#laptop docking station | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keehomania · 4 months ago

Text

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

#obx #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x reader smut #obx rafe cameron #obx rafe #rafe smut #rafe angst #rafe fluff #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader smut #fast and furious

931 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

Note

I am feral for fake dating au and alley boyfriends goes so hard, I am on my hands and knees begging for a part 3

Tim's afternoon meeting gets canceled due to three of the members coming down with the flu. Usually, he would have just sent them a recording of what they missed, but since the three were presenting and the meeting was meant to be with the five department heads, he feels it would be best to reschedule.

There was only so much HR could report to him, after all. This meant he had the entire afternoon off.

Tim usually uses the free time he finds himself with to get a head start on other work. Maybe even some crake some cases. But today, he knew Danny was off from his job. His roommate was likely at home watching that new show he really got into.

Last night, he explained the entire plot over their dinner- Danny came from one of those families that always ate dinner at the same time- and went as far as to reveal fun facts he learned about the production team in charge of his show.

Tim didn't understand why Danny was so excited to know the lighting effects used only for a particular character. Nor did he find it as fascinating.

However, watching him get excitable was endearing enough that he listened to the whole thing. Then, he sat down to watch the show, finding it adorable that Danny couldn't stop speaking to the screen as if the characters could hear him.

Tim stares at his computer screen, trying his best to get himself to focus. The data sheets needed some work, but he had two weeks to complete it, and he really wasn't in the mood to verify so much work if he wasn't completely focused.

He glances at the clock, watching the little red hand tick. He insisted on having a face clock in his office instead of just having an electrical one because he found the ticking sound comforting.

Now, it merely annoyed him. That only happens when he's been trapped inside the office for too long or gone out as Red Robin so much he neglected his Tim Drake side. He could take the afternoon off, but what fun would that be?

He had also been trapped at home for a long time, working remotely whenever he could. Tim wanted to go out, but he didn't want to do that alone.

It would be so dull to just go to the same places on his lonesome as it would be sitting in his office or in his room. He could play video games or watch a movie with his roommate, but it wasn't the same of getting outside for a little while

His eyes landed on his cell phone. He could call Danny and ask if he wanted to go out today, but he had no idea what to do. He could take Danny shopping again- apparently, his roommate had no actual use for suits at his barista job, so the two had gone to the mall and gotten him some jeans and t-shirts, but the other seemed tired of that the last time.

Tim didn't want to spend money at the movies either because he wanted to do something active. The problem was that Danny hated spots with a passion and wasn't one for hiking or walking. They could go to a place to eat, but going out just for food wasn't something they could fill a whole afternoon with, not to mention Gotham's cold wave had most of the hang-out places closed until summer.

How hard was it to think of something to do in a city this big?

His eyes shift over to his computer before he caves. He quickly changes the docking station on his work computer to his personal laptop, eyes dancing between his two monitors.

He types into the search engine Where to take your roommate in Gotham City.. The first result is a list of locations, but Tim finds that they are all well-known tourist places, which is something he would rather avoid. He's just not up for a big crowd.

The following result is restaurants to try, which again isn't enough to fill the entire afternoon with- he notes to visit the ramen place because Danny mentioned he wanted to have some three days ago. He grows irritated with the similar lists he clicks until he stumbles across a new store that opened only a week ago.

It's new enough that most people don't know about it, which means they could enjoy a fun new activity since it is a random Tuesday.

Tim checks the store times, confirms that they could be there for a few hours and then reaches for his phone. Three taps later, a dull ringing sounds in his ear as he waits for Danny to answer.

Initially, he didn't want to go shopping, but he thought Danny would enjoy this shop more than any clothes store.

"Yellow?" Danny chirps in his ear, warm and bright. His voice reminds him of the comfortable nights when he's brewing Tim a lovely London Fog Late.

At once, Tim feels himself relaxed. "Hey, Danny. I have the afternoon off. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?"

"Oh, sure! What do you want to do?"

Tim looks up at the screen. "How would you like to go to a place that lets you design your own succulent and offers an entire room filled with decorations to personalize it?

"I'll be ready in fifteen minutes!" Danny shouts the sound of crashes accompanying his voice as he likely leaps from the couch. "How expensive is it?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll pay for everything." Tim tells Danny just as Tam and three interns wander into his office. He holds up a finger at them, listening to Danny loudly proclaim he wants to be the one to treat Tim.

It's sweet, but Tim had so much money he didn't know what to do. Danny was saving up to buy his own car- and the last time Tim offered to buy him one, his roommate had refused to make him the Red Robin Rush for a week.

"Don't worry about money, Danny. Just get dressed, and tonight, you can make it up to me the usual way." He says, feeling a slow, smug smile spread across his face as Danny rushes to the coffee station to check through the tea they had.

"I'll do something even better. It's a new trick I picked up, but it's guaranteed to keep you up all night." Danny tells him as he fumbles with his clothes- likely changing- which is loud enough to echo from his phone speakers. An intern shifts, uncomfortable on his feet.

Tam raises an impressed eyebrow, which, for some reason, makes Tim slightly embarrassed. His face turns a bit red as he hastily tells his roommate. "I should be picking you up in an hour."

"Wait, what do I wear for this? I will not repeat O'malley's."

Tim's face turns redder at the reminder of last week's blunder. It wasn't his fault that what he considered casual clothes were what Danny thought were formal. He told the man to meet him at the restaurant after work, not considering it upscale since it was only served dinner, and once again, Danny's outfit had him stopped at the door by a worker who didn't think he was dressed the part.

"Just wear that outfit I like. The blue one." He tells him about the black sweatshirt with blue stripes and a fluffy black and blue sweater. It was the warmest, most stylish thing Danny women meant for streetwear, and he knew it would be a bit chilly in the evening.

"Alright. See you soon. Text me when you are outside. Byeeeee"

"Bye," Tim hangs up and offers the three interns and impressed secretary a sheepish look. "Sorry about that. How can I help you?"

Tam steps forward, waving a hand at the two young men and single women older than him by a few years. They straighten up as his PA speaks. "I just wanted to introduce the interns that start tomorrow; it won't take more than five minutes if you have to be somewhere soon."

"It's lovely to meet you all. " Tim smiles, ignoring the wide-eyed stare the one on the left is giving him. The introductions don't take long at all, but Tim still feels restless when he grabs his coat and rushes past Tam's empty desk. He leaves a note on her desk telling her he took the afternoon off and practically skips down to the parking garage.

He is unaware of the rumors circulating among his employees after a particular intern on the left let it slip he overheard Mr. Drake talking to his lover like their relationship was....like that. He is even more unaware that the second he picks up Danny from the front of their building, five shadows break into his penthouse and search the place for any drugs.

He is too busy picking out crystals with his roommate, who babbles about their effects on ghosts, memorized by his silly random knowledge again.

Meanwhile, Bruce is horrified to find some green liquid in the second bedroom. He's not sure why Tim or Danny have to separate rooms if they truly are lovers, but the fact this was hidden in the room by the other boy gives Jason's idea of Tim living with his dealer aan uncomfortable amount of credit.

He returned a sample to the Cave when his other children reported nothing. They refrained from planting any bugs just because Tim would find them, and it would stop him from trusting them should they have to give him a proper introduction.

Upon conducting some tests, despite the similar appearance to the Lazarus pits, results showed it's closer to the formula of Mr. Freeze's ice ray but in liquid form.

Why would Fenton hide this? What was he up to? Did Tim know that Fenton had cut an entire part of the wall to hide jars and jars of this goo?

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Alley Boyfriends #Part 5 #Tim and Danny are not helping the rumors #Guess who forgot that this was just to throw off his family scent and has yet to introduce his family?#Danny likes plants and crystals #Tim is finding a better work and life balance #Tim could listen to Danny ramble for hours #Remember Danny is hiding his powers #Bruce is getting closer

930 notes · View notes

reallycoolstuff · 3 months ago

Text

What Is The Laptop Stand Docking Station?

A laptop stand docking station is one of those accessories a person would need to optimize his or her workspace and boost their productivity. It's just one of those devices, working as a docking station for the laptop, and through that, easily connect it with multiple peripherals such as monitors, keyboards, external hard drives, and what have you, providing an ergonomic work setup. The adjustable stand feature of the laptop stand docking station allows you to put your laptop at eye level, which minimizes neck and back strain-a big plus for those that work long hours. The importance of the laptop stand docking station, 3d snowflake christmas tree is huge for many reasons.

Designing the laptop stand docking station helps organize your workspace, minimizing clutter and providing specific ports for USB connections and charging cables and even another screen. This means that the laptop will not heat up so much in its usage, which is so typical with most heavy uses. It's a great solution to ensure comfort as well as function. Whichever you work from home or a coffee shop or even the office, this is your docking station to keep the laptop with a solid working place in your desk, and maintain your productivity. There are many benefits of the laptop stand docking station, 3d snowflake christmas treethat you must explore.

3D Snowflake Christmas Tree

This 3D snowflake Christmas tree is very beautiful and unique, which will help bring some festive touch to your holiday decorations. As compared with traditional trees, 3D snowflake Christmas tree are mainly made in intricately designed patterns and geometric shapes that give an excellent visually stunning effect capturing the magic of winter. Whether it is metallic, wood, or acrylic, these trees are sure to make your holiday look utterly modern in providing a newer, more contemporary alternative instead of the old Christmas tree.

