time in three days shouldn’t feel like a religious experience—but it fucking does. God, he looks good. Even sleep-deprived, rumpled, and sporting messy helmet hair, he’s a walking wet dream in a flight suit deliberately designed for your destruction. 

“Hey,” you say quietly, not wanting to startle him. 

He jumps anyway—just a little. His feet still, eyes widening behind his glasses, brows pulling together. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You push off the door, steadying yourself on your crutches. “Good to see you too,” you say dryly. “I’ve been alright. A little lonely, borderline insane. My leg’s killing me after a thousand stairs. But hey—you look... tired. How’s the squad?” 

He studies you for a moment. His frown softens, and you swear the corner of his mouth twitches. 

“I am tired,” he says. “The squad’s fine. Also tired.” 

You nod. “Cool. So... everyone’s tired.” 

He pulls his keys from his pocket and starts walking toward you, closing the distance. 

“That all you came to talk about?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes and shuffle aside. “What do you think?” 

He sighs. “I think I’m not going straight to bed anymore.” 

The door swings inward and he steps through, holding it open for you—wide as possible. 

“That would be correct,” you say, flashing a grin as you hobble inside. 

He shuts the door behind you and slides the chain lock into place. 

You try not to appear as awkward as you feel, but crutches aren’t exactly graceful—and you haven’t had much practice. You make your way past the kitchen toward the small living room, where a plush cream sofa waits with perfectly fluffed pillows and a decorative throw draped neatly over the back. You’re just about to drop onto it when a warm hand catches your elbow. 

“Here,” he says softly, his other hand reaching to take the crutches from you. 

He’s so close you can feel his warmth. You catch his scent—clean linen, a hint of jet fuel, and something subtle and spicy that’s so unmistakably him. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, eyes locked on his lips. 

He helps ease you down slowly onto the couch before straightening and setting your crutches aside, leaning them against the wall beside the TV cabinet. 

“Let me just get changed,” he says, already turning toward his bedroom without a second glance. 

He’s gone less than a minute. When he returns, he’s wearing dark blue joggers and a white sleep shirt worn so thin it’s almost translucent. 

“Water?” he asks, detouring into the kitchen. 

You shake your head. “I’m good—but thanks.” 

He’s stalling. You know it. But you can be patient. 

He pours himself a glass, drains it, then pours another before finally making his way back into the living room. He sits at the very end of the chaise lounge—about as far from you as possible. 

“Okay,” he says. “You want to talk?” 

You nod, adjusting your posture even though you're already stiff with nerves. 

“Look,” you begin, eyes dropping to your lap. “I know why you’re mad about the accident—I get it. It was stupid. I was reckless. I deserve to be in this stupid brace. I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I shouldn’t have let personal shit bleed into work. I’m sorry.” 

You glance up, but he doesn’t react—doesn’t move. He just blinks. 

Still, you press on. “If I could go back, I would. If there was anything I could do to make it up to you—or the squad—I’d do it. But we’re here now, I feel like shit, and the accident is on my record. I’m just glad none of you, or Mav, are in trouble because of me.” 

He’s still silent, but you can see it now—his eyes keep flicking down to your shirt, his frown darkening each time. 

“What I don’t get,” you say, your voice tightening, “is why you were already mad that night. Why you came to my apartment that morning but ran off without—” 

“That’s irrelevant,” he cuts in, voice low—lethal. 

You frown. “What do you mean irrelevant? The whole reason I was in a bad mood that night is because you rejected me and then acted like I did something wrong.” 

His eyes widen. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? That what you’re saying?” 

“No,” you snap. “Of course not. God, Bob, none of this is your fault. It’s mine. It’s all mine. I was the idiot who asked you out, the idiot who got mad when you said no, and the idiot who let it affect her at work. I’m not blaming you. I just want to understand.” 

He takes an infuriatingly calm sip of water, gaze still fixed on your torso. 

“You want to know why I said no when you asked me out?” 

You shake your head. “I know why you said no.” 

His brow creases. “You do?” 

You sigh, eyes falling to your fingers as they toy with the hem of your shirt. “Because you don’t like me. That’s it. And I need to accept that. I shouldn’t have pushed it, or forced myself on you, and—” 

He scoffs—sharp and dry—cutting you off. “You’re joking, right?” 

You look up, blinking slowly. “Um… no. Not really.” 

His laugh is sharp—bitter and cracked—so not Bob. 

“You think I don’t like you?” he says, voice rising—unsteady now. “Are you insane?” 

He stands suddenly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from flying apart. 

“I have never cared about anyone the way I care about you. You are the only damn thing I think about. I can’t sleep, I’m not hungry, I can’t focus—I just want you. All the time. Do you know how maddening that is?” His eyes are wild when they meet yours. “And yeah, I said no when you asked me out, but that wasn’t because I didn’t want to. God, I wanted to. I wanted to say yes so badly it hurt. But I was scared.” 

He paces now, voice building like the pressure in a cockpit. 

“It wasn’t about your age—that was just a dumb excuse. It was you. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re so sharp. You walk into a room and everything shifts. And I kept thinking, how the hell does someone like you want someone like me?” 

His voice cracks, and he stops pacing, facing you full on. “So yeah. I panicked. I said no. And the second you walked away, I regretted it. I hated myself for it. And that morning—I came to tell you. I was ready to throw it all on the table.” He swallows hard, jaw flexing. “But then he answered the door. Like he lived there. Like he belonged. And you—” 

He gestures at you, helpless. His eyes—dark blue and burning—shine with the storm he’s been holding back. 

“You just stood there. In his shirt. Like you hadn’t just ripped my heart out and stepped over it. Like I was nothing. Like I’d missed my shot and you’d already moved on.” His voice dips—raw now. “And now? You’re here. In the same goddamn shirt.” 

He laughs again, broken this time. 

“And I know I had no right to be angry. I know it. But Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to look at the woman you love knowing you’re the one who ruined it? Who let her go?” 

He’s panting now, standing between the couch and the coffee table with wild eyes and flushed cheeks. Just looking at you. Waiting. 

You swallow hard, blinking fast to keep the tears from falling. Your pulse is racing, pounding in your ears like a war drum. You can feel your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break bone. You can’t breathe. You can barely think. There’s only one word echoing in your head. 

“Love?” you whisper. 

He rubs his hands down his face, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Yes. Love.” His arms drop to his sides as he meets your eyes again. “I love you.” 

Your heart lurches into your throat. 

“But that doesn’t change anything,” he adds quickly, dropping onto the couch—closer this time, close enough that his knee brushes yours. “I don’t expect it to change anything. I let you down, and you moved on. You had every right to. I should never have been angry about it—and for that, I’m sorry. Just…” He sighs again. “Just give me some time, okay? Just let me—” 

“Trevor’s gay,” you blurt, louder than you mean to. 

He blinks. “What?” 

“Gay,” you repeat. “He’s gay. Like, so incredibly gay he’s into Hangman.” 

Bob’s lips part, a soft breath slipping out. 

You lean forward, brows drawn tight. “His callsign is Grinder. I mean, yes—partly because he’s a hard worker—but mostly because he got caught on Grindr before a briefing once and... it just stuck. But—Bob, I thought you knew—” You cut yourself off, eyes going wide. “Oh my God. You were in the bathroom when I told the squad.” 

The room falls into a heavy, eerie silence. 

The air between you crackles—so thick, so charged, the smallest spark could burn the whole damn building down. 

“Hangman?” he whispers, nose scrunching just slightly. 

You nod. “Hangman.” 

He blinks slowly, wide eyes swimming with emotion. “So, you didn’t—” 

“No,” you snap, frustration flaring hot beneath your skin. “Is that what you thought? That I asked you out, and when you said no I just ran off to find the nearest guy who’d fuck me?” 

He cringes—actually cringes. “That’s just how it looked, I—” 

“So you assumed?” you cut in, voice sharp. “You didn’t even ask. You just decided to get all broody and jealous and pissed off, even though you’re the one who rejected me?” 

You want to pace like he did, storm out, slam a door, something—but you can't. Not with your stupid leg. 

“I know I had no right,” he mutters. 

“Damn straight you didn’t,” you bite out. “You think I’d do that? You think I’d throw myself at someone else just because you said no? Jesus, Bob, I’m looking at a decade-long mourning period after you. I’m in love with you. Do you really think I could move on? Ever? Let alone the next fucking—” 

His mouth is on yours before the word leaves your lips. 

It’s not a kiss—it’s a collision. A detonation. A goddamn freefall. 

His hands are in your hair, on your jaw, trembling as they try to hold you steady while his lips crash into yours with blistering need. It’s hot and desperate and unrestrained, all teeth and tongue and pent-up ache, every ounce of frustration and longing he’s carried igniting in a single breathless second. 

You gasp, shocked by the force of it—your lips parting, letting him in. 

And then it’s chaos. Raw, searing, beautiful chaos. 

His touch is everywhere, frantic and reverent, as if he’s trying to memorise you with his fingertips and palms. Your hands claw into his shirt, his shoulders, his hair, dragging him closer, gasping into his mouth like you’re both trying to breathe each other in. 

You feel like you’re on fire. Like this kiss could split you in half. 

There’s a sharp pain in your leg from how hard you’re leaning in, but you don’t care. You’d burn your whole body just to keep this going. 

Because he kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Like stopping would kill him. And you kiss him back with the same reckless hunger—because you’ve wanted this forever. Because he’s yours. And you’re his. And nothing else exists anymore but the way he’s holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips. “I love you. I love you. Please don’t go. Don’t ever leave.” 

You press your forehead to his, a breathy laugh slipping out. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Good,” he murmurs, then kisses you again—soft, lingering. 

His lips find the corner of your mouth, then trail down the line of your jaw to your neck. Your skin ignites beneath every brush of his mouth, like your whole body is wired to spark beneath his touch. 

Your stomach flips like you’ve been dropped from a height. Your thoughts dissolve into haze. Limbs weightless, breath shallow. All you can feel is the hot press of his lips and the growing ache in your stupid leg. 

“Bob,” you whisper, broken and breathless, as his tongue traces the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. “Bob, m—my leg.” 

He jolts back like he’s touched a live wire, eyes wide. The sudden loss of him leaves you cold, shivering in the space he’s no longer filling. 

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps. 

You shake your head quickly. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” 

He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful it makes your chest tighten. His glasses are askew, his cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and wet. His eyes are wild and wide, pupils blown so far they swallow the blue. 

Then he frowns, glancing down at your shirt. “So... whose shirt is that?” 

You blink, then glance down. “Oh. No idea. Barracks laundry mix-up, I think. Makes a good sleep shirt, though.” 

He chuckles softly, the pink in his cheeks creeping all the way to the tips of his ears as his eyes lock on yours. “It looks good on you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “but I think I prefer the short skirts.” 

Your heart trips, racing straight into your throat. “Bob Floyd,” you gasp, eyes wide with faux scandal, “did you just admit how much you love short skirt weather?” 

He rolls his eyes, all sheepish charm. “Only when the skirts are on you.” 

“That so?” Your lips curl into a slow smirk. “Well, unfortunately, I think this—” you tap the brace on your leg “—means short skirts are officially out. For now, at least.” 

He exhales hard, gaze dropping for just a second before snapping back to yours—burning now. There’s a hunger there, dark and open and unfiltered, something you’ve maybe only glimpsed before. It sparks heat low in your belly, your thighs aching to clench—if it weren’t for your stupid goddamn injury. 

Then, low and shameless and deadly serious, he asks, “What about sex?” 

The question punches the breath right from your lungs. Your cheeks flush hot as you bite your lip to hide the grin already threatening. 

“Can you be gentle?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I can try,” he mutters, so deep and rough it settles right between your legs and spreads like wildfire. 

Your head is spinning. Logic fading fast. You don’t care how sore your leg might be—you want him. All of him. Finally. 

So you lean in, brushing your lips to his in a soft, teasing kiss as you murmur against his mouth, “Then what the fuck are you waiting for, Floyd?”

END.

[twijaxx]

Let’s be fr Sae in the new leaks looks like he wants his dick to be sucked, and you are gonna give it to him.

His member hit your throat for god knows which time this night, you are sure it’s bruised at this point, but Sae didn’t seem to care at all. Phone in one of his hands while the other one gently tugged at your hair.

You tried saying something but silly you forgot that you can’t speak with something in your mouth. Instead it send vibrations thru his spine which caused him to… wait?? did he just whimper???

You didn’t pay a lot of attention to what he was talking ab on the phone but you heard one particular sound, Sae disconnected. and as soon as he did shaky breaths and above whispers moans came out of him mouth.

“fuck- sorry i kept u waiting princess mghh!”

His dick started twitching uncontrollably inside your throat which only meant that Sae was close. So you decided to peak up the speed a little bit and give him more tongue action.

“agh- i’m gonna come.. don’t stop mhhh, u will take it right?? and- ahh.. swallow it like a whore u are”

You couldn’t do anything but slightly hum as a response and that’s what made Sae trip over the edge. You felt his seed spill into your mouth as the only thing u could hear was his hard breathing.

“stand up” -he ordered you, and as soon as you did Sae swings you over his shoulder and carry you to your bedroom.

“you think i’m not gonna return the favor??”

it’s gonna be a looong night..

i lost my ability to write YAYYYYY LETS TROW A PARTYYYY!!! i had to write this like two times… the first one is in my drafts tho if i ever want to finish it… I HATE MYSELF

[xoxorory]

Where’s the dog !

POV: Fem!Reader & Damian Wayne Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Titus Word Count: 1K .Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) requested by: @simpingmyassoff sorry it took long!!! I was finishing classes A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: It's kind of inspired in how @fromdove (💕💞💓💗💖💘💝) writes damian. . .,please GO CHECK HER BLOG ! ! ! !

“He hid again,didn’t he?” 

‘’Pffft– what? Of course not!”

©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

POV: You

Dog-sitting Titus should be easy. I mean, come on. He’s a dog. A big dog, sure, but mostly a big, fluffy, lovable dog who just wants to nap, chew his squeaky toys, and occasionally judge me for my lack of treats.

I’d done this countless times before. Titus stayed with me while Damian was off doing who-knows-what, and I’d happily take care of the giant fluffball. Feed him, walk him, throw his favorite toy until he got tired, repeat.

Simple.

Today was supposed to be just another normal Titus-sitting day.

And yet here I was, standing in my living room with my hands on my hips, heart thumping, and pillows thrown all over the floor like a tornado had hit my apartment.

Because Titus had vanished.

Literally.

It started an hour ago. I was cleaning up after one of Titus’s enthusiastic toy-chasing sessions, when I glanced around and noticed he wasn’t at his usual spot by the couch. No gentle snoring. No wagging tail brushing against the carpet.

Nothing.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇:  I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Oh great.

Great.

Because Titus was nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” I muttered, dropping onto my knees, scanning the floor for any signs of him. “Keep calm. He’s probably hiding. He loves hiding.”

Except that usually, when Titus hid, I could hear him. His nails tap-tap-tapping on the hardwood, or the faint squeak of his favorite red toy being tossed around. This time? Silence.

And the clock was ticking.

Damian’s text came again.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇: I’m five minutes away.

I was about to text back a frantic, “Hey baby! Um…I think I lost your dog,don’t kill me. xoxo” but I knew that would only make things worse. Damian’s eyebrow raise would be legendary.

No. I had to find Titus before Damian showed up.

So I launched into full search mode.

First, the couch cushions. I flipped and dug through every crevice, fishing out dust bunnies and a couple of crumbs, but no Titus.

Next, under the coffee table. No wagging tail. No big eyes staring at me.

“Come on, Titus,” I whispered, voice catching. “Please don’t make me look bad in front of Damian.”

I moved to the kitchen, thinking maybe he was trying to steal some snacks, but no. Empty floors.

The balcony door was closed, so no chance he escaped outside — plus, I was pretty sure he’d never survive the drop without some serious bat-gadgets.

Then I heard it. The tiniest squeak.

My heart jumped.

Titus’s toy.

I followed the sound, creeping around my bookshelf — and suddenly, there he was.

Curled up in the tiniest corner behind the books, happily gnawing on his red squeaky toy like it was the best thing in the world.

Oh my god.

Relief slammed through me in a tidal wave.

“Titus! You little stinker!” I scooped him up before he could run off again. His tail thumped against my arm as if to say, “I was just having some alone time, chill.”

I didn’t care.

I hugged him tight.

And then, because I was officially losing my mind, I looked around at the disaster zone my apartment had become.

Pillows from the couch tossed everywhere.

Blankets flung like flags of defeat.

My coffee table now sporting a suspiciously large scratch.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I told myself. “Damian’s coming. You can do this.”

Almost like the universe heard me, the doorbell rang.

My heart jumped again.

“Okay, Titus,” I whispered, setting him down. “Time for Operation: Don’t Look Like You Lost Him.”

I straightened my hoodie, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Damian stood there, expression unreadable, as usual.

His dark eyes flicked from me to Titus—who was now sitting politely by my feet, tail wagging.

“Welcome back,roohi! ,” I said, voice a little too cheerful.

Damian’s lips twitched—maybe the closest thing he had to a smile.

“You seem… relieved.”

I flushed. “Really? You’re making up things again”

He took the leash from my hand and clipped it to Titus’s collar.

Titus immediately jumped into Damian’s side, tail wagging furiously.

Damian glanced back at me, then said quietly, “I suppose I won’t ask where he was.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

But the way his eyes softened told me he already knew exactly what had happened.

And maybe, just maybe, he was choosing not to make me explain.

POV: Damian Wayne

I texted her fifteen minutes ago.

I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Simple enough.

When I arrived at her place, I expected to see Titus sprawled on the floor, maybe half-asleep, or at worst, begging for a walk.

Instead, the door swung open, and there stood her—looking disheveled, slightly flustered, and clutching Titus like he was a fragile treasure.

My eyes scanned the room.

Pillows were strewn everywhere.

The coffee table bore a fresh scratch.

Blankets were tossed haphazardly.

The couch was upside down.

Clearly, some kind of Titus-related chaos had ensued.

I kept my expression calm, though inside I was amused.

“Titus,” I said softly, kneeling down to the dog’s level.

The giant mutt wagged his tail, tongue lolling happily.

Relief was written all over her face.

“You seem… relieved,” I said quietly, not really expecting a reply.

She flushed and gave a small laugh.

“Really?,” she said, “ You’re making up things again”

I clipped the leash to Titus’s collar.

The dog immediately pressed against my leg.

I glanced back at her.

“Where was he?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

I didn’t press.

Some things were better left unsaid.

[linedbycaro]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐃𝐨𝐣𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭 (𝚸𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢) 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏

“I have a secret” Azzi murmurs.

“Yeah?” Paige barely chokes out, tilting her head to disguise her nervousness.

Azzi crawls over, closing the space between them until she’s beside Paige, Azzi’s warm scent washing over her. She can’t breathe. Or move.

Then Azzi leans in, delicately whispering,

“I want you all the time. But you always stop me before I can say it sober.”

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐎𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐀𝐳𝐳𝐢 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨. 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂— 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐃!!!!!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞.. 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐭? 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬.

The music had stopped hours ago, but Paige still feels something buzzing under her skin. The kitchen is dimly lit, solo cups litter the counters, their teammates are passed out in the living room, but Paige and Azzi are not tired in the least.

They're both the kind of hard-core tipsy where everything is funny.

"Okay, but listen," Azzi says, barely able to get it out between hiccuped laughter. She's doubled over so hard she can't finish her sentence. "If—if—if..."

Paige nearly chokes on her water.

"Stop, "I'm gonna—"

Water spews from her mouth and nose, and Paige has to cross her legs and fold over to keep from peeing herself.

They're gone.

Azzi collapses on the floor, dragging Paige down with her.

"Ow—my stomach!" Azzi wheezes, feeling her abs cramp.

Paige can't even respond; she just shakes her head, fist-pounding the floor.

They're laughing so hard it's gone silent—shoulders shaking, faces buried in sleeves. Just on the floor, side by side, hands swatting at each other in some useless attempt to make it stop.

But the hitting just makes it worse.

Which makes them laugh harder.

And God, how Paige loves moments like this, just the two of them. Goofy and connected and so utterly themselves in ways they can't be with anyone else. To be known this loudly, to feel Azzi's presence, it's like home.

And while there will always be a part of Paige that aches around Azzi, knowing she can never fully have her— moments like this make the pain worth it.

Until suddenly, Azzi goes quiet. 

The air shifts, the laughter fades, and Paige feels it before she even looks. She turns her head anyway. 

Azzi is staring at her.

Her face is soft, her gaze is bare. She studies Paige like she's something sacred and rare and desired. Her pupils are blown wide and unguarded—adoring in a way that makes Paige burn.

Azzi gives her a small smile and breathes out a short laugh like she knows she's been caught but doesn't care.

It's easy to write it off as drunk affection. Paige almost does. But there's something in Azzi's expression that feels too steady. Too sure.

It makes Paige's stomach flip and fizzle.

Makes her feel all kinds of things she knows she shouldn't.

And it sobers Paige up a little.

Because Jesus, when Azzi looks at her like that—like she wants her and means it—it makes Paige want to risk everything. Makes her want to throw away all careful boundaries and the restraint she trains herself into in order to preserve their friendship. Not that she doesn’t let them slip from time to time. She does.

Sometimes she can’t help but let Azzi look at her, touch her, kiss her in ways she shouldn't. 

Falling into the dangerous game of 'we're just friends who sometimes kiss but never talk about it'—that's Paige's fault. She lets it happen. And it's killing her softly.

"Az," Paige shakes her head, voice slightly raw. "You can't look at me like that when we're drunk."

"Look at you like what?" Azzi hums innocently.

"You know like what."

Azzi shrugs goofily.

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"Az—" Paige shoves her playfully and sits up, leaning against the sink cabinets.

Azzi follows, settling across from Paige. She lets her knees brush Paige's as she leans back against the oven. Her voice comes out slightly slurred, like she's trying too hard to sound casual.

"What? I can't help it, so you might as well tell me."

Azzi pauses, her grin faltering.

"How do I look at you, Paige?"

Her voice is so goddamn flirty it should be illegal. 

Paige wants to shove her up against the cabinets and kiss that smirk off her face— unravel her ‘til she admits she knows what she’s doing.

Instead, she just stupidly gives in to the baited question.

"Like... like you want me," Paige says lowly, almost a whisper. 

"Well... maybe I do," comes Azzi's mischievous reply.

Paige's heart stops, unable to meet Azzi's stare. She wants to believe it’s a joke, but Azzi isn't laughing anymore.

"But only when you're drunk. You only want this when you're drunk."

"I do not."

Paige forces a smile. Deflect.

"Whatever, Az."

"No. Not whatever," Azzi protests, trying to get Paige to see her.

And then Azzi tries again, softly.

"I have a secret."

"Yeah?" Paige barely chokes out, tilting her head to disguise her nervousness. Heat pools in her stomach.

Azzi crawls over, closing the space between them until she's beside Paige. The blonde's pulse spikes as Azzi's warm scent washes over her.

She can't breathe. Or move.

This is the thing Paige hates. Feeling like she can't help but let her in. Can’t help but let Azzi get under her skin, say unhinged, bold things, and tempt her to believe she means it.

Azzi gracefully leans in, back arching slightly, breath hot against her ear.

And ho-ly fuck. 

She whispers, delicate and deliberate,

"I want you all the time. But you always stop me before I can say it sober."

Azzi's voice snakes down Paige's spine, curling hot and low. Her brain short circuits. Dizzy. Her pulse screams danger, and her body— well... Let's just say she’s ovulating. Impeccable timing. 

Azzi pulls back just slightly.

Enough to look at her.

Enough to where Paige feels like she's sick with how much Azzi affects her.

Danger, danger, danger.

She’s in full gay panic mode because now Azzi is staring at her— deadly serious, eyes upturned, lip caught between her teeth like she’s nervous.

It’s dirty as hell.

And oh so unwillingly, Paige's eyes drop down to Azzi's mouth, plump, and full, and slightly parted.

Azzi does the same—waiting, willing, wanting.

Automatically, Paige's forehead falls against Azzi's, letting their noses nuzzle, their breaths mingle. Her hands find Azzi's shoulders. Azzi’s fingers brush her cheek.

She lets them feel it for a moment, holds their gaze.

And then Azzi's eyes flutter closed like she knows what will happen next.

And Paige knows what will happen next because she's let it happen so many times before.

A sharp pain clutches her chest.

She's pulling back because she has to. Because if she lets herself fall again, she won't be able to stop. Not this time. She has to control it before she loses everything.

"Azzi, fuck. You have no idea what you do to me. You can't just say shit like that so casually." Paige breathes, voice gravelly.

Azzi's eyes blink open, her spine hitting the cabinet like she's suddenly aware of how close they are.

"I didn't say it casually," she protests breathily. Her voice actually sounds desperate. Pleading.

"No, you say it like it doesn't cost you anything... And it kills me every time. And then we—" Paige pauses, unable to say it out loud. More quietly, she admits,

"And then you get to forget it in the morning, but I never do."

"You think I forget? I don't forget, but you always make me feel like I have to," Azzi mumbles.

Paige blinks. She hadn't expected that.

Hadn't considered that maybe Azzi had remembered every slip, every almost, every kiss—and had been burying it, too.

But- but she never acts like she wants it in daylight. She’s dismissive. Has a whole ass situationship.

"You make it feel like something it's not supposed to be." Paige protests, voice on the edge of an argument. Her voice falters, "A-Azzi, you're literally talking to someone right now... a guy."

"I know, I'm sorry," Azzi murmurs.

"Don't be. It's okay."

It's not your fault you don't want me in the same way I want you, Paige thinks.

And then she admits, voice raw and cracked,

"I don't think you understand how hard it is to un-feel things for you. And it scares me because I can never really tell if you mean it."

Azzi, voice barely above a whisper, replies,

"It scares me too—how much I do."

And because Paige physically can’t stand being near Azzi another second— Azzi, ever overstepping, casually, or so un-casually it's hard to believe she doesn't know what she's doing.

Azzi, unknowing to the ways in which she affects Paige, the ways she tortures her— deeply, slowly— Paige can’t take the way her presence makes everything ache.

 She gets up and walks away.

“If you really want this,” Paige says without turning back, “prove it.”

Because it's easier to pretend Azzi doesn't mean it. Easier than risking being wrong. 

___

When Azzi wakes up, she blinks. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, replays her conversation with Paige in her head, and opens them again.

You’re kidding.

Then Azzi rolls over and screams into her pillow. 

Like fully screams. Until-her-voice-goes-raw screams.

Because nothing— nothing is more confusing than falling in love with your best friend. Who also happens to be a girl. 

Who you’re pretty sure is at least a little bit in love with you back. 

Who also walked away from you last night after you literally confessed you wanted her?

Like—hello? 

She had said, “I want you all the time.” and, “I didn’t say it casually.”

Verbatim.

How much clearer could she get?

Okay, fine.

Maybe she gets how it could be a little confusing from Paige’s perspective. Azzi is technically kind of talking to a guy.

But it’s not like that. Not like it is with Paige. Not even close.

And what even is ‘talking’ anyways? They hang out a few times exclusively, kiss once and suddenly there’s a label?

The way she feels about Paige- with certainty— it terrifies her. Not just attraction, not just in want, but need. To the point where she can’t even verbalize it properly.

Azzi has tried. Even when she wasn’t talking to Theo. Been braver in ways she’d never thought she could be. And.....

Was she the problem?

She knows she’s being unfair. Talking to Theo, then saying things like that to Paige… it’s cruel, even if it’s unintentional.

She’s just scared. Overwhelmed. Unsure of how someone’s even supposed to navigate this.

Paige is the gay one after all. The one who is confident in her identity—in who she is and who she likes.

And Azzi’s feels like she's playing catch up. Late to the game. Still trying to figure it out— trying to unpack what liking Paige even means. What it changes. What it doesn’t.

Not that liking girls was a bad thing, and if she was really being honest with herself, it's something she'd always tucked away— something that felt too big to really name until now.

But if Paige actually felt the same way, wouldn't she have said something? Initiated the first move instead of just giving in to Azzi's temptations?

Because the kinds of girls Paige attracts—

they’re confident. Gorgeous. Sure of themselves.

And Azzi has a sinking feeling she’s not like them.

Not what Paige wants.

And it’s driving Azzi batshit crazy—not knowing if Paige actually wants her back, or just likes watching her ache.

Taunts her with shit like “If you really want this, prove it” like she didn’t see Azzi bleeding out— being vulnerable the only way she knows how.

Because Azzi is scared too. Scared Paige only ever sees her when it’s easy. Scared the rejection will hurt too much if she says it sober.

She shoves her thoughts down and slides out of bed. Because— joy, she has practice in half an hour. With Paige.

____

Practice goes... pretty much worse than Azzi could have imagined. 

Paige doesn’t even fully acknowledge it.

Paige walks in all relaxed, friendly, nods her way like nothing happened and they’re back to playing besties. Like she isn’t the one who walked away before Azzi could even speak.

During warm ups Paige throws a few jokes her way, laughing in that effortlessly charming way of hers. That quirky and smooth and cocky persona that makes straight girls on the internet question their sexuality. How unfortunately Ironic.

When they're scrimmaging, Azzi’s shots aren’t falling.

She feels too quiet. Like she’s not leading in the way she knows she should. Not calling out plays, not making decisions during drills. Just… following.

And Paige is confident. Pulling the team into huddles, encouraging everyone, calling the offense. Talking mad shit to the practice players.

And it hurts, because how on earth has this not affected her? Is she really this unbothered? This indifferent?

But then Azzi sees through it.

It’s during a water break when Azzi reaches down to grab her bottle—resting beside Paige’s like always— and sees her stiffen. Just slightly. Just enough. An involuntary response to Azzi’s close proximity.

Paige tries to cover it up, scratching at her shoulder like she’s itchy or adjusting, but it’s too late. Azzi notices.

After that, Paige avoids direct eye contact. Every interaction too measured. Too controlled. Like they didn’t nearly unravel the night before.

When Coach calls for 1v1s, Azzi turns to Paige automatically. Because they always pair up. It’s a given.

But Paige doesn’t even glance at her. Just sidesteps Azzi seamlessly, pairing with Nika instead. Like it was normal. Like Azzi wasn’t already halfway turned her way.

And when they’re shooting around at the end of practice, Azzi doesn’t just catch Paige looking, she feels it. The weight of her stare, hot against her back. 

She turns.

And there Paige is, gaze unflinching, face unreadable, eyes soft with something that looks an awful lot like longing. But then her expression shifts. It turns blank. Cold. 

Paige turns around and walks out of the gym.

Hot and cold. Push and Pull.

So no shit Azzi is terrified to make a move. 

She heads to the weight room after practice, wanting to get in an extra session in and clear her mind. 

And guess who’s already there? Paige. Of course. 

But Azzi ignores her. Walks over to a rack on the other side of the training room, and adjusts her headphones. Turns the volume up.

