#Windows grid window manager

[linuxgamenews]

Embark on a Grand Space Adventure with Scorchlands

Scorchlands 1.0 launches the hex grid management game on Linux and Windows PC. This is due to the ongoing creativity and efforts of developer Ringlab. Available on Steam with 95% Very Positive reviews. The wait is finally over – Scorchlands has completed its Early Access phase and releases 1.0 After over a year of fine tuning, our birdfolk friends from Giwi are all set for their grand space adventure. This gem of a game is the result of solo indie developer Jakub Rogalski and brought to us by Star Drifters. Originally hitting Early Access in February 2023 and got a ton of likes, racking up 95% positive reviews on Steam. Now, with the official release of version 1.0, there’s even more content to dive into, all thanks to the passionate community support. In Scorchlands 1.0, you’ll join the birdfolk of Giwi on their quest to explore space. These brave birds have always dreamed of reaching the stars. Now they’re heading to the moon of Helia. But it’s not just about the journey – they also need to transform the barren moon into a lush paradise. Doing so with meadows, forests, lakes, and lively settlements. You’ll also use a mix of advanced techy and magic to make this happen. But beware, each new settlement and terraforming effort will crank up the challenge. Due to make the hex grid management game even more engaging.

Scorchlands 1.0 Release Trailer

Here's what you can expect:

Hex grid-based city building: Build various structures in your colonies. The productivity of each building depends on nearby resources and other constructions.

Complex resource management: It’s not just about gathering materials. You’ll also have to manage logistics – moving resources between colonies and mxing them into solid processing chains. And yes, we move resources using LASERS!

Terraforming for the greater good: Use magic and tech to change biomes on procedurally generated maps. Exploit these new areas to gather unique resources.

Fun technology: Scorchlands 1.0 isn’t just a sandbox release; it’s a playground with nice toys. The tech system is crucial for player progress, and new discoveries will open up fresh ways to interact with the world.

Minimalistic combat system: When it’s time to fight, positioning is key. Surround your enemies and place your forces tactically to win.

New Content in the Full Release:

With the full release, it brings a bunch of new content, filling all the Early Access promises. Here are some of the highlights:

Faster building and structure relocation: Colonizing Helia is now faster and more flexible. Buildings go up quickly, and you can move or swap structures between colonies with ease.

New models: The game’s visuals have been upgraded, making the villages and people look even better.

Additional languages: Scorchlands 1.0 now supports 53 languages, letting gamers around the world enjoy it in their native tongue.

Controller support: Play easily with controllers, thanks to a special radial menu.

Achievements: Ringlab has added 20 diverse achievements, offering a solid challenge for those eager to finish it.

So, gear up and dive into the world of Scorchlands 1.0. Whether you're transforming barren land into a thriving habitat or managing resources with lasers. There's also a ton of fun waiting for you. Available on Steam, priced at $5.99 USD / £4.99 / 5,89€ with the 50% launch discount. The hex grid management has support for both Linux and Windows PC.

[fluffyapathybunny]

I need him.

[comatosebunny09]

off the grid | sylus

summary: his chest swells with emotion. there’s this gnawing feeling in his gut telling him not to leave. that he belongs at your side for the rest of the day, drawing little sighs of his name from your mouth. “fuck the deal,” he husks with pinched brows, dipping down for a taste of your honeydew lips. warning(s): female anatomy described, cunnilingus, bodily fluids, p-in-v intercourse, mating press, unprotected sex, explicit language now playing: fire - sir notes: thank you so much for reading!

He says he has some business to attend to.

Ever the businessman on the move, even while on vacation.

You don’t pose much of an argument. Offer a slight pout, clawing at the side of the king-sized bed where his body’s residual heat and indentation still reside. But you’re surprisingly docile. Trusting, knowing he always comes back to you in one piece.

Sylus promises he won’t be long, locking eyes with your reflection in the mirror. Finishes buttoning his shirt, straightening his collar, and fussing with his cufflinks. He turns with a hand stuffed in his pocket to fully appreciate the view on the bed. And what a pretty picture you pose.