With an innovation to enhance functionality or provide beautiful decorations, the docking station of the laptop and 3D snowflake Christmas tree can both be an interesting item that will make the existence more orderly, stylishly enhanced for festivities.

#laptop stand docking station #docking station #best laptop docking station #portable laptop stand #buy laptop stand docking station online

0 notes

exquisiteserotonin · 3 months ago

Text

Precious Possessions Chapter 11: I Guess Time Makes Fools of Us All

Previous |Next | Masterlist

Series Summary: Defense intelligence conferences are always the same informative but also always boring. You didn't expect anything different for this one, but an unexpected meeting with a man named Dave York, changes the trajectory of your conference experience and maybe even more.

Pairing: Dave York X F! Reader (Original Female Character)

Rating: Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Word Count: 5031

Chapter Summary: Firefly has the chance to prove herself to be an integral part of Dave’s team. Met with resistance from Dave’s cronies sets up a series of events that no one will be able to escape from.

Warning: This chapter is incredibly PLOT heavy as is my tradition, apparently. There’s lots of intrigue and power dynamics at play here. Lovahs, we have here cunnilingus, unprotected PiV, cream pie. Be smart, wrap it up. Angst. Once again please DNI if you are not 18 and over. Also not beta'd, so all errors are my own. Please be kind.

A/N: If you are here and you are reading this I’m so glad you still want to read. A lot has happened in my life and writing has been a struggle. I don’t want to lose the ability to do so again. Even though it’s been nearly a year, this story is ALWAYS on my mind. Thank you to everyone who still believes in my work, especially my sluts

@youandmeand5bucks @pink-whiskey-woman @redhotkitchen @arcanefox207 @legendary-pink-dot @sparklefarts38 @for-a-longlongtime @magpiepills

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @sheepdogchick3 @casa-boiardi @missladym1981 @untamedheart81 @drewharrisonwriter @guelyury

Chapter 11: I Guess Time Makes Fools of Us All

The warehouse where you met the team was in the dingiest of locations: quiet, nondescript, and unextraordinary to the outward eye. Within the warehouse was a makeshift office, complete with a conference table, a tall counter with a docking station for laptops, and a projector which used the plain white wall as a screen. The aggressive, testosterone-driven nature of Dave’s team heightened the cold, formal atmosphere of the space.

You presented a dossier on your computer and promptly shared it to the wall through the projector and started on an explanation for Ari, Kovacs, and Dave. In his typical fashion, Resnik had not yet arrived. Having no patience for the man and his misogyny, you thought to yourself: Good riddance.

“You’re on the table, ace,” Dave stated with authority, gesturing for you to hand the report and intel on the men you’d encountered in Italy.

He held his gaze on you with the smallest, most unnoticeable yet arrogant smirk on the corner of his lips. On the table, indeed. You’d been there many times on your back, legs spread out wide as his tongue dipped, swirled, and devoured you and as his cock drove into you. On top of the table, bent over, tits pressed firmly onto the dark wood as he dug his hands into your hips while he railed you from behind. And again, on the occasions where Dave gave you control, he lay sprawled on the table as you bounced on his cock until he was crying out your name.

Pivoting back to your presentation and the dossiers you provided, you provided further details about the two men who’d cornered and attacked the waitress while you were on leave in Altomonte.

“The syndicate goes deep,” you began, your voice unwavering in its confidence. “They’ve been heavily involved in the trafficking of young women and girls. The intelligence shows them making moves to grander prospects based on new alliances they’ve made with organized crime clans from other countries. I surmise they plan to diversify into arms dealing.”

A huff of air left Dave’s throat as you spoke. You observed his every move: a rubbing of his shirt sleeve, his furrowed brow that led to darker eyes, a crossing of arms before he lifted his right hand to his chin. He leaned forward, looked at the screen and then back to you. A glimmer concealed to everyone, but you shined in his dark eyes. He looked back at you again, the faint droop of his eyelids telling you he still needed more insurance. He challenged you with a look, just as he challenged you the moment you met him. Just as you knew he always would.

“You know I need to ask,” Dave began, each word steeped in the deep gravel of his voice. “Do you have the logistics or the technicalities?”

You knew he was never one to assume anyone had everything in order.

“I have all the names and numbers for the clients,” you informed him and his men, “all assets are set and the good faith fee is ready to be transferred to our account the moment you give the word.”

Dave’s eyebrows rose a millimeter upward. Any remnants of ease slipped away until the muscles of your chest tightened. The breaths built up in the back of your throat as though someone was grabbing your vocal chords. You worked quickly to bring up the contract, the payment bold and hefty, waiting to make their pockets heavy. His eyes beheld the amount and his entire body turned to yours in response. His body language conveyed more than words could. He started walking towards you, heel to toe, heel to toe, with that look on his face. You’d have taken him right then and there if it was just the two of you. It would be a gift for him entrusting you in securing this contract. As he pulled his hand from his pocket to bring it toward yours, a loud whoosh echoed around you as the warehouse door flew open. Resnik’s short, quick strides hit your eardrums like a petulant bee buzzing around your head.

He barely offered you a glance as he tossed a folder onto the table, where it slid squarely in Dave’s line of sight. His eyes shifted from the folder to you, and then to Resnik.

“I think you should look at this,” he taunted you with a smirk, “before you make any final decisions.”

With as hard as you were clenching your fists, your knuckles grew white and your fingernails dug deep imprints on the inside of your palms. A tight feeling gripped at your chest as Dave reached for the folder. Each move he made happened in slow motion from the moment he opened the folder to the way his brows furrowed as his eyes scanned the documents within. His eyes met yours for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching before they settled on Resnick.

He set the folder down, leaned over the table, and lowered his head. Your eyes stayed on him, following his every move. Each purse of his lips, each shift of his eyes, and the heavy press of his palms so firmly in front of him said more than anything that Resnick or any of his other lackeys could even fathom.

“Antoine Calbert?” Dave voiced, the raspiness coming deep from his throat as he tilted his head slowly at Resnick. “That’s a precarious target, considering his background.”

“Everything already checks out, York,” Resnick replied, a smug smirk forming on his face. “Our client really understands the need for discretion.”

The slightest rise and fall of his shoulders as he crossed his arms over his chest barely revealed his frustration. Your eyes met for a millisecond, seeing the frustration grow and you were certain he saw the same grow in your eyes. If he was hesitant, it was for a good reason. Your shared gaze must have been a moment too long, a moment long enough for Resnick to notice.

With a low voice, he challenged, “Stop thinking with your dick, man.”

“Say that again,” Dave challenged, making himself even larger in front of Resnick’s slight frame.

“Dave don’t—,” you called out as a warning before he brought himself to a place where he couldn’t turn back.

“He is an attaché for the D.I.A,” he stated, his words formed from the air that seethed through his teeth.

And they silenced you. You understood the implications and the danger of having a target well known to him and to every close colleague he’s ever had. You shuddered to think of the consequences if any of it led back to him. Turning to Resnick, you observed the smugness of his demeanor. It screamed in the way he crossed his arms over his chest to how he lifted his chin up just so he had a semblance of looking down upon Dave, despite his short stature. The way he lifted his right brow at a sharp angle was a futile way of proving himself his equal. Disgusting—all of it.

“Two million,” Resnick responded plainly.

A twitch and a squint of Dave’s eyes changed his expression. “What did you say?”

“Two million, Dave,” he spoke as his shoulders rose and as he puffed out his puny chest, “TWO MILLION has already been wired to the offshore account.”

And in that briefest of moments, you swore you saw Resnick turn to you just long enough to give you the most grotesque and arrogant smirk. Despite the transience of it, you felt every bit of contempt that filtered through the dry skin on his thin lips. When you turned to Dave you felt your stomach churn and flip. You felt dizzy, as if you’d spun around many times on a theme park teacup ride. You tried to focus on Dave through it as the gears of consideration shone in the glimmer of his deep eyes.

He made himself taller as a reminder of his authority over Resnick. With the expansive palm of his hand, he rubbed at his chin in contemplation before resting a fist on the conference table.

“It has to be a clean job,” Dave offered with unwavering command. “There can be no mistakes with this one.”

“Dave, you can’t be se —,” before you could even finish the breadth of your words, he suppressed you with a dismissive wave of his hand and his gravelly voice stomped over yours.

“Do I make myself clear?”

He waited for the silent nods of compliance from his men. Each blind follow came so quickly, like dominos falling one after another, and it stirred the sickness in you. Save for Resnick, each filed out of the warehouse, one after another like little ants. You took the moment to move towards Dave.

It felt like your eyes were about to bore through your eyelids as hard as you were glaring at him. He returned his own glare to you, haughty and unyielding, as he tried to win you over with a study of your body and a lick of his lips. The faint aroma of the dissipated remnants of his cologne along with his deodorant, and him, threatened to intoxicate you.

“What the fuck was that?” Resnick’s voice pierced the air coming at you and Dave like an arrow trying to pierce your throat.

