#floor worker dust

[scashu]

Undertale au shop… au?

I work in retail and was like, “huh, why not.” And now we have this.

It’s not a like a shopping centre type of place where you have multiple different types of shops; it’s one shop, where they sell food. It’s literally just a grocery.

I don’t have a lot fleshed out bc this was only a small idea thing for fun, but:

Ink is the shop manager along with Fresh and Reaper.

Dream is mainly the daytime supervisor, while Nightmare is mainly the nighttime one. They sometimes end up switching due to ink getting them mixed up sometimes for no reason (that bitch always forgets which is which)

Cross works on the tills for the most part, sometimes he’s seen working on the floors with Dust, or out the back helping Error, but he always ends up on tills (he’s the only one nm trusts to do his fucking job right)

Dust is alway seen stocking the shelves around the isles, he’s always in one of them. He’s in the same situation as Cross where he has a specific job (working on the floor) but will be signed in on a till incase it gets busy.

Killer works in the off-license (alcohol). It’s his own wee corner he can fuck about in, but he gets bored all on his lonesome so most days he visits the tills and makes excuses to see the others. Error has banned him from going out the back while working, because one time he smashed 4 expensive bottles of wine, and then somehow set a small fire. Error does not like that man.

Horror works in the Deli :) He’s the one who cleans everything up and gets all the food ready to be made and served for the next morning. He used to work during the day, but has found that he likes the night shifts better, they’re more calming for him. He still does work day shifts sometimes, but those days are rare, and only if someone else swaps a shift with him. Since he finishes up a lot earlier than the rest of the gang, he likes to help Error out the back in that spare time or will assist dust in pulling everything in the shop forward, and just cleaning in general.

Error works in the back. Dust gives him a checklist of all that’s needed on the shop floor, and Error finds and helps collect it all for him and anyone else working on the floor. He tried to work on the tills once, ONCE… and fucking hated it soooo no more tills for him. He hates people so much. Anybody working on the same shift most times forget he’s even there. Yet he’s always the first out the door when the shop eventually closes.

[castrovulcant]

.

[myblacknightworld]

Shitty day at work yay

[luvsupa]

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly. 

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you. 

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry. 

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[skelly-words]

Bring your tentacle to work day…

NSFW: tentacle smut, anal, vaginal, squirting, public, exhibitionism, getting caught (non-con to the viewer?) yep that's it

There's pt. 2 and pt. 3

NO MINORS 18+ ONLY

Thinking about a pet tentacle that stays in your panties all day. Nobody can see it under your skirt. The fatter end plugs your butt. Its length is textured by suckers on one side, in the same shiny blue as the skin. It runs up and down your slit, letting the slick suckers wake your pussy up, sliding through the sticky mess dripping out of you. The tip softly suctions to your sensitive clit, making your thighs squeeze shut on the bumpy bus ride to work.

Once you sit at your desk, lost on a floor of cubicles, the tentacle begins to double over itself to push into your cunt. You try to stay focused on the spreadsheet in front of you, but your slick and the lubrication oozing from the tentacle is beginning to soak through your underwear. The disgusting squish of the appendage writhing inside of you can be heard coming from between your legs.

It stretches you open so good and you hump the chair for more stimulation. You can feel the end buried in your ass begin to throb, signaling that it's close to release. Your heavy breathing starts turning into soft whines and moans that you can't seem to keep down.

The swollen tentacle fucks you harder, frantically pushing into your pussy as far as it can until you're completely full. Your muscles clench and spasm around it as the suckers brush all the best spots inside of you. In a haze, you stumble to the bathroom, rushing into the back stall before you cum all over your cubicle.

You grip the handicap bar as the head of the tentacle pops off your clit to shove inside of you too.

You hold onto the bar firmly, bent over to press your chest to the wall. One hand flips up your skirt and shoves your panties down your thighs. A shiver runs through you as the cool air hits your exposed cunt, all sloppy and wet from being stimulated all day. With more room to move, the greedy tentacle fucks you faster, sucking itself into your pussy as you could feel the entire muscle pulse.

Your middle finger gently teases your clit, circling around and around the little nub until you’re so close to cumming, practically spilling over the edge when you hear the door creak.

“Oh, no n- shit.” You never locked the stall, and you watch in horror as your co-worker slams the stall door open.

“Hey, are you feeling oka…” She trails off. Eyes widening but never leaving your cunt, all puffy and fucked out. Her jaw slackens and you give up on trying to speak as the tentacle begins to ejaculate. Milky-blue cum floods into you and overflows to trickle down your pretty thighs.

Your co-worker won't make eye-contact with you, but through her shy demeanor, you see the lust dusting her cheeks with red as she watches you. Your sensitive cunny twitches around the fat tentacle as you squirt everywhere.

You've made a mess of the bathroom, your legs are almost too weak to support you, and your co-worker still hasn't spoken.

Finally, in a shaky voice she says, “where do I get one of those?”

A/N- I kinda want a pt 2 where you use it on the co-worker, but idk if that's too over the top.

Okay I did it

[keehomania]

act a fool — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, fluff, slowburn, swearing, fast & furious elements, reckless driving, drunk driving, enemies to lovers, gun use, crashout!rafe, kook/pogue dynamic, eventual smut, minors dni, drop! 2 fast, drop! 2 furious

there was a world on the island that went beyond the surface-level rivalry between the rich and the poor, one that thrived off something the two tribes both loved, made into a competition. a good alternator, lubrication, a solid engine—things that led to the adrenaline rush they couldn't get from their gas station beer or firing their dad’s gun. it was the wind in their hair and the money they knew they’d get from it if they were good enough.

you had moved to outer banks when you first heard the rumors, striking up your fancy as you pondered finally being able to live up to your father’s name. he had made a name for himself when he was your age, on that very island, and you were determined to honor it as much as you could. he was what the islanders considered a pogue, and so were you. you weren’t ashamed of it—it was just the way things were. and you weren’t ashamed of him either.

“that’s good, guys. right there,” you said, your voice carrying over the low hum of conversation and the clang of tools against metal. workers shuffled around the shop, hoisting equipment into place and unrolling cords across the smooth concrete floor. the building was nothing fancy—cinderblock walls painted a clean white and a pair of garage doors wide enough to fit the biggest cars on the island—but it stood out amidst the weathered, sun-bleached shops and homes that made up the cut. that was the point. it needed to catch their eye, needed to show them that even a pogue could make something worth noticing.

the smell of fresh paint mingled with the faint tang of oil and grease, scents that already felt like home. a sleek hydraulic lift sat in one corner, freshly bolted into place, while a row of shiny toolboxes lined the back wall. you’d spent months saving for those, cutting corners wherever you could, taking extra shifts at the docks, and bartering favors to make it happen. now, they gleamed like trophies.

your gaze drifted to the wall above the toolboxes, where you’d hung a photo in a simple black frame. it was an old shot, the colors slightly faded—a younger version of you standing beside your father, both of you grinning ear to ear with a grease-streaked hood open behind you. he’d always said, “it doesn't matter if it's by an inch, or by a mile—winning is winning,” and you’d carried those words like a mantra, applying them not just to the races but to everything else in life. fixing cars, building this shop—it didn’t matter how long it took or how many setbacks you faced. progress was progress.

you smiled faintly as you brushed a bit of dust off the frame, imagining the way his eyes would light up if he saw what you’d built. he’d be proud, you were sure of it.

“hey, boss, where’d you want this?” one of the workers called out, interrupting your thoughts. he was holding a heavy-duty air compressor, shifting his weight under its bulk.

“over there, by the second bay,” you directed, pointing toward the far end of the shop where a workstation was slowly coming together. a workbench stood half-assembled, and you could already envision it cluttered with tools and parts, the heart of the operation.

as they hauled the compressor into place, you moved to another corner where a small office space had been carved out. the desk was secondhand, its surface worn and scratched, but you’d given it a fresh coat of varnish that brought out the grain of the wood. a laptop and a stack of invoices sat neatly on top, alongside a mug that still smelled faintly of the coffee you’d downed that morning.

outside, the rumble of engines drifted through the open garage doors, reminding you why you were doing this. the underground racing scene was cutthroat, a place where the line between rivalries and respect blurred in the haze of burning rubber and roaring engines. you’d need every edge you could get, and this shop was going to be your base, your sanctuary, and your weapon all at once. satisfied with the progress, you stepped back to take it all in. the shop wasn’t finished yet, but it was getting there.

it was hard to snap you out of your thoughts, but an unfamiliar voice had done its job.

“this your shop?”

you cocked your head to the right, meeting the friendly gaze of a man you didn’t recognize. he looked to be in his early twenties, taller than you, with tan skin, sun-bleached blond hair, and arms that suggested he spent more time surfing than doing anything car-related.

“yeah,” you replied coolly, the edge in your tone natural. “getting there.”

he took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the shop with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “no kidding,” he said, grinning wide enough to light up the room. “the cut doesn’t have any good mechanics. shitty parts, shitty people. i was getting my dodge fixed the other day, and the guy was totally drunk…”

he kept talking, his words tumbling out one after another, like he couldn’t stop himself. you guessed it was nerves—the way he kept glancing around, his hands fidgeting in his pockets.

“shit, i’m sorry,” he said abruptly, realization dawning on his face. he stopped in his tracks and ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “i’m jj maybank. sorry for rambling.”

you didn’t know anyone on the island yet, and he seemed harmless enough, with a disarming charm that wasn’t exactly unwelcome. you extended your hand. “nice to meet you, (y/n) (l/n).”

his handshake was firm but friendly, his smile genuine as he asked, “you a racer? mechanic?”

“whatever i wanna be,” you replied with a casual shrug.

jj’s grin widened, impressed by your confidence. “i like your enthusiasm.”

he stepped further into the shop, his curiosity getting the better of him as he started to examine everything. he crouched to inspect the hydraulic lift, nodded in approval at the toolboxes, and paused by the engine stand, where a half-dismantled v8 waited for your attention.

“what’re you doing to this one?” he asked, gesturing toward the engine.

“rebuilding it,” you replied without missing a beat. “block had a crack, so i welded it. now i’m just replacing the camshaft and lifters.”

jj blinked, clearly surprised. “you did the welding yourself?”

“yeah. why?”

he let out a low whistle, his admiration obvious. “most people would’ve scrapped it, don’t you know?”

you smirked but didn’t respond, letting him wander through the shop. he asked more questions as he went, quizzing you about everything from the tuning process to the differences between turbochargers and superchargers. you answered each question easily, and his impressed nods became more frequent. when he reached the back wall, he stopped abruptly, his eyes landing on the photo of your father. he stepped closer, studying it with reverence.

“you’ve met him?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost awed. “dude’s like my hero.”

tension settled in the air as you replied, your voice steady but firm, “well, i’d hope so. dude’s like my dad.”

jj turned to you, his mouth slightly open, his expression stunned. “you’re joking.”

you folded your arms, your gaze steady. “dead serious.”

“bullet?” he asked, his voice rising. “the bullet? your dad?”

you nodded, the weight of the moment pressing down on you thanks to the rather spontaneous topic. but it was gonna come up at some point, you knew that. jj looked back at the photo, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “that’s insane. he was a legend. the races, the cars, everything. i mean, he’s the reason i even started racing in the first place.”

“he’s the reason i came here,” you said quietly, your eyes flicking to the photo. “wanted to honor his name. his legacy. that’s why i started this shop.”

jj was silent for a moment, clearly processing everything. his mind was working—though you could tell it didn’t happen often—until something lit up in his eyes. when jj maybank got a good idea, it wasn’t often, but it was always worth considering.

“what if,” he started, pausing to make sure you were listening. “what if you drove with the pogues?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “drove with you?”

“yeah,” he said eagerly, the excitement building in his voice. “we’re always looking for drivers, and with what you know? you’d be perfect. plus, your dad’s reputation alone would make waves.”

you thought about it, letting the weight of the opportunity settle over you. your father’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you that he’d always been one to take a chance. winning is winning. finally, you nodded. “i’m in.”

jj had spent the next hour perched on the edge of a worn metal table, watching you in silence. his gaze tracked every movement of your hands as you worked on the motorcycle in front of you, the harsh fluorescent lights of the shop casting a sharp glow over the sleek black paint. he was fascinated, though he tried not to make it too obvious.

the motorcycle wasn’t anything special—just a kawasaki with a busted fuel pump you’d been hired to fix. you’d dismantled it with expert precision, the kind that made even jj, someone who lived for speed, pause in appreciation.

“that’s not your ride, is it?” he finally asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

you clicked your tongue in mild irritation at the interruption, but your answer was sharp and clear. “not a fan of anything with two wheels. only use them if i have to.”

“so what is your ride?”

you glanced up at him, smirking. “in the back.”

jj raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “wanna show me?”

you finished tightening the bolts on the fuel pump, wiped your hands on a nearby rag, and straightened up. “sure. why not?”

he hopped off the table, following you eagerly as you wheeled the motorcycle into place and locked up the shop. when you led him to the garage at the back, he couldn’t hide the anticipation bubbling beneath the surface. his mind raced with possibilities. a supra? a skyline? he had already started placing bets with himself. whatever it was, he could already tell it’d be something worth seeing.

the garage door groaned in protest as you unlocked it and slid it open. the smell of oil and gasoline hit him first, but his attention snapped to the vehicle parked in the center of the space.

“no fucking way,” he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer. his hands hovered over the car, reverent, before finally making contact. “camaro?”

you nodded, leaning casually against the garage wall, watching him with amusement. “z/28,” you clarified.

“but the z/28 isn’t supposed to be out yet,” he said, his voice full of disbelief. “not until next year.”

you shrugged, smirking. “rules don’t apply to everyone, maybank. what’d you think?”

jj turned to you, his eyes wide and pleading, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. he didn’t have to say a word for you to understand what he was asking.

“you wanna take her for a spin, don’t you?” you teased.

he nodded furiously, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you tossed him the keys. “don’t wreck it,” you called after him as you slid into the passenger seat. “you’ll owe me an eight-second car if you do.”

he didn’t need any more encouragement. the engine roared to life as he turned the key, the deep, guttural sound filling the small garage. he gripped the wheel with a wide grin, barely containing his excitement. the camaro tore out of the driveway and onto the street, its tires screeching as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. the car was smooth, powerful, and perfect—a beast on wheels.

“holy shit,” jj breathed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “this thing is unreal.”

“told you,” you replied, smirking as you leaned back in your seat, your eyes on the road. “handles like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“more than a dream. gotta be in heaven or some shit.”

he shifted gears with practiced ease, the camaro responding to every command as though it was an extension of himself. the wind whipped through the open windows, and the sound of the engine reverberated in your chest. the drive to the pogues’ shop didn’t take long, though jj seemed to savor every second of it. when he pulled up, the building came into view—a far cry from your setup.

the shop was rough around the edges, just like the pogues themselves. the walls were made of weathered wood, the roof patched in places where time and storms had taken their toll. a rusted sign hung crookedly above the door, reading “outer banks auto parts.” the front yard was littered with old car parts and broken tools, a makeshift graveyard for vehicles long since stripped for parts.

jj parked the camaro carefully, as if it was made of glass, before jumping out and grinning at you. “welcome to paradise,” he said with a laugh, gesturing toward the shop. you stepped out, taking in the scene. it was rural, gritty, and undeniably pogue, but there was something charming about it. something real. something your father would have respected.

yoy let your gaze drift over the pogues’ shop, taking in its rough exterior and cluttered front yard. the place had character, you’d give it that—old wooden walls bleached gray by the sun, mismatched patches on the tin roof, and rusted car parts scattered around like they were part of the decor. it was the polar opposite of your shop, but it felt honest in a way that was hard to ignore.

“this is nice,” you said after a moment. “real earthy.”

jj rolled his eyes, smirking. “it’s okay, you can be mean. i can take it.”

you shrugged, letting a sly grin play on your lips. “alright, it’s pretty shitty. but it’s practical.”

“damn straight it is,” he laughed, walking around to your side of the car and gesturing for you to follow him inside.

the moment you stepped into the shop, you felt like you didn’t belong. the interior was as mismatched as the outside—a haphazard mix of tools, parts, and personal touches that somehow worked. it wasn’t the mess that made you feel out of place, though; it was the dynamic. you could tell right away that these people were a family, and you were the outsider walking into their world.

“guys!” jj called, his voice echoing in the small space. “got someone you need to meet!”

the group turned toward you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and friendliness.

“this is john b,” he started, clapping a hand on the shoulder of a tall guy with messy hair and an easy smile. “our fearless leader, or something like that, kind of glazing him.”

the man grinned and offered you his hand, “nice to meet you.”

“and that’s sarah, his girlfriend,” jj continued, gesturing to the blonde girl beside john b. she had a warm, welcoming smile that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she said, stepping forward and giving you a quick hug. “it’s great to meet you.”

“over here, we’ve got pope,” jj said, nodding to a guy who was leaning over a disassembled engine, his hands covered in grease. “he’s the brains of the operation. technical genius.”

pope looked up, wiping his hands on a rag and offering you a firm handshake. “nice to meet you. you a racer or a mechanic?”

“both,” you said with a small smile.

pope raised an eyebrow, impressed. “good to know. we could use someone with your skills around here.”

“and this is cleo, pope’s girlfriend,” jj said, pointing to a girl with short, dark hair and a sharp, confident demeanor.

“finally, another girl around here,” cleo said with a grin. “it’s a relief, i tell you. what’s your pick?”

before you could answer, jj jumped in. “that’s the best part. she’s not just a racer or a mechanic. her dad, dude? her dad was bullet.” the room fell silent.

“that’s not funny, j,” john b said after a moment, running a hand through his hair in disbelief.

“it’s true,” you said, your voice steady. “he’s the reason i’m here. wanted to honor his name and his legacy.” the weight of your words settled over the group, their expressions shifting from shock to admiration.

kiara, who had been quiet until now, smiled and crossed her arms. “well, it’s a good thing you’re here, then. our cars are busted to hell, and we don’t have enough hands to fix them.”

pope nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “think you’re up for it?”

jj scoffed, rolling his eyes. “what kind of question is that? did you see the babe she rolled up in?”

sarah exchanged a glance with pope before turning back to you, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “okay, i have to ask. what do you ride?”

you pointed to the camaro parked outside, its bright orange paint gleaming in the sunlight.

“no way,” john b said, walking to the door to get a better look.

“bless your heart,” sarah said, pulling you into another hug.

the guys crowded around your camaro like kids at a candy store, their voices blending into an excited buzz. they ran their hands over the sleek orange paint, marveling at the flawless bodywork and muttering about its specs. you let them admire it, knowing the car deserved every ounce of awe it was getting. instead, you leaned back against the shop wall, folding your arms as the girls joined you.

“that’s some ride you got there,” kiara said, her tone more genuine than envious. her sharp features softened slightly as she looked between you and the camaro.

“thanks,” you replied, watching the boys from the corner of your eye. “seems like it’s already making an impression.”

she laughed lightly. “you came at the perfect time. we’ve got a big one coming up tonight.”

her words piqued your interest immediately. “big one?” you echoed, tilting your head.

sarah and cleo exchanged knowing glances before sarah leaned in slightly. “the kooks,” she said with a mix of irritation and anticipation. “we’re supposed to race them again tonight.”

you furrowed your brow, intrigued by her tone. “tonight?”

“yup,” kiara answered, a flicker of disdain crossing her face. “they’ve got their shiny cars and their squeaky-clean reputations, but they’re dirty as hell when it comes to racing.”

“they can race up front,” cleo added, nodding toward the shop’s door, “since they’ve got the cops under their thumb. us?” she gestured around dramatically. “we’ve got to be more lowkey. hence the shop.”

your gaze wandered to the garage’s cluttered interior and then back to them. “what’s the winning streak like?”

the girls shared a look that told you everything you needed to know before sarah even said, “not great.”

“not great?” you pressed, arching a brow.

kiara let out a frustrated sigh. “the kooks have everything. better cars, better drivers, and they don’t play fair. we’re lucky if we finish a race without something going wrong.”

“or someone crashing,” cleo added pointedly.

sarah’s expression darkened slightly. “especially when rafe’s involved.”

“rafe?” you repeated.

“my brother,” she admitted reluctantly, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

“wait, hold on,” you said, straightening up. “your brother races against you?”

she nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “some people call him crash. others go with crashout. he’s—let’s just say he’s a dirty racer with a good car.”

the nickname didn’t ring any bells for you, and you shook your head. “never heard of him.”

sarah looked both relieved and mortified at the same time. “well, consider yourself lucky. he’s dangerous, and not just on the track.”

“not to mention a total asshole,” cleo muttered under her breath, earning a small laugh from kiara.

“where’s this race happening?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, intrigued.

kiara stepped in to explain. “figure eight. there’s a parking lot on prairie avenue between a few streets. that’s where everyone meets up. people bring their cars, check each other out, and if they’re feeling bold, they race.”

“and the problem?” you asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“our cars are in the worst shape imaginable,” kiara admitted, her voice heavy with frustration.

you couldn’t help but grin. “well, good thing i’m here.”

the three girls looked at you, surprised by the confidence in your tone. “you’re really gonna help us?” sarah asked, her voice tentative but hopeful.

“yeah,” you said with a small nod, letting your eyes drift back to your camaro. “bring your cars to the shop tomorrow, and i’ll see what i can do.” the relief on their faces was evident, but you weren’t done. you hesitated for just a second, then added with a smirk, “but on one condition.”

cleo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “what’s that?”

“we race tonight,” you said firmly, your gaze fixed on your camaro as the sun glinted off its polished surface.

the heat was relentless, even as the sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow over the dusty road. you could feel it seeping into every fiber of your clothing, making the denim of your shorts crease uncomfortably against your skin. the humidity clung to you like a second layer, and you tugged at the flap of your tank top, attempting to let even the smallest breath of air cool you down.

your thighs stuck together with every shift of your legs against the seat, and you found yourself leaning forward slightly, hoping the breeze coming through the open window would offer some relief. it didn’t, not really, but you were too focused on the directions pope was giving you to care too much. “left up here, then just keep going straight for a bit,” he said from the backseat, his voice steady and sure.

your hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as you nodded, your eyes scanning the road ahead. each turn brought you closer to the meeting spot, and the thought of the race waiting for you settled like a heavy weight in your chest. jj sat beside you, his elbow propped against the window as he stared ahead—or at least he was supposed to be staring ahead. instead, his eyes kept darting to you.

he knew he should be focused on what was coming: the race, the cars, the adrenaline of it all. but sitting this close to you, he found himself completely distracted.

the way your tan lines peeked out from under your tank top, hinting at just how much time you’d spent in the sun. the way your shorts seemed to live up to their name, riding up just enough to make his throat dry. and then there was the sheen of sweat on your neck, trickling down to disappear under your shirt, making him lick his lips absentmindedly as he tried to focus on anything but how good you looked. It wasn’t working.

“you sure you’re cool with racing?” sarah’s voice broke through the tension, her words directed at you from the backseat where she leaned comfortably against john b’s chest.

you glanced at her briefly in the rearview mirror before returning your focus to the road. “why wouldn’t i be?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

she shrugged, though the concern in her voice remained. “they could put you up against rafe, for all you know. he doesn’t exactly play fair.”

your stomach churned slightly at the thought. you weren’t afraid of racing—not in the slightest. losing didn’t scare you either. but being humiliated by someone like rafe cameron? a dirty racer with too much confidence and too little morality? that was a whole other story. you swallowed the knot forming in your throat and shrugged one shoulder, keeping your gaze firmly ahead as the scenery began to shift. the buildings thinned out, replaced by open stretches of road and the occasional cluster of trees.

“we’ll see,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the unease twisting in your gut. it was all you could manage.

as the city gave way to open roads, you began to notice a shift in the atmosphere. people, crowds. they were scattered along the sides of the road, gathering near the parking lot pope had mentioned. the thrum of engines filled the air, a low hum that vibrated through your chest and sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. there was no turning back now.

the meeting was unlike anything you had imagined. cars were everywhere, of all makes and models, their glossy exteriors illuminated by the flickering streetlights overhead. the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber mixed with the salty tang of the sea breeze, a stark reminder of the island setting. music blasted from several vehicles, creating a chaotic symphony that drowned out the distant crash of waves.

people milled about in groups, leaning against cars or crouching near open hoods, talking shop or simply passing time. they ranged from sun-kissed surfers in board shorts to mechanics with grease-stained hands, and even the occasional tourist drawn in by the allure of rebellion. this wasn’t just a car meet—it was a full-blown spectacle. you had never seen anything like it on such a small island.

guided by pope's directions, you navigated the camaro into an open space, sliding it neatly beside a sleek motorcycle. the rumble of the engine ceased, leaving an almost deafening silence in its absence. you exhaled deeply, your fingers lingering on the steering wheel before glancing over at jj, who was already grinning like he owned the place.

“let’s go, hotshot,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

with a roll of your eyes, you pushed the door open, stepping out into the crisp night air. it was a relief against your overheated skin, instantly making the effort of the journey feel worth it. you stretched your legs, groaning softly as the ache from sitting too long set in. leaning against the hood, you extended one leg at a time, trying to shake the feeling back into them.

“my legs are killing me,” you muttered, leaning back as you let your body relax against the car’s warm surface.

jj chuckled, already fishing something out of his pocket. a small flick of a lighter revealed the joint he’d pulled free, and he tucked it between his lips with practiced ease. he took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around his lips before catching the look on your face.

“what?” he asked, his grin lazy. “cops won’t be here for a while. might as well relax.”

you narrowed your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. when he passed the joint to you, you didn’t hesitate, taking it between your fingers and mimicking his earlier drag. the burn was sharp, and the faint haze that followed was just enough to steady your nerves. as you passed it back, you began to notice the shift in attention around you. whispers spread through the crowd, heads turning toward the camaro with curious gazes. it wasn’t just because of the car—it was because of you.

the pogues showing up at a meet like this wasn’t exactly uncommon, but showing up in a ride like this? that was unheard of.

one gaze, in particular, lingered longer than the others. it belonged to a tall, lean man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow under the streetlights. his stance was rigid, his jaw clenched, and his expression was a mixture of confusion and unbridled fury. you met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a subtle smirk as you passed the joint back to jj.

“whose ride is it?” the man’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter like a knife. conversations died instantly, leaving the air heavy with tension. “whose fucking ride is it?”

john b and jj exchanged a glance, both clearly ready to jump in and defend you, but you weren’t about to let anyone fight this battle for you.

“why?” you called back, your tone laced with casual confidence. “you like her?”

the man’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he stepped closer. “enough to know no damn pogue should be driving her,” he spat.

he stopped just a foot away, his presence looming. the girl clinging to his arm tightened her grip, her gaze flickering nervously between the two of you.

“that might be an issue,” you mused, feigning worry as you stepped away from the car. your smirk only deepened. “she’s all mine.”

the murmurs around you grew louder, and the man’s scowl deepened. he scanned the camaro like it was something out of place, something that didn’t belong—much like you.

“never seen you around before,” he said finally, his tone low and clipped. “yet here you are, driving a car that shouldn’t even be out yet. what’s your game?”

his question hung in the air like a challenge, his blue eyes boring into yours with an intensity that demanded submission. for a split second, you wavered, but then your gaze caught sarah’s in the crowd. her wide eyes and subtle shake of the head told you all you needed to know. that was him. that was rafe cameron.

“i’m here to race,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “what about you?”

gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, the shock obvious. someone challenging rafe—crash—was a rare sight. doing so with such blatant confidence? absolutely unheard of.

rafe’s smirk returned, cruel and condescending as he turned to glance at his friends. “shit, almost feels mean, y’know?” he drawled. the smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cold, predatory look. “but i guess you’re asking for it, yeah?”

you shrugged, refusing to let him see even a hint of the unease simmering beneath your calm exterior. pulling your wallet from your back pocket, you thumbed through the bills inside before pulling out a neat stack.

“three grand sound okay?”

jj and john b’s heads whipped toward you, their expressions a mix of disbelief and panic. “dude, you sure she’s not a dealer?” john b muttered under his breath, earning a smirk from jj.

rafe’s eyebrows shot up, surprised but clearly pleased by the amount. he reached out to take the cash, his smirk returning. “just kissing your minimum wage money goodbye,” he taunted.

you held his gaze, unflinching as you replied, “we’ll see.”

the moment the crowd began to gather around your camaro, a sense of tension hung in the air, thick and uneasy. every movement you made felt magnified—your every touch, every glance, being scrutinized by dozens of curious eyes. it was as if the crowd held its breath, watching not just the car but the story unfolding before them. some whispered to each other, eyes flicking between you and rafe, while others simply observed, waiting for something to happen.

kiara, standing off to the side, looked at you with concern etched across her face. her usually cool demeanor was cracked with worry. “you don’t have to do this,” she said softly, stepping closer to you, her voice filled with an unmistakable sense of care.

john b, leaning against the door, chimed in, his tone casual but tinged with unease. “yeah, seriously. this could just be a waste of money, and we don’t even know if it’s gonna be worth it.”

you could feel their eyes on you, the quiet insistence that you step back, that maybe this was too much. the worry in their voices almost made you hesitate, but you brushed it off. this wasn’t about money or the risk—it was about proving something. not to them. not to rafe. but to yourself.

without saying another word, you ignored their concerns, focusing on the task ahead. the crowd had thickened around you now, the murmurs of awe growing louder as the sleek camaro stood at the center of attention. it wasn’t just the car; it was you, the girl who’d shown up on the island with something the pogues rarely ever had—something new, something bold. you popped the hood, and the sound of the latch clicking was a signal to the crowd. you stepped forward, your fingers brushing the cold metal of the engine, making subtle adjustments as you moved with practiced ease.

“she’s really good,” sarah said from behind you, her voice laced with admiration.

rafe, standing with his friends and glaring at the scene before him, overheard the comment. he scoffed, trying to mask the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “good? please,” he muttered under his breath. in his mind, this was just another way to put the pogues in their place. if you could make it to the starting line, he figured, you’d be an easy target.

the kooks watched, standing in a small huddle, exchanging glances. but it wasn’t just the kooks you had to worry about. the crowd itself was becoming more animated, murmuring louder with every adjustment you made under the hood. jj, watching closely, exchanged a look with pope, both of them speechless at first. they couldn’t believe it—not in a million years. they thought they knew you, thought they’d seen every side of you. but this?

“you’re kidding, right?” pope said, eyes wide with disbelief. he took a cautious step forward, clearly in awe.

jj exhaled sharply, his eyes locked on what you were doing, his voice low as he tried to comprehend what was unfolding. “that’s good thinking.”

cleo, standing off to the side, seemed confused. she glanced between the three of them, wondering what they were seeing that she wasn’t. “what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.

but it wasn’t until you clicked something into place, securing the small device under the hood, that they all saw it. your hands wiped against your thighs, brushing off the excess grease from the engine.

“nitrous oxide,” jj finally spoke, a slow grin creeping onto his face. the pride in his voice was unmistakable, his confidence swelling as he looked at the sleek system you had just attached with ease.

pope's eyes were wide with shock, the realization dawning on him. “nitrous oxide,” he repeated, his tone almost reverent now. “you’ve got nitrous in there.”

jj chuckled, his grin broadening as he leaned back slightly, watching the reactions around him. “told you she was a pro.”

the camaro’s engine thrummed under your fingertips, the steady hum vibrating through your hands as you gripped the wheel tightly. you kept your eyes darting between your friends, who were standing by, watching the tense scene unfold with a mixture of nerves and excitement. each of them looked different, their faces reflecting their worry and disbelief, but they weren’t going to stop you. not now. the three grand, all of it, was in pope’s hands, and you were past the point of no return. then there was rafe.

he sat in the blue skyline beside you, the car that seemed like it was built for something other than street racing—a car that was sleek, dangerous, and made your skin crawl just by being too close to it. the paint job was dark, almost black in the night, with a glossy sheen that made it look like it was alive. the grill at the front, sharp and angular, gave the car an aggressive stance. the rims gleamed under the streetlights, and the custom body work screamed money and power—a car meant for someone who never had to worry about getting caught.

rafe leaned back in the driver’s seat, his smirk irritatingly smug, his eyes gleaming with the confidence of someone who knew he could win. the kooks, standing on the sidelines, weren’t giving him the same level of attention they’d given you. they didn’t see you as a threat, not yet. rafe was everything they believed in—money, power, status.

he rolled down his window and glanced at you, eyes filled with disdain, the condescension oozing from his every movement. “you can still quit, walk away with some dignity,” he called, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. his smirk only deepened as he waited for your response.

you gripped the wheel harder, ignoring the slight tremor in your hands. “i’d rather walk out with three grand,” you shot back, trying to sound steady, your voice not betraying the nervousness you felt in your gut.

rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment before morphing into something darker, more sinister, like a predator sizing up its prey. he didn’t respond. the air between you thickened, charged with the bitter taste of impending tension. you couldn’t back down now.

the countdown began, and the sound of the crowd intensified, murmurs flowing like a wave through the crowd. you adjusted your grip, eyes locking on the red lights ahead, each second stretching on forever. rafe’s skyline revved beside you, his engine purring in a way that sent chills down your spine, the sound of it cutting through the night like a warning.

three.

two.

one.

the lights flickered green.

without hesitation, you slammed your foot on the pedal, the camaro lurching forward as the engine roared to life. your heart hammered against your chest as the world blurred around you, the rush of adrenaline flooding every inch of your body. you didn’t even think—your focus was singular, your vision narrowed to the street ahead of you.

but rafe wasn’t just racing. no, he had something else in mind. he took the lead, his car shooting ahead with the kind of precision that came from years of practice. you could hear the engine of his skyline growling as he sped ahead, his tires gripping the pavement with ease. his technique was flawless—he was smooth, cutting through the curves with a level of control that made it seem like he had done this a hundred times before. but you weren’t out yet.

with a fierce push, you hit the button for the nitrous, the world around you instantly transforming. the sudden surge of speed jerked your body back into the seat, the force of the gas shooting the camaro forward in an explosive burst. the crowd gasped, eyes widening as the car roared past rafe, cutting through the air like a bullet.

the street blurred past in flashes—streetlights, dark corners, distant buildings, all a streak of color and light as you shot forward. the world felt like it was moving in slow motion while your heartbeat raced to match the speed of the camaro. rafe’s skyline was already fading into the distance, his once confident smirk now replaced by the flash of surprise that barely registered before your car overtook him.

you were ahead. you could feel it, the surge of power under the hood, the tight grip of the steering wheel as you maneuvered through the streets with precision. the sounds of tires screeching, engines roaring, the shouts of the crowd—it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. you were in the zone. the finish line was in sight. the end was near. but then you heard it. the sirens.

your heart lurched as you glanced in the rearview mirror, your pulse spiking. flashing lights flickered in the distance—red and blue dancing in the rearview mirror. the cops. you dared a glance to the side, your eyes catching rafe’s face. his smirk was back. of course it was. he knew exactly what was coming. the kooks got away with everything. you knew that. they always did, but you? you were just a pogue. the rules didn’t apply to them.

without thinking, you swerved sharply, the tires screeching as you turned hard onto a side street, your hands working the wheel with a frantic precision. you had to get away. you couldn’t be caught. not now. not when the finish line was so close. you pushed the pedal down harder, your foot practically cemented to the accelerator as you raced down the dark streets. the cops were gaining on you, but you couldn’t afford to let them close.

a sharp turn ahead forced you to slide the car sideways, the tires barely catching the slick pavement as you shot through the intersection, narrowly avoiding a crash. the camaro’s rear end fishtailed, and you gritted your teeth, feeling the car fight against you as you struggled to regain control. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t.

you could hear the sirens growing fainter as you swerved back onto a familiar street, the one where the race had begun. your friends were still there, waiting, watching in shock as you came into view, just barely ahead of rafe, whose skyline was left trailing behind you. you pulled up, the camaro skidding slightly as you came to a stop. your heart was still pounding, but the adrenaline rush was starting to wear off. you barely had time to catch your breath before you yanked the door open, your legs unsteady as you practically fell out of the car.

the sound of sirens was growing distant now, the cops lost in the maze of streets behind you. but you were here. you made it. and you’d won.

the cheers from the crowd echoed in your ears, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. you didn’t have time to celebrate, not when the unmistakable wail of sirens grew louder behind you, chasing you down like a relentless predator. the victory you’d earned so hard, the three grand, the rush of taking down rafe—it was all slipping away as quickly as it had come.