Azzi’s actually kind of fired up. Angry at the situation. Pissed they can’t get it together and that she played like shit. So she channels her thoughts into each set. Each press and pump of the dumbbells blocking out the stare she feels burning into her from the other side of the room.

Azzi syncs her reps to the rhythm of her music. Her arms burn. She blows away a stray curl sticking to her cheek and pushes through the exhaustion.

Lifting makes her feel empowered. And strong. And bad ass.

And something clicks. 

Azzi Fudd is not a pussy.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Yeah, what-if Paige is being a coward. Maybe she’s scared, or hurt or indifferent or whatever. But don’t they at least deserve to know? Haven’t they been dancing around it for too long?

Maybe Azzi is late to the game. Maybe Azzi is only now realizing she's into Paige in a more than friends way. But now that she knows? Like knows-knows. She's gonna find out hell or high water.

Paige literally taunted her, walked away and left with a “prove it” and nothing else.

Challenge. Accepted. 

Paige wants to hide? Wants not to believe her? Fine. Azzi’ll be more obvious. More bold.

Because it was high time for Paige to Fudd around and Find out.

Azzi waits until Paige is taking a break between sets, elbows resting on her knees, not so subtly observing Azzi through the reflection.

Then Azzi sets her weights down gently and locks eyes with Paige through the mirror.

Smirking ever so slightly, she reaches down to the hem of her shirt, thumbing it. Tracking the way Paige's eyes follow her movement. 

And slowly, performatively, Azzi lifts it up, peeling the sweat soaked fabric from abdomen, arching just slightly as she lifts it over her head, tossing it carelessly to the ground. 

She cocks her head in the mirror, rolling her shoulders back once, then casually thumbs the band of her sports bra to adjust it— flashing the tiniest bit of underboob, nipples already peaked from the open layer of sweat hitting air conditioning.

Her chest is glistening. Her abs are sculpted. Her sports bra hugs her chest perfectly, skin tight and slick over miles of bare, gleaming muscles. 

Azzi tugs at the waistband of her shorts, revealing the v line of her hips, fingers dipping under the material with mock innocence, rolling the top twice for good measure. 

Azzi smiles as she watches Paige’s eyes jumping from Azzi’s back to her frontal reflection in the mirror. Watches as Paige swallows thickly, unable to tear her gaze away. Watches the red bloom across her cheeks when she realizes Azzi caught her.

Azzi just gives a little tilt of the head. What’s wrong?

She puts her headphones back on. Slips into her next set like nothing happened. But this time, each movement— each bend, each thrust is accentuated with taunting calculation.

When she finishes, she tilts her head back, panting, letting out a breathy groan of exhaustion.

She doesn't have to look to know Paige is watching— ogling the way her sweat glistens on her chest and neck, the way the over head lights catch the curve of her breasts, heaving with each pant.

And then—clang.

She looks over.

Paige, red-faced and scrambling, has knocked over a rack of resistance bands and sliders.

Perfect.

Azzi walks over slowly, each step intentional. She crouches beside Paige, smirking.

“Need help?” She keeps her voice low and sultry. 

“Oh! Uh—sure. Yeah,” Paige stammers, eyes everywhere but her.

Azzi picks up a band and tosses it into the bin. “You should be more careful,” she says, intentionally brushing Paige’s shoulder with a hand. “You could hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Paige mutters, flustered. The blonde tries to stand, but trips over her feet. 

Azzi steadies her. 

One hand grips Paige's bicep, the other presses flat against her stomach. 

Azzi feels Paige's abs clench.

She doesn't move. Not right away.

Not when Paige is looking at her like that— wide eyed and breath shaky. Azzi lingers. Studies her face, searching for a hint of truth, a hint of something real.

Is she nervous? Turned on? About to run again?

Paige's throat bobs. Her lips part like she wants to say something. Nothing comes out.

Azzi's gaze drops to her mouth, then back up, corner of her lips twisting. Then she leans closer, until there is barely an inch of space between them.

“You don’t seem fine.” Her voice is a syrupy calm.

Then, deliberately, Azzi's hand drags up Paige's body. Fingers working into her arm muscle, palm dragging up her abs, grazing the underside of her chest. And then she stops at the slope of Paige's shoulders. Starts massaging them out.

And Paige just lets her. Breathless. Rigid.

“You seem…” Azzi scrunches her nose as if thinking. Smiles when she lands on it. “Tense.”

She drags the word out like she's tasting it. Like she wants Paige to feel it, deep in her spine.

“I could help you with that too.” Her voice is sweet like sugar.

Paige blinks. Panting. Her voice barely audible when she gravells out, “What the fuck are you doing, Fudd?”

Azzi blinks up at her like it’s obvious. “I’m doing what you asked.” 

I'm proving it.

She watches as Paige's eyes narrow into slits, trying to decode the ambiguity. Azzi smirks, savoring the moment realization flicker across Paige's face— confusion melting into recognition, and then something darker. Hunger. Want.

Paige opens her mouth to say something, maybe to kiss her or confess or tell her off, but Azzi doesn't let her.

Doesn't want her to, not yet.

She needs Paige to want for it. Ache for it. Feel it.

Prove it back.

So Azzi steps away, leaving Paige stunned and aching.

She stalks back to her rack. Picks up her gatorade bottle, and lazily squirts into her mouth. 

She lets some of the liquid drip down the side of her lip, sticky red drops trickling down her chin, rolling down her neck and into the valley of her breasts, disappearing into her sports bra. 

She swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Holds the bottle out to Paige. 

“Thirsty?” 

And Paige Bueckers quite literally darts out of the room. Flees for the door, letting it slam behind her, abandoning her phone and her water bottle and all her belongings behind her.

Azzi just laughs. 

This was going to be fun.

[danidrabbles]

well.

this is why fiction is so important because i am never writing letters to people in prison but i am very interested in reader-insert-me's choice to do so

really love the characterization throughout this, how they kind of match each other's obsessive freak right off the bat. it's so sweet that she goes to the beach to write that first letter, it's so funny that his reply starts with "thanks for the sand"

the way he detectives himself to her is so... so him, i really liked how you wrote his almost like internal monologue, how he sees it as a puzzle, how he doesn't even know what she looks like but can close his eyes and dream about her to the point he envisions the colour of her apartment, and how he cuts himself to get into the emergency room.

really enjoyed how their interactions were so.. stiff but also laced with familiarity, and how you intwined their more at ease conversation with kisses. “you’re just as nice as i knew you’d be.” “you think i’m nice?” “i think you’re so nice that you’re not telling me everything you’ve wanted to do to me these last few years.” and omg all the colours being yellow just like he pictured. GOD. feeling sooo normal about it. this line also killed me :') and then you pull him down for another kiss and it all washes away like letters in the sand.

smut had no business being so soft. the introspection from his pov was so nice, how he thinks so much about how it is vs. how he imagined it, and that it's better and he can't quite believe it, and he just wants to give her everything.

the ending made me laugh so hard. her being scared about his reaction to her naming her cat after him and him being like, “do you think we should get married?” they're perfect for each other!!!!!!!!!!!! made me laugh, made me swoon, which isn't something i thought i'd say about a you send a letter to a man in prison fic, but you really pulled it off wonderfully. thanks for writing and sharing!!!!

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: against better judgement, you send a letter to a man at folsom with very sad eyes. against even better judgement, you send letters every week for years until he stops replying one day. and against everything you know, when he shows up at your door, you invite him inside.

pairing: prison letters reader x andrew cody

word count: 12.4k

tags: reader is silly and does things i do not recommend. kids do not write letters to prisoners and fall in love with them. unless it's andrew cody obviously. lots of context no one asked for. nurse!reader, descriptions of wound (andrew cuts himself to get into your work because why wouldn't he!), descriptions of wound handling, smut (oral - f receiving and mating press and the tiniest hint of breeding). takes place in season one, but just imagine he's got season two's hair. you have to fully immerse yourself in the fact that it's andrew cody and then ask yourself—wouldn't you take him home too? it's not her fault!

author's note: here she is! thank you for the patience ♡

you honestly had signed up as a joke. the club was known through your campus to be run by a couple of bleeding hearts. no one had thought the school would approve their activities—letters to prisoners. it was a recipe for disaster.

you should have known better.

but a friend of a friend was involved, and you knew it would make your nursing school application look better, and honestly, you didn’t think anything would come of it. a couple of letters here and there. you had thought it’d be all anonymous, messages of motivation and prayers signed with a first name only.

until your friend—bleeding heart and hopeless romantic, trying to appeal to those very same qualities in you—had shown you the website. that’s when you should have realized it wasn’t just a recipe, it was going to be a disaster.

the prisoners recorded videos—thirty seconds, short and sweet. a name, a couple of sentences about them, hometown and hobbies. underneath the video you could see what they had been arrested for. only the ones who were in for petty crimes—drugs and robbery, things where no one else had really gotten hurt, were allowed to partake. that was good at least. didn’t need any murderers sending letters to pretty co-eds.

your friend picked the guy she thought was the cutest. you watched his video—he was handsome, you couldn’t deny it. but the more videos you watched, the less you wanted to write a letter. you could almost see it, the desperation behind their eyes. it seemed like every man had nefarious intent. like your prettily written letter would not be used for motivation and prayers of a better life outside.

you decided not to send one. you’d rather have an empty slot on your application than a bad feeling in your gut for the rest of the semester. it’s not like the prison was across the country—it was just a couple of hours away.

she asked you to give it one more chance, watch a couple more videos. just pick a cute one, she’d told you. when you’d made a noise of disapproval, she had rolled her eyes.

“okay, pick whoever seems the nicest, then.”

so you had.

the video had been labeled andrew cody. first degree robbery.

the man in the video had been incredibly genuine. you don’t remember exactly what he had said—just bits and pieces. you knew he was from oceanside, born and raised from the way he sounded. he said he had a lot of brothers and a sister back at home. that he spent his time working out and reading books to distract himself from how noisy it was inside. the first thing he’d do when he got out was go to the beach and listen to the waves and breathe in the clean salty air.

and deep down inside, you knew you were just as much of a bleeding heart as the rest of your friends. you had folded instantly.

but it wasn’t just that. you spent the next several nights thinking about him. sad eyes, a singular half-smile at his own joke and then a real one when he mentioned going to the beach once he was released. he’d followed it up with—not that it’ll be any time soon. that made you sad, in turn. you thought about what he was like before prison—did he smile more? was he always so sad?

you thought about a lot of things. more than whatever your friends did, telling you how they had sent their letters, flirty yet inherently professional, so as not to get in trouble with the advisor.

you took a while to send yours. first you couldn’t think of what to write—everything felt so stupid compared to what he must be going through. andrew would hardly want to hear about the mundaneness of your daily life, or the struggles of trying to get into the nursing program.

you thought about not sending a letter at all after the first few times you tried to put pen to paper.

and then you thought about how sad he must feel, how lonely and scared, how terrible it would be to see all the other prisoners get letters besides him.

so you drove to the beach. you surprisingly had more in common with andrew cody than you even realized when you selected him. there was nothing you loved more than the beach, which is why you had even picked your college to begin with. and now, four years later about to graduate, you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

you caught the sunrise. you brought your little notebook with you to the water after setting your bag down on the bench. the seagulls were flying around, a couple of other beach-goers walking along the border where the sand met the ocean. it was a day like any other.

there were two sides of you—a hopeless romantic inside of an inherently logical girl. one side argued how stupid it was to send letters to a stranger. the other wondered if this would be the day that changes your life. you push away the thought and focus on writing the damn thing.

you thought andrew might like if the letter smelled like the salt-water. the stupid idea felt a lot less silly when you were attempting it, bringing your notebook all the way down to the water and hovering it. a slightly bigger wave caught you by surprise, the corners getting wet where it splashed up.

cursing to yourself, you walked back to the bench with sandy feet. and then you started writing.

dear andrew, and then you paused. fuck. you got out some of the introductory stuff—your first name, that you were a nursing student. it took a while to get the rest of the page filled, until you stopped for a moment and thought about what you would tell the man with the sad eyes if he was sitting next to you.

i came to the beach to write this letter. i’m sorry if the corners are wrinkled when you get it, i almost dropped it in the water trying to get it to smell like the beach so you had a little piece of home with you. i’m not near oceanside but it’s still the pacific.

i can’t imagine how hard it must be to grow up near the water and then be so far away for so long. but at least you know it’ll always be waiting for you when you get released. they want us to write motivational things but i’m not sure how motivating it would be for you reading this letter about my silly life. so i thought i’d write about the beach instead.

it’s about seven in the morning. the weather isn’t too cold and sky is pink and orange right now. the waves were calmer an hour ago when i got here but now it’s getting more intense. there’s a couple with their dog, and another man running on the sand. i’m on a bench writing this, but i’ll walk along the water again before i leave. i would try to send you a shell but i’m sure they’d take it away. maybe sand?

i love the sound of the waves too. my school isn’t close enough to hear it, but i have one of those machines that makes the noises. it helps a lot when i’m trying to sleep. maybe you can get one when you get out too.

you fill up a page, and then another page. when you fold up the letter and slip it into the envelope, you take a couple grains of sand and drop it in there. a little piece of home for him.

then you mail the letter, and think that was that.

+

two weeks later, you get a letter in the mail. you’d heard some of the other girls had also gotten responses—some had been mildly wholesome, while others had been more along the lines of what are you wearing?

but you weren’t worried when you opened yours. andrew didn’t seem the creepy type to you, it felt more like… like he would be glad to have someone to talk to.

you read it in bed, holding an old stuffed animal tightly. his handwriting is stiff and neat, the evenness of the letters and dotted i’s and crossed t’s makes you smile. the way he wrote your name, with bleeding ink like he had pressed too hard into the paper while doing so, made you smile wider.

the first line—thanks for the sand—made you laugh.

andrew writes of the book he’s just read, how the beach you described sounds just like the one in his hometown, and a request that you tell him more about your life in the next letter. his letter isn’t as long as yours, which makes sense to you. he couldn’t have that much to write about. but the last line is what really gets you—thank you for the letter. it’s nice to talk to someone.

you blink away tears, unsure when you had started crying. you reread the letter twice over the next day and a half, deciding to head back to the beach early in the morning to write the next one.

and you’ve always been bad at this. your friends have always called you a hopeless romantic—but maybe you’re just in too deep. it was the product of having been alone for your entire life, not having the dreamy, intense love that so many of your friends had already gone through once or twice at this age. the result had manifested in how you treated the world around you. every door someone held open, every nice response, every lingering gaze could mean something more. that this could be the person, that this could be your soulmate.

you knew it was stupid. nothing could be stupider than assuming that a prisoner, for god’s sake, would be anything more than just that—a prisoner you write letters to. but your heart still beats faster each time you reread the letter, and when you think of his pretty, sad eyes and earnest expression, the urge to write another letter haunts over your entire body.

dear andrew, thank you for writing back. thank you again for writing back and not being creepy (like the responses some of my friends got). i could tell you more about my life but i really wasn’t lying—it’s pretty silly and mostly boring, but since you asked so nicely i’ll try for you. right now i’m getting ready for graduation. i bought a white dress last week. i’m waiting to hear if i got into the nursing program here. i majored in nursing so I just need to do one more year and then after that i can go work in the hospital. i’m thinking about labor and delivery since i think it would be so nice to see babies all day, but one of my friends said the emergency room is always hiring. she thinks it would toughen me up. but I’m not so sure i want to be tough. just incase all of this school talk is boring you, i’ll just tell you about my day on the condition that you'll tell me about yours. yesterday i woke up early and went on a walk. i made breakfast and went to class, and then studied in the library. my friend showed me a creepy response from one of the fellow inmates (by the way, thank you again for not being creepy.) i walked to get a chai—i don't really like coffee. and then i studied, watched the bachelor. it was terrible! my favorite contestant got sent home :(. and had dinner, then I went to sleep early because i woke up early to come to the beach today to write this for you. so i went to sleep thinking about this letter and woke up thinking about it too.

you add a little bit more about your routine this time, just so he has something to read about. you try to make yourself sound interesting where you can—but you’re really not. and you don’t want to force it, make your letters sound grand and full of lies.

you don’t know why—it’s not like you’ll ever meet him. but lying to andrew feels wrong, you guess.

stupid. you’re stupid for adding the last part—but something in your heart flutters reading the line again, because you did. andrew’s sad eyes are in your mind all the time, and you know it’s just a silly infatuation, that he’s a prisoner and you’re a random student and more likely than not, he’s not going to respond to this letter. but you still keep it in.

and so you send the letter. and what’s worse—the one you get back makes your heart swell. he says that you describe your routine so well he can almost see it happening in his head like a movie. he says that he could describe his day-to-day but that it might make you sad. you’re sure it will. he seems to know a lot about you from just a handful of letters.

you reply. he sends another. you reply. and before you can even discern what’s happened, this has been going on for the better part of a year and a half.

andrew gets all the life updates—your nursing school acceptance, how the first year goes. early morning clinicals, the mean preceptor who made your life hell for a month, the baby you got to help deliver, the cat you’re thinking about getting. and the not so great stuff—despite the nursing shortage, it seems the only available job at the hospital you like is in the emergency room.

you don’t give him names but he figures it out well enough. the program you sent the letters through was smart enough not to include the university’s name in the return address, but dumb enough to use a p.o. box in the same city. and in that city, there’s only two colleges, and only one of those has a nursing program.

these are the things he uses to figure out where you are after he gets out—not that you need to know any of that just yet.

after you get the job, the letters are stamped with the mark of the local post office. you must not know that they’re doing that, now that you can’t send the letters through the school anymore. that’s the last piece of the puzzle, figuring out which emergency room you had been working in.

he keeps those letters. they’re his sanctuary—pages and pages about your life. the highs and lows of an innocent girl who thought it would be a good idea to send letters to a prisoner. letters where you asked about him, how he was feeling, how he was doing. how much time he had left, how he thinks the next parole meeting will go, how that annoying guard has been recently. how’s your family, andrew?

if he closes his eyes, he can almost see you. you’re a faceless entity, a glowing angel with a halo hovering in his mind when he really needs you. you’re too perfect to be real—and he knows you would be outside too. if you can care this much through letters, go out of your way to send them even after you graduate, he can only imagine how you’d be if you stood in front of him.

the other students who sent letters stopped after one or two. he’s likely the only one who’s still getting them, and when someone questions who they’re from, he tells a story about his girl, waiting for him outside. a nurse—smart and pretty and devoted and who never fails to send him a weekly update. lives too far to drive up here but he’ll be there one day.

and then he gets sent to solitary.

he doesn’t like to think about it, if he can avoid it. sometimes the noises of the world get to him, brings him back to days and hours he wish he could wipe from his memory. the sound machine you recommended in your very first letter helps some. but the day he goes free, there’s only one sound he knows will calm him down—your voice, the first time he’ll get to hear it.

he has to go home first. he needs a car, the internet, a couple of phone calls to make sure he’s going to the right place.

days turn into weeks. unfortunately—very unfortunately. the only thing andrew wants is to finally see you in person, to finally hear what your voice sounds like. what color is your hair? what color are your eyes? he knows you like yellow—what would he find if he saw you? yellow hair clips? painted nails? how about your apartment? would the walls be yellow?

no, probably not. you rent. you wouldn’t do anything that wouldn’t get you your security deposit back. you’re too good for that, too safe.

yellow sheets, maybe. blankets, pillows. if he closes his eyes, he can imagine himself in it.

he tries to leave after the first job but there’s too many watchful eyes, too many moving pieces. he needs to get everything together—his truck, cash and some cards, a plausible excuse. he needs to make sure no one comes following him, needs to make sure that in his quest to come find you, he doesn’t get you tangled into the web of his family instead. he’s stuck somewhere between figuring out how to keep you safe and the realization that the safest you’ll ever be is right now, before he comes for you.

but fuck, if it doesn’t haunt him. the fact that he’s finally so close to you. that you’re a car ride away. that somewhere out there is the girl who, one day, realized another letter wouldn’t be coming.

had you cried then? been upset? wondered what had happened? bothered to find out if he was dead or freed or living without you? he hates that he couldn’t get you another letter to explain himself, but he figures explaining in person would be easier, and better. in all those years, you never once wrote him about a date or a boyfriend or anything in that realm.

the way your last few letters were, it were almost as if he was your boyfriend. (he lets the thought linger inside him for a few seconds, if that. any longer and it would possess him like a demon and he’d be rendered useless. unable to work, unable to think, unable to breathe. just him and the idea that he was that important to someone else.)

+

and then one day, a couple days after a job and after being fed up with the entire world being scared of him, he leaves to find you.

that’s just the thing—no one understands him. all his life, he’s been the unstable one, the one others are worried about, frightened of. but no one understands that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

no one, except maybe you.

so he says he’ll be back in a week, and he drives down to the hospital where you work.

he hasn’t gotten a real look at you yet. he spent the first night in the parking lot of the emergency room. he watches hordes of nurses go in and out, and no one stands out. he spends some time doing research—nurses only work three times a week.

his odds of seeing you for the rest of the time he’s in town are fifty/fifty. it feels like he should be able to pick you out from a crowd, with the way he knows you so intimately, but he can’t. he keeps an eye out for yellow water bottles or shoes or lunch bags, but he doesn’t see any for two days.

so he decides that he needs to get inside.

pope keeps a pocket knife on his person, and another one hidden in the car in case of emergencies. that’s what he uses to slice his palm open so he has an excuse to get inside. not too deep—he’s not stupid. just deep enough to need stitches, shallow enough that he can still feel all his fingers and wiggle them around.

and then he goes inside, and he waits.

each time the doors open, a different nurse steps out. some are too old, others too young. no one has anything yellow on them, or the personality that he knows could only belong to you. cheery, but serious. empathetic to a fault. you would probably cry if you saw a kid crying, just like how you used to write to andrew, telling him you had cried thinking about a patient you lost and their family, cried thinking about him alone in prison.

you’ve shed tears for him. a man you’ve never even met. he has to recognize you when he sees you. he knows he will—the two of you are bonded in more ways than one. through ink and blood and tears.

“david?” a voice calls out. so lost in his thoughts, he’d not realized the doors had opened again or the name he’d given them. he looks up, making eye contact with the nurse, his nurse, and she walks closer. “david?” the voice repeats, and he raises the non-bloody hand.

you are just like he thought you’d be. your hair is pulled back, which is a shame. he wants to see what it looks like when it’s down, what it smells like when you get close enough. pieces in the front fall out from behind your ear. his finger twitches momentarily.

and, he thinks with a pleasant sort of smugness, there is yellow—the plastic band around the stethoscope, the badge reel with a smiling cartoon on it, the pens tucked neatly in your scrub top pocket.

“hi david, i’m going to be your nurse today,” you start, looking at him in the eyes. your eyebrows furrow a little, like you’re trying to remember why this man looks so familiar—it’s not like he had expected it. his hair isn’t the same anymore, longer than the video you had seen of him. if that was your benchmark, he certainly looked somewhat different. he doesn’t fault you for not recognizing him right away. in fact, it’s better this way. “if you’re ready, i can take you back now.”

you smile at him, beautifully. a bright, wide smile, like there’s nothing in this world you’d rather do than take david back, and have a look at whatever’s bothering him. it’s genuine, it’s safe, it’s warm. how do you do it? he thinks briefly to himself, how do you make everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the world? just with a smile and a couple of sentences you must say a thousand times a shift.

andrew’s not one for many words, but his thoughts run rampant—he’s always thinking. he can’t get his brain to turn off, not now, not ever. even putting pen to paper was hard for him, even for you. but you seem to understand him, just like you did back then. without words, without talking, without touching or knowing. you just know him.

you take him to a bed behind a curtain and start rattling off a list of rehearsed questions. first name, age, date of birth. the more he says, the more you seem to get a step closer to recognizing him, but he doesn’t push it.

you come closer to the bed and gesture to his wrapped up, bleeding hand.

“may i?”

“yes. yes,” andrew says, unsure of how it’ll be to feel your hands on him for the first time. you start slowly, unpeeling the layers of gauze that he had brought with him from home as a just incase. he doesn’t flinch or wince, but you still speak up.

“i’m sorry, i know it’s not very comfortable.” you apologize without needing to, and he’s sure it’s because you want him to feel better about it. “how did this happen again?” you ask, staring at his wound closely. you’re not very far from his face. he can feel your breath even against his skin.

“accident. was cutting something.”

“well, you should be more careful, david.” his middle name has always felt foreign to him, though somehow, it doesn’t seem that way coming from your lips. andrew briefly feels like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, no one else he’d rather be than david, getting his hand tended to by you.

“yeah. i should.”

“well i’m going to go ahead and get this cleaned up. just to be sure, any drug allergies?” he shakes his head. “great. we’re gonna clean it and then the doctor will be in here to stitch it up and we’ll get you on your way back home. does that sound okay?”

you look at him earnestly. as if on the off chance he said it didn’t sound okay, you’d have an answer ready to go. nothing to shame him, nothing to make him feel bad. just to comfort him and make him feel better. like there’s nothing more important than getting him back home with aid instructions for the rest of the week.

memories of your letters wash over him like a warm wave over soft sand. you’ve known from the jump that you were meant for this, but it all suddenly makes sense. how kind you are, how gentle you are with him, how you’d be with anyone.

you were meant for this, just like how you were meant for him.

“that sounds okay.”

you sit on a stool at the level of his hand. you dab with the cleaning solution and tell him you’re sorry about the sting. it’s half a dozen apologies in the short time he’s known you, and he sits and wonders, staring at your pretty hair and the undoubtedly smooth skin of your neck, that he’ll have to work you out of that habit.

you shouldn’t be apologizing for anything, much less helping people the way you do.

he stares at you while you think of another question to ask him to distract him from the pain of cleaning his wound.

and your patient is nothing if not a starer. when you got up to add something to the chart and stopped to chat with a fellow nurse and friend of yours about how long it might take the doctor to see him—calling him by his nickname, mister sliced hand in bed four—she interrupted you half way through the conversation.

“the one who’s staring at us right now?” you turned your head too quickly to see what she was talking about, and were faced with sliced-hand david, looking at you and the other nurse.

not in a creepy way, like some other past patients of yours. he’s just…looking. like he’s waiting for you to come back. his gaze doesn’t leave you, you notice. he watches your friend as though he’s watching over you.

the thought is almost… sweet.

and then you shake your head and turn around, breaking the eye contact. you have a bad habit of doing this—turning every interaction, every look into your eyes and held-open door into something more than it was.

your new friends at the hospital also call you a hopeless romantic. you knew that you were just sort of an idiot when it came to these things. it was the long-standing result of still never having been in a real relationship. you’d never felt the fireworks, never known the rom-com sort of true love and happy ending. you had never even gotten to the angst-filled third act breakup.

so maybe you were still a bit of a projector—projecting every single interaction into something more than it was. a patient with a staring problem became a man who was looking out for you, worried for you, love at first sight.

and you shake your head again. snap out of it. you had a problem, seriously.

the closest you’d even come to anything remotely related to love at first sight was the insane amount of letters you’d written to a prisoner a few years ago, and even then—

stop. it. you barely knew what the guy looked like, and yet, you found yourself wondering all the time what had happened to him. if today would finally be the day you’d find out. he could be the stranger next to you in the coffee shop. the person buying fruit next to you in the grocery store.

for all you know, he could be the next guy who walks into your life, and yet—

“you are seriously such a goner,” she says with a laugh, playfully shoving your shoulder.

“what? i-i just got lost in my thoughts.”

“a guy could blink at you and you’d be imagining your embroidered towels and baby names-”

“that is not true-”

“right, i know. you’re right. you’re just gonna hold out for mister prisoner until you’re an old lady with a bunch of cats-”

“hey! i have one cat and he is adorable, okay-”

“yeah, yeah. that’s how it always starts. one cat.”

“i’m going to go take care of my patient now.”

“don’t let him blink at you.”

you roll your eyes and make your way back to bed four, where david stares up at you with pretty, sad eyes. eyes that seem a little familiar, but it’s hour eight of twelve and you’ve taken care of half a hundred people so far. your tiredness seeps through your pores but you still smile and sit on the stool.

“sorry about that, david.”

“are you okay?” he asks, incredibly earnestly. you blink at him dumbly. once, then twice.

“yes?” you reply slowly, unsure of what he means. maybe you’re more tired than you thought. “is everything okay?”

“i saw her push you.” you blink again.

“oh. oh. no, no, she’s my friend. that was just, um-” you blank momentarily. his concern is so palpable you can feel it in the air. “-a joke. she was joking.”

“oh. okay.” david goes silent but his eyes are still on you. you decide the best course of action is to change the subject.

“so! david. this might be hard but no going in the water for at least a couple days. maybe more, depending on what the doctor says.”

“sure. can i.. can i still go sit on the beach?”

“yeah. that should be fine.” you clean out the wound further, but he doesn’t wince. “do you do that often?”

“yes. it calms me down.”

“me too. something about the sand and the waves. the air is just-”

“cleaner.” for the first time that night, david interrupts you. your eyes leave his hand to look up at his face.

“yeah,” you agree, slowly, wondering why his words feel so familiar to you. “cleaner.”

there’s a brief pause, and david doesn’t say anything. you look back down at his hand, continuing your work. but something inside of you stirs, curiosity poking and prodding at your memories. you’ve heard that before, somewhere, and even then you had thought about how no one had ever used that word to describe the ocean air before, when—

“i thought you wanted to deliver babies. do you not want to do that anymore?”

as if it was in slow motion, you retract your hands away from his. you move your head to look up at him and your jaw falls open a little—you had known david looked a little familiar, but when you had seen that thirty second video of him, his hair had been short and his skin had been a little paler, and the man sitting in front of you now—

well he wasn’t cute anymore.

he was handsome now—dark brown curls grown out. he looked like he’d spent some time in the sun, recently. his eyes—sad and pretty as they were—seemed a bit softer now. and your gaze on him made them even softer, like he was trying his best not to frighten you. how someone takes care of a skittish animal, ready to bolt at any second.

you swallow, and then bring your hands back to his, keeping the piece of soaked gauze on top of his wound gently

“i-i do. want to. this was just the only job opening when i-” you pause, sucking in a deep breath. he already knows about this—andrew. it was in one of your letters. “when i finished school.”

you feel his hand move under your touch, and then his other hand, the unwounded one, over yours. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s tense. hard. like he wants to make sure you can’t just disappear like sand between his fingers.

“i thought you might have found another job by now.”

“it-it’s hard. you get used to something and it’s hard to leave.” you pause again. there’s a million and one questions storming through your mind, but you stare into hazel eyes and they all go quiet, one by one. “you said your name is david-”

“i wanted to see if you would recognize me.”