Dave’s eyes squinted with critical scrutiny at Resnick’s pushback. Resnick pressed his palms against the laminate surface of the conference table as he looked back at Dave and then at you. His eyes were slick with disdain and the wrinkles on his lips twitched with indignation.

“You’re losing touch, man.” Resnick said, each word pushed out from his mouth, trying to press themselves on both you and Dave.

“Hmph,” Dave smirked, “tell me again: how long has it been since you brought in a job this lucrative?”

“Really, York?” Resnick laughed at the air in the room. “That’s what you’re coming back with when this is the biggest payoff we’ll have had in ages.”

“With a well-known, trusted DIA affiliate as a target,” you jumped in with an even, calm voice.

You kept your back turned to Resnick as you acknowledged him with a simple peek over your shoulder. He met your response with a roll of his eye, clicking his tongue on the inside of his mouth like a petulant child.

“I would hope that I didn’t have to remind you of what would happen if anything traced back to us---to Dave.”

“What the fuck is she even doing here?” Resnick retorted with a shake of his head.

“What good is two million if you’re in prison,” you paused, “or worse?”

“She knows more than any of us about defense intelligence,” Dave chimed in. “Her expertise has been invaluable to our work, and she’s sharp for being with us for such a short amount of time.”

“Well, I should’ve known,” Resnick murmured with a grimace, “she really got to you, brother.”

Impossible as it seemed to you, you grew even more and more disgusted by Dave’s supposed right-hand man. The chuckle that echoed out of the depths of his throat forced you to hold your breath as your anger quivered the corners of your lips.

“You know,” you laughed at him in return, “it’s a wonder you guys even finished any of your jobs without me.”

“Firefly---,” Dave uttered as he observed you whipping around to face Resnick.

You didn’t let him finish as you advanced towards Resnick, “and judging from your poor aim, you really needed me.”

“Well damn, Dave,” Resnick raised his brow at him before he looked you up and down, “what else can she do with that pretty little mouth?”

Beneath the disgust, boiled an anger that started from your stomach, rose through your chest, and percolated in your throat. Your shoulders trembled as you steadied your stance and maneuvered your feet into a strong and offensive position. As though he heard you readying of your stance beneath you, Dave held you back with a firm press of his palm to your forearm. Your brow wrinkled deep in the middle with rage as you turned your face to his.

“Time for you to leave Resnick,” Dave’s voice was as steady as an old tree rooted deep in the ground.

Resnick clicked the inside of his mouth again with a loud tut of his tongue. You heard the breathy and condescending snort that emanated from his throat and expired through his nose. He nodded to Dave, before turning on his heel to leave.

“Get the job done, no mistakes,” Dave warned him as he departed through the warehouse door with nothing more than a dismissive wave of his hand in acknowledgement.

You rested your hands against the cold conference table and released a deep sigh. You tried to soften your jaw that hardened as you grit your teeth with frustration. It was then that Dave turned back to you, an uncommonly soft expression on his face. As he stepped in close, you felt his body heat as he pressed himself behind you. He settled his hands beside yours, breathing in your scent as he waited for you to rest back against him.

But not today.

As he stretched his fingers to your forearm, you snapped your arm away and pushed past him.

“What the fuck, Dave?”

He stood clueless and frozen before you, his arms hanging loosely at his sides as he awaited further explanation. An uncontrollable twitch moved at the corners of your lips. Was an explanation really necessary? Were you giving him too much credit?

And at this thought, you spoke, “Well, that was a funny way of showing you trust me.”

He bowed his head with the deepest of sighs. Every move he made towards you held more caution than the last. When you didn’t pull away, he settled his hands on your hips until they found themselves securely on your tailbone. His expression spoke more to you than any words. A gentle acknowledgment of an apology and a deeper one of trust as he rested his head against yours. It might have been tender if he hadn’t pulled your pelvis closer to his to feel him grow. Limp in his arms, you looked up at him, your stare boring into him.

“Isn’t this enough?” The grit in his voice traveled down every nerve ending of your body like sand slipping down an hourglass.

“Can you be serious, York?” You pushed back and stepped away from him.

“You haven’t been with the team long enough to remember the last time we got a pay out that big.”

“But I’ve been in the field long enough to know that this is more than a calculated risk,” you said as you backed further from him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “If one thing goes wrong, everything will…and that is something you cannot afford.”

“Why are you so certain that this won’t go as planned?”

“Why are you so certain it will?”

“I have confidence in my team.”

“Yeah?” You tried to stifle a smirk, the corners of your mouth twitching downward to a frown. “If it’s taken them this long to find a decent job, then maybe your confidence is misplaced.”

Dave’s response was silence. You, with nothing more to say, shrugged and shook your head. His infuriating inability to concede to any possibility of error on his part deserved nothing more from you.

You didn’t dare to look back at him as you left the warehouse. The frustration that coursed through you was so volatile that it wrinkled the space between your brows as you frowned. It percolated and shook you at your core. As it grew, it felt like the shivers that came from a biting cold and windy night.

You tried to push the useless feeling away once you arrived at home. A light dinner. A hot shower. A glass of wine. They were everything, and all you needed to remind yourself that you would never be responsible for Dave’s failure. And you reminded yourself you could never count on him for your opportunities and success…not that you ever did.

The burner phone you possessed at the moment rested comfortably atop your quartz countertops. Its clean perfection held a haunting quality as it rested alongside the plain manila document envelope that held all the dossiers of the targets you had solely put together. You couldn’t stop staring at it, thinking of each person who wanted you, hiring you, holding money at the ready for YOU. Sharing your spoils with Dave was one thing, but you shuddered at the possibility of having to share it with the imbeciles he so blindly trusted.

At that, you picked up the phone and dialed your contact, finalizing everything in ten minutes for a job that was rightfully your own. The immediate relief you felt after you hung up was a welcome friend. The comfort held you like a warm hug, despite knowing that anxiety and excitement would only ramp up the closer you got to the day you’d finish the job. Sleep might’ve come to you if you hadn’t heard the doorbell startle you from your peace.

A sigh escaped you, knowing it could only be one person. No one ever came to you, no one else had the need. You sauntered to the door, a nearly empty glass of wine in one hand while the other held your bathroom closed at the chest.

The moment you opened the door, the two of you shuddered a simultaneous breath at the sight of one another as though in anger or frustration you wanted each other the most.

“Since when did you knock?” You teased as you left the door wide open for him.

He locked the door behind him, leaving his suit jacket on the coat rack by the front door. He loosened his tie and tossed it on a nearby armchair. Taking the wine glass from your hand, he finished the remnants of the deep red wine within. He kept his eyes on you as he licked the remnants left on his lips before he placed the empty glass on your kitchen counter.

You looked up at him as he brushed away a strand of hair from your face before pulling you to the living room. He sat down comfortably on your couch before pulling you by the waist to him.

“The team left not too long ago,” he spoke of it as though it were an afterthought, his hands more focused on loosening the bathrobe tie around your waist.

“Ok,” was all you could reply.

You hated them.

They hated you.

Dave’s touch was all that mattered in this moment, anyway.

Your breaths quickened as you felt the fabric loosen from your waist and hips as cool draft air danced over your skin. He looked up at you, beholding your face with adoration and longing. You observed how his breath synced rapidly with your own as he tugged at the sleeves, letting the robe cascade from your body and onto the floor. Soon he was on his knees, as he caressed your thighs and ass with his ample hands.

He took in your scent, kissing just below your belly button, and with one swift movement, he hoisted your leg over his shoulder. His lips found the beautiful set of lips set before him, kissing them lightly before drawing a slow wet trail at your slit with the tip of his tongue. You throbbed for him as he sucked your folds before drawing a deep, thick line along your opening.

He took his time there as always, holding on to your thighs and your ass as tightly as he could as if doing so would save his life. Tasting you, devouring you, drinking you was his lifeline. You felt it with each deep slow swirling of his tongue inside you and how his thick fingers pressed your lips open to find your sensitive bud, flicking and swirling the tip of his tongue with so much attention that your legs shook beneath you and you had no choice but grasp tightly to his hair.

With a deep, throaty laugh and a growl, he took the briefest of respites.

“Lie down,” he demanded as he gestured towards your couch.

So delirious for Dave and his touch, you couldn’t even register how quickly you had complied. You barely caught a breath before he pushed your knees toward your chest and worshipped you with his tongue again and again. You didn’t have to drive your hips to his face as he pulled you deeper into him. The inevitable pressure was rising within you as you moaned, writhed, and became a wet mess upon him. Every nerve ending in your body lit from within as he consumed you. You wanted to scream, cry, perhaps both at the same time as you arched your back and grabbed at the surrounding pillows, feeling the wave of pleasure erupting at your core.

“Oh god, oh god,” you cried and writhed beneath Dave, “Ohh,fuuuuck!”

He kept his tongue on slowly responding to your climax, keeping your taste on his lips as you jolted from the aftershocks of ecstasy. You looked down at him, caressing the messy brown locks on his head. He smiled and admired his handy work with his gaze and the pads of his fingers.

He leaned over and kissed you, his face, mouth, and tongue still wet from you. He pulled your body close. With subtle coaxing of his hand, he urged you to grip to his neck before he scooped you up in his arms.