“get in!” you shouted, your voice sharp as you cut through the noise of the crowd. you didn’t have to say it twice. kiara was already jumping into the backseat, followed quickly by the others. their faces were a mix of exhilaration and concern, realizing that the win wasn’t enough to guarantee freedom. the sirens were closing in, the lights flashing bright and blinding in your rearview mirror.

the rest of the crowd was scattering now, some of them cheering as they saw the drama unfold, while others realized what was happening and fled in fear of the cops. but you weren’t going to stop. not now. not after everything.

with a quick glance at your friends, you slammed your foot back onto the pedal, the camaro roaring to life as you surged forward, the engine growling under the strain. the car seemed to leap forward, the tires screeching against the pavement as you floored it, the gas pedal an extension of your will.

jj’s voice broke through the hum of the engine, his words barely audible over the chaos. “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he repeated, his voice cracking with disbelief as he held onto the door, clutching anything he could find to keep steady. you could feel his body jerking with every sharp turn, the force of the acceleration pulling everyone back into their seats.

none of them had ever felt anything like it. the rush was unlike anything they’d experienced, the car’s power and the nitrous giving them a surge of speed that was intoxicating. the scenery blurred into streaks of light and dark, the world outside narrowing into a tunnel as you pushed the camaro to its limits.

“you won,” kiara said, her voice filled with awe, trying to catch her breath from the sheer force of the ride.

you didn’t respond right away. sweat dripped down your temple, stinging your eyes as you focused on the road ahead, trying to block out the flashing red and blue behind you. it didn’t matter that you’d won. not when rafe had pulled every dirty trick in the book to make sure you wouldn’t get away unscathed.

“he rigged it,” you scoffed through gritted teeth, eyes darting to the rearview mirror again. “called the pigs.”

a heavy silence washed over the group. kiara’s breath hitched in the backseat, and pope’s expression hardened, the weight of the truth sinking in. they all knew what it meant.

“he knew he was gonna lose,” sarah spoke up, her voice tinged with disbelief, though she didn’t sound surprised. she knew how rafe operated. “he called them in advance.”

your fist slammed against the steering wheel, the impact reverberating up your arm as frustration bubbled over. you should’ve seen it. you should’ve known. your victory didn’t count when the police were already on your tail, and the realization stung more than the heat of the engine. you forced yourself to focus, to block out the anger and the regret. you had to get away. the sirens were almost unbearable now, but you couldn’t let them catch you. you needed a plan, a way out.

“where to now, pope?” you asked, your voice sharp but steady, trying to keep the panic from creeping into your tone.

he leaned forward from the backseat, his face illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard. “where they won’t expect it,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension. “tannyhill.”

the sound of loud music and laughter echoed throughout the expansive, chaotic mansion, but inside the game room, a tense silence hung heavily in the air. rafe’s anger was palpable, his fists slamming onto the pool table with such force that the glassware and ashtrays scattered in all directions. his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, his eyes narrowed in pure frustration, as beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

“dude, what the fuck’s your problem?” topper asked, leaning against the doorframe, his brows furrowed in confusion.

rafe wiped his forehead roughly, trying to shake off the burning anger that seemed to radiate from every part of him. “got the cops on her,” kelce reminded him. “she didn't win.” he could see his friend was losing it, and he wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that rafe had been outsmarted by a pogue, or that he was pissed off enough to go on a rampage.

“nah, man,” rafe growled, his fingers trembling as they pressed against the surface of the pool table. “you don’t get it.” his gaze sharpened, cold and menacing as he continued, his voice low and barely contained. “she's a pogue. shouldn't have had to call the cops in the first place.”

topper and kelce exchanged a concerned look, clearly aware that rafe’s pride had taken a hard hit, but unsure how to deal with it. kelce raised an eyebrow, pushing himself off the chair and giving rafe a sideways glance. “what’d you expect, man?” he asked, his voice carrying a touch of disbelief. “you know who her dad is.”

rafe’s attention snapped to his friend, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “what’d you say?” his voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with tension.

kelce didn’t flinch. “her dad, y’know? king of the road. bullet. you know, the one who used to run shit back in the day.” his words were casual, but there was a sense of finality to them. “word travels fast, bro. she came back, opened up her own auto shop, all for her pops.”

rafe froze. his fingers, still trembling, gripped the edge of the pool table, but his attention was now fixed on kelce. “bullet,” he muttered, a cold realization creeping into his voice. his mind began to race, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

topper and kelce exchanged another glance, this time more wary than before, as they watched the slow burn of recognition in rafe’s eyes. kelce leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly as he clarified. “that bullet. not a different guy, the one you’re thinking of. the same bullet that faced ward twenty years ago.”

he paused, letting the weight of that sentence sink in, “the one who won.”

rafe’s jaw tightened, his muscles visibly tensing as the name echoed in his mind. bullet. his father’s old rival. the man who had humiliated rafe's father in a way that still stung to this day. now, the realization that your father—bullet—was the one behind you, fueling your ambition, was like a slap to the face.

rafe muttered something under his breath, a guttural sound that barely left his lips. the anger that had been boiling over now shifted into something darker, more dangerous. his eyes narrowed to slits as he dug a small bag of white powder from his pocket, the crinkling of the bag sounding too loud in the tense silence. he flipped open the bag, spilling the powder onto the pool table, his hands shaking as he used his black card to cut thin, meticulous lines.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath as he stared at the lines. his hand trembled slightly as he rolled up a dollar bill, preparing to snort the powder. as he did, his mind began to focus, the fog of rage lifting ever so slightly, replaced by something more methodical. “i think we should,” rafe trailed off, his voice low and still shaky, the tremors not just from the drug but from something far more sinister.

he paused, his eyes fixed on his friends, who were both watching him closely. “well, rafe?” topper asked. “tell us, what's your great idea?”

“i think we should kill them all.”

the bass of the music hit you before you even stepped through the door, the pounding rhythm vibrating through your chest. it was the kind of house party that could only be thrown by someone who had too much money and too little to lose. the walls seemed to pulse with the sound of voices and laughter, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the tang of spilled drinks. people were scattered around, some lounging in the living room, others crowding the kitchen, while a few shady figures lurked in the corners, eyes darting around like they were waiting for something to go wrong.

pope, walking beside you, couldn’t help but notice the way your hands shook. it was subtle, but enough for him to notice. he glanced at you, concern written across his face. “on second thought,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, “i don’t think this is a good idea,” but you didn’t stop. it was too late now, the moment you’d stepped foot into the lion’s den. rafe was here, and the race might’ve been over, but this was far from finished.

jj trailed behind you, already making his way to the cooler in the corner, grabbing a beer. you noticed the smile on his face, the way his lips curled as if he was already relishing the thought of watching rafe squirm.

“what’re you smiling for?” you snapped, trying to steady yourself against the wave of tension that was crawling up your spine.

he shrugged, cracking open his beer. “not every day you get to see rafe cameron lose,” he said, his words carrying a hint of truth, but you knew it didn’t change the fact that rafe had played dirty. he’d made sure the victory didn’t feel real.

you barely had time to dwell on that before you heard a familiar voice. “hey!” john b called out. you turned to see him and sarah standing at the top of the stairs, grinning like they were in on some private joke. he had his arm wrapped around sarah's waist, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“we’re gonna—well, there’s something i gotta show sarah upstairs,” he said, his voice laced with playful mischief.

jj raised his beer and threw a wink their way. “you crazy kids have fun,” he called out, his voice dripping with enthusiasm.

the two of them disappeared up the stairs, leaving you to continue through the crowd. the house was a mix of people—some familiar, some not. there were a few faces you recognized from the high school halls, kids who never seemed to do much more than party and live off their family’s money. but then there were others, people with sharper eyes, a bit too much grit in their demeanor, lurking in the shadows. you could feel their gaze flicker over you, sizing you up like prey.

but you didn’t stop walking. you pushed forward through the mass of people, not caring if you brushed against anyone. not caring about anything except the feeling of knowing exactly where this was heading. and then you saw him.

he was standing near the back, surrounded by his usual crew—kelce, topper, and a couple of other people you didn’t know. rafe’s eyes met yours the moment you stepped into his line of sight, and for a split second, the room seemed to pause. it was as if everything else faded, and you were the only two people in the house.

you didn’t hesitate. without even a thought, you walked up to him, your steps sure, your anger driving every movement. without warning, you grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. the world seemed to blur around you as you smacked him across the face, the sharp crack of skin on skin echoing in the room. the crowd around you went silent for a split second, but it didn’t matter.

“you stupid, cheating son of a bitch,” you snarled, voice dripping with rage. “hurt that bad losing to a pogue? you had to cheat?”

rafe didn’t flinch. his expression remained cold, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. his jaw tightened, his lips curling into something cruel. and then, just like that, his hands shot up and wrapped around your neck.

you gasped, struggling against the sudden pressure as his fingers dug into your skin. “don’t you ever call me that again,” he whispered, his voice cold, deadly. you tried to pry his hands away, your vision starting to swim as you fought for air.

“my old man might’ve lost to your dad,” rafe continued, his grip tightening even more. “but i sure as hell won’t lose to a dirty fuckin’ pogue like you.”

and it hit you. the words, the venom in his tone—it wasn’t just about the race. it was about something much deeper. his father had lost to your dad, bullet—the man who had earned his reputation in a way that rafe’s father could never match. the history between the two didnt run deep, but the animosity was thicker than blood.

you struggled harder, but the more you fought, the tighter his grip became, the pressure on your throat making it harder to breathe. your thoughts began to blur, your fingers clawing at his wrists, desperate for freedom.

but then, out of nowhere, you felt rafe being yanked away. jj, who had appeared from the crowd, threw his weight into the pull, dragging rafe off you with force. he stumbled back, hands still twitching as he tried to regain control, but jj wasn’t letting go.

“just you wait, pogue,” rafe called out, his voice hoarse from the force of his own words. “see what happens when you act a fool.”

jj didn’t respond. he didn’t need to. he shoved rafe back, and you staggered away from the chaos, breathing deeply, trying to recover from the shock of it all. as you made your way out of the fray, you glanced back to see rafe sitting back down at the table, his gaze empty. his body trembled slightly, his fingers still shaking. it wasn’t just about the race. it wasn’t even about you. his father didnt think he was good enough, so he wanted to be better.

the next morning, the smell of oil, metal, and grease filled the air as you worked in your shop. sunlight streamed through the garage’s open doors, illuminating the chaos within. it was shaping up to be a long day. your friends had brought their cars in, and calling them “in bad shape��� was an understatement. each vehicle had its own set of unique, stubborn problems, from mechanical issues to cosmetic disasters. and on top of all that, jj’s dirt bike sat propped on its stand in the corner, waiting for a fresh coat of paint and some mechanical tlc.

you were perched over jj’s dirt bike, one leg swung lazily over the seat as you carefully sprayed on a bold blue coat of paint. the color shimmered slightly under the sunlight, and you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction. jj had insisted on something flashy, claiming he wanted it to “blind anyone he left in the dust.”

nearby, sarah’s car sat on a lift, its underside exposed. it was a sleek white coupe, but the suspension was shot to hell, the front bumper barely hanging on, and there was a mystery rattle that drove her crazy.

“you could do a lot more with it if you had a v8,” came a voice, smooth and cutting through the sound of your wrench.

your heart jumped. tense, you turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they locked onto rafe cameron standing at the edge of your garage. he was dressed in a crisp button-up, shorts, and boat shoes, a golf club casually slung over his shoulder like it belonged there.

“typical boys,” you quipped, recovering quickly, a smirk forming on your lips as you straightened. “always worried about whose engines bigger.”

rafe’s mouth twitched into a wry smile, though his eyes still held that unnerving sharpness. “what’re you doing here?” you added, your tone turning sharp. “came to trash my stash?”

he scoffed, taking a slow step forward, the metal head of the golf club clicking lightly against the cement floor as he walked. “got a garage more expensive than these rides,” he replied coolly, eyes scanning the cars around you. you rolled your eyes and turned back to sarah’s car, wiping your hands on a rag.

“the rumors are true,” rafe continued, a hint of amusement in his tone. “cut’s got its first shop run by a woman.”

you scoffed, glancing over your shoulder at him. “and if you open one, it’ll get its second.”

his smile faltered for a split second, irritation flashing across his face, but it didn’t stick. instead, he stood there, watching you with an expression that was equal parts frustration and intrigue.

“listen, pogue,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you can call me out for calling the cops, but i know about your nos tanks. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

you set your wrench down with a loud clang, turning to face him fully. “any real racer knows you can use as many tanks as you want,” you said, stepping closer to him, your tone unwavering. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, rafe?”

for a moment, his annoyance shifted into something else, something almost predatory. his gaze flicked over you, and he tilted his head slightly, as though trying to figure you out. how could a pogue talk to him like this—fearlessly, no less—after what had happened last night?

“i can handle a lot more than you think,” he responded, a sly grin creeping onto his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat stack of bills. “how about you set it up for me? i’ll make it worth your while.” with a sharp motion, you pushed his hand down, forcing him to lower the money.

“bring your ride in and put your money away,” you said, your tone low but steady. “you’ll pay me back with a race. a fair one.”

rafe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his smirk growing wider. “sounds fair to me,” he countered, his voice dripping with challenge. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, (y/n)?”

you tilted your head slightly, mirroring his grin as you leaned closer. “i can handle a lot more than you think.”

the roar of the skyline’s engine filled your shop as rafe pulled back in, the bright blue paint glinting under the fluorescent lights. the car was immaculate, sleek and modern, with a body that screamed speed and power. you couldn’t help but appreciate it. rafe stepped out, leaning casually against the car, his gaze drifting to the corners of your shop.

“nice place you got here,” he said, his tone almost dismissive, but his eyes were scanning every detail.

“nice car,” you shot back, wiping your hands on a rag as you approached. r34, right? not bad, even for you.”

rafe’s smirk deepened, pleased you knew your stuff. “figured i’d bring her to the best,” he said, his voice dripping with irony.

you didn’t rise to the bait, gesturing for him to follow you. you led him to the closeted section of your shop, a hidden alcove where you kept your stash of tanks. the area was organized chaos—rows of shiny tanks stacked neatly, tools hanging on the walls, and a sturdy metal workbench in the center.

“how’s this shit work?” rafe asked, leaning against the table as he watched you pull a tank from the shelf.

you set it on the bench, grabbed a wrench, and began working. “it’s simple, really,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “nitrous oxide gets injected into the engine. gets the oxygen levels up during combustion. more fuel burns, so that means more power. it’s a burst, though—not something you use all the time.”

rafe nodded, his expression unreadable as he watched you work. you moved with precision, attaching the nos lines to the skyline’s engine, ensuring every bolt and connection was secure.

“got a closet full of this shit,” rafe remarked, glancing around.

you shrugged, not looking up from your work. “guess i like it fast.”

he raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “how do i know you’re not screwing me over?”

you straightened, wiping your hands on your shorts with a smirk. “take her for a spin,” you said simply.

he scoffed, crossing his arms as his gaze flicked between you and the car. “yeah, right. and if it blows me up?”

you rolled your eyes, already fed up. without a word, you opened the passenger door and climbed in, settling into the seat next to him. rafe hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were planning something, but eventually slid behind the wheel. you were immediately impressed by the interior—sleek, modern, and meticulously maintained.

he pulled out of the shop and onto the main road, driving casually until you reached a long, empty street.

“how’s it work?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

you pointed at a button near the gearshift. “press it,” you said, your tone almost mocking. “unless you’re scared.”

rafe’s gaze snapped to yours, his jaw tightening at the challenge in your voice. he wasn’t going to back down. slowly, deliberately, he pressed the button.

the effect was immediate. the skyline surged forward with a ferocity that pressed you both back into your seats. the engine roared, the world outside becoming a blur as the car rocketed down the street. rafe’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“keep your eyes on the road, playboy,” you said, your voice steady despite the speed.

rafe smirked, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. “why? think we’re gonna crash?”

you didn’t blink, your gaze locked on him. “don’t know,” you said calmly. “haven’t decided yet.”

taking that as a challenge, rafe shifted his focus back to you, his blue eyes burning with determination. he kept the car hurtling forward, the engine screaming, his gaze never leaving yours. the tension in the air was evident, every second stretching into eternity as you stared each other down. the red light came into view, and rafe hit the brakes hard. the car skidded to a stop, tires screeching, the force jolting you both forward slightly. but even then, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“i could’ve killed you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

you held his gaze, unwavering. “you wouldn’t.”

the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as you parked the last of your friends’ cars at their usual spot. each vehicle gleamed, repaired and polished. you stepped out, expecting gratitude and maybe a few jokes, but instead, you were met with silence. they were all there, standing stiffly in front of their shop, their expressions grim. you could feel the tension radiating off them as you walked closer, the quiet pressing against your chest.

“guys?” you called out, slipping from the driver’s seat and approaching cautiously. “what’s wrong?”

no one answered. the explanation came into view soon enough.

their shop was a disaster. broken glass littered the ground, the walls were defaced with cruel graffiti, and the door hung off its hinges. the words scrawled across the front made your stomach churn: “pogue trash,” “deadbeats,” “just like your daddy.” your breath caught in your throat as you took in the scene, each insult like a punch to the gut.

“what the fuck happened?” you asked, your voice tight with anger and disbelief.

jj ripped his cap off and hurled it to the ground, his face flushed with fury. “those fuckin’ kooks, man,” he spat at no one in particular. “those fuckin’ kooks.”

you stepped closer, your boots crunching against the broken glass as you stared at the hateful words. the damage was extensive—tools missing, shelves overturned, and a pile of broken parts in the corner.

“they didn’t even try to hide it,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

pope sighed heavily beside you. “don’t take it personal,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe his own words. “at least they didn’t touch the cars.”

kie nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “yeah, thanks for fixing them for us,” she said softly, though her gratitude was muted by the weight of what had happened.

but their words barely registered as you stepped closer to the shop, your hands curling into fists. “who was it?” you asked, though you feared you already knew the answer.

jj scoffed bitterly. “who do you think?” he shot back, his voice dripping with venom. “rafe and his buddies.”

your stomach sank. you’d gone out of your way to help him, to level the playing field, and this was how he repaid you? it wasn’t even about the shop—it was about principle. he had crossed a line.

without another word, you grabbed a broom and started cleaning. the others joined in silently, the air thick with anger and frustration as you worked together to sweep up the glass, scrub off the graffiti, and salvage what you could. every stroke of the brush, every shove of the mop, only fueled your resolve.

by the time you finished, night had fallen, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air. you handed the broom to jj, your jaw set as you turned and made your way back to your car.

“where’re you going?” sarah called after you, her voice laced with concern.

you didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. the sound of the car door slamming shut was your only response as you started the engine and drove off into the night, your mind racing with one thought: rafe cameron was going to answer for this.

the engine hummed beneath you as you sped toward figure eight, the north side of the island, where the kooks played their games and looked down on people like you. your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a steady rhythm that betrayed the pounding of your heart. the streets were quiet, eerily so, but you scanned every shadowed alley and empty corner, searching for him. or, more specifically, for his stupid skyline.

your knuckles whitened against the steering wheel, tension coiled in your chest. rafe cameron. of course, it had to be him. the golden boy with a mean streak a mile wide, hiding behind wealth and privilege while wreaking havoc for fun.

as you turned onto another desolate road, your eyes caught the glow of a parking lot up ahead. slowing down, you squinted, scanning the lot as you passed by—and there it was. a skyline, much like his, sat tucked in the farthest corner, its polished body gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“there you are,” you muttered, a sharp edge in your voice as you pulled into the lot.

you drove straight toward the car, parking directly across from it, headlights glaring like a spotlight. the engine idled as you stepped out, leaving the car on as a statement. across the lot, the driver’s side door of the skyline opened, and out stepped rafe. he didn’t look pleased.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice dripping with disdain.

you didn’t answer. Instead, you marched toward him, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. “have a busy night, kook?” you spat. “steal some parts? trash some shops?”

rafe scoffed, recovering his footing as he stepped closer. his smirk was infuriating, his air of nonchalance calculated. “you’re out of your mind,” he muttered, but when your hand shot up to slap him, he caught it mid-air, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that made you wince.

“what’re you gonna do? arrest me?” he taunted, his voice low and biting. his grip tightened, making you clench your teeth. “you said you liked it fast, but you’re still not up to speed—this is the way things are here, pogue.”

he let go of your wrist, and you shoved him again, this time harder. his reaction was swift, his hands grabbing the front of your top and yanking you forward, slamming you against the hood of his car.

“let go of me, you son of a bitch,” you growled, struggling against him. but then your gaze locked onto his, and your tone turned razor-sharp. “what’re you gonna do next, rafe? choke me again? hit me? gonna hit me, rafe?”

his jaw clenched, his expression darkening as he stared down at you. he knew you were provoking him, pushing him toward the edge—but the hit never came.

instead, it came in the form of cold metal pressed against your temple, sleek and unyielding. your breath hitched as you realized what it was. a pistol, pulled from his waistband, now trembling slightly in his hand.

“come on, rafe,” you murmured, your voice soft but deadly. “do it, pull the trigger. let me see you do it.”

his hand shook, his grip faltering as his body trembled with barely-contained rage. the air between you was electric, charged with tension and unspoken words. finally, with a roar that made you flinch, he pulled back, stepping away as he spun around and shouted into the night, his voice raw and guttural.

“don’t push me,” he hissed, turning back toward you, his expression twisted with anger and something else—something almost like regret. “you know i’ll hurt you.”

you stayed frozen, stunned as he climbed back into his car and slammed the door. the tension still buzzed in the air as you staggered back to your own car, fury boiling in your veins. you didn’t look at him as you started your engine, but you knew he was watching.

as you pulled your car into reverse, you didn’t stop. you turned, aiming your headlights straight at him, and accelerated, tires screeching as you sped toward him. rafe’s eyes widened, but only for a second before his expression hardened, glazed with anger. you could see him mutter something to himself, though you couldn’t hear it over the roar of the engines.

“come on,” he whispered, his voice almost a growl. “see if you have the fucking balls.”

neither of you slowed. the distance between you closed rapidly, your gazes locked, unflinching, as your cars raced toward each other like bullets. it was a game of chicken, and you weren’t about to lose.

at the last second, rafe was the one to swerve, tires screeching as his skyline drifted to the side, narrowly avoiding impact. your own car skidded in the opposite direction, drifting towards the opposite sode, and for a moment, the lot was silent again, save for the low rumble of idling engines.

“i told you you wouldn’t,” you whispered under your breath, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ached.

the gym was barely lit, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the space as rafe paced like a caged animal. the heavy bag swung idly, a testament to the beating he had given it earlier, but his fists weren’t satisfied. his knuckles were raw, bloodied, and split, but the rage in his chest burned hotter, untamed.

kelce leaned against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, but the tension in his posture gave him away. topper sat on one of the benches, a water bottle in hand, his expression hovering between amusement and concern.

“she got you good, man,” kelce said, trying to lighten the mood. “never seen a girl get you this mad.”

rafe didn’t respond. his chest heaved as he muttered to himself, words too quiet for anyone else to catch. his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body taut with frustration.

“hard to find a girl who knows how to drive,” topper chimed in, a smug grin on his face as he leaned back. “but a hot one? needle in a haystack.”

it was the wrong thing to say. rafe’s roar echoed through the gym, a guttural sound that tore through his throat, making both kelce and topper jump. before they could react, rafe’s fist slammed into the wall with a sickening crack, leaving a jagged dent in the drywall. his knuckles followed suit, blood smearing across the pale surface as he pulled back.

“dude, you need to calm down,” kelce said, stepping forward cautiously, his hands half-raised in a placating gesture. he exchanged a nervous glance with topper, who was now sitting upright, the humor gone from his expression.

but rafe wasn’t hearing any of it. his breathing was erratic, his gaze wild as he turned away, pacing again. he ran a trembling hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if the pain might distract him from whatever was boiling inside. what was it with her? how could someone so infuriating, so goddamn pogue, crawl under his skin like this? she was everything he despised—defiant, reckless, unpredictable—and yet she was all he could think about. the way she stared him down, the way she challenged him, dared him even, as if she knew just how far to push before he broke.

was it the hatred that fueled him? the way she made his blood rush, his heart race? lr was it something else, something he couldn’t put into words but that kept him coming back, like a moth to a flame?

“i hate her,” he finally hissed, his voice low but venomous. his chest rose and fell rapidly as he turned to face his friends, his knuckles still dripping red. “i fuckin’ hate her.”

the bonfire blazed brightly against the inky night sky, crackling and sending sparks into the air as the party raged around it. the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the scent of burning wood and the faint whiff of spilled beer. laughter, shouting, and the deep bass of a playlist made the beach feel alive, every corner buzzing with energy. people crowded around coolers, passing drinks, leaning against cars, or dancing to the music. shadows flitted across the sand as groups clustered closer to the fire, the light flickering across their faces.

you pulled into the makeshift parking area, your headlights briefly illuminating the crowd before you cut the engine. the hum of the party immediately filled the car, but you stayed seated, your hands still on the steering wheel. the adrenaline from earlier hadn’t worn off, but it had simmered into something heavier, something confusing.

how could someone be so insufferable? how could he manage to boil your blood and make your pulse race all at once? you hated his entitlement, his smirk, his stupid blue eyes that always seemed to hold a challenge. he wasn’t worth the energy, and yet here you were, your grip tightening on the steering wheel as if trying to ground yourself.

“you okay?” jj’s voice broke through your thoughts.

you turned your head slightly to look at him, his blue eyes filled with concern. he noticed the slight tremble in your hands but didn’t push.

“yeah,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “yeah, it’s a party. i’m great.”

he didn’t believe you, not entirely, but he nodded anyway. jj knew when to let things go.

stepping out of the car, you were immediately hit with the cacophony of the party. the bonfire cast an orange glow that danced across the sand, illuminating faces both familiar and unfamiliar. the crowd was thick, packed with kooks and pogues alike, though the latter were clearly outnumbered. as you walked toward the fire, someone approached you, his voice loud and filled with enthusiasm.

“camaro!” he shouted, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “too cold for cameron.”

you blinked at him, startled, unsure how to respond. the race had clearly made an impression, and word had spread faster than you could’ve imagined. it was an uncomfortable kind of notoriety, but jj took it in stride.

“the people love you,” he said with a smirk, grabbing two beers from a nearby cooler and handing one to you. “give the people what they want.”

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was clear. everyone was impressed—almost everyone.

rafe was seated by the fire, his legs stretched out lazily, one arm draped over the shoulders of a girl who was chattering away. her friend sat nearby, giggling at whatever she was saying, but rafe didn’t seem to be paying attention. he didn’t even know her name, not that it mattered. just that he was lonely, and she tasted like tequila. his gaze was locked on you. the tension from earlier wasn’t visible in his expression, but there was something in his eyes. his beer bottle hovered near his lips as he stared, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the sight of you.

you weren’t wearing your usual gear—no grease-stained shorts, no leather boots. Instead, you’d chosen a white dress, short and flowy, paired with white heels. it was simple, but it transformed you, softening your edges in a way rafe hadn’t expected. he should’ve looked away, should’ve focused on the girl clinging to his arm or the drink in his hand. but he couldn’t.

you noticed his stare and felt the weight of it, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. quickly, you lifted the beer jj had given you and took a long swig.

“thirsty, aren’t you?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “sober. way too sober.”

the night dragged on, the bonfire crackling loudly as laughter and chatter mixed with the low thrum of music. jj handed you another beer before motioning toward the campfire. “come on, let’s sit,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes lingered on you, searching for any signs of lingering tension.

you sighed but followed, settling into the sand next to him. the heat from the fire washed over you, much unlike the cool breeze that carried the smell of saltwater. you leaned back slightly, the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on your shoulders. every muscle ached, and all you wanted was the sweet escape of sleep. but sleep wasn’t an option, not here, not now.

you sipped your beer slowly, savoring each drop as it slid down your throat. across the flames, rafe sat, his arm lazily draped over the girl he had come with. he wasn’t looking at her, not really, but when she leaned in to kiss him, his lips met hers in a display that felt more performative than passionate. your gaze dropped instantly, your stomach churning. you prayed no one had noticed your reaction, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

“camaro,” topper’s voice cut through the din, dragging your attention back to the group.

you turned your head slightly, your body tense as you met his gaze.

“word on the street says you’re racing our man again,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

jj glanced at you, his confusion evident. “again?” he asked, but you only shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you popped the cap off another beer.

“street doesn’t lie,” you said simply, taking a swig.

kelce and topper exchanged impressed looks, nodding as if to say they approved. but kelce’s smirk widened as you continued, “even when its racers are dirty cheats.”

the air shifted. rafe’s head snapped toward you, his eyebrows raised in challenge. the firelight reflected in his narrowed eyes, adding to the intensity of his glare.

“called street smarts for a reason, isn’t it?” he said, his smirk sharp.

you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the driftwood bench. “let’s see how smart you are without the cops,” you said, your voice steady, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

rafe opened his mouth, clearly ready to retort, but something stopped him. he clenched his jaw, leaning back in his seat with a forced calmness. his breath came in shallow, frustrated huffs as the firelight danced across his features. the tension in the group was uncomfortable, but the silence didn’t last long. you drained your beer, allowing the alcohol to dull the edge of your exhaustion and frustration. the conversations around you resumed, and for the first time all night, you felt yourself beginning to relax.

rafe, however, wasn’t relaxing. his eyes flicked to you every chance they got, watching as your posture softened, as your lips curled into a small smile at something jj said. he watched as jj leaned in, whispering something into your ear, his hand brushing your shoulder. whatever he said made you laugh, a soft, genuine sound that tugged at something deep within rafe. you made him angry. everything you did made him angry.

jj tipped his beer bottle toward you. “we staying here tonight?” he asked, his tone casual.

“yeah,” you replied, pushing yourself to your feet. “let’s just hope they won’t trash this, too.”

your words carried a pointed weight, and you capped them off with a glance in rafe’s direction, your gaze cool and challenging. it was subtle, but he caught it. he always caught it. you disappeared into the tent jj had set up, leaving the campfire and its occupants behind. rafe’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his beer. everything about you, everything you did, made him mad. and he still couldn’t look away.

the tent was suffocating. you’d been lying there for hours, trying desperately to sleep, but it was impossible. exhaustion clung to your body like a second skin, but no matter how much you tossed, turned, or closed your eyes, rest wouldn’t come. your mind was a storm, thoughts swirling violently around one person.

you hated him—every inch of him. the way he carried himself with arrogant confidence, the way his words dripped with disdain, the way he always seemed to have the upper hand. conceited, rude, filthy rich, and far too smug about it. but worst of all? his mouth. it wasn’t just the venom he spat or the smirks that played on his lips; it was the fact, when it came down to putting his money where his mouth was, his mouth went everywhere. you hated it, hated him.

you sighed heavily, leaning back against the soft wall of the tent. your head rested against your pillow, eyes staring blankly at the fabric above you. the muted sounds of the bonfire party carried through the night, distant but persistent. you closed your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose, but peace still eluded you.

your body stiffened at the sound, the slow, deliberate movement of the tent’s zipper trailing sending a chill down your spine. the tent flaps parted, and he stepped inside. you didn’t react.

“come to kill me?” you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any interest.

he didn’t answer. instead, he moved toward you, his steps slow, purposeful. there was something unnerving about his silence, and it made your stomach twist. your head snapped toward him, your breath catching in your throat.

“rafe,” you said, panic creeping into your voice as you scrambled to your feet. “what are you doing?”

he didn’t respond. you glanced around the small space, frantically searching for something, anything, to defend yourself with, but there was nothing. he noticed.

“defenseless,” he murmured, his voice low, almost mocking.

your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your ears that you thought he could hear it. he stopped in front of you, his broad frame blocking the exit as he loomed over you.

“what do you think is gonna happen next?” he asked, his tone dark and taunting.

you swallowed hard, your palms clammy. “i know this story,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “this is the part where we hurt each other, right? where we give in and see who’ll really win.”

amusement flickered across his face, but it was fleeting, his expression hardening as his gaze pinned you in place.

“that’s an interesting way to end things,” he murmured. “but i like my ending better.”

before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours. the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, a clash of emotions too raw to name. hatred morphed into something else entirely as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. your body reacted on instinct, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, just as hard, just as rough.

even as your lips moved against his, the fight never stopped. tongues battled for dominance, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. it wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tender—it was a war, and neither of you was willing to surrender, but this time? this time, you would lose.

without breaking the kiss, rafe sank to the ground, pulling you into his lap. his hands roamed, gripping your hips, sliding up your back, under your dress, as though he couldn’t get enough of you. he lay back, bringing you down with him, his body pressing into yours as his lips trailed away from your mouth. his kisses moved to your jaw, then down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“i hate you,” you whispered, the words escaping through a breathless moan.

he groaned against your neck, his breath hot and ragged, “i hate you, too.”

there was something about playing with fire that everybody loved, ranging from the kids that would play with their mothers’ stoves despite warned not to, and the adults who lit their cigarettes despite knowing that it could kill them. despite being so different, every one of those people had one thing in common—they knew a thing or two about getting burned. the closer he was to you, the more you thought about it—playing with fire. you knew it’d hurt you at some point, but pain was fleeting, temporary. the warmth was what counted.

“show me,” you gasped as your fingernails clawed at the back of his neck. “show me how much you hate me.”

he took it as a challenge, he took everything you said as a challenge. just like that, his lips were on yours, his nose grazing your cheek. he tasted like beer—bitter, with a hint of something that you knew would keep you coming back for more. his lips were chapped from the alcohol, but still found a way to melt against yours. his fingers were long, rough as they crept up the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your body before tangling themselves into your hair, pulling softly.

“look at me,” he whispered, and you’d never heard him so quiet. he pulled your hair downward, forcing your eyes to meet his.

your eyes were hazy, clouded with the same sensation that coursed through his veins. he couldnt have missed it, and he didn’t, a low hum vibrating through his chest as he took in the way you looked at him, unsure if he’d ever get to see it again. he kissed you again, his hips grinding down against yours, eliciting the softest whimper from you as his hard length pressed into the soft flesh of your thigh, separated by the fabric of his shorts.

“feel that?” he whispered, continuously rolling his hips against your thigh, pressing into you, making sure you could feel it—all of it. “that’s how mad you make me.”

you let out a sound, something between a laugh and a moan, biting your lip at the feeling of him like that—so hard, so deluded with lust. “who knew i had such an effect on you?”

rafe’s eyes darkened at your words, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his grip on your hair tightened slightly, and his nose brushed against yours as his lips hovered just inches away.

“you’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

you bit your lip, your body betraying you as you arched against him. his lips were on yours again, and this time it was hungrier, rougher, filled with all the pent-up frustration and hatred that had festered between you for so long. he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue slipped inside, claiming your mouth as his.

his hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your waist while the other stayed tangled in your hair. he pulled you impossibly closer, his hips grinding harder against yours. the friction was intoxicating, drawing a soft, breathless moan from your lips that only spurred him on.

“say it again,” he demanded, his lips moving against your neck now, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“say what?” you breathed, your head tilting back as his tongue traced the column of your throat.

“tell me how much you hate me,” he growled, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed his hips firmly against you.

you let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “i hate you,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling with desire.

he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. “liar,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk before capturing yours again.

you fought for dominance, your nails scraping down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. he hissed at the sensation, his hips bucking against you in response.

“careful,” he warned, his voice husky as he nipped at your jaw. “you’re playing with fire.”

“maybe i like the burn,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

he chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as his lips trailed down your collarbone. “you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his tone both teasing and threatening.