“i’m sorry, i-”

“don’t apologize.” andrew, like his letters, speaks concisely. you should have guessed. you would send him pages just to get a few paragraphs back—and he would always say it’s because he didn’t have much to talk about, that learning about your day to day was much better than whatever he could tell you.

it was the first time your heart fluttered with the knowledge that out there, somewhere, is a man who wants to hear about your day. the closest you had ever gotten to the semblance of a real relationship. a man who cared about you, even if he never said as much. it was always clear to you, through his carefully chosen words and the things he wrote you about and how much he said he liked hearing about you.

he used to ask you questions about things from a dozen letters ago. remember to follow up after some big exam or a really hard week at work. asked you what you did to feel better. tell you what he would do to help you feel better—nothing creepy, never creepy. if you were supposed to be scared of him, you never were. he never gave you any reason to.

“are you okay?” andrew asks, and you blink yourself out of your thoughts.

“yes. yes, sorry. i just-” it’s a little ridiculous.

you’re a smart girl. you’ve always been a smart girl. you don’t do stupid things—you don’t drink yourself silly at bars and go home with random men. you don’t say yes to dates with strangers, despite how much you believe that a stranger can become a soulmate in an instant. you don’t put yourself in situations you can’t get out of.

but when it comes to andrew, you haven’t listened to a single one of your own rules. you sent him letters for ages after the other girls in your class had stopped. you had opened up about your life and wanted to learn about his life in exchange.

and despite every greater instinct, you had fallen asleep for years thinking about the day he might walk back into your life.

“did you ever get my last letter, andrew?”

you’re not even sure where the words came from—that’s the last thing you should be saying right now. how did you find me? when did you get out of prison? why are you here right now? should have all come before.

but something inside you burns, like it has for years, with the knowledge that he never sent you another letter. and you need to know why.

andrew sits up a little straighter, taking heavy breaths and staring at you. it’s the first time he’s heard you say his name, his real name. you two haven’t moved an inch, his hand still on yours. he blinks slowly at you and you don’t realize it, but you’re holding your breath.

“i did. i-i was in solitary. they don’t let you write letters there.”

“oh. i’m so sorry,” you say, and it’s second nature. you hate what andrew went through, and seeing him in front of you brings you back to the first letter you ever got back from him. how polite he was in it, how sweet the whole thing seemed. it was never meant to get this far, but it had, and you—

you are nothing if not a believer of soulmates and fate.

“that’s okay. not your fault.”

“but still. that must have been really hard.”

“i wanted to write back. i-” he stops, pulling out something from the pocket of his button-up shirt. he unfolds a piece of white notebook paper—and the breath you were holding leaves you quickly. that’s the paper you used to write him letters on.

“is that my last letter?” when andrew moves to look at you, he’s expecting it. a nervous lilt to your voice, fear in your eyes. like he’s crazy, like you’re scared.

instead he glances over hesitantly and you’re beaming up at him.

“you carry around.. my last letter?” the words come out as a smile forms on your face—pretty and genuine and sincere. you stare at him expectantly, and he doesn’t know how to respond.

“i…” the words falter. “i just wanted to ask you about it. did you, did you get that cat?”

“i did!” it comes out louder than you meant it, drawing the attention of some other nurses around you. you turn briefly, using your free hand to push the curtain so it’s closed around you two. “sorry. i did, yes. he’s so cute. i don’t have my phone or i’d show you the pictures-”

“that’s okay. you-you can show me later.”

“but i didn’t say i was getting a cat in that one. i just said i was thinking about it,” you feel breathless.

“but there was another one before that. you mentioned it then too. i figured you’d get it since you were thinking about it so much.”

“yeah. yeah, exactly.” your brain can’t seem to compute what’s going on. any fear that had been in you, if there was any of it to begin with, has completely melted away, replaced with a warm, glowing feeling in your chest, slowly spreading out to your limbs.

you had been thinking about getting a cat for ages—a thought you had mentioned to andrew maybe twice. and your justification had been just as andrew said, because you were thinking about it so much.

how did he know that?

and then the curtain opens behind you, and the doctor comes in to stitch up andrew’s hand. you have to pull away from his hand and andrew thinks you’re leaving, eyes following you and his expression shifting, but you don’t leave. you go to the cabinets to pull the supplies and help the doctor and and keep your eyes focused on the wound while his hand gets stitched up. eight stitches and not a single wince of pain or discomfort.

and though the thought makes butterflies emerge and fly around your stomach, when you finally look up at andrew, he’s been staring at you the entire time.

+

you have a tiny apartment in a shitty neighbourhood. it doesn’t feel safe at all, save for the fact that one of the houses down the street is owned by a rookie cop and his wife. there’s not that much crime, but the area inherently feels bad.

maybe it’s just that way to him—since he doesn’t want you living in a place like this.

it’s fine for now though. he’ll get you a better place soon enough. it’s by the water, and when he closes his eyes, he can hear the waves crashing on the sand. the sound alone might be enough to justify why you’d live here.

he keeps his eyes shut, just for a half dozen heartbeats, when he pulls up against your curb. he just wants to hear it before he says goodbye—it’s getting late, almost dark, and you must be exhausted. you’ve been at work all day and though you act like you’re completely fine, he knows how intense it is. there’s other letters, safely stored away, where you told him about how breaks are far and few in between, how you barely get time to drink water and eat a snack because of how busy it gets. he offered to stop and pick you up something to eat but you refused, saying you had food at home that you shouldn’t waste.

you sit in the passenger seat of his truck, staring around it as if you’re looking for some more information about it. anything would help you—half-empty drinks or gum wrappers or extra clothes in the backseat, but there’s nothing. the truck looks like he just got it yesterday, no sign of use or anything branding it as andrew’s car.

“can i walk you to your door?” you snap out of your thoughts.

okay—maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea in the world to let a virtual stranger drive you home. but when his hand was taken care of and you give him the paper instructions with way too many sample packets of antibiotic gel, all he said was that he’ll wait for you.

“wait for what?”

“to make sure you get home safely.”

and, really, what are you supposed to say to that? no, i’m good, thanks. you’d be even stupider than you already are to say that to someone who is just trying to be nice to you.

(he’s more chivalrous than any guy you’ve ever talked to, and probably more than any guy your friends have ever complained to you about. and more than that, it’d be rude to say no, especially once he realized you wait for a shoddy-at-best bus to get you home because you don’t have a car and it’s too dark to walk. he wouldn’t take no for an answer after that.)

and more than that—he waited another two hours for you to get home. every time you’d step out to bring back another patient, you’d see him, sitting there, waiting patiently for you. glancing up when the door would open to get a glimpse of you, of the small smile you shot his way before taking back whoever’s turn it was.

and he’s not a real stranger, a voice in the back of your head keeps reminding you. you’ve known him for longer than some of your coworkers have known their fiancees and husbands. and in all the time you’ve known him (meaning all the letters you’ve sent and received), you’ve never gotten a creepy word or even a fragment of a sentence that frightened you.

so you think the least you can do is let him drive you home and walk you up the two flights of stairs.

“of course. thank you, for-” your sentence gets interrupted. andrew gets out of the car and you turn to do the same, but then you see him—walking around the front of his truck, coming to your side and then opening the door for you.

oh.

your heart thuds dully in your chest at the very idea of andrew opening his car’s door for you to get out. after driving you home and politely asking to walk you up. whatever inhibitions you had melt away and you briefly think that whatever he asked of you, you’d do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

if that made you stupid, then so be it. you’d gladly be the stupidest girl on the planet if you get to feel whatever it was that andrew cody has made you feel for the last couple of hours.

his truck is jacked up tall, and he gives you his hand, the one without the cut, to help you get down, and you accept. he closes the door for you and lets you lead the way up the stairs.

silently, you two walk up the creaky steps together. hands brush together for all of seconds and he briefly wishes seconds lasted longer, until you’re standing in front of your door.

you’d once had a cute spring-themed wreath on the door, bought on clearance from the local store after easter, and a matching door mat. your elderly neighbor had told you to get rid of it because it was basically an invitation to criminals that a young girl lived here alone. you’re stupid, but not that stupid.

and now your front door looks barren and empty. there’s a few plants you can see from the window sill but the curtains are drawn and there’s an extra dead bolt a fellow nurse from the hospital’s husband had helped you install.

you look up silently at andrew and he looks back at you. this is it—it’s supposed to be goodbye. any normal girl would know that this is where the night needs to end, that you need to process what all of this means and if you had any friends you trusted with this information, calling them and asking what to do.

but you don’t want to call your friends, because you know what they’d say—to lock your door and get a restraining order and burn andrew’s letters, the ones you kept in a cute box under your bed and reread much too often for anyone’s comfort.

and you’re not a normal girl.

“do you want to stay for dinner?”

there’s not much to study on andrew’s expression—he keeps it stern and serious for the most part. his eyes are soft when they look at you and they soften even further when you say those words.

“yes. yes, thank you.”

you think maybe he wasn’t expecting it. you think that you weren’t expecting it either, not exactly sure where the words had come from. but you still lead andrew inside, showing him the only slightly comfortable couch you had to get delivered since you didn’t have anyone to help you lug a used one up the stairs. the squeaky door that leads to the bathroom, the tiny space you called your kitchen. your bedroom is behind a closed door and andrew stares at it when you go inside to change out of your scrubs and come back out in the kind of clothes that you sleep in.

and then he stares at the shut door even after you leave, before realizing that you’ve already made your way to the space between the living room and kitchen, a narrow expanse with a small round table and some placemats with flowers on them. you set down your backpack and take your hair out of the clip that holds it back for you at work and suddenly, he’s staring again.

it’s just a little too close to everything he’s been dreaming about for years.

“i’m really sorry. i was supposed to go grocery shopping but i hate bringing everything up-”

“don’t apologize.”

“also, i’m-i’m not really a good cook. i’m sorry-”

“i don’t think anything you make can be worse than prison food.”

“i really doubt that. you’ve never had my cooking.”

you glance back him and he meets your eyes at the same time, and you both start laughing. it’s nothing crazy—andrew didn’t seem like the kind who laughs easily anyway, but he cracks a smile and the noise is indelible—all you can think of is how you can get him to laugh again.

“do you like spaghetti?”

+

if someone had told you yesterday that this time tomorrow, andrew from your letters would be sitting across from you at your dining table, eating spaghetti that you made while rushing, looking so in place in your tiny home that your heart hurts, you think you would have passed out.

you watch him while he eats, absentmindedly swirling your own noodles on the plate, unable to focus on eating when he’s really in front of you. after countless dreams and days spent wondering what had happened to him and if he was okay and if he ever thought about you. he’s… bigger than you thought he would be. shoulders broader than you had realized from that tiny video. his mannerisms interest you more than they should—how quiet he is, but how he seems to latch onto every word when you go on and on. just like the letters, it seems he’s still a listener.

(it doesn’t help matters when he tries to clear the table and wash the dishes after—you have to wrestle the plates out of his hand and tell him to go sit down, that he can’t get his bandage wet. jostling against his iron-hard body was not on the list of things you thought you’d get to do today, and the very realization that andrew is twice as strong as you on his worst day does…things to you. things that do not need to be named or explored right now. he’s still a stranger, you try to remind yourself. no he’s not.)

but it seems that he can’t sit still. he wipes down the counter and then comes back to help you dry your yellow dishes and when you both finish up, with you still smiling at him and unsure of what excuse you can conjure to get him to stay, he finds it all by himself. you tell andrew to go sit on the couch while you finish up and he does, and when you follow him out there, he’s standing in front of it. he turns his head to look at you and then back at the couch.

your cat is perched on his usual spot, and you go over to him, scratching the top of his head between his ears and making extremely childish, stupid-sounding noises at him.

“andrew this is wardy,” you say, picking him up and bringing him closer. “he’s really friendly. i promise.”

“hello, wardy.” when he says it, you look up at him with a look he can’t find words to describe. as close to love as you can get it when it’s a technically a stranger. the way he greets your cat and helps you clean and knows more about you than some of your friends and coworkers do.

there’s no words for it. it just is.

so you sit on the couch next to andrew, your cat between the two of you, and you wait for him to tell you that he wants to leave. you flick on the television, settling for whatever silly romance movie is playing on your netflix account, sitting in the almost-silence with andrew and wondering why still, it doesn’t feel necessarily uncomfortable.

eventually andrew reaches out to pet wardy, and he curls up into his touch, settling comfortably against his forearm. (his huge, thick, veiny forearm, you think briefly, before chasing the thought away with a broom. and then another one—no wonder he had bled so much at the hospital. with veins like these.)

“this area’s not the best,” andrew says, speaking as though you need to be reminded of it, to know that he doesn’t approve.

“i know. but it’s cheap and it’s near the beach.”

“but you live alone. it’s dangerous.”

“but-” you glance over at him. he takes up most of your couch, wardy’s head resting against his thigh now, while he continues petting him. he looks over at you and it’s clear—this isn’t an argument. “you’re right. but i mean, how bad can it be? if you’re here now?”

you pause. stupidly, you’ve just revealed whatever thoughts have been rattling around in your head. like the fact that you’re assuming he’s going to be here more often, when the truth is that you have no idea if that’s true.

why would it be true? you tried, in earnest, to make sure your life never seemed anything more than it really was in your letters. but andrew drives a brand new truck and wears an expensive watch and you have absolutely no idea what he was robbing or why he was doing it—and you never asked. the assumption that just because he found you, meant that he was going to keep you was completely insane. a misgiving on your part, because surely, whatever’s waiting for him back home is better than your crappy cooking and a tiny apartment and a cat that you—

“sorry, i’m sorry. that’s such a jump. we just met. i’m so sorry, i can-” you stand up, and so does andrew.

“why are you apologizing?”

“because i just.. i don’t know.” you try to pace around your apartment but you only get a few steps away before you have to come back. “this is crazy. we’re both crazy.”

you feel it in the air before you hear him say it. it gets tenser, quieter, more serious. like what you’ve both been dreading for the last few hours is about to happen.

“do…do you want me to leave?” you turn to face him quickly.

“no! no, i don’t. that’s why this is crazy. people are going to think we’re insane. i don’t want you to go. i want you stay. i want you to tell me everything i missed in the last year and a half. i want to know what you did with my letters. i want to know-”

and when andrew reaches forward to grab your forearm—gently, not meant to hurt you—you freeze in your tracks. staring up at him, all the words in your brain, every stupid thing your friends ever told you about this make-shift relationship you had concocted in your head melting away.

“i want that too.”

“oh. well, i just thought-”

and this time, he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in for a kiss that makes your knees give out. andrew’s mouth—wet and hot and on fire—kisses you like you two were made for each other.

as cheesy as the thought feels, you swallow it and wrap your arms around his neck. it’s every stupid romance movie you’ve ever seen coming to life, your life. all because of him. he doesn’t break the kiss, not even to breathe. you feel his tongue poke into your mouth and you accept it gladly. you fall back on the couch and the movement of it makes wardy scamper off, and you move your head just for a second to see where he runs off too, but andrew doesn’t stop. he lines kisses along your cheek and your jaw until you turn back and he gets your lips again.

you feel his weight on top of you, and briefly, you wonder if you should tell him.

countless nights spent wondering what this would feel like, how he would kiss you, all the things he would do to you. you have to keep reminding yourself, you’re just a stupid girl—it’s not your fault that a few nice letters was enough to make you head over heels for the last few years.

because somewhere deep down inside, you knew. you knew that it would be like this, that it would be perfect, that it would be everything you wanted. that he would take care of you and want you as badly as you want him. your crown title of hopeless romantic had finally paid off.

another thought stirs as he keeps kissing you. it’s feverish and hot and makes you warm all over—how long it’s been since he’s had someone, how he kisses you like he’s out of practice. his mouth is so hard against yours it almost hurts, but you welcome the pain. it’s like he’s proving to you that he’s really there now, that nothing can tear him away from you.

but then he does pull away. you catch your breath, hands traveling to his face and running your fingers through his hair. andrew’s pretty eyes close and you cherish it—that you made him feel like that. he leans into your touch, head resting against your hand while you both take long, heavy breaths.

andrew leans in, pressing your foreheads together.

“i-i’ve wanted to do that,” another breath. you feel butterflies continuously emerge and flutter around your chest and your stomach, all the way down to between your legs. “since your first letter.”

and then you can’t resist—leaning back in for another hard, wet kiss. you feel him shift, strong hands on your hips, but staying firmly there, not traveling despite how much you wish they would. he’s been polite again, you think. waiting for you to give him permission.

“you can-” you start, but andrew keeps pressing kisses against your neck that make it hard to finish your sentence. “you can touch me.” you expect his hands to spread—grope and grab and tease until you’re begging for more. for him to be impatient and hungry and not stop until he’s inside of you.

“i can’t believe you’re real,” he says quietly, one hand moving up to your waist and touching the soft skin there gently. he traces up your arms and then down before intertwining his fingers with yours. you stare up at him, stupid as ever. every time you think you know anything about andrew, he proves you wrong.

“i can’t believe you are, either,” you say, tilting your head up for another kiss. a short, chaste one this time. “you’re just as nice as i knew you’d be.”

“you think i’m nice?” he asks, voice low. you nod in response, words escaping you. you settle to answer with another kiss, hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself, tugging and pulling on his bottom lip with your teeth.

you push up until he understands, and he uses two huge hands to get you into his lap, sitting up with his back against your couch. you straddle him, trying your hardest to not lose your train of thought as you realize how hard he is against you.

“i think you’re too nice,” you tease, unsure where you’re finding the confidence. under you, andrew looks spacey and flushed and all kissed out, but you don’t plan to stop. you lean in to press kisses to his cheeks and work your way to his jaw and neck. when you stop to look at him again, he looks hopelessly up at you, and you think he’s waiting again, waiting for permission to do something. “i think you’re so nice that you’re not telling me everything you’ve wanted to do to me these last few years.”

the way andrew looks up at you after you said that—god. you wish you could engrain it into your memory. you’re not someone who does this often, but you might just be good at figuring out how to get andrew to crack. he looks up with some of the hunger you’d imagined there’d be, and it makes something stir inside of you.

it feels strange to be wanted the way andrew wants you right now. you’re just not used to it, not entirely sure that you’d ever feel this way. that someone would ever make you feel this way.

your thoughts are wiped again when he pulls you into another kiss, and you deepen it, moaning into his mouth. you’re being so loud that your older neighbor might be able to hear you, but you can hardly bring yourself to care right now. andrew is quiet, like you thought he would be, but each soft grunt and heavy sigh is enough to make your entire body tingle.

you think you’re being better at staying quiet yourself when andrew scoops you up into his arms, carrying you like it’s nothing for him. you yelp loudly, forgetting everything for a second, realizing how lovely it feels to be carried by him. he leads you two to your bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

you stare at him, hovering above you, wondering how you’ll get to do this. how you’ll get his clothes off and watch out for his hurt hand and that you’ll finally get to feel him inside of you—when he just stops moving.

andrew looks up and around your bedroom, craning his neck to take in all of it. you’re not sure why, stuck in a position under him that forces you to just watch.

“is everything okay, andrew?” when you say his name, he turns back to stare down at you.

“yes. yes, it is. it’s just-” he pauses, looking back up and then down. the room is decorated with lots of pretty frames. there’s yellow curtains on the windows and your sheets are yellow under you too, just like he’d suspected. seeing it in real life almost sends him back to years ago—the first time he’d wondered what your bedroom looks like. the place from where you write your letters, the place you read them. “it looks just like i thought it would.”

and just like every other part of tonight, your reaction continues to surprise him. you smile and then laugh, holding onto his shoulder even tighter.

“spend a lot of time thinking about my bedroom, huh?” you tease, and he remains just as confused as ever.

you are such a conundrum. andrew thinks that he wants you so badly he can’t form a proper thought—and then the thoughts merge and blend and anger at the very idea that you’re so trusting of him. you should be more careful. you shouldn’t trust anyone how much you’re trusting him right now—inviting him inside your home, letting him into your bedroom.

and then you pull him down for another kiss and it all washes away like letters in the sand.

eventually he does pull away—though it takes an enormous amount of self control. the words you said on the couch haven’t completely left him yet and he still needs to answer you. you claw and pull at his shirt so he lets you take it off of him, you trace a hand down his chest, stopping at his heart and pressing your palm flat against him.

you’re staring, he thinks, but you’re really just admiring. taking in every detail, every scar and bruise so you can ask him about it later, moving your fingers down his abs and biting your lip while you stare daggers at his chest.

he moves away from your touch though, as sad as it makes you.

“you wanted to know everything i’ve thought about you?” andrew says, and the words make you tense up—thighs clenching, walls fluttering just from words alone. your fingers tighten around his bicep where you’ve been holding on, and you nod up at him dumbly. “can i show you?”

your head falls back onto your pillow with a thud. you nod again.

you let andrew set the pace—he peels off your clothes and you lift your hips and raise your arms in compliance. he starts with a kiss to your stomach that makes you whine, fingers leaving his skin and grabbing onto your sheets instead just to have something to hold on to.

you’re embarrassingly wet—you already know you are. it’s almost painful how badly you want him, even against better judgement that tells you that you could have, at the very least, taken things slowly.

you guess andrew just brings it out of you.

his kisses move south and you brace yourself, every muscle tensing up in anticipation. andrew is silent except for his deep breaths and somehow, with each one deeper than the last, they make your entire body shudder in anticipation. when he finally gets to your leaking cunt, you hear it. a strangled moan, sounding painful and from the depth of his chest and filled with want and need. just from looking at you. you can’t imagine what he’ll sound like when—

“this is what i thought about. this is always what i thought about.”

and then andrew licks down the length of your cunt with the flat of his tongue, and you can’t think about anything else anymore. he’s relentless, exploring you with his mouth like he’s a man starved. you can hear the noises, obscene and sloppy and wet as they are.

and then you feel it—his mouth around your clit while one finger prods at your tight opening. your back rises off the bed but he holds you down with one huge hand over your stomach. his finger slips inside you more easily than he thought it would. though you’re wetter than he imagined, he doesn’t stop teasing your clit.

your wetness coats everything—his tongue, his lips, his chin. your thighs are wet too, and he’s sure he can get your yellow sheets soaked too if he could tease you long enough. but he’s been incredibly patient all these years, unsure if he can wait any longer to get what he’s wanted.

his hand keeps you pinned down while his mouth stays on your clit and then andrew adds another finger and you thrash up against him. it’s useless against the weight of his hand holding you down, but your body moves anyways, hands wrangling into his brown curls, likely making a complete mess of them. you keep pulling and he moans between your legs and the vibration makes you thrash harder, a completely exhilarating cycle.

when he finally releases you from his grip, you think the other hand will explore up and down your body, but true to form, you’re wrong. andrew finds your hand and holds onto it, lacing your fingers with his while he keeps going.

when adds a third finger, you realize that he’s saying something against you. you can’t quite make it out with your heart thudding in your ears and how loud you’re being, but then it becomes a little clearer—

“you taste even better than i thought you would-” and you can’t stop it, the tension in your stomach winding tighter and tighter before it snaps altogether. a white hot heat washes through your body and makes you shake even harder, but andrew’s hold on you keeps you completely grounded. he works you through it, not stopping even once, not until you’re trying your hardest to pull away from him. you try to catch your breath but it’s useless. your head feels completely empty.

incoherent, you grab at andrew, murmuring something about inside, please, and he really tries to stay level headed. but one glance at your naked, writhing body and your expression while you beg for him is enough to tip him over the edge.

resisting you requires a level of self control that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to have.

andrew doesn’t think he’s ever had any self control when it comes to you. it’s why he did this, isn’t it? showed up at your hospital with your sweet letter folded up and somehow convinced you, without saying much of anything at all, to trust him and let him back into your life. he doesn’t even know how he did it—he can’t recall most of what he said to you. it plays in his head like a movie, like how your letters used to.

he doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, just knows that he’ll do whatever he has to in order to keep it forever.

andrew’s thoughts about keeping you cloud him while he lifts up your legs, manhandling your body while you squeal under him. he pushes your knees to your chest and lets your legs hang in the air while he hovers over you. all he can think about is getting inside of you—-giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for, fulfilling every fantasy he’s had about you in the last three years. the noises you’ll make. how tight and wet and warm you’ll feel around him. how you’ll look with his cum dripping out of-

“andrew, please, please,” you plead, and he’s not sure that you understand exactly what you’re asking for. it’s good that it’s him you picked for those letters, good that he’s the one who tracked you down.

someone else, well, he thinks, lining himself up with your soaking wet entrance, someone else might have had bad intentions with you. not andrew, though.

his intentions for you are only good. intentions to keep you happy and safe and move you away from this tiny apartment and make sure you get the job that you want, no matter who he has to threaten in order to do so. intentions to keep everything taken care of so the only thing you ever have to worry about again is him, just like you’d done for all those years when you wrote to him.

and as he slips inside, he knows those letters are in this bedroom somewhere, that this bed is where you read them, that these were the pretty hands that held his letters and these were the pretty eyes that read them.

you stare at him while he hovers over you, not pushing in just yet. andrew’s dick is just like the rest of him—thick and broad and so wide that you don’t know how you’ll be able to walk tomorrow. there’s veins too, just like his arms, and it’s all you can think about with him enclosed over you.

when he pushes his thick head past your fluttering walls, you make a noise like nothing he’s ever heard before. pure want and heat wrapped up with pleasure and pain. you keep begging for more but he’s not sure you can even handle it—but who is andrew to deny you?

he pushes further inside of you, now half way, and you cry out. andrew leans in to kiss you again, swallowing the noise and letting you moan against his lips.

another thrust and he’s almost all the way in. he pulls out and pushes back in, and then he starts his rhythm. your tits bounce with every thrust and he watches entranced, until his eyes go back to where you and him meet. in this position, on his knees with you folded underneath him, he can see it perfectly.

it’s enough to make him finish instantly. you look completely fucked out under him, crying out with each push of his hips.

your open your wet eyes and glance up at him. through wet lashes and blinking eyes, you get out a few words, stopped by each thrust.

“is it-” you gasp, words getting caught in your throat because andrew is so deep inside of you that you can feel him in your stomach and your chest. “is it what you imagined, andrew?”

“god, yes,” he says, and the sound is so perfect to you. it comes out broken, in the form of a gasp and a moan combined, and you want to hear it again and again. he says your name like it’s a prayer grounding him to you and you keep your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close to you and bringing him in for another kiss. you can feel andrew’s pace start to stutter, his moans getting louder and his grip on you getting tighter. you hold his face in your hands, locking eyes again.

“inside, andrew, please, i want it inside, please, please,” and again, andrew thinks to himself, like some besotted fool, who is he to deny you? he releases whatever inhibitions he had left and fills you up with his cum—rivulets almost never ending. it leaks out around his dick, messing up your sheets and staining your thighs and making a mess of everything. he hears your heavy breaths and looks to see you smiling sweetly up at him.

and then he collapses next to you.

“hi andrew,” you say quietly next to him. your hands go to his, playing with his fingers and running the pad of your thumb over the veins on his hand. “was it how you thought it’d be?”

“it was better,” he says, breathless. you giggle and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek—and for a moment, he forgets everything. the circumstances of your introduction and the way he’d discovered you long forgotten for a few heartbeats. just you and the sound of your laugh and the promise of the future he wants with you before him.

“there’s still some things i thought about that we didn’t get to yet,” you tease, and he wonders, briefly, what he’s going to do with you.

and then you two hear it—scratching at your closed bedroom door.

“oh god,” you say, sitting up in bed.

you groan a little since your thighs are sore and it’s a wet, sticky mess between them. andrew keeps his hand on your arm and helps you sit up, and joins you in the position, like he’s preparing to help if you need something.

“warden, stop,” you say, but he doesn’t listen. you turn to andrew. “i’m gonna get him.” you try to move your legs and put weight on them, but you feel your knees buckle immediately, with andrew rushing to your side to help you back into bed.

“oh my god. you broke me.”

“i’ll get him. just-just sit down.”

andrew opens the door and picks up your cat like it’s second nature, bringing him to you on the bed before getting in right beside you. your cat is sweet but there’s not many people over at your apartment, and you worry for a moment that he won’t be nice to andrew when he wants your attention. but wardy doesn’t move from his position, staying curled up again andrew’s chest and arm, completely at ease.

“he likes you. that makes sense,” you say, smiling up at him, leaning in to pet wardy’s head.

but andrew doesn’t understand.

“warden. i thought you said his name was wardy?”

“that’s just a nickname.”

“why warden?”

“oh well. it’s silly, um-”

“tell me.”

“well, uh. well, warden is just the letters in andrew. uh, rearranged.”

“oh.”

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, is that creepy? i was really projecting, i guess, when i got him. i just loved your letters so much and i’ve never had a boyfriend or anything like that-”

“do you think we should get married?”

thanks for reading! ♡

[brokenengene]

omgg congrats on 100 i’m glad to be one of ur followers ur work is amazing i was wondering if u could write smut with jake and him filming idc for the plot the combination js came to mind thank uuu

��� Tape Me - s.jy ☆

a/n: AHHHH this is so good! I hope you like it!!! <3

pairing: jake sim x fem reader

word count: 1.8k

genre: smut, y2k, established relationship

synopsis: It’s 2005 and your boyfriend finally paused his PS2 game so you can ride him. You bounce on him recording his fucked out face as he swears this isn't what the camcorder was for.

Content for readers 18+

content warning: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex(pls don’t) praise kink, consensual recording, dry humping, grinding riding, slight dom!reader, subby!jake energy, creampie, dorky jake, slight dirty talk

Tape Me

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

“Fuck you know those damn jeans drive me crazy,” Jake whispers as you straddle him on the bed.

His face is illuminated with hues of blue from the chunky television screen set up in the corner of his messy room. His goddamn PlayStation was messily hooked up to the grainy screen.

He finally paused his stupid game for you. The controller is somewhere tossed in the navy blue duvet covers. Finally giving you the attention you've been hinting at for hours.

It's confirmed. Your boyfriend is not the quickest at picking up hints

You grind your hips into his, a soft moan slipping from your perfectly glossed lips at the sensation. You reach down, popping the button of your lowrise jeans before pulling the zipper down.

"Jake you really aren't the best at picking up hints," you say with a weak chuckle as you lean in, gently capturing his lips with your own.

"If you wanted to fuck should've just told me..." Jake mumbles against your lips, his eyes half-lidded with desire as he kisses you messily again.

"Wanna fuck you Jake...let me ride this time?" You say breathlessly against his lips between messy kisses. Your hips still grinding into his, his hard bulge already straining against the zipper of his jeans.

"I would be an idiot to say no to that. God, you're so pretty.." Jake mumbles biting his lip as he pulls away from your mouth.

You sit up gently, your thighs still straddling his as you pull the thin fabric of your tank up and over your head. Jake watches with a stupid grin on his face.

He never gets tired of this.

You toss the fabric somewhere off the side of the bed, sitting up to give Jake a perfect view of your tits sitting perfectly in your bombshell bra with rhinestone straps.

His breath catches in his throat as his eyes linger on how the pink fabric contrasts gorgeously with your skin tone. His eyes linger lazily on how perfect it makes your tits look.

"You're killing me here—" Jake mumbles under his breath.

