Chapter Six
Robby
@AppaPie: Did you, @Rook?
@AppaPie: I don’t know. Do we, @Rook?
I scratch my jawline, rereading her comments.
I choose silence in true Rook fashion. Because if I respond, it’ll spiral into a chain of public back-and-forth comments.
Appa put enough fire on this between the video and her comments that her followers will eat it up, but now, we’re associated with each other.
That might get people talking. I smirk to myself.
So much for your perfect image, Appa.
Her aesthetic brand is going to change drastically if people think she’s tangled up with Rook.
But she named me in that video. Intentionally.
I graze my fingertips over the healed rook piercing in my ear when a video idea pops into my head.
It’s something I could film and post tonight off my usual schedule.
This won’t help the comment situation and will only fuel speculation.
But little Appa Pie is coming up to bat.
When the sun dips low enough, I set up my lighting scheme, but this time, I tilt the lights to illuminate my face. I’m not going to show what I look like, but it’s time to show off the rook.
I set my phone up on the tripod and leave myself in a pair of gray sweatpants.
I never read comments, but videos with my gray sweats always inspire more comments.
I shove them down to reveal the V-line above my pubic area.
Just enough to make my viewers drool, but they’ll never see the real thing…
aside from Appa. My body is for her, and before long, hers will only be for me, too.
And based on her response to my stunt last night, it’s only a matter of time.
Of course, breaking a few laws last night—breaking and entering and knocking out Wi-Fi for a street—wasn’t ideal, but no one blinked when a few houses lost Wi-Fi for five minutes. I snort thinking about what Appa would report to the police.
Rook really brings the crazy out of me.
Going back to the video, I do a few quick crunches on the hardwood floor to make my abs more prominent. I like my pasta and pizza too much to give them up, so I have to be mindful. But I am well cut at the moment. Shit, I need a prop—something to keep my hands busy. I facepalm.
So much for gray sweats.
I decide to change into a pair of dark-wash jeans, cinched with a black leather belt, and pull on a black long-sleeved dress shirt tucked in haphazardly.
Like Daddy had a rough day at the office and was ready to take it out on…Appa?
Rook’s usual style isn’t refined like mine, and I enjoy dressing up in a full suit when the occasion strikes.
This isn’t the time, but as I push my sleeves up my arms, the wheels turn in my head on how I could incorporate a full suit into a video.
I keep the shirt unbuttoned, leaving the crisp fabric bunched around my elbows, and return to the filming room.
After a quick lights readjustment to their normal angles to keep my face dark, I’m ready to do this.
Sometimes, filming goes this way where I have a plan but make a game-time decision to change it up for maximum effect, which can include the app-controlled color LED strip behind the couch. It glows red now.
I shove the dark jeans down for V-line exposure like I did with the sweats.
I press record on my phone, moving into frame slowly and deliberately.
I draw in a breath and flex my abs and pecs.
I always have to remind myself to go slow when I film, so I can edit down instead of rushing through each beat of the video.
I bring my fingers to my belt, letting them toy with the buckle before abruptly pulling it from the loops of my jeans.
I twist the belt around my hands, smacking my open palm with the end, hard enough to get the sound effect and make my hand sting. It’s a good sting, though.
That should do for a video.
But before I stop recording, I lean down toward the phone, turning my head to the side to flash the rook piercing in my ear.
Good thing I just got a haircut, and the faded sides of my head are sharp.
I’ll have to splice the video together to cut my face out of the clip, but I have the perfect caption idea.
I stop recording and pull my phone off the tripod.
Changing back into my fleece sweatpants and with a glass of red wine in hand, I settle on the couch and edit the footage on my phone.
I haven’t clicked back to Appa’s profile, but I haven’t noticed any new stories from her at the top of my feed yet either.
The video comes together easily, and in my semi-professional opinion, it’s hot.
No audio, but the sharp sound of the belt being pulled from my jeans and then hitting my hand as planned.
I fade it out and fade in the clip of the side of my head, cutting the part that shows anything of my face, then fade out again.
I apply my usual instrumental rock music in the background but keep the video sounds louder, and it’s ready.
It’s an unpredictable post, and the comments are going to be loud about yet another surprise video drop. I upload the video with a simple caption: ‘Didn’t flinch’. And post.
I sip my wine, letting it coat my tongue. I maniacally refresh to see if Appa or her burner account interacts with the post. She had to have seen it. The algorithm would have pushed it to the top of her feed, and she should still be awake.