You’re quiet, playing on your phone. Have the gall to be so gorgeous in the calm glow of the sun, hair fanned around you on the pillows like a halo, breasts swelling in his dress shirt. Thighs thick as honey, legs splayed open and inviting on the ivory sheets.

His fingers twitch with the need to touch as something primal stirs in his belly, mouth filling with sand.

You catch his gaze over your phone. Offer a demure smile and a wave before returning to whatever’s got you so enraptured.

His chest swells with emotion. There’s this gnawing feeling telling him not to leave. Telling him he belongs at your side for the rest of the day, drawing little sighs of his name from your mouth, mapping out the contours of your body until the moon sits high in the sky.

It isn’t often he gets to sweep you away like this. Has you tucked all safe in a beautiful bungalow on an island far away, the air dense with salt and the idle crash of ocean waves enmeshed with the soothing cry of distant seabirds.

He scoffs inwardly. Wonders when you made him such a clingy mess as he studies his feet. Shakes his head, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck while losing that internal battle with himself.

He leans against the dresser with crossed arms, pondering how long he can stave off this deal he’s worked so hard to orchestrate. And yet—

You giggle, tickled pink by a video on your socials. The sound of it makes his heart pull. Makes his lips crook with a smile. He pads towards you without thinking, wrapping a tender hand around your ankle. Smooths his thumb over the jut of bone with such reverence, watching you with all the fondness of the world. His cute little kitten.

Goddammit.

Sighing, he resigns himself to his fate. Glances off to the side as if the beach beyond the window can offer some sort of solution. An out. He circles back, foolish to think he could resist you.

The twins can manage this, he muses. And suddenly, he’s pulling free the buttons he so carefully fastened on his shirt. Climbing over you like a panther onto the bed, bracketing you between lean muscle and heat.

“Fuck the deal,” he husks with pinched brows, dipping down for a taste of your lips.

You squeak, but the surprise soon peters as you wrap gentle hands about his wrists, your phone on the floor long forgotten. He hums all throaty, smiling against your lips. Kisses honey-slow, committing the texture of your lips to memory whilst easing your hands over your head, twining your fingers together. Pushes a knee between your thighs to encourage them further apart, and the heat of your muff radiates up his quad, burning through the material of his slacks.

He’s glad he stayed. Couldn’t live with himself if he left you like this, all hot and pliant, wasting away in bed. You deserve to be worshipped, savored, devoured.

You melt into the kiss. Keen all pretty for him, arms instinctively snaking about his shoulders, and he swallows the intoxicating sounds you make. Chuckles low and alluring, notching his hips to yours, anchoring you to the bed with his weight half on you.

“Thought it was—oh—important,” you breathe when he breaks away with a soft smack to brand your neck with the heat of his lips. “Your deal.”

Who can think about work when you have the audacity to smell this good? Like night-blooming jasmines and everything inherently safe.

“Was,” Sylus parrots on a deep rasp, mouth on an unhurried excursion over your throat, and your laughter is bewitching. Heady, transitioning into a pleasured exhale when his teeth graze your carotid.

He shackles your wrists together beneath one hand, freeing up his other. And it’s dangerous, skating over the pucker of your nipples, the swell of your tits. Coasting over the ripples of your ribcage, making your body vibrate and curve with excitement.

“Nothing outweighs this.”

He drives his point home, knuckles trailing down your belly, down, down, down to the swell of your pubic bone. You arch, and he bows into you when his palm closes around your muff. And he’s open-mouthed on your neck, sighing hot, his dick heavy and throbbing against the inner curve of your thigh.

Two fingers curl inward, teasing the seam of your cunt. Circling in the way you like until the lewd squelch of your pussy kisses the air. You bite your lip. Head falls back against the pillows, and you do that endearing sad puppy thing with your brows. He admires the sight of you through parted lips and lidded eyes, wondering how he could ever think of leaving you alone.   