You let out a soft chuckle at his reaction before you lean back down, kissing him again with a satisfied moan. You suck gently on his bottom lip, causing his hips to jerk underneath you.

Jake whimpers as you gently part his lips with your own. Your tongue slips in briefly to taste him more. He's swiftly matching your energy, his tongue melting against your own.

Your hands fidget with the edge of his shirt. This time Jake takes the hint.

He lets out a soft groan as he reluctantly pulls his lips away from your own. Your lipgloss smeared across his swollen lips and down his chin.

He pulls his shirt up and over his head, revealing his toned muscles and porcelain skin beneath.

"Fuck" you curse under your breath at the sight. The warmth between your thighs only grows by the minute.

You can't wait for another second. You let your fingertips slip into the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down and over your hips in a swift motion. Your underwear is already damp as you toss it off the side of the bed.

Jake follows suit, his own jeans and boxers swiftly getting tossed aside. His cock springs free slapping against him. It's already hard and leaking with anticipation.

Jake lets out a sigh of relief as you lie back on top of him. The soft ringing of his CD player in the corner of his room cuts through the silence.

You gently rub against his hard cock, your wetness already providing a warm slip as the friction draws short breaths from both of you.

You bury yourself in the crook of his neck, the faint scent of his cologne lingering. Hollister.

"You seriously still wear Jake?" You tease as the familiar scent fills your senses. You gently place a gentle kiss on the soft skin of his neck.

"What makes it easy to remember which bottle I have when it's time to buy a new one," Jake says defensively.

"God you're so dorky. That's why I love you though." You say playfully in response. Your lips gently dragged against the pale skin of his neck, sucking on the sensitive skin to leave a faint mark.

Jake throws his head back, wincing through gritted teeth at the suction, his dark hair spread across the pillows.

You come up from his shoulder and that's when you notice it. A silver camcorder lying on his bedside table. Why on earth would he have that next to his bed?

"Jake, why do you have a camera by your bed?" You ask, brows furrowed with confusion. Your hips still grinding against his hard cock, wetness slipping between your bodies.

"Trust me it's not what you think," Jake says, his voice dropping an octave as he turns to look you in the eyes.

"What it's not like I've been filming myself—" Jake says weakly, his cheeks flushed a hot red telling you exactly what's been going on here.

"You little freak—always full of surprises." You say breath catching in your chest as you lean over, grabbing the silver camera off the bedside table.

Your brows furrow as you hold the camera, rotating it in your hands until you find the power button. You hit it once but the screen doesn't light up.

"Does this thing work—" You mutter under your breath as you smack the camera against your palm.

After a moment the screen lights up and so does your expression. You bite your lip as you look down at Jake. Heart beating fast in your chest.

You hit record.

You hold the camera in one hand and line his cock up with the other. Your thighs anchor yourself onto the mattress on either side of him as you notch his cock into your hole.

Jake's breath catches, his face flushed red from the feeling of your wetness on his aching cock. You smirk, pointing the camcorder straight at his face, catching every whimper as you sink down onto him with no warning.

Your grip on the camera tightens as you let him stretch you full. You let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of being completely stuffed full of his girthy cock.

"Smile for the camera Jake..." You tease as you slowly start to ride him. Hips dragging up his length before slamming back down onto him bouncing with a steady rhythm.

Jake's large hands find your hips as you ride, his hands loosely guiding you up and down. His cock drags against your walls deliciously every time you slide back down.

You focus the camera on his face, the scene enough to make you wetter as you watch him whimper and moan through the small screen. The marks you left on his neck only stir you on more.

Jake is a mess, moaning, cursing, gasping your name with every roll of your hips. Just how you like it, and you're catching it all on tape.

"Fuck... you're so perfect gonna make me come on film," Jake says with a soft chuckle of disbelief.

"Is this what you wanted? Me soaking your cock on tape?" You tease, your hand gently resting on his shoulder to give you a better angle to thrust.

"Holy—God I'm so in love with this, with you" Jake confesses for the camera.

You continue to record.

Jake moans, the soft flush across his cheeks, It's turning you on. Your body doesn't hide the signs.

You're soaking, wetness causing extra slip as you ride, dampening the navy sheets below.

Jake whimpers, his hips jerking beneath you as he starts to lose control.

"Shit. give me the fucking camera.." Jake stutters out breathlessly.

You comply. His warm hands brush against your own as he turns the lens towards you. The film still rolling.

"Take off your bra for me, wanna see all of your gorgeous body," Jake says breathlessly as he watches you through the mini screen of the grainy camcorder.

You comply, still rocking your hips against his as you reach behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it fall from your body.

Jake zooms the camera in on your tits as they drop free of their restraints. He bites his lip, completely focused on perfectly capturing this moment.

Your hands reach up to cup the weight of your tits. Jake zooms in, capturing the details of you feeling yourself up.

"Look at how pretty my girlfriend is—" Jake narrates as he drags the camera lens away from your tits to focus on your face. Sweat running across your brow, your makeup is smudged and lipgloss now nonexistent.

"She's gonna make me come, she's a little too good at it." Jake continues as he drags the camera from your face to focus on where your bodies are joined.

"You gonna fill me up while the camera's rolling Jake?" You say as you pick up the pace, thighs burning as you ride him harder and harder.

Jake lets out a deep groan, his grip on the camera slipping for a moment as you pick up the pace. He keeps the camera focused on your wet pussy slamming down on his cock over and over again.

"Gonna fill you up so full—" Jake says as he's cut off with a shaky breath. His hips lift off the mattress, thrusting into you in time with your movements.

His cock drags against your walls deliciously. You curse and whimper as the warmth knots in your stomach. Your thighs shake as drive yourself close and closer to the edge.

"Fuck you're close, aren't you? You're squeezing me so good." Jake mumbles as he zooms in even more.

Your hand finds his free one, gently lacing your fingertips with his before you pin his hand down to the mattress. Your hips move faster with perfect rhythm, chasing your own release.

"Come with me Jake, for the tape." You say completely breathless.

"Three" Jake says, his voice a strained whisper as he twitches inside of you.

"Two," You say with a shameless grin, your thighs aching as you pulse around his invading length.

"One," You say together as you both let go.

You grip his hand tight as you slam down onto him one last time, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Hot release coats his cock as you ride out on top of him.

Jake buries himself deep inside you as he spills his load. Hot cum painting the inside of your pussy with delicious warmth. He lets out a soft sigh as he gently rocks into you, making sure not to spill a single drop.

"Goddamn, that was—" Jake whispered huskily, his attention shifting back to the camera in his hand as it beeps again.

His brows furrow as the camera beeps again before the screen goes completely black.

It flashes back an image.

**Battery Dead**

© brokenengene

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

Drinks And Threesomes

requested?: no pairing(s): john 'soap mactavish x afab!reader x smon 'ghost' riley genre: smut warning(s): threesome, smut, unprotected sex, reader is a virgin, oral (f&m recieving) doggy style, probably the best ever aftercare which has ever been written on this blog, masterbation, fingering, overstimulation, spanking (ass and pussy), orgasm denial, slightly oc!reader (she has a cat, change it if you want), simon not being a cat person (he calls reader's cat a rat), a LOT of mentions about sex before it acc happens, reader is rlly living the y/n life icl, dom!simon, dom!johnny, sub!reader, light choking, lap dancing (soap gets a lap dance from reader), breast-play, dry humping, kinda pervy characters icl, mentions of porn, johnny whimpers like once, reader is insecure about how her titties sit (dont be insecure about them my loves, you are all perfect), finger sucking, degredation, praise at the end, not proof-read (i was writing this at 1am and posted it today), hair pulling, squirting summary: 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 word count: 5.1k (i cooked bro) a/n: first ever threesome on this blog and the longest fic i have written thus far. remember to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! -Cilla (p.s. i ate this up)

it was another sunday, the night before you went back on deployment with the rest of tf141. you were excited, but albeit nervous. price had debriefed you all and told you it would be an especially hard mission. he hadn’t told you what the goal was or what you would be doing while you were gone.

since it was so close to deployment time, you were all cutting down on alcohol since you all wanted to stay healthy. it was a tradition at this point for you, ghost and soap to go out for mocktails and a meal. simon went begrudgingly, only because you and johnny had begged him oh-so nicely to go with you both. he didn’t know why he agreed, but as much as he acted like he didn’t, he did enjoy being there with you both.

today was like no other, you were all laughing over drinks with no alcohol and the best burgers you had ever had in all of your lives put together. but this time, johnny was going on about a recent rendezvous he had with a woman a few nights prior. he was going into a lot of detail for someone who was usually so secret about his love and sex life.

as he was talking about the things he had done to her (eating her out, fucking her in doggy, etc) something twisted in your gut. you felt jealous, but also something else. you didn’t know how you felt, but one thing you certainly felt was jealousy. you squirmed in your seat as you chewed on the straw of your finished drink.

simon was an observant man. and he was also sitting next to you. he had seen you squirming in your seat, and he was definitely smirking under that stupid ghost mask he always wore. however, johnny didn’t realise how… ‘uncomfortable’ you were getting. he kept talking about what he had done to her, and god was it filthy.

you had always found johnny and simon rather attractive, especially since you had always seen them on duty, their big arms holding the guns they could very much end a life with. they could bith very much end lives with how massive their biceps were, and sometimes they did. you wondered sometimes what it would be like if they squished you in-between their biceps, how it would feel when you slept on them, how it would feel when you bit into them due to the immense pleasure they were giving you.

you saw almost every part of them. their chests, their abs, their v-lines, their massive biceps, their happy trails, every part of them. you saw them shirtless every single time you were laying low at a safe house during a mission. you went practically crazy every time, and almost every time, you ended up with your hands stuffed inside of your panties. you were never able to come from it. you needed more than just your nimble fingers playing with your clit.

you were broken out of your daydream when you felt a nudge. simon was looking down at you from where he sat. you were now slightly slumped in your chair, johnny still hadn’t stopped ranting about his one night stand with the girl he didn’t remember the name of.

“you alrigh’ lovie?” he asks gruffly, his chest moving with every word, you watched it move. his eyes squinted as you did so. he was either grinning or his brows were furrowed, either one would still make him look hot. you had only seen him without his mask once.

you remember it clearly. he was getting dressed after a shower. his mask was off as he didn’t expect anyone to walk into the room unannounced. you walked in as you had just gotten to the safe house after being separated on the mission. you were wanting to ask him what he thought about the choice johnny had made for dinner that night when you saw he had no mask on. your mouth fell completely open. you stood there and stared at him for a good few minutes before he finally snapped you out of your daze.

“like what you see, lovie?” he asked. and god, you did. his blue eyes, pale lashes. god, he looked amazing. you couldn’t even speak. and you didn’t.

you stood there and gawked until you heard soap bounding up the stairs. simon put his mask back on, though he still remained shirtless. you had your phone still in your hand, although it had turned off god knows how long ago.

“wha’s takin’ so long, bon? are we gettin’ a chippy or not simon, I fancy a kebab so it better be a yes” soap stood next to you in the doorway. you and simon stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer, sharing something of understanding.

“lovie was just giving me ideas on what to order” johnny obviously took that to his advantage and began to talk about what was the best things to get from a chip shop.

eventually you had all come to a conclusion on what you wanted, and simon offered to go out and get the chippy. obviously, you wouldn’t forget what happened with johnny after that.

simon snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, bringing you back to the covert of the pub. you had all finished eating a while ago, and you just continued to chew on the plastic (shocker) straw of your mocktail.

“you alrigh’ bon? you’re very quiet tonight” soap observed (another shocker). you didn’t say anything and only nodded. he furrowed his brows, “ye sure, bon, you would’ve usually chewed my head off abou’ worrying about you by now” he asks, his tone slightly teasing.

“i’m fine, really, just thinking about what i’m gonna do when i get home tonight” it was a white lie. you were wet and you knew it, but you refrained from rubbing your thighs together as you felt it would make it a lot more obvious.

“are ya not gonna be a crazy cat lady when you get home?” he teases. you glare at him.

“i have one cat. one. besides, he’s in the catery for a while until i get back from deployment” you say, putting your empty mocktail glass down on the table in front of you. you fold your arms.

“wow, never woulda thought you would put that rat somewhere where he would be away from you for a long time” simon chuckles, you thwack his arm.

“i’m not gonna leave him for however many weeks without being looked after by someone nice” you defend “and he’s not a rat” you add pointedly.

“alrigh’ bon, enough abou’ the cat. what are you doing tonight?” soap interjected.

“dunno, probably just watch a movie. or a kids show to make me feel better about the fact we’ll be going god knows where doing god knows what for around a month” you speak, and as you finished, you looked down at where your hands were in your lap. you started picking at the skin around your nail.

simon discreetly placed a hand over your knee, stopping it from bouncing. you smiled appreciatively.

“how’s abou’ you come stay with me and simon for the night, bon? we was goin’ to stay together tonight anyway since we can jus’ get up and go tomorrow mornin’ it would be no trouble if you decided to stay. really bon” his voice started off uncertain, but by the time he reached the end of it, it sounded like he was pleading you.

“i would, really, i would, but my bag is at my house and i-“ soap cuts you off.

“we can go get it before we go over to mine. bon, i know you’re worried about the mission and what better stress relief than to stay with your best friends in the whole world” he says with that massive shit-eating grin on his face.

“i’m not sure simon is my best friend. especially not after he called dusty a rat” you say with a small smile after thinking for a couple of minutes. simon pats your hand that he was still sort-of holding.

“well, i didn’ hear a ‘no,’ did you, simon?” he turns to the man with the mask.

“i didn’ either, johnny” your smile got wider at the response simon gave.

“well, its sorted then, sleepover!” johnny cheers louder than he probably should have for a middle-aged military man. luckily, people were to engrossed in their own conversations to nosey over at your conversation.

you didn’t realise when, but somehow the bill had come over, you thought maybe simon had called it over while you were talking with johnny about your ‘sleepover’. but before you even tried to open your purse to pay your share of the bill, simon grabbed it and put it back into your bag. you furrowed your brows.

“what good gentlemen would we be if we didn’ pay the bill for our little bon?” soap spoke up, placing some cash on the bill, simon followed suit and put some more cash on the bill. both of them out on more than enough to cover everyone’s food and at least a twenty pound tip.

“home time” simon says as he gets up. you grabbed your bag before following behind the two men who were walking in a single-file line.

you eventually got back to soap’s car. you sat in the back while the two large men piled into the front and johnny started driving. it wasn’t long before you were back at your house, asking before you left the car if there was anything else you should bring with you other than your bag.

“only those nice little brownies you make, bonnie” you smile softly and jog towards your house, unlocking the door and going to the kitchen, grabbing a small plastic box and putting the rest of the brownies you had made inside of it. you grabbed your pink duffle you left by the door. you locked the door and made your way back to johnny’s car. both of the men were staring intently as you made your way back.

you got into the back of the car and rested the box of brownies on the seat next to you, johnny turned back and grinned at you.

“the best bon in the whole world” he grinned before turning his head back on the road and drove to his house. it was fairly far away from your house, and you had always been someone who was quickly able to fall asleep in cars.

you fell asleep fairly quick, and you had a weird dream. or rather, maybe you could call it a flashback.

the night simon left for the chippy that johnny had pre-ordered (you all chipped in with the bill, well, you tried to. they didn’t want your money even when you insisted), you were sat on the counter in the kitchen. you were sat sipping on some lemonade in nothing but johnny’s oversized tee and some skimpy knickers when johnny walked into the kitchen.

your legs were in the way of the cabinet johnny needed to get to in order to get to the non-alcoholic drinks you had stored. but instead of being a normal person and asking you if you could move your legs so he could get a drink, he spread them.

but then again, it was johnny, what did you expect? you were flushed when johnny patted your thigh and said a small, ‘thanks bon’ before he left to go drink his drink in the lounge. you never forgot about that, especially that night when your slipped your hand into your panties and failed to make yourself come for the umpteenth time in your life.

you only woke up when you were in someone’s arms, your cheek pressed against that someone’s chest. you opened your eyes and looked up at who is was. you were met with a ghost mask and concentrated eyes, not looking at you, but the way forwards. you closed your eyes again and squished your cheek more against simon’s chest.

soon, you were layed down on what you assumed was johnny’s sofa. you pretended to be asleep for a little while longer until you heard the tv turn on. it was a random tv show that was on way past a child’s bed time, and because they still thought you were asleep, it was on a very low volume. you opened your eyes and peeked at what tv show it was.

you eventually got engrossed in the tv and was fully awake watching it. you assumed the two other men knew you were awake, but your assumptions were wrong when they started talking. about you.

“simon?” johnny asked, simon grunted gruffly in response, “why’d bon get so quiet after i started talking about having sex with that lass?” he was so ignorant it almost hurt, simon shot him a sideways glance.

“maybe because she wanted to be in her place” simon shrugged. you were already rigid, but somehow you managed to become more stiff.

“what? i always though’ bon wan’ed to have sex with you. that’s why i laid off off her” you almost rolled your eyes at his foolishness. almost.

simon looked over at you. that’s when you knew you were busted.

“mornin’ lovie” simon drawled. you gulped as you took in how he was sat. legs spread, an obvious tent in his pants. since simon was fairly comfortable with you and johnny, he also didn’t have his mask on. you could see how his face darkened when he took in that you were fully awake.

you sat up and stretched.

“is it true?” johnny spoke up from where he was sat. his ankle was resting on his other knee, his large bicep laying along the back of the sofa, letting his elbow downwards dangle from the back of the chair.

“is what true?” you tried to play innocent.

“oh, come on, bon. don’t try to be all innocent. did you want to be in her place? the girl i was fucking” he said it so plainly, so seriously that you flushed red and shuffled where you were sat.

“does it matter?” you ask, avoiding both men’s gazes and instead looking and fiddling with your fingers.

you were so busy playing with your own fingers that you didn’t realise that someone else’s had begun to lift your chin. the two men stood directly in front of you, making you have to crane your head fully to look up at them.

“yes, it does” simon said gruffly.

“because we can make it happen if you wan’ us to fuck you, bon” johnny husks. it was his fingers that had lifted your chin, and they were beginning to trail down to your neck.

“we can fuck you good. make you cum all over our fingers, faces and cocks- so good you won’t want to be fucked by anyone else after we’ve done with you” simon lusts next to him.

you squeeze your eyes shut. they didn’t know you were still a virgin, you never shared anything about your sex life, not to anyone. it was now or never to tell them, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“i’m a virgin” you practically squeak, and when you opened your eyes again, looking up at the two men in front of you through your lashes, they were well and truly gone. well, mentally.

“oh fuck” johnny almost moans, “you tellin’ me that tigh’ little pussy hasn’t been fucked by anyone? haven’t even made yerself come?”

“i’ve tried, but it never worked” you say shyly, a faint blush creeping up your neck, painting your ears and cheeks a shade of light-ish red.

“what did you think about when you tried, lovie?” simon spoke up.

“you two” you blush harder, the light red now turning almost a wine-red colour.

“oh fuck” this time johnny did moan, the bulge in his cargo pants becoming more and more prominent. “you know how to lap dance, bon?” it was an unexpected question, so unexpected that you thought you turned redder, if that was even possible.

you didn’t trust yourself with words, you knew you would just become a stuttering and stumbling mess, so you let yourself shake your head.

“tha’s alrigh’ lovie, johnny‘ll show you” simon drawled.

as johnny sat down, you were practically hauled onto his lap by simon. johnny’s hands instantly found your hips, kneading, squeezing and guiding. out of your peripheral, you saw simon sit down not that far away from where the both of you were sat, having a clear picture of the two of you. johnny dragged your hips down until your barely clothed pussy came into contact with his bulge. you gasped and your hips jerked, but they jerked downwards, applying more pressure down onto his clothed cock.

“oh fuck, bon, yer makin’ me so hard” he rasps from beneath you. letting his head fall onto the back of the couch, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

he continued to move your hips, moving them in a circular motion. you were now wishing you had worn better panties instead of your skimpy light pink thong. at least they made your ass look good.

you glanced over at simon, which proved to not be a good idea at all. he was palming himself with a look in his eyes, watching the both of you with the darkest most lustful look in his eyes. it made your stomach flutter, hips stutter, but your stomach burn with confidence. johnny’s hand was now travelling up your body to your breasts. he was now watching you too, hypnotised, transfixed.

he gave you a look when his hand hovered above your breast. you nodded and he instantly began fondling with it. grasping, pulling, pinching. you were out of your mind, and with your new-found confidence? you felt almost unstoppable.

you took control, guiding your hips in a seductive way, wiggling them, grinding down on johnny with such force he actually whimpered. your ego was growing within the second. johnny’s other hand began to also travel up your body, and when your thought he was going to play with your other tit, he kept moving it upwards, around the collum of your throat. he squeezed slightly, not enough to cut off your oxygen all together, but enough to make a statement.

you continued to grind against johnny’s cock. at some point, you even threw your head back for dramatic effect.

that was until you were hoisted up over someone’s shoulder, your ass given a small slap when you instinctively kick. it was simon. you could tell by the blond hair. you looked up and saw that johnny was following and that simon was taking you upstairs.

you didn’t know where you were until simon threw you down onto what you knew had to be a mattress. nobody moved for a few seconds until you spoke up.

“what’re we doing up here?” you barely had time to get your words out before someone’s mouth was on yours. you instantly melted into it, tugging whoever’s hair that was kissing you. soon enough, your mouth was pulled away from the mystery person’s and another mouth was placed on yours. you couldn’t tell, but you had a sneaking suspicion you were kissing simon first before johnny wanted a turn.

who you thought was simon began to kiss down your body until he needed to pull the sundress you had on, off. johnny (you think) helped pull off the sundress before reaching over to the nighstand and turning on a lamp so everyone could see better. your suspicions were right when you looked up and saw johnny hovering over you with red lips and simon was down in-between your thighs.

“oh fuck” this time it was simon’s turn to groan. “these panties are the best fucking thing i’ve ever seen on you, lovie” he said lowly, kissing the inside of your thighs, wrapping his arms around them, “gonna keep these on while i make out with this pretty cunt, okay lovie?” johnny was watching the whole exchange before looking down at your panties.

you saw his eyes close and he took a deep breath, very clearly fighting the urge to take over from simon and ravage you until you were begging for him to stop. luckily, you didn’t have to wait much longer after a comment simon made about being drenched that its soaked through your panties before he moved the thin pink fabric aside, spread your legs and put his mouth on you.

he licked a large stripe up your cunt. from your hole to your clit, giving his tongue a flick when it got there. your hips jolted and hands flew to simon’s hair as he did so, a silent prayer, urging him to keep going. you honestly barely paid any attention to the fact that you were almost fully naked in front of the two men until johnny started suckling on one of your tits. you didn’t like the way your tits sat.

you had watched porn, obviously, you were curious. and whenever you saw a female’s tits, they always sat so nicely. yours didn’t, and you felt insecure about it. simon never stopped devouring you, not listening to the conversation you and johnny were having and instead focusing on making you feel good, plunging a couple of fingers in occasionally and scissoring them as well as curling them into a really good place.

“i- oh fuck- i know they don’t sit nicely-“ johnny looked up at you as you spoke, never disconnecting his lips from your nipple, but he looked at you curiously. “they don’t sit as nicely as other girls’ tits do- i don’t like how they sit-oh fuck, simon keep going”

“no, simon, don’t keep going” johnny sat up with furrowed brows. simon stopped sucking your clit with a wet pop.

“you should taste her johnny, so sweet” simon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sucking on the fingers he had just taken out of you.

“how do you think her tits look?” johnny asks, staring down at you intently. you try to sit up, but johnny placing his hand on your throat stopped you. you laid back down.

“they look perfect, why?”

“she doesn’t think they do”

simons eyes widen, you sigh.

you were then lifted up, turned around and forced on your hands and knees.

“simon, you fuck ‘er mouth. make sure she swallows and makes you come before she gets to. keep ‘er quiet from saying absolute bullshi’” you try to protest, but before you could even make a sound, simon’s cock was shoved down your throat.

he groans and keeps your head steady while he made sure you weren’t going to gag anymore. johnny then leaned down and ripped your panties straight off, discarding them somewhere in the room.

“they were my favourite panties” simon says through a groan as you took him deeper into your mouth.

“you never saw her in any others” johnny says pointedly before leaning down for his mouth to become level with your cunt.

“they were still my favourite” you moan around simon’s cock as johnny shoved his full face into your pussy, thrusting his tongue inside of you, hitting all the right places that make you moan and gasp around simon’s cock, making him pull your hair and groan back.

you didn’t know how long it would take to make simon come, but you knew by how johnny decided to make him fuck your mouth, he would last a while. johnny had already denied you an orgasm three times and you were beginning to feel hopeless.

and he did, every time you began to feel some kind of knot forming in your stomach, it would simmer away simply because johnny took his mouth away as his best mate hadn’t come in your mouth yet. simon gave you little to no warning when he was about to come.

the thrusting into your mouth became shallow and sloppy, you thought he was close, and he was. simon came with a low groan, spilling every little drop into your mouth. you swallowed instantly, since you knew johnny said if you swallowed and made him come that you could come.

simon pulled his cock out of your mouth, prying your mouth open with his fingers, looking to make sure you had swallowed every drop.

“how did it taste?” simon asks lowly, johnny was behind you, slowly rubbing circles on your clit.

“salty” you reply softly, almost gagging as simon shoved his fingers down your throat.

“she can come now” simon agreed along with johnny.

johnny got back to it, licking your clit, sucking and teasing, all the while, simon had his fingers in your mouth, making you such and gag on them. luckily, it didn’t take long before you felt the coil beginning to tighten in your lower stomach you felt unreal as you let go.

you let out an outright pornographic moan as you came on johnny’s tongue. your saliva dripped down simon’s hand, your legs were shaking as you came, your first ever orgasm.

when you came down from your high, you didn’t have long to adjust to being back before a cock was nudging at your hole.

“can i fuck you while johnny fucks your little mouth? please lovie, need to feel you wrap around my cock so well” simon practically begs.

“yes-oh please fuck me” you practically spread your legs a little, the two men chuckle as you do so.

you didn’t look down at simon’s cock as it entered your hole. it was full, and it burned as it stretched you out, johnny also gave you a couple of seconds before he opened your mouth, letting you take his cock into your mouth. you gagged as it hit the back of your throat. it was definitely big. like simon’s.

simon didn’t move until you were ready. you nodded slightly, moving johnny’s cock further into your mouth. you gagged, but it soon turned into a moan when simon slid his cock almost entirely out of your hole before slamming it back inside, making you take more of johnny’s cock into your mouth.

“oh god” you moan around johnny’s cock.

“not god, just simon and johnny, lovie” simon retorted.

“shouldn’ talk with yer mouth open, bon. ‘s not very polite” the scot pipes up.

“you’re right, johnny. maybe we should teach our girl some manners” simon coos, running a hand lightly down your back before slapping your ass harshly.

you yelped and jolted forwards onto the cock in your mouth, you barely had time to recover before you felt a hand come down on your clit. you were still sensitive from before, so you squeaked and your hips jolted away from the man who had just slapped your pussy.

you felt a few more spanks on your pussy and ass. each one as unexpected as the others before simon began to piston his cock in and out of your hole. your pussy was tight around his cock, he told you so. as did the squelching noises in the room. you were moaning, drooling, whining and completely in bliss as you tried to make johnny feel good.

“oh, just like tha’ bon” johnny moans out, gripping your hair when you did something right. you didn’t know what, so you let johnny take more of the lead.

they both moved in tandem, the only thing you were doing was making pathetic little noises, as well as occasionally bringing a hand up to cup and massage johnny’s balls.

you didn’t know how much longer you could last, especially not when simon had then reached forwards and began to fondle with your clit with his ring and middle finger. the lewd squelching sounds were bouncing off of the walls of the house. it was times like theses where you were happy that johnny lived in a semi-detached house so his neighbours would not have to look at you differently.

you couldn’t give any warning about your oncoming orgasm, partly because you didn’t know it was about to happen yourself. but before you knew it, you had screamed out, the sound muffled by johnny’s cock, but still loud enough that the two men had heard.

you were coming down from your high when you felt liquid dripping down both of your thighs. you were completely soaked, and you could say the same for the bed sheets.

“so pretty, lovie, so fucking pretty. squirting around my cock like that for me? oh i’m gonna fucking come, you’re so fucking pretty with your juices dripping down your thighs like a dirty little slut, oh, you fucking like that, don’t you?” simon’s thrusts were growing more sloppy, but harder at the same time, working you through your orgasm. “i’m gonna come, gonna come all over this pussy, paint it with my come-oh fuck, i’m coming” simon says through gritted teeth.

“oh i’m coming too- fuck, gonna swallow my come, paint your mouth all white with it- oh fuck” both men tensed around the same time, simon pulling out and spraying his come all over your pussy, whereas johnny came down your throat.

you eagerly swallowed again, it was almost the same taste as simon’s, but a bit different.

when you all caught your breath, johnny spoke up first.

“shower?” simon nodded and so did you.

both men helped you onto your feet and helped you to the bathroom. since johnny didn’t have a bath in any of his bathrooms (crazy, right?) you had to make do with a shower.

both men helped you stay upright as they both cleaned you, johnny wiping your cunt in order to keep it clean while simon washed your hair. you then cleaned the two men off, and got out of the shower.

the men let you have your privacy while you peed (you read it somewhere, don’t judge a girl, it’s what you’re meant to do, okay?) and they changed the bed due to your most recent orgasm, and simon’s.

and then, you were all comfortable in bed, your head resting against simon’s chest. you were laying on your side as johnny cuddled you from behind.

“that was good” you whisper with a yawn.

“yeah? who was better, me or simon?” johnny asked jokingly, kissing your shoulder. simon shot him a glare and instinctively pulled you closer. “oh come on, we know it was me. i gave her first ever orgasm”

“i made her squirt” simon adds pointedly.

the scot went in a huff, but still held you anyways, you didn’t hear them bickering, you were already asleep and off in dreamland where scots and englishmen weren’t fighting over who was better at fucking you.

[ashthesalamipiece]

This might be a bit specific but I’d like to request a fic where reader and Bakugou have twin boys who are already teenagers in like high school age (they can have more if you want, but these two are the oldest ones) where one of them does nicely academically, behaves properly, never disobeys his parents and the other —who’s the younger twin— is the complete opposite, basically a teenage Bakugou who likes to revolt and worry his mom and dad.

Anyway, it would go something like this; it’s like in the middle of a school night, maybe 2 to 3pm and reader feels like something is wrong and goes to check on her children finding out that the younger twin sneaked out. She wakes Bakugou up and they wait for him while he tries to calm her worries down. When he gets home they bicker until it turns into a full argument, both guys are screaming at each other and the son lets something out about how he thinks reader is not a good mother, that he hates her and that she favors his brother more (something like that) she has to hold her husband down for him not to jump on their kid and he runs to his room, she calms the man down and goes to talk to her boy and they talk, even with him being reluctant at first he apologizes and things turn out fine, but he was kind of an asshole still so she can’t help but cry when it’s just her and Bakugou.