“then show me,” you challenged, your hands gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward.

he pulled it off in one swift motion, tossing it aside before leaning back over you, his bare chest pressing against yours. his hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of your body as his mouth claimed yours once again.

“you make me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered need. “i can’t think straight when i’m around you.”

“good,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from his throat. “i don’t want you thinking straight.”

you ran your fingers down his chest, unable to stop yourself from admiring just how strong he was, how broad he was. he was so lean, tan, with broad shoulders and big arms that he kept hidden. you bit your lip, keeping yourself from being too brazen, too nice—saying something you knew youd come to regret when the time came.

his touch was gentle, feather-like as his fingers slid your dress down, his eyes never leaving your frame as he did so. he tugged it down your chest, down your hips, until it was completely off. he groaned at the sight—the sight going straight to his shorts. you were beautiful, though he’d never say it out loud. with your white bra, your white panties—you looked like an angel.

“fuck,” was all that he managed to utter, staring down at you the way a predator would eye its prey.

“yeah,” you murmured, propping yourself against your elbows. he watched the way your plush thighs rubbed against one another, legs shuffling softly as you brought a foot up to his chest, sliding it down his chest until it was right where he wanted it. he took your foot in his hand, pressing it into the center of his clothed cock, making sure you could feel just how bad he had it for you.

his eyes stayed on you as you reached back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. your tits fell out, sliding out of the comfort of their fabric as rafe tensed up. he leaned forward, bringing an arm around your back as his lips wrapped around one of your hardening buds. cradling his head against your tits, you threw your head back and mewled at his ministrations. he lavished equal attention on each breast, his darkening eyes darting up to take in your face every so often.

you bit back a whimper as your hands travelled up his neck, scratching where you could, leaving red lines he knew would be hard to explain later on. his lips and tongue worked together, travelling down your stomach, past your navel, his hot breath littering goosebumps across your flesh. he grunted, he could practically smell your desire, just inches away from him.

his fingers hooked themselves under the sides of your panties as he looked up at you. you had to bite your tongue, because he's never looked better. his eyes were glossy, drool dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at you from between your legs. and then, he pulled. he pulled until your panties were off, discarded somewhere, anywhere.

rafe only took a second to get a look at you, but it felt like eternity. he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as his fingers trailed down your sopping cunt, over the surface, but never where you needed him to. “rafe,” you sighed with an impatient frown.

“i know, baby,” he murmured, “i know.”

you didn’t get the chance to respond as one of his long, slender fingers slithered into you, curling just right where you needed it, pumping in and out at a slow pace. the cool metal of the ring on his finger grazed your clit each time. you gasped, your hand gripping his shoulder, nails pressing crescent moons into his taught skin. he repeated the motion, suppressing a groan before adding a second finger, much to your delight. his knuckles woulded against you as his fingers bottomed out, the digits sliding out completely, before diving all the way in again. his thumb hovered over your clit, but never made the small reach to press it the way you wanted.

you cried softly, hips moving against his fingers in the same up and down motion as earlier, “rafe, come on.”

“not yet,” he whispered, “not until you surrender, until you beg.”

you shook your head no, head tilting back with your eyes closed.

“bet you beg so pretty,” he murmured as his thumb flicked ever so lightly over your clit, “tell me what you want.”

you had to weigh your options carefully, precisely. you could save what little dignity you had left, and keep you mouth shut, even if it meant losing him—losing the nirvana that was waiting for you. it seemed impossible, especially compared to what you could have, what he could give you. he was so good, so good—and he was gonna show you just how good he was.

“please,” you barely managed to utter. “please, rafe, need you to fuck me.”

it was all he wanted to hear. “that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmured, a condescending edge to his tone as he pulled his fingers, coated in your juices, out completely. “take ’em off for me, baby, come on.”

you nodded as you allowed your fingers to slip below the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down as anticipation coursed through your body. his cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach. he was so much bigger than you could’ve guessed, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his length, his girth. you wrapped a curious, hesitant hand around his dick, before pumping as best as you could. rafe groaned, head tilted back as he bucked up into your hand. he couldn’t get enough of the sight of you, small and defenseless, with a hand around his dick, tracing his pulsing veins with your fingers.

“gonna let me ruin you?” he whispered, his cock aching against your soft fingers. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, baby?”

you nodded, hating how powerless you had really become, as if he had you under some sort of spell. you let go of his cock before lying back down. you watched the way rafe grabbed a hold of his cock, spreading your thighs as he positioned himself with a grunt. you could feel the head of his cock sliding between your folds, lightly teasing against your clit as a moan passed your lips.

“let me hear it again,” he murmured, eliciting another moan from you as his cock brushed against your clit a second time.

“please,” you needed to give in—just this once, “please, fuck me, rafe.”

with that, rafe thrusts his cock forward, and a victorious smile warping his features as he pushed past your wet folds. your walls stretched to their limit, unable to stop the grimace of pain the more of him you took in. you let out a moan as your eyes rolled back, your tight cunt adjusting to his sheer size.

“that’s it, baby. takin’ it so good,” rafe praised through a groan, holding onto your hips and pushing until your clit clashed with base of his cock.

you felt so filled, so dominated, so alive. your nails dug into the sheets, your body writhing beneath him as he began to pump in and out of you. each stroke was brutal, his length stretching your weeping pussy and claiming you in a way that no one else had ever done. your eyes remained closed, focusing on the pleasure-pain as your body fought against the intrusion before succumbing to the delicious feeling of his rhythmic pounding.

the tent grew hazy with the scent of sex and sweat, your breaths coming out in pants and whimpers as he picked up speed. his teeth grazed the side of your neck, making you shiver with every thrust. his tongue flicked against the sensitive skin, tasting your sweetness as he claimed you, making you his. you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing your breasts up, begging for his mouth.

he took the hint, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make you gasp. he sucked, hard, leaving a bruise that would surely be visible in the morning. his hand moved to play with your clit, the pad of his thumb pressing down and swirling around in a way that made your toes curl and your back arch even more.

the pleasure was building, a wave threatening to crash over you at any time. rafe’s eyes were on yours, watching your pupils dilate and your mouth form silent pleas for more. he smirked, his teeth still digging into your neck, feeling your pulse throb under his teeth. he knew you were close, knew he had you right where he wanted you.

with one final, powerful thrust, he swiped his thumb over your clit one more time, and you shattered around him. your orgasm washed over you in waves, making your body spasm and your legs tighten around his waist. you moaned his name, your nails digging into his back as your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.

rafe’s eyes rolled back in his head, his own release barreling towards him like a freight train. he pulled his mouth away from your neck with a wet pop, his teeth marks clear on your skin. “gonna cum, baby,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort.

you nodded, your own orgasm still coursing through you as he drove into you one last time, burying his cock to the hilt. he groaned as he came, filling you up with hot, thick ropes of cum, from the inside to your clit.

when it was over, he collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both panted for air. his cock still twitched inside you, releasing the last of his load, making you feel so completely owned. it was a feeling you never knew existed, but one you were now craving with every fiber of your being. he kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock had claimed your cunt. you could taste the saltiness of your sweat on his lips, feel the stickiness between your legs. it was raw, it was carnal

the first thing you noticed was the warmth. it enveloped you like a heavy blanket, your body pressed against something solid and unyielding. your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of the tent, and your heart stopped. rafe was sprawled on top of you, his arm draped possessively around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

the events of the night before came rushing back in flashes: the kisses, the heated whispers, the way his hands felt on your skin, the way he made you forget every ounce of hatred you harbored for him, if only for a moment.

you felt the cool morning air against your bare skin, the absence of fabric a cruel reminder of just how far things had gone. panic set in as you slowly, carefully shifted beneath him, trying not to disturb his steady breathing. you reached for your dress, crumpled on the floor of the tent, and slipped it on as quietly as you could manage. your hands trembled, the fabric catching on your damp skin as you smoothed it over your body.

you paused, your eyes flickering back to him. rafe was still fast asleep, his features softened in a way you’d never seen before. he looked peaceful, almost innocent, but it only made the bile rise in your throat. what the hell had you done?

your thoughts spiraled as you crept out of the tent, each step feeling like a betrayal of yourself. what would your dad say? the man who taught you to stand your ground, to never let anyone—especially someone like rafe—get the better of you? and your friends? jj? god, jj.

you barely made it a few steps before jj’s voice startled you. “what happened?”

he was standing near the campfire, his hair disheveled, a beer bottle still clutched in his hand. his blue eyes bore into you, concern etched across his face.

“nothing,” you muttered, your voice hollow as you brushed past him.

“don’t give me that,” he said, following you as you made a beeline for your car. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

you ignored him, fumbling with your keys as you slid into the driver’s seat. he climbed into the passenger side, his confusion mounting as you started the engine.

“you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he pressed, his tone sharper now.

you gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you navigated the dirt road away from the campsite. the weight of what you’d done settled heavily on your chest, making it hard to breathe. then it hit you. you were racing rafe tonight.

your stomach dropped as the realization clawed its way through you. he’d done this on purpose. seduced you, distracted you, gotten into your head—all to throw you off your game. the anger came next, hot and unrelenting, burning away the shame and replacing it with a seething fury. how could you have been so stupid? so careless? you’d let him win, not just last night, but the entire war you’d been waging against him.

“jesus christ,” you whispered under your breath, your grip on the wheel tightening as jj looked at you, more confused than ever.

“what?” he asked, leaning forward to study your face. “what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer, your thoughts a chaotic mess as you sped down the road. tonight wasn’t just about the race anymore. it was about getting your revenge.

the rest of the day felt like a blur of heavy, suffocating silence. you spent most of it sitting in your car, parked in an isolated corner of nowhere, just staring into oblivion. the world outside seemed distant, a place that didn’t matter, didn’t exist for you. thoughts swirled in your mind like a storm you couldn’t escape, each one more troubling than the last. what had you done? what was going to happen now?

you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. not yet. not until you could at least get through tonight, at least finish what you had started. you still had a fighting chance against rafe, didn’t you? the race was everything now. it was the one thing left that you could control, the one thing that would keep him from completely getting under your skin.

jj had asked you what was wrong earlier when you barely spoke to anyone. sarah had asked him too, her voice laced with concern, but he didn’t have any answers. nobody did. you barely had any answers yourself.

the hours passed in a haze, and before you knew it, it was time for the race. the drive to the meeting was dreadfully silent. the engine roared beneath you, but it did nothing to drown out the buzzing in your head. every thought was a needle, and each one pricked at you until you were wound too tight to even think straight. every so often, you'd mutter to yourself, trying to reassure yourself that you were still in control, that you could still handle this. but it wasn’t working. frustration built in you like a pressure cooker, and every so often, your fist collided with the steering wheel in sharp bursts of anger.

jj, who had been quiet the entire drive, kept stealing glances at you, but he didn’t ask any questions. he didn’t need to. you didn’t know how to answer him anyway.

the race was worse. even though the cheers of the crowd should’ve fueled you, you felt nothing but dread, a deep, gnawing sickness in your stomach. you could hear your name being shouted, the excitement of the crowd, but it all felt so distant. when you saw rafe’s face in the crowd, that sickening feeling only intensified. he was there, watching you, his eyes locked onto yours with something that twisted your insides.

and then there was her. the girl rafe had been with the night before. you hadn’t missed her, standing there in the crowd, glaring at you with an expression that made your blood boil. her eyes were cold, calculating, and when she met your gaze, she didn’t flinch.

“take it easy on him tonight,” she said, her voice sweet but laced with venom.

the words crawled under your skin. it was too much. you were already so close to the edge, and that was the final push you needed. before you knew what you were doing, your fist was swinging through the air and colliding with the underside of her jaw. she gasped as she stumbled backward, the crowd around you gasping as well.

for a moment, everything was silent, and you took a step forward, ready to finish what you’d started. but before you could, jj was there, his strong arms pulling you back with surprising force. he didn’t even give you the chance to go for her again.

“easy, easy,” he said, his voice low and urgent as he kept his grip on you. you could feel the heat of his hands on your arms, his breath against the back of your neck. he was trying to calm you down, trying to get you to focus, but it wasn’t working. the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of rafe’s eyes on you, watching everything unfold with a look you hadn’t seen before. sympathy? pity? it almost made you want to puke. you quickly looked away, not wanting to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

“look,” jj said, his voice softening, his tone more serious now. “i don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is, you need to pull it together, okay? we’ve got five grand riding on this. you need to calm down.”

his words hit harder than you expected. five grand. that was all that mattered now, wasn’t it? you couldn’t let everything else get in the way. you nodded, your throat tight. you could feel your eyes threatening to well up, but you forced them to stay dry. you couldn’t break now. not yet. not with everything on the line.

the roar of the crowd still lingered in the air as you took your place at the starting line. your hands gripped the steering wheel, the leather cold beneath your fingers, but the heat from the race, from the tension building in your chest, quickly overpowered everything else. you kept your eyes forward, staring at the road, refusing to let your mind wander to anything else. not to the pit in your stomach, not to the fact that rafe’s car was right next to yours, not to the way you could feel his presence from the corner of your eye.

out of the corner of your vision, you caught him tapping on the window, the sound almost too soft against the chaos of the crowd. his eyes were no longer dark, no longer intense with that gleam of challenge. they were something else, something softer, but you refused to look at him. you wouldn’t. you kept your gaze on the road, your pulse racing, the air thick with the impending start of the race.

the countdown began, and with it, your heartbeat seemed to match the ticking clock until they went off. when they did, they came to life, and the world around you exploded into sound and movement. tires screeched as cars shot forward, speeding down the street, their engines roaring like wild beasts. the world blurred into a haze of color and sound, the air whipping past you, the car humming beneath you, and the rubber of the tires grinding into the asphalt as you pushed forward, faster, faster.

every turn, every maneuver felt like a calculated risk, your body swerving with the weight of the car, the grip of the tires, the thrill of the chase. the engine purred beneath you, urging you to push harder, to find the edge that would leave everyone else behind.

but your mind couldn’t help but flicker to rafe, his car beside yours, his presence there like a shadow, reminding you that something was there. you could feel him pushing, feel his need to win, just as much as you needed it. the sounds of the race around you—the screeching of tires, the hum of engines, the roars of the crowd—faded into the background. all that mattered was the road ahead.

but then, something happened. the way rafe’s car surged forward, the way his engine roared louder, faster, harder—it didn’t feel right. the energy shifted. You saw him from the corner of your eye, pushing his car up a steeper incline, his hands tightening around the wheel, his expression hidden behind the visor. it was the moment when you knew he was going too fast, too reckless. and then, you saw it—the press of the button, the one that activated the tank. the flash of light as it ignited.

you knew exactly what he was doing, and the thought hit you like a freight train. he was pushing it too far.

time seemed to stretch as the car lurched forward, the impact of the tank too much for his control. his car surged into the incline, the tires screeching, the engine roaring in a desperate cry. it was too much. the back end of his car fishtailed, and then, with a terrifying screech of metal against pavement, it veered off course.

your heart skipped a beat as you watched, the crash happening in slow motion. his car slammed into the barrier, the impact deafening as it crumpled like paper, and for a split second, all you could hear was the grinding of metal and the screeching of tires. the crowd’s roar became a distant hum, and your world narrowed down to the wreckage of rafe’s car.

your foot slammed on the brake, and the car skidded to a halt, the tires screaming in protest. you sat there, frozen, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. you could keep going. you could race to the finish line, claim the victory. you’d already beaten him in every other way. but your stomach twisted at the thought. you couldn’t leave him like this.

you were out of the car before you even realized it, your legs moving without thought, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. you ran toward the wreckage, ignoring the shouts of the crowd, the chaos around you. when you reached his car, your heart dropped into your stomach. the car was mangled, unrecognizable, the front crumpled and twisted. smoke poured from the hood, and you could barely see anything through the shattered glass.

he was unconscious, his head lolling to the side. his breathing was shallow, labored, but there. it was enough to make you breathe, though the sight of him—bloody, broken—sent a wave of nausea through your chest. you knelt by his side, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your heart hammering in your chest. the familiar coldness of his hand in yours sent a shock through you. his fingers were stiff, and you could feel the weight of his body, his pulse weak beneath your touch.

“rafe,” you whispered, panic creeping into your voice as you shook his shoulder. no response. “rafe, stay with me.”

you didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. you wanted to scream, to curse, to shake him awake, but all you could do was hold his hand and wait.

“help!” you screamed, your voice breaking through the chaos as you turned toward the crowd, looking for anyone who could help. “get the paramedics! now!”

every second felt like an eternity. time seemed to stand still as you knelt there, your fingers clutching his hand tightly, waiting for someone to come. his breathing was still shallow, but he was alive, and that was the only thing you could hold onto. you could barely think through the panic, through the raw, ugly emotion that twisted in your chest. you hadn’t meant for this to happen. you hadn’t meant for it to go this far. but now, all you could do was wait. wait for the paramedics. wait for the help that you knew was coming, but it felt so far away.

the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, a reminder of the countless times you’d been in a hospital, yet never this way. the last time you had been here, you’d watched your father slip away, his final breath taken in the cold, quiet halls of this place. it felt almost uncanny now, sitting next to rafe, your heart hammering in your chest, as you waited for something—anything—that told you he was going to be okay. the memories of your father’s final days pressed heavily against you, making the sterile whiteness of the room feel suffocating.

you sat in the chair next to his bed, gripping your hands tightly in your lap, your fingers aching from the tension. the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic pulse that felt too fragile, too tenuous. you kept your eyes trained on the floor, refusing to meet his face. the fear of seeing him in that state—broken, vulnerable—was too much. your mind raced, torn between the reality of the situation and the weight of everything you had just witnessed. and yet, despite all that, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to do something. anything.

then, something shifted. at first, it was so subtle you thought you imagined it. a slight twitch of his hand, the soft rise and fall of his chest. your heart skipped a beat. you leaned forward, unsure if you were imagining the movement, until you saw it again. a small, faint movement.

“what happened?” his words were slurred, barely more than a breath, but they were enough to make your heart tighten.

“you crashed,” you said, my throat thick with emotion. “you pushed too hard. you used the tank too early, rafe. you lost control of the car.”

“you came back for me?” his voice was small, vulnerable, almost childlike in its simplicity.

you nodded, your hand instinctively reaching for his, fingers shaking as you gripped his palm. “someone had to,” you whispered, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

your voice cracked as you spoke, the weight of the situation bearing down on you like a heavy storm cloud. his eyes shifted away from yours, gazing out the window, but there was something in his expression that you couldn’t ignore. the emptiness in the room, the absence of anyone else who cared enough to be there, was impossible to miss. no one had come for him, not even his family. it was just you. just you, sitting there, holding his hand, praying for him to wake up.

“you’re not the villain they think you are, rafe,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “you’re just hurt. you wanted to make your dad proud, didn’t you? you wanted to win for him because you think no one else could be proud of you. but you’re wrong. you act out because you’re scared, rafe. you won’t open up, because you’re scared.”

he turned his head slowly, meeting your gaze again. for the first time since you’d met him, you saw something in his eyes that wasn’t anger or arrogance. it was vulnerability. it was fear. and something else. something softer.

“you win, rafe,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you choked on the words. “if it means anything to you, you win.”

a tear, just one, slid down his cheek. he never cried. not in front of anyone, not in all the time you’d known him. but there it was, a single tear that betrayed everything he had tried so hard to keep hidden.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the weight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

his hand was shaky as he placed it over yours, his fingers brushing against your skin with an almost desperate tenderness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “for everything. i can’t deal with any of this. i’m not strong enough to deal with anything, no matter how awful i act.”

you shook your head, your chest tightening at his words. “don’t act,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers. “you could’ve lost your life tonight, rafe. and then what?”

his eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again, there was a small, hesitant smile on his lips. “you could never lose me,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “you know how i know?”

you shook your head, not understanding, but you didn’t press him. you simply waited, your heart heavy in your chest, as he gave my hand another squeeze.

“because you never lose.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: ok guys be skibidi plz bc i had to shorten the ending thanks to tumblrs limit that i didnt even know existed

[withahappyrefrain]

“Stop wiggling around, I’m trying to sleep! Wait… what’s tha… oh!”

Forced proximity with best friend Bob?

A chance to do friends to lovers with Bob? Say no more!

"Remind me to never let Javy book the Air B&B again."

Bob chuckled at your comment, despite agreeing, "Well at least we have an actual bed. Reuben and Mickey have bunk beds."

"So all the single people have to suffer?" You scoffed, continuing to shuffle through your luggage.

The annual lake trip was going well, until the room arrangements were revealed. It wasn't that you minded sharing a room with Bob.

It was the lack of a second bed.

Twenty years ago, when you were both eight, this wouldn't have been a problem. But then puberty, high school, and base camp occurred, which brought to light the crush you had been harboring on your best friend.

"We'll make it work. And if it's that bad, I can take the floor," he offered, always the considerate one. It was one of the many traits you adored about Bob.

"Robert James Floyd, absolutely not!" You scolded, eliciting a chuckle out of him. It was deep and low, just like his voice and you didn't want to admit how it made your knees nearly shake.

"I've slept in barracks before, it's the same thing."

The comment would have gotten a laugh out of you. In fact, you would have even made a remark back, probably about how you've also slept in truck beds and underneath a wide open sky.

But then Bob Floyd took his shirt off.

It wasn't even your first time seeing him shirtless, far from it. But now he had filled out, with muscle and a dusting of hair that trailed down from his chest, past his stomach.

God, was he always this hot? Had to be and somehow you just didn't notice it until later. Perhaps that was the worst part; you fell for him because of who he was. It wasn't as if he had some type of glowup over summer break, like you'd see so often in those stupid teen movies you'd watch to feel better about yourself. No, Bob Floyd was always a beautiful soul, inside and out.

And he wasn't yours. Couldn't be. The risk of him not reciprocating was too high. Plus, your family was friends with his'. That meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, hell, even fucking Memorial Day gatherings would be tainted. All thanks to you.

The pressure was too high, the risk was too great.

But you could look, right?

"Sunshine?"

Bob's childhood now turned adult nickname for you broke the spell. Your wide eyes met his oceanic's. His hair, which had gotten darker over the years and now had threads of early greys, was mussed from taking off his shirt, some curls over the front of his forehead, others to the side. White shirt in hand, highlighting how massive they were when clutching the alabaster fabric. Brow's knitted together, combined with his narrow eyes and titled head created a downright adorable look of confusion.

"You,,,," he briefly turned around, to see if there was something on the wall behind him and that's why you wouldn't look at him, "You okay?"

You nodded eagerly, probably too eagerly, "Yeah sorry....I uh spaced out. Probably thinking of ways to get back at Javy."

Bob smiled, despite it never reaching his eyes when he nodded. You had turned around so quickly, unable to make such an observation.

"I'm going to go take a shower," grabbing the top and bottom you could find the quickest in your suitcase. You avoided eye contact with him, too busy feeling shame for getting caught doing something so lewd.

Rushing, you turned the water on in the showers. Focusing on ensuring you grabbed the correct products. Get the water to the perfect temperature and pressure, it exists, it has to exist because if it doesn't then you'll think about the dark body hair that went past the waistband of his jeans.

For about twenty minutes, it worked. You did your skincare routine, brushed your teeth for nearly two minutes, even blow dried your hair. Applied a lip mask, that stupid lash and brow serum the worker at Sephora conned you into buying. Moisturize every inch of your body, even though it was the dead of summer and you would sweat it all off before sunrise. That stupid reusable eye mask that you got because it was on clearance. Have you done the Wordle today, you should do the Wordle. You should do anything other than thinking about sharing a bed with your shirtless best friend.

It worked. Even put on some music, not too loud, just enough to hear and hum along.

It worked. For a while. But then you had used nearly every product in your cosmetics bag and it was time to get dressed.

Fuck.

You could never match a pair of socks, not even if your life depended on it. But tonight, fucking tonight of all nights, you had to grab a whole matching set.

The pale pink lace trimmed cami, paired with joggers. An oversized T-shirt that went further down than the pair of matching satin shorts.

You had brought the set when you were talking to a guy and thought you would be able to move on from the wonder that is Bob Floyd. What a fucking joke.

Maybe you could wear them, run back out to grab something else and run back in to change. No, why would anyone do that? If anything, it'll just make it more obvious that you didn't want to wear it in front of him. But what if you didn't change and Bob thought you had worn essentially casual lingerie on purpose? What if he found that weird? What if-

"You okay in there Sunny?" His voice always calmed you, always able to break you out of whatever self inflicted spiral you were on.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded despite Bob being unable to see you, "Yeah, I'm good. Just developed a more extensive skincare routine."

A short burst of laughter was released on the other side of the door, "You don't need all that. Already pretty."

"Bob Floyd, you are....." Charming. Amazing. Too good to be true. The love of my life,

"....too kind."

"Just telling the truth," his feet audibly stepped away. The butterflies in your chest were still exploding from his words. He made you feel safe, that this was Bob you were talking about. He'd never think you'd do something lewd or negative on purpose. Bob knew your intentions to be good. After all, he was your Bobby.

Just not in the way you want.

Your head cleared long enough to walk out the door, into the well lit bedroom. When he first made eye contact with you, you didn't even falter, simply smiling at him.

But Bob didn't say anything at first. Usually he'd make a teasing but well meaning comment about you taking so long. His thin pink lips parted, yet no words came through.

"Are you okay Bobby?"

The concern in your voice broke the trance. His features soften, his lips quirking into a half smile, "Yeah, I'm good. Just gonna shower and then head to bed."

Tension had left the room. Flopping down onto the bed, you scrolled through social media, watching all the videos and photos the squad had posted today.

"Uh, Sunshine?" You turned and lost your breath. Bob's hair was freshly washed, ends beginning to curl. A white shirt that was barely translucent and grey sweatpants that hung low on his lithe hips.

Bob Floyd had downright slutty hips.

"I don't think the bed is big enough for both of us to lay down."

Your brow crumpled in confusion, "Javy said this was a queen."

"Javy thinks anything that isn't a single is a Queen." Bob explained, not phased at all by this mistake.

Clearly it wasn't the first time. But you were still going to kill Javy Machado tomorrow morning.

"Here, if we both sleep on our sides, it'll be good."

"Like spooning?"

"Uh yeah," a hand came up to rub the back of his neck, "That's one way to think about it."

You supposed it was better than feeling his ass against yours, "Alright, well....come on in, the water's fine."

It took some time to figure out the arrangement. What was one supposed to do with their other hand? The final agreement consisted of your hips flushed against Bob's, his arm slung over your waist.

Zero awkwardness in the air. It felt....natural.

"Night Bobby."

"Night Sunshine."

Things were looking up. There was no way this would change your friendship or threaten to reveal your well kept secret. Sleep was well within your reach.

Then Bob moved. And kept moving. Due to his closeness, you felt every maneuver, no matter how subtle.

"Floyd, do you mind?"

His movements continued, as if he was trying to avoid your body while somehow simultaneously hang onto it.

A loud huff left your lips, "Stop wiggling around, I'm trying to sleep! Wait, what's that...."

Oh.

Your hips were flushed against his, your ass perfectly fitting the space formed by his thigh meeting his hip. Right against his hardened groin.

The sweatpants were thin. He didn't have anything underneath. Thanks to the flimsy fabric of your shorts, you could feel him greatly.

You were in bed with Bob Floyd. Bob Floyd was in bed with you, rocking an erection. You were being held by Bob Floyd, in bed. Bob Floyd had a huge cock, a grower.

Silence filled the room, tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Neither one wanting to move, for fear of making it worse.

He let out a shaky breath. He developed a rhythm, almost imitating one sleeping.

You shifted, just enough for your thigh to rise, but subtle enough to play off as nothing.

His breath hitched.

Inch by inch, your hips began to gyrate, rubbing against his clothed cock.

"B-Bobby," you were panting, as if having run a marathon. His fingers sank into your hips, gripping the plush flesh as he flipped you onto your back, towering over you.

You moved to sit on your elbows, to raise yourself up to argue. From years of play fighting, he was fast as lightning, pinning your hands above your head.

Bob slowly lowered himself down until his nose brushed against your, his soft hair brushing your forehead.

"Twelve years." Was all he said, gritting through his teeth, squeezing your hands in hopes it would tethered him to Earth.

All that came out of your mouth was a hum of confusion. In the moonlit light, you searched for his eyes, trying to read them.

"Stuart Hendricks asked you to prom. You had been hoping all month he would ask you. Hell, I even helped him. Told him your favorite musical and which song to sing. I was excited for ya. And then you said yes to him and I wanted to punch him. I never had thought about fighting someone until then. Took me a week to realize why I was so angry."

Oh my God.

"Eight to ten years ago," you confessed. It was Bob's turn to knit his eyebrows together.

"Eight to ten?" He repeated, "Why is there a range?"

"I remember feeling....funny when you came back from boot camp. You had filled out a bit and had on those adorable military issued glasses. But it took me some time to accept what I was feeling," you explained.

How you found those glasses endearing was beyond Bob's understanding. But it didn't agitate him, it was just one of the many things he loved about you.

"That's a lot of time lost," his voice was barely a whisper.

You nodded, "Can we.....can we start making up for it?"

"Yes," he nodded, dropping his head lower, "one hundred percent yes."

His lips were like heaven. He molded his body to yours, chests flushed together, limbs tangled within one another. A hand that spanned the entirety of his neck, his thumb guiding your chin upwards so he could deeper explore your mouth.

"Heard you singing....and it just felt....felt like we were living together," he confessed in between kisses, "felt so right, like that's what it's supposed to be like."

Nodding feverishly, your hands found purchase in his thick hair. Tugging on the sun kissed locks, earning a groan from Bob that made your thighs clench.

"Can....can I touch you?" Always the gentlemen, your Bobby.

"As long as you don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it sunshine," his mouth latched onto your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the side, teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin. A hand grabbed your leg, hitching it to wrap around his waist.

Bob Floyd was fucking heaven.

[bella-goths-wife]

I imagine Vees pet would see how Val treats Angel and try to help him when she can, like calming Val down from his tantrums or playing something to help Angel himself if he is going through a panic attack.

Vs pet trying to help angel

Warnings: Valentino, SA mentions, panic attacks, abusive relationships

You’ve seen how Val treats his workers, and while you hate seeing it you know there is nothing you can do to stop it

You know your place as the assistant, you may receive nicer treatment from the Vs than any other demon but that doesn’t change who’s in charge

But there’s something about the way that angel is treated that really makes your stomach turn

The obsession that Val carries for angel, and the excessive cruelty towards him makes you feel physically ill

You do your best to distract Val from angel, but you have to be subtle or else your entire plan fails

You’ll respond to vals affection despite your uncomfortably feelings when he touches you, you know he doesn’t want to touch you in a sexual way but he’s not been platonically affection with anyone in so long that he’s forgotten how to touch someone without a sexual undertone

You’ll use your calming tricks on Val whenever you see him becoming irritated with angel dust, but sometimes even that doesn’t work

Sometimes there is no stopping Valentino’s rage from coming out, no matter how happy your affection makes him or how calm your ability is

So he will eventually blow up if the circumstances are too bad to fix, and angel will be caught in the crossfires

After Valentino is finished with his abuse, he usually leaves to get a drink and expects you to join him

But sometimes you don’t, you’ll look down as the bruised and battered angel dust and you can’t find yourself cruel enough to ignore him

You’ll treat his wounds and you’ll use you ability to create the same humming and heartbeat sound you use on Val to calm him on angel

You think that angel is too out of it or too panicked to remember who is doing this for him, but he remembers

You figured it out after you had a particularly stressful day with the Vs controlling behaviour and you hid out in a dressing room

You crumpled to the floor and cried your heart out as panic and anxiety filled your chest

You gripped your own hair painfully as your rocked back and forth to try and soothe yourself, but all you could focus on was how much you despised what you did

You despised vox’s commands of cruelty to others, you despised velvette’s infantilising and insulting words she spat in your direction because you weren’t being a ‘good pet’ and you despised that you could still feel vals touch on you and all you wanted to do was scrub your skin clean

As you cried and hurt yourself by yanking on your hair, you felt yourself being pulled into someone’s chest fluff and four arms wrapping around you

Angel shushed you as you cried and he rocked you back and forth in an attempt to soothe you the same way you had soothed him

You cried for hours into his chest as he shushed you and rubbed your back in a sympathetic manner

When you finally looked up at him, he mustered up a small smile as he wiped the tears from your eyes

“You remind me of my sister” he said quietly as he laid your head back onto his chest “too kind in a world that’s got cruelty in every corner, too naive for your own good”

After that night, there was a mutual understanding between you and angel dust

He looked out for you, and you looked out for him

But subtly of course

You don’t even want to imagine what the Vs would do if they found out you had formed a friendship outside of them

But you knew that them knowing would only endanger angel dust and gain you a punishment

Let me know what you think :)

[cobaltperun]

Darkest Part - Gives You Hell

Astrid Deetz x female Reader

Summary: You will never, in life or afterlife, if such a thing exists, meet anyone as infuriating, rage inducing, entitled, or frankly awful, as Astrid fucking Deetz. There isn’t a single thing you’d like more than to never be around her, but as your luck would have it, you just can’t stay away from her.

Masterlist / Next Part

Word count: 4.3k

-If you find a man that's worth a damn and treats you well, then he's a fool, you're just as well, hope it gives you hell-

Four minutes left.

You rushed through the park, cursing that the tiled path wasn’t straight. More than anything you cursed your own refusal to run over the grass just to save half a minute. Damn Miss Harrington for keeping everyone after class.

“I dismiss you, my ass,” you wasted precious air to complain and knowing you’d have to go back if you went for the gate, you just jumped over the fence, wincing as it shook behind you. Someone yelled at you to be more careful, but you just began running again, just barely crossing the street before the light turned red.

You spared a moment to look at your watch, two minutes left, and the library was finally in sight. You picked up the pace, luckily avoiding the crowd. Your lungs were burning, tempting you to stop and take a break. So what if you were a minute or two late for work? The world wouldn’t end if you failed to get there on time.

As if. The world might not end, but you were too proud of your perfect record to accept that. You would be there on time and then catch your breath.

“Watch out!” a cyclist yelled a warning, and you looked to the side and just narrowly avoided colliding with him.

“Sorry!” you yelled back as he cursed after you. Well, you did cross his path, so he had the right to do it. Not that you had the time to contemplate on your reckless running as you skidded to a stop in front of the library and went up the stairs as fast as you could. “Right on time,” you went through the door with less than twenty seconds to spare and were met with the annoyance of the people in the library trying to read.

You chuckled sheepishly and then sighed, hanging your head low as you walked through the library as if it was your personal walk of shame. You could just feel the disapproving glares following you, and though you knew it wasn’t exactly everyone in the library judging you it still felt like that. In reality it was more like three people out of about a dozen currently in the library.

“Maybe next time ruin your perfect record instead of barging in and disturbing everyone,” your co-worker and best friend Alex whispered as you went into the break room to leave your things.

“Leave her be, I think it’s cute,” one of the regulars at the library, a pretty, tall girl whose name you somehow kept forgetting whispered and winked at you.

You just shrugged, nodding thanks out of politeness. You were still not sure if she was trying to flirt with you or if she just so happened to always pick the table closest to the counter you and Alex were sitting behind.

~X~

A bit over six and a half hours later, with your backpack on your back and a small paper bag in hand, you opened the doors of the apartment on the seventh floor. You glanced back at the staircase and then at the elevator that worked once in a blue moon. ‘Guess I’m lucky I’m in shape,’ it was a thought that often crossed your mind. Well, childhood spent playing different sports helped.

You locked the doors behind you. “I’m home!” you exclaimed, yelling over the sound of the TV, some animal documentary from what you could hear. Whales? Probably whales. Your mom liked whales a lot. You looked around, the fading scent of cleaning products grabbed your attention, and you noticed it immediately. The lack of any dust, the clean mirror in the hall, tiled floor being so clean you could probably apply the three-second rule to the food if any was dropped on it. The apartment was too clean for your liking, she was cleaning again. Desperately trying to at least take that off your back. “Mom, don’t push yourself,” you sighed as you stepped into the living room and saw her lying on the sofa.