You’re so pretty like this. So perfect, your lips kiss-swollen and shiny, formed around a whine. You arch so nicely for him as his fingers play between your legs, stroking you until you’re nice and wet. Swollen and pulsing, outer labia spilling over the seat of your panties.

He’s wasted enough time, he thinks, your earthy scent overpowering his senses. He frees your wrists, easing down your body and between your legs in favor of something more appealing. More appetizing. The crooks of your knees find his shoulders. And he’s enamored by how the fat of your thighs crater between his fingers when he holds them apart, slightly hauling your hips up to fasten your thighs to his shoulders.

He licks up the span of your cunt, tasting you through the cotton of your panties. Growls something distant and abrasive, gaze flicking to yours through the headiness. His pupils blow wide, and his heart pounds a war cadence in his skull.

You’re a dream he doesn’t want to ever wake from. A spell that’s bound him to earth, but he doesn’t think he would ever want to leave.

His irises burn like the flicker of a flame. And he doesn’t look away as you ruck your hips up against his tongue, chasing that sparkling edge pooling in your stomach.

You thread your fingers in his riotous hair, guiding him into a choppy rhythm against you, your hips stuttering each time his tongue agitates your clit. He doesn’t fight it. Loves it when you take control, when you take your pleasure. Use him like the docile toy he is, fucking his mouth until he’s red-faced and panting.

He steadies you, briefly taking his eyes off you to drag your panties to one side. His mouth waters at the sight, and he sucks in a ragged breath. Your pussy is all sticky and puckering; gossamer strings of your nectar spread like dew-speckled spider spins between your lips and panties.

He splits you nice and open on two fingers. Spread like a flower bending towards the sun. His gaze finds yours once more before he dives in, working your pretty pussy with a wide and sweltering tongue.

You’re scrambling for purchase of the sheets, keening all nice for him. Rock your hips in tandem with the glacial pace of his tongue, and he reaches out to tangle your fingers together at your sides to anchor you.

You’re so cute; it makes his chest pull. Makes his heart all fluttery, and he’s a flushed, sloppy disaster beneath you. All for you. Just for you.

He ruts against the sheets as he feasts. Grunts into your pussy, not caring that he looks unhinged or that his pants are stained dark with pre. He’s chasing that unfathomable rush of endorphins. Pursuing the upward arc of his own pleasure, mind awash with how pretty you sound. How good you feel. How wonderful you taste, and he’s more drunk off you than any bit of brandy or whiskey.

He eats until he’s full. Until your hips leave the mattress with no intention of coming down, and his hands mold around the globes of your ass to keep you steady. Straining on toes dug into the mattress, calves stretched taut, fingers squeezing his wrists in a vice grip, and your thighs locked around his head.  

You’re wet and sloppy, arousal dribbling down the cleft of your ass to stain the sheets. His chin is slick with it, and he licks his lips after reluctantly leaving the bewitching seal of your cunt.

There’s a smile in his eyes. Devilish as you pout, and he lowers you back down to the bed as if you’re glass that will shatter if he doesn’t handle with care. He kneads your thigh placatingly, the heat of his palm promising something better. More filling.

You watch with shrouded intrigue, all hot in the face and panting. Drag your fingers over your lips, biting down on your middle. He could come from the sight alone. You spread open and leaking, gaze screaming fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Sylus sits back on his haunches. All big and smug, palming the heavy throb of his cock through his slacks. Looks down at you from his nose, your eyes tuned to his every move, tongue swiping greedily over your lips.

You’re an eager little flower whilst he unlatches his belt infuriatingly slow, tugging his pants down with equal sluggishness. Down, down until his dick springs free from his briefs, slapping his belly intimidatingly, a glob of pre-spend dribbling honey-slow from the tip.

“You should see yourself,” he husks around a chuckle, gathering up his pre to smear it around his cockhead, and stroking himself so good. Bites his lip, dragging a languid hand down your sternum. “I’ve hardly had my fill, and you’re already about to blow.”