I’m so sorry if this is too much I just needed to get it out of my mind, it will be totally fine if you prefer to ignore this love your writing💕

Thank you so much♡

enjoy♡

"We’re Still Learning"

Bakugou x Reader | Family Drama | Angst & Comfort | Long One-Shot

It was 2:46 AM when you woke up, heart pounding for no clear reason.

You sat up in bed, eyes scanning the dark room. Katsuki slept beside you, one arm stretched across your side protectively, his face soft in sleep — a rare sight. But something gnawed at your chest. An itch in your ribs. A mother’s instinct.

You slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded down the hallway. First stop: the twins’ room.

The older one, Haru, was sound asleep, arm flung over his head, mouth slightly open. But the other bed — Kaito’s — was empty.

Blankets pulled back. Window slightly cracked.

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed back into the room and shook Katsuki awake. “Katsuki—wake up.”

He jolted up immediately, eyes sharp even in half-sleep. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Kaito’s gone.”

It only took two words.

He was out of bed in seconds, tugging on a hoodie, checking the hallway, the back door, the garage. You called his phone. No answer.

“God, what if something happened to him—what if he’s out with those older kids again—”

“Oi, stop,” Bakugou growled gently, grabbing your shoulders. “Breathe, baby. We’ll wait. He’ll come back. You know he always does.”

But your mind spiraled. Kaito had been distant lately. Angry. Cold. He snapped more. He was only fifteen, but it felt like he carried the weight of the world on his back and refused to let anyone help.

You sat on the couch, fingers twisted in your shirt. Katsuki sat beside you, holding your hand, his grip steady but firm.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” you whispered.

“Tch. Don’t start blamin’ yourself for his shit. We’re doin’ our best.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at the clock.

3:38 AM.

The front door creaked open.

Kaito stepped inside, hoodie up, earbuds in, expression hard.

You shot to your feet. “Kaito—!”

“Don’t start,” he muttered, brushing past you.

Bakugou’s voice cracked through the room like thunder. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Out.”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat. Do you know what time it is?! Your mom's been losin’ it over here!”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Kaito said, loud. “It’s not like she actually listens when I’m here anyway.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You only care about Haru. You always have,” he snapped, voice rising. “He gets better grades, he talks more, he’s easier, right? So why would you ever wanna deal with me?”

“What?! Kaito—”

“I hate coming home to this! I hate how you look at me like I’m always the problem!”

Bakugou surged forward, voice like a war drum. “You don’t talk to her like that—”

“Or what?!” Kaito shouted back, stepping toward him. “You’ll hit me?! Do it! Just get it over with!”

“Katsuki—!” You grabbed your husband around the waist, stopping him before he lunged. His muscles were coiled, trembling with restraint, jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.

“Let me go,” he growled.

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t be that kind of father.”

Kaito’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in challenge. But when he realized you weren’t letting go, that Katsuki wasn’t going to blow, he scoffed and turned on his heel.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I should’ve stayed gone.”

He slammed the door behind him.

---

Ten minutes passed before Katsuki finally moved. He sat down hard on the couch, hands on his knees, breathing heavy. You knelt in front of him, touching his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No. I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I almost lost it. He said that shit about you and I just—”

You kissed his knuckles. “I know. You were protecting me. But he’s hurting. I need to go talk to him.”

“I don’t know how you’re so calm.”

“I’m not,” you said, standing. “But I’m his mom. If I fall apart, he’ll never learn how to put himself back together.”

---

You knocked softly before entering Kaito’s room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring at the floor.

“Can I come in?”

Shrug.

You walked in anyway.

Silence.

“I don’t love Haru more,” you said quietly. “I love you both. Differently. Equally. But I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.”

He scoffed. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” you said, kneeling in front of him. “You said you hate me.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He stayed quiet for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he muttered eventually. “I just… I always feel like I’m messing up. And you’re always disappointed. Even when you’re not saying anything, it’s just… there. In your face.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Kaito, I’m not disappointed in you. I’m scared. Because I see you pulling away and I don’t know how to reach you.”

His eyes welled up. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

He wiped his face angrily with his sleeve. “I don’t know how to not be angry all the time.”

Your heart shattered. “You’re allowed to feel angry. But you’re not allowed to use that anger to hurt the people who love you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I feel so lost.”

You wrapped your arms around him, and for a moment, he let himself be held.

“I’ve got you,” you said. “We’ve got you. Even when you’re lost.”

---

Later, when the house was quiet again, you crawled back into bed beside Katsuki. He was awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“How is he?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Better. Still angry. Still hurt. But… he apologized.”

He turned toward you, pulling you into his chest. “You’re too good at this,” he mumbled.

You didn’t answer.

Because the moment his arms wrapped around you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled. You buried your face in his shirt and cried quietly—out of relief, exhaustion, and heartbreak.

Katsuki stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re not perfect,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

He held you tighter. “None of us do. But we’re not quittin’. Ever.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the night settling over you both, you realized something: being a parent didn’t mean having all the answers. It just meant loving your kids enough to keep showing up.

Even when it’s 3 AM.

Even when it hurts.

Even when they say they hate you.

You’d still be there.

Always.

[poofmagictrick]

Thoughts on TADC episode 5

ITS FINALLY HERE. This episode was genuinely soooo worth the wait!! Before the episode drop, I've been theorizing and commenting on what this episode will lead to. So glad to see that goose's writing exceeded my expectations, she did a great job developing mainly jax and ragatha this episode. On that note, THEIR DYNAMIC IS STARTING TO REVEAL ITSELF AND I WAS SO HAPPY WATCHING IT UNFOLD AND DEVELOP THROUGHOUT THE EPISODE AAA

In the episode, Jax seems to warm up to Pomni throughout the whole episode which a lot of people including myself were spot on about that. Jax starts to chill around Pomni and make jokes, not being the usual mean jerk everyone thinks of him as.

Although that adventure was shorter compared to the other adventures cramped together, it stands out so much in terms of character moments for Jax and Ragatha. When Ragatha whispers "not anymore," and the way jax looks at her like she had the audacity to talk.

I theorise that next episode they'll possibly explain what happened to Jax's friend. Not sure if during the intermission time, the door Jax stops at of an ex circus member was possibly his close friends but I can't wait until we get told more about that!!

Anyways, another scene that stood out to me was the bar scene (fooled us all into thinking it was a mafia adventure lol). Where Jax ACTUALLY apologises to Pomni of all members for what he did today. Pomni is taken aback by this similarly to episode 4, the Spudsy's adventure, where it was the 1st time we see them talk 1on1. (Can I just mention I'm so glad we get to see more of Zooble too tho?!? They're able to do something that they once enjoyed in their past life too!). Now the highlight and I'm sure everyone and their mother will be talking about this is the massive lore drop of each of the circus members past lives before being transported to the circus! Except for Kinger and Gangle who we've known have mentioned briefly about what they've done. But I mainly wanna focus on Ragatha's past life and how it ties into her general behavior.

Ok bear with me here cuz I'm gonna ramble endlessly about it lol. So Ragatha mentions having grown up in a financially stable family who owned livestock (which could be a huge farm that's well known which may be why they're fairly well-off). The moment she started to talk about her mother who verbally abused her and guilt tripped her back then, her body starts to tense up. God knows what kind of abuse besides verbal did her mother do to her as it's shown she clearly didn't enjoy remembering it all and even the other circus members including who jax looked really concerned for her.

I related to her so much in this scene because of this, when you grow up with a parent who guilt tripped, verbally abused you, one of the many ways you would cope is to vow to never be like that and be nothing like what your parents were before. So you try to be the opposite of them. While there is nothing wrong with wanting to be diff and prevent yourself from becoming just like your parents, but being nice may not always make you genuine to other people. It's just like what Jax and Gangle have mentioned about Ragatha that she tries too hard to hard and when you tell people they're loved and what not it loses its meaning. When you keep saying these things to people its hard to tell if they're being genuine.

They're probably the only ones to have been the most aware of this coping mechanism that Ragatha uses as a way to cope with the trauma of her verbally abusive mother. Ragatha doesn't know how to connect with the other circus members, so to do that she tries to be nice by helping them, encouraging and many other things. It's kinda like she's almost giving them so much of her love she's afraid they'll stop talking to her the moment she stops being all nice and loving to them. In fact, later in the softball adventure when Ragatha gets to sit together with pomni and have the 3rd (?) heart to heart talk scene in thsi entire episode, Pomni tells her "It's ok to let out your negative emotions sometimes and we all kinda have to be a jerk sometimes."

But Ragatha doesn't want to be like that because it likely just makes her be reminded of her mother back in her past life.

People like Ragatha who tend to be nice to everyone ends up being extremely lonely despite that. But it's kinda sad because ultimately she just wants someone to be close with and connect with someone. She tried with Gangle, possibly Zooble, Jax even though she hates him, Kinger and now Pomni. One could probably say Pomni is aware that Ragatha is tryna warm up to her and get her to be her friend but the way Ragatha and Pomni interact is pretty distant. While Jax the whole epsiode laughs with Pomni and even opens up with her.

I'm gonna credit @zoshizick for this point they made where they theorise Jax and Ragatha will be fighting for Pomni like a toy they want so badly. Not in a romantic sense, but both R&J are incredibly lonely people and just want someone to talk to. That's when the new girl (Pomni) comes into the picture and they both are so desperate to win her attention. For instance in the bar scene when Jax grabs Pomni and says obnoxiously "WOW, the first steps of a budding friendship. Right Ragatha." As if to purposefully annoy her and of course she looks at him like she's about to explode.

I wanna add on and say that Jax and Ragatha know that they hate each other but don't want to admit that they are both two sides of the same coin. It makes their character all the more deeper and complex cuz really who would they both fight for to be their friend? Zooble? She's distant with everybody except for Gangle but they're both already friends so nope. Gangle? She gets bullied by Jax and doesn't like him and she's kinda friends with Ragatha? but she's with her likely because rags defends Gangle from Jax. Kinger? Jax isn't that close with Kinger and just thinks of him as weird and Ragatha is fine with him but wouldn't seem like someone she would open up to like Kinger doesn't remember what they were even talking about 1 second ago unless in darkness. That leaves Pomni, the neutral person in the whole circus who hasn't made any connections yet. I think the next episode will raise the stakes with R&J's cold war of winning Pomni's friendship. While Ragatha does hates Jax, I don't think Jax really hates Ragatha all that much just probs want her to be herself more. Possibly even wanting to get to know her cuz they're not as lonely as they realise they are, just that they refuse to talk it out is all.

I think that's all I gotta say and amazing work from the team, animators and other people who worked on the episode!! I hope ya'll can understand by endless rambling about all of this as I was super hyped about the episode and the day it dropped although a day late to the party haha. Gosh my hands are in pain from typing this long.

[undyingdecay]

first of all i wanna say i love your bob content so much, i eat it up every time like a nice dinner. second of all, could you please write some vampire bob? i need it more than air 😔🙏

first of all — he’s pitiful. like yeah sure, he’s technically immortal, technically stronger than you, technically something to be feared, but he’s bob. he’s still bob. which means he’s soft-spoken, wide-eyed, a little awkward, and way too eager to please. the kind of vampire who was probably turned in some dark alley a century ago by someone who didn’t stick around to teach him shit, so he fumbles through it the best he can. reads books about it. watches movies.

and when he’s hungry? it’s not suave, it’s not cool, it’s not predatory — it’s pathetic. clinging to you, nuzzling into your throat, mumbling about how good you smell. he tries to be polite about it at first, he really does. hovering nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, licking his lips and looking away when you catch him staring at your neck like he wants to sink his teeth in.

“’m sorry, i just — you smell so good. hurts.”

and you let him. you always do. because how could you not? he’s trembling before he even touches you, fingers gentle on your hips like he’s afraid he’ll break you. the first press of his teeth is soft, testing, and when you arch into him, tilt your head to give him better access — he whines. honest to god, makes this desperate little sound in the back of his throat like it’s too much, like he can’t believe you’d actually let him.

when he bites, it’s a little messy. lips dragging against your skin, tongue flicking out to catch the blood beore it drips. you’d think he’d be all intense about it, but no — he moans against your throat, hips rocking into you like he can’t help it. every little suckle sends shivers down his spine. he gets so worked up it’s embarrassing, honestly, and you love him for it.

and of course, of course, he gets hard from it. can’t not. he’s rutting against your thigh, biting down harder when you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. pulls back with blood-slick lips, panting, pupils blown wide, looking at you like you hung the stars.

“’m sorry — ‘m sorry, jus’ — can’t help it, you taste s’good, wanna stay like this forever, you're 's pretty, please.”

needy mess. can’t stop touching you. nuzzling back into your neck like he thinks you’ll shove him away (you won’t). pressing kisses to the bite like he can make up for it. murmuring apologies between every wet, open-mouthed kiss he plants along your throat and chest.

and when you finaly get him in your lap, cock flushed and leaking against his stomach, face buried against your pulse? he loses whatever scrap of composure he had left. hips grinding down helplessly, little gasping “’m yours” slipping out without even realizing it.

(he keeps a glass vile of your blood that he swears he'd rather starve then drink because it has too much sentimental value)

[bewitched-hours]

So umm I had an idea of reader being like a deity in the past before being forsaken. They knew Telamon and were really good friends and they both meet back in the cabin but not as gods (right because Telamon is now Shedletsky and reader is in their human form or idk how to explain that).

I don't really have a scenario in my head so write whatever you think of :D

And thank you for erlier!

Dear anon, thank you for this delicious meal- If you want, I'll make more of this but then I want to know if you want it platonic or romantic-

Reader's getting She/They, we need more goddesses-

You still remembered...

A past that made your feathers shiver.

Back when you were a goddess... Much too similar to Telamon...

But he eventually disappeared, leaving you to cover for him until you were finally taken in your mortal form.

In a way, you were even grateful to get away from it all. To start anew and make yourself less important.

You even made a couple of friends in this hellish realm! Some better, some worse.

But among your closest was Shedletsky. You saw him as just some silly guy who could bring up the mood with a simple joke and you two seemed to click pretty quickly through your similarities in humour.

You also both had wings. Neat!

It even got to the point where you'd help other take care of your wings further down, where it was hard to see by oneself.

You couldn't count on both hands how many times you've helped Shed out and vice versa. Hell, you memorized which spots make him jump the most if you ever just wanted to mess with him.

But you eventually decided to open up about your past...

"Shed... I gotta confess something but promise you won't be mad..." You began quietly, looking at the ground in front of you as he was working on your wings.

He was still all smiles, not showing a shred of concern as he nodded. "Of course! You can tell me anything!" He said cheerfully, as though you could do no wrong in his eyes.

So, you swallowed your anxiety and with a deep breath, the words simply slipped out. "I used to be a god... A cruel one..." You could feel him stop for a short while but he continued on, thanking him under your breath for not leaving right then and there.

"I regret who I was back then... I thought I was above everyone else and could do whatever. Didn't help that I managed to befriend Telamon back then..." Another pause, this time longer, but he hesitantly continued letting you talk. "Only when he disappeared did I gradually start to understand how wrong I was... I wasn't above anyone and I didn't have the spine to own up to what I did."

Silence. For seconds, minutes, and then...

"I know what you mean... Old friend."

Silence. For seconds, minutes...

"Tel?" Your voice sounded louder in the silence, staring ahead as tears pushed themselves out of your eyes.

More silence. Seconds, minutes...

"Guess we never really grow apart, do we?" He chuckled, causing a smile to form on your lips as you nodded along. "Yeah... We just keep following the same route in life..."

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[fandom-geek17]

All the dreams of you

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Fem!Doctor!Reader

Summary: From the moment you and Bob met, the connection was undeniable, but also inappropriate. As his on-base doctor, every professional idealism called for you to stay away. Only problem? You didn't want to

CW: 18+ MDNI! Some suggestive/steamy material, but no smut (in this part, hehe). Lots of angst. But also fluff. Jake is an ass. Use of medically sanctioned drugs. Medical emergencies. Inappropriate work place behaviour (don't date your caregivers, people!). Use of Y/N.

Author's note: This nestled in my head and refused to let go. So I managed to write a fanfic after a year of living in a creative wasteland of a mind (I blame my Master thesis which is now done!!???) This is somewhat inspired by Michael & Sara from Prison Break.

There are probably a LOT of inaccuracies about the navy, and some with the medical emergencies, but bear with me, haha!

Please read and comment! I'm somewhat tempted to write a part 2 of their - first date ;) Maybe if people like this one?

Word count: 7692

Reader’s callsign is Steth

The first time Bob met you was the first day he arrived at Top Gun for the uranium mission. All the candidates had received a physical exam before the first briefing, just to make sure everything was still in shape for the ordeal ahead.

A nurse had called everyone into the exam room one by one. Fanboy had whispered something to Payback when he left, making the two of them snigger. Jake let out a long whistle.

“Damn” he drawled, that annoying, self-absorbed smirk etched across his face. “I hope she’s always on call.”

Bob and Natasha exchanged a look, Nat rolling her eyes.

“Lieutenant Robert Floyd?” the nurse called. Bob nodded before adjusting his glasses and following the nurse into the exam room. It looked like on any other naval base’s doctor’s office he’d been to. Simple, sterile, cold. “Here we are.”

You looked up from the file placed on your desk and suddenly, Bob understood what the other guys were on about. You were absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. But it wasn’t just that, it was the way you seemed to command the entire room by just looking up. “Thanks, Care” you said, giving the nurse a smile before turning your attention back to Bob. “Please, sit.”

He crossed the room in quiet strides, sitting down on the exam table. The thin mattress creaked under him, filling the otherwise quiet room.

“Good morning” you said, giving Bob that same smile. “I’m Dr Y/N Y/L/N, but you can call me Steth.” You glanced down at the file for a split second. “You have a callsign, Lieutenant?”

“Uhh…” He cleared his throat, glancing down at his feet before continuing. “Bob.”

You looked like you tried hard not to laugh. “Just Bob?”

“Just Bob” he confirmed, feeling bashful.

“Alright.” You grabbed the notepad. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine” Bob answered, clearing his throat.

Your head tilted to the side as you watched him. “Nervous?”

God, was he that transparent? Of course he was nervous. The nerves had been prickling at him all morning. Not because he didn’t think he was up for the job, mostly because this was unlike anything he’d done in his career so far. The high-level security, the secrecy, the unknown elements even for the most talented pilots. “A bit…” he finally answered.

You chuckled slightly, jotting something down on your notepad. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t. We offer everyone on staff counselling when needed. We have a great psychiatrist on call. If you ever need anything, stop by my office.” Bob looked at you for a second, into those large, beautiful eyes that held so much gentle confidence, like you could tell so much more than you let on. “Now… When was your last medical exam?”

Bob had a feeling you already knew the answer. All his medical records had without a doubt been transferred. Still, he answered. “A couple of months before I left Lemoore.”

You nodded, more to yourself than him, making another note. Were you making sure he was honest with you? “Have you had any medical events since then?” Bob shook his head. Another note. “Are you using any medications not updated in your charts?”

“No, ma’am.”

You gave him a look of amusement, tapping your pen against your knee. “Steth is fine. You don’t need to call me ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am – No – No, not no.” Bob could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. “I’m sorry, ma-Steth. My mama raised me to be polite…” God, why did he add that last part? It made him sound like a total mama’s boy. Which he was, but not in a bad way! He hoped…

You let out a low chuckle, lips pursing as you looked him up and down. “Well, kudos to your mama.” The morning light shone through the window, and Bob couldn’t help but notice the way a small scattering of freckles decorated your nose and cheeks. “When was your last eye exam?”

“Around seven months ago…”

“You’ll need to make another appointment before the end of the year” you stated, jotting it down. Bob nodded quietly. He was beyond used to it by now.

“Alright” you started, standing up. “Would you mind taking your shirt off? I’m going to do a quick physical and then we’re done.”

Bob’s gaze locked onto the way your legs looked in that skirt and those heels. Black pencil skirt, black velvet pumps, and smooth, soft-looking legs that looked absolutely stunning. He could feel his heart rate speed up. God, calm down! This would not look good on the blood pressure monitor.

He unzipped the top of his green track suit, pulling in down, leaving him in a white t-shirt and his dog-tags hanging around his neck. You stood still for a moment, eyes roaming over him before unwinding your stethoscope from around your neck.

“I’m just going to listen to your heart and lungs, okay?” Bob nodded and you walked the short distance to stand by the edge of the exam table. Your scent immediately invaded his nostrils. Sweet and warm, like coconut and vanilla. Intoxicating. Somewhere in there, there was a hint of the antiseptic you undoubtedly used on your hands all the time, but Bob barely registered it.

Your hand was warm on his shoulder as you listened to his heart. Bob’s eyes remained closed, focusing on steadying his breathing rather than how the smell of you made him feel. When you moved around to listen to his lungs, he tried to discreetly wipe the sweat that had gathered on his palms.

You wrapped the dark blue cuff around his bicep to measure his blood pressure. The machine beeped as it worked, and you stayed quiet, watching the numbers. “Your heart rate and blood pressure are a little high, but I’ll chalk that up to some first day jitters.”

Ha! First day jitters… Right. It had nothing to do whatsoever with the fact that the necklace you were wearing landed perfectly at the tops of your breasts over the high-necked blouse you were wearing. If he looked close enough, he could see the outline of your bra underneath the lab coat and silk material. Not that he looked.

“Yeah” he murmured, forcing himself to stare at the wall. “That’s probably it.”

You made one last note on your notepad. “Well, you’re in the clear. Clean bill of health. Just don’t forget about the eye exam.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” You gave him that lopsided smile. “Don’t be a stranger, Bob.”

A warmth unexpectedly spread in his chest, intensifying when you held his gaze. “Good day, ma’am.” Realizing what he just said, Bob quickly scampered off before he could try to correct and stumble over his words again.

***

As the training went on, Bob kept seeing you everywhere. Not in a ‘we’re working at the same place’ kind of way, more in a ‘I’m drawn to you and I can’t explain why’ way. He often saw you in the mess hall, eating lunch with the rest of the medical staff, laughing over something or other. You had this warm, infectious laugh that lit up the entire room.

He could also see how much you cared for everyone around you. Like that time you brought coffee and a cupcake to one of your nurses who’d seemed down all day. Or that time Halo had sprained her ankle during a physical on the beach and you had interrupted your day off to help her. Even Hangman caught the good end of the stick when it came to you, despite his overblown ego and flirtatious comments.

One night at the Hard Deck, everyone was in the middle of a pool game when you came in and Bob almost dropped his cup of peanuts. You wore a tight-fitted, cherry red dress, complete with matching stilettos. A pendant necklace perfectly accentuated your cleavage. God, those heels… Strappy, sparkly, sinful. He took pride in being calm and collected at all times, always cool under pressure. But fuck him if the sight of you didn’t make him fantasize about those heels digging into his back, thighs slung around his shoulders as he sucked on your clit until you screamed his name.

But Bob wasn’t the only one. It seemed like the entire bar had gone still, taking in the ethereal creature that had just entered the building. Rooster and Hangman whistled lowly, whilst the other guys just stared. Phoenix gave you an appreciative nod.

“Hey, Penny” you greeted the bartender brightly, taking a seat at the counter. “How’s everything going tonight?”

Penny smiled and immediately started pouring liquids in a shaker without you having to ask. “Hey, sweetie! So far, so good. Where’s the rest of the medical wizards?”

“Oh, on their way. Hey, how did it go with Amelia’s biology quiz?”

Penny’s eyes warmed. She placed an appreciative hand on your arm. “Really well! Thank you so much for taking the time to help her.”

You waved your hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing! She’s such a sweetheart, I was happy to.”

“Well, this one is on the house” Penny answered firmly. “To say thank you.” She placed a brightly colored concoction in front of you.

You wrapped your lips around the straw and hummed at the taste. Bob watched the entire exchange like a man possessed, the cup of peanuts limp in his hand. The round of pool he was a part of was completely forgotten. What even was pool?

The rest of the dagger squad glanced between you, Bob and each other, amusing looks exchanged.

“Hey, Baby on Board, put your tongue back in your mouth” Jake drawled, sniggering over his beer bottle.

Bob’s cheeks immediately flushed. “I wasn’t staring.”

Rooster just chuckled in an overly annoying way. “You kinda were, man.”

“No, I wasn’t! I was just…”

“Just what?” Coyote laughed, taking the next shot at the pool table. “Memorizing anatomy 101?”

The music thumped in rhythm with the blood in Bob’s ears. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with the team. Especially in a crowded bar where anyone could overhear. “No. My mind was just somewhere else.”

“Yeah, sure” Jake mocked. “Somewhere warm, forbidden, private?”

“Oh, shut up, Bagman” Phoenix spoke up in his defense. “Bob, just go talk to her.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, hating the way everyone’s eyes were on him. “I can’t. She’s my doctor. It’s inappropriate.”

Hangman scoffed before emptying his beer bottle. “Oh, look at that. I’m all out. Looks like I need another drink. Maybe I’ll buy her one, as well. Unless you want to man up?”

Bob rolled his eyes. “You know Bagman, some of us were raised to not flirt with everything that moves. Some of us were raised to be gentlemen.”

Jake didn’t miss a beat as he popped a toothpick into his mouth. “Luckily for me, Baby, I don’t have that problem.” Then he sauntered off to the bar counter where you were still sitting, playing with the ice in your drink.

You had just finished reading a text from Care, telling you the others were ten minutes away when Jake Seresin sashayed into the seat next to you, toothpick between his teeth, eyes alight with mischief. In truth, he was far from your favorite member of the Dagger Squad, but professional decency meant you had to be nice to him. In fact, your favorite member of the squad was currently snacking on a cup of peanuts, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Hangman” you greeted.

“Evening, Doc” he smirked back. “You’re looking fantastic tonight.”

“Thank you” you muttered, twirling the straw around the ice in your now empty glass.

Jake took notice of the action, chuckling in that arrogant way. “Penny, my dear, another beer for me. And whatever my favorite doctor wants, on me.”

“Favorite doctor, huh?” you questioned, a small, indignant smile on your face. Men were all the same, really.

Hangman leaned in slightly, face dripping with male confidence. “Of course! I’ll never say no to an examination from you.”

Okay, eugh… “I’m sure you won’t.” Whilst being a female doctor in the navy meant a lot of recruits flirted with you, the lack of creativity in their lines never ceased to amaze you.

You were practically dreading whatever nonsense was about to spew from his mouth next when a clean, fresh scent of pine and lemon surrounded you. His presence made itself known on your other side before you even had to look up to see him.

“You’re up, Hangman” Bob said, his tone clipped. He yanked his head towards the pool table.

Jake rolled his eyes, smirking wider. “They can wait. Me and the doctor are having an important conversation.”

Bob stepped closer, placing his hand on the bar counter. The two of you exchanged a look, with you shooting him a disgusted look, eyes drifting towards Jake for a split second. “How about you leave the lady alone and go scam Rooster out of those fifty bucks you tricked him into betting?”

Jake’s eyes moved between you and Bob. You had expected Seresin to say something derogatory, or worse; try to stake a claim on you that didn’t exist. Instead, a sly grin spread across his face as he removed the toothpick. “I do have a reputation to uphold, don’t I? Enjoy the drink, Doc!” Then he rose from the seat and meandered back to the rest of the squad.

“I don’t think he needs to scam Bradshaw to uphold that reputation” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Bob shook his head and sat down. “I’m sorry about him.”

“I’ve handled worse.”

For a second, Bob looked at you like he wanted to ask more, but refrained. He looked around the bar. “Are you here alone?” He didn’t ask in a sleazy way, more concerned.

“No, the others are coming in a few minutes. I live close by and was bored. Decided to come early. Plus, I worked a twelve-hour shift today, so I have make use of this dress before the exhaustion inevitably causes me to end up in pajamas, shoving chocolate in my mouth.”

He glanced down at the cherry fabric, roaming the length of your dress. Something flashed in his blue eyes. Something so unlike his usual disposition. A flash of darkness. But when he did it, it made your belly tingle with excitement.

“Sounds like a good night to me” he said quietly.

“Right? With some classic 80’s movie.”

Bob ran his finger along a ridge in the wood on the counter, looking up at you from under his glasses. “Perfect.”

Perfect indeed… What you didn’t add was how every time you imagined that scenario lately, he was always there, cuddled up next to you under a shared blanket, letting those large hands of his wander up and down your thighs before he inevitably snuck them into your pajama shorts, rubbing your clit and kissing your neck as he brought you to climax. Next came the fantasy of the all-nighter of endless lovemaking and orgasms.

Your cheeks heated and you had to turn to face Penny who placed another drink in front of you. You grasped the glass gratefully, hoping the cold would radiate to stop the blush from progressing.

It was no point in hiding it anymore… From yourself, at least. What had started as an innocent note in the back of your head of how attractive the WSO was had spiraled into a full-blown crush. From that first meeting in the exam room, just a couple of weeks ago, everything had happened so fast, it felt like a lifetime ago. Both of your lives were hectic, yet the universe always seemed to make room for you. He always asked about your day, like he actually cared and not out of politeness. He opened the door for you, smiled in that genuine way, laughed at your bad jokes, shared so many of your interests. How were not supposed to like him?

“Don’t put this on Hangman’s tab” you told Penny as a way to distract yourself.

She snorted. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Probably a wise choice” Bob snarked, laughing at the look on Penny’s face. “He doesn’t need the extra ego boost.”

You laughed involuntarily. This quietly snarky side of Bob was your favorite. He looked so innocent and sweet, but his words didn’t mince when he wanted to. He also looked hot tonight. The usual navy gear had been exchanged for a pair of dark jeans and a pale blue shirt that brought out those baby blue eyes of his. The jeans hugged his ass in that perfect way. Because you had absolutely looked when you came in, the second he turned to say something to the squad. A pair of faded cowboy boots adorned his feet. Before his first medical exam, you had read in his file that he was born and raised in Montana. The clear nod to home was so endearing and hot at the same time.

As you reached for your drink again, that familiar stiff feeling in your skin returned. One of the downsides to always using disinfectants on your hands was the dryness. No matter how many times a day you moisturized them. Reaching for the tube of hand cream you always kept in your purse, you sighed as the cold ointment made contact with your skin.

“Dry hands?” Bob asked, eyes concerned.

You snorted. “Yeah. Downside of the job.” You glanced down at the sweet-smelling vanilla and coconut cream with a nostalgic smile. “Last year, the nurses gave me a bunch of these for my birthday, bragging that it was a one-year supply. If this tube lasts until next Wednesday, they’ll be right.”

Bob nodded slowly, accepting a coke zero from Penny. “I made an appointment for an eye exam.” His tone was almost searching, as if he desperately wanted to say something. Then he closed his eyes in what almost looked like embarrassment, like that wasn’t what he meant to say.

You had to hold in a laugh. But then you sobered up and looked him dead in the eye. “Good boy.”