She looked… fragile… in pain, and you swallowed hard, remembering how healthy she was just a year ago. How did things change so quickly?

“Y/N,” she sat up, wincing and holding her back as she did so. “Hey, Sweetheart, how was your day?” she still gave you a gentle, loving smile as you set your bag next to the table and leaned in to kiss her cheek and hug her.

“Great, don’t worry about it,” you whispered and pulled out the medicine from the paper bag, pain killers, for her. Her back’s been killing her, so much so that she could no longer work.

She still went and cleaned the apartment because you just had no time to do it these past few days. The guilt gnawed at you, even if deep down you knew you physically couldn’t do everything.

You felt her hugging you tighter. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized to you on a daily basis, her voice quivering with regret. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt, seeing you work two jobs to take care of her and try and ensure you could continue your education.

“It’s going to be okay, everything will be okay,” and like always you reassured her, fearing something would break if you didn’t. You let go of her and went into the bathroom to freshen up and then heat the dinner up. You weren’t doing bad financially, with just the two of you and owning the two-bedroom apartment instead of paying the rent you had a comfortable life. The issue was saving money for the future, primarily for your college education, and there was no telling if your mom’s health would deteriorate further.

“Alex said hi, by the way. His parents invited us to come over for dinner if you’d like,” you said as you got the lasagna out of the fridge and set the table.

“He’s a good kid,” your mom commented, and he was. Alex was about a year older than you and working at the library, where you met him. You hit it off fairly quickly, he was easy to be around, easy to talk to, cheerful and always willing to encourage those around him.

“So, will you go with me?” you asked, and she nodded, while leaving the apartment would be a bit of a struggle you knew it would be good for her to go outside and be around other people.

~X~

Astrid Deetz was many things, but here, in the library, she was just another girl. No one but the people that worked here needed to know who she was, so, at least here, she wasn’t a freak. She was just another girl reading books. The library allowed coffee to be brought in, as long as the one bringing it was responsible for any potential damages and wasn’t borrowing one of the more valuable books that couldn’t easily be replaced, which was why she preferred reading here instead of going home.

Summer vacations forced her to spend time at home, with her mother, so, the more of that time she could spend away from home the better. Especially since Rory was often at her mother’s house. She was actually surprised he didn’t move in yet, but maybe her mother wasn’t completely blind after all. Who was she kidding? It was only the matter of time before he manipulated her mother into moving in.

Eventually she felt the need to go and grab a bite, so she got up and went to return the book only to see a rather annoying sight and freeze on the spot. There you were, the one flaw of the library she was currently in.

You were currently talking to a tall, blonde girl that looked ridiculously smitten with you, listening to every word you spoke as if you were solving all of life’s mysteries for her. How naïve did the girl have to be to get fooled by the soft, easy smile on your face and patience as you helped her find a new book. And you? Leading the poor girl on, knowing she didn’t really need help and being completely aware that she was just trying to flirt with you. Cruel pain in her ass, that’s what you were.

Luckily, she noticed Alex, your co-worker there as well and went toward him to return her book.

“Miss Deetz, hope everything was to your liking,” he greeted her politely, though Astrid noticed your mood immediately souring the moment her name was said. There it was, your true face. You hid it well though, and the girl blindly in love with you didn’t even notice the shift in your mood.

“Other than certain someone being here, absolutely,” Astrid didn’t even bother hiding her disdain for you.

Alex brushed it off and took the book back. “Good thing I’m here as well,” he said and Astrid wholeheartedly agreed.

“Chihuahua,” you faked a cough to hide the insult, and Astrid felt a vein pop on her forehead.

“Ignoramus,” she spat back and walked by you as you straightened your back, and she didn’t need to look back to know your eyes widened as you stared after her.

And she smiled, knowing she got a more genuine reaction than the girl a head taller than her ever could, no matter how much she flirted.

~X~

You were running on coffee and spite and simple need for money, otherwise you were sure you could fall asleep on your feet while you were washing the chisels and other tools Delia used. Tomorrow you could sleep in, relax just for a bit and recover from the grueling week. Morning job at Delia’s place, four hours, then summer art classes, preparing you for college. You were going to study architecture, hopefully to pursue your passion and design green and sustainable buildings.

And while working with Delia was helping you with your financial circumstances, it was also slowly letting you meet people, make connections and your life at least a bit easier in the future. Still, between working for Delia, the classes, and then the library you were away from home for roughly thirteen hours, which wasn’t exactly ideal for someone who just recently turned eighteen.

“Y/N, could you go and fetch new carving set I ordered?” Delia asked, well, it was more of an order, rather than a request.

“Now?” you asked as you glanced at the clock. You’d have to run again, and you’d probably still be ten minutes late, but work was work.

Delia must have followed your line of sight because she hummed. “No, pick it up on Monday,” she genuinely surprised you with that, she was usually a lot more absorbed in her own work to notice things like that.

“Thank you,” you smiled slightly.

“Architecture, right?” and she surprised you again, you didn’t think she’d remember a conversation you had several months ago.

You nodded and began drying the tools. “Green architecture, I hope,” you knew your eyes shone brightly as you said that. You loved talking about it, about how that was the future, the way to reach a compromise and protect the environment.

Delia looked lost in her thoughts for a moment and then she abruptly began laughing. “Hilarious,” she commented and shook her head.

You were confused, and frankly a bit annoyed, she didn’t strike you as someone who’d find it funny. Hell, she sounded a bit impressed when you first told her, so this reaction genuinely puzzled you. “What is?” you asked slowly, hoping your voice didn’t give away how you felt.

“Just how similar your views and goals are, yet you bicker all the time,” Delia pointed out and walked back to her sculpture, still chuckling every now and then.

You scowled, knowing exactly who she was talking about. The chihuahua that consumed the thesaurus and forced you to Google several words, ignoramus included. You should have guessed it basically meant someone ignorant. The damn infuriating pain in your ass. And Delia’s granddaughter, well, step-granddaughter.

And now Delia said you and Astrid had something in common.

Your day was ruined.

Beyond saving.

Well, maybe making Astrid Deetz lose her composure or force her to Google something would salvage your day, but how the hell were you supposed to make the walking thesaurus Google anything?

~X~

Work sweet work, well, compared to working for Delia. Sure, working for Delia was closer to your artistic side, but the library just had a charm to it that not a lot of places could compete with. The smell of old paper, layers of dust hidden from passing glances since the place was rarely properly cleaned. Not that you blamed anyone working here, you helped with the cleaning three times since starting to work here in the library, and your muscles ached at the mere thought of those times. Moving shelves upon shelves worth of books was not a fun activity. Still, the next one was still far off and perhaps you’d even be away from this city by then. Going off to study somewhere else, somewhere other than your hometown.

It was a slow day, and you leaned back, relaxing with one earbud in so you weren’t completely mentally absent from your workplace. You could just read, you likely will, in a bit, but you had a long sleepless night last night, studying and catching up on your art projects as well.

Eventually you cracked open a book about Renaissance architecture you meant to get your hands on for a long, long time, and now it was finally available at your workplace. Perks of working in the library, you guessed. Just as you were about to start reading the doors opening and a rather annoying girl walking in made your mood drop instantly. She didn't even look at you, just began looking through the shelves, clearly looking for something you could easily help her with if she wasn't so damn proud. You took a deep breath and walked over to the girl, at least you could get it over with quickly. "Deetz, what are you looking for?"

And she ignored you, completely, she didn't even go around you and instead moved with such certainty that you actually had to step back so she wouldn't walk into you.

So, she chose this approach today. It was either insults or pretending you didn’t even exist.

Infuriating entitled brat.

"This would be so much easier if someone worked here," she had the nerve to complain as your jaw dropped and you simply looked at her, flabbergasted by the girl's behavior yet again.

"Unbelievable," you shook your head as Alex came up to the two of you and you couldn’t be happier to see him jumping to your rescue.

"Hey, could you help me find a book?" she immediately asked him, and he looked between you and her with a raised eyebrow, as if he couldn’t already tell what was going on.

You just shrugged. "You're not invisible, good for you," you didn't leave yet, mostly out of spite. Astrid Deetz would not have the satisfaction of knowing she got under your skin, and she especially would not have the satisfaction of you backing away.

"What the- oh, you two are just playing another one of your games," he decided, completely ignoring the absolute dislike bordering on hatred between you and Astrid Deetz.

"I am not playing any games," you both said at the same time and huffed when you realized that.

"Would you look at that, you're in sync as well," he whistled as if he was trying to tease you.

"Bullshit!" you both denied it, once more at the same time and you just waved him off, though you were really tempted to flip him off, and went back to your desk. Pride and the damn Deetz gloating over her ability to indirectly annoy you be damned, you couldn’t stand being anywhere near her.

Eventually, your teasing, traitorous co-worker joined you. “She really likes reading, doesn’t she? And you’d think she’d be some rich kid who scoffs at the very idea of borrowing books instead of buying them, or even hate having the actual book in her hands instead of reading an e-book,” Alex commented, sounding actually impressed by the short annoyance.

You just grunted as a response, after all, you’d never admit you did notice what he just now pointed out. You noticed that from the moment you saw her, months ago, studiously going through several books seeking something rather specific. The unbreakable concentration impressed you back then, but back then you were blind to her actual personality. Still, if there were two things one could count on as far as Astrid Deetz was involved was that she hated her mother and loved reading. That being said Alex did not need to know you had any positive thought about the girl in question. You’d rather die than admit anything nice about the girl, even if deep down you did admire her love for books and reading.

“You’re not going to answer?” he probed for answers, though he should know better by now.

“I’ve got nothing to say,” you muttered and leaned onto your hand, if you could just avoid Astrid for the rest of your life, you’d be the happiest person alive, but no, you just needed to bump into her almost on a daily basis. Either in the library, or at your other work. Granted, it was mostly at the library, but sometimes she would drop by and visit her step-grandmother. That was, beside Delia sometimes getting ridiculous ideas, the only actual downside of your other work. Imagine your surprise when you went to work one day and saw Astrid there, you nearly quit right then and there.

“Yeah, cause she makes you Google new insult she hurls at you every other day,” Alex snickered, trying not to disturb anyone.

You groaned, facepalming as you leaned back in your chair. She really did make you Google things she said a lot. You still remembered Googling barnacle, her favorite word for you. Leave it to Astrid Deetz to declare you as something difficult to get rid of, when you’d do anything in your power to never see her again.

~X~

Astrid did not enjoy making trips to the parts of the town where her family might be, she seldom wanted anything to do with them, especially her mother, but it also began including her step-grandmother after she went and hired the worst possible candidate. You.

But, she had to go and visit a store a few floors above her grandmother so, here she was, in the elevator and certain she would not run into you the very next morning after your encounter at the library. She wasn’t that unlucky, was she? How she almost always ended up visiting during your shift was beyond her grasp. Maybe there was something in all the bullshit her mother talked about, and she was actually cursed with how often she encountered the one person she despised the most.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, and she nearly didn’t look up to see who was coming in. She should have ignored it, should have stared at the wall or something, but no, no, she just had to look!

Astrid could not believe her misfortune as you, carrying a fairly big box, walked into the elevator one floor above her and so far down from her own floor so she would need to actually be in a closed space with you. And she despised the very idea of that. So, just as the doors were about to close she bolted outside.

"What the- that was reckless Deetz!" she heard you yelling. And if there was even a hint of worry in your voice it was absolutely because her grandmother would rope you into whatever funeral arrangement she would choose for her if Astrid happened to tragically pass away.

"Shut it!" she yelled back.

"Fucking chihuahua!" you cursed, and she could feel her blood pressure skyrocketing as the elevator went up. You and your awful nickname for her.

"Damn barnacle!" she yelled back loud enough for you to possibly hear her. She would have the last word no matter what! Insufferable thorn in her side that she couldn’t get out of her life no matter how hard she tried. And to make things even Delia occasionally mentioned you just to get a rise out of her.

Not that anyone needed to tell her anything, she knew you worked two jobs, for whatever reason. Barely any difference in age, yet such different circumstances. While Astrid could do nothing for the rest of her life and still be fine you apparently didn’t have that luxury.

And in those rare moments Astrid would actually notice you despite trying her best not to, she never once heard or saw you complaining about anything. She was actually the only reason for complaining you ever had as far as she could tell. So, while she could find it in herself to admit your work ethic was somewhat admirable, you still could go right back to whatever hell you came out of.

Because that is exactly what you deserved.

Hell.

Okay, maybe not hell.

But definitely not much better than hell!

~X~

You weren’t just annoyed, you were beyond pissed off. How reckless was that girl? “Yeah, I really need that on my consciousness,” you bit out, knowing you’d blame yourself if she ended up getting hurt just because you happened to get into the elevator when she was already inside it.

How were you even supposed to guess she’d be there?!

You opened the doors to Delia’s studio with your elbow and went inside, closing the doors behind you with your foot. You really should have just taken the stairs, but the box you were carrying would have been a pain in your ass if you went with that. Sore muscles might still be a better alternative to having this encounter with Astrid. “Chihuahua,” you gritted out through your teeth as you set the box down.

“Astrid?” you jumped when Delia suddenly spoke up.

You stared at her blankly, as if she needed to ask. She’s seen several of your and Astrid’s hateful clashes.

“She takes after her mother,” the older woman commented as you began pulling out different art supplies from the box.

You had no idea why Delia would even tell you anything about Astrid. You did not need to know, didn’t care about knowing. “I find it hard to imagine anyone could be as infuriating as her,” you frowned, causing Delia to laugh, almost delighted by the comment. Lydia seemed okay, a bit paranoid and utterly blind to her boyfriend’s true intentions, but otherwise she was nice. You couldn’t imagine Lydia being anything like Astrid when she was younger.

“Oh, you have no idea. I reckon Astrid’s attitude is karma finally paying a visit to Lydia,” she sure sounded certain of that claim and you just hummed, internally feeling sorry for whoever had to deal with Astrid being their karma. That seemed like a rather cruel and unjust punishment.

“Mr. Deetz won’t be joining us today?” you asked, noticing the absence of Delia’s husband, though you asked the question mostly to avoid talking about Astrid.

“No, no, he went bird-watching,” she dismissed and you nodded, knowing just how much the man loved doing so, even if it meant traveling the great distances. It was admirable, really, to see someone as old as he was still being passionate about something to that extent. You could only hope you’d have as much energy as him and Delia when you reach their age.

~X~

That night you stood in front of the canvas, a bit of paint smeared on your cheek, an old white shirt you were wearing and your hand. You held your paintbrush as you observed a fairly accurate painting of the Durham Cathedral. It’s been about a month since you started working on the painting, using what little free time you had to work on it, and here it was, finally complete. You set the brush and colors down on your table and sat down, just looking at it with a smile on your face.

You really wished you could go and visit it. You actually had a lot of places you wanted to visit, to study, to touch the old buildings, feel their history and the flow of time coursing through them. The flyer on your table caught your attention and you reluctantly picked it up. It was an ad, seeking volunteers for planting trees. You sighed, massaging your shoulder and wincing at the dull pain in your muscles. You had two days off, you should rest, but you already knew you’d go, you couldn’t help it, that was how you were.

So, knowing you’d go there early in the morning you went and got ready for bed, hoping the shower would relax your aching body.

~X~

“What the fuck?” Astrid halted in the middle of the park, hoping it was just the summer heat. Yeah, that had to be it. The heat was making her see things. It was your damn day off, wasn’t it? Why were you in the park digging a hole for a tree?

Astrid narrowed her eyes, furious at everything. At your shirt clinging to your arms. At the drop of sweat you just brushed off your forehead. At the concentrated look in your eyes and the focus and the way you still had the energy to come and volunteer despite working two jobs.

“Barnacle,” she hissed under her breath and went to the other part of the park, as far from you as she possibly could go while still doing her part as one of the volunteers.

A/N: So, tell me what you think and if you’d like to be on the taglist?

Masterlist / Next Part

[thatonetargaryen]

My Fists Ricochet

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Alternate ending to: My Tears Ricohect

Synopsis: After you find your wife, Ambessa, in the act of infidelity—you and Mel speed away in a car, leaving your wife in the dust. Filled with sorrow and regret for her actions, she decides to track you down and apologize. Those feelings of sorrow change into confusion as the two of you suddenly disappear without a trace. And when she finds out why—her tears come to a halt as her fists are forced to ricochet.

cw; mentions of kidnapping; infidelity; bondage (not kinky); angst; blood/violence; not proofread; men and minors dni

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for original prompt and @misschuli for alternate ending prompt. Hope the two of you enjoy 🎀

…….

Ambessa stared at the car as it sped off, leaving her and her emotions in the dust. The bewilderment she felt was almost immediately replaced with guilt and regret for what she had done. Her chest heaved as she looked towards the ground. It took her moments before she gathered the strength to move.

She turned on her heel, and began her shameful walk up the stairs and towards her manor. She prayed—for his sake—that the brothel worker wasn’t there. Her emotions were all over the place, and she wouldn’t know what she’d do if she saw him there.

Thankfully, when she walked into the manor, he was no where to be seen. Only spilled wine and the smell of sex filled the room. She grimaced at the smell closed her eyes. She barked for one of the nearby servants to clean the mess.

No servant came.

She opened her eyes, and no servant was present nearby. It was completely silent. Not even her guards were present. She rolled her eyes as she remembered dismissing all the guards and servants so that she would be alone with the boy.

Ambessa groaned, but ultimately went into a nearby kitchen and got a bowl of hot soapy water, a rag, and a towel.

She dragged herself towards the main area. She went to her knees as she began to clean the warm wine off the white floors.

As she scrubbed, her mind couldn’t help but drift to her wife. The face she made when she could her in the act. It was one of pure betrayal. One of a woman watching over fifteen years of marriage being flushed down the drain. The star in her eye fading, now becoming nothing but a dim light, reminding Ambessa of a distant memory.

She thought of the recent years. How she slowly started to turn away from your affection, treating it as if it were the plague. How she avoided your warm greetings and replied with short, stifled one—or none at all. How she’d left you in a cold bed in hopes that would toughen the walls she fought so hard to build.

She thought of an incident that happened just two years prior. You had arranged a small gathering—nothing too big. It would be just the two of you, sitting under the stars eating cake and drinking the finest of wines. Something calm and romantic, just how she liked it. You gave her small invitation on her pillow to look at when she woke up—a bit corny, but full of warmth and love. It had a place and time—one where you knew she would be off duty. You had hoped she would take the time off to come.

That night, you waited under the stars. Alone. The scenery was beautiful, and yet, Ambessa was never there to fill it. It took you over two hours to realize she wasn’t coming.

She had gotten caught up in ‘work’—or at least that was the weak excuse she was given you. You shouted and complained at her, saying how she was putting duty over the relationship.

She looked you in the eye that night and said you were overreacting. Being ridiculous. That you wouldn’t understand what it takes to have responsibility.

You cried into your pillow that night, and your relationship had been strained ever since.

Ambessa became more vigorous in her scrubbing as tears clouded her vision. Not long after the argument, she started taking paramours into her bed. She had men and women alike, anyone but you. By distancing herself from you, she thought, it would allow her to make the necessary to protect her family.

Every time she did something—she thought about you. Whether it be making a political decision or agreeing to an alliance, your voice spoke in the back of her mind. What would you think? What would you say? Would you agree to this?

That’s all she asked herself—and she fucking hated it.

The once ruthless and formidable leader had been softened by the gentle voice of her wife. The thought came to her in the deepest depths of the night, and she couldn’t shake it away.

She couldn’t even have a good fuck without thinking about you.

She knew this would happen eventually. You would find out about her infidelity and walk out on her—just as everyone else had. The thought of the thorn in her side finally being gone did nothing but please her.

But she didn’t know it would hurt so much. To see your heartbroken eyes as you caught her red-handed in the act of doing something she thought would protect the both of you.

Ambessa threw the rag down as she reached up both of her hands and rubbed her eyes and cheeks as tears of frustration ran down her face. She rose from her knees and turned away—the mess being long forgotten.

She walked out of the main room and into the hallway. Her footsteps halted as she leaned against a nearby wall. She held her face in her hands as her heart raced in her chest.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she couldn’t stop the endless stream of tears that cascaded down her face.

…..

You leaned on Mel’s shoulder as you bit your lip. You couldn’t even bring yourself to cry—but you knew the tears would come again eventually.

Mel held you but said nothing, already knowing you had seen everything you needed to. When the girl first saw her mother with the paramour, her heart fell to her feet. She berated her mother, telling her to consider your feelings. Telling her to stay loyal. That she would regret it sooner or later. And by the look on her face before the car drove off—she did.

If Mel hadn’t hated her mother before—she definitely did now. And the more she looked into your empty, heartbroken eyes—the more her resentment grew. Sending her away from her home—away from you—and now this? She would have to get on her hands and knees if their relationship would ever be resolved.

The car came to a stop, but you made no move to get out the car. You furrowed your brows as you surveyed your surroundings.

Mel spoke up, “Excuse me, sir, this isn’t our stop.”

The driver ignored her as he continued to look forward.

You looked up at Mel as you straightened, “Mel, whose car are we in?”

Mel’s heart drummed against her chest. “I-I waved down the car….They were just driving circles in front of the manor….Now that I think about it—”

“Dammit, Mel”, you gritted through your teeth as you checked the door—and to your horror, was locked.

You jumped out of your skin as the door was abruptly open and a man pressed a gun to your temple.

“If you want to live—I suggest you get out of the fuckin’ car.”

…..

Ambessa leaned over the table as she stared into the fire. She hadn’t moved in hours. The way the flames moved and danced atop the wood—it was the only thing distracting her mind and keeping her from going crazy.

Suddenly, a guard busted through the doors, and her head shot up. Her bloodshot eyes burned holes through the man as she gritted her teeth, “How dare you barge in my room without kno—”

“M’lady, my deepest apologies for intruding, but it has been brought to my attention that your wife and daughter are in danger. We must leave, now!”

She stilled as she heard those words, and only then noticed her son—Kino—with a worried look on his face as he stood behind a group of guards.

Ambessa shot up from her chair and wasted no time exiting the room and making her way towards the guard. “What happened?!”

“T-there was a woman who claims to have witnessed the two of them being forcibly taken out of a car and held at gun point. She ran off before she could do anything.”

Ambessa’s mind ran at a thousand miles per minute, “Is she sure that was Mel and Y/N?”

The woman spoke up as she held on tightly to a bag of groceries, “I’m sure of it, m’lady. It wasn’t too far from here, either.”

Ambessa’s fists clenched as her heart dropped. However, she knew she couldn’t break down—that would just waste time. “Assemble the guards and scout the nearby area—interrogate nearby residents. Split the team in two—and sent one half with me.”

The guard nodded stiffly, “Right away, General.”

She turned to her son, and they shared a quick look of concern. Her for her wife, and him for his mother. He spoke after a moment, “I’m going with you.”

Ambessa’s shoulders stiffened and she turned away, “Just don’t get in my way.”

…..

Your body was cold as your eyes moved around frantically, only to be met with darkness and the smell of potatoes. Your breathing picked up as you struggled against the rope around your wrist. The material burned through your skin, and you could already tell it would be bruised tomorrow.

The muffled cries of your daughter echoed throughout the cell, and you heard her shift on the cold floors. “M—Mom?”

Your ears perked up as you heard her call out. “I’m here, Mel. Breathe, child”

Her strained breathing was a clear sign of an anxiety attack, and the need to help her made you struggle against the rope harder. “Breathe, Mel. It’s gonna be alright. I’m here.”

Her heavy breathes quieted. A small moment of relief came to you, but it was soon taken when you heard a man’s voice call out. “A moment between mother and daughter, how touching.”

The sound of tools being played with echoed, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Before anything happens, a door is abruptly opened. The sound of wrestling, yelling, and fighting fills your ears. The smell of blood penetrates through the bag on your head, and your head starts to spin from the smell.

The rope around your wrists was suddenly cut with impressive precision, and the bag was gently taken off of your head. You looked up to meet Ambessa’s eyes, and all the anger you once felt dissipated into relief. “ ‘Bessa….”

She gently picked you up—bridal style—and carried you out of the cellar. You looked over her shoulder and sighed in relief as you see Mel being freed behind you.

You were placed inside of a car, and a blanket was thrown about your shoulders. Everything has happened so fast—so quickly—that you had no time to process it. The question ‘What just happened’ weighed heavy in your mind.

You felt a hand wrap itself around yours, and you looked up to find your son, Kino. The look of relive and tranquility was evident on his handsome face—but an underlying knowing look was present in his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, “No…at least not physically.”

The meaning behind your words didn’t go over Kino’s head as he noticed how you kept eye contact with Ambessa as you spoke. The woman sat across from you as she averted her gaze. You could see her jaw clench as she attempted to keep her stoic face. Even then—she couldn’t let her guard down. Now even in front of her children. You sighed in disappointment.

The car door opened and closed as Mel made her way into the car. Her hair was frazzled and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. She constantly rubbed her hands around her wrists. She stare straight forward at nothing in particular. She flinched when you threw the other half of your blanket over her shoulders. You brought her in and wrapped your arm around her shoulders. You let her learn on your shoulder as she gripped the covers for dear life.

You turned to Kino, “How’d you know we were there?”

He spoke up, though his voice was shaky and unstable—, “Uh….some lady saw what transpired. She reported it to one of the guards…”

You nodded stiffly, “I’m glad you got to me in time….I don’t know what would’ve happened if you all had gotten there any later.”

Ambessa closed her eyes, as if the very thought of what could’ve happened disgusted her.

Kino spoke again, “Did they say what they wanted?”

Mel shook her head, “The guards came before he could mention his intent.”

Ambessa inserted herself into the conversation and spoke in an even tone, “We’ll know when we conduct a thorough investigation on him and his posse.”

You bit your lip at her words, already knowing that investigation was just another word for torture.

You shook your head, “No matter, the fact that we’re all safe is what matters. I don’t want to dwell on it for long.”

Kino slightly chuckled at that, “You’ve always been like that…quick to dismiss everything and move on…I don’t know whether or not that’s a good thing.”

You smirked at his words, “Live’s too short to dwell on trying matters. Mel and I are safe, and the only thing on my mind is getting us all home. Together.”

Mel shuffled on your arm, “Together? That word doesn’t exactly describe the Medardas…”

You threw the blanket over Kino’s shoulder as you pulled him into you, “Tonight it will.”

And as Ambessa stared at the sight of the three of you lean in on each other, her resolve for fixing what she had done became stronger. Not just for herself—but for her children.

You brought a softness into this family. You were the glue that held them all together—and wouldn’t let go.

She’d be damned if she let what she had done destroy the bond the two of you had built.

……

Hope you enjoyed 🎀

I know it’s short, but I wanna start on the other alternate ending with Sevika. It’s much juicer 😈

[blog-o-meter]

House of Whispers (Part 1) - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) always knew her place — she was just the housekeeper’s daughter and, at times, Nicholas’s secret escape. But when he returns from Los Angeles 5 years later and moves back into his family’s estate with a pregnant girlfriend in tow, buried truths resurface.

warnings: 18+, angst, unprotected p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, cheating, cursing, arguing, outdoor sex, idk what else honestly

required listening: Already Know by DEGA; Anxious In Venice by Superhumanoids

word count: 28,830

a/n: I literally dreamt this a week ago and thought it would make a good fic 😭 also I didn’t plan on splitting this one up into two parts but I didn't know Tumblr had a block limit! so part 2 is already written and ready to go, I'm just gonna wait a few days to upload it so pls enjoy part 1 <3

Part 1 | Part 2

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The house was buzzing with anticipation — staff members fluttering around trying to tidy everything up even though the entire house was always pristine and nothing was ever out of place, the personal chef rushing to have the brunch menu perfectly plated and worthy of being on the cover of Food & Wine, and yard workers making sure every blade of grass and every petal of a flower was watered and lively. I had been in charge of making sure the guest suite was spotless, tidy, and ready to be moved into.

The Chavez family didn’t do anything halfway, and today was no exception; it was the day Nicholas would be moving back in after years of being away in Los Angeles to focus on his career. Him moving away in the first place was probably the best decision he could’ve made for himself because it had become totally worth it. He was drowning in role offers, on the cover of almost every magazine, and had managed to take the internet by storm. But the move back was just as important because he wouldn’t be returning alone. No, he would come back with a very important lady in tow — his pregnant girlfriend.

The announcement of his return had sent ripples through the estate. Everyone seemed eager to welcome Nicholas home, but for me, it had been a strange mixture of dread and longing. I hadn’t seen him in person since the night before he left for Los Angeles, and each time he’d find himself visiting the estate for holidays or birthdays, I’d coincidentally be out of the house. I told myself I was over him. Told myself that whatever we had all that time ago was just that — something we had. But when I found out he was coming and knowing he was doing so with someone else, her, and that they were starting a family? That stung in a way I wasn’t ready to confront.

So for now, I focused completely on making sure everything was ready. I stood in the guest suite, smoothing the already perfectly ironed duvet for the third time. The room was fit for royalty, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured gardens and a vase of fresh pink rhododendrons — I’m told are her favorite — on the nightstand.

Nicholas’s mom told me that I didn’t have to get them anything, but I wanted to. I told myself it was for her, but it wasn’t really. It was for me, to prove to myself that I wasn’t hung up on some past that doesn’t mean anything more. She was his girlfriend now, and I am just a housekeeper who worked with her mom at the Chavez estate. Everything was in its place, just as it always was. Just as I had to be.

I was listening to The Pixies — part of my 80s playlist — through my headphones as I fluffed pillows and dusted surfaces, too engrossed in the mechanical routine and the drums of Here Comes Your Man to realize my mom had been trying to get my attention for the past minute or so. That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whipped around and pulled the headphones off my head, the music blasting through the flimsy thin sponges suddenly sounding too loud in the quiet of the room. It was my mom, laughing to herself at the sight of me bopping my head as I cleaned.

“(Y/N), are you almost done in here?” She asked while trying to stifle a chuckle, rubbing her clammy hands on her pristine apron. She had been in charge of cleaning all of the restrooms along with one of the other housekeepers. “Mrs. Chavez wants everybody outside before Nicholas gets here.”

I nodded, quickly slipping the headphones around my neck. “Yeah, I’m done,” I said, glancing around the room one last time. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

Mom gave me a knowing look, the kind she always gave when she could tell I was trying too hard. “The room is perfect, sweetie. Now, c’mon,” she waved her hand in excitement, “everybody else is outside.”

I grabbed my caddy of cleaning supplies and led us out of the suite, our shoes squeaking as we stepped out into the tiled hallway and down the grand staircase. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked out of the room. I wasn’t sure if she suspected how I felt about Nicholas or if she just thought I was being meticulous for the sake of appearances. Either way, I was grateful she didn’t say anything else.

I quickly walked over to the supply closet near the base of the staircase and placed my caddy inside as my mom scurried out of the front door and urged me to catch up with her. I scampered behind her, the polyester material of my uniform brushing over my knees with each hurried step.

Outside, the estate grounds were a picture of perfection, as they always were. The staff lined up neatly near the circular driveway, a quiet buzz of excitement rippling through them as they awaited Nicholas’s arrival with confetti cannons in hand. I hung back slightly, finding a spot near the end of the line with my mom and some of the other senior members of staff like the chef, fiddling with the edge of my cleaning apron. I told myself this was just another day, but I knew it wasn’t. It never was with him. Would he talk to me? Ignore me? I couldn’t blame him if he did.

“Oh, I see them!” Mrs. Chavez exclaimed as she pointed to the black Escalade driving up the street.

I watched as the luxury car came into view, pulling up smoothly into the driveway and coming to a stop in front of the fountain. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Nicholas Alexander Chavez.

The driveway erupted into a mix of hoots and booms from the confetti cannons exploding in everybody’s hands, bright pieces of foil paper coating the sky and floating down to the stone ground.

Time hadn’t dulled anything about him. If anything, it had refined him. He was tanner, beefier — his arms and thighs practically begging to be let free from his form-fitting clothes. He wore a casual white button-down with the sleeves rolled up along with a pair of denim jeans, effortlessly handsome in a way that sent an unwelcome flutter through my chest. His dark brown eyes scanned the crowd with a quiet confidence, his jawline sharper than I remembered. His hair is a lot different than it used to be, too, no longer loosely swinging past his jaw but shorter and brushed back by the sunglasses on his head. He looked even better than when I last saw him. Oh no.

And then, she stepped out of the car.

She was gorgeous — glossy brown hair cascading over her shoulders and the pitch black oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes, a radiant smile that seemed to light up the entire estate flashing across her face. She wore a flowy dress, one that emphasized her still-flat stomach but there was the tiniest hint of a bump, the very thing that cemented her place next to Nicholas.

The staff clapped politely as Mrs. Chavez rushed toward the start of the line to greet her son, enveloping him in a tight hug. “Nicholas! Oh, it’s so good to have you home!” she gushed before turning to her. “And you, sweetie, look absolutely stunning.”

She beamed, taking Mrs. Chavez’s hands in hers and giving her an air kiss. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Chavez. It’s so nice to see you again.”

I tried to keep my expression neutral, to blend into the background as I always did, but Nicholas’s gaze swept over the line of staff and landed on me. For a split second, our eyes met and his smile grew softer, and I could’ve sworn time stood still and suddenly, I felt 18 again, sitting at the edge of the pool under the protective blanket of the dark night with Nicholas sitting beside me just inches away, the same soft smile on his face.

It had been one of those nights when the Chavez family was throwing some luxurious party, everyone drinking and mingling over glasses of champagne inside, except for me. My mom had asked me if I wanted to help her out at the party for a bit since one of the housekeepers had left earlier in the day, and I felt like being helpful that day. Eventually, though, the party had gone on later than usual, like always, and I found myself sitting outside on the edge of the pool at 2AM, like always.

The spring air was a little warm and still, the only sound was the occasional chirp of crickets and the gentle ripple of the pool water as I slowly circled my feet underwater. I had been sitting at the edge, part of my brain counting down the minutes until my mom and I could go home and the other part thinking about the week ahead — spring semester finals week of college. The moonlight danced across the surface, and I let myself drift into thoughts I shouldn’t have been entertaining.

And then he appeared, as if he knew I was thinking about him.

“You’re always up late, even when there isn’t a party going on inside.”

Nic’s voice was low and easy, the kind that made my heart skip a beat no matter how much I tried to steel myself against it.

I turned my head and saw him standing near the end of the pool, barefoot and wearing a pair of sweatpants hung low on his hips and a graphic tee that swayed against his skinny frame as he strolled over to me. He held a beer in one hand, the bottle catching the faint glow of the pool lights as he moved.

“I’m a night owl, I guess,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

He smirked, setting the bottle down on the concrete before sitting next to me, close enough that the warmth of his skin radiated toward me. His legs dangled over the edge, and for a moment, we just sat there, staring at the water in comfortable silence.

“So finals week, huh?” he asked, glancing sideways at me.

I nodded, surprised he remembered me mentioning it passing a few days ago. “Yeah. Just one more week and my first year of college will be behind me. I should probably be asleep, but—” I glanced back at the house, “—the party’s still going on. That and…”

“And your mind won’t shut up,” he finished for me, his smirk softening into something more genuine, that soft smile that could trigger something in me.

I stifled a chuckle, “Yeah.”

He let out a soft laugh, leaning back on his hands and tilting his face toward the stars. “I remember those nights. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“You’re only two years older,” I quietly laughed.

He turned to look at me, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Doesn’t mean I don’t remember the stress. Want me to tell you a secret?”

I raised an eyebrow, curious despite myself. “What?”

“I used to sneak out here to clear my head, just like you,” he took a small swig of his beer.

“Yeah, I remember seeing you out here sometimes,” I mumbled.

“There’s something about the quiet, you know?” He set the bottle back down with a quiet clink. “It makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world for a little while.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze flicking to his face. He looked so different under the moonlight — softer, more open. It made it hard to keep my thoughts in check. “Yeah, it does,” I murmured.