He traps a pretty nipple between his knuckles and pulls, luring a bitten-off sound from your throat. Angles himself forward to take your nipple between his lips, sucking in that way that makes your thighs quake and your voice come out all shrill and broken.

He then teases a thumb between your pussy lips in search of your entrance. Finds it once more with laser precision, and he rubs at it meticulously, slowly shoving your juices back into you.

You keen and clench around him at the knuckle, thrashing against the sheets, your tongue wrapped around his name. He groans in reply, caught in the haze of it all. You ruin him. Bring him to his knees, but he’d never admit it aloud.

“So eager,” Sylus teases. Like his voice isn’t strained from the effort of pumping his cock into the clench of his hand. Like he doesn’t want to spear you on his dick; feel your velvety walls squeezing the head of him so good.

The thought makes his hips stutter, and he’s squeezing his sensitive tip to reign himself in. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough, sweetheart. Just be patient.”

And you are as he taps his heavy dick against your muff with a wet and sticky plap plap. You ruck your hips up to chase the feeling, squeezing a sound through grit teeth. Hate when he teases, when he edges you like this. But he doesn’t keep you waiting, pressing the mushroomed head of his dick to the pucker of your pussy. Eases home past the tight ring of muscle, pushing into you with a sound as thick as seafoam curdling in his chest.

“So beautiful. So perfect.”

He can’t help himself. You feel so good. So wonderful, swallowing him up to the hilt like that. You sigh in tandem at the union. Relief wading through your bones, and you lock eyes through the dusk as the sun seeks shelter behind the horizon, casting you both in its otherworldly glow. Sylus needs no further goading as he grabs your ankles, driving your legs up until your knees press into your tits.

His mouth falls open. Gazes at you through his bangs clinging to his forehead. Through thick lashes, and you’re even more beautiful like this. Ethereal, and he could never tire of the sight. Of the sounds you make, so pretty for him as he rolls his hips, abs contracting and relaxing with each movement.

He plays a steady rhythm thereafter, rolling his pelvis like the slow drag of a tide as he fucks into you. Feels every detail of the channel of your sex constricting around him, and it takes every bit of him not to fuck you harder. He wants to savor this. Has all weekend to drive you wild; to orient himself with every sensitive clump of nerves in your body. So for now, he’ll take his time.

And he does. Driving into you at a maddeningly slow pace. But then, you’re sobbing and thrashing and clawing at the sheets, and he knows you’re close to spilling over the edge.

He doesn’t stall. Reaches between your bodies to find the unfathomable button of pleasure between your legs. Presses and rubs until your voice is shrill and stuck in your throat. Until you’re a shuddering mess, and the look in your eyes tells him all he needs to know. His own peak creeps progressively up his spine, tingling like static, prickling in his stomach.

He suddenly bows forward, your thighs clenched in his palms as he presses his torso fully against you, mooring you to the bed. Pistons in and out, battering against your cervix, your breaths choppy and intermingled, bodies bathed in a dewy sheen of sweat.

You cling to him with arms snaked around his neck. And his mouth seals to yours, swallowing your pitiful huffs of air. You’re his vice. His IV drip, and he can’t live without you. Doesn’t want to, finding himself chanting your name like a broken hymnal as the beginnings of his orgasm seep through him like magma.

He’s coming before he knows it. Ushered to the brink by your walls shuddering around his dick with your own orgasm. And there’s so much of it, his cum dripping hot and milky white down the inner trajectory of your thighs.

He catches himself on shaky arms before he collapses onto you. Laughs while trying to catch his breath, and you chuckle alongside him, hands perched on his waist, ready to catch him if he falls.

You’ll be the death of him, he muses, craning his head down to kiss you. To write the sweetest words of all against your lips, and he thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.

masterlist

[nurse-floyd]

Unexpected Arrival

Pairing: Max Verstappen x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, giving birth, one? bad word.

Max and y/n get an unexpected surprise one race weekend.