He carried you to your bedroom and tossed you wantonly on to the bed before he discarded his clothes in a corner. You propped yourself up with your right arm, admiring his whole being as he slid next to you in bed. His body shadowed yours as he moved to kiss you, pressing his body to you, urging you to feel how he had grown in need of you. His fingers traced the curve of your breasts, your hips, and then waist.

“I noticed your file on the kitchen counter,” he murmured as his fingers grazed your belly until they moved around your waist to grab your ass. “You took the job.”

“You want to talk about this now?” You exhaled, as he pushed your legs open with one knee.

“Let me finish,” he growled as he tugged at the back of your hair so you had no choice but to keep your gaze and face to his.

A breathy gasp escaped your mouth as he ground his body on yours. The feeling of him on you and not in you stoked the flame that was already inside you. He licked and nipped your neck until his lips settled on your earlobe and you felt him align his hard, throbbing cock to your slick and trembling opening.

“No one deserved that job and the spoils that come with it more than you.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond before he pushed deep into you. You clutched his back with a possessive and sharp grasp while your walls clung to his cock as he throbbed and moved inside you. He thrusted to the rhythm of your body until your intimate dance shifted the mattress and shook your bed frame. The air filled with the scent of your sex and a chorus of your moans.

“Fuck, always wanna come in you,” Dave fought to get out the words as he thrusted quicker, messier, harder.

“Pl—-please,” you begged as you squeezed around him, a twitch away from the point of no return.

“Fuck, — so tight,” he growled and grunted as he drove and spilled into you.

You let out a long, loud cry and held him closer to you, the aftershocks shaking your body. A gasp and a bittersweet feeling of emptiness came from both of you as he pulled out. He rolled to his back and pulled you into the crook of his arm.

“Carol isn’t expecting me.”

With a smirk, you swung your legs over his and buried your head into his bare chest.

“I guess you better stay then.”

Sleep came easy that night, like a quiet, yet eerie calm that filled the air and played so many like a fool before an incoming storm.

***

The incessant and shrill sound of a ringtone jolted you awake. You groaned and shifted in bed to see Dave sitting up to reach for his work, not personal, phone. You sat up with him, pressing your chest to his back, while you wrapped your arms around his waist. He rubbed his eyes and settled them over the dimly lit screen. In an instant, his posture stiffened with his shoulders and back tensing against your gentle touch. His free hand that had been gently caressing your arm tightened around it.

He answered, “York here.”

“Dave, we have a situation.”

A woman’s voice echoed out from the phone. Not Carol’s. Her voice held rationale, composure, and professionalism. It rattled every nerve in your body even more than if it had been her.

“What’s going on, chief?”

Susan. You knew of her and all the impressive things Dave had shared about her. How much she helped Dave and his family. How smart she was. How good at her job she was. How her blind morality disgusted him. Yet, the specter of her competence lingered in the corner, watching your every move.

“I need you on a call in ten minutes, Dave.”

He harrumphed playfully and teased, “Is that all you’re gonna give me, Susan?”

“It’s all you need,” you heard her pause with a sigh that held a hint of sadness, “I wouldn’t have called you if it was nothing.”

“No, you’re right,” he acknowledged, the corners of his brows scrunching toward one another. “See you shortly.“

The screen on his phone turned to black, and he leaned his head back to you with a long, calculated breath.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you whispered, pressing your head to his.

“Just some more run-of-the-mill DIA bullshit,” he grunted, before pressing himself off your bed.

He gathered his clothes, pulling them on as neatly as he could. The lust shined in his eyes as he stared at you, naked, your sheets merely an accessory to emphasize each soft curve of your body. He hurriedly buttoned up his shirt and tucked it neatly into his navy blue trousers. He gestured for you to come to him. You crawled to the edge of the bed and pushed yourself to rest on your knees and look at him. A frustration grew at your core, sending an unsettling shiver over your body. Sensing it, Dave pushed your mussed waves from your face, setting his hand gently at your neck before pulling you in for a long, eager kiss.

“Watch yourself,” you whispered to him firmly.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Fill me in when you’re done?”

“You got it, Firefly.”

The next two hours left you pacing around the house. Distraction. What you needed was a distraction. You listened to music, started a puzzle, and even went for a fucking jog. You showered, dressed, and paced again. The irony of it all was that looking at your files again for your job was the one thing you had control over. A strange calm filled you as reflected on it, your confidence growing with the knowledge you would finish it and do it well. Better than anyone.

As you exhaled, Dave came through the door, and you stood to meet him. The seconds you beheld each other felt like hours. He twitched his lips and tapped his fingers repeatedly on the inside of his palms. You held your breath waiting for the words to leave his mouth to ease the tension

“I have to go to Brussels.”

The words left you breathless, as though someone had punched you in the gut. Someone had made a mistake. What else could it have been? The thoughts in your brain raced as you tried to find the best way to respond that wouldn’t make you seem overbearing and paranoid.

“That doesn’t seem like the best of ideas.” You spoke slowly as your brain continued to process the turn of events.

“I really don’t have a choice.”

“Let them figure it out, Dave!” You urged. “They fucked something up. You know they did. Don’t fall with them.”

“It’ll be more suspicious if I don’t go.” He pointed out.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you stated, hearing the pitch of your voice rise in frustration. “You have more to lose than any of them.”

“I can salvage it,” he asserted, absent-mindedly gathering his briefcase and barely listening to you. “There’s too much on the line.”

” For fuck’s sake, Dave, are you even listening to me or yourself?” You rushed to him and grabbed him by the shoulders before gliding your hands to his face. “You told me once that collateral damage is messy. Don’t be their collateral damage.”

Tears of anger and frustration formed at the corners of your eyes. Their appearance garnered more anger towards yourself. The feeling of showing vulnerability in front of Dave sent an electrical fire of emotions that coursed between your brain and heart. The futility of persuading him to understand the threat his arrogance posed on him left you devoid of any sort of hope.

“Listen, Firefly,” he said before pulling you close to press his lips deeply upon yours.

As you tasted him through the saltiness of tears paired with the faint aroma and taste of sweet tobacco that seemed to appear in the most stressful of moments.

When was the last time he had smoked?

“I am going to make this work.”

He reluctantly loosened his embrace from you with the speed of loris, his fingertips the last thing to break the bonds that held you together. As he closed the door behind him, the silence pounded against you. His words: a haunting promise you knew he could never keep.

#dave york x you #dave york #dave york x f!reader #juice collective #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #equalizer 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

33 notes · View notes

daedalusdavinci · 1 year ago

Note

24. superbat. this motherfucker JUST got to bed if any of u assholes wake him UP

24. Protecting your lover’s sleep as they doze on your lap, making sure nobody bothers them as they entrusted their peace to you. thinking about.... jlas superbat. i may not have followed this prompt to the letter but its very long so you get what you get at this point

It was just one of those days- one of those nights- one of those weeks- where one problem shifted right into the next without break, and they all found themselves running more ragged than usual. In the tower, heroes everywhere seemed sluggish and exhausted, running low on sleep and worn out from the last battle. Diana had tipped onto a couch and hadn't gotten back up again, and Wally had nearly passed out in the cafeteria, starting awake and drifting off again in the middle of a burger. After being pried away from the monitors, J'onn had gone straight to his room to sleep, and there were countless others who had followed his example.

Bruce was too stubborn. Clark was reasonably sure he'd been awake longer than anyone, but Clark could still see him typing away, doing god even knew what.

"I'll sleep when I finish," he said, before Clark had even said anything.

"I wasn't going to tell you to sleep," Clark said, taking that as his cue to approach.

"Yes, you were."

"I know better." Clark set a hand on the back of Bruce's chair, glancing briefly over the monitors. Logs, security feed, news reports- all of it a huge mess of information to sort through. Someone had to do it, but that someone didn't need to be Bruce.

Bruce looked tired. His shoulders sagged and his fingers hesitated, slow on the keys. He'd been drooping all day, attacking everything with the energy of a man on his very last leg. He'd sustained too many injuries during the fight. He'd been slow, and sloppy. He needed to sleep, but he'd never let Clark talk him into it if Clark let on that that was what he was doing.

"Can you do all this from anywhere?" Clark asked.

Bruce blinked slowly. "Not from anywhere."

"But from another computer."

"Yes. I have others."

"A laptop?"

"Yes." Bruce was eyeing him with suspicion, now, leaning back in his chair.

"Then you're doing it from there," Clark decided. "You can burn your retinas to your heart's content- I won't stop you. But I need company."

For a long moment, Bruce looked at him. Clark could practically hear the gears turning as he thought it over, taking longer to consider it than he usually would in his exhaustion. Then, finally, his gaze softened. He sighed, slumping back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. "Just don't watch one of your stupid cooking shows while I work."

"They're not stupid," Clark protested.

"Whatever." Bruce waved a hand, pushing himself up out of the chair. He hit a few more buttons, and the monitors condensed into the smallest screen, allowing Bruce to pull it off of its docking station. "Lead the way."