“I’ll tell you another secret,” he said as he grabbed his beer again, bringing it up to his lips but too lost in thought to take another sip. “Nobody knows yet, but…” he swallowed dryly, “I’m gonna drop out.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I blinked, turning to face him fully, unsure if I’d heard him right. “You’re dropping out? Of Rutgers?”

He smirked and nodded, “Well, not dropping out. I already did,” he set the bottle back down on the concrete in the little space between our legs. “Already did the paperwork. I’m not going back in the fall.”

The shock hit me like a slap to the face. Nic was supposed to be the golden boy — the one who had everything figured out. College was just a stepping stone for him to achieve whatever greatness everyone assumed he was destined for. “Why?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and self-assured. “Because it’s not for me,” he said, leaning back on his hands again. His face was calm, like he’d made peace with it a long time ago. “And because I love acting way too much to be wasting my time sitting in lectures and writing papers. I want more than that. I need more.”

I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there wasn’t any. “So what’s your plan?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he moved the beer bottle separating us and shifted closer, his knee brushing against mine as he reached down and swirled his fingers in the water. “I’m moving to LA. I already got in contact with an agent, already sent in a few self-tape auditions.” He was quiet for a beat, Nicholas tilted his head, his gaze meeting mine. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll regret it forever,” he said, and there it was — that spark in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t just talking. He meant it.

I couldn’t help but admire him in that moment — the way he seemed so sure of himself, so ready to take on the world without any fear. But I also couldn’t ignore the tiny ache in my chest, the thought of him leaving hitting me harder than I expected.

“When are you leaving?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked back toward the water.

“End of the summer,” he said. “A couple more months.”

The words hung heavy between us, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The faint ripple of the water and the chirping crickets filled the silence, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the weight of what he’d just told me.

He broke the silence then. “You’re going to crush those finals, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

The unexpected compliment caught me off guard, and I turned to him, my heart thudding in my chest. “Thanks,” I said softly, unable to look away from him.

His gaze lingered on mine, and for a moment, I thought he might say something else. But instead, he leaned in, closing the space between us until his lips brushed against mine. It was soft at first, tentative, like he was giving me a chance to pull away. But when I didn’t — when I kissed him back — something shifted.

The kiss deepened, and I felt his hand move to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. My heart raced, every nerve in my body buzzing as his lips pressed harder against mine, as though he needed this just as much as I did. My fingers found their way into his stringy hair, and every logical thought evaporated.

It was reckless, dangerous, and so far beyond what should’ve been happening — after all, his mom was my mom’s boss and, occasionally, my own — but I didn’t care. Not in that moment.

His other hand slipped around my waist, tugging me against him as the cool night air was replaced by the heat radiating from his body. My fingers clutched at his t-shirt, my breaths coming faster as his tongue brushed against mine. It was everything I shouldn’t have wanted — everything I had told myself over and over I could never have — but it was also everything I couldn’t resist.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips, his voice rough and low, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brown eyes searching mine. “You sure?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, and I realized he was giving me a choice, an out.

I didn’t need to think. “Yes,” I breathed, my voice shaking but certain.

That was all he needed to hear.

Before I could blink, he had pulled me up from the edge of the pool, his hands strong and steady as he guided me toward the pool house. The door clicked shut behind us, the sound echoing in the quiet, and suddenly we were alone, the world outside fading into nothingness.

The intensity of his gaze pinned me in place as he stepped closer, his hands sliding down to my hips and pulling me against him. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” he admitted, his voice husky as his lips brushed against my jaw, trailing down to the sensitive skin of my neck.

I gasped, my hands tangling in his hair as he pressed me against the cool wall. “Me too,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

His hands roamed over my body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake as he guided me to the small couch. We fell into it together, our bodies tangling in a way that felt both desperate and natural. The air was thick with heat and tension, each movement electric. His lips were everywhere — on my neck, my collarbone, trailing lower and lower with a hunger that left me breathless.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Nic growled against my skin, his hands exploring me like he had been waiting forever to touch me like this.

I moaned softly, my hands clutching at his t-shirt, desperate to pull him closer. “You talk too much,” I whispered back, my words teasing but breathless.

He laughed low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His body was lean but strong, his skin warm under my fingertips as I ran my hands over his chest, his stomach.

His lips crashed back against mine, more forceful this time, as his hands moved to the hem of my shirt. He tugged it over my head in one quick motion, his eyes darkening as they raked over me.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, his hands sliding around to my back to pull me closer. “I can’t believe I waited this long.”

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t even think, as he pressed me back against the cushions of the couch. His body was over mine, his weight grounding me in a way that felt both overwhelming and intoxicating. His kisses grew more urgent, his touch more deliberate, as we moved together, the space between us disappearing entirely.

Our bodies collided like a force of nature — hot, desperate, and completely unrestrained. The room was quiet save for the sound of our ragged breathing, our wet kisses, and the occasional thud of clothes being tossed to the floor. His mouth was on mine again, and I felt like I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t touch enough of him, couldn’t get enough of him.

Nic groaned, his voice low and guttural as his lips trailed down my neck and over my chest. His hands gripped my hips tightly, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I laughed breathlessly, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling his face back to mine. “Good,” I whispered against his lips before kissing him hard.

His laugh turned into a growl as his hands moved lower, sliding over the curve of my thighs and pressing me firmly into the couch. I gasped, my back arching as his touch lit a fire under my skin. He was everywhere, consuming me, and I didn’t want him to stop.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear as he slid his hands back up my thighs. “So many fucking times.”

I couldn’t respond — not with words, at least. Instead, I pulled him closer, my nails scraping lightly down his back as his lips moved lower. My breathing hitched as he kissed a path down my stomach, his hands pushing my legs further apart.

“Shit,” I gasped, my head falling back against the cushions as he kissed along my inner thigh. The combination of his lips, his hands, and the way he was looking at me was almost too much.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my skin as he pressed a kiss just above my waistband before coming back up to hover over me. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity and desire. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

I swallowed hard, my hands finding their way to his face as I pulled him down for another kiss. “You don’t have to,” I whispered against his lips. “Just…don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

He crawled back down, hooking his fingers through the belt loops of my shorts and pulling them down, not bothering to fiddle with the button or zipper. His impatience was electric, the shorts, along with my underwear, sliding off my legs in one swift motion before being tossed somewhere behind him. The weight of his gaze dragged over me, dark and burning with something primal.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hands running up the bare skin of my thighs, pausing just enough to make me shiver.

“Then stop wasting time,” I shot back, breathless, barely recognizing my own voice.

His lips quirked up in a smirk as he leaned down again, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin of my hip. “Bossy,” he teased, but his hands told a different story, sliding higher and higher, until—

“Fuck,” I gasped, my head tipping back as his fingers finally found the spot that had been aching for him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent as he worked me in slow, deliberate circles. My hips bucked instinctively, trying to draw him closer, but he held me steady, his strength only adding to the overwhelming sensation.

“Nic,” I choked out, his name slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

His movements faltered for a second, his gaze snapping up to meet mine. Something flickered in his eyes — possessiveness, maybe, or the thrill of hearing his name like that from me. He leaned down, his breath hot against my skin.

“Say it again,” he commanded, his voice rough and dripping with authority.

“Fuck, Nic,” I whimpered, my hands fisting into the couch cushions as his fingers pressed deeper, his movements quickening.

“Good girl,” he rasped, the praise sending another wave of heat rushing through me. He shifted lower, his lips trailing kisses along my thighs as his fingers continued their relentless pace.

My breaths came quicker, my entire body trembling under his touch. He was merciless, pulling me apart inch by inch, dragging me closer to the edge until—

“Oh, my God,” I cried out, my vision going white as pleasure hit me like a tidal wave. My back arched, my hands scrabbling for purchase as I completely unraveled beneath him.

He didn’t stop, his mouth now replacing his hand as he coaxed every last tremor from me, his low groans vibrating against my skin. It was overwhelming, his name tumbling from my lips like a prayer as I sank back into the cushions, utterly spent.

Before I could catch my breath, he was on me again, his lips crashing against mine, hot and messy and desperate. I could taste myself on him, and instead of embarrassment, it only fueled the fire that hadn’t quite burned out.

“You’re gonna kill me,” I panted against his mouth, my fingers dragging over the lines of his chest, lower, to the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Fair fucking trade,” he growled, his teeth grazing my jaw as I tugged his pants down, freeing him.

The weight of him against my palm had me trembling all over again, but this time I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my hand around him, relishing the hiss that escaped his lips.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his forehead falling to mine as his hips jerked into my touch. 

It wasn’t long before he pulled my hand away, pinning it above my head as he lined himself up with me, his free hand gripping my hip to keep me steady. His gaze locked on mine, his brows furrowed like he was barely holding himself together.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his body betrayed the tension coiled in him, begging for release.

I shook my head, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. “Don’t you dare.”

With that, he pushed into me, slow and deliberate, a curse falling from his lips as he filled me completely. The stretch was almost too much, but the way he held me, his forehead pressed to mine, made it impossible to feel anything but him.

“Fuck, you feel…” he trailed off, his words lost in a groan as he pulled back and thrust forward again, this time harder, deeper.

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t form a single coherent thought as he set a rhythm, each movement driving me closer to the edge all over again.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough, and when my eyes met his, the intensity there stole what little breath I had left. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his pace quickening as his hand moved between us, his fingers finding that spot again, pushing me higher and higher.

“Nic, I—” I gasped, unable to finish the sentence as my body tightened around him, pleasure ripping through me with a force that left me trembling, crying out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he fell over the edge, his groan low and guttural as he spilled into me, his body collapsing against mine.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, our ragged breaths filling the space between us. His weight was heavy but grounding, his head buried in the crook of my neck as his hands smoothed over my sides, soothing the aftershocks still rippling through me.

When he finally lifted his head to look at me, his lips quirked into a lazy, satisfied grin while his stringy hair flopped over his forehead and brushed my face.

We didn’t talk about it afterward. We never did. But that night became the first of many stolen moments, each one pulling me further into a reality I knew I could never have, not when I knew he’d be leaving in a few months to chase his dreams.

Back in the present, I forced myself to blink, the memory dissipating like smoke as I stood near the edge of the driveway, Nicholas’s smile fading from my mind. The sound of polite applause and welcomes brought me crashing back to reality.

I found him still looking at me, but he was interrupted by his mom pulling him in for another tight hug, which I was grateful happened. I wasn’t ready to talk to him, not right now. Suddenly feeling the bile in my stomach gurgle and gnaw at my insides, I leaned into my mom’s ear. “I think I forgot to put away one of the vacuums in the room,” I whispered.

She was too caught up in the moment, excitedly watching the family reunite, and only gave me a quick nod.

I inconspicuously retreated from the line of staff, my heart pounding harder with each step. The memory had shaken me more than I wanted to admit, the phantom sensation of his hands on my body lingering far too vividly in my mind, somehow feeling just as fresh even after all these years.

I darted into the house, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat outside. I leaned against the wall of the grand foyer, squeezing my eyes shut and taking a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the mess of emotions swirling in my chest.

What the hell was I doing?

I had spent years convincing myself that what happened between us didn’t matter anymore — that it had been a fleeting thing, a summer romance born of youth and circumstance. But seeing him again had ripped open every wound I thought I’d buried.

I couldn’t stay out here and risk running into him again, not with her there. Not with that tiny bump on her stomach and the reality of what his life had become staring me in the face.

I turned on my heel and made for the stairs, pretending to head for the vacuum I hadn’t forgotten. I just needed a few minutes to pull myself together before someone noticed. I’d barely made it halfway up when everybody started making their way back inside. I looked over the railing as I continued my ascent, and Nicholas’s eyes flicked back up to me again before smiling over to his girlfriend as his mom showed her around the house, guiding the both of them toward the kitchen.

I ducked into the guest suite before anyone could notice me, closing the door softly behind me. My chest felt tight, my breaths too shallow, like I couldn’t get enough air. The memories of that summer wouldn’t leave me alone, clinging to the edges of my mind and taunting me with what once was.

I paced the length of the room, trying to shake it off. It had been years. Years since that night. Years since the others that followed. Years since I’d told myself it was over, that it had to be over. He made that very clear back then. It didn’t matter how he looked at me back then. It didn’t matter how he looked at me now. Except it did — to me, at least.

His smile when he spotted me outside, that flicker of something familiar in his dark brown eyes — it felt like a goddamn punch to the gut. And then there was her. That perfect, glowing woman who had everything I couldn’t even dream of. A future. A family. Him.

I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair. Get it together, I told myself. I had a job to do, nothing more and nothing less.

Just then, the door opened, a few of the staff members walking in with luggage in tow and setting the bags near the foot of the bed. I politely smiled at them, “Are there any more bags you guys need help with?”

One of the housekeepers, Maria, glanced at me and shook her head, her arms straining slightly under the weight of a Louis Vuitton suitcase. “No, I think this is the last of it,” she said. Then, leaning closer, she added in a hushed tone, “I can’t believe she’s already moving in. Not wasting any time, huh?”

I forced a smile, my stomach twisting at her words. “Guess not,” I murmured.

I brushed past her and made my way out of the guest suite and rushed to the stairs. Just then Mrs. Chavez, Nicholas, and his girlfriend were all making their way up the stairs. The ladies were too engrossed in their conversation to notice me going down but when I brushed past them, Mrs. Chavez lit up.

“Oh, (Y/N)! There you are,” she smiled.

I stopped in my tracks and turned around to look up at them, politely smiling. “Hi, Mrs. Chavez. I was just making sure everything was ready in the guest suite.”

“(Y/N), this is Nicholas’s girlfrie— excuse me, fiancée, Valerie,” Mrs. Chavez smiled. “Valerie, this is (Y/N). She’s (Y/M/N)’s daughter and has also been with us for years.”

Valerie pulled back her black sunglasses then and flashed me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, such a contrast to the way I had seen her outside. “Hi,” she said in a perky tone as she looked down at me.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you, Valerie,” I smiled sheepishly, brushing the hem of my uniform, trying to avoid glancing at Nicholas. “I know Mrs. Chavez said I didn’t need to get you anything, but I left a bouquet of rhododendrons on your nightstand as a welcome gift,” I smiled.

“Oh!” She said, her jaw falling into an open smile, almost as if she was surprised I had considered her.

“She said they were your favorite,” I fiddled with my fingers without looking.

Nicholas turned his head to look up at his mom then, “That’s why you asked the other day,” a soft smile on his lips.

Mrs. Chavez nodded with a proud smile. “Of course. We wanted to make sure everything was perfect for your homecoming. And you know how (Y/N) has always been so thoughtful.”

Valerie glanced at the three of us, her smile faltering just slightly before she replaced it with another bright grin. “That’s so sweet of you, (Y/N). Thank you,” she said, but there was a hint of something sharp in her tone, subtle but unmistakable.

I nodded politely, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “It was nothing,” I said quickly. “I’ll let you all settle in. Mrs. Chavez, I’ll be in the kitchen helping prepare for brunch.”

As I turned to head back downstairs, Nicholas’s voice stopped me. “(Y/N).”

I paused, my heart stuttering in my chest as I turned back around to face him. “Yes?”

His smile was softer now, more genuine, and it felt like it was just for me. That was dangerous. “Thank you.”

The air between us crackled with an unspoken tension, but it only lasted a second before Valerie looped her arm through his, leaning into his side with a perfectly practiced smile.

“Let’s go look at our room, baby,” she chimed, her tone sugary sweet but just shy of dismissive.

Nicholas glanced at her, his smile faltering slightly, but he nodded and let her guide him up the stairs. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said, though his gaze lingered on me for just a moment longer before he turned away.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to move down the stairs. The sharp edge of Valerie’s tone had sliced right through me, but I couldn’t blame her. She had every reason to feel territorial. Still, it stung. Not because she had him now — well, not entirely — but because I hated the way she looked at me, like I didn’t belong, like I was nothing more than the girl who cleaned the rooms and set the table.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I headed for the kitchen, hoping to lose myself in the chaos of brunch preparations. The sound of pots clattering and Paolo, the family chef, barking orders was almost comforting in its familiarity. I grabbed an apron from the rack and slipped it over my head, eager for the distraction.

I clapped my hands once. “What can I help with, Pao?”

He whipped around, a big smile peeking out from under his bushy, graying mustache, “Why don’t you start setting up the tables outside? People should be arriving soon, and we cannot have the tables looking bare,” he laughed.

I grabbed the stack of white linens and the box of polished silverware and plates from the counter, nodding at Paolo. “On it,” I said, thankful for the task to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted. Setting the tables meant I could stay busy and avoid the suffocating tension in the house. With that, I headed out to the garden.

The Chavez family brunches were always grand affairs, with guests flitting around the estate like peacocks, each one more polished than the last.

Outside, the estate was already buzzing with activity. Staff darted around carrying trays of mimosas and finger foods while Mrs. Chavez floated between them, directing traffic like the queen she was. I made my way to the tables arranged under the sprawling canopy of the garden, the sunlight filtering through the trees and dappling the perfectly manicured grass. The view should’ve been calming, but the knot in my stomach refused to loosen.

I began laying out the linens, smoothing them over the round tables one by one and making my way to the cart of centerpieces waiting to be arranged on the tables, carrying the sparkling crystal vases of wildflowers and carefully placing them on each table. I then arranged the cutlery with practiced precision, working methodically — placing forks, knives, and spoons on the correct sides and at the perfect angle and folding the linen napkins into perfect fans. The repetitive task helped steady my hands, though my mind still raced, replaying the exchange at the staircase.

Every now and then, I glanced up to make sure everything looked perfect — the kind of perfection the Chavez family always demanded. But the peace I’d found in the quiet of the garden was short-lived. A voice — sharp, clear, and just a little too close — cut through the gentle hum of the brunch preparations.

“So, how long have you worked here?”

I looked up to find her standing on the opposite side of the table, her arms crossed loosely, her sunglasses now perched on top of her glossy hair. Valerie looked every bit the picture of effortless elegance, but there was something about the way she leaned into her stance that felt…pointed.

“Uh…” I blinked, caught off guard. “Officially, almost six years now,” I replied softly, continuing to place plates and silverware. “I actually left for a bit after getting my bachelor’s to focus on working in my field, but I decided I wanted to get a master’s, so I came back last year so I can save up.” I’m not sure why I decided to tell half my life story to her. Maybe I thought it would endear me to her, hopefully.

She nodded, a polite smile stretching across her lips as she stepped closer. “Wow, six years. That’s a long time. You must really love it here.”

“It’s a good job,” I replied, carefully folding the last napkin into a crisp fan. “And my mom’s worked for the family for even longer, so… I kind of grew up here.”

Her expression didn’t shift much, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes — a spark of curiosity, maybe, or judgment. “That’s sweet,” she said, her tone teetering on the edge of insincerity. “It must’ve been interesting growing up so close to Nicholas.”

My heart skipped. “He’s…always been nice,” I said carefully, my fingers tightening around the napkin in my hand.

Her smile widened, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure he was. Nic’s always had a big heart, hasn’t he?” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make the question feel more pointed. “He mentioned you earlier, you know. Said you were thoughtful. It’s nice that you went out of your way with the flowers.”

My chest tightened. I set the napkin down, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just something I thought you might like.”

She tilted her head, studying me for a moment before her smile softened into something almost sympathetic. “Well, I appreciate it. It’s just…interesting, isn’t it? How people can sometimes misinterpret kindness.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication.

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

She shrugged, the movement graceful but dismissive. “Oh, nothing. I just think it’s good to keep things professional, don’t you? Lines can get blurry sometimes, especially when people have known each other for so long.”

The knot in my stomach tightened into something sharper, anger sparking under the surface of my calm. “I’ve always been professional,” I said evenly, my hands clenching at my sides. “I take my job seriously.”

Her smile faltered for a split second before she recovered, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Good,” she said, her tone light but laced with steel. “Because I don’t think Nic needs any distractions, especially right now with the baby and the wedding planning and all. And like you said, you’re saving up for graduate school, so you need this job, right?”

The words hit me like a slap, sharp and intentional. I swallowed hard, my fists tightening at my sides as I stared at her, trying to keep my composure. Her smile stayed in place, but there was nothing kind about it now. It was a challenge, a warning wrapped in a veneer of politeness.

“I do,” I said evenly, my voice steady despite the fire building in my chest.

Her eyes flicked over me, calculating, before she took a small step back. “Good. I’d hate for things to get…complicated.”

My fingers dug into the fabric of the napkin I was folding, crumpling its perfect creases. She was trying to assert her dominance, staking her claim over him in the most passive-aggressive way possible, and I couldn’t help but resent how effective it was. She didn’t have to scream or yell; her message was clear as day — I didn’t belong, here or with him. Though, I couldn’t exactly be mad at her for the latter.

She lingered for a moment longer, her gaze sweeping over the table as if she were inspecting my work. Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking softly against the stone path as she made her way back toward the house.

I exhaled sharply, my shoulders sagging as the tension drained from my body. My hands trembled slightly, but I forced myself to keep working, adjusting the placement of a centerpiece that didn’t need adjusting.

I finished setting up the tables just as guests started to arrive, spilling into the picturesque backyard. I grabbed the stack of leftover plates and silverware and headed back inside to the kitchen, setting the things down with a particular force on the island.

Paolo’s eyes flicked up to me. “Whoa, whoa, what did the plates ever do to you?” He teased, his thick Italian accent curling around his words as he chopped a pile of fresh basil. His eyes, however, sharpened with concern as he studied me. “You look like you’re ready to murder someone.”

I forced a smile, the edges of it brittle. “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed with all the…guests,” I said, my voice strained.

He snorted, setting his knife down and leaning against the counter. “Guests, huh? Or just one in particular?”

I shot him a look, but Paolo wasn’t one to back down, especially when it came to teasing me. “Don’t look at me like that. I saw her come in here earlier. The new princess. She’s…what’s the word? A delight.”

“Don’t,” I said quickly, my voice sharper than I intended. “I don’t need you adding to it.”

Paolo raised his hands in mock surrender, his bushy mustache twitching with a smirk, but his curiosity lingered. He gave a small shrug before returning to his chopping. “Hey, I’m just saying. But if you need to stab into some dough, I’ll be right here.”

I huffed a small laugh despite myself, shaking my head as I grabbed a fresh tray of appetizers to take outside. “Thanks, Pao. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The backyard was already buzzing with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of champagne glasses. I moved through the crowd like a ghost, my tray balanced carefully in my hands as I offered bruschetta to the guests, avoiding eye contact whenever possible.

As I made my way through the backyard, weaving between clusters of perfectly dressed guests, I kept my head down and my movements mechanical. The tension from Valerie’s thinly veiled warning still coiled tight in my chest, like a spring waiting to snap. I smiled politely at the occasional “thank you” or “these are delicious,” but my focus was on getting through this without making a scene.

I weaved through the sea of polished smiles and clinking glasses, the tray of bruschetta growing lighter with every guest who plucked one off without a second glance at me. The hum of conversation was a soothing distraction, but my nerves buzzed beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. I’d done this a hundred times before, but today felt different — everything felt different with her here.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” an older woman murmured as she took a piece from the tray, her gold bracelets jingling as she moved. I nodded politely, offering a small smile before slipping away to the next cluster of guests.

And then I saw him.

Nicholas stood near the garden trellis, a glass of champagne in hand, talking to an older couple I vaguely recognized as longtime family friends. His easy smile was on full display, charming and genuine, and for a moment, I let myself linger, watching the way he carried himself. The way his head tilted slightly when he listened, the way his hands moved when he spoke — it was all so achingly familiar.

But just as quickly as the warmth of recognition filled me, it was snuffed out when Valerie appeared at his side. She slid her arm through his with practiced grace, her laugh cutting through the air as she joined the conversation. Nicholas glanced at her, his smile softening in a way that felt…off.

I turned away quickly, the sting sharper than I expected, and nearly collided with Paolo as he emerged from the house carrying a tray of fresh cannoli.

“Careful, ragazza,” he said with a laugh, steadying me with one hand. “You’ll knock me over before I even get these out to the guests.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, stepping back to let him pass. I caught the concern in his eyes as he looked at me, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything.

I took a steadying breath and made my way to the buffet table to drop off the now-empty tray. I needed a moment to collect myself before diving back into the crowd. But as I turned, I froze.

Nicholas was walking toward me.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest as he crossed the garden, his dark brown eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. He wasn’t smiling now, his expression unreadable but charged with something that sent a shiver down my spine.

I glanced around, worried if Valerie might’ve been watching, but I didn’t spot her anywhere. And just when I thought Nicholas might reach me, somebody approached him and started making conversation. I took that as my opportunity to grab a new tray of appetizers Paolo had put out and make my escape.

I moved quickly, balancing the fresh tray of canapés in my hands, keeping my head down as I skirted the edge of the garden. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I focused on the task in front of me: deliver the food, avoid Nicholas, and keep things professional — exactly the way Valerie had made painfully clear I needed to.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

I rounded a corner near the far end of the garden, heading toward a quieter cluster of guests when a firm hand caught my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. My breath hitched, and I turned sharply to find Nicholas standing there, his fingers still loosely wrapped around my arm. His dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

I hesitated, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I murmured, trying to keep my tone even.

His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t fall away either. “Please,” he said, his gaze holding mine. “Just for a minute.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. Against every ounce of better judgment, I nodded. “Fine. One minute.”

He let go of my arm, his hand brushing against mine briefly as he led me toward a more secluded corner of the garden, away from the prying eyes of guests and, more importantly, Valerie.

When we stopped, he turned to face me fully, his expression tight. He took the tray of canapés from my hands and set it down on a nearby ledge before running a hand through his hair, his fingers briefly tangling in the strands before resting on the back of his neck. He looked as if he were trying to find the right words, but the silence stretched between us, thick and charged.

“Nicholas,” I said softly, trying to break whatever tension was building. “You shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care what I should or shouldn’t do right now,” he interrupted, his voice low but sharp. “I need to ask you something.”

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden intensity. “What?”

His eyes searched mine, a mix of frustration and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Did she say something to you?” he asked, his tone urgent. “Earlier, when you were setting the tables — did she?”

The question hit me like a jolt. Of course, he’d noticed. Nicholas was too observant for his own good. I opened my mouth to deny it, to brush it off as nothing, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He already knew the answer.

“Why does it matter?” I hedged, looking down at the tray still balanced in my hands. “She’s your fiancée, and I’m just—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, cutting me off again. His voice softened, but the edge remained. “Don’t finish that sentence,” he huffed deeply.

My chest tightened, and I forced myself to look at him. “She just told me to keep it professional,” I said, my voice quieter now.

Nicholas let out a frustrated breath, his jaw tightening. “She had no right to say anything to you.”

“She’s your fiancée,” I said, forcing the words out even though they felt like knives on my tongue. “She has every right to say whatever she wants. And she’s not wrong, Nicholas. You’re here with me instead of out there with your pregnant fiancée.”

He flinched, as if my words had struck him, but he didn’t look away. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for me but was holding himself back. His gaze burned into mine, his dark eyes filled with a storm of emotions I couldn’t unravel. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair again. “Fuck. This is so much more complicated than I thought it would be.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding as I watched him struggle with whatever was going on in his head. I reached for the tray of canapés I had set down.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, hesitantly stepping toward me.

“I gave you a minute,” I spoke softly. “I have to get back to work.”

Nicholas reached out, his hand brushing my arm lightly as if to stop me. “Wait,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Just… I’m sorry.”

I froze, my fingers tightening around the tray as I turned back to face him. For a moment, I thought he might apologize for what happened between us, since he never did, but that was just me being hopeful. “Sorry for what?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even, though my chest felt like it might collapse under the weight of the tension between us.

“For her,” he said bluntly, his jaw tightening. “For the way she spoke to you. She doesn’t know you — she doesn’t know anything about you — and she had no right to talk to you like that.”

I let out a sharp laugh, the sound more bitter than I intended. “You don’t have to apologize for her, Nicholas. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he shot back, his voice low and firm. “And I don’t want you thinking for a second that I agree with anything she said.” He took a step closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t deserve that.”

My breath caught, and for a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze held mine — it was too much. I glanced away, breaking the spell, and shifted the tray in my hands.

I looked down at the tray in my hands. “Get back to the party, Nic,” I said softly, using the nickname I hadn’t dared say in years.

Nicholas froze at the sound of his nickname on my lips, his eyes softening even as his jaw clenched. He stepped closer, closing the space between us until I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Don’t call me that unless you mean it,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to keep himself from saying more.

My heart raced, my grip tightening on the tray as I looked up at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a frustrated huff, his hand reaching out to brush against my arm. “You do,” he murmured, his tone softening. “You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N).”

“Go back to the party, Nicholas,” I whispered again, my voice steadier this time. “Your fiancée’s probably wondering where you are.”

The words were like acid on my tongue, but they had the desired effect. His expression shifted, the tension in his shoulders returning as he nodded stiffly.

“Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair before turning away. He didn’t look back as he disappeared into the crowd of guests, his figure blending into the polished chaos of the brunch.

My hands trembled as I held the tray, forcing myself to breathe, to move, to pretend like my entire world hadn’t just shifted. I exhaled sharply, my chest burning as I turned and headed back toward the kitchen. My hands trembled slightly, the tray of canapés feeling heavier than it should.

Paolo glanced up as I set the tray down on the counter, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in my flushed face and trembling hands.

“Let me guess,” he said dryly, setting down the whisk he’d been using to whip cream. “The prince found you.”

I shot him a look, but there was no heat behind it. “Not now, Paolo.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender but didn’t push further, thankfully. Instead, he handed me a glass of water, his brow furrowed with genuine concern.

I took the glass and downed it in one go, the cool water doing little to calm the storm raging inside me. I set the glass down and leaned against the counter, closing my eyes as I tried to steady my breathing.

This was a mistake. All of it. Letting him talk to me, letting him get under my skin again — it was dangerous, and I knew better. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore the way his words lingered, the way his gaze burned into me, the way he’d said my name like it still meant something to him. The way he’d apologized, not for himself, but for her.

Just then, Mrs. Chavez’s voice rang loudly through a speaker outside.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please!” Mrs. Chavez’s polished voice rang through the garden, cutting through the hum of chatter. “It’s time for a toast to officially welcome my son Nicholas and his beautiful fiancée, Valerie, back home!”

A polite round of applause followed, and my stomach churned. Paolo shot me a knowing glance, but I shook my head, silently begging him not to say anything. I pushed off the counter, needing to keep moving, to focus on anything other than the fact that I was about to witness yet another public display of their perfect union.

“Here, take these,” Paolo said, handing me another tray of hors d’oeuvres. “But if you need to take a break, I can cover for you.”

I forced a smile, taking the tray from his hands. He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, turning back to his station as I made my way outside.

The garden was packed now, with guests clustered around. Mrs. Chavez stood near the head of the gathering, a crystal glass of champagne in hand and a radiant smile on her face. Nicholas and Valerie stood beside her, their hands intertwined, the perfect picture of a couple madly in love.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Mrs. Chavez continued, her voice warm and commanding. “It means so much to have you all here to celebrate Nicholas’s homecoming. And, of course, we’re thrilled to welcome Valerie into the family.”

Another round of applause erupted, and I clenched the tray in my hands, willing myself to stay calm.

“Nicholas, we are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished,” Mrs. Chavez went on, her eyes shining as she looked at her son. “And we couldn’t be more excited for this next chapter of your life.”

My chest tightened as I watched Nicholas glance down at Valerie, his smile faltering for just a moment before he quickly recovered while Valerie beamed up at him like the doting fiancée she was supposed to be.

Mrs. Chavez raised her glass higher. “To Nicholas and Valerie, and to the beautiful journey ahead of them!”

“To Nicholas and Valerie!” the crowd echoed, raising their glasses in unison.

I stayed near the back of the gathering, blending into the sea of staff and guests as best I could, offering hors d'oeuvres to the guests who weren’t already sipping champagne. My eyes flicked to Nicholas, unwilling but unable to stop myself from watching him. His gaze swept over the crowd, searching for something — or someone.

And then his eyes locked onto mine.

The air felt like it had been sucked out of the garden. Nicholas’s gaze bore into mine, unwavering and intense, as if he could see straight through me. My heart thudded against my ribcage, and for a moment, I forgot where I was, the tray of hors d’oeuvres suddenly feeling like an anchor in my hands.

His fiancée’s voice cut through the moment. “Nic,” she said sweetly, tugging lightly on his arm. “Everyone’s waiting to hear from you.”

He blinked, breaking the connection between us, and turned his attention back to her. The crowd quieted as Nicholas stepped forward, his hand still loosely holding hers. His usual confident demeanor faltered slightly, his jaw tightening as he accepted the microphone from his mother.

“Thank you, everyone,” he began, his voice steady but with an edge I recognized — frustration, maybe even exhaustion. “It’s great to be back home, surrounded by family and friends. And, of course, with Valerie by my side as we—” His words hesitated, the pause so slight I doubted anyone else noticed. “—start this new chapter.”

The crowd clapped politely, but my focus wasn’t on them. It was on him, the way his free hand tightened into a fist at his side, the way his eyes darted back to mine for a fraction of a second before quickly shifting away.

I needed to get out of there. My fingers gripped the edge of the tray as I stepped backward, retreating toward the house. My breath came in shallow bursts, my chest tight with a mix of emotions I couldn’t even begin to sort through.

As I returned to the kitchen, my mom and Paolo were conversing, something about how she loved the food. I never told her what happened between Nicholas and I all those years ago, so when I saw her, I made sure to keep my cool in front of her.

My mom glanced up as I entered, her face lighting up with a smile. “Oh, there you are! Isn’t it such a lovely event? Mrs. Chavez really outdid herself this time.”

I forced a smile, nodding as I set the tray down on the counter. “Yeah, it’s beautiful,” I said, keeping my tone light.

Paolo raised an eyebrow, glancing between me and my mom. He grabbed another tray of appetizers and headed for the door, muttering something about keeping the guests happy.

My mom moved closer, smoothing her apron as she studied me. “You look pale, sweetheart. Have you eaten anything today?”

I shook my head quickly, waving off her concern. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little warm out there, that’s all.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when she didn’t quite believe me, but she let it go. “Well, don’t push yourself too hard, okay? You know how these events can be.”

I nodded, mumbling a quick “I won’t” before busying myself with tidying the counter. She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back out to join the staff overseeing the buffet.

As soon as she was gone, I leaned against the counter, letting out a shaky breath. My hands still trembled slightly, and my chest felt tight, but I couldn’t afford to lose my composure. Not here, not now.

I reached for a glass of water, trying to calm myself, but the kitchen door swung open again before I could take a sip.

Paolo was back, but he wasn’t alone.

Nicholas stepped into the kitchen behind him, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. Paolo glanced back at him, then at me, and let out a low whistle. “You know, I think I’m just gonna…find something to do outside,” he said, quickly slipping out the door and leaving us alone.

Nicholas’s gaze found mine immediately, his dark eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath catch. He closed the door behind him, the sound echoing in the now-empty kitchen.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended as I set the glass down with a little too much force.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said, his voice low but firm.

I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest as I took a step back. “We already talked, Nicholas. And I told you—”

“That wasn’t a conversation,” he interrupted, his tone hardening. “That was you running away.”

I froze, the words hitting a little too close to home. “I wasn’t running away,” I said defensively.

His gaze softened slightly, but the frustration still lingered. “Then stop pushing me away,” he said, taking a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me left and right.”

“I haven’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the space between us like a knife. “And it’s not just today. You’ve been avoiding me for years, (Y/N). Every time I come back here, you disappear. Every. Fucking. Time.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could I say? That he was right? That seeing him after everything was too much? That I didn’t trust myself to be near him?

He spoke again. “I know things are…complicated right now, but—”

“Complicated?” I snapped, my voice rising despite myself. “You’re engaged, Nicholas. She’s pregnant. That’s not complicated — that’s final.”

He flinched at the words. “It’s not as simple as you think.”