The paddock was full of people as they all ran around making last-minute adjustments and began getting the cars out onto the grid ready for race day. You had mainly stayed out of the way, hanging around to see Max in between interviews and meetings with his team. You had loved race day, even before you met Max you had loved watching it on TV with your dad or with your friends, and you loved it even more so since you began dating Max.

Something felt different today though; you had not been well the past few days but had brushed it off as something you had eaten or the jet lag from following Max around. You decided to hang out in his driver's room, being away from the loud noise and cameras, preferring the quiet to curl up on the couch and cheer him on from there.

As you sat watching him, the cramps in your stomach grew worse. You knew you were not due yet, so you brushed the cramps aside, hoping to find some distraction in the race. Max was leading, as usual, but Lando was hot on his tail. You were excitedly texting your friends and knew Max would be enjoying finally having some competition. The pain became more intense and more consistent, but you did not want anything to ruin the day. You could make an emergency appointment somewhere later if the pain was still there.

With your attention turned back on the race, you were not prepared as a pain shot through you, causing you to let out a gasp. It was so intense you were almost doubled over in pain. You felt wetness between your legs, and holy shit, this was not cramps. Too much for a period…Reality kicked you worse than the cramps in the stomach. You were in labor.

It was funny really; you had watched that program once with Max and ended up turning it off after he turned to you, “How do you go nine months without realizing you have a baby inside you?”

You tried to remember the birthing advice you had seen on the crappy medical dramas you had watched, although you knew they were far from accurate, as well as advice from your friends who had babies before you. However, fear clouded your judgment and everything went out of the window.

‘Okay…this is happening. You can do this y/n. Women all over the world give birth alone and have done so for thousands of years,’ you told yourself.

You managed to reach your phone and sent a text to one of the friends you had been texting. It was incoherent and barely made sense, but hopefully, they could get word to someone in the paddock to get you help. There was no point in screaming or shouting for help; for one, you knew your body would not allow you, but also, with the noise from the paddock and the race, no one would hear you anyway.

You tried to stand but could only do so for a short while before you were doubled over in pain again. Still, you managed to shuffle to the bathroom, grab a few towels, and get yourself on the floor. The contractions were coming closer together, and if those crappy medical dramas taught you anything, you knew this baby was coming, and coming soon. With one last push, you gritted your teeth and felt a release followed by a soft baby's cry.

Trembling, you wrapped the baby in one of Max’s clean Red Bull hoodies, fitting for a Verstappen, and stared at the tiny life you had just produced in disbelief. You were shocked, overwhelmed but filled with so much love for this tiny being. As if by instinct, you picked the baby up and held the tiny bundle to your chest.

It felt like hours you sat there with your baby clutched to your chest as you tried to calm yourself down from the ordeal, but in reality, it was only minutes before there was a knock on your door followed by the arrival of the medical team. They quickly checked you and the baby over, but your mind was thinking of Max.

How were you going to explain this? Sure you had both spoken about having children before, but nothing was concrete. What if he did not want this?

Meanwhile, back on the circuit, Max had crossed the finish line closely followed by Lando and Carlos. He completed his victory lap and pulled up to the first place sign, climbing from his car and doing his signature celebration. Max was completely unaware of the miracle that had just occurred in his driver's room.

He was led to be weighed and had a quick interview before he was led to the corner by his head engineer. The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage was weird. That was the only way Max could describe it, and there was no sign of you, not that it was unusual. He knew you liked to hang in his room sometimes when you got overwhelmed. There were whispers as people looked at him, but he had just won so that was not unusual either.

It was his engineer with an unreadable expression on his face that had him wondering what the fuck was going on.

“Max…it’s y/n. Now don’t freak out but…”

That was all he heard though. That was all he needed to know before he was running to his driver's room to find you. He froze in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the scene. You were on the floor, surrounded by medics, clutching a small wriggling bundle against your chest wrapped in one of his Red Bull Shirts. You looked exhausted. He just looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Max…” you whispered. “Meet your daughter.”

He rushed to your side, falling on his knees beside you as he carefully wrapped his arms around you both and placed a kiss on your temple.

“What? How did we? You did this?”