The tower had grown quiet and still with sleeping heroes. With his hearing, Clark could hear Booster and Ted's laughter from the cafeteria, but everywhere else had turned muffled and heavy with the air of sleep. People murmured back and forth to avoid waking up sleeping heroes in the commons, and most of the sleeping quarters were occupied. Somewhere, Wally got ready to portal home, while somewhere else, Oliver snored loudly. No one passed them on their way to Clark's room.

It was easy to get stuck on the fringes of his senses, listening to everything instead of whatever was closest. The need to keep an ear out for danger hadn't quite abided yet, and it left Clark feeling unmoored and anxious. Normally, it was a nuisance, but maybe this time it'd keep him awake long enough that Bruce would sleep first.

It was almost too easy to pile on his couch with Bruce. Normally, any attempt at getting Bruce to accept even a mediocrum of comfort resulted in a fight, but he sat without prompting, eyes never leaving his tablet. He didn't complain when Clark flopped down with a heap of blankets, even when Clark twisted to lean against the arm, swinging his legs across Bruce's lap. Somehow, they settled in like that; Bruce, on his tablet, and Clark, half-watching some nature show that was interesting enough, but not so interesting that it offended Bruce's sensibilities.

As the narrator droned on, Clark struggled to narrow in his focus. The lights from the TV flickered colors across the dark room, and it felt so quiet, surrounded by the suffocating vacuum of space. If he strained hard enough, he knew he could hear Earth, but he tried not to. He could feel each individual fiber of each blanket, and each snore in the building. The tap of Bruce's finger against the screen of his tablet felt obscenely loud. The constant shifting of his attention and the overwhelming amount of stimulus was exhausting, and he could feel himself sagging under it, so worn out that it was hard to hear the words coming from the TV. He rubbed his face, running through grounding exercises in his head to no avail. He wasn't sleeping, at least.

Bruce's hand came to rest on his knee. The pressure of it was enough to shock Clark out of his thoughts, but light, and gentle. Bruce hadn't looked up from his tablet, but his thumb tracked back and forth absently.

Slowly, Clark relaxed back into the couch again. His eyes fixed on the TV, but without really registering the pictures. He couldn't feel every fiber in the blankets, or hear every snore, but he was suddenly hyper-aware of that weight on his knee- a single point of focus that he locked on helplessly. It wasn't constant- every now and again, Bruce lifted his hand to tap the screen- but it always returned. Somehow, that caught Clark's attention more, leaving him waiting, expectant, caught on every detail of Bruce. The bracing warmth of Bruce's legs under his own, the vaguely ticklish stroke of his thumb, his breathing, steady and slow. Out of habit more than anything, he found Bruce's heartbeat, listening to the low thump of it until it felt like his own had slowed in turn. The familiarity of it was soothing, safe, protected, the reliability of the Batman unexpectedly grounding after so long.

His head slipped off his hand, and he started, eyes opening. He hadn't realized he'd closed them.

"Seems like I'm not the only one trying to stay up," Bruce commented.

"I'm not," Clark said. Although, maybe he was. He frowned through the haze of exhaustion, trying to focus on the TV.

"The life and death of a sea star are just that riveting," Bruce said, teasing under the deadpan.

"Shut up," Clark muttered, and shifted again, re-propping up his elbow on the arm of the couch.

It was difficult to understand how Bruce stayed awake. Without the cowl, the bags under his eyes were dark and deep, his expression something beyond exhausted. And yet, even now, wrapped up in blankets and secluded in the quiet comfort of Clark's room, listening to the soothing drone of a documentary, he tapped at that stupid tablet. Clark was beginning to doubt his ability to outlast him. The restless discomfort that had kept him awake earlier- his ace in the hole against Bruce's stubbornness- was fading into a sleepy warmth all too quickly.

And then, Bruce started to hum.

Clark could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he'd heard Bruce sing. Diana had once told him that Bruce had a voice so beautiful it could make a villain weep, but Clark had only ever heard it rarely, and never meant for him. It was a quiet lullaby, murmured to a baby that wouldn't stop crying as Clark searched for the mother, or a hum, pressed against Robin's hair in the aftermath of fear toxin. It had always felt like something he wasn't meant to hear. Now, through the ridiculous fog of exhaustion, Clark thought of sirens, calling soothingly to sailors from a distance.

Bruce's humming was soft and low, just under his breath. The tune was impossible to place, but haunting, and mournful. The sound of it seemed to vibrate through Clark, blanketing his senses until all he could focus on was just Bruce. Bruce was warm. He was safe, and close, and so confusingly present, as reliable as the tide. Time seemed to turn fluid, listening to that soft song, and Clark's eyes closed without his permission, just listening.

When Clark next opened his eyes, it was dark. The TV was off, Bruce's tablet forgotten somewhere in the tangle of blankets. His neck should've ached from the arm of the couch, but his head was on the cushions, propped up by a pillow. How Bruce had pulled that off without waking him, he had no idea.

Bruce was a warm weight against his chest, breathing slow. Judging by the awkward positioning, Clark doubted he'd meant to fall asleep, knees still jammed under Clark's own and cape still on. One of his hands was tucked against Clark's side, his face hidden between his own shoulder and Clark's sternum. It was... sweet, really. To have Bruce feel comfortable enough to sleep was a unique privilege, and one rarely afforded.

Clark hadn't outlasted him, in the end. But Bruce was sleeping, and as Clark let his eyes drift shut again, he allowed himself to consider it a win.

#superbat #superman #batman #bruce wayne #clark kent #tumblr drabbles #justice league animated series #justice league unlimited #asks #ashysiashy #uno reverse card clark gets taken care of trying to take care of somebody #i think he needs it.#its good for him #anyway idk if this is a good place to end this but im sick of looking at it and i have other prompts to get to

126 notes · View notes

sunmontuewrites · 16 days ago

Text

I MIGHT NEED A GLASS OF WINE TONIGHT...

OKAY... So. NS is working from home, was sick yesterday, and working from home today, so I am the only one here. This morning before 9am I had to restart my laptop FIVE TIMES, because the USB drives on my docking station were not recognising the mouse or keyboard. I rung ITS three separate occasions (on hold each time) - we did a hard reset of the laptop, installed new drivers for the docking station.

The whole time I'm saying "I'm pretty sure it's the USB ports, because everything else is working fine - I can plug them mouse/keyboard into my laptop and it's FINE". But I need the docking station to work... so I am trying very hard to remain calm and collected.

The driver installation works. For about 40 minutes. And then I am back to no mouse/keyboard. So I'm like, fuck this, I am going to go and buy a new docking station on the company dime. So I go down to the shops on campus and buy one, and when I get back to my office there is someone from ITS who is like "I want to have a look at your dock". I'm like...

Sure. Go ahead.

It's now 10.30. I have been doing NOTHING for nearly 3 hours. (Well, I have been organising invigilating a test, regalia for graduation, staff getting locked out etc etc).

ITS guy is looking at my dock and he goes to me "I think it's your USB ports..."

Me (internally) NO FUCKING SHIT!

So then he goes away happy that he's fixed my problem (by plugging in my new docking station, which I was apparently incapable of doing myself wtf?) and then AS turns to show me the munted as picture of the car crash she survived last week (they are so freaking lucky, the photos made me feel sick).

ANYWAY, then I have to go to this 11am meeting. I have an appointment with LV at midday for eyebrows etc (Yay!) but I am also meant to be starting a student off with their test. I get back to the office from LV's (to find someone parked in my spot, wankers), and then I'm inundated with students wanting to buy hoodies (have sold 8) and trying to organise the E^2 event for next week...

All this on top of the now 100+ emails in my inbox, and another 50+ in the joint school one and I am meant to be taking a van load of students to Karangahake Gorge on Saturday. Phew!

#I ate breakfast at 2.30pm... that is how my day has gone so far...

7 notes · View notes

ikilledmyocs · 1 month ago

Text

MONTHLY WRITING UPDATES 2025 / three months late edition

back in january i put on my wtw bingo board i wanted to start posting monthly wip updates inspired by @veneritia, but as you can tell, it is march. i'm channeling my inner sloth. especially since i haven't really written... anything.

JANUARY WORDS: 0

DAYS WRITTEN: 0

WIPS WORKED ON: NONE

FEBRUARY WORDS: 3490

DAYS WRITTEN: 3

WIPS WORKED ON: we are unsuper, sims wip

MARCH WORDS (SO FAR): 1616

DAYS WRITTEN: 1

WIPS WORKED ON: secret wip, sims wip

yea so one of my other goals was complete a word crawl and as you can see, i dropped out of the writeblr garden's event halfway in because i wasn't going to write anymore than what i did sorry gardeners 😔 i've also been going through probably the longest sims fixation i've had since i was 10 and got my first laptop, so i've started working on a little short story i'll be telling through the sims, but still writing on the side. it's inspired by probably one of the only contemporary wips i've had jingling around my head, so why not play it out in the sims ✨ it's nothing special, but i'll eventually be posting about it on my simblr @commitmentissue if that sounds interesting to you! that's literally all i've got except for this little except of callista getting her surprise makeover before unsuper's final big mission (in book one 😳)

After about thirty minutes, Kenna finishes blow-drying my hair and spins me back into the mirror, taking off the black sheet with a dramatic fling. “What do you think?”