It took approximately two seconds before Bob more closely resembled a tomato than a human being. You were toeing the line, and you knew it. It was so unprofessional, but you couldn’t help it. Everything drew you closer to him, and the way he responded made it worth it. The way he shifted in his seat, fingers flexing around the glass bottle made the dirtiest fantasies explode behind your eyes.

Slowly, he turned his head to face you. A vein pulsed in his neck, chest rising and falling faster than before. It looked like he was going to say something when a pair of hands sharply grasped your shoulders, destroying the moment like a missile to an aircraft. The culprit turned out to be Dr. Andrews, closely followed by the rest of the medical team.

“There you are” he exclaimed loudly. “Sorry we’re late!”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck before standing up. “I won’t hold you. Have a good night, Steth.”

The disappointment rumbled in your belly, but you couldn’t let it show. “You too, Bob.”

***

When you came into the office that following Wednesday, the first sight that greeted you was the bouquet of mixed pink and red flowers on your desk. Next to it was a box of expensive chocolates and three tubes of your beloved hand cream.

A warm feeling of gratefulness washed over you at the kind gesture from your friends and colleagues. Always so thoughtful. Care knocked on your door before entering. “Happy birthday” she greeted, stepping up to give you a hug.

“Thank you” you answered, still smiling from ear to ear. “And thank you so much for these! They’re beautiful!”

Care tilted her head to the side, inspecting the gifts on your desk. “We didn’t get you that. We were going to take you to dinner this weekend, but don’t tell the others I told you that.”

You chuckled absentmindedly and rubbed a petal between your fingers. “Who are they from, then?”

“Your parents?” Care suggested.

You frowned in confusion. “Maybe…”

“Anyway… Don’t forget about the meeting in twenty.”

You nodded, eyes still on the flowers and chocolates. “I’ll meet you there.”

As Care left the office, you noticed a small note tucked carefully between the stems. Your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it. A small, neat handwriting was centered in the small card.

Happy birthday! I know I’m stealing this idea, but I hope you’ll still like it.

All the best,

Bob

Butterflies erupted in your belly, bringing a storm of hot lava and even hotter feelings. He remembered. He remembered everything! He was so unlike anyone else you’d ever met. So attentive. A stupid, dopey smile refused to leave as you held the small card as if it was made of gold.

God… You had to find him and thank him as soon as possible. You had heard through the grapevine there was an important flight test happening today, but hopefully you could catch him later.

***

Later didn’t come in the way you had imagined. In fact, it turned into a complete nightmare. Hondo had called to inform you that Phoenix and Bob had encountered a bird strike and had been forced to eject from their F-18 and were now rushed to the naval base’s emergency care. You had been called in to receive them together with Andrews.

As the paramedics rushed through with the two unconscious pilots on gurneys, you immediately sprang into action. “Bring Floyd over here” you ordered loudly, leaving no room for argument. “Give me some stats!”

“Lieutenant Robert Floyd. GSC five, heartrate is stable at 102 bpm, blood pressure is at 140/90, possible head trauma on impact, a central line prepared in route.”

“Robert?” you called as you briskly walked with the paramedic. “Robert can you hear me?” He mumbled something incoherently.

“Trauma three” the charge nurse ordered and you nodded, following the paramedics.

“Everybody get ready to move him” you ordered, and the nurses and paramedics all fell into position. “On my count. One, two, three.” Bob groaned loudly at the handling, body tensing up. At least he seemed slightly more alert than when he arrived… Your heart stampeded in your chest, fear crawling all over you. All the ‘what ifs’ swam in your hand, fighting for control over your mind. It took a split second to center yourself. If you couldn’t stay in the moment now, you were of no use to Bob. “Let’s get a milliliter of morphine for the pain.”

“Right away” a nurse responded, moving to prepare the shot.

“I want a full body x-ray and a CT of the head and spine!” Another nurse rushed to get the x-ray plate and placed it under him.

“Morphine’s in!”

“Good!” you answered, checking the x-ray plate and smaller machine used in the trauma rooms. “Everybody clear!” The machine beeped loudly before producing an image of his upper body. He’d need the proper CT in the other room, but at least this could give an indication of the worst in his upper body.

“Nothing broken” you confirmed, letting out a short breath. “But let’s get a quick ultrasound of the belly, I don’t like that shadowing.”

The thing about a naval officer not having any broken bones after an ejection was that it always made you worried about worse internal damage, like bleeding organs. If that was the case, he’d need to be flown out to the hospital in San Diego.

A nurse unzipped his flight suit and lifted the shirt underneath. He squirted some gel onto his belly and you grabbed the probe to exam him. “No internal bleeding” you confirmed, squinting at the monitor. “Could be some bruising.” You removed the probe and the nurse immediately wiped the gel off him. You stepped back. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get him to CT!”

The group of nurses grabbed the hospital bed and started rolling him out of the trauma room. You stayed behind, breathing deeply to steady yourself. All in all, it looked like he was extremely lucky, but that didn’t ease the nausea climbing up your throat.

A few seconds later, the hospital bed Natasha was lying on was rushed in the same direction Bob’s was. Dr. Andrews stepped up to stand beside you, sighing. “How’s Floyd?” he asked in a short, concentrated tone.

“I think he’ll be okay” you whispered, barely believing the words. “How’s Trace?”

“Same. It’s a miracle it wasn’t worse.” You nodded, more to yourself than your colleague. “Come on, let’s get them some more permanent beds.”

The CT confirmed no serious head trauma and no broken bones in the rest of Bob’s body. Some kind of angel was clearly looking out for him. He’d been transferred to a new hospital bed, hooked up to several monitors, an IV-drip connected to his arm. He’d been in and out for consciousness for hours.

You’d been checking on him more often than protocol deemed necessary after informing Maverick about everything. As soon as you had a minute to spare, you were there, watching his steady breathing, his slightly pale face contorting slightly when the machines beeped.

The tears of worry burned in the corner of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. This was not the time, even though this whole ordeal had made all those secret fantasies seem so fragile and all you wanted was to hold him until the end of time. You wanted to feel that steady pulse of his heart with your fingers, feel the beat against his chest, not as some kind of a mechanical sound from a machine. Just to make sure he really wasn’t going anywhere.

“Y/N?” Care asked carefully as you checked Bob’s IV for the hundredth time that evening. “Vital is here, and your shift ended two hours ago. You can transfer his care.”

“No” you refused stubbornly, not even turning to face her. “I’m staying.”

A sympathetic smile tugged at your friend’s features. She was the only one who knew about your secret feelings for the WSO, having spent many hours debating the futility of your crush. “Alright. I’m clocking out. Let the others know if you need anything.”

You nodded shortly and she walked out, leaving the room with a heavy silence only interrupted by the beeping monitors.

It could have been minutes that passed, maybe hours, you had no idea. But eventually, a raspy voice filled the room.

“Y/N?” Bob’s broken rasp was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard. It was also the first time you’d ever heard him call you by your first name. Not doctor, not ma’am, not Steth. Just Y/N. It did more to you than you cared to admit at the moment.

“Bob” you breathed, the relief evident in your voice. “How are you feeling?”

His eyes opened slowly, blinking in the harsh light. The tired defeat in his eyes made you even more anxious to hug him. He looked around the room before settling on you, squinting. “Glasses?” You quickly helped him put them on. He smiled weakly at you before shifting. “I’m a little queasy…”

You nodded, placing a hand on his arm. It was surprisingly warm. “You don’t have a concussion, so it’s probably the morphine. I’m just going to check your temperature.” Bob nodded and closed his eyes as you placed the thermometer in his ear. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He chuckled lowly. “You want to check my memory?”

“Yes” you deadpanned. “Now tell me.” Slowly, but surely, Bob recounted the entire incident from start to finish. “Good job.”

“How’s Nat?” he asked as you checked on his IV again.

“She’s doing okay” you confirmed with a gentle smile. “But we’re keeping you both overnight for observation. I also think Maverick has informed both your parents about the incident.”

“Great…” Bob scoffed quietly. “I bet mama has been chewing his ear off for an hour and is now personally on her way over to ground me forever.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll live to fly another day. I’ll personally confirm your perfect bill of health to your mother.”

He tilted his head with an affectionate look in his eyes that made you melt. “Thank you for taking care of me” he said with such sincerity, it threatened to bring the tears to the surface again.

“Of course” you choked out and sat down on the stool next to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” he asked gently.

“Promise” you confirmed.

In this moment right here, it was as if only the two of you existed in the world. A perfect bubble that protected you from the reality. In here, you weren’t Dr. Y/L/N and Lieutenant Floyd, you were just Y/N and Bob. And it felt perfect. In here, you could indulge the fantasy of being his and him being yours, without the obvious problem of you being his doctor and the fact that there was no guarantee that he’d even stay in San Diego after the mission. And the last thing you needed was another heartbreak.

“Thank you for the birthday gift” you whispered. “I loved it.”

“You’re welcome” Bob whispered back. “I’m glad you liked it… Happy birthday.”

You bit your lip slowly and his eyes snagged on the moment. Every fiber in your being pulled you towards him, and you couldn’t help reaching out and brushing a strand of hair from his face. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at you with a longing look. Your fingers trailed to cradle his jaw. Stubble scraped your fingers, and you loved the feeling. Bob’s hand carefully covered yours. There were so many things swimming in those baby blues, so many things you wondered if he’d dare say in the quiet of the night.

Those lips of his looked so soft and enticing. If he kept looking at you like that, you might just see if they tasted as good as they looked, consequences be damned.

“Steth…” he murmured, leaning into your touch. “I–”

Just then, the door opened and you yanked your hand back as if it had been burned. The both of you cleared your throats and you quickly straightened up. Maverick peeked his head in, looking concerned. “Just checking in” he said quietly. “How are you doing, Bob?”

“Okay” Bob answered awkwardly.

Maverick nodded, taking in the scene in front of him. A knowing smirk spread across his face, but he didn’t say anything about the obvious interruption he’d caused. “Everyone sends their love. I’ll make sure you can talk to your parents tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry if my mom gave you a hard time” Bob chuckled.

Maverick waved his hand lightheartedly. “She was just worried. I’ll make sure she takes it out on you tomorrow. See you in the morning.” Then he left quietly.

You rose from the stool and checked his vitals one final time. Maverick’s interruption had been like a bucket of ice water on your hormones. A proper reminder of why getting involved with Bob would be a bad idea. You’d just have to find a way to get over it.

“Get some rest” you told him, forcing a smile.

Bob settled back against the pillows, pulling the covers higher up. “Yes, ma’am.” There was a teasing note to his voice, pulling an unwilling smile from you.

“Okay, Lieutenant Floyd.”

***

Bob and Natasha had been chosen to participate in the secret mission they’d been training for for the past weeks. And whilst you were insanely proud of him, you were also scared shitless. This was nothing like after the bird strike. Now there was a scarily real risk he wouldn’t return. As a doctor not directly involved in the Dagger Squad alone, you hadn’t received the particular details about the mission. However, the gossip ran deep in a place like this, and the base wouldn’t call Pete Mitchell back for a mission for the faint-hearted.

You were preparing your usual cup of caffeine-free tea you made at the end of every shift to to calm down. You had been assigned to join the crew on the supercarrier as a first line of emergency care if anything happened to the pilots. The transport left in just an hour. But you just needed a few minutes to yourself to process everything before go-time.

Bob would be there, too. And that thought terrified you. You hadn’t seen him as much in the week after everything happened. The mission had been moved up and he’d been so busy. Probably for the best. It gave you time to process how to do this without letting your feelings get in the way.

“You also drink tea the night before a mission?” the object of your desire joked behind you.

Your entire body stiffened at the sound of his voice. It was so comforting, yet unnerving. But you plastered a smile onto your face and pretended everything was fine. “I drink tea after every shift, but yeah. I suppose I do then.”

Bob hummed and stepped up to the coffee station behind you. “Chamomile, one sugar, milk. You?”

“Lemon and ginger, two sugars, no milk.” It felt natural to exchange tea preferences, but you had to remind yourself it wasn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t be.

“Sounds nice. Maybe we should trade one night?” His smile was so gentle again, pulling you in.

Something soft settled in your belly. “Maybe we should…”

Bob turned his entire body towards you as he let the tea steep. “Listen, Steth… I wanted to tell you something.” He waited for you to say something, but when you didn’t, he continued. “You have been a big part of keeping me sane these past few weeks. I’ve probably been more scared than I’ve wanted to admit, but you’ve helped a lot.”

For a few moments, you honestly had no idea what to say. It felt so much like a confession, without actually confessing. What did that even mean? Did he mean it in a friendly way, or more than that?

“Really?” you asked dumbly.

“Mhm…” There was a pink tint to his cheeks, glasses glinting in the sundown streaming in through the window. He was so beautiful. A coy smile lit up his eyes.

“I’ve… I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. I’m really proud of you.”

His entire face lit up at the praise. The air was thick with tension as you stood there, watching each other. Neither of you seemed to want to be the one to break first. Electricity zapped between you, but you knew deep inside you had to step back before you got shocked. All you wanted was to throw yourself into his arms and never let go. Yet you turned to face the steaming paper mug of tea beside you.

After placing a lid on the cup you turned back to face him. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. With each try, your hope flared that he’d say something more. But he didn’t.

“Good luck tomorrow, Bob” you whispered. “Goodnight.”

Turning around, you started to walk out of the break room. A few minutes in your office would have to do before stepping onto the transport. The go-bag was already packed, everything was ready. All that was missing was the cool head and professionality hidden behind all these confusing feelings.

Disappointment bubbled inside you as you walked away, mingling with the knowledge that it was probably for the best if neither of you acted on your feelings.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” Bob asked suddenly, stopping you dead in your tracks. His voice was nervous, rushed, as if he couldn’t believe was he’d just asked. But there was a finality to it, assured that he’d finally said something.

You didn’t turn around to face him. Instead, you just looked at the door. A goofy smile erupted on your face, an excited, giddy feeling spreading throughout your entire body. All the dreams, all the fantasies, it was nothing compared to this. When you’d pictured Bob asking you out, it hadn’t been like this, but this was somehow so much better. The urgency in which he’d finally asked felt like he couldn’t go on this mission without putting his heart out there.

Then those fears started rearing their ugly heads. All the reasons why this was a horrible idea swam in your head, but for once, the feelings outweighed the fears. You’d deal with the consequences later. Maybe you’d have to do some sneaking around. But that was later. For now, you needed Bob to remain focused on the problem ahead.

Slowly, you turned back to him. A small smile played on your lips. “Come back alive and we’ll talk.”

***

Standing in the control room on the supercarrier felt like a blur. Bob didn’t have time to speak to you before everything. A part of you was terrified that last exchange was going to be the last one you would ever had. Fear chained your heart as Natasha and Bob strapped themselves into their F-18 behind Maverick. The white medical suit you were wearing felt too tight against your skin, clinging to a layer of sweat and dread.

The team behind the controls worked in a precise manner, calling out orders and keywords you couldn’t remember if your life depended on it. The only part you caught on to was when Bob left the air strip, leaving you alone with the precarious balance of fear and needing to do your job. In a way, this was the test you needed.

The reality was that you would always have a responsibility for Bob even if you entered a relationship. Here, you were a medical professional, and you couldn’t compromise that even if something happened to him. What would have happened if you’d gotten Natasha instead of Bob after the bird strike? Would you have been able to care for her without being distracted by thoughts of Bob’s well-being?

And what would your superiors say? Would they even allow it? And if they didn’t, who would face the consequences? Probably you. The navy needed Bob more than it needed you. Medical professionals were always replaceable, great pilots weren’t.

But first, Bob needed to survive.

Someone announced that they were approaching the canyon they’d fly through and your adrenaline spiked. The point of you being here was to listen for any medical anomalies, give advice if necessary and be the first to care for any returning pilots. You tried to focus on that instead of the unknown.

The canyon was an adrenaline-inducing blur of words you didn’t fully comprehend in your stressed state, but Maverick, Phoenix and Bob made it to the target. Your heart pounded in your chest as they closed in.

Come on, come on, come on, you chanted in your head.

Bob’s urgent voice mingled with Maverick and Natasha over the comm as they followed their leader’s instructions. The control team updated every little detail as you dug your nails into your palms, the sharp sting grounding you.

“Target acquired” a team member updated in response to Bob’s urgent but sharp voice over the comms. “Bombs away.”

Please, you prayed quietly.

“Impact” the team member stated and the room erupted in cheers.

“Miracle number 1” Warlock muttered.

A tiny wave of relief washed over you, but the anxiety still clawed at your heart. They weren’t done yet. Maverick and Phoenix started the sharp ascend up the valley. All you could do was pray that they wouldn’t black out. Dr. Andrews had seen to Coyote after he blacked out during training, and you had had a tense conversation in the breakroom over the real dangers of this mission.

Suddenly, a chaotic energy spread throughout control room when Fanboy’s laser went into a dead-eye. The pilots fought amongst each other as the clocked ticked down faster than what seemed normal.

“There’s no time” Rooster shouted over the comms. “I’m dropping blind. Bombs away! Bombs away!”

Your hands clasped in front of your mouths as you drew sharp, stuttering breaths. Your fingers trembled and your pulse whooshed in your ears.

“Bullseye!” someone confirmed and the room erupted again.

“Miracle number 2…”

“Now they’re in coffin corner.”

A shuddering exhale tore through your nose. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.

“You’re alright, Steth?” Cyclone asked quietly.

“Fine” you immediately lied. This wasn’t your first time doing this. For obvious reasons, this one was different. But Cyclone couldn’t know that. “Just getting ready for the dogfight.”

“Hmm…” he muttered in response.

Suddenly, it was upon you. Naval planes, missiles everywhere, countermeasures deployed. People were shouting over each other on the comms. The worry and anxiety ran through you like a tornado, the tension so palpable you could cut it with a knife. You kept your ears sharp for any sign that any of them were injured.

After what felt like an eternity, it seemed that the worst was over, that they could finally start heading back in one piece when BAM! A missile tore through the back of Maverick’s plane, sending him crashing down.

People screamed, shouted, called for action. Rooster wanted to circle back. Comanche warned about incoming bandits. Cyclone ordered everyone back to the carrier. Hangman was denied flying cover. Warlock tried to initiate a search and rescue but was overruled by Cyclone.

“We’re not losing anyone else today” he said sharply, causing a wave of nausea crashing through you as you watched the scene unfold.

Losing anyone else… The despair pulsed through your veins. Was he really dead? Had they just lost one of the most talented pilots in living memory? A knot formed in your stomach at the thought. You’d never worked too closely with him, but he was always a good man, a fantastic pilot, always driven and protective.

Rooster made the extremely brave but dumb decision to disobey direct orders and went back for Maverick whilst the others returned to base. The knot in your stomach grew bigger, thinking about what state they’d be in when, if, they returned. Whatever it was, you’d deal with it. You were a doctor, dammit! You saved lives. That was the entire point of the oath.

Just make it back…, you thought. You’d take care of them. All of them.

After another eternity, someone confirmed that Phoenix’s and Bob’s plane was inbound. Immediately, you leapt into action, exiting the control room, a team of nurses flanking you as you all ran out on the tarmac. You put the earmuffs on to protect you from the loud noise.

When they landed, it felt like your heart finally landed with it. Relief cooled your anxiety like aloe on a burn. Everything felt lighter, easier. A gasp rose from your throat as the hood finally popped open and you were met with the most beautiful sight of him. Bob. Alive. Okay. Safe.

Your heart soared with happiness as everyone surrounded the plane, cheering them on for a job well done. Bob took off his helmet and looked around as he exited the plane. People swarmed them, slapping their hands on his and Natasha’s shoulders, congratulating them, offering praise for the amazing flight performed.

You stood back, letting them have the moment. They deserved it, all the spotlight. It became even more of a ruckus when Payback and Fanboy landed. The swarm seemed to become even more excited as they too exited their plane. It warmed you to see them getting the recognition they deserved, even though the loss of Maverick and potentially Rooster still hung in the air.

Bob kept looking around, straining his neck to look beyond the crowd, even as Fanboy wrapped his arm around Bob’s shoulders and shook them vigorously. Natasha hugged Payback, exchanging a smile that was both relieved and heavy at the same time.

Finally, his eyes locked on yours. A fire seemed to light him up as he extracted himself from the mob. Time seemed to slow to a halt as he moved towards you. Your legs moved on their own, reaching for him like a compass to true north. His breathing was heavy, forehead soaked in sweat from the helmet, but all you could see was the love in his eyes. Unmistaken, real longing that matched your own.

When he finally reached you, you didn’t even have time to say anything before his hands had cupped your face, his lips pressing onto your own. Your arms were instantly around his back, clinging to him like the only lifeline in existence. He was here, he was safe, and he was yours. His lips moved against yours with the urgency of a man who had quite literally, escaped death.

Everything exploded in your heart as people hooted, clapped and shouted. The noise faded into the background as Bob pressed his forehead against yours.

“Way to go, Baby on Board!” Hangman shouted somewhere in the background, but you ignored him.

Bob sighed, heavily, grounding. You reached up to caress his face, feeling the heat and drops of sweat that made it so undoubtedly real. “Thank God, you’re okay” you whispered, threading your fingers into his damp hair. He pressed even closer to you, completely ignoring the crowd. “I’m here” you assured him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not” he muttered, and there was finally some levity in his presence. He leaned back to take in the lines of worry and relief on your face. A glint flashed in his eyes as he broke out in a toothy grin. “So, how about that dinner?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop yourself, mixed with all the emotions that had stampeded through you today. “Yes! Yes, I’d love that! Sooner the better!”

Bob chuckled, reaching down to pull you in by the waist. “Tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“It’s a date!”

[tyunningism]

Come on Don't Leave Me

── .✦ pairing: c.bg x reader

You've been attached to Beomgyu by the hip since forever- there's a special attachment between the two of you which can't be described through meagre words and that's why the two of you were so loveable together; blooming in to the naivety of a budding relationship. Yet he suddenly leaves everything behind anyways, radio-silence, leaving you wandering alone in your small hometown until he returns years later with another woman by his side.

...or in simple words...ᴇx!ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ x ᴇx!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (+ h.k. mention)

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 16.1k words

mentions !! and warnings !! - Lots of angst, open ending + break ups, mentions of death, Beomgyu's a dick for a part of it el oh el, arguing + degrading comments, minor wound on finger, Beomgyu smokes, cheating accusations but not proved, small fractions of reader x huening kai, mentions of genetic medical condition (muscular dystrophy),slut-shaming, speeding (lmk if there's anymore I need to add because this is long and not proofread).

tyunningism's note: had the sudden change of heart to write a longer angsty fic, originally wanted to cap it at 8k but i got lost in making the plot a bit crazy and reached twice that. I doubted myself a lot in writing this because I think my writing was a bit inconsistent and sloppy at time but hopefully it was worth the wait!!

"You know I like you right?"

"Duh, you can't not love me if you've stuck by my side even after I've pissed your bed like every sleepover."

"No, I'm being serious, I like you."

You watch his adam's apple bob in his throat, the way the mischief in his eyes fade like he's matured from his boyish annoying act that he pesters you with every second of the day; he lifts his head just slightly to search for something in your gaze but his mouth is zipped shut, the silence deafening.

You've just confessed your diehard feelings to the biggest blessing and pain in your ass for the past 12 years and Choi Beomgyu can't even give you an answer back?!!

A grunt escapes from your lips at his dumbfound expression, suddenly wanting to bury yourself alive in the very bed room you basically co-lived in together.

"Ugh forget I even said anything."

Falling back on to the outgrown mattress on your bed you refuse to face the literal bane of your existence now as you dangled your feet off the too-small bed you both used to share as kids. He rested his head against where your feet laid, criss crossed on the ground and boring holes in to your bedroom's ceiling.

It wasn't the best time to confess you'd admit- especially when five minutes ago you both were pissing yourselves laughing watching cringy vlogs you both documented on an ancient ipad from god knows how long ago. You just slightly hoped that you'd have both overcome the embarrassment phase at this stage of your friendship after years of going to the same school and clubs and holidays, snotty crying sessions and heated arguments.. enough to be transparent with each other's feelings you thought at least. So you're unsure why his silence disturbs you so much, because it shouldn't. His rejection shouldn't make you feel so stupid for even risking to confess your minor feelings right now.

The awkwardness was starting to linger in the air around you suffocatingly, reaching out to pull the duvet over your head before a meek voice broke the initial tension.

"Can I give you my answer now?-" Your eyes blink hard.

"What?!!"

Chaos followed when you sprang up from your bed nearly knocking yourself out cold on his head, who is now directly facing you breathing in staggered intervals. "Shit Gyu don't scare me like-"

He smothers a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, instantly causing you to furrow your brows at his impulsive action, ready to start kicking at him for even attempting to shut you up, waiting for him to start laughing the shit out of you.

But you’re wrong, so wrong. Because within seconds he leans in to close the gap between you a little bit more, ever so slightly leaving enough space for you to feel his breath fanning on to your skin.

And to whichever relationship guru he must've searched on the corners of reddit to learn this from- it's working because your brain short circuits on the spot, hands clammy and clenching on to the strings of fabric on your shirt.

You felt it.

The softness of his lips on yours for a short second of bliss enough to drive you insane. The taste of cherry coke laced and latched on his lips that lingered on yours for mere seconds after.

"My answer," He smiles bashfully while tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears.

Suddenly feeling hot and unable to meet his gaze you jump at the sound of his signature boisterous laughter breaking the initial romance of the moment, "I'm shitting myself I can't believe I just did that, can't believe I finally get to have you."

And it’s like your nerves drop. He’s back to the same happy-go-lucky spirit and the same Beomgyu you’ve always known him as (except more affectionate) as he pounces on top of you, immediately getting to work with peppering small fleeting kisses all over your reddening face.

"I can't believe even a shithead like you can have feelings like that… I really thought you were going to reject me then and there Gyu.." you joke lightheartedly.

Assuming he would take it lightheartedly you glance up to see his expression; but he avoids eye contact again, instead choosing to pick at his finger nails.

"I promise you, if I didn't love you you can consider me dead.”

Beomgyu has always been loving despite his antics; even now, at the ring of the bell he rushes out of his homeroom first just so he can walk back with you to the shared club room the two of you have slumped around in during lunch break for years.

Entering without a knock you greet your mutual friends casually with Beomgyu following close behind, an arm snaked around your waist and his chin stunted on the centre of your head.

“You two are so gross, it’s like incest at this point.” The familiar sight of Yeonjun’s outgrown hair and body sprawled across the stained couch of the club room made you grimace all the while shooting him a quick middle finger.

Beomgyu chimes inexplicably fast- eager for any chance to argue with Yeonjun- the laughter bubbling from him made your heart skip a beat each time- not that you’d ever tell him that in case you’ll boost his ego further to the moon than it already has.

“Where’s the little one? Haven’t seen him at all today. Ugh I told him I wanted to go for band prac too.” His groans are music to Yeonjun’s ears, who lets out a chuckle before pointing towards the boy huddling to himself in the corner - zipped up in a hoodie with his back turned to everyone.

You tap lightly on his shoulder before speaking gently, “How’s the new hair for the band Kai? Hm?”

“I bet it’s horrible, like bright green or something”

“Shut up gyu,” Kai hisses before reluctantly revealing the flashy blue head of hair he dyed with cheap box dye and immediately looked sullen the moment he saw the shock in your faces. “I know it’s too bright..I’m just hoping it’s gonna fade out.”

The first person to react is your boyfriend who is scrambling behind boxes and shelves of magazines and small trinkets, random snack packaging and left over hoodies before finally emerging back out of the stack of junk with a small digital camera.

“This one’s for Kai’s new hair style !! You’ll take a photo of us right jjun ??” He giggles melodically, the kind that’s hard to miss and sounds in your head on repeat minutes after.

You really liked Choi Beomgyu.

And you’re sure he loved you and everyone around him too. Despite the forefront he likes to mimic himself as loud and silly- you knew Beomgyu better than anyone else could.

Especially his small habit of wanting to document everything with people he loved the most: Kai growing up, his vacations with his family to beach resorts, questionable photos of yeonjun, his music and lyrics, little snippets of Toto, and you.

He never stopped documenting you. Whether it was making sure that he’d take a photo whenever you had time with each other or when you weren’t there he would call just to hear and record your voice to listen to later.

Beomgyu has always been thoughtful and ambitious. Often complaining about how much he wants to leave the small town to pursue his own band with Kai, who although is more reluctant, can’t help but say yes to him.

Maybe it was the time that you sat down with him at a small brunch spot for a date that you realised his own liveliness stemmed from his passion for music, his head bopping a long to the silky sound of rnb resonating through out the cafe.

“You really do like your music stuff don’t you Gyu?” You ponder, lips wrapping ‘round your straw again for a sip of your mango cooler in mid spring.

Your boyfriend only responds with a hum before giving a sweet smile, he grips the handle of his mug with both hands like he’s reflecting on something, something deeper starting to brim in his eyes.

“I’ve been really in to these kinds of songs lately. I’ve been working on a few projects, wrote a couple of lyrics about..you know, us.

Kai said he’ll compose everything in time for Summer for our second anniversary, I wanted it to be special so I even got his sisters to help. And while I was writing the lyrics I thought about this a lot . If we were to never meet, if we didn’t connect so quickly, if we didn’t bicker and cry together, if we never fell in love with each other. And I know it’s out of character for me to be so open but we’re graduating high school soon and I’ve always wanted to start a band. Everyone knows that. But I hate change, I hate the thought of leaving such a big part of us behind and with Kai too, he’ll be alone in that club room-our club room- when we’re gone too. But if there’s anything that does change I don’t want it to be us. I like how everything is right now..I think I’d rather die if it wasn't like this, honestly."

Maybe it was when you realised how much time you really had spent together.

Beomgyu had always been the same boy you first met; toothy grin and loud shouting whenever something didn’t go his way. You notice it now too in the way he’d pout whenever he’d notice tomatoes in his mom’s cooking, desperate to moan and groan, or after a date when he’d cling on to you and pepper a couple of kisses on your face before pulling you in to the tightest hug of your life as if you would escape from his grasp if he let go, or when he’s excited and really at his happiest- the way he’d unleash his signature laugh in excitement.

There was a charm to him that you always looked forward to every morning when you stepped out of the door to be greeted by the same face you’ve grown accustomed to since the start of time, stood waiting so you could spend every ounce of time together even if it was stupid small-talk.

"Yeah, I shouldn't have skipped sports class.. Mr Kim's going to give me an earful.."

"If I skip my first class today then we can both get a detention, then it wouldn't be so bad because you have the glorious, amazing, handsome Gyu right with you, right?"

There's a mutual pining for these kinds of conversations between you, it made your relationship 1000x more authentic, more human, more filled with understanding and love.

And then you hurry out of the door on the first day of summer, muttering the usual ‘morning Gyu!!’ to an unusual silence that welcomed itself on your porch.