Don’t hide now, baby.
I refill my glass, pacing between my kitchen and living room, phone in hand.
Lots of comments and likes pour in, but nothing from my little blonde.
It’s prime time for posting since most of the country is doom-scrolling their evening away on social media, which is why I normally post at five p.m. It’s eight on the East Coast when most Americans are relaxing after work.
My phone makes my palm vibrate with a notification about a new comment, and my gut flips. It’s from @AppaPie, blue checkmark and all.
@AppaPie: Liar.
I’ve never smiled so widely at my phone. Heat spreads throughout my chest and torso. And it’s not from the wine. One word, but it’s inviting, not rejecting, and on brand for her fiery personality. I reply to her comment, but my thumb hovers over the send button.
Fuck it.
@Rook: Cum find out already.
I tack on a winky-face emoji for good measure. I’ll delete the comment later, but my invested followers won’t miss it. Notifications buzz in at viral speeds.
@AppaPie and @Rook, you’re being obvious, and I hate you both. Rook’s mine.
Yeesh.
I rarely check the comments for a reason.
Rook wants to watch the world burn.
What in the BookTok is happening?
This feels staged. Sus.
Oh, but it isn’t.
? ? ?
For almost a month, I’ve been posting videos with subtle cues to lure Appa into commenting, but she’s gone radio silent.
I can admit that I came on strong between the comments and the slight felony I committed.
Weirdly, I thought I’d be more anxious about that night, but I’m not.
She was into it, judging by her reactions the day after, but if this is her way of playing hard to get, I’ll show just how much she doesn’t want to fuck with Rook.
For tomorrow’s post, I swap the scheduled video for something a little more suggestive. I’ve never recorded naked, but it’s time to make an exception to that rule. The comments will be extra thirsty for this, but Appa’s the only one who matters. The rest is just noise.
Once the sun is down for the night, I dim the usual bright lights and turn the color LED to a deeper blood-red.
The red gives the room a sultry vibe—perfect for this video.
I press record and stand far enough from my phone on its tripod, so I can crop the video and stay in the right aspect ratio for what I want to do.
Facing the camera, I run my hands over my abs, slowing them as they near my hips. The video will be cropped at my hips with nothing lower shown.
Only Appa gets to see that for free.
I roll my shoulders and shift my arms to look like I’m gripping myself firmly. I turn purposely to my right side to showcase my gnarly scar that’s a big talking point online. And that’s when cold feet set in.
This is fucking insane to do and post for thousands.
But I have to get Appa out of her shell again.
Not for me, but for our future.
I grab the sealed condom from the desk by my setup and turn, giving the camera my right side profile again.
I lift the condom to my lips and tear it open with my teeth with a crisp rip, which I’d never do in real life for obvious reasons, but the people want what they want.
I pull it out of the wrapper and make it look like I’m about to put it on myself.
But instead, I throw it and the wrapper over my shoulder. And cut.
I pull on the pair of basketball shorts stashed on the desk and grab my phone from the tripod to work on editing. I want to post it tomorrow, but hell, I might just post it late tonight because I need a reaction from Appa before I do something crazy again.
Like committing another felony.
I crop the video right at my hips, going frame by frame to make sure nothing is shown.
It’s more of my lower abdomen than I would show, and I keep myself trimmed down there.
I’m sure someone thirsty enough will comment on my lack of upper pubic hair.
My face is dark as usual; the lighting is just right without needing much retouching or filtering.
I cut the part where I grab the condom and add a transition where I fade from facing the camera to turning to my side.
The condom rip and toss are eerily cinematic, and the ASMR-style sound of the wrapper tearing only heightens the effect.
Ugh, okay, full send initiated.
I upload and caption the video: ‘Daddy only does it raw. And keeps it clean always.’
Hashtag…hashtag. What to hashtag the video? I never used them because my high engagement rate kept me in the algorithm’s good graces, but using hashtags now is a great opportunity to send a coded message.
And Rook would be bold as hell with them.
#RawOnly, #StayClean, #CreamPie. I add an apple emoji at the bottom of the description in case the pie hashtag isn’t obvious enough.
Sorry, Appa. People are going to catch the nod to you in my caption, and you’re going to get tagged all over this video by them.
If this doesn’t drag you out of hiding, I’ll have to take the felony route again.