I’m stunned into silence. She cut off much more than a trim. My hair that once fell to the middle of my back now sits just above my shoulders. My mother’s pure, straight black hair has been turned into a midnight blue with some waves added in. Kenna bites her lip, cleaning up her station quietly as I take in what she’s done.

“I may have lied a bit, but we can’t risk people recognizing you before tomorrow.”

More than a bit. I bite my tongue, choosing to instead wave at my face. “Like my scars and my eyes won’t be enough?”

“The scars aren’t a big deal, they’re basically the same as any other Plague-Keeper, and with the new contacts Xander has for you, you can pass them off as the scars of a rebel.”

She says it's as if it’s that simple to hide. And while she’s right that scares are very common around here, everyone knows what they did to Plague-Keepers to get us these scars. They’re not accidental.

A knock draws me out of my overthinking about my haircut. I haven’t cut it since getting back from the Academy and that already felt like too much. But my hair was a matted mess. That had to be done. Before that, it had been four years. It already felt like I lost one of my connections to that place, but now I've lost one to my mother. She loved me with long hair.

A blonde head peeks around the corner, holding open the sliding door with a screen key. “Are you done yet?” Xander asks, shaking the key around in his hands, making it glitch as Kenna glares at him. She slams her towel off her shoulder and onto my chair, giving me a jump.

“I told you to stop using our hallways to cut through stuff,” she says, waving me towards the door and holding it open for me as Xander gives her a warm, cheeky grin as if to say, I’m definitely doing it again. “And I suppose we are now that you’re here.”

Xander throws a stack of clothes my way as the door to the salon jiggles close. I barely catch them, Kenna saves the day by catching a nearly fallen sweater. “Did you catch her up to speed?” He asks, striding past the flustered workers in the supplies room. Someone tries to ask him a question about the mission tomorrow but he waves them away, saying everyone will be told what they need to know tonight.

“I’m going on a mission with Britta to the shipping docks,” I state, plainly. “Why do you get to skip this one?”

He turns back to me, shoving his gloved hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Who said I’m skipping it? I won’t be there, yeah, but someone has to hack the security and make sure their cameras are jammed. Can’t have another mistake like yesterday happen again.”

#evidence: edit #case: monthly updates #case: we are unsuper #evidence: wip

7 notes · View notes

maybeasunflower · 16 days ago

Text

My laptop (again) spent the night refusing to acknowledge that it can be charged/powered via the docking station it came with. So after unplugging and replugging and rebooting multiple times, I've reached the login screen, where experience tells me I need to wait five minutes for the battery to charge enough for the log-in process not to cause it to reboot.

Anyway, that's why I've been reblogging so much (via my phone) in the last half hour.

#rationale #laptop power

5 notes · View notes

britt-kageryuu · 11 months ago

Text

It's a fairly calm day in the studio, considering Donnie has decided to update and /or upgrade everyones setups, and equipment. He had the desks pulled from their stations, and multiple parts stacked up around the area.

He periodically tested the parts or programs to make sure they were not broken in some way which would lead to more work, and needing to fix or order replacements, which was not the worst that could happen. Donnie still has nightmares about how somehow one of the setups fully bricked from just one faulty part, he was glad he always had backups for his backups, so it was only a loss of parts, time, and some money.

Donnie was also doing some upgrades to the desks themselves, like making Raphs a bit taller because his while growth rate may have slowed down alot, finally, he's still too big for the current height.

Mikeys was made a bit wider to accommodate a bigger digital drawing setup with multiple custom styluses that look like paintbrushes, pencils, pens, and crayons.

Leo's desk was just getting some new controller storage that doubles as a charging dock, he annoyed Donnie a bit too much recently, so minimal upgrades this time.

Donnie was going to add lighting to his, even if only those in the studio will see it, and maybe add a new monitor or something to allocate 'junk icons' to de clutter the other monitors. And he's planning to upgrade all of their stream decks.

He was also checking on Shelldon who was in the middle of an update himself and 'sleeping' on his charging bed. The updates being sent from a spare laptop wirelessly connected to Donnies main computer in his lab.

As he's about to put a new part into place, he pauses to yawn, and then checks the time.

"Sweet and Spicy Churros, has it been that long already. I'm surprised Angelo hasn't tried to drag me out to make sure I eat. Oh wait, he's working today. Right." Donnie looks around to see his current progress, and decides it's a good time to take a brake. Taking care to not step on any parts that got left out, he starts to head for the kitchen area of the studio.

When suddenly Shelldon shoots off his charging dock and flys across the room, thankfully not hitting anything except the wall he crashed into.

"Pizza Supreme! SHELLDON!" He uses his Ninpo to turn his battle-shell into it's hover mode, and quickly goes to check on his robot son. Donnie picks Shelldon up to look him over, "Are you okay, are your systems functioning?!"

Shelldon comes out of the 'daze' he was in. "I'm find Dad, but if that was real, your ancestors are jerks, except Gram Gram of course."

Donnie is understandably confused, "What do you mean 'if that was real'? And the Hamato ancestors tried to contact you?"

Shelldon shakes his head, "Well I don't know, it was like I was dreaming, and suddenly someone claiming to be a great great aunt from Grandpas aunts side, or something." He then rolls his eyes, "Dude was totally pushy about some distant cousin disgracing the family, or something. My translation programming wasn't working in my 'Dream'."

Donnie is still confused, "I don't know whether to be surprised over the fact that you can simulate dreaming, since you've told me you could, question why the ancestors decided to contact you, or wonder what was messing with your translation programming."

"Yeah, this Great Aunt was trying to tell me a name, but it kept translating the meaning of the name," Shelldon says annoyed at his programming, "And when I asked 'why me?' she was getting more pushy until she started chasing me. Which is probably what triggered me to fly off the dock."

Donnie was still feeling lost, but decided to shelve the idea for later, to focus on getting food. "We can check if this 'dream' was recorded, and look it over while I eat, and you finish your updates."

The dream was in fact recorded, and analyzing it revealed that Shelldon apparently had a human form in this dream, which they believe is why this random ancestor thought Shelldon could help. Also the name they discovered wasn't being translated because it was not the proper way to say the name, or something.

But that was a problem for a different day, when Donnie didn't have another, what feels like, 10 hours of work left, at least.

-----------------

Masterpost

#VTurtles!#rottmnt au #tmnt au #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #rise donatello #rise donnie #rottmnt shelldon #rise shelldon #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2018 #rise tmnt #rise of the tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt

25 notes · View notes

annerly-san · 4 months ago

Text

Love and Deep Deadlines | A LaDS Corporate AU - Chapter 2

Summary:

Amidst the cut throat culture of Onyxion Enterprises where cutting-edge innovation is overshadowed by corporate chaos, no one talks about how hard it is to be an intern.

Alongside Caleb, the sales department smooth-talker; Zayne, the cold and unflappable CTO; Xavier, a director who might as well be an intern himself; and Rafayel, the overly dramatic Creative Director who brings his own flair to every meltdown, our intern is just trying to survive the workday. Oh, and don’t forget Onyxion’s very own CEO, Sylus, a walking HR violation who gets off on terrorizing his employees.

In this company, will love bloom before the deadlines run deep, or will the company go under first?

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ?

Alternative AO3 link:

I settled into my desk, making the rounds to introduce myself to my peers.

The warm welcomes helped to calm my nerves as I was just asked to settle down for now and watch some training videos on the overarching strategy within our marketing department.

It was truly corporate when there were hundreds of acronyms thrown at you left and right with the expectations that you already knew them.

I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that there was a pdf of the list buried in the Sharepoint file manager under “New Employee Resources”. We love a self-aware corporation.

The twenty page long document was intense, and my monitor and docking station had not yet arrived. The task of watching the training videos whilst taking notes and trying to find the acronyms required the usage of multiple screens. My small laptop screen wouldn’t cut it.

At least the documentation for most things was there for a new employee. The printer had step-by-step instructions on how to set up the network printer and get your print from the queue with your protocore identification band. It should work with any printer in the building.

I sent the acronym list to the printer; a printer should be around here somewhere.

I stood up and wandered through the rows of cubicles, searching for the nearest one.

The rows of cubicles stretched out like a field, divided on occasion by a floor-to-ceiling divider to separate specialized teams, and I wandered through the rows peering occasionally around to see if there was a hidden printer somewhere.

After wandering for a good while, it all looked the same to me.

I was lost.

Were all office buildings like this? Everything looked the exact same, how would you know where to go?

I’m sure that Caleb had the same problem and probably painted his cubicle with extravagant stripes of orange and blue and filled his space with model planes and apples to find his spot better, but I wasn’t employed in any permanent position to be decorating my own cubicle like that.

I turned the corner, finding a printer was no longer the priority as there was a rising panic that I’ve lost my way back to my team’s room.

My dread was interrupted by a loud banging in one of the corridors. Curious, I traced the source. Tucked against a partition, was my original objective for leaving my desk - a printer!

But along with finding my goal, I stumbled on the interesting sight of a man with short blonde hair fiddling with the control panel, occasionally hitting it with his hand in frustration and giving it a kick for good measure. His aggravated assaults on the poor machine were the source of the banging sounds that I heard earlier.