Like you were talking a ghost, the bench sunken in to the grass of your front yard where he usually rested before you were ready to walk to school remained empty. None of the usual strum of music leaking through his head phones nor the feeling of the warmth that radiated from him.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be late or sick and skip out on a day of school but the unnerving feeling in your gut wouldn’t let you rest, as if something had gone terribly wrong, as if something had formed a climax in your life that you weren't even aware of yet.

So you trod to school alone in the scorching heat; the sliding of doors to your home room signalling the cluster of gossip and muttering to drown itself out as you slump over your desk, waiting for Beomgyu to message you about how he was feeling or if he overslept.

But the message never came.

In fact, he halted from showing up to school at all. His spot on the couch in your club room felt emptier than ever and the dread in your heart would only gape harder when he’d refuse to pick up your calls, the small time together you both used to treasure so dearly, let alone Yeonjun or Kai’s calls.

And no one reported him missing or filed in a report for a dead body in your small town; everyone got the hint when they’d walk by his house and the lights would remain turned off, when his parents didn’t come by with a basket of peaches from their backyard, when the small remnants of life started to fade without the Chois in the home they've lived in for decades.

It was like he never existed. Like he vanished mid-air.

There was no way to understand it; how one moment he would be cuddling with you in bed to the tranquil of the matching music boxes your parents had gifted you , and the next it would be complete radio silence, not a single voice mail or message from him.

The first time you cried after his disappearance occurred when you visited his home hoping he was merely unwell from a stupid summer cold that he always caught year after year. Kai had tagged behind like he knew you’d bawl your eyes out the moment you saw the polaroid photos you had taken together on your first date sticking out of the trash like a sore thumb upon heaps of waste and old toys and pans.

A smack to your face. That’s what it truly felt like seeing the way he grouped you with useless junk, like the lifetime you spent together meant nothing to him apart from a way to pass time and entertain himself. The flimsy film of paper waving back at you mockingly in the wind for even thinking for a split second that he would've thought about you before going MIA.

In the next few moments everything that came out of your mouth ranged from sobbing to incoherent cursing and tears rushing down your cheeks and on to Kai’s shoulder. You cursed at Choi Beomgyu like he had murdered your entire bloodline, you cried until you physically couldn’t strain your throat to wail anymore and you clutched on to Kai to fill the gap in your heart- substituting the void Choi Beomgyu had abandoned.

Still, you’d wake up every morning a bit earlier and linger by your door step a little longer just in case he’d show up again like he used to do.

Every. Single. Day.

But it was a one-man show every time you'd spend lunch in the noticeably duller club room on Yeonjun's phone attempting to ring him or his parents.

"Look, stop being a fool you've been ringing up his phone for a week and there's no answer. Fuck knows where he's at?"

You know Yeonjun's right, but you can't let go go of the slim chance that possibly he would pick up.

With no updates from Choi Beomgyu nor his parents, slowly he’d fade away from the scene of your upside down life that he'd left without warning.

The second time you cried so exhaustingly was the first winter without him when it was starting to show signs of frost- the flimsy thin blanket needing to be exchanged for a warmer duvet. Which of course had to be situated under the frameworks of your bed that strikes a hassle to reach as you hovered your hand over boxes of clutter and old treasures you’ve kept since you were young.

What you thought you were taking out to be a box stuffed with your winter duvet turned out to be a box bedazzled with striking bold letters, ‘Y/N and Beomgyu’s time capsule’, and poorly cut out cheesy photos of holding hands and playful cheek kisses plastered all over the lid.

Usually after a couple months of Beomgyu disappearing from your life and slowly adapting to a life without him you would cease to acknowledge anything that reminded you of him; knowing it will only pain you more. Though, you’re still healing from his unexplained absence, to this day you still didn’t know if he was even alive let alone avoiding you, so you can’t bring yourself to throw away the only bits you have left of him, the only evidence that he wasn’t purely fiction- that he really did exist in your life.

Uncovering the lid of the time capsule revealed your photographs from the rollercoaster you both screamed your hearts out on, the picnic in the hills by your homes in a spot no one else knew about except you and him, and the photo-booth strips of the both of you pulling stupid faces at the camera with props adorned all over your heads.

You’re unsure of what it was about the contents inside that really struck you with uncontrollable tears and wallow; possibly the naivety plastered on your face while you giggled, the moment of bliss frozen in time. More likely the anniversary gift you never had the chance to give him, a custom guitar pick you had bought for him engraved with your initials. Cheesy, but the thought of being so excited to pour your heart out on a gift you never got the chance to give lands your head buried in to your knees which were slowly becoming damp with tears.

The last time you ever let yourself cry so hard over Choi Beomgyu was at Kai’s house the following summer. Simply a call from him to visit before he leaves for Uni after he graduated. A soft knock on his door and it swung open, displaying to your eyes his cheerful expression that started to diminish in to a more solemn pitying glance once he saw you. It was evident he could tell you were still hurt and it was evident that whatever he was planning on handing over to you now probably wasn’t the best idea.

“What are you hiding from me, Kai?” A hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in self-conflict, unsure of whether or not to show whatever ‘forbidden’ item he had to you.

“I think you’re better off not having it actually, you don’t look so great right now Y/N.” He shies away from your stare knowing he’s hit a nerve. And something snaps in you because it only hurts you further that wherever you go the remains of his impact on you still show on your face, that no matter what you do to get over him people will always tie you back to him, like you can’t move on without being constantly reminded of what Choi Beomgyu once was to you.

“Show it to me Kai, please.” You hated to admit that you sound weak but you hated to admit more the way your face drops at the box he hands over to you. The box you, yeonjun, kai and choi beomgyu had kept in the club room filled with the sd cards of his digital camera and dvd cassettes of band practices.

“I figured you might’ve wanted them for safekeeping now that the club room’s been wiped of everything, I-I’ve got the dvd player going if you want to watch it, it would be nice to revisit those times.”

You nod gently before kicking your shoes off at the entrance and wandering in to his bed room where he kept his small figurines and boyish posters in trash bags ready to be disposed of.

"Kai, you really liked that show, why are you throwing all of your collectibles away?" There's a frown that only seems to become more extreme as you dig through the bag of old plushies and figurines he's kept since you first met him.

"I didn't want to throw them away at first, but I'm grown now..it's embarrassing to bring these with me to Uni.. you know that. And plus it's been ages since the club room fell apart, I matured a lot in that time too." Kai was always viewed as a little brother that you and Choi Beomgyu quote-on-quote 'raised', yet to see him now a fair few inches taller and more mature you can't help but feel shameful that everyone beside you has moved on already, leaving you stuck in the past in the club room with a playful Kai and Yeonjun, leaving you stuck with the craving of Choi Beomgyu's return behind.

Before your thoughts got to the worst of you the cassette was loaded by shaky hands and your glossy eyes fixed on to the static of the tv revealing a young Yeonjun, Kai, You and Choi Beomgyu in front of the camera- all laid out on the couch toppled and fanned over each other in a mess.

‘What’s this for gyu?’ You asked with a tongue stuck out at the camera.

‘He said it’s a secret. Who knows what he’s going to do with videos of me..” The older boy shudders at the thought jokingly which launches you both in to laughing and slapping Choi Beomgyu lightly on the back.

‘Well whatever it is, I’m sure Beomgyu hyung has his own reasons.’

‘Tbc’ flashes on the tv screen at the end which cues you to coo at how cute Kai was in these old outdated videos. Part of you wants to thank Choi Beomgyu for wanting to document all of this, especially when Kai slotted in the next cassette labelled ‘for her’

The video started with the light strumming of guitar (which you assumed was his own original piece) and Kai struggling to zoom in on his face, awkwardly fiddling with the camera before letting it rest at an angle.

‘Hi love,’

Two words. All that you wanted to hear in the past year and a bit without Beomgyu.

Two words from the voice that you’re slowly starting to forget.

‘I wanted to wish us a happy anniversary, to our second year of being together as a couple, and not just stuck to each other’s side. By the time you’re seeing this I would have gotten my hair cut already- it’s getting long now and I know you like it better when it’s neater so that it doesn’t get tangled in your rings I gifted you.

There’s a lot that I want to say: first how proud I am of you. I don’t think I got the chance to tell or show you how shocked I felt when you confessed to me out of the blue, I think you’re admirable really, even if you’re a bit lightheaded at times. Second, how much I love you. I’ve said this before loads of times but there’s never a time when i’m not thinking about you and never a time where I can imagine a future without you being part of it. You're so important to me to the point I feel guilty for not being able to be as great of a lover as you are to me. Back to the main point of this tape... I hope you remember my promise I made on that day; it’s special- okay? I’ve put a lot of effort in to preparing a song that I want to dedicate to us only... Kai and I haven’t decided a name on it yet but we wanted to name it after you, so happy anniversary beautiful, I love you.

Beomgyu out.‘

By the time the dvd ends with Choi Beomgyu singing the lyrics of a slow ballad he wrote for you, the locks that held your own emotional stability let the tears escape and fall from your eyes again- staining your shirt in the process,

you can’t grasp why he left when he dedicated so much time in to showing his love in his own discreet ways, what you did that was so terrible he couldn’t stand being with you anymore and where you went wrong.

There’s no logic in learning to move on from someone you loved so fulfillingly when you’ve spent over half of your life dependent on them. Could you even resent him? You wish you could..but for all you know he could be hurt, or he could be living his best life he's always dreamt of without you and you don’t know what’s arguably worse,

Because you can feel it, the distaste that remains on your tongue that gets stronger the more you start to resent him, a constant reminder of his own selfishness and a reflection of what he had turned you in to by leaving. Yet you can't bring yourself to hate him, not until you can get the closure on what made him want to leave what you had so desperately and never come back, not until you can see with your own eyes that he's alive and well.

Telling your self one thing.

That no matter what, you wouldn't be able to love Choi Beomgyu the same way again.

"Can you copy up some of the files I've sent you? Management needs it for a product showcase later." Sae whirls the mixture of warm milk and instant coffee in her mug mundanely before leaning on the counter of the rest station to complain to you about the intern she's supervising.

"I also need you to ask Kazuha if she can cover my shift on Monday, I've got plans with my boyfriend to go see the movies."

Your responses don't vary much outside of agreeing hums and polite nods but you enjoy being in Sae's presence, her long talks bringing some form of entertainment in your boring office job.

"Speaking of which, are you seeing anyone right now? Come onnn I know there has to be someone who has the hots for you in the department. Oh and plus you have the high school reunion that Kai's been begging you to go for the past month !! What do you think of Kai?? Doesn't he give you that puppy-dog kind of vibe?? I think you should try-"

The stern tone in your voice cuts her off immediately,

"It's fine Sae really..I'm not that in to functions anyways and Kai's like a bro-"

A head of brunnete hair peeps in to the door of the rest station, grinning ear-to-ear to which makes you roll your eyes in exhaustion.

"Did I hear you talking about me?? Does this mean you're considering coming to the reunion with me? Pretty please Y/N-"

"For the last time no, Kai, you know I don't like going to these sorts of things." You shrug and look back at Sae who's busy making melodrama scenarios in her head, visibly geeking at the thought of you and Kai.

"But Yeonjun hyung will be there, he's coming back from Seoul, you wanna see him too right?" Kai pleads.

"Yeah, listen to Kai ! Go to the function ! Go to the function !"

Truth be told, you don't want to be back there. You don't want to revisit the people who saw you at your lowest 5 years ago when he first left you, it irks you to think back on it. But it's so rare to see Yeonjun who only revisits your small hometown once or twice a year, especially when he's now thriving running a successful dance school and creating choreographies for record labels, he doesn't even have time to message you or Kai with how busy he is- so you know how important it is to show up when he has time.

Sighing, you give in to their pleas and agree on a time for Kai to pick you up from your apartment. You couldn't imagine him or Sae happier as she shoos you back to your desk to finish your piles of work on time for her to plan an outfit and prepare you for your 'biggest event in months', forcing you to type away spreadsheets of work until your fingers ached and swelled.

Surprisingly Sae's advice (forcing you) to finish work quickly kept handy as you submitted in your last document. The week flashed by in an instant and now at 2.pm on a Saturday you were ready to clock off.

The tapping of your heels echoed behind as you walked outside of the building's entrance to wait for Kai's jeep to roll up, giving you time to think.

Something really minor that you noticed was Kai's shift in attitude towards going to the reunion as if a week ago he wasn't begging at your feet to accompany him, to avoiding any talk about the reunion; instead circling around the idea of just going to a bar with Yeonjun as the three of you. You brush it off as Kai overly worrying for your own wellbeing which only makes you want to prove yourself to him more by going, hoping to save some face.

And still when you enter the quiet space of his car and lean against the back rest he asks you again,

"are you sure you still wanna go? I feel like I've forced something on to you that you're uncomfortable with.." the only thing you can focus on is the subtle frown his lips have automatically formed and the quieter voice he uses when he's upset or overly guilty over nothing.

"I'm sure Kai," you chuckle lightheartedly, " I think we should get going to my place or else Sae's going to give us an earful for locking her out."

The attempt to lighten the mood works because the ride home is smoother with small-talk between you and the younger male blabbing on about company gossip and badmouthing some of the classmates that had scandalous school lives who might be showing up to the reunion.

Conversations come to an end when he parks outside of your apartment to give a quick thumbs up that he'll be there to collect you in about 3 hours. Sae's quick eye runs down the flight of stairs to hug and spin you around in excitement-

"You didn't back out this time girl!! Come on come onnn, open the door I want to show you the outfit I prepared." You cringe at all sorts of outfit combinations coming in to mind; analysing her own personal style the key accessory to the outfits you think she's planned for you is a bralette and optionally a skirt and underwear and bangles- nothing that you'd really like to show up in to a high school reunion.

Jangling your keys to unlock the doors to your apartment Sae dashes to your bed before pulling out strips and bits of fabric and patterns and dresses out of her pocket-sized designer bag. Assuming she's been gifted a lot by her boyfriend and spending her promotion pay on a new wardrobe you can only admire at the rows of meticulously planned outfits suited for the reunion, and finally you can understand why she's so highly praised in the office as a fashion goddess.

Once your three hours are up and your eyes are starting to dry from the mascara you've applied in a rush you scurry downstairs with Sae following behind snapping a couple pictures for 'memories'.

You were dressed head to toe in a sleek white cardigan and a miniskirt, wielding a purse you had been gifted by Yeonjun on your birthday which adorned your bracelets. Kai's already leaned against his car in a beige flannel and tank paired with loose jeans held up by a leather belt: his hair is lazily styled with volume mousse to accentuate a couple of his brunette curls.

"W-Woah..Sae did a great job, you did too of course.. I like the uhh-lashes, they make you really stand out."

"I know right ?? She's practically glowing today !!" Sae giggles and rushes you into the passenger seat before pulling out a dangling necklace from her pocket.

Your heart drops.

"I saw it in the jewellery box earlier, I think the gold will really compliment your top!!!"

Of course, you don't dare to ruin her high spirits that the necklace she had just handed to you was your ex's first anniversary gift; a small pendant containing a diamond which rested between your collar bones as she clasped it on. You didn't want to project your own insecurities and sound immature by crying over a necklace your ex had given you when realistically it should mean nothing but a simple accessory to you now considering he's been a ghost for 5 years to you. So you let it dangle around your neck meaninglessly on the car ride to the restaurant the reunion was being hosted at.

Immediately upon entry the two of you are greeted with loud hollering and cheers from fuzzy faces you can barely piece together, Steve from your sciences, Yuna who was in the home room next to you and Sohyun who joined your maths class halfway through the year:

"Hey guys look who's here !! Kai and Y/N!! They really lucked it out with the club room..they used to sell candy and pirated games there remember?!!"

The memory makes you mentally facepalm as you greet the large group gathered already, 1-2 shots in to the night and laughing and conversing as you make your way to sit down at two empty seats with Kai facing Yeonjun and next to you.

"It's been a while you idiot, how's work goin'? The older male's voice booms louder than usual, already appearing to be slightly tipsier than usual before coddling at you and leaning over to squish your cheeks which you argue over 'ruining your base'.

"Rare seeing you at a place like this hm, did you come just to see me? God I raised you two so... well.." His speech started to slur as he took another sip out of his glass, the connotation of being the same level of maturity as Kai shakes you a bit, but if you were Kai you'd probably feel this way too when you talk about how cute and angel-like he was when he first knocked on your club room door- still a child in your eyes.

Yeonjun pours you a shot amidst the loud chatting and cheers from drinking games which leaves your head to zone out and tune in with the beat of the background cacophany of shrieks and chants, interrupted by the jingling of bells as the doors of the restaurant opens to reveal another face you doubt you'll recognise.

However your head doesn't cease to turn when the sudden loudness becomes nearly mute almost comedically before someone exclaims,

"What the fuck man!? Beomgyu's here too?"

You don't know how to explain what you feel next. A million thoughts and emotions flooding your head as you turn your head around almost shakingly to face the entrance of the restaurant where he stood: leaned back in a graphic tee and baggy jeans hung low around the drip of his waist, his jawline was sharper after gradually losing the baby fat in his face and now opted for black styled bangs instead of the mute shoulder length middle part he made his signature hairstyle through out your youth, noticeably taller and more masculine too specifically in his shoulders which are broader. It only makes you realise how much time has passed since you last saw him, it only makes you want to run up to him and wrap your arms around him and never let go in case he vanishes again before you know it. But the only thing you can focus on, and what everyone else can focus on, is the daintier hand eloped around his arm, a petite girl with pink dyed hair and ribbon pigtails, she was cute, awfully cute which only stirred unease deep inside you.

It's like instinct that the first thing you both do is search and analyse each other, eyes locking for a split second before he calmly dismisses the mass amounts of questions asking about where he's been all along and swerving over to sit snug next to a drunken Yeonjun, directly facing you.

"My mann, Gyu !! You showed up geez look at you now- nearly taller than me. I wanted to go out for drinkss together last time but.. you knoww I got called up by my director n' couldn't make it."

There's a wave of surprise that rushes through your blood in the way that Yeonjun converses with Choi Beomgyu- like they've been in contact daily for ages, and you- you didn't know about it.

"Listen up everyone, Gyu's been one of my closest friends since forever in high school, I recently got in touch with him in Seoul half a year ago so let's give a toast to him and his girlfriend Lilith, yeah?"

No one bothers to hide the gossiping and muttering evidently about you and Beomgyu's new girlfriend- pitying you for being left behind and unable to date someone new in this small town or comparing you to the younger girl by his side now. Your blood runs cold as you reach out for your cup for the toast before Kai sets your hand down, offering to toast for you instead.

If you didn't look in time you would've missed it. The twitch in his eye as he watched you and Kai exchange gestures together, not bothering to waste any time in asking Kai a question,

"Both of you are dead silent you know, don't ya miss me? Beomgyu?? Fuck man we've spent years together and none of you wanna speak up or ask me something? You two look real close."

The pride in his face makes your blood boil at the lack of consideration for the fact that he's been missing and ghosting you for 5 years only to return with an even more insensitive comment??!! All that wants to leave your mouth is a string of curses but Kai interrupts, clearing his throat,

"We're doing fine, better actually. You?"

Anyone who can see or hear can sense the rigid tension on your table as Yeonjun downs his shots away becoming drunker and more absent in the conversation.

"Oh really?" Beomgyu snaps back, "That's funny to hear..I've been doing good too, especially with Lilith by my side, we met at a company dinner and she's been a blessing ever since."

The contrast between the 'awwws and cooing at his relationship reveal and the nauseating feeling rising in the pit of your stomach makes you all the more sickly; watching him intertwine his fingers with hers to flash an engagement ring, a rock size a woman can only dream of, on Lilith's finger, not yours. You obnoxiously stare at the ring, a bit too long.

'When I start a successful band I'll make sure the first thing I do is buy you a ring, make sure everyone knows I'm yours.'

'Well I want a radiant shaped ring, think you can do that Mr. all bark no talk?" You giggle

You stare at the exact model dazzling on her finger, radiant and glistening under the ambient lighting of the restaurant. There's no appetite in you anymore, there's enough to stomach already as you watch Lilith giggle when Beomgyu whispers in her ear- it's jealousy that bubbles in you- ugly and disdainful. You feel sour for thinking this way- for wanting to believe that you should be in her place.

The anger and resentment that you've buried deep within you over the last 5 years tilts on edge, veins probably popping on your neck and hand with how tight you're clutching on to your purse.

Beomgyu is only amused by your reaction, a smug grin shamelessly written all over his face as he watches you tremble almost mockingly, degrading you with only his gaze which focuses on the inexpensive necklace his teen self had gifted you still resting around your neck in ridicule compared to the luxury ring around his new lover's finger.

"I'm Lilith in case you forgot, I really love your necklace- where'd you get it from lovely?"

Beomgyu cuts you off before you can get out your first words as if he knew you'd say something insensitive to his so-precious girlfriend,

"That's Y/N, you've heard about her." Your brow furrows at him as you watch the distinct difference in Lilith's body language; now instead of choosing to engage in conversation, is ignoring you and flaunting her affection for Beomgyu: running her fingers across his back and ruffling his hair lghtly, even going as far as to kissing him on the lips on full display in your direction to irritate you- to show that she's now the centre of his attention, that she's his muse.

And it works, greatly so because you can't bear with the humiliation being thrown on to you so explicitly. Within seconds you're unclasping your necklace and launching the edged metal directly towards Lilith's face aggravatingly followed by your untouched shot of alcohol causing her to shriek and flail which left the table in uproar. The chair screeches against the cold floor as you strut towards the door in anger,

"If you love my necklace so bad you can keep it because your cheater of a boyfriend gifted it to me anyways."

Regret settles in as you storm outside, you can just about hear Beomgyu and Kai arguing as you walk further and further away, drowning out the sound of your surroundings with your own thoughts, leaving you with black-dyed tears that started to run down your cheeks without you even realising it.

You're about to reach a red light when an arm yanks you hard with brute force,

"What the fuck has gotten in to you? We haven't seen each other in 5 years and now you wanna be a whining bitch?" Choi Beomgyu looks outraged and the grip on your arm only gets stronger at your silence.

"What do you think Beomgyu? Seriously I can't tell if you're playing stupid or if you really are fucked in the head. You leave me out of no where to move to God knows where to return 5 years later with a new fiancee? If I were any smarter I should've realised sooner how eager you were to move on to another woman behind my back. You didn't even try to answer or call me, you didn't even try to give me a reason for why you left and now you want to reenter the life I've gotten used to without you just to mock me right in my face that you've found someone new to toy with?"

There's no stopping the tears that fail to keep put in your tear ducts, constantly rolling out one-by-one as you avoid making eye contact with him knowing that you might just collapse in to sobbing again like you did when you first visited his house after he left.

"Look I didn't mean to mov-"

"Yeah because suddenly moving out of nowhere is a great excuse for you to ghost me for 5 years, I left everything the exact same as it is begging for you to contact me one day. Because suddenly moving out of nowhere somehow excuses our photos that you dumped in to the pile of trash outside of your house the week you left? How am I supposed to believe you even ever loved me when you couldn't even hide your disgust for me in the first place? Why did you even say yes to my confession if all you were going to do is leave me in the end anyways? What was the point Choi Beomgyu, fucking tell me?!!"

"How can I tell you if you're going to cut me off to bitch on about something irrelevant? I did love you for all I and everyone else knows I don't get why you're trying to make shit up when I put so much effort in to the relationship and this is what I get back? What? Because we're exes that gives you the excuse to humiliate my fiancee in front of strangers now, do you know how crazy and attached you look? It's been five years Y/N why can't you leave it as a mistake we made when we were young?"

Your sniffles only become obscenely louder as your eyes widen at his audacity to brush off his disappearance so lightly, as if you didn't waste months searching for him in every corner of the town, as if you didn't stay up all night trying to find out what could've happened to him, like you didn't matter to him as much as he mattered to you.

"You've changed too Y/N. Always refusing to come to these kinds of dinners and now you're clinging on to another man and trying to seduce others aren't you?

The silence triggers him to speak insensitively again,

"You're jealous, aren't you? You're so stuck in the past you can't let me go, you can't let us go, going so far to accuse me of cheating- it's been 5 years.. I'm sure you've been slutting yourself out to Kai while I was gone anyways so don't be all sensitive and crying now because I decided to move on," He kisses his teeth before speaking again, " We were never going to work out Y/N, we both know that. We were just experimenting as kids so don't get hung up on it and don't bother trying to interfere with my life now either. There's nothing between us."

Tears still continue to fall from your reddened eyes, the mix between a disappointed and angry expression on his face while he judges your crying only makes you cry harder, a hand reaching up to wipe your eyes and cover your face to avoid any more embarrassment.

Choi Beomgyu huffs and spins on his heel to head back towards the restaurant- probably to go comfort Lilith after the whole fiasco- before making one last remark with his back turned to you as he walks away,

"And I wasn't trying to ghost you by moving all of a sudden, I just didn't want to burden you with long distance, I didn't want to be such a fucking nuisance in your life like I am in everyone else's."

To that you muster up all the strength you have between hiccups and sobs to shout back at him,

"I never asked for you to love me back. I would've preferred if you had just told me straight up that you couldn't bear it Beomgyu. I waited every single day, for you to come back t. I watched the cassette tape you left for our second anniversary every night just to hear your voice because you were gone for so long I was starting to forget it. If anything you're all that I want to forget right now. Did you even bother to think about how I felt when you left?

For fuck's sake Beomgyu, " You sniffle,

"I thought you were dead..."

He stops in his tracks and for a minute you think the old Beomgyu would return, the Beomgyu that would write little love letters and slide them to you during lessons, the Beomgyu that would offer you a piggy-back ride home whenever your legs felt weak, the Beomgyu who would've given up the whole world just to be with you.

But he walks on, in silence, refusing to turn back around as he keeps direct on the path back to the restaurant.

Your fists clench as you scream at the top of your lungs loud enough to hear from the distance,

"Fine then. I'll consider you dead. The Choi Beomgyu I know would rather die than be shit like you."

Rain started to downpour heavily almost cinematically as you crouched in the middle of the side walk unable to move from the spot that changed everything. With your tear stained face buried in to your neck you crouch, hoping that at some point you'll wake up from a bad dream. But there's anything but peace in your head right now to even fall asleep, his words constantly ringing in your head; "We were never going to work out." a constant reminder of how naive you were for bothering to confess your feelings in the first place.

Although suddenly the rain stopped even as it continued to pitter-patter all around you. Moving your neck to see an umbrella with Kai crouched under it too to meet you at eye-level.

"Fuck don't look Kai it's embarrassing-"

"Cry. I feel like you pent up all your feelings nowadays and it's hard to see you vent out these emotions even to me. It's okay to cry, I promise there's no judgement in me, Y/N. We can stay here for a bit, you can cry all you want, I'll listen."

The brunette removes his flannel to drape around you to prevent you from catching a cold, a warm hand holding on to yours as he waits patiently.

"Kai, do you think I'm selfish?"

His eyes widen before returning back to normal at your question, immediately reaching to comfort you as you sobbed all over Sae's shirt.

"I think you're more selfless than anyone I've ever met, in fact I think that jerk is the selfish one, could he give up 5 years of his life to wait for anyone that he loves?"

And it's like your wails never stop until you reach your apartment at half 1 in the morning, Kai carrying you up the stairs to your flat after spending nearly two hours talking and consoling you in the rain, you were bound to both be ill tomorrow, but all that he can focus on is his own guilt.

He should've told you that he would've been there.

He should've never dragged you to the reunion in the first place.

So he does what's logical to him, send Yeonjun a quick message.

You: What made you think it was a good idea to invite him? You knew she would've been upset by it.

Yeonjunnie: It's about time that she moves on, she needs that exposure or else she'll be dreading it the rest of her life.

Yeonjunnie: The hangover's starting 2 kick in, i'll msg you later

You: You know it was wrong of you to do this, to set her up like that.

You: We'll talk another time.

Groggily you wake up in your bed in the same clothes reeking of alcohol as you did yesterday, rubbing your eyes to clear your vision only to spot a sleeping Kai resting at the edge of your bed.

You've never been more grateful for the younger boy beside you, he truly felt like your last resort at this point, he really lived up to his nickname; angel.

The buzzing of the phone and the flood of messages trying to instigate something out of the act you put on last night makes you groan in frustration, desperate to rip your hair out in shame. Why on earth would you pull a stunt like that? Now everyone thinks you're obsessed with this lousy Choi Beomgyu and his girlfriend!!

Little did you know the whole of last night Beomgyu couldn't rest either. Constantly arguing non-stop with Lilith at the hotel they booked. He's been arguing with her almost daily ever since they got together out of convenience. From the moment his dad had fallen in to huge debt and was forced to move in to Seoul to work under Lilith's family to repay it, he's been ushered in to trying to make connections between their families ever since. Especially with his mom's sudden illness from stress, hooked up to the machines and needing vital treatment, he knows better than anyone else that he'd be unable to leave you with such overwhelming news, instead choosing to settle his debts with Lilith- who's giving him an earful all the time.

"Ugh she- she's not even your fiancee Gyu !! I am !! Did you really have to humiliate me by making even more of a scene chasing after your ex-girlfriend like a lost dog? I had strangers comfort me because my own boyfriend couldn't!!"

Beomgyu cusses under his breath before leaning over the balcony with a cigarette between his lips- a bad habit he had picked up in order to escape from the petty arguments his 'fiancee' always wanted to pick, the whole engagement ‘act’ made him want to puke in revolt.

A part of him shattered when he saw you crying for the first time in 5 years because of him. So deeply wretched and hurt by his words that he said out of anger, spouted out of spite.

Beomgyu can never find balance in himself; he's always felt like a burden to the people around him, he knows that if you saw the habits he picked up while working to pay back the debt his family owed you'd be hurt even more.

He's become insensitive trash. Visible in the differences between the two of you as you both matured so distinctively. You didn’t change at all, you still kept on to fragments of him, the tape recordings, the necklace, everything, and he felt like shit. Forced to take family photos and attend business dinners with a woman he despises, his dad slaving away for her family who trapped them in to debt in the first place and a mom who he couldn’t even talk to for the first 2 years of moving because she was so ill from shock. There’s no escape from the fact that he’s practically useless to everyone around him.

So he thought, he thought that you would be better off with someone unlike him- someone like Kai who could deal with his own issues much better than he can and still prioritise and love you without hurting you like he does because of his own incompetence.

And he regrets it so so much, how vile he was insulting you when he would never dream of even muttering those words to you in any universe, becoming too extreme to even slut shame you when he knows you're the purest person at heart, he knows you better than anyone.

He at least knew you better than anyone. But he knows he's fucked it all up to apologise to you now, cut too deep to ever rekindle the love he still has for you…he's gone too far with his hateful words.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

"Let's break it off."

"What??"

"The engagement, let's break it off. The debt's been paid off hasn't it?"

"Are you seriously pulling this because you saw your old teenage girlfriend at a reunion? Are you fucking kidding me Gyu- she threw her drink on me!!"