Before I could open my mouth to retort, Maria stepped into the kitchen. Nicholas and I stepped away from each other, avoiding her gaze as she awkwardly navigated through the kitchen looking for something before stepping back out.

As soon as the door clicked behind her, I opened my mouth. “Please, Nicholas,” I said, my voice firmer this time as I looked up at him. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his dark eyes searching mine as if he could find a way to make me stay. But then he nodded, stepping back with a defeated look that broke something inside me.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly before turning and walking out the door, leaving me alone in the quiet kitchen.

I stood there for a long moment, the weight of everything crashing down on me. I fought back the tears, clutching my tummy and breathing through it.

Paolo came back into the kitchen with some empty trays in hand. I watched him pass by, the door clicking shut behind him, and let out a shaky breath. Paolo glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“You sure you don’t want to stab some dough?” he asked lightly, his tone laced with concern.

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “No. But thanks for the offer.”

My fingers gripped the counter, willing myself to be calm. But how could I? When I would be working under the same roof as Nicholas and his pregnant fiancée? It was going to be a fucking disaster.

The next few days passed in a blur of routine and tension so thick it felt like it might snap at any moment. The estate was alive with activity, with staff rushing to accommodate the new guests while maintaining the meticulous standards Mrs. Chavez demanded. I threw myself into work, scrubbing floors, polishing silver, and reorganizing storage closets that didn’t even need it. Anything to keep my mind occupied and my interactions with Nicholas — and her — to a minimum. But it was impossible to avoid them entirely.

Every time I turned a corner, it felt like I ran into them. Her laughter echoed through the halls as she chatted with Mrs. Chavez, her heels clicking against the marble floors as she walked arm-in-arm with Nicholas to dinner or out to the garden for a stroll. She looked every bit the perfect fiancée, radiant and confident, and Nicholas played his role just as well. He smiled when she spoke, nodded when she made a joke, and rested his hand lightly on the small of her back as they walked. They were picture-perfect. But I couldn’t help noticing the cracks.

It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when she leaned into him. The slight hesitation in his voice when he agreed with her about something trivial. The way his laugh sounded hollow whenever she told him something that was supposed to be funny. The way he glanced at me when he thought no one was looking, his expression unreadable but heavy with something I couldn’t name.

And then there was her.

She wasn’t as perfect as she appeared. She had a habit of nitpicking the staff’s work, pointing out the smallest imperfections in a way that felt more like asserting dominance than genuine concern. She constantly asked for things she didn’t really need — a different brand of water, freshly ironed pillowcases in the middle of the day — and always with a saccharine smile that didn’t quite hide the edge in her voice. She didn’t like me. That much was clear.

She didn’t say it outright, of course. She was too polished for that. But the way she watched me, the subtle digs in her words, the way she lingered just a little too long in the places I was working — it all made her feelings obvious. Still, I tried to keep my head down and focus on my job. I reminded myself that I didn’t matter to her, but the tension between us only seemed to grow.

The next crack appeared one morning, just as the estate was waking up. I was helping Paolo prep for breakfast in the kitchen — slicing fresh fruit, arranging pastries on a silver platter, and listening to his usual banter about how Americans don’t understand the value of a properly cooked egg. The rhythmic routine was almost enough to settle the nerves that had been my constant companion since Nicholas’s return.

Almost.

The door swung open, and the kitchen’s hum fell into a brief lull as Nicholas strolled in, followed closely by Valerie. His white t-shirt clung to him in a way that shouldn’t have caught my attention, but it did, and I forced my gaze back to the counter in front of me, slicing the strawberries a little too quickly.

“Morning, Paolo,” Nicholas said, his voice casual but warm. “Do you mind if we eat breakfast in here? The dining room feels… too much today.”

“Of course,” Paolo replied with a grin, always eager to play host to the family’s golden son. “Have a seat. I’ll whip up something special for you both.”

Valerie slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, her glossy hair still wet from a shower and tucked behind her ears. She looked effortlessly stunning, even in something as simple as a very loose-fitting tank top and yoga pants. It was infuriating how perfect she seemed, even now.

Nicholas leaned against the counter, his dark eyes scanning the spread of fresh ingredients I had sliced and diced. As I continued slicing strawberries, I could see Nicholas’s eyes flick over to me from my periphery and before he even had the chance to open his mouth, I glanced over to Valerie, who was already watching me and him. I grabbed the cutting board and turned my back to them, setting it down on the counter next to the stove and continuing my task.

“Paolo, do you have any leftover champagne from the brunch?” Valerie asked. “I’m craving a mimosa.”

I froze, the knife in my hand pausing mid-slice as the words sank in. Huh?

Paolo’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter, though I caught the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes from the corner of my eyes. “Ah, let me check. But, uh…” He glanced at Nicholas, then at Valerie, a question hanging unspoken in the air. “Is that…okay?”

Nicholas frowned slightly, his head tilting in confusion before realization dawned on his face. “Oh,” he said, his tone cautious as he turned to her. “Babe, you’re not supposed to drink while pregnant.”

Valerie blinked, her lips parting as if caught off guard. She recovered quickly, her laugh light and breezy. “Oh, come on, Nic. It’s just one mimosa. The doctor said a little bit of alcohol is fine, especially this early.”

Nicholas didn’t look convinced, his brow furrowing as he leaned closer to her, whispering, “Early? I thought you were almost four months.”

She waved him off with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, the movement almost theatrical. “You worry too much. It’s fine. It’s not like I’m downing tequila shots or anything.”

I kept my head down, forcing my hands to keep moving as I finished slicing the strawberries. My heart pounded in my chest, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. Paolo’s silence stretched on a beat too long before he cleared his throat and gave her a polite nod.

“Let me grab a bottle,” he said, turning toward the pantry.

Nicholas straightened, his unease lingering in his expression as he looked at her again. “I’m just saying, maybe we should check with your doctor before—”

“Nic,” she interrupted, her voice firm but still sweet. “It’s fine. Trust me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to me briefly before he sighed and gave her a small nod. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile, her fingers brushing against his arm. “Thank you, baby. You’re the best.”

Paolo returned moments later with a chilled bottle of champagne, and I forced myself to focus on the fruit in front of me, pretending not to notice as he handed it over. Valerie poured herself a mimosa with practiced ease, the splash of champagne fizzing into the glass, and took a delicate sip.

Nicholas watched her, his brow still furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything else. He picked up a piece of toast from the platter Paolo had set out and leaned against the counter, biting into it absently.

Paolo’s eyes flicked to me, a subtle glance that told me he’d noticed it too. I gave the smallest shake of my head, silently telling him to let it go. It wasn’t our place to question her. Not yet, anyway.

“Alright, what do you want to eat, hmm?” Paolo asked Nicholas with forced cheerfulness, breaking the tension that had settled over the room.

Nicholas smiled faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he answered. But my focus remained on Valerie, who was now casually scrolling through her phone with her mimosa in hand, looking completely unbothered.

The moment passed, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as Paolo worked his magic in the kitchen. But the knot in my stomach didn’t loosen. It stayed there, a quiet, nagging reminder that something wasn’t quite right.

I tried to shake off the unease as the morning unfolded, immersing myself in mundane tasks to keep my mind from spinning in a hundred different directions. But it was no use. The scene in the kitchen kept replaying in my head, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

The thing was, her request for a mimosa wasn’t just off — it was brazen. Most women wouldn’t risk even the perception of drinking while pregnant, especially not in front of their fiancé and staff. Yet she had smiled, shrugged off Nicholas’s concerns, and taken that sip without a second thought.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, I found myself outside, sweeping the stone pathway leading to the garden. The rhythmic scrape of the broom against the ground was almost meditative, drowning out the world around me. Or at least, it was until Paolo appeared, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with something more subdued.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice low as he approached. “Got a minute?”

I paused, leaning the broom against the nearby wall. “What’s up?”

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one else was within earshot, before stepping closer. “About this morning,” he began, his tone careful. “Did that feel…off to you?”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the handle of the broom. “You mean the mimosa thing?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s not my business, but…it just didn’t sit right.”

I exhaled slowly, unsure of how much to say. “It didn’t sit right with me either,” I admitted. “Maybe she’s just careless,” I suggested weakly, though I didn’t believe it myself.

Paolo shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between us, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The distant sound of Nicholas’s laughter from the main house floated on the breeze, a stark contrast to the unease hanging in the air.

“Oh, my god,” I managed to speak through a fit of quiet  laughter, “I can’t believe you just said that, Nic.”

Nic and I were cuddling on the couch in the living room, laying down with our legs tangled together as we quietly watched a movie — Parasite — in our pajamas. He had his skinny arm wrapped around my waist, his hand carefully clutching my tummy so I wouldn’t fall off the edge.

It was well into the night, 2:38AM. His family was out for the weekend, my mom was too busy catching up on sleep to notice me sneaking out. He wasn’t supposed to be in the house, and neither was I; he had told his mom he’d be staying with a friend while they were gone, but he snuck us back into the estate, wanting to spend time with me.

The glow from the television flickered across the room, casting faint shadows over the walls as we lay there, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The world outside could’ve crumbled, and I wouldn’t have noticed — not with the warmth of his body pressed against mine, his laughter rumbling softly in my ear

His laughter rumbled in his chest, warm and quiet, as he tightened his hold on me. “I’m just saying,” Nic murmured, his breath warm against my neck, “if I ever find a hidden stash of money, you’re the first person I’m calling. We’ll disappear together and live like royalty in some obscure village in Europe.”

I tilted my head back to look at him, my laughter fading into a quiet smile. “That’s the worst idea ever, Nic. We’d get caught in, like, a week.”

He smirked, his dark brown eyes gleaming with mischief. “Not if you’re the one planning the escape. You’re way too good at being sneaky.”

“Me?” I scoffed, nudging his side with my elbow. “You’re the one who snuck back into your own house like a criminal.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “What can I say? I missed you.”

The weight of his words hung between us, heavy and meaningful. My heart skipped, the warmth of his body against mine suddenly feeling too intense. I tried to play it off, rolling my eyes as I adjusted the blanket draped over us. “You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he teased, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “Admit it, baby.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding at the way he said the word baby. It was a nickname he used sparingly, but every time he did, it felt like he was branding it into my skin.

“Maybe,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against my temple. “I knew it.”

I didn’t respond, instead focusing on the movie playing on the screen. We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came after hours of talking and laughing. The room felt like its own little world, separate from the chaos of reality, the weight of his looming departure momentarily forgotten. But the heat of his gaze on me was impossible to ignore. After a moment, I felt his hand tighten slightly on my waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of my shirt in a soothing motion.

“Maybe you could go with me,” he said after a while, his voice quieter now.

I froze, my stomach twisting at his words. I turned my head to look at him, my brows furrowing. “Nic—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted, his expression earnest. “You could leave here and come with me. You can transfer to UCLA or something.”

For a moment, I let myself imagine it — the two of us starting over in Los Angeles, far away from all the pressures and expectations that seemed to define his life here. A part of me knew better than to believe him, knew this was nothing more than a fleeting fantasy. But another part of me — the part that still clung to the idea of us, of him — couldn’t help but entertain the idea.

“Tell me what it would be like,” I said suddenly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Our life in L.A.,” I said, opening my eyes to meet his. “If I went with you. Tell me what it would be like.”

Nic’s eyes lit up, a boyish grin spreading across his face as if he’d been waiting for me to ask. He shifted on the couch, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look down at me, his fingers still tracing soft circles on my waist.

“Okay,” he began, his voice filled with excitement, “we’d get this tiny apartment in West Hollywood. Nothing fancy, just enough space for us and, like, one really ugly couch that we’d find at a thrift store.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’d get the couch, wouldn’t you?”

“Obviously,” he said, grinning. “It’d have the worst pattern — like neon flowers or something — but it’d be ours. And we’d make it work because we’d have a killer view of the city from our fire escape.”

“Oh, so we’re hanging out on the fire escape now?” I teased, arching an eyebrow.

“Hell yeah,” he said, his voice laced with a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “We’d sit out there at night with a bottle of cheap wine — you’d drink most of it because I’m not really into wine — and we’d watch the city lights until the sun came up. And every once in a while, I’d make you listen to me practice lines for auditions.”

I snorted. “I’d probably end up being better at your lines than you.”

“You probably would,” he admitted, smirking. “But then you’d have to promise not to steal my roles.”

“No promises,” I said, my smile softening as I looked up at him. “What else?”

“Well,” he continued, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, “you’d enroll at UCLA, and you’d absolutely crush it. You’d have this whole group of friends who’d think you were the coolest person ever. And I’d show up after my auditions and embarrass you by making dumb jokes in front of them.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. “Sounds terrible.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and leaned closer, his forehead resting against mine. “It wouldn’t be, though,” he said softly. “It’d be perfect. Just you and me, figuring it all out together.”

For a moment, I let myself believe him. I let myself imagine waking up in a tiny, sunlit apartment, tangled in sheets that smelled like him. I imagined late-night conversations on that ugly thrift store couch, walking hand-in-hand through streets I’d never been to, and stealing kisses on a fire escape with the city buzzing around us. It was a beautiful dream, one that made my chest ache with both longing and dread.

But dreams weren’t reality.

“We can worry about all of that later,” I said quietly, breaking the spell. “Right now it’s just you and me — right here.”

Nic studied me, his dark eyes flickering with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. His hand lingered against my cheek, his thumb brushing the curve of my jaw. The air between us was heavy, charged with unspoken feelings that neither of us dared to put into words.

“Right here,” he echoed softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Okay.”

I leaned into his touch, letting my eyes flutter shut as I memorized the way his skin felt against mine, the warmth of his body pressed so close to me.

Nic’s hand slid from my cheek, his arm wrapping securely around my waist once more as he pulled me closer. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was comforting, grounding in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. The movie played on, its plot forgotten as we soaked in the warmth of each other’s presence. Nic’s fingers absently traced patterns on my side, his touch light and soothing.

“I’ll just hide in your suitcase. No one will ever know,” I joked lightly, trying to ease the tension.

Nic let out a soft laugh, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “You’d probably get me arrested.”

“Worth it,” I teased, though my voice wavered slightly.

He tightened his hold on me, his smile fading as his expression turned serious once more. The tension between us was palpable, the moment stretching out like it was trying to make up for all the time we wouldn’t have later. I leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, trying to convey everything I couldn’t put into words. He responded immediately, his hand slipping into my hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling me impossibly closer.

I wanted to believe him, to let myself get swept away in the fantasy of us. But deep down, I knew better. He had a whole world waiting for him, a world that didn’t include late-night movie marathons and whispered promises on the couch. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to let go — not yet.

I pressed a soft kiss to his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart fill the silence between us. We both knew the truth — no matter how much we wanted to hold on to this moment, the future was already rushing toward us, unstoppable and inevitable.

But for now, we pretended it wasn’t. We pretended we had all the time in the world, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the living room, holding on to each other as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, as if the moment would never end.

“Should we keep an eye out?” Paolo asked quietly.

I blinked, the vivid memory dissolving as Paolo’s question pulled me back to the present. The garden’s hum of distant conversation and the clinking of glasses filtered into my awareness again. I turned to him, my fingers tightening around the broom handle.

“Keep an eye out for what?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

Paolo tilted his head toward the house, where Nicholas and Valerie had disappeared moments ago. “For her,” he said, his tone careful. “Something’s…off, don’t you think?”

I hesitated, the question hanging heavy between us. The mimosa incident replayed in my mind, along with the countless subtle digs and sharp smiles she’d thrown my way. But I wasn’t sure how to answer Paolo without revealing more than I should.

“I don’t think it’s our business,” I said finally, my voice firm even as my chest tightened. “Whatever’s going on between them, it’s… not for us to get involved.”

Paolo studied me, his sharp eyes narrowing as if he could see straight through the lie I’d just told. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he nodded slowly. “Maybe not,” he conceded, though the doubt lingered in his tone. “But if she keeps acting like she owns the place — and if she keeps treating you like that — I might have to accidentally spill some perfume in her mimosas.”

I let out a startled laugh, the sound louder than I intended. It felt good, even if it was fleeting. “Don’t you dare, Paolo,” I said, shaking my head. “Mrs. Chavez would fire both of us on the spot.”

Paolo shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Worth it.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his humor helped chip away at the tension that had been coiled in my chest all day. I tightened my grip on the broom and turned back to the path I’d been sweeping. “Let’s just get through this week without any dramatic incidents, okay?”

Paolo didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was softer. “You know, (Y/N), you’re too good at keeping quiet. But don’t forget, not everyone deserves that kind of grace.”

His words struck a chord I didn’t want to acknowledge, so I simply nodded, keeping my focus on the broom as I swept the pathway. Paolo lingered for a moment longer before heading back toward the kitchen, whistling a cheerful tune that didn’t quite match the lingering weight of our conversation.

As I worked, the sunlight began to fade, casting long shadows across the garden. The air grew cooler, the estate slowly returned to its usual quiet, the chaotic energy of the morning giving way to a calm that felt almost eerie in its contrast.

By the time I finished my tasks and made my way back inside, the house felt empty, save for the faint murmur of voices coming from the sitting room. I didn’t need to look to know who was there. The pull of his presence was unmistakable, and I felt it in the way my heart skipped, the way my steps faltered as I passed by the open doorway.

Nicholas’s voice carried out softly, low and warm as he spoke to his mother. Valerie was there too, her laughter light and airy, perfectly timed to whatever joke he’d just made.

I paused just out of sight, my fingers brushing against the doorframe as I lingered for a moment longer than I should have. The sound of Nicholas’s voice, rich and familiar, sent a pang through my chest, the warmth of it bringing back every memory I’d tried to bury.

“Nic, tell Valerie about the time you got locked out of the house and tried to climb through the kitchen window,” Mrs. Chavez said, her voice filled with amusement. “You were what — eighteen? And had the nerve to blame Paolo for not leaving it open.”

“Oh, come on,” Nicholas said, his tone light and teasing. “Paolo swore he’d leave it open for me. And in my defense, I made it halfway through before I got stuck.”

I could picture it so vividly — Nicholas’s sheepish grin, the warmth in his eyes as he spun the story for maximum comedic effect. It was a part of him I’d always loved, the way he could charm a room without even trying. And now, watching him slip so effortlessly back into his role as the golden son, I felt a sharp ache of longing for the way things used to be.

I forced myself to move, slipping past the doorway as quietly as I could and heading for the hallway to make my way to the half-bath and have a few moments for myself before having to clock out with my mom and go home.

I closed the bathroom door behind me, locking it softly before leaning back against the cold wood. My chest heaved as I fought to regulate my breathing, the weight of the day pressing against my ribcage like an iron vice.

I couldn’t help but think about what Nicholas had told me a few days ago during the homecoming brunch, his words echoing in my mind, as clear and haunting as the memory of his touch.

“It’s not as simple as you think.”

I didn’t know what he meant. Was it an excuse? A warning? A plea? I couldn’t tell. Nicholas had always been so good at telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, but this… this felt different. There was a heaviness in his voice that lingered, gnawing at me like a question I didn’t dare ask.

I closed my eyes, letting the faint hum of the air vent fill the silence as I replayed every word, every glance, every moment of the past few days. What wasn’t simple? His engagement? Her pregnancy? Or was it… us?

I hated that my mind even went there. Hated the way my stomach flipped at the unfounded idea that he might still feel something for me. Hated that despite everything — the years, the distance, the her — I still felt tethered to him in a way that defied logic and reason. It wasn’t fair for any of us.

I pressed my palms against the cool porcelain sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide and glassy. I looked like someone I didn’t recognize — someone who was still clinging to the past, hoping for something that could never be.

With a deep breath, I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto my face. The sharp chill jolted me out of my thoughts, grounding me in the present. I couldn’t afford to spiral, not now. Not when I still had to face him again. Not when I had to walk out of this house and pretend like I didn’t feel like I was falling apart from the inside out.

Gripping the edge of the sink, I let the water run for a moment longer, watching as it swirled down the drain. I wanted to believe it could take my feelings with it, flushing them away until there was nothing left but the professional, composed person I was supposed to be.

But the ache in my chest remained, stubborn and unrelenting.

I dried my face with a towel, smoothing down the front of my uniform as I straightened up. My reflection stared back at me, and for a moment, I almost believed the mask I was wearing. Almost.

As I unlocked the door and stepped back into the hallway, the faint murmur of voices from the sitting room reached my ears again. Nicholas’s laugh cut through the noise, warm and familiar, sending a shiver down my spine.

My mom, Paolo, and Maria approached me then.

“Ready to go?” My mom asked with a smile. I nodded my head. “Okay, let’s go say bye.”

“Sure,” I replied softly, forcing a small smile. The last thing I wanted was another moment in that sitting room, another chance for Nicholas to look at me with those unreadable dark eyes. But I nodded and followed my mom and the others down the hall, my steps heavy with reluctance.

The sitting room came into view, the golden glow of the chandelier illuminating the scene like a snapshot of perfection. Mrs. Chavez stood near the fireplace, her glass of wine held delicately in one hand as she laughed at something Nicholas had said. Valerie sat on the couch beside him, her hand resting on his knee, her expression poised and radiant.

I lingered in the doorway, letting my mom take the lead. She greeted Mrs. Chavez warmly, the two women exchanging pleasantries while Paolo and Maria offered polite smiles. I stayed a step behind them, hoping to blend into the background and avoid drawing any attention to myself, just as Valerie warned me to do all those days ago. But, of course, Nicholas’s gaze found me almost immediately.

It was as if he had some sort of radar that zeroed in on me the second I entered a room. His dark eyes softened when they landed on mine, the faintest flicker of something unspoken passing between us. I couldn’t place it — regret, longing, guilt? Maybe all of it.

I tried to look away, to focus on Mrs. Chavez’s effusive gratitude or the polite laughter of the staff. But his gaze pinned me in place, and for a moment, the room fell away. The warmth of the chandelier, the clinking of glasses, the sound of Valerie’s light laughter — they all faded, leaving only the two of us locked in a silent battle of wills.

I could see the questions in his eyes, could feel the weight of his unspoken words pressing against my chest. But I couldn’t give him anything. Not here. Not now.

“(Y/N),” Mrs. Chavez said, her voice breaking through the moment like a sharp blade. “Thank you so much for your hard work this week and being accommodating for Nicholas and Valerie their first week here. Truly, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

My lips stretched into a polite smile as I nodded. “It’s always a pleasure, Mrs. Chavez. I’m glad everything went smoothly.”

“It went better than smoothly,” Valerie chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. “You’ve been such a big help. We’re all so lucky to have you.”

Her words dripped with false sincerity, the subtle emphasis on help making my stomach churn. She smiled at me, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t quite name. Possession, maybe? Control?

“Thank you,” I managed, keeping my voice steady. “I’m glad I could assist.”

My mom gave Mrs. Chavez a final warm goodbye before turning to me, her smile gentle but tired. “Ready to head home, sweetheart?”

I nodded quickly, eager to escape the suffocating tension that seemed to follow me like a shadow. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Drive safely!” Mrs. Chavez called out, her tone cheerful as we turned to leave.

“Goodnight,” Nicholas said softly, his voice so low I doubted anyone else heard it. But I did. And it was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t. I followed my mom and the others out of the sitting room, keeping my head down and my pace brisk. But as we stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze still on me, like a ghost trailing behind.

The car ride home was quiet. My mom chatted lightly with Paolo and Maria, but I stayed silent, staring out the window as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes as I tried to banish the thoughts. But they wouldn’t go away. They clung to me, persistent and unrelenting, like the ghost of a dream I couldn’t let go.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate how easily he could unravel me with a single glance. But more than that, I wanted to hate myself for letting him. For still caring. For still hoping.

That night, long after my mom had gone to bed and the house was enveloped in an almost oppressive silence, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I wasn’t expecting anyone to call — least of all him. But when I saw Nicholas’s name on the screen, my stomach flipped. I hadn’t seen his name flash across my phone in over four years. He would call sporadically when he first moved to Los Angeles, but I never bothered to answer him, still hurt. But he persisted, checking up on me for over a year, but eventually those interactions petered out until they stopped completely.

My first instinct was to ignore it, to pretend I didn’t see it and let it go to voicemail. But my fingers betrayed me, and before I knew it, I was answering.

“What are you doing?” I asked without preamble, keeping my voice low as I climbed out of bed and walked over to my window to look out into the neighborhood.

“So you do answer the phone,” he said softly, the warmth of his voice disarming. It was the same tone he’d used years ago when he’d call late at night, just because he was bored or couldn’t sleep. “Did I wake you?”

I glanced at the clock. It was just past 2AM. “No,” I lied. “But you shouldn’t be calling me.”

“Why not?” he asked, a teasing lilt creeping into his tone.

“Because it’s two in the morning,” I replied, leaning against the window frame. I glanced out into the quiet street, the glow of the streetlights casting faint shadows on the pavement. “And because you shouldn’t be calling me, period.”

Nicholas chuckled softly, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “God, you haven’t changed at all. Always scolding me like I’m some kind of delinquent.”

“Maybe because you were a delinquent,” I shot back. “Sneaking out, pulling pranks, climbing into windows — need I go on?”

He laughed, a low, familiar sound that made my chest ache. “Okay, fair. But you were always the one to bail me out.”

“Someone had to,” I said, crossing my arms. “Why are you calling me, Nicholas?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice losing some of its playfulness. “I guess I just missed talking to you.”

The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken for so long that I wasn’t sure how to respond. Part of me wanted to hang up, to stop this before it became something I couldn’t handle. But the other part of me — the part that still remembered the way he used to make me laugh until my stomach hurt — couldn’t let go.

“You’re not allowed to miss me,” I said finally, my voice softer than I intended.

“Why not?” he asked, and there was an edge of vulnerability in his tone that made my chest tighten.

“Nic…” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish.

“Do you remember the time I snuck you into the neighborhood pool?” he asked, his voice lightening again, like he was trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

I laughed despite myself. “How could I forget? You almost got us arrested.”

“Almost,” he emphasized. “But we didn’t, thanks to my brilliant negotiation skills.”

“You mean your ability to look like a terrified boy who couldn’t possibly break the law?” I teased.

“Hey, whatever works,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “That was a good night.”

“It was,” I admitted, leaning against the window. “Even if you did almost get us caught.”

“See? You liked a little danger,” he said, his tone teasing again. “You just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I warned, though the smile on my face lingered.

We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came from years of knowing someone so well. For a moment, it felt like we were back in our old pattern, like the years and the distance hadn’t changed anything.

“I missed this too,” I said softly, almost to myself.

“I knew it,” he said, his voice quiet but triumphant. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

“Go to bed, Nic,” I said, but there was no heat in my words.

“Goodnight, baby,” he said, the nickname slipping out so effortlessly that it took me a second to register it.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat, and I could hear the uncertainty on the other side of the line. I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the phone as my mind scrambled for a response. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, drowning out everything else.

“Nicholas,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t… you can’t call me that anymore.”

There was a pause, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire. Then, his voice came through, soft and almost apologetic. “I’m sorry. It just slipped out.”

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, closing my eyes as the ache in my chest deepened. “Goodnight, Nicholas,” I whispered.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

I ended the call and stared at my phone for a long moment, the screen dark and lifeless in my hand. My reflection in the glass caught my eye, and I barely recognized the person staring back at me—eyes wide and glassy, lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of the past etched into every line of my face.

I turned away from the window and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets up around me like they could shield me from the storm raging inside. But sleep didn’t come easily. His voice lingered in my mind, the way he’d said my name, the way he’d called me baby like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. And no amount of late-night phone calls could undo that.

Eventually, exhaustion won out, and I drifted into a restless sleep, the echoes of his voice haunting my dreams.

The following week, I arrived at the Chavez estate early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. My stomach twisted with unease as I approached the staff entrance, the memory of Nicholas’s voice from our late-night phone call still fresh in my mind. I hadn’t seen him since that night, and I wasn’t sure what to expect when I did.

As I stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of coffee and fresh pastries greeted me, but the usual hum of morning activity was missing. The house felt quieter than usual, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

I moved through the hallways, heading toward the laundry room to drop off a stack of linens. As I passed by the library, faint voices reached my ears. I paused, instinctively slowing my steps as I recognized one of them.

Nicholas.

I couldn’t make out what he was saying at first, but his tone was low and tense. I edged closer, staying just out of sight behind the slightly ajar door. His voice grew clearer, and I caught snippets of the conversation.

“Why won’t you let me go with you?” Nicholas asked, frustration evident in his tone.

“I already told you, Nic,” Valerie replied, her voice sharp but hushed. “It’s not necessary. I can handle it on my own.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. “I’m the father of that baby. I should be there with you, especially for something as important as this.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” she said smoothly, but her tone carried an edge that made me stiffen. “You’d just be sitting around for hours, and I don’t want to waste your time.”

“It’s not a waste of time,” Nicholas shot back. “You’ve been brushing me off about these appointments for weeks now. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” she insisted, her voice taking on a defensive note. “You’re overthinking this, like you always do.”

I pressed myself closer to the wall, my heart pounding in my chest. I shouldn’t be listening to this. I knew that. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t force myself to walk away.

“This isn’t just about me, Valerie,” Nicholas continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. “It’s about our baby. Don’t you get that?”

“I do,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “But you have so much on your plate already, Nic. I don’t want to add to it.”

“Stop making excuses,” he said, his voice tinged with desperation. “Valerie, if there’s something you’re not telling me…”

There was a long pause, the silence stretching out like a taut string ready to snap. When Valerie finally spoke again, her voice was icy. “You’re being ridiculous,” she said. “There’s nothing to tell, and I don’t appreciate you accusing me of hiding something.”

“I’m not accusing you,” Nicholas said, his voice heavy with frustration. “I just want to understand why you won’t let me go with you. You’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” she snapped. “You’re just imagining things.”

The conversation ended abruptly as the sound of footsteps grew louder, and I realized too late that they were heading toward the door. I quickly ducked into a nearby hallway, pressing my back against the wall as I tried to calm my racing heart.

A moment later, the library door swung open, and Valerie strode out, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She didn’t notice me as she made her way down the hall, her posture stiff and unyielding. Nicholas followed a few seconds later, his expression grim as he ran a hand through his hair.

I held my breath, willing myself to stay hidden until they were both out of sight. Only when the house was quiet again did I step back into the hallway, my thoughts swirling with everything I’d just overheard.

Something was definitely wrong. And whatever it was, it wasn’t as simple as Valerie claimed.

I made my way over to the supply closet by the stairs, ready to start my day of work. A few hours later, as I moved between the kitchen and dining room setting up for lunch, I couldn’t help but notice how unusually quiet the house felt. It wasn’t just the lack of guests bustling around or the muted sounds of the staff — it was the absence of her.

Valerie had left for her doctor’s appointment shortly after the argument in the library, and the air felt lighter without her presence, though a sense of unease still lingered. Nicholas, on the other hand, seemed restless. I’d spotted him pacing the garden once or twice, his head bent as though deep in thought. Each time our paths crossed, he lingered a little too long, his dark eyes following me in a way that made it impossible to ignore him.

I ducked into the dining room, smoothing the tablecloth with careful precision and adjusting the silverware until it was perfectly aligned. But the sound of approaching footsteps made my stomach twist. I didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

“(Y/N).” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and I froze mid-motion, my hand gripping the edge of the table.

I took a breath before turning to face him. “Yes, Nicholas?” I said, keeping my tone polite and professional, though my pulse quickened at the sight of him standing in the doorway.

His brow furrowed at my use of formality, but he didn’t call me out on it. Instead, he stepped closer, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Can we talk?”

I glanced toward the kitchen, half-expecting someone — anyone — to walk in and save me. But the doorway remained empty. I sighed, resigning myself to the inevitable. “What is it?” I asked, straightening up.

Nicholas hesitated, as though debating how much to say. Finally, he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Something’s not right,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“What do you mean?” I asked cautiously, crossing my arms over my chest.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his face. “She’s been acting… different. Evasive. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy or something else, but she won’t let me go to any of the appointments. She won’t even show me pictures of any recent ultrasounds, and she changes the subject whenever I bring it up.”

I resisted the urge to point out the obvious — you’re asking the wrong person. Instead, I kept my expression neutral, though my mind was racing with everything I’d overheard earlier.

“Nicholas,” I began, keeping my voice steady, “maybe she’s just scared. Pregnancy can be complicated.”

“Don’t defend her,” he said sharply, his gaze snapping to mine. But then his face softened, guilt flickering in his dark eyes. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just — she’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

I looked away, unsure how to respond. His voice was heavy with an unspoken plea, and it pulled at something deep inside me. But I couldn’t get involved. Not like this.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I said, forcing my tone to remain calm. “You’re her fiancé. She should trust you enough to tell you whatever’s on her mind.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” he asked, stepping closer. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “What if she’s lying to me?”

The question hung in the air between us, charged with an intensity that made my chest tighten. I searched his face, looking for some indication of what he wanted from me. Reassurance? Advice? Or something else entirely?

“That’s something only she can answer,” I said finally, my voice quiet but firm. “You need to talk to her, not me.”

His jaw clenched, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I’ve tried. She shuts me out every time.”

I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. “Maybe you need to give her time. Or maybe… you need to ask yourself why she feels like she can’t be honest with you.”

Nicholas blinked, the weight of my suggestion seeming to land heavily on him. He looked down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he exhaled. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The vulnerability in his tone caught me off guard, and for a brief moment, I forgot about the walls I’d built between us. I reached out instinctively, my hand brushing against his arm. “You’ll figure it out, Nic,” I said softly, the nickname slipping out before I could stop it. “You always do.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name on my lips, his gaze locking onto mine. The tension between us crackled like static electricity, and I quickly withdrew my hand, stepping back as reality crashed over me.

“I should get back to work,” I said hurriedly, avoiding his gaze as I moved toward the door.

“(Y/N), wait—”

But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My heart was pounding too hard, and I knew that if I stayed, I’d only end up making things worse. For both of us.

As I disappeared into the kitchen, I caught one last glimpse of him standing alone in the dining room, his expression unreadable but heavy with something I didn’t dare try to name.

Later that evening, Mrs. Chavez made a surprising announcement as the staff began cleaning up after lunch.

“Everyone, I insist you all join us for dinner tonight,” she said, her warm smile lighting up the room. “You’ve worked so hard lately, more so than usual, and I’d love for you to enjoy a meal with us as thanks for everything you do.”

Paolo shot me a curious look from across the kitchen, while my mom exchanged hesitant glances with Maria. Staff dining with the family was an unusual request, but it was hard to say no to Mrs. Chavez’s gracious invitation.

“It would be an honor, Mrs. Chavez,” my mom finally said, speaking for all of us.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was a bundle of nerves. The dining room had been transformed into an elegant yet intimate setting, with candles flickering softly on the long table. The guests were fewer now — the younger Chavez children, Mrs. Chavez and her husband, Nicholas and Valerie, and us — but the air of formality remained.

I sat between Paolo and my mom, doing my best to stay inconspicuous as the Chavez family took their seats at the head of the table. Nicholas was directly across from me, with Valerie beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She looked radiant as always, her smile bright and practiced as she engaged in polite conversation with Mrs. Chavez. But I couldn’t shake the memory of Nicholas’s earlier confession.

Paolo must have sensed the tension because he leaned over, his voice low as he murmured, “Relax, (Y/N). It’s just dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I managed a weak smile, but the knot in my stomach refused to loosen.

Dinner began smoothly enough. Paolo, ever the entertainer, kept the conversation light with stories of his childhood in Sicily, drawing laughter from everyone at the table — even Valerie.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to sneak a goat into my grandmother’s kitchen?” he asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Mrs. Chavez chuckled. “A goat, Paolo? You must tell us the whole story.”

As Paolo launched into the tale, I stole a glance at Nicholas. He wasn’t laughing; instead, he seemed distracted, his gaze flicking toward me more often than was comfortable. I quickly looked away, focusing on cutting my steak into tiny, precise pieces. And every time I dared to look up, his dark eyes met mine, holding me captive for a fraction of a second before I forced myself to look away.