“Why are you not working?” he groaned into his hand.

Did he not know how to use the printer? Maybe he is an intern like me? I’m sure that if I didn’t find the printer guide earlier, I would have been doing this exact same thing. The thought of finding another co-worker in a similar position gave me the confidence to interrupt his frustrations. “Is the printer not working?” I asked, approaching him with a friendly smile.

He turned to face me, blue eyes locking with mine as I saw the annoyance behind them, but he was professional enough to not let it be directed at me. “I don’t know how to work this stupid thing,” he muttered, hitting the printer again. “Ah, sorry.” He rubbed his head abashedly.

I jumped at the sound, but quickly got over it. “That’s ok!” I said with some optimism in my voice. “Can I try?”

Interns should help one another out. I gave him my name as an introduction, extending my hand to shake his. “I’m new here! I’ve just started as an intern!” He locked eyes with me and gave me a friendly smile, nodding at my words and grabbing my hand with a firm shake. I beamed at the prospect of a new friendship. “I read the printer guide, do you think I can try and see if I can help you out?”

“Please do. Go ahead. My name’s Xavier, by the way.”

A sense of happiness coursed through me as I thought that I could make friends with a fellow intern this way. We could help each other out. If we’re on the same floor, he would be in marketing as well.

I tapped my wrist on the flat panel scanner, the printer humming and blinking green as it authenticated me. My documents populated in the queue and I made sure that the right one was selected before entering in final specifications and hitting print.

My acronyms worksheet came out on warm paper, double-sided and stapled neatly in the corner.

“Hey! I got it to work!”

Xavier looked stunned as he went back and forth staring between the stack of papers in my hand and the printer. “...That’s amazing…!” He looked at me dead in the eyes. “You’re telling me you did that without black magic? Or several tickets with the IT desk? Hours on the line with them into the dead of night? Are you sure you’re just an intern?”

I laughed and gestured to his hand for his protocore id band. “What are you printing? Want me to help you?”

Xavier let a small smile crawl up onto his lips as he nodded. “Yes, please!”

He watched eagerly as I showed him how to use his protocore band to authenticate with the server and pull his documents off of the cloud.

I couldn’t suppress the laughter bubbling in me as he was so thrilled that the printer could also staple and hole punch the sheets.

He finally held up his stack of documents in awe. He called my name. “You’re amazing! Thank you!”

“It’s no big deal! I’m happy to help a fellow intern out!”

“Hm? Intern?” He looked confused at my words, but I was too excited to focus on that part and the words came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“Let’s be friends! I’m new, so I haven’t met anyone yet, but I was happy to run into you here, Xavier!” There was a slight flush on his face, and I felt that perhaps this wasn’t how you made friends in the corporate world. “O-oh, unless you don’t want to, or you work somewhere else-. I didn’t mean-”

“N-no, we could be friends!” Xavier placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I…I would like that.”

I couldn’t resist the smile on my face from the excitement of my first work friend.

But I was probably gone from my desk for long enough, and now that I had my prints, I should really head back. The issue was that I just didn’t know where to go. Perhaps Xavier did. “By chance do you know where the product marketing group sits? I got lost trying to find the printer,” I admitted, rubbing my head in embarrassment. “It kinda looks all the same here, huh?”

“Oh, product marketing? Yea, they sit over in group D3, do you want me to walk you there?”

“That would be great! Only if you don’t mind!”

Xavier smiled at me. “Not at all. Let’s go.”

I trailed happily behind him with a skip in my step.

“We’re here. Is this your desk?” He pointed at the desk right by the door.

“Yep! I sit here! Hey, if you ever need me or just want to hang out just let me-”

“Huh? Director Xavier?” My words were cut off by Tara’s surprise. “What brings you here?”

My brain short-circuited. Director Xavier?

“Oh I was just showing her the way back to her desk,” Xavier pointed at me. The smile dropped from my face and cold chills ran down my spine. He wasn’t an intern? He was a higher up? I was just prancing around the cubicles with him a minute ago. We high fived each other and made a work bestie vow. But he was one of the bosses?

The world was collapsing before my very eyes. My 20-page printout of the acronyms nearly fell out of my hands.

“Oh so you’ve met our new intern already!” Tara clasped her hands together happily. “We were going to introduce you later during the all-hands, but this works better!” Tara turned to me, pulling me by the shoulder to turn and look at Xavier. “As you know, we all report to Jenna, and Jenna reports to Director Xavier. He oversees product marketing, so we’re one of the few groups that he manages. You could say that he’s one of the bosses that we do a lot of work for.”

It took all my willpower to not let my jaw drop to the floor.

He was a director and I called him a fucking intern. I asked if we could be buddies. What kind of intern has the audacity to ask the director to be besties with her?

This might be my first and last day on the job.

“I-It was really nice to meet you, D-director Xavier-” my voice trailed off and I struggled to maintain eye contact with him after the embarrassment of calling him an intern earlier.

Xavier was much more composed than I was. It was no wonder he was a director. He gave me a kind smile, reaching out his hand to me. I took it and watched it flop awkwardly as he shook it. Tara looked at me with concern.

At this point, it doesn’t matter anymore.

“It was really great meeting you too. If I have printer problems again or if you also want to hang out, I’ll be sure to drop by now that I know where you sit,” he stated before clutching the bundle of papers he printed close to his chest. “Thanks for your help again. I’ll see you around.”

My cheeks flushed red as I watched him leave - my eyes were burning holes into the cubicle walls.

Tara patted me on the back. “Well look at you! We were going to set up intros next week, but you’re such a go-getter! Nice work!”

I felt my soul leave my body.

I wanted to go home.

I wallowed in my despair in the corner of my desk. My monitor and docking station were set up in a daze as I stared blankly at my screen, training content passing in one ear and right out the other.

What kind of employee calls their director an intern, asks to be friends, and hang out with each other? And on their first day?

I buried my head in my hands as the memory of our interaction resurfaced in my head.

A loud ping from my laptop woke me from my trance.

[Caleb]: hows ur first day so far? u hungry?

[Caleb]: wanna get lunch w me?

The messages from Caleb reminded me of the time. At least I could catch a break after all of this. I messaged Caleb back.

[Me]: bruh im gonna die ;(

[Me]: leggo to lunch pls.. where food at

I waited a few seconds, seeing Caleb’s chat icon pop up to indicate that he was typing.

[Caleb]: hold tight pipsqueak

[Caleb]: im on my way to get u ;)

[Me]: pls rescue soon ;(

I rolled back in my seat. The tapping of my fingers against the desk didn’t do much to calm my nerves. My mind was still spinning from the morning’s catastrophe with Xavier. I slumped further into my chair, practically melting into my seat. Lunch couldn’t come fast enough.

A series of soft taps outside the team room caught my attention, and then I heard Caleb’s voice. “Hey hey! How’s my second favorite team in Onyxion?”

Heads turned immediately—Caleb had that effect on people. He exudes effortless cool, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and his collared shirt had a few buttons open with his tie hanging loose, a casual, almost lazy smile on his face. He definitely wasn’t the type of person to mistakenly call their director an intern on his first day of work.

“Caleb!” “Oh, hey, Caleb!” “What’s up, dude?”

The chorus of greetings followed, with a few of them getting up from their desks to greet him like some kind of office VIP.

“Came to drop by?” someone asked, clearly curious why he was here.

Caleb grinned, glancing around the room. “Actually, I’m here to grab lunch with a special someone~!” A few people paused mid-greeting, confused. “My sister~!”

“Sister?” one of them asked, eyes darting around the room. “Who?”

Caleb looked around the cubicle openings before landing on mine with a wide grin. He nodded in my direction, grin never leaving his face. “Right there! That’s my Pipsqueak!”

All eyes snapped to me. I froze, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze. Had I not had the most mortifying experience of my life with Xavier, I would have been embarrassed by Caleb’s declaration of his nickname for me in front of all my peers.

“You guys didn’t know? She’s my baby sister,” Caleb clarified with a wink, clearly enjoying the reveal a little too much.

Tara blinked, processing the information before offering a warm laugh. “Well, that explains the VIP treatment! It’s super hard to get Caleb out to lunch! Why didn’t you say anything?”

I tried to smile and shrug, despite my burning cheeks. Caleb chuckled and nudged me playfully. “Ready to go?”

I nodded quickly, eager to escape.

Once we hit the elevator, I let out a breath. “You couldn’t resist, could you?” I punched him in the arm for ousting me as his sibling in front of all my coworkers.

Caleb grinned, completely unapologetic. “What? It’s more fun that way. Besides, now they know who’s watching out for you.”

I punched his arm, though there was no real force behind it. “You’re such a show-off.”

“Always,” he said, laughing as the elevator doors closed behind us.

We exited the elevator and made our way to the cafeteria. It was bustling with employees, the sound of chatter and clinking dishes filling the air. Caleb, of course, navigated through the crowd effortlessly, giving nods and smiles to people as we passed. It was like watching a politician on a campaign trail—everyone knew him, and more importantly, everyone liked him.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking next to a celebrity?” I muttered as we got in line for food.

Caleb smirked. “Because I am one. Consider yourself lucky, pipsqueak. You get to dine in the presence of an office celeb!”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Of course you are.”