"It’s not like we’re engaged out of love anyways. I'd never spare a look in the direction of someone in the likes of you. My mom's last treatment session is this Friday, so there's no need for us to stay is there?" He scoffs blatantly, taking a drag out of his cigarette- a bad habit he'd picked up on that he knows you'd hate.

The smoke ascends in to the current of cold air, ashes from the burnt edge dusting off on to the marble of the hotel balcony."Tell me what she said to you today Beomgyu ?? What did she say that makes you not want to marry me anymore- thi-this is outrageous are you insane??" Lilith crosses her arms and leans against the door of the balcony, irritated by Beomgyu's silence with his back towards her.

"Hah? What makes you so confident she even wants you back Beom? Any woman who wants to go back to a man who ditched her in this shithole is stupid, you have me here already so why do you keep looking in her direction? You only have me Beom, what don't you get?" She unties her ribbon pig-tails and runs a slender hand through her hair before walking up to Beomgyu, a hand snaking around his waist as she presses her tiny face to the small of his back with fake sniffles.

"I'll forgive you Beom..it's okay. Just apologise and I'll-"

"I can’t stand being under the same roof as you. I despise it more than anything. You know well that if you didn't interfere I wouldn't have left, I would've sat by her side at the dinner with her instead of the whiny bitchy act you keep putting up at the table.

Don't even try calling me, I'm sure there's other men you can find with your grandaddy." The force exerted on Lilith's hand as Beomgyu breaks from her grip is great enough to make her yelp and clutch at her wrist, starting to bruise as she shouts with a more authentic drag of her voice,

"Fuck you Choi Beomgyu you jerk!!"

Storming out of the hotel room late at night his feet drag him to the only place he knows best, landing him at your parent's house with a weak greeting hoping that your mom would show him some mercy considering he’s slept in your room for half of his life.

She welcomes him in without thought seeing the redness that’s starting to tinge his eyes.

“It’s been a long time Beommie, how have you been?” Her wrinkled hands pours a warm cup of Jasmine tea which is pushed towards him,

“Have you seen Y/N yet? She’s been looking for you ever since you left you know- you were best friends.”

His heart pangs with even more guilt, refusing to look your mother in the eye knowing he’ll only beat himself up more for something he can’t fix.

“I haven’t seen her yet..it’s probably better that way, I don’t look the greatest.” He jokes with a salty taste in his mouth unable to tell her how horribly he spoke to her daughter, his love.

“Beommie, tell me what’s happened, why did you leave? Why did you come back? I’m sure you had other plans in this small town.” And all he can do is bawl and crash down the moment he starts speaking, telling her about the debt, about his mother’s condition, about his job, about Lilith and about you, oh what he’s done to you.

In the corner of his eye he can just about peep the time capsule the two of you had made together jutting out jarringly under the couch.

All he can think about is the regret and guilt he feels for letting himself become such a hot mess at the cost of losing you when you're the last thing he wanted to lose, the lovestruck photos of the two of you messily stuck on to flimsy cardboard only twisted the knife further.

Beomgyu doesn't ever cry- you could say he doesn't show his vulnerable side to anyone but you because even when he had to move out of the very town he grew up in because of debt he never cried, even when his mom was hospitalised he never cried, yet every single time he catches himself missing your embrace he can’t restrain the urge to cry.

Cry like he's never let out any of his emotions before.

Cry until he's numb from the hurt of letting you go.

In fact, you probably didn’t notice today that he cried as he walked away; tears burning and streaming down his cheeks the moment he saw your emotions so raw, so vulnerable, so pained by him. The immense guilt he had observing the way your throat scratched abrasively as you shouted and scolded him deservingly.

He never planned to be so horrible to you,

He only wanted to deter you from being hurt even more by him,

yet it backfired, spitting insults far worse than he could control, regretting every decision, every word, every action that had hurt you.

There's nothing that hits worse than self realisation after the argument,

that Choi Beomgyu is a fool,

the lowest of the low for ever treating you like this.

“Kai you have to wake up now, I need to collect a couple side dishes from my mom.”

Usually he’d take a couple more nudges before fully waking but this time he’s on full alert- worryingly asking if you felt okay.

Then again, Kai’s always been the alert type. Always making sure that he’d be the first to knock on your door the moment you messaged that you were sick, hand carrying all sorts of medicine and porridge. You’d think that you were diseased with a terminal illness with how much he panics over these things.

“Auntie wants you to collect some side dishes again?”

“Yeah, I bet she’s made too much food for the neighbours and now she’s handing it all down to me.”

Your attempt to joke doesn’t land because Kai stills looks at you with worry- having a six sense built in to him so that he knows when something’s wrong.

“I’ll come with you too, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

The drive gives you a peace of mind as you step outside of Kai’s jeep to push open the paint-chipped gates which creaked with even the slightest touch, “Do you reckon you could get this repainted for us one day?”

“Don’t push it now,” he laughs, “your mom would kill me if she saw me doing all the work while you watch your dramas.”

“Stop trying to get on my mom’s good side seriously !! You make me look like a shit daughter” you replied, knocking on the door expecting to see your mom with a basket full of fruits and side dishes she’s cooked.

Right as you knock the second time the door creaks open, except your mom is not 5’11 with short unkempt hair with the first sign of stubble emerging from her chin, she’s far from it.

You bite on your lip hard enough to draw blood, watching Choi Beomgyu emerge out of the door disheveled and in a trance.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!!” You grunt shoving past him which signals him to raise his hands in the air, “Mom?? Are you here?”

“Look- I didn’t do anything to your mom I just happene-“

”Yeah right.” Kai shoves in to his shoulder as he walks past through the doors causing Beomgyu to scowl. Out of all the people you could see today, why him after you argued so feistily yesterday?

“Be nice to Beomgyu will you?” your mom asks concerningly around the corner, “you never stop making a ruckus do you? It’s been years since you’ve seen each other cut him some slack.”

“I would if he didn’t disappear for 5 years and decide to return and think he can storm all over what’s mine on a random Sunday.”

Beomgyu shifts uncomfortably by the door, choosing not to speak in case he opens his mouth recklessly again.

“Well he’s going to be staying here for the next couple of days before he goes back so why don’t you help clean out the house, hm? You’ve got Kai to help you too.”

You feign defeat as you drag yourself up the stairs to look for the hoover, Kai following behind before Beomgyu could even intercept; expressionless in every manner as he greets him out of politeness.

It’s like a breath of fresh air again away from Beomgyu, who although was bothered snd full of shit yesterday is quiet and meek today. You search inside the dust-filled storage room for the hoover,

“Fuck!” pricking yourself slightly in the process over a nail embedded in a plan of wood inflicting you to yelp was not how you wanted your day to go at all, looking down at the small wound with furrowed eyebrows and half annoyance half pain.

“Show me that.”

“What’s gotten in to you?! It’s fine.” You brush off Beomgyu’s arm which gripped on to your hand with a scowl, staring intently at the small wound starting to clot.

“Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about yo-“

“Save it, Beomgyu. I heard all that you wanted to say yesterday.”

“Y/N can you come here for a sec?” From the distance Kai shouts out cinematically in time, waving a hand in the air to call you over giving you the opportunity to shake your hand from Beomgyu’s grasp to shift to whatever dilemma he's got now.

“Can you help me open the paint lid? Think it’s a bit jammed.”

“Hah!! You’re so weak Kai seriously it’s nothing..” You retract your laughter the moment you attempt to remove the lid, shut tight around the ridges impossible to remove like the sword in the stone.

”Quit being so embarrassing!”

“I’m not !! You definitely gave me this to open to embarrass me on purpose !!”

Laughing, you ruffle Kai’s hair affectionately, trying to hush his wild laughter fit so your mom doesn’t think you’ve bloody murdered him upstairs.

Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together as he watches the subtle glint in Kai’s eye as he tucks your hair behind your ears and laughs, one that makes him sick to his stomach as he watches the soap opera you both are putting on display in what he can only describe as jealousy.

His eye twitches at Kai who notices the audience watching, choosing to court you more obnoxiously as he tucks a strand behind your ear and whispers small jokes, unnecessarily touching your hands whenever he could and finding any opportunity to distract you from Beomgyu.

Beomgyu wanted you to have someone better, someone like Kai. But the anger that resides within him refuses to leave as he grabs the hoover and walks past the both of you in a berating silence, an expressionless face and heavy trodding down the stairs.

"Always in a mood, gosh." Kai handles the now-opened cans of paint and signals you to carry the other hues of green that were definitely straining on the muscles in your hand.

To put it short, Kai's emasculate build has its pros because he carries the tins of paint down the stairs like light work while you lag behind, still finishing the last couple of sets of stairs.

"We need to talk."

"Oh my god fuck!!" Exclaiming in surprise you don't even register the blotches of forest green splattered across your face and baby doll top from launching your occupied hands in to the air. Once again at the crime scene rests Choi Beomgyu who becomes startled the minute he realises his mistake.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I got it Choi. Just go to my room and fetch me a shirt I need to change out of my top..."

There's a slight sulk on your face as you wipe your hand across the paint (which only smudges and widens the stain much to your annoyance) as Beomgyu hurries up the flights of stairs, Kai's worried voice sounding in the distance as he exclaims an "are you okay?"

Reaching your room which was overfilled with moving boxes and your dad's gardening gadgets made it feel more like a storage room despite the signature smell of your home in the very room you both had stayed in still lingering. Doors which creak at the handles when opened reveal the mix of grays, blues and whites in your wardrobe with a bold addition of black in to the mute tones.

It was his shirt. A loose, black graphic tee with a print that was starting to fade which he religiously wore to every band practice, ironed and well kept on a hanger.

He knows how you'll react to the shirt.

He knows he shouldn't do it.

But he rushes down the stairs anyway with the fabric clutched tight in his hands as he knocks on the bath room door.

"Come in.. you owe me big time because the stain isn't coming off-"

click-

Your head whiplashes around to the dooming sound of the door locking behind you- a towering Choi Beomgyu blocking it directly, arms crossed with a shirt tucked between them.

"I don't like that. Open it now Beomgyu this is weird.."

A glint of anticipation appears in his eyes, face contorting in to a grin which made your stomach churn, unsure of what to do in the situation as your mouth goes dry.

"Dropping the last name now huh?" You open your mouth to retaliate but all he does is flick the shirt open to reveal his graphic tee you've kept in your wardrobe for years. It's embarrassing how fast instincts kick in to grab at the shirt to hide it as if he hasn't seen that you've kept a lot of his stuff already, huffing out a "don't get any big ideas I can see it on your face, it's gross."

The attempts to shift past him to reach the door becomes futile which only makes you more agitated to see the shit eating grin still radiant on his face.

"Move it Beomgyu."

"You still want me..right?" In a state of complete shock you cross your eyebrows and look up at him and the audacious question he asked, not even sure if he's being completely honest asking you this when just yesterday he was so set on being a dick to you.

"I want the Choi Beomgyu I knew 5 years ago so move it."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that already it's just a top who gives a shit, stop acting like you care Beomgyu.

"No that's not it, listen to me." The huffs that come out of your mouth are direct evidence that you wanted to be anywhere but stuck in a room with Beomgyu now, the awkwardness between you starker than ever,

"I'm sorry, for what I said yesterday- I didn't mean it, you know that Y/N. You know I still care for you, I thought about you every single day after I left, and after seeing you yesterday while you were crying I went back to Lilith and I- I called off the engagement." He slowly clicks the door open again, preparing for you to leave, but you stay stuck in motion and in paralysis.

If your eyes weren't bulging out of your head earlier they definitely were now, words stuck in your throat and unable to escape as the familiar feeling of hot tears threaten to burn at your eyes again.

"I'm an idiot for saying such hurtful words something over came me..I was pent up about everything, about Lilith, about not seeing you earlier about Kai too- and I know I can't take back what I said and that you won't forget it so easily, I just wanted to make sure you know that I don't hate you. Actually we're not so different, Y/N, I still listen to those recorded calls we had together too, I still look back on the digital camera of us in our last year of high school, when I was away from this small town every single thing reminded me of you. Everything about me still revolves around you, so please don't resent me..." His voice croaks at the end with his head looking down at the bathroom tile, a singular tear hitting the floor in the silence, he waits for a reply which doesn't come out of your mouth at all, instead your lips quiver in sync with how you slightly shake.

You're unsure of what to say- there's not right answer to his apology, no right answer to his confession which can't blur the messy boundaries he's already crossed yesterday. It was like day and night and it boiled your blood how fast he can decide to change his mind as if he wasn't fuming at you yesterday like he wasn't missing for 5 years with no contact.

Slap!-

There wasn't even time for your answer before your palm instinctively reached to singe a red burn on his face which became redder with the minute, triggering a couple more droplets out of his reddening eyes to fall simultaneously on the cold tile.

"I can't even tell what you really think anymore Beomgyu," You choke, holding back on salty tears, "One moment you want to call me obsessed and a slut and the next, you're.. you want to tell me that I'm all you think about? Be honest Beomgyu. Do you really love me? Because I don't think anyone who says their world revolves around me would fucking leave me here for 5 years for no reason!! I'm begging you please, just be honest with me Gyu...don't..don't waste my time anymore." Glossy eyes damp with tears look up to his with raw sadness, the guilt in his face written all over the way his eyebrows raise and his jaw opens and closes like he wanted to say something, but he doesn't take the initiative to.

Without answering he walks closer towards you; a hand reaches up to wipe your tears away however you flinch and push him away which makes his heart sink, only now realising how badly he's hurt you to the full extent.

"I can't resent you Gyu you know that, I just don't understand what was so disgusting about me that made you want to leave, what made you want to get rid of me, why you left in the first place?" Spit from how fast you're talking runs down your chin as you begin to bawl uncontrollably again; you hate how bad you are at controlling your emotions given that every time you try to make a point your body just resorts to tears when it comes to Beomgyu.

Shock in all 5 tiers of regret floods over the male whose fists clench subtly, wanting to let you know that the reason for him leaving so suddenly was anything but being disgusted by you, it tortures him to see you beat yourself up over his own actions, his own foolish decisions.

"Please.. don't say that..I would never leave because of you. I left be-"

"What the fuck is going on here?" A concerned Kai bursts through the door leaving it weakly creaking, succumbing to his outraged behaviour- out of the ordinary for the usual 'angel' Kai.

Seeing the way Beomgyu has his hands clutching on to your shoulders for stability, his fingernails starting to penetrate the first layer of skin from how hard he was gripping on to you, and your reddened and sore tear-stained face Kai can only jump to conclusions.

In seconds he pulls Beomgyu off you and on to a nearby towel rack which causes him to slump on the floor and groan in agony, the force brute enough to leave bruises on his back the next day. Kai's hands wrap around your wrists and drag your weak-minded self out of the bath room and out towards his jeep.

"Kai! Kai! Let me go! Listen to me!" Attempting to shake off the grip on your wrist you knock in to him in the process, causing him to turn around and grab you by the shoulders gently afraid of causing you any discomfort.

"I didn't get to hear what he had to say-"

"Why do you let yourself do this? Why do you willingly listen to him try to shortcut out of his own responsibility for leaving you on your own when you end the conversation every time in tears? Why do you do this to yourself?"

His eyes, rimmed with quiet sorrow, watched as you reluctantly buckled in to the passenger seat, wiping your tears away with your arm, with a tenderness that spoke louder than words. His brows were drawn together, not in anger, but in a deep, aching concern, as if Kai could feel the weight of the your pain in his own chest.

"I'm taking you back to your place, okay? I'll let Auntie know. I just don't want you to be hurt by that jerk again, always searching for excuses."

Your head feels light as you roll down the window conflicted between Kai's advice and the truth behind Beomgyu's disappearance. You're not even sure if what he was going to tell you would change anything, so you ignore it, letting the thought drown out as background noise as you watch the view of the small town slowly transition into high-rise buildings and apartments through the window.

But just because you drowned it out as background noise doesn't mean you'd forget the what ifs with Beomgyu.

There were still feelings for him in you; buried under layers of protection and closing off your heart over the years, it's been pierced through and through every time you're reminded of him, how he left, how he returned, how he apologised- but you don't have the will power to resent him like you say you will, not when the bond you've had for over 15 years is still strong between the two of you, like it's fate that you were supposed to encounter Beomgyu through and through.

It's a dangerous game the two of you are playing, it's dangerous to think about crossing the wall you've built up between you and Beomgyu, dangerous to fall in love him again.

"Shit." Beomgyu curses under his breath and digs into the pockets of his ripped jeans to search for his pack of cigarettes, instead brushing over his phone which starts to ring as he gets back on his feet.

Beomgyu’s gaze flickers over the blue light of the screen as it buzzed in his hand, lit up with a simple, bold 'Dad'. His heart drops again, an unsettling feeling sweeping over him- like a weight pressing against his chest. He had always known that his dad’s calls weren’t casual check-ins or everyday conversations-there was always an undercurrent of something worrying; perhaps asking for more money, to visit Lilith's parents again to keep the deal going, something about his mom in between the lines of getting better or getting worse with her health. His thumb hovered over the screen, the decision to answer hanging in the air like a question he didn’t want to face. The familiar dread settled in his stomach, and for a brief moment, he considered letting it go to voicemail, but he knows he has to answer, he knows what it's like for everything to change over a phone call.

"What is it now?" He complains, a string of cursing, insults and scolding sounding out of the speaker, another meaningless complaint about Lilith wailing and running to her parents about his actions, how he's ruined it all for his family, for himself.

"Hurry over to the in-laws and apologise, I can't believe you decided to call off the engagement I worked so hard for you to have, you'd think I'd have a more grateful son for all that I've done for you."

The line cuts off eerily as Beomgyu dusts off his pants, unlocking the doors of his car as he walks out of the bathroom and in to the silent living room, limping slightly down the stairs. His head started to ache and fuzz his vision as he stepped out in to the yard of your home, unable to think properly before his eyelids closed down on him, the whole of his body weight dropping to the floor in an instant at great impact.

The first to discover his unconscious self was your mom who returned from the town market with a bag of groceries, immediately calling a flight of ambulances with sirens sounding through the usually quiet town, alarming and sparking worry among the locals who nosily peeked out of their windows to see the chaos surrounding Beomgyu who's strapped in to a stretcher and completely blacked out, slight wounds to his face as the paramedics loaded him in to the back of the emergency vehicle.

His pulse hammered in his ears, each beat louder than the last, and his body felt like it was drifting to the rhythmic beeping of the machines that surrounded him. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but he couldn’t summon the energy to push it away, struggling to find balance between keeping in and out of consciousness.

The next thing he knew, he was hooked to a network of drips and monitors, feeling weak in the hospital bed that confined him as the initial mumbling became clearer as he blinked away.

Despite the pain in his upper arm, he pushes himself up to sit straight, analysing his surroundings: a small empty vase, a heart rate monitor, a plain cream room that smelled of disinfectant and you and Kai, although he bore a more concerned look more than anything. He spotted your mother who comforted you through a series of pats on your back as you weeped with your head in your arms on the white bedsheets where his feet laid.

Him suddenly stirring awake startled you further as you rush to ask him a plethora of questions.

"Why didn't you tell me Beomgyu?" You hiccuped between sobs, the confusion still settling on his face as he tried to recall what had occured in the hours that he was unconscious,

"What am I doing here- I'm confused what's wrong with me?"

"You fainted at the doorstep of Auntie's house, you were unresponsive it gave her the shock of her life," Kai answers for you, his stern look from earlier filled with concern as he faces Beomgyu again,

"You have muscular dystrophy, Beomgyu."

Muscular dystrophy. Beomgyu’s body felt like it was sinking into the bed, as if the weight of the Kai's words were pulling him down deeper into a pit he couldn’t escape. Muscular dystrophy. The phrase echoed in his mind, each repetition more jarring than the last.

Beomgyu couldn’t process it, attempting to lift his arm, but it trembled, showing the first signs of progressing pain. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, a cruel reminder that everything was changing, that his life was slipping out of his control, exactly like how you did.

A fleet of nurses and doctors rush in to the room only to bombard him with another series of questions and information, shooing you, Kai and your mom out of the ward away from Beomgyu.

"We believe it's caused by genetics, your mother has the same condition as I'm sure you're aware. We've had a couple blood tests done and it's a miracle that the symptoms didn't show up earlier, probably in recession. You've been over-working yourself recently I'm guessing which must have led to a flare up in muscle fatigue and pain. It's important that you rest properly and aim not to damage your muscles too much because it'll only get worse. There's no cure for it, you'd know, but I can refer you to the hospital your mother is residing in right know for physiotherapy and a treatment plan- it's unfortunate that we don't have the right facilities for it."

The rest of the doctor's words enter one ear and out the other as Beomgyu is dazed, unable to process the information all at once, like the whole world was crashing down on him. He can't find the energy to answer apart from weak nods as he looks down at the state of his body; weak, sickly, deteriorating.

He can't accept reality,

He doesn't know what to do next at this point.

As you continue to sob in the waiting room, clutching on to Kai all you can focus on is how impatient you were with him, picking a fight and slapping him, only getting angry at him without even realising how detrimental it could've been to both his mental and physical state; you can't scrub your mind of the fact that you could've caused the flare up, that you could be so horrible to him when all he wanted to do was speak.

All you can think about is whether his apology was an attempt at soft launching you in to telling you about his condition, about how if you stayed to listen maybe you could've helped him out faster instead of storming out with Kai. The guilt is overbearing as you weep harder in to Kai's shoulder, who still can't comprehend why you care so much over Beomgyu when he's hurt you over and over again, why you still want to be the first to be there for him when he's never there for you.

But all of your dismantled thoughts come to a halt as Lilith's family strut through the door, completely unbothered and unashamed of their presentation as they walk in to his ward. Lilith sends a dirty look towards your direction in the process before following behind her parents.

The next few moments consist of shouting and arguing which wreaks havoc in the hospital when Lilith's family are escorted out shortly after, shouting "That fucking bastard tried to marry my daughter to a fucking paraplegic!! Let me go I need a talk with that damn boy for lying to us !!"

You can feel the guilt bubbling inside you as you take in the scene before you, a family of grown, rich adults who have nothing better to do than pick on a boy who just discovered he's had a genetic condition that will leave him struggling to stand soon all along, picking on your boy who aspired of starting his own band one day- now strapped to the hospital bed as he gets all sorts of testing done to him.

You hate being so sympathetic, you hate that all you can do is cry over Choi Beomgyu, cry for Choi Beomgyu, hurt over Choi Beomgyu and hurt for Choi Beomgyu.

You don't remember when he became off limits to visitors, the last memory being the day he fainted and you found yourself tossing and turning in bed, worried and stressed as visible eye bags formed under your eyes.

There was no answer as to why you were so impacted by it, you simply couldn't say anything other than you still loved him, that you still cared for him even after everything. That you can't let yourself hate him when he's already had his life flipped over, and even if you still couldn't understand why he had left you in the first place you were at least willing to care for him in a life where not even his parents wanted to see him, where his ex-fiancee's family couldn't bear to see him in his condition out of disgust.

So you can only imagine the way the blood drains out of your face one morning when your mom sits you down at breakfast, asking an innocent question,

"What time are you leaving today? I want to come too."

"I'm not working today? What, did we plan something together?”

She quirks a brow at your cluelessness before swallowing and asking,

"You didn't know? Beommie's going back to Seoul today, he's going to see a specialist who'll help him with his condition like his mother."

You couldn't see it coming. One minute you're arguing with him for the first time in 5 years of seeing each other, and the next, he's leaving just as quickly as he was starting to reenter your life.

For a moment, everything stops. You stare, waiting for your mother to laugh, to tell you what she said was some sort of joke, but her face remains constant.

"That poor boy..it's such a shame that he had to stop school so early because his father fell in to debt after trialing an unsuccessful drug for his mother's muscular dystrophy, he told me he even had to sell his phone and get a job so early just to pay it off!

If only they didn't fall in to debt he would still be helping out at their apple and peach farm here in this town now, he really has gone through so much. On top of being married off by his incompetent father to a family like that ! Gosh it's scandalous!

If I could I would take in that boy immediately, he was only 11 when he had to start bearing all the responsibilities, had to sleep over in your bed room because his mother was constantly causing a ruckus screaming in agony. I can't even begin to imagine how he feels now."

And suddenly, your world feels off-balance, like the ground beneath you is cracking. You didn’t know. You didn't know he had to leave because of his father's debt, you didn't know that it wasn't his fault and yet you blamed him.

Over and over again you would blame him and curse at him like you knew everything about him after he went missing for 5 years. You made sure he couldn't receive your approval to his interrupted apology. And still you want to be a little selfish, you want to complain because if he had told you before he was swept away in to the harsh reality of adult hood; you would have stayed- you would have helped him, made sure that he never cried on the nights that he was left alone in a foreign city where he had to work among adults just to survive, you would have made sure that he knew you were still there supporting him from a distance- that he did have someone rooting for him.

Your heart starts racing, the panic settling in, but your mind can’t catch up. A million questions swirl in your head, but none of them make it past your lips.

"When..When does he leave?"

You grip the steering wheel tight, knuckles white against the black leather, the engine growling beneath you. The road screeches as you push the accelerator harder, for sure a couple miles above the speed limit as you head towards the train station. You glance at the clock-12:11. Beomgyu's train departs in a couple more minutes, creeping closer, each second slipping away, and you know if you don’t make it you might never see him again. Might never be able to apologise to him, instead leaving your last impression on him as arrogant and refusing to listen.

The town around you feels like it’s closing in, the sounds of honking mute in the distance as you weave in and out of lanes, your heart pounding harder with every twist and turn, but you can’t slow down. You don’t have time. Not even a second to waste if you wanted to see him.

If you wanted to see Choi Beomgyu for what might be the last time.

The train station is just a few miles ahead, but it feels like an eternity. Your hands are slick with sweat, but you don't dare let go of the wheel, quickly swerving in to the parking lot and lazily leaving your car at an angle which was sure to serve you a fine or some sort of fight later.

Rushing up the stairs that seemed to last for an eternity you can hear the dull roar of the train's engine come to a halt, leaving a soft pshhht of steam blowing out of it. You scurry on to the platform, sweating, red faced, hoping he may be able to leave some time for you to say sorry, in hopes that he'd forgive your pent up anger like he asked for you to forgive his.

And there you spot him, boarding on to the train with a small burgundy suitcase decorated in dandelion stickers, his hair much longer and uncut than when you last saw it, his skin starting to look paler than you remember.

"Choi Beomgy-!"

"This train is departing to, Seoul."

Your heart starts to slow as you scavenge through windows upon windows to find him in which ever carriage he seated himself in, tears staring to unfold again when you struggled to see him, mistaking him for the hundreds of people in the same attire until you reach the end of the carriage, where he looks you directly in your sore eyes.

He doesn't say anything- not that you can hear anyways- but you watch him smile, tears starting to form in his eyes as well, a mere glass screen separating your hands as you sob uncontrollably with snot dripping out of your nose embarrassingly.

He doesn't look frustrated with you at all for taking so long to finally see him again, and even if he looks weaker physically and mentally than he did at the start you can see the boyish smile of the 16 year old Beomgyu you first fell in love with in his grin, slowly pulling out his hand to sign to you in sign language amidst the loud roar of the engine preparing to take off again,

'Don't Cry. We'll meet again.'

You stand there, frozen on the platform, watching as Beomgyu’s train starts to pull away in to the distance without warning. You couldn't tell what he was thinking in the moment, but you could understand the mutual agreement between you two that you'll find each other at different times again, when you're both ready for each other, when you're both more mature to handle the oppression of the adult world that you're only just really entering in to.

Though, you can feel the weight of it in your bones- the quiet goodbye neither of you could say out loud. Your heart is heavy, aching with the kind of sadness that feels endless, like you’re watching your entire world fade into the distance, too helpless to stop it.

It's a crushing realisation, but you're satisfied because you're certain he'll come back. He always keeps his promises.

You lag behind Kai again in a park, the two of you now in Seoul 4 years later, you've always found it difficult to catch up with Kai, but he'd always find a way to make sure he was there to support you. That's just the kind of person Kai is.

But there's something heavy hearted that both of you have realised today. That after a year of dating- you were never meant to be.

Kai deserved someone who was capable of loving him back as much as he loved them, someone who wouldn't take his acts of kindness and his heart at a minimum and treat it as simply being 'nice'.

And you, you deserved peace, since moving to Seoul you've never stopped searching for Beomgyu, the sinking feeling once again that in such a big city it's difficult to even know if Beomgyu was roaming the same streets as you, if he even could walk around the streets of the city again. There's no lying in the fact that you appreciated Kai, seriously, he's one of the best people you could be blessed with on such a twisted world, but every time you look at him you imagine the latter instead. The weak boyish grin he tried to put on for you before he vanished again, and you can tell it hurts Kai when you start crying again just by staring at his face- because he's constantly overlooked in Beomgyu's shadow.

Like no matter what he does, he can't compete with fate, he can't try to sever what was destined to be, which leads you to today, 26 and 27, walking down the park during cherry blossom season when he turns around to face you with downturned eyes,

"Why can't you pick me over Beomgyu?" He asks with genuine sadness, which only deepens the wound in your heart because after 9 years you still don't know how to answer him.

"You still love him don't you?"

His question cuts right through to your soul, he's read you like a book, he's always been attentive like this and you can't look him in the eyes in case you'd start crying again like you always do.

"It's okay, I don't blame you. It's okay if you don't know why you feel this way. I just think, it would be best for the both of us to go our separate ways." Kai sends a slightly forced smile which quivers in to a frown at times as he reaches out to hug you first, because he can see it in the way that you act now that you need help, that you need someone who understands you on a deeper level,

you need Beomgyu.

And as the cherry blossoms start to fall and Kai's tall figure starts to wander off in the distance ready to start a new chapter of adulthood you feel eyes staring at the back of your head from above, the feeling of being observed. The familiarity of ruffled, black hair.

"Long time no see."

A/N: Please lmk if I need to make any grammar edits !! But this is my first ever big fic on tumblr!! Wooo, hopefully the angst actually hit at some points because that was lit my whole intent for this fic, reblogging or criticism is appreciated !!

tyunningism 's work !! 2025

tags: @whoisgami

[ganondoodle]

game dev is such an alluring thing to try to do bc its a kind of media that allows for such an active and direct way to interact with others like most things just dont

im still dreaming of trying it every now and again but, among my other problems, i run into the more unique problem of .. not knowing or not wanting to start bc i cant find tutorials that teach me about how i structure code, where do i begin, where does a script go, what makes sense to seperate into its own piece of code and what should stay together, what do i do first?? i have found ones that teach you about single things but never really how to structure it all, how it should look like as a whole, and idk what mental wall i run into but i need to know before i can even try!! its the not knowing where to start that keeps blocking me bc i dont want to make a mess, i am very chaotic and code is something hard to get right and hard to untangle so i dont want to just .. do stuff that wont work