It wasn’t just the glances — it was the way he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as though he were restless. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he laughed at Paolo’s story. The way his attention drifted from Valerie every time she spoke, his responses automatic and distant.

Halfway through the meal, Valerie excused herself, a delicate hand resting on Nicholas’s shoulder as she whispered something to him before standing and walking out of the dining room.

I tried to focus on Paolo’s animated story, on the ripple of laughter that followed his exaggerated hand gestures, but something about her caught my attention. After a minute or two, I excused myself from the table, muttering something about going to the bathroom. Really, I made my way over to the kitchen.

That’s when I saw her.

Valerie was standing by the counter, a crystal wine glass in hand. Her back was to me, but I could see the stiff line of her shoulders, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she raised the glass to her lips and took a long, deliberate sip.

I froze in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat. Drinking? Again?

The sound of the glass clinking against the counter jolted me back to reality. She set it down carefully, wiping her lips with a practiced swipe of her thumb before straightening her posture and turning toward the door.

I darted back into the hallway, pressing myself against the wall as she exited the kitchen and headed back to the dining room, her steps measured and composed as if nothing had happened.

My heart pounded as I replayed the scene over and over in my head. There was no mistaking what I’d just seen. She wasn’t pretending to take a sip for appearances. She was drinking — and she was doing it when she thought no one was watching.

When I finally returned to the dining room, the conversation had shifted to lighter topics. Guests were chatting over glasses of wine, their laughter filling the space with a warm hum. I slipped back into my seat beside Paolo, but my mind was racing.

As soon as the plates were cleared and the guests began drifting toward the lounge for coffee, I saw my chance to slip away, stealing a half-empty bottle of wine on the way out. My chest felt tight, my thoughts spiraling as I made my way outside, the cool night air biting against my skin.

I needed space. I needed to think.

The pool house loomed ahead, its dark silhouette offering a semblance of privacy. I ducked behind it, leaning against the rough stone wall as I pulled out the bottle I’d hidden under my jacket earlier.

The wine was lukewarm now, and the first sip burned, sharp and bitter against my tongue. I wasn’t a red wine type of person, and I didn’t really drink, but right now I didn’t care. I tipped the bottle back for another, the warmth spreading through my chest, numbing the edges of the storm swirling in my mind.

The memory of Valerie in the kitchen, the glass of wine in her hand — what the hell was she thinking? Pregnant and drinking. The audacity, the recklessness, the… everything. She was lying. But why?

I took a long sip, the burn spreading through my chest and grounding me, if only for a moment. I closed my eyes, letting the cool night air lick at my skin, trying to drown out the thousand questions buzzing in my head. But instead of clarity, a different memory crept in — one I hadn’t let myself think about in years.

“Come on, just one drink,” Nicholas had said, holding up the bottle like it was a prize he’d won. He had pulled it out from under his bed. He was embarrassed he still had to sneak alcohol into his room, even though he was just a few months shy of turning 21. “You’re in college now. It’s about time.”

“You sound like a bad after-school special,” I’d replied, sitting cross-legged on his bed, my arms folded stubbornly. 

He laughed, low and smooth, the sound curling in my stomach like smoke. “Relax, baby. It’s one drink. Not like I’m handing you a syringe.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your favorite asshole,” he shot back, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Come on. Live a little.”

The bottle in his hand was cheap — barely legal for him to buy, no doubt — but his grin was intoxicating, and God, I was too weak when it came to him.

“Fine,” I relented, snatching the bottle from him. “But if I throw up, it’s your fault.”

He plopped down beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he handed me a mismatched mug — clearly stolen from the kitchen downstairs. “Here, princess. First taste of freedom.”

I rolled my eyes again, but the nickname sent a jolt through me that I tried to ignore. I twisted open the bottle cap as I carefully poured a splash into the mug. “Is that enough?” I quietly asked, tipping the cup toward Nicholas so he could decide.

Nic squinted at the mug, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s adorable. You really think that little sip is going to do anything?” He leaned over, his bare shoulder from the sleeveless shirt he was wearing pressing into mine as he grabbed the bottle and poured a more generous amount. “There. Now it’s a real drink.”

I glared at him, the scent of the alcohol already making my stomach twist. “If this tastes like shit, I’m blaming you.”

“You can blame me all you want, baby,” he said with a grin, leaning back and raising his own glass. “Cheers.”

I hesitated, staring at the mug like it might explode in my hands. Nic nudged me gently, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “Come on. Don’t make me drink alone.”

Rolling my eyes, I lifted the mug and took a small sip. The taste hit me like a punch to the throat — bitter, sharp, and completely unpleasant. I coughed, my face scrunching up in disgust as Nic burst out laughing beside me.

“Oh, my God,” he said between chuckles, his hand slapping his thigh. “Your face! Priceless.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “This is disgusting. How do you even drink this?”

“Practice,” he said with a shrug, tipping his own glass back and taking a long sip. He didn’t even flinch. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Not sure I want to,” I muttered, setting the mug down on the floor beside me. “Seriously, why do people drink this? It’s awful.”

Nic grinned, leaning back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked so relaxed, so effortlessly cool, and it pissed me off just a little. “Because,” he said, swirling the liquid in his glass like he was some kind of expert, “it’s not about the taste. It’s about what comes after.”

“And what’s that? Regret?”

He laughed again, the sound warm and familiar, making my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “No, baby. It’s about the buzz. The way everything feels lighter, easier. Like nothing can touch you.”

I eyed him skeptically but couldn’t ignore the way his words tugged at something deep inside me. “Sounds like an excuse to make bad decisions.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his gaze sliding to mine, dark and playful. “But bad decisions can be fun, you know.”

With a sigh, I picked up the mug and took another sip, bracing myself for the burn. This time, it wasn’t as bad. Still awful, but not the immediate assault on my taste buds I’d been expecting. I set the mug down again, shaking my head. Nic smirked, his gaze lingering on me in a way that made my cheeks warm.

The night blurred after that. One sip turned into another, then another, until the bottle was half-empty and I was leaning against Nic’s shoulder, giggling at something that wasn’t even funny. Everything felt fuzzy, warm, like the edges of the world had softened.

“You’re so bad at this,” Nic said, his arm draped casually around my shoulders. His voice was low and teasing, but there was something else there, something softer. “Lightweight.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, poking his side. “I’m not bad. You’re just… good at being an alcoholic.”

He laughed, the sound vibrating through me as he pulled me closer. “I’m not an alcoholic. I’m an enthusiast.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, but I couldn’t stop smiling. My head was spinning, and my cheeks hurt from laughing so much, but I didn’t care. This was fun. Being with him like this, it was always fun.

Nic shifted beside me, his fingers brushing against my shoulder as he turned to look at me. His expression had changed, his usual smirk replaced by something more serious. “You’re really fucking cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”

I stared at him, my pulse quickening as his words sank in. The room was warm, and the alcohol had done its job, leaving me feeling weightless and a little reckless. “Stop,” I muttered, though my voice lacked any real conviction.

“I’m not kidding,” Nic said, his hand moving to my knee, his fingers brushing against my bare skin. His touch sent a jolt through me, and I hated how much I wanted him to keep going. “You’re always cute, but like this? Goddamn.”

“Nic,” I started, but he was already leaning in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was hungry. My heart raced as I kissed him back, the taste of whiskey still lingering on both our lips.

The kiss deepened, turning messy and heated as his hand slid up my thigh, pulling me closer. I let out a quiet moan, my fingers threading through his stringy hair as I shifted, straddling his lap. The feel of him beneath me, hard and wanting, sent a rush of heat through my body.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby,” he murmured against my lips, his hands gripping my hips. “I’ve been thinking about this all fucking week.”

“You’re drunk,” I teased, though my own words were slurred, my head spinning from the whiskey and the way he was looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

“Doesn’t mean I’m lying,” he shot back, his voice low and rough. His hands slid under my shirt, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my waist as he pushed the fabric higher. “Take this off.”

I obeyed without thinking, pulling the shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor. His eyes darkened as they roamed over me, his hands moving to cup my bare breasts. “Fuck,” he muttered, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending a shiver down my spine. 

“Nic,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as his mouth moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin before he kissed his way down to my chest.

“You wanna know what I’ve been thinking about?” he asked, his voice muffled against my skin. His hands moved to the waistband of my shorts, tugging them down along with my underwear in one swift motion. “This.” He shifted, laying back against the pillows and pulling me with him. “Come here,” he said, his hands guiding me until I was hovering over his face. My heart pounded, the mix of nerves and anticipation making my head spin.

“Nic, what are you—” I started, but his hands gripped my hips firmly, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Let me have you like this.”

The way he looked at me, the hunger and heat in his gaze, made it impossible to argue. My breath caught as his hands guided me down, my thighs trembling as they settled on either side of his face.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his fingers digging into my hips as he pulled me closer. And then his mouth was on me, hot and demanding, and the world tilted on its axis.

I gasped, my fingers curling into his hair for balance as his tongue moved against me with an intensity that made my head spin. The sensation was overwhelming, his stubble scratching against my thighs as he held me in place, his grip possessive and unrelenting.

“Nic,” I whimpered, my voice breaking as his tongue found a rhythm that had me arching against him, my body trembling under his touch. The alcohol in my system made everything feel heightened, every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue sending sparks of heat racing through me.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled but no less desperate. “You always do.”

His hands slid up to my waist, holding me steady as I began to rock against him, my movements uncoordinated and fueled by pure instinct. The feeling was almost too much, the pressure building low in my stomach with every stroke of his tongue. I leaned forward, bracing myself on the headboard as I chased the release that was just out of reach.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice low and thick. “Use me. Take what you need.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, the heat pooling between my legs growing unbearable. I moved faster, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as the pleasure built to a fever pitch.

“Nic, I—” My voice broke, my body trembling as the tension snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over me so intensely it left me shaking. He didn’t stop, his mouth and hands guiding me through every aftershock until I was too sensitive to move.

When I finally sat limp over him, he guided me down, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against my thighs as I tried to catch my breath. “You’re fucking amazing,” he muttered, his voice low and raspy as he pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, my face buried in his chest as the aftershocks rippled through me. My heart was racing, my skin flushed and damp, but he just chuckled, his hands tracing lazy circles along my spine.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender. He tilted my chin up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “You’re perfect.”

I fell beside him, my body still trembling, he looked at me with a smug grin, his mouth and nose glistening. “That good enough for you?” he teased, his voice rough, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Shut up,” I muttered, my cheeks burning, but I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

Nic chuckled, leaning over to kiss me, his mouth hot and insistent, and I could taste myself on his lips. His hands roamed my body, reigniting the fire that had barely subsided as he pressed me back against the pillows.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

I shivered, my pulse quickening as I looked up at him, his hair messy, his chest heaving, and his dark eyes fixed on me like I was the only thing that mattered. The tension crackled between us, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and alcohol and the undeniable pull of desire.

“Then show me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but he heard me.

And he did.

Nic didn’t hesitate, his lips crashing into mine as he hovered over me, his body pressing me into the mattress. His hands roamed my skin, rough and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of me. He bit my lower lip gently before kissing down my neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. My heart pounded in my chest, the mixture of lust and whiskey making everything more intense, more raw.

“You drive me fucking insane, you know that?” he muttered, his voice muffled against my skin. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I gasped, arching into him.

“Nic—” His name slipped out in a breathless moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders as his hand slid between us, teasing, testing. I was already slick and ready for him, and the groan that rumbled from his chest made my stomach clench.

“You’re so wet,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and need.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent response as he pushed his fingers inside me, his movements slow and deliberate. My hips bucked against his hand, desperate for more, and he obliged, curling his fingers just right. I gasped, my back arching as he leaned down to capture my lips in a messy, heated kiss.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against my lips, his voice low and commanding. His dark eyes bored into mine, filled with lust and something deeper that I couldn’t name.

“You,” I said, my voice trembling but certain.

His smirk was equal parts cocky and devastatingly sexy. “Then take me,” he said, pulling back just enough to shed the last of his clothes. His body was all sharp lines and hard muscle, and the way he looked at me — like I was the only thing he needed — made my breath hitch.

He settled back against the pillows, his hands on my thighs as he pulled me on top of him. “Ride me, baby,” he said, his voice rough and full of heat. “I wanna watch you.” Before I could respond, he kissed me, slow and deep, his hands sliding down to cup my ass as he pulled me against him. I could feel him, hard and ready beneath me.

My cheeks burned, but the alcohol buzzing through my veins gave me the confidence to do as he said. I sank down onto him slowly, both of us moaning as he filled me completely. The stretch was perfect, the burn grounding me as I adjusted to the feeling of him inside me.

“Goddamn, (Y/N),” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips tightly. “You feel so fucking good, baby. Every time. You feel like heaven.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. My hands braced against his chest as I moved, slow at first, then faster, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through me with every roll of my hips. His hands roamed my body, his fingers digging into my skin as he guided my movements, his eyes never leaving mine.

The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve ending on fire as I rolled my hips, drawing moans from both of us. Nic’s head fell back against the pillows, his eyes dark and hooded as he watched me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his hands sliding up my sides to cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. “I could watch you like this all night.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I leaned forward, my hands braced on his chest as I quickened my pace. The angle made him hit deeper, and I cried out, my nails digging into his skin.

“God, Nic—” I couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t do anything but lose myself in him, in the way he felt, the way he looked at me like I was his entire world.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice tight as his hands gripped my hips, meeting my movements with his own. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, and I knew I was close. “I—Nic, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice firm but full of heat. “Come on, baby. Let go.”

His words pushed me over the edge, my body tensing as pleasure crashed over me in waves. I cried out his name, my nails raking down his chest as I came undone. He followed moments later, his grip on me tightening as he thrust up into me one last time, his groan low and guttural.

For a moment, neither of us moved, our bodies tangled and slick with sweat, our breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. Then Nic pulled me down to lie against his chest, his arms wrapping around me as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“Bad decision, huh?” He asked with a lazy grin.

I let out a breathless laugh, my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “The worst.”

“Good,” Nic tilted my chin up with his fingers, his dark eyes locking onto mine, still soft with lingering warmth and satiation, “I like being your worst decision.”

The sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel snapped me out of my thoughts. My heart leapt into my throat, and I pressed myself closer to the wall, willing whoever it was to pass by without noticing me. But then I heard his voice.

“(Y/N)?”

I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Of course, it was him.

The footsteps grew louder until Nicholas appeared around the corner, his tall frame backlit by the faint glow of the pool lights. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice low but not unkind.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the neck of the wine bottle I still held. “Just thinking,” I said quietly, my voice steadier than I expected. “What are you doing out here?”

Nic stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the bottle in my hand before meeting my eyes again. “Looking for you,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “You left dinner pretty fast.”

“Not much of a coffee person,” I said, forcing a wry smile. My heart was racing, and I hated how easily he could unsettle me just by standing there.

He took another step closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I replied, my defenses snapping into place. I turned away from him, leaning against the wall and taking another sip from the bottle. The wine was still terrible, but it gave me something to focus on that wasn’t him.

Nic took a step closer, closing the distance between us until he was standing right in front of me. “Something happened at dinner. Talk to me,” he said softly, his hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. His touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver through me all the same.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his touch lingered like a brand on my skin. “Nothing happened,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I turned my face away, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Bullshit,” Nic said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He stepped closer, his body just inches from mine. “I know you, baby. You don’t just disappear like that for no reason.”

The nickname cut through me like a knife, and I hated how it made my heart clench despite everything. “I told you not to call me that,” I muttered, my voice trembling slightly as I pushed away from the wall. I couldn’t stay still, couldn’t let him corner me like this.

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he exhaled sharply. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I just—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair as he looked away, his frustration evident.

“You just what?” I asked, my voice rising slightly. The wine was making me bold, and I hated how much I wanted an answer. “Why did you come out here, Nic? Why do you keep cornering me? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, his voice rough with emotion. He took a step back, his hands raking through his hair again as he paced. “Fuck, (Y/N), I don’t know. I just… I saw you leave, and I couldn’t stay in there knowing you were out here alone.”

I stared at him, his words settling heavily between us. He stopped pacing, turning to face me again, his dark eyes filled with something I couldn’t name.

“I miss you,” he said finally, his voice soft but filled with a raw honesty that made my chest ache. “I know I shouldn’t say it, but I do. And seeing you again, seeing you like this… it’s fucking killing me.”

My breath caught, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The weight of his words, the way he was looking at me — it was too much, and not enough all at once. He was jeopardizing his life over something he didn’t know… that’s killing me.

I gripped the bottle tighter, using it to anchor myself as his words settled like a storm in my chest. My pulse raced, my thoughts a chaotic tangle of anger, longing, and the memories I’d been trying so hard to suppress.

“You’re fucking killing me, too,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, and I hated the way my voice cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me? Seeing you, hearing you say things like that, when you—” My voice broke, and I shook my head, swallowing hard. “You don’t get to miss me, Nic. You don’t get to do this.”

His expression shifted, the vulnerability giving way to something darker, sharper. “Why not?” he asked, stepping closer, his voice low and intense. “Why the fuck not? You think I wanted this? To be here with all this shit between us?”

“You chose this!” I snapped, my voice rising. “You chose this, Nic. You chose her, you chose your life, your future, and now you want to act like you didn’t? Like it wasn’t a choice?”

He flinched like I’d slapped him, but he didn’t back down. “I didn’t choose her,” he said, shaking his head. “I—“ his voice cracked. “I wanted to break up with her; I didn’t like being with her. Next thing I know, she’s pregnant, and I didn’t want to be someone who ran away like a coward, so…” he trailed off.

“…so you stayed,” I finished for him, my voice trembling with anger and something deeper, something raw and aching. “You stayed because it was the right thing to do. And that’s great, Nic. That’s really noble of you. But don’t come here, looking at me like this, saying things like that, and act like I’m the one who doesn’t get it.”

He stared at me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know how fucked up this is?” he said, his voice low and rough. “You think I don’t hate myself for this? For hurting you? For—”

“Stop,” I interrupted, my voice sharp. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

His mouth snapped shut, his chest heaving as he stared at me. The silence between us was thick and suffocating, filled with all the things we weren’t saying.

I turned away, pacing a few steps to put some distance between us. The cool night air bit at my skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat coursing through me, the anger and the longing and the sheer exhaustion of feeling everything all at once.

“You don’t get to come back into my life and act like you still have a place here,” I said, my back to him. “You don’t get to miss me. You don’t get to look at me like you—”

“Like I what?” he cut in, his voice rising as he stepped closer. “Like I still love you?”

I froze, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. My breath caught, my pulse pounding in my ears as I turned to face him. “You don’t mean that,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t mean that.”

His dark eyes burned into mine, raw and unguarded in a way I hadn’t seen in years. “I mean every fucking word,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve tried to stop. God, (Y/N), I’ve tried. But I can’t. I love you, and it’s fucking killing me because I know I don’t deserve you. I know I  fucked everything up back then. But I can’t—” His voice broke, and he looked away, his hands raking through his hair. “I can’t stop.”

The air between us felt heavy, charged with the weight of everything he’d just said. I wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to tell him how unfair it was for him to say these things when I’d spent years trying to move on, trying to forget the way he made me feel.

But more than that, I wanted to kiss him. To pull him close and let myself drown in the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel like the center of his universe even when I knew I shouldn’t be.

“You’re such an asshole,” I said finally, my voice shaking.

He let out a breathless laugh, his gaze snapping back to mine. “Yeah,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, humorless smile. “I am. But I’m your asshole.”

I hated him for that. For the way he could still make me want him, even now, even when everything was so fucked up.

“You don’t get to say that,” I said, my voice trembling as I took a step closer, my chest heaving with the weight of everything I was feeling. “You don’t get to—”

But before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his hands cupping my face as his lips crashed into mine.

It was messy and desperate and everything I’d been trying to resist since the moment I saw him again. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer as my own hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re killing me,” I whispered against his lips, my voice breaking as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

“I know,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “But I can’t stop. I can’t stay away from you.”

I didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly his hands were on my waist, lifting me onto the edge of the low stone wall behind us. My legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, pulling him closer as his mouth trailed down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Nic,” I gasped, my fingers threading through his hair as he pressed kisses along my collarbone, his hands gripping my thighs tightly.

“I need you,” he said, his voice low and raw as he looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with a desperation that mirrored my own. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

“I—” The words caught in my throat, my breath shallow and ragged as I stared down at him. His face was inches from mine, his lips parted, his dark eyes filled with raw vulnerability that cut through every ounce of resistance I’d tried to muster. “I want you,” I whispered, the confession tumbling out before I could stop it.

The second the words left my mouth, his lips were on mine, hot and demanding, like he was trying to claim every unspoken feeling we’d ever shared. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I gasped, my fingers fisting in his hair as his mouth moved to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his breath hot against my collarbone as his hands slid under my shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but let myself get lost in him. My head tilted back, giving him access to my neck as his lips trailed down.

“This is so fucked up,” I breathed, my voice trembling as his mouth found the curve of my shoulder.

My hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel him, to erase the space between us. He shrugged it off, and my breath hitched at the sight of him, all sharp lines and smooth skin, his muscles flexing as he reached for me.

I hadn’t seen him like this since he was 20. His body was leaner back then, but now he was all hard lines and tension, every golden muscle defined with bulging veins. My hands moved instinctively, tracing the contours of his chest, the smooth expanse of his skin sending a rush of heat through me. He was huge, in every sense of the word. The sight of him now, so much older, broader, and undeniably magnetic, made my head spin. 25 looked amazing on him.

His hands were on my hips again, pulling me toward him as he kissed me with a raw, desperate hunger that made my knees weak. Every touch, every sound, every breath between us felt charged, like the culmination of years of tension finally snapping.

“I can’t believe I ever let you go,” Nicholas muttered against my lips, his voice low and rough.

He stilled for a moment, his eyes darting between both of mine as if he was convincing himself that this was really happening. He then crouched down to collect his shirt from the floor and wrapped his hands around my thighs, lifting me effortlessly and making his way to the door of the pool house.

The cool night air rushed over me as Nicholas carried me, his grip firm but careful, his shirt draped haphazardly over one of my legs. My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hear anything else. The faint sound of crickets in the distance mingled with the muffled hum of the estate behind us, but all I could focus on was him — the heat of his skin, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers pressed into my thighs.

When he reached the door of the pool house, he nudged it open with his shoulder, stepping inside and kicking it shut behind him. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the space. The scent of chlorine lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the heady musk of sweat and desire.

Nicholas set me down on the edge of the couch, his hands lingering on my hips as he knelt between my legs, his dark eyes meeting mine with a heat that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he said, his voice low and rough, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my thighs. “How many times I’ve wished I could take it all back. Every mistake. Every second I wasted away from you.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening at the raw emotion in his voice. “Nic,” I started, but he cut me off with a kiss, his lips crashing into mine with a desperation that left me breathless.

“Don’t,” he murmured against my lips, his hands sliding up to cup my face. “Don’t say anything. Just let me—let me have this.”

I couldn’t argue, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but let him consume me. His hands roamed my body, rough and urgent, as though he was trying to memorize every inch of me. My own hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin and sending a jolt of electricity straight through me.

His hands slipped under my shirt, tugging it upward until I lifted my arms, letting him pull it over my head and toss it to the floor. His gaze raked over me, his breath hitching as his hands moved to the clasp of my bra. “God, you’re so perfect,” he said, his fingers trembling slightly as he unhooked it and slid the straps down my arms.

I gasped as the cool air hit my skin, followed by the heat of his mouth as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the curve of my breast. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as he kissed his way down, his tongue flicking over my nipple and drawing a quiet moan from my lips.

“Nic,” I whimpered, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he worked his way lower, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Nicholas’s hands gripped my hips firmly as his mouth continued its path downward, his lips and tongue leaving no inch of skin untouched. The heat between us was unbearable, a storm we could no longer hold back, and the weight of every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every moment of longing, exploded in this moment.

His fingers worked at the waistband of my shorts, his eyes locking onto mine as he tugged them down, taking my underwear with them. His eyes widened, almost as if he couldn’t believe the way I looked now. He hadn’t seen me like this since I was 18; I was 23 now. The years that had passed between us felt both like a lifetime and an instant as Nicholas’s gaze lingered on me.

His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with the intensity of the moment. “Fuck, (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, his hands trembling slightly as they slid up my thighs. “You’re even more beautiful now, baby.”

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling as his words washed over me. The way he looked at me — like he couldn’t believe I was real, like he couldn’t believe I was here — sent a rush of heat through me that had nothing to do with the alcohol still buzzing in my veins.

“You keep saying that,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“And I’ll say it again,” he murmured, leaning in to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to my inner thigh. “Every chance I get.”

His hands slid higher, gripping my hips as his lips moved closer, the heat of his breath sending shivers up my spine. I reached down, tangling my fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. His dark eyes met mine, the raw hunger there making my stomach clench, his lips quirking into a smirk that was both cocky and devastatingly sexy.

And then his mouth was on me.

The first stroke of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through me so intense it made my toes curl. My head fell back against the cushions, a gasp escaping my lips as he worked me with a precision that left me breathless. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place as his tongue teased and tasted, his stubble scratching against my skin in a way that only added to the fire coursing through me.

“Fuck, Nic,” I whimpered, my hands fisting in his hair as my hips bucked against his mouth.

His grip on my thighs tightened, pinning me firmly against the couch as he buried his face between my legs, his tongue moving with an urgency that made my entire body tremble. “Stay still,” he growled, his voice muffled but commanding. “Let me take care of you.”

The sound of his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I tried to obey, though every nerve in my body screamed for more. His tongue flicked over me in deliberate, agonizing strokes, his lips closing around the most sensitive part of me and sucking just hard enough to make my hips jerk.

“God, Nic, please,” I gasped, my voice high and breathless. I shook my head, curling my fingers around his short hair, “No. I need you inside me, Nic.”

Nicholas stilled for a moment, his dark eyes lifting to meet mine as his lips curled into a smirk, his chin and mouth glistening from his work. My chest was heaving, my body trembling under the weight of his gaze and the fire he’d already ignited within me.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through me as he pressed one last kiss to my thigh before sitting back on his heels. “Anything for you, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with heat.

Nicholas stood, his body towering over me as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free in one swift motion. The clink of the metal and the soft rustle of fabric as he shucked off his slacks and boxers sent another rush of heat through me. My breath caught at the sight of him, every inch of him perfect, from the hard lines of his abs to the thighs the size of tree trunks to the sheer size of him, thick and ready.

“Goddamn, Nic,” I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away. He was beautiful, all sharp angles and raw power, and the way he looked at me, like he was about to devour me, made my pulse race.

“Eyes up here, baby,” he said, his tone laced with amusement as he stepped closer, gripping my thighs and pulling me to the edge of the couch.

My cheeks burned, but I met his gaze, the intensity in his dark eyes making it impossible to look away. He leaned down, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss as he positioned himself at my entrance. The heat of him against me sent a shiver down my spine, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. My hands cupped his face as I pulled him in for another kiss.

With one smooth thrust, he pushed inside me, filling me completely. I cried out, my head falling back as he stilled, giving me a moment to adjust. The stretch was perfect, just as it was all those years ago.

“Fuck, you’re better than heaven, baby,” he groaned, his forehead resting against mine as his hands gripped my hips. “Even better than I remember.”

I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as I tried to catch my breath. “Fuck me,” I demanded, my voice shaky but firm. “Please, Nic. I need you to fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hips pulled back before thrusting forward again, setting a rhythm that was slow and deliberate at first, every movement calculated to drive me insane. But as the tension between us built, his pace quickened, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, until the sound of our bodies colliding echoed through the room.

“(Y/N),” he growled, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I was sure there would be bruises. “I was made for you, baby. Nobody else. Just you.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, the raw intensity in his voice carving through every thought, every inhibition I had left. “Just me,” I whispered, my nails raking down his back as I clung to him, my body arching to meet each of his thrusts. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back as I let myself drown in him — the way he filled me, the way he consumed me, the way he owned me.

“Say it,” Nicholas demanded, his lips brushing against my ear as he buried himself inside me again, deeper this time, the stretch and fullness stealing the air from my lungs. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped, the confession tumbling from my lips before I could stop it. The truth of it, the undeniable gravity of what he meant to me, hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me raw and exposed. “Always yours.”

“Shit,” he growled, his movements growing erratic as he pulled me impossibly closer, his hands gripping my thighs like he was afraid I’d disappear. “You don’t know what you do to me, baby. You’re in my fucking blood.”

I gasped, my voice trembling as he shifted, lifting one of my legs over his shoulder to hit even deeper. The angle made me cry out, my nails raking down his back as he pounded into me with a desperation that matched my own. “Oh, my God, right there—fuck, don’t stop!”

“Not a chance, baby,” he growled, his voice rough and full of promise. His dark eyes locked onto mine, his gaze so intense it made my head spin. “You’re mine, (Y/N). Always have been. Always fucking will be.”

My head fell back, a moan ripping from my throat as he hit a spot inside me that sent stars exploding behind my eyes. The tension in my stomach coiled tighter, every nerve ending on fire as he drove me closer and closer to the edge. 

“I’m so close,” I whimpered, my voice breaking as I clawed at his shoulders, desperate for release. “Nic, I—”

“Let go,” he urged, his voice low and commanding, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Come for me, baby. I wanna feel you.”

The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered, sent me spiraling. The tension snapped, pleasure crashing over me in waves so intense I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but scream his name. My body trembled, every muscle tightening as the orgasm ripped through me, leaving me raw and undone.

“Jesus Christ,” Nicholas groaned, his grip on me tightening as my walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper. He thrust into me once, twice more, before his own release hit, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside me, filling me completely until it dripped and pooled around us.

The room fell silent except for the sound of our ragged breathing and the hum of the pool filter just outside, the heat of our bodies mingling as we clung to each other in the aftermath. Nicholas didn’t move, his arms wrapped tightly around me as though letting go wasn’t an option. My heart was pounding, each beat echoing in my ears as the weight of what just happened started to settle over me.

He pressed his forehead against mine, his breath still uneven as he whispered, “Fuck, (Y/N)… You wreck me.”

I let out a shaky laugh, my fingers tracing the muscles in his back, slick with sweat. “I think we just wrecked each other.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, vibrating through his chest. “I missed this,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “I missed you.”

My chest tightened at the raw honesty in his words, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The truth was, I’d missed him too — every part of him, every look, every touch. But I wasn’t sure how to say that without unraveling completely.

Instead, I let my fingers trail up to his face, cupping his jaw as I tilted his head so I could meet his gaze. His dark brown eyes searched mine, the intensity there enough to make my pulse quicken all over again. “This can’t happen again,” I whispered, though even as the words left my mouth, I knew they weren’t true.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. But then he leaned down, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss so tender it made my heart ache. “We both know that’s a lie,” he murmured against my lips, his hands sliding up my sides to cradle me against him. “Because the second I get another chance, I’m taking it.”

“Nic—” I started, but he silenced me with another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier, reigniting the fire between us.

“Let me stay here with you,” he murmured, his lips moving against mine as his hands explored my body again. “Just for tonight. No bullshit. No reality. Just us.”

His sincerity made my heart clench, but that obviously couldn’t happen. I cupped my hand in his face and kissed the apple of his cheek, “As much as I want to, you know I can’t. My mom is back in there drinking coffee with your mom and your fiancée. They’ll all know something’s going on.”

Nicholas let out a frustrated sigh, his forehead falling to rest against mine. His breath was warm, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my back as though he was trying to memorize me in the short time we had left.

“I know,” he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. “I hate that I can’t just keep you here. That I can’t—” He broke off, his hands tightening on my waist.

I smiled weakly, brushing my thumb across his cheek. “I don’t like it either.”

He leaned into my touch for a fleeting moment before stepping back, his hands trailing down my sides as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. The loss of his warmth made my chest ache, but I forced myself to focus on the bigger picture. On the consequences.

Nicholas raked a hand through his messy hair, his fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. “This isn’t over,” he said finally, his voice firm despite the heaviness in the room. “You and me, baby. We’re not over.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I nodded. “I know.”

His lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile, and for a moment, we just stood there, the air between us charged with everything we couldn’t say. Finally, Nicholas reached for his discarded shirt, pulling it on with a kind of resignation that made my chest tighten all over again.

“I’ll go out first,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “You wait a few minutes, then head back.”

I nodded, watching as he buttoned his shirt and slipped into his briefs and slacks with steady hands, though his dark eyes kept flicking back to me like he couldn’t quite look away. When he was finished, he paused, his fingers lingering on the zipper as he took a deep breath.

“(Y/N),” he said, his voice soft but insistent.

I looked up at him, my heart pounding as his gaze locked onto mine.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer and cupping my face in his hands. “This isn’t the end. I don’t care how fucked up everything is right now — I’ll figure it out. I’ll fix it. Just… don’t give up on me. On us.”

I blinked, the weight of his words settling heavily in my chest. “Nic…”

“Promise me,” he urged, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “Promise me you won’t give up.”

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, my voice barely a whisper. “I promise.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost enough to break me, but before I could dwell on it, he leaned down, pressing one last kiss to my lips. It was slow and lingering, filled with a desperation that made my heart ache.

When he pulled away, his dark eyes lingered on mine for a beat longer before he turned and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, glancing back at me one last time.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, his voice low and full of promise.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him and leaving me alone with the echoes of his words and the weight of what we’d just done.

The silence of the pool house pressed down on me like a heavy blanket, the faint hum of the pool filter outside the only sound breaking through the quiet. My legs felt weak, my body trembling as I stood there, staring at the door he’d just walked through.

The faint scent of him lingered in the room — woodsy cologne mixed with sweat and desire — and it wrapped around me, pulling me back into the moment we’d just shared. I shook my head, trying to clear it, to push the memory to the back of my mind.

I pulled on my discarded clothes with shaking hands, the fabric sticking to my damp skin. Each movement felt heavier, slower, like my body was resisting the return to reality. My fingers fumbled with the zipper of my uniform, and I let out a frustrated sigh, finally managing to pull it up.

I closed my eyes, my head falling into my hands as a wave of guilt and longing washed over me. I shouldn’t have promised him anything. I shouldn’t have let him kiss me, touch me, pull me back into his orbit. But God help me, I didn’t know how to resist him. I never had.

The sound of laughter drifted in from the main house, sharp and distant, a reminder of the world waiting for me beyond the walls of the pool house. I needed to pull myself together, to put on a brave face and pretend like nothing had happened.

Rising to my feet, I adjusted my clothes, smoothing down my dress and running my fingers through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix the damage. My reflection in the glass of the pool house door caught my eye, and I froze, staring at the woman looking back at me.

She looked like a stranger — her cheeks flushed, her eyes too bright, her lips swollen from kisses that shouldn’t have happened. A part of me hated her for being so weak, so reckless. But another part, a quieter, more dangerous part, understood her too well. She was me. And no matter how much I wanted to deny it, I wasn’t done with Nicholas Chavez. Not yet.

I sighed, forcing my gaze away from the reflection and toward the glowing lights of the main house in the distance. Each step back felt heavier than the last, the weight of my choices pressing down on me like a lead blanket.

When I reached the patio, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses grew louder, the warm glow of the house spilling out into the cool night. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle of the French door, my heart pounding in my chest. I can do this.

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself before pushing the door open. The hum of conversation greeted me, a stark contrast to the silence of the pool house. I slipped inside, my head down, hoping to blend into the crowd unnoticed.

“(Y/N)!” My mother’s voice rang out, bright and cheery. “There you are, sweetie. We were just about to send Paolo to look for you.”

I plastered on a smile, forcing my voice to sound steady as I replied, “Just needed some air. Ready to go home?”

My mom tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she scanned my face. “You’ve been outside all this time? You’re flushed, honey.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, brushing a stray hair out of my face. “It’s just the wine. And maybe the fireplace — it’s blazing in here.”

She didn’t look convinced, but before she could press the issue, Paolo chimed in. “We’re all ready when you are, cara mia.” His warm smile felt like a lifeline, grounding me in the present. “Maria’s already gathering her things.”