We grabbed our trays, and Caleb, true to form, picked up more food than anyone could possibly eat in one sitting. “You’re going to regret not grabbing a second sandwich,” he teased, nudging me with his elbow as we made our way to a table.

Just as we sat down, I spotted Xavier entering the cafeteria. I sank lower into my seat, hoping he wouldn’t see me. The embarrassment of earlier was still fresh in my mind.

“You okay?” Caleb asked, noticing my sudden change in posture.

I waved him off. “Yeah, just... avoiding someone.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a grin. “Who? Someone I need to beat up for you?”

I snorted. “No, it’s just... Xavier. Director Xavier…”

“The director?” Caleb’s eyes widened with mock surprise. “What did you do, pipsqueak? Spill it.”

I sighed. “I may or may not have called him an intern… and then asked him to be my friend… and to hang out with me…”

Caleb burst out laughing, causing a few heads to turn. “You... you called Xavier an intern?” he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh, that’s priceless! OH MY GOD, AHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Caleb, shhh!” I hissed, glancing around to make sure Xavier wasn’t within earshot. “I didn’t know he was the director! My boss reports to him! He’s like my big boss!!”

Caleb was still chuckling, clearly enjoying my misfortune far too much. “Well, at least you made an impression.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “He’s going to think I’m a complete idiot.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Caleb said, taking a big bite of his sandwich. “He’s a good guy. He won’t hold it against you. And besides, if he does, just let me know. I think I can take him in a fight.”

I shot him a look. “Don’t you dare.” Memories of Caleb getting into full-blown brawls all throughout school popped into my mind. He had a knack for turning a mild disagreement into a fistfight, and no one was ever quite sure what triggered him. A lot of people learned to steer clear of him after that, especially when they saw how quickly he could go from bright and happy to throwing punches in unbridled rage.

“Caleb...” I warned, but he just shrugged with that lazy grin.

“What? I’ve mellowed out. Mostly.” He winked. “I wouldn’t punch a fellow co-worker unless they really deserved it ok? And I’ll happily skip a paycheck to punch someone that made you mad at work.”

As Caleb and I sat there, still bantering back and forth, I saw Xavier heading our way with a tray of food. I froze for a second, but Caleb didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Director Xavier!” Caleb called out, loud enough for nearby tables to turn and look. “You got a dining buddy yet? We got a seat open!”

Xavier raised an eyebrow but smiled as he approached. “I know that you get to know people fast, Caleb, but how do you know the new intern already? I just met her today.”

Caleb chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? You gotta network when you’re in sales.” He winked in my direction.

Xavier smiled at me as he sat down, setting his tray on the table. “Well, you’re a lucky intern. Caleb is a hard guy to get lunch with. He told me the other day that I had to book a few weeks in advance.”

I had a feeling that it was sarcasm on Caleb’s end, but Xavier took it seriously. I bit my lip to maintain a straight face.

Caleb grinned, not missing a beat. “What can I say? I’m in high demand.” He took a sip of his drink, then leaned forward with a smirk. “But I can always make an exception for my sister.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Sister? I didn’t know you had family.”

“Not by blood,” Caleb clarified, casting a glance at me. “But close enough. Grew up together, so she’s practically my pipsqueak now.”

I smiled awkwardly, feeling a bit exposed. I let out an awkward chuckle.

Xavier gave me a kind smile and glanced at us. “You know, I’ve worked with Caleb on a few projects before, and I can tell you—if he’s got your back, you’re in good hands.” His tone had sincerity behind it.

“See?” Caleb chimed in, pointing a thumb at Xavier. “Even he gets it.”

My initial discomfort with Xavier’s presence at the table quickly dissipated as the conversation flowed between the three of us smoothly. He had a very laid-back personality that was very approachable once you got to know him. Had I not been in a line of direct reports to him, I’m sure we would have been good work friends already.

The lighthearted banter continued for a moment until Xavier’s smile faded, and he turned to Caleb. His voice dropped in volume as he didn’t want others to overhear. “Have you heard about what happened in the finance department? Sylus wasn’t happy.”

Caleb’s expression darkened slightly. “Yeah, I heard. He’s pissed. Which isn’t good.”

Xavier nodded, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping as he glanced around the cafeteria, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this means restructuring. With what happened in that department, I’m not sure if there’s going to be something worse.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the playful mood from earlier now replaced with a sense of unease.

“You really think it’ll be that bad?” Caleb whispered to him, voice barely audible as he tried to keep the conversation discreet.

Xavier sighed. “The repercussions are company-wide. You know how Sylus is. He’ll trim the fat and parts of the actual cut. He’s find with those losses as long as he can made a point.”

“I-Is something happening in the company?” Xavier and Caleb looked over at me in surprise, not realizing that I was able to sense that something was awry and was a cause for concern. Caleb’s gaze softened, noticing the worry growing on my face, and he gave me a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine, Pipsqueak. Don’t worry, this is more of the director and above level stuff. You got nothing to worry about.”

Xavier nodded, though his expression remained serious. “Caleb’s right. This kind of thing doesn’t affect you or your role.”

The lunch wrapped up shortly after, but the unspoken tension of what Caleb and Xavier spoke of hung heavy in the air.

As we wrapped up lunch, Caleb nudged me playfully. “Back to work, Pipsqueak. Don’t want to keep your fancy new team waiting.” He shot a glance at Xavier. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Xavier chuckled, standing up with his tray. “I have no doubt about that. Good luck with the rest of your day, and don’t be afraid to swing by if you need anything.” He gave me a reassuring nod before heading off, leaving Caleb and me alone at the table.

As we walked back toward the elevators, I couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation between Caleb and Xavier.

Once we reached the elevator, Caleb pressed the button and leaned against the wall, studying my expression. “You okay?”

I took a deep breath, “Sylus…is the CEO, right? Why’s he upset? What happened with the finance department?”

Caleb ruffled my hair like he used to when we were kids. “Hey, hey, I told you that it’s just the big boss stuff. You know CEOs and the boss people, finance guys always make them mad. The usual stuff. It’s really nothing that an intern needs to worry about.” He locked eyes with me, and I knew he was hiding something. But the smile on his face betrayed the slightest bit of tension that I was able to tell from years of growing up with him. Yet I knew not to press him further on it. He was more stubborn than me when it came to these things.

I swatted his hand away with a laugh. “Ok, ok. Anyways, thanks, Caleb.”

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, glancing back at him. “See you later?”

“Of course. Don’t get too comfortable. I’m picking you up at the end of the day,” Caleb replied with a wink.

The doors slid shut, leaving me alone in the quiet elevator. As the floor numbers ticked by, I recalled my first day so far. How eventful.

As I settled back into my desk, a soft ping from my laptop caught my attention. An email notification from the company’s internal communications system appeared in the corner of my screen: Onyxion Announces New Acquisition of EverTech Biomedical Solutions .

Curiosity piqued, I clicked on the link, which led to a sleek press release page with an embedded video at the top. There he was—Sylus. He stood tall and confident, answering questions from a group of reporters with ease, every word meticulously measured yet effortlessly charismatic.

I leaned in, watching as Sylus spoke about the strategic acquisition, how EverTech would integrate seamlessly into Onyxion’s existing infrastructure, boosting their innovation pipeline and expanding their product portfolio. His tone was smooth and authoritative, but it was more than that. He had a way of speaking that made everything seem possible, like every challenge was just another stepping stone.. The way he fielded tough questions with calm precision was impressive, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. This was the kind of CEO that made waves in the industry—someone who commanded respect and attention without even trying.

Whatever the finance department did to make him upset, must have messed up majorly. The conversation that worried me before disappeared from my mind completely as I continued to watch Sylus on my screen.

Watching him, it was hard not to feel a mix of awe and... maybe a little envy. He seemed to have everything figured out—the vision, the confidence, the power to turn ideas into reality. Everything I wasn’t sure I had. The kind of person who could get things done, while I still felt stuck, unsure of how to make my own ideas matter.

He’s the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be.

I shifted in my chair, a flicker of self-doubt creeping in. Sure, I had ideas. Sometimes I’d think about what I could do if I had the chance, if I had the kind of authority someone like Sylus did. But that was just it—I didn’t have any of those things. I was just an intern, watching from the sidelines, wondering if I’d ever be capable of contributing on that level.

Still, as the video played on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about Onyxion—about Sylus—that resonated with me. He wasn’t just another CEO. He was shaping the future, and part of me, deep down, wanted to be part of that. Even if I wasn’t sure how, or if I was good enough.

The video ended, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. There was something undeniably magnetic about Sylus, and I couldn’t help but feel a spark of admiration. Not that I’d ever have the chance to interact with him directly. People like him existed in a different world, one I wasn’t sure I could ever step into.

Another chime from my laptop reminded me to get back to work. I sighed, turning back to my training videos, but my mind was still lingering on the thought of what it would be like to be part of something bigger. He has the kind of vision I want to support... if I could even figure out how.

#lnds fanfic #lads #lads fanfic #love and deepspace #sylus fic #zayne fic #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lads zayne #love and deepspace zayne #love and deep deadlines

15 notes · View notes