“Perfect,” I said, returning his smile, though it felt thin, strained. I turned toward the lounge, catching sight of Maria chatting animatedly with one of the other guests. She glanced up as I approached, her eyes brightening.

“Are we leaving?” Maria asked, her expression shifting into a polite but eager readiness. “I think I’ve charmed enough people for one evening.”

I laughed lightly, nodding. “Let’s head out before they ask for your secrets.”

As we moved toward the door, I felt Nicholas’s gaze on me before I saw him. He was standing near his fiancée as she spoke to another guest, his arms carefully clasped behind him as if he didn’t want to touch her, as if I spoiled him from ever wanting to touch her again, even to keep up appearances.

His dark eyes tracked my every movement, a storm brewing beneath the surface that only I could see. My chest tightened, and I forced myself to look away, focusing on the cool night air beckoning just beyond the door.

“Let me get the car,” Paolo said, his hand brushing lightly against my arm. His tone was warm and reassuring, grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

Maria and my mom moved ahead, chatting softly as they walked out onto the driveway. I lingered just inside the door, caught in the magnetic pull of Nicholas’s gaze.

I glanced back, my resolve weakening as our eyes locked again. He wasn’t trying to hide it anymore — the longing, the frustration, the unspoken words that hung heavy between us. It was written all over his face, plain as day. His fiancée turned slightly, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something the older man beside her said. Nicholas didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as glance at her.

All of him was focused on me.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as I turned and followed my mom and Maria outside. The night air hit me like a slap, cool and sharp against my flushed skin. I could hear the low rumble of Paolo’s car engine as it pulled up to the curb.

“Come on, sweetheart,” my mom called, her voice cutting through the haze of emotions clouding my mind. 

I forced a smile, slipping into the backseat beside her. Maria climbed into the passenger seat, her laughter carrying over as Paolo started the car. I leaned my head back against the seat, staring out the window as the estate grew smaller and smaller behind us.

But no matter how far we drove, I couldn’t shake the weight of Nicholas’s gaze, the echo of his voice, or the promise lingering in the air between us.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 3

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N.: You are all too kind. This is probably one of the few parts that will be made from Vik's POV. Here is the plan. Part 4 will have some interaction / Part 5: house cleaning / Part 6: onwards and upwards. Should I tag this as a slowburn?

Part 1 • Part 2

• ··········· • ············ •

Viktor didn’t believe in luck. 

If he had done so, all his accomplishments could have been derived from it. So he didn’t believe in it much. Sure, maybe finding some coins on the floor was luck, but not much more than that.

Everything he did and does is to make sure nothing is left to luck—every number on the blackboard, every calculation on his blueprints.

But now, standing in the middle of the destroyed council room, Viktor felt lucky. Extremely lucky.

Some workers were trying to clean the room as best as they could, but the full reconstruction wasn’t going to be quick. He tried to stay out of their way as he walked towards where he sat when the rocket hit.

He stood silently observing the broken remnants of the chair he sat on that night. What remained of it couldn’t even keep the smallest of fires alight. 

His tired gaze turned to where he had landed after the stranger had tackled him. 

A mountain of rubble was strewn about everywhere at his feet, but it was somehow less destroyed when compared to the rest of the room. The stone councilors' chairs were mostly destroyed, but the one Mel sat on seemed to have mostly remained intact. The table was split into several heavy pieces, but the one near them had somehow suffered less, only having cracks where it seemingly separated from the rest of the table.

Viktor stood next to the crack, his cane in front of him. And he swayed left and right.

“Lucky” Sway to the left: “Unlucky”

He stayed like this for a couple of seconds, the motion almost making him think better until he saw something shining as a cleaner swept the dust near his feet.

“Stop.” He ordered suddenly and looked at the small amount of dust the other man had cleaned.

With his cane, he searched the dust until a golden chain shimmered in the light. He dragged the cane and pulled the chain with it.

“This yours, sir?” The cleaner asked, and Viktor took a second to reply. “No, but it could be Councillor Medarda’s. Would you be so kind as to pick it up for me, please?”

The other man nodded and bent down. As he pulled the broken chain, a small locket slid from it. The cleaner huffed at having to bend down again, but he did so, giving Viktor the locket.

“Thank you, sir.” The scientist nodded absently, his mind already focused on another thing. 

He leaned his back against the table, letting the cane rest next to his leg. If his calculations were correct, which they were, he was standing next to where both he and the stranger fell. 

“Is this yours?” He asked no one, turning the small piece of jewelry in hand. 

It was a simple, small, and delicate thing. Engraved on both covers was a mirrored R, with some flourished lines around it and a rose in the middle of the letter. It had a small lip on the side where he could open it. Ever the curious person, Viktor opened the locket. A picture of a woman was inside.

He frowned. It was a faded, sepia-toned photo of a smiling woman. A familiar-looking smiling woman. 

He closed the locket as quickly as he could and went to his lab. He yanked the door open and stuck his head inside, making Jayce’s head snap to him. By the expression on the tanner man’s face, he immediately regretted it. 

“Aaahh… by the gods, Viktor… my neck…” “I told you to keep wearing the brace...Jayce. You've chosen to ignore me.” He paused a moment until Jayce looked at him expectantly. “Right. Do you know if Caitlyn has already spoken with the stranger?”

“Why?” Jayce’s eyes became slits as he tried to understand his friend's line of questioning.

“No matter. Just wanted to know their name.”

“Why?” Jayce fully turned on the wheelie bench.

“Because. Academic curiosity. They should be running out of the building targeted by the rocket...not running in...” 

Jayce sighed, knowing full well that man was going to go around all of Piltover trying to find that person. He rested his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand.

“I haven't talked to Caitlyn since…” he cleared his throat. “But! Mel told me the enforcers had cuffed them to a bed and shipped them off to the hospital.”

Viktor nodded, content with the information. He moved to leave, but his head bobbed back inside the lab.

“Skyward?” He asked, and Jayce’s snort was enough of an answer. ..

He got out of the taxi trolley and looked at the bright white building displeased. He just needed to confirm where the stranger was to then set his plan in motion.

He limped towards the receptionist and cleared his throat. 

“I would like to know any information about the person that was accompanied here by the enforcers from the attack.” He tried to sound professional and solemn. “I’m not allowed to divulge information on patients, let alone on patients that are under the enforcers' care.” The blonde woman looked up at him lazily. “Anything else?” “Eh... Yes... no... well...” Viktor looked around. No enforcers in sight. “I have something that might belong to them.” “Leave it here or give it to an enforcer. I’m sure someone will find them for you and give them back their…thing.”  “I was hoping you could help me find them. You see, I am a...friend." He lied like it was second nature, but when she looked back at him, he knew she didn’t buy it. “Sure you are. If you excuse me, people are waiting in line.” She looked around him and motioned her hand to call an old lady from behind him, shutting down any path to a conversation.

Her loss, Viktor thought; he was about to offer her money for the info.

“Thank you for your help.” He tried to bite back the snark, but he felt it drip like oil, tinging his words black.

He turned around, limping and grumbling towards the exit.

“Hey, Hextech man, wait.” Viktor turned towards the call, to find a nurse jogging towards him from the reception. He had noticed her leaning into the desk as he had arrived but ignored her. Nurses were normal in the hospital.  “Yes?”  “They’ve already been taken to the headquarters.” She whispered and shrugged when his eyebrows raised. “I heard you asking Lilah about the ‘patient with the enforcers’ and since we don’t usually get many of those, I knew who you were talking about.” “How long ago was it?” He asked, and she shrugged again. “About 5, 10 minutes ago.”  He straightened up as best as he could and nodded, turning on his heels and walking quickly to the door. He still heard her say something about ‘being good with the accent.’.

-- 

He turned the locket in his hand as he sat in the comfiest armchair in all of Piltover while looking down at a rousing Piltover. 

This was his favorite part of the lavish penthouse. He was never a jealous person when it came to material things; he always learned to get by with next to nothing, and he prided himself on that. But this living room? This would forever make him green with envy.

It was spacious, wide, tall, and bright. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached the high ceiling. It was filled with books, music records, pictures, awards, and some clutter that made the space feel lived in. The higher shelves had books that could only be reached by a little golden ladder that swiveled left and right.

In a corner stood a dusty black grand piano. It was closed and mostly used as a table with more books and knick-knacks on top. And next to it, encased in the bookshelf, a three-tier record player.

In the middle of the room was a couch, with wooden frames and green stuffing, with a yellow blanket neatly folded in the corner and two pillows. Beside it, facing each other, are two loveseats of similar color and design.

A long white wood coffee table was perfectly placed in the center of the seats right in front of what Viktor loved the most in this room.

The floor-to-ceiling windows, protruding out from the square room, ended in a dome glass ceiling. A mix of a conservatory and a closed veranda. It filled the whole room with the morning sun. 

The floor near it was lined with greenery, in an assortment of pots. Everything from wall-hugging plants that were slowly making their way up and small pots of smaller succulents. In the middle of the veranda, two armchairs of a night sky blue color and a small but tall round table sat, facing the big windows.

Viktor currently sat on one of those chairs and was making an effort not to melt into them. Between the comfortableness of the cushions, the smell of books, and the sun hitting his face, he could be convinced he was in heaven.

“Viktor?” A bright older voice came from behind him, startling him enough to jump out of the chair and drop his cane. A chuckle came out of the woman behind him. “It’s just little, old me, dear.”

The scientist blushed, grabbed the cane from the floor with difficulty, and stood once more.

The woman was tall, standing proud with her salt-and-pepper hair neatly tucked into an updo, a few strands coming out of it for aesthetics rather than messiness. The kind smile on her face was genuine, and her warm eyes stared at him expectantly. She had a neat stack of paper under her arm, and, Viktor noted, her hands were smudged with black ink.

On her neck, a gold locket sat shining. An almost exact copy of the one in his pocket, but the one on the older woman’s neck was engraved with the correct R. 

“I am terribly sorry to disturb you this early, but I have something you should see.” He grabbed the locket and showed it to her. The small piece of jewelry rested delicately on his pale hand.

She inspected it with her eyes at first and then grabbed it. Much like he had done previously, she turned it in her long fingers, opening it and letting out a gasp.

“Where do you find this?” She inquired, not taking her eyes off the locket. “At the Academy.” He told her, only half lying. “Who was wearing it? Do you know?” “Eh…not personally.” He swung his head side to side, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve only seen a glimpse of them.” “Do you know where I can find them? The owner of the locket?”

His face brightened, the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“The Enforcers HQ.” He said proudly. “Very well, we must go there. Immediately.”

The woman placed the stack of papers on the coffee table and moved quickly, preparing for their departure with swiftness.

“Come now, Viktor. We must hurry.”

…

Both Caitlyn's eyes shifted to the door behind you. She blinked and stood back, straightening her shoulder and getting out of your personal space.

“I am interrogating a suspect. And, with all due respect, I do not appreciate being interrupted, even by you, ma’am.”

You twisted your neck to look behind you. A tall woman stood just outside the door, the dim light of the corridor concealing most of her form, until she moved inside and you gasped.

The last time you had seen that face was in a hospital bed when you were ten. Hollowed cheekbone, sunken eyes, and a peaceful smile on her face. “Take care of your father, dear.” Were the last words she had said to you.

Before your vision got so blurry from tears you could see her face, you mumbled.

“Mother?”

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @angelsukiipls @casey8522 @moons-lighttrail @buttermilktea11 @aysluxe @fae-doodle

[the-scandalorian]

Pairing: Din Djarin x female sex worker!reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 3.1k Content Warnings: touch-starved Din; reader is blindfolded; smut Summary: Mando makes regular visits to the healing baths. Note: A big thank you to @frannyzooey for always enabling my depravity and finding the dope ass images for my header ❤︎

He always waits for you inside the door.

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, when you’re surprised by the unexpected touch the first time. A light hand cups your elbow, guiding you to the middle of the room, until you can feel the smooth tiles that mark the edge of the sunken pool with your bare toes.

The marble is slick with condensation, heated by the same geothermal source that warms the spring water. The air is steamy and humid, braided with the rich scents of cardamom and argan oil, of rose from the petals you know are strewn across the surface of the bath. Candles flicker languidly in the shadowy corners of the room, but you can’t detect any of their light.

When you lower yourself to the floor—carefully, blindly—he checks the tightness of the black silk wrapped around your eyes with gentle fingers. He reassures himself it’s secure, that you can’t see a thing through the fabric in the dark, hazy room. A reassurance he needs every time.

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

It takes dozens of visits before he lets you join him in the bath. You always offer; he always refuses—politely, always so politely: a no, thank you, eventually paired with a fleeting touch. A warm hand placed over yours. Two fingers stroked down the red silk of your dress. If you’re lucky, a squeeze to the thick of your thigh or a graze of your cheek. His denial is so soft, so warm—so regretful—that you ask every time just to hear him want it.

When he inevitably says no, you sit behind him on a velvet cushion on the edge of the pool instead, swathed in the inky blackness of your blindfold, your feet dangling in the warm water, and work scented oils into his skin and tension out of his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. Your existence is reduced to tactile information, your world narrowed to the sensations in your hands—the textures at the tips of your fingers. The taut muscles of his shoulders, the raised scars that litter his arms and chest, the hair dusted over his pectorals, the callouses on his palms. All slick with water, slippery with massage oil.

The helmet stays on for the first handful of visits. You know by the modulated sound of his voice, by the brush of beskar against your wrist when you work a knuckle into the base of his stiff neck. It disappears somewhere around the tenth visit. When he meets you at the door, your name sounds markedly different. You don’t mention it, don’t draw attention to it, but you do enjoy the unfiltered, raw quality of his voice from then on.

The noises he makes when you touch him are always better than you remember. Their tone and cadence mark a gradual progression from high strung and uneasy to mellow and sedate as the tension coiled in his muscles dissipates under your hands. The harsh exhales devolve into low groans, quiet grunts. Sounds of pleasure waited too long to be had, of physical release so desperately needed. Every once in a while, when you work out a particularly stubborn knot, he murmurs a hushed, rumbling oh, fuck.

Once, when you earn a delicious moan paired with a strained, needy fuck, just like that, he bites off the last word so harshly that you know it was involuntary.

It turns you on more than the touch of any client ever has.

Even with the blindfold, you can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. Its weight is familiar from the start, when you meet him at the entrance to the baths, the echoing stone entry hall with its gilded fixtures and branches of guttering candles. A balled fist rested on the counter, he nods at you in all his armored glory, a cordial gesture that seems to gain gravity and intimacy each time he offers it. The black visor follows your walk down the long hallway to your rooms, dips to your hips when he thinks you’re not looking. Heavy, substantial. Pressure that could be measured, harsh enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

It stays on you until you shut the door between you, leaving you in the antechamber to tie on your blindfold and him in the main room to undress.  

When you knock and enter, you can still track his gaze despite the layers of black silk—the feeling of it like a searing brand. Settled on your face when you smile up at him. Dragged over the curves of your breasts when you shamelessly tip forward to trail fingers through the water and they just barely begin to spill over the low cut of your dress. Trained on the movement of your tongue when you part your lips and lick a slow, gratuitous line over the bottom one. Riveted to the dark space between your legs when you spread your knees unnecessarily wide and the fabric of your thin, short dress rides up your thighs.

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

Then one day he shows up, and you can tell something is off. His usual steady, controlled energy has been replaced with a pent-up buzz. He’s worked up. You can hear it in his clipped words, feel it in the extra touches. The hand on your lower back guides you to the pool almost hurriedly.

His shoulders are even tighter than usual when you get your hands on them, his back a series of stony knots. He groans when you work at the tension in his neck, your thumbs digging into the tautness at the base of his skull. And when you offer yourself this time, feeling optimistic that you’ll get your most reluctant no yet, a strong hand guides you slowly and wordlessly down the smooth stone steps to join him in the water.

Reflexively, you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind you before the hem can catch in the water. You lose his touch in the process, but a path of goosebumps down your body echoes the course of his gaze as it pulls along your curves. You can feel his attention, his captivation at your nakedness in the fervent tension that snaps taut between you.

His invitation is so unexpected, though, that once you’re standing in the hot, waist-deep water, you’re stunned motionless. Disoriented. You don’t know where he is for a moment; you feel his hot gaze everywhere, all at once. You never actually thought you’d get this far with him, and now it feels daunting—the darkness of blindfold, the ever-changing line of his limits and preferences. You feel untethered.

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

“Beautiful,” he says, damp fingers following the curve of your cheek so lightly you can only just feel them.

You take his hand in both of yours and kiss his palm, soft lips brushing over rough skin. He catches you under your chin, and one fingertip traces your lips, his other hand settling on your waist, flexing. 

You don’t want to push him too fast, and you also want to take full advantage of this opportunity while you finally have it.

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

You let your tongue peek out to circle the pad of one finger, inviting. To your delight, he responds by carefully pushing two fingers into your mouth. When you close your lips around them and suck, he lets out a broken, pained sound, pressing down on your tongue lightly before he eases them back out and drags a wet line down your chin to settle his hand around your throat. 

You smile up at him, unseeing, as you trail fingers down his chest, the soft give of his stomach, dipping below the water as you reach the ridge of his hipbone. Moving slowly, always slowly, so he can stop you if he wants to.

Sure enough, his hand finds yours, trapping it against his skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to," you interrupt. "I want to touch you.”

It’s an understatement. There isn’t enough time to share all the myriad ways you’ve fantasized about touching him.

“I’ve thought about this since the first time I saw you walk in here in your armor,” you say, letting your voice pitch low. “What you’d feel like under all that metal.”

His hand disappears, and yours slips further down the v of his hips to wrap around the base of his cock. Hard, thick, big like you knew it would be. 

“I think about it every time I work my way down your chest. How easy it would be to slip my hands lower...to see if you enjoy having my hands on your body as much as I do.” 

He breathes out slowly, but his whole body is rigid as you drag your other hand over his shoulder, down his chest, a granite statue under your touch even as you start to work him over in long, luxurious strokes. 

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

His cock twitches in your hand, his skin hot and slick as it pulls over his hard length. He isn’t relaxing into your touch like he usually does, and this white-knuckled, shallow-breath, penitent version of pleasure is not at all what you’d intended for him, what he deserves.

You tip your face up toward his. “I need you to relax for me. Can you do that?”

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

You step closer, gingerly moving into his space. He lets you. The water shifts around you as you move into him, close enough that your breasts brush his warm body and you can place a soft kiss on his chest. His ribs expand in a rapid, deep inhale, a rough hitching breath, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck.

You press him backward with a palm to his sternum, and he resists reflexively, his feet planted firmly. A man not so easily moved. Who is used to doing the telling, not being told.

“Sit for me?”

He relents with a hum, going pliant for you as you back him up to sit on the submerged marble bench. He helps you climb up, strong hands guiding your movements, settling you onto your knees in a straddle over his lap.

You dip your head to find the crook of his neck and lavish open-mouthed kisses on his throat, below his ear, automatically respecting the limits of where his helmet would be, as you move your hand between your bodies. You’ve never touched above his neck and won’t change that now, even though you’re dying to trace the contours of his face, to fit your lips to his.

Perched over him, you can feel his body gradually relax under your attention, his posture softening, his breath dropping into a more natural cadence. His hands find your hips, your thighs, slide back to grip your ass, as you begin to increase the pace of your stroke.

“Have you, Mando? Have you thought about this?”

You feel him nod once against the side of your head. Jerky, frantic.

“Good,” you purr into his skin, letting your teeth drag over his collarbone.

He groans, his hips lifting off the bench to push himself into your grip harder. The heat that always simmers in your core when you’re around him grows and spreads. It’s overwhelming—so much of his bare skin on your bare skin, after so long with so little. Almost feverish as you move together in the hot water.

Your hand pauses mid-stroke; his hands tighten in protest, sliding you a tiny bit closer on his tense thighs. “Do you think about me?”

His ragged breathing stalls. He nods again. “All the time.”

You hum, pleased, and resume the tight pull of your fist. Your own arousal is approaching a blistering point, so hot and bright, and he’s barely touching you—one hand on your ass, the other dragged up your body to palm your breast, his strong thighs pressed to the inside of yours. He rolls your nipple between two fingers, and you gasp. 

“Feel so good,” he rasps, the heavy weight of his hands reverent as they catalog the slopes and rises of your body. “Just like I imagined.”

You can’t help but think about how easily you could sit on his cock right now. All it would take is a slight shift and tilt of your hips and you could catch the blunt head at your entrance. He’d stretch you so deliciously—that girth and length—but your wetness would let you work yourself down onto his lap until he was filling you completely. You’d fuck an orgasm out of him, riding him until he found his release in the tight clutch of your body, milking his cock until he shuddered from the oversensitivity.

One day. Maybe.

He’s close—you can tell by the strain in his voice, by his ragged breath, by the way his hands tighten on your ass. By the way he wraps one large hand around yours on his cock, tightening your grip. 

“Just like that.”

You’d give anything to see his face when you feel the urgent flex of his hips as he fucks into your joined hands, the jerk and shudder of his large frame as it curves over you, his forehead dropping to rest heavily on your shoulder as he moans brokenly through the pleasure. It’s the most intimate part of all of this—so human, so trusting. So tempting to reach up and touch his face, to put detail to what you’ve imagined so many times.

You regret that your hand is submerged in water, that you can’t feel his hot release slide over the dips and swells of your knuckles. That you won't be able to lick it off your fingers—to taste it, for your own pleasure and for his. To listen to the sounds he’d make as he watched you eat his come.

Instead, when it’s over, when he’s finished, the weight of his forehead lifts from your shoulder and his touch abandons your body. You resist the urge to search it out, to ask for it back.

You imagine how he looks unwound underneath you, his head tipped back against the edge of the pool, muscles slack. His body finally truly relaxed.

Your part is done. 

He’s never spent this long here, and you imagine he’s hyperaware of that. Always on a timeline. Some small part of you thought maybe—hoped—this time would be different, that maybe he’d linger, that maybe he’d want to touch you. You slide backward off his lap to take your leave reluctantly, but when you reach blindly for the edge of the pool, there’s the sound of quick movement through the water and he closes a hand around your wrist.

Relief courses through your veins.

He doesn’t say anything, just guides you. You can’t tell what his aim is until he arranges your body over his just so—just the way he wants you. He has you straddle his lap backwards this time, your back flush to his chest, your knees opened wide by the spread of his legs between yours.

You think about what he does for work, the command and skill it requires. Those capable hands and sure grip have wrestled so many bounties into submission—into handcuffs, into rope bindings, into his carbonite chamber—and here they are exerting their power and ability for the sake of your pleasure. Blunt instrument, suddenly fine.

His breath is hot by your ear, his heavy hand settling meaningfully on your inner thigh. “Can I—?”

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

You guide his hand between your legs, desperate, and his mouth finds the back of your neck. His mouth. Stubble scrapes across your skin, soft lips molding to the contour of your shoulder. The heat that’s been building in your body, that started as a low smolder in your core, has been growing to a rolling boil the whole time you were touching him. And his mouth on your body? Like striking a match to gasoline.

The reality of the situation, the surprise of this touch, ratchets your arousal to a precipitous height. It’s the sheer brazenness of it—the unflinching way he’s taking such a huge step. In the name of your pleasure, of his desire to taste you.

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

A warm tongue blazes a lazy trail from the notch of your vertebra to your nape as two fingers slip into the slit of your sex, beginning a slow massage of your clit. Your mind goes blank.

It’s almost embarrassing how easily he makes you come, how little time it takes with his hand between your legs and his lips on your skin. He fucks you with two thick fingers, another swirling over your clit, and you wonder vaguely how he knows how to curl the two inside you just right against your g-spot.

You reach behind you to grip the back of his neck as you arch, your hips circling. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you go molten at the thought that he’s watching himself finger-fuck you to climax.

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

It's said through clenched teeth, a gritted jaw. He’s deriving so much pleasure from your pleasure, it's dizzying.

Teeth close over your shoulder and he bites down as you begin shudder and shake, as you clench and spasm around the thrust of his fingers—as you listen to his voice break on a groan as he feels it and draws it out—until the pleasure wanes and you melt back against him, boneless and sated, his strong body an anchor underneath you in the water.

You pant together, your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, and all you can think about is how fucking close his lips are to yours. You could turn your face and kiss his jaw. He could angle your head and push his tongue into your mouth so easily. You’re so pliant; you want it so badly.

You consider asking. And then you consider the fact that he’s likely thinking about the same thing—your closeness is palpable, the tension a live, shivering thing—and he isn’t doing anything about it. He isn’t fitting a hand to your cheek to maneuver you just so.

You won’t ask for something he isn’t ready to offer.

When he finally does let you go, this visit that was so different from the others ends the same. He guides you back to the exit and hands you the robe that hangs by the door. As he helps you shoulder it on, he murmurs a sincere thank you, accompanied by a rumble of your name.

There’s one notable difference: as you're walking through the doorway, he catches your hand and squeezes it fleetingly before letting it drop.

The door shuts behind you with a click.

As always, a stack of credits far too high will be left in the room for you, and just like every other time, you’ll wait impatiently for his return. 

[trying-harder-then-u]

Philip wasn't used to all the stares he was getting from his workers; for god's sake, he was the CEO, and they should be paying respect to him, but instead all the builders to whom he paid the salary just stared in confusion and pity at the tall man in his suit guiding the investors around the construction site.

His black suit, thin build, and clean-shaven appearance drew a harsh contrast to the men that watched. The bored faces of the investors showed that they were just as interested in this as he was, so it was a respite when he managed to excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

Stumbling along, dirt and dust caking his boots, he finally ran into the manager of the property, a bulky man with a short fuse. "Where is the bathroom?" he inquired, only greeted by a judging glance as he stared down. "It's employee only; the public bathroom is a block away." Philip was shocked by the never-ending argument, but he made a mental note to find some recourse for the attitude. He picked his way through the clogged city blocks, finally coming to the public bathrooms.

As he walked into the graffiti-covered stall, he felt his disgust build as he saw a strange liquid covering not just the floor but the bathrooms and walls as well. and judging from the smell, he could tell where this liquid came from. Knowing that he didn't have time to waste, he quickly rolled up toilet paper and wiped down the seat of the toilet. After a few seconds, he went to chuck it when he stepped into a large puddle of cum, glaring at the gunk stuck on his heel. Using the wall to support him as he tried to scrape it off, he only managed to get it on his clothes before finally feeling more drip from the roof on top of his bald head.

Now thoroughly disgusted, he went to leave but found he couldn't; he seemed to be...

rooted to the spot? Phillip's whole body began to shiver as his eyes moved rapidly in his sockets. The shivering began to localize on his legs as a cracking sound filled the air. Did the door seem to grow bigger and bigger, or was he getting smaller? He remembered from the view that his height had gone from 6 feet 3 to 5 feet 6. His mind kept screaming as his body tingled, his thin arms tingled, and he began to thicken along with his legs, a small gut growing out.

His pale skin soon would change too as his skin darkened and tanned, matching that of his many workers. changed rapidly now, his once clean, shaven body growing hair all over and his slightly below-average "tool" shrinking a few inches. Finally able to leave, he felt his head fuzz as if his thoughts were being yelled at him through glass, but he did begin to panic when he didn't return to his investors but rather to the man. "Where have you been?" Phillip thought he was yelling; he couldn't hear anything, though. Looking down, his clothes also changed to a plain tee and some shorts; he truly looked just like a worker now.

The next 5 hours, his body went on autopilot, working harder than his old body ever had, but when the work day finally ended, he kept walking to a house he had never seen, climbing stairs after stairs before finally coming to a door that reeked of cum and sweat. Opening in, he saw a young Latino man, no pants, and busy playing some kind of video game. He somehow knew that this was the man whose cum had covered the bathroom that had caused all this.

glancing over the man—his boyfriend? No, that can't be. He was married, and his thoughts were getting harder. Mmm, Phillipe could see the bulge in the other man's underwear, and the other man obviously could see Phillipe's eyes. "Why don't you come help Daddy out, baby?" excitedly he moved forward and began stripping his BF. "That's it, ik you liked the stuff you found in the bathroom you slut, come get some from the source" as he greedily sucked away his memories. Natural, his Spanish accent? attractive to the ladies, not like he needs it with his boyfriend around. His memories shifted fully, and Philip was gone. He was Philip, a Mexican immigrant working hard so his hot boyfriend could play games. His life was difficult with working and then doing all the chores, but at least he got some good dick. and not a person would miss who he was...

[the-palelady]

the job was hard. it always was. never got any easier. ghost’s mind would buzz with static after missions. a buzzing so loud he could hardly hear the engines of the plane as it took off, headed home.

he’d sit in a daze for the full extent of the flight, eyes mindlessly flitting across the dark clouds and city lights that sat below.

was it always this loud? the engines, the chatter of the people around him, the gunfire?

the high pitched humming continued even as he stepped off the plane, his large, gruff body slipping in and out of crowds of people as he gathered his luggage. ghost couldn’t even hear the crying of a baby that sat nestled against its mum nearby. didn’t move a muscle when someone began raising their voice at a worker when their flight was delayed.

but he did flinch at the sound of someone’s luggage smacking against the ground, the wheels of the suitcase clicking against the marbled floor far too loud for his liking. an echoing pop that reeled him back into a world of blood and dust, gunshots and screaming.

when had his clothes become so tight?

he turns and grabs his things, the static burrowing further into his mind while he rushes towards home.

home is where he’s safe.

home is where you are.

home is where you’re nestled up on the couch, a throw blanket covering the extent of your soft legs, a book or mug occupying your hands. sometimes he would stand in the doorway of your shared home, watching as you’d giggle softly or smile down at the pages of whatever you were reading, free hand idly kneading the plush fabric of your blanket.

home is where you run out to him while he sits in the living room, a smile spread wide across your face when you do a little twirl, showing him the clothes or shoes you had bought that day asking what he thought. you looked perfect in everything, of course.

home is where you sit in front of him at the dinner table, rambling about your day, even asking about his own. you tell him about the butterfly you saw today that you swear was the “biggest you’d ever seen” and—oh!—you can’t forget to tell him about the sale the store was having so you bought him more of his favorite tea.

home is where the buzzing comes to a full stop.

your quizzical expression is always the first thing he sees. the second is the smile that takes its place, spreading from ear to ear as you come to realize who it could be barging in at such an hour. you turn on your heel from where you stand in the kitchen.

simon’s job was demanding. from the very beginning you had accepted that. you saw the storm that had flashed behind his eyes when he awoke from nightmares, saw the way his mind and body strangled each other when he didn’t think you were looking.

so you gave him the peace war would never offer.

his tired, amber eyes softened when your voice drove out the sounds of radio chatter, explosions, death.

“welcome home, si.”

[ozzgin]

Omg can we hear what the "there's only one bed" trope would be like with your yokai harem pleaseeee

Featuring your (not yet) monster boyfriends, and the classic case of having to share one bed due to unforeseen circumstances. You've been chasing a vengeful spirit back into the modern world, and the only inn - as you're in the middle of nowhere presently - has a single remaining room. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, fluff with mild NSFW

Murasaki

"Where are you going?" you manage to blurt out, hurrying after the dark-haired yokai. "You may take the bed. I don't need sleep", he explains curtly as he places a hand over his sword. "I'll be keeping watch outside." Murasaki is stubborn, and you already know that no amount of arguing will convince him. As it's already late and you're quite exhausted, you do hesitantly crawl under the sheets while he positions himself next to the door. When you wake up for a bathroom break, you notice him breathing softly in a peaceful slumber. You might have to be creative with your tactics: You return to your room, pull on your clothing a little bit, and let out a frantic shout. The horned man scrambles up and barges inside, wildly confused. "I had a terrible nightmare, and thus, lamentably, I will be requiring your presence for the remaining hours of the night", you narrate theatrically, patting the empty half of the bed next to you. He clicks his tongue and furrows his brows in annoyance. As he approaches, you can discern a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "You can't be serious right now", he bemoans, removing the swords from his sash. "Pathetic." He begrudgingly shoves himself next to you and turns around. His ears are a deep shade of red. "Now shut up and go back to sleep."

Kiritsubo

"Does that mean we can share the bed?" Kiritsubo is beaming with enthusiasm as he waddles behind you towards the room. "I suppose so", you nod reassuringly, somewhat confused by his reaction. You've been sleeping next to each other from the very beginning, or at least ever since you've been awakened by one of his night terrors and offered to keep him company. "It's nothing new, though, is it?" "Well, this time it's in your world, you know?" he confesses, now a little embarrassed by his obvious excitement. He scratches his cheek awkwardly. "I s-suppose it's not that different, huh?" You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. There's one technical detail you've omitted in your generous offer: Kiritsubo is massive and terribly clingy. His muscular arms are wrapped tightly around you, and you can feel his hot breath in your ear. You try to free yourself by lifting your leg and shoving him with your knee, but he doesn't budge. Not only that, but you might've unintentionally aroused him in his sleep. It'll be a long night, you think as you try to ignore the boner pressing into your side.

Suma

"Well, at least we know who's taking the bed", the yokai jokes as the inn worker bows apologetically. "We're terribly sorry, sir, there's nothing...there's nothing here that could possibly..." their words trail off, gazing at Suma's enormous stature. Indeed, the human sized furniture looks ridiculous next to him. You wave your hand and dismiss the baffled employee. You can't blame them; you too were speechless during your first encounter with the demon. "What will you do?" you ask, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I can sleep on the floor just fine!" He flashes you a smile and stretches his limbs. "If you get bored of that", he continues, pointing at the bed, "you can always join me". He pats his chest with a cheeky grin, chuckling at the sight of your now blushing face. Perhaps it's not such a bad offer. Then again, how comfortable is it to sleep on toned muscles? You sit up and decide to test it out yourself.

Yuugiri

"Oh my, what a pity. Well, it's only natural that you have priority." Yuugiri steps aside and gestures for you to come closer towards the bed. "We don't want our precious little human to be uncomfortable, hmm?" You want to protest, but he quickly places a pale, slender finger over your lips. "Unless..." he adds, this time in a deeper voice. He lowers himself painfully close to your face. "Unless you want us to sleep together. Although I can't promise to keep my hands to myself." You stutter awkwardly, and you can feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment. The yokai laughs at your flustered state, delighted by your reaction. "You always tease me", you finally manage to say, brushing past him and climbing under the sheets with an irritated huff. "Can you really blame me? You're always so cute~" After a moment of silence, you can feel a shuffle coming from behind you. "Jokes aside, do scooch over. I'm not going to sleep on the floor like an animal."

Sekiya

Sekiya stares at the bed and shivers. He dares not look in your direction. The thought of sharing a bed with a demon like him must've made you uncomfortable. Why else would you be so quiet? You're probably trying to come up with a polite way to retrieve your privacy. He won't let you struggle for a way out. He opens his mouth to excuse himself, but he's interrupted by your exhausted yawn. "Guess we'll sleep together, huh?" you remark, casually, as you unbutton your shirt. The lack of response prompts you to turn and search for the yokai, who is now visibly red and feverish, erratically fidgeting and twiddling his fingers. "W-what are you even saying..." he blurts out. Are you mocking him? You must know he's very much attracted to you. To think he'd be this close to your body...he shakes his head vehemently. Unimaginable! Then again, chances like these don't come all the time...

Sakaki

“We can share the bed if you’d like”, you suggest to the masked yokai. "No need to concern yourself with me. My nights are tormented, devoid of any rest. I will not be requiring a bed", he states melancholically, but with factual confidence. You don't think you can sleep with his shadow looming over at all times, so you insist that he at least attempts to lay down regardless of the outcome. He lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. Hmm. There's a certain warmth emanating from your body. He unconsciously drags himself closer, head now resting next to yours. The heat brings him comfort, and his muscles begin to relax. He'd even dare to say it's a pleasant experience. You jolt awake upon feeling a pair of arms wrapping around you, and you turn back in confusion. Sakaki swiftly hides his flustered face in the crook of your back. "Perhaps this isn't so bad, after all..." he mumbles quietly. "Don't mind me."

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