You chuckled at him lightly, you had the same questions, but in that moment with him by your side and your daughter in your arms, you fell in love with him all over again.

“You’re incredible.”

You were utterly exhausted as you leaned into his side. After a moment, the medics intervened and informed you they needed to get you to the medical center. A few people from Max’s team stood by the door as they watched the scene unfold, snapping a picture of the soft moment.

The moment was broken when Lando made his way through the crowd, “Max, the podium is about to…fucking hell, is that a baby?”

[faithsmadhouse]

Good luck charm||Max Verstappen x plus size reader

Summary— max has a pre-race ritual Before every race, he needs you beneath him, marked and breathless, your curves claimed with bruises that bloom like declarations.

Word count-903

A/n—this say in my drafts for an embarrassingly long time.

The Monaco sun bled gold across the skyline, glittering off the water and casting long shadows on the streets. The suite you and Max shared for the weekend overlooked the circuit, the roar of engines a distant hum below. But right now, all you could hear was the sound of his breathing deep and steady, a stark contrast to your own.

Max stood behind you, hands firm on your hips as you stared out the window. His reflection glimmered in the glass, blue eyes dark and intent, jaw clenched with focus. You could feel the tension in his grip, possessive and unyielding.

“You ready, liefje?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded, throat dry. “Always.”

His chuckle was low and knowing. He knew what he did to you. Knew the effect his touch had, the way his voice wrapped around you like silk. He pressed closer, chest flush against your back, and you could feel the outline of him hard and ready, even before the race began.

“Good.” His hands slipped beneath the hem of your dress, rough palms skimming up the soft flesh of your thighs. His touch was warm, fingertips tracing idle patterns before gripping you firmly, dragging you back against him. “Need you to bring me luck.”

Your breath hitched as his hands traveled higher, dragging the fabric with them. “You’re already the best on the grid.”

“Maybe.” He nipped at your ear, a growl lacing his tone. “But I’m better after I’ve had you.”

The words sent a flush across your skin, and you couldn’t help the small noise that escaped. Max caught it, eyes glinting in the glass. “That’s it,” he whispered. His hands were insistent now, hiking your dress up to your waist. “Let me hear you.”

The lace of your underwear skimmed your hips before it was gone torn from you in a single fluid motion. You gasped, eyes meeting his in the window’s reflection, and he merely smirked, unrepentant. “I’ll buy you another.”

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough to slide his knee between, forcing you open. His fingers danced along the inside, teasing, feather-light. He was drawing it out, reveling in the anticipation that he knew would drive you mad.

“Max…” you whispered, a plea more than anything.

“Patience,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. His teeth scraped the delicate skin before he sucked, leaving a mark that would no doubt bloom deep and bruised. His.

The first brush of his fingers was slow, almost gentle, slipping between your folds, collecting the slickness there. His breathing grew heavier, jaw tightening as he watched the way you reacted how your body responded so beautifully to him.

“Every time,” he muttered, more to himself than you, fingers slipping deeper. “Always so ready for me.”

You arched against him, head falling back to his shoulder. “Max, please…”

He hummed, almost considering. “Think you deserve it?”

Your response was cut off by the sharp press of his fingers inside you, curling just right. You gasped, hands flying to grip the windowpane for support. He worked you open slowly, rhythm deliberate and unhurried. You could feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed the side of your neck, enjoying the way your knees shook.

“You’re gonna be on my mind the whole time,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “Every turn, every straight. Gonna think about you dripping for me like this.” His other hand came up, fingers pressing under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the glass. “And when I win, you’re gonna be right here. Waiting. I want you just like this.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you barely managed to nod. His fingers picked up pace, the slick sounds of your arousal mingling with your soft cries. “That’s it,” he encouraged, voice husky. “Let me hear you. Wanna remember this.”

Your body tightened, the tension coiling low in your belly as he brought you closer, relentless in his rhythm. His name left your lips like a prayer, and he drank in every sound, every gasp, until you shattered around him, crying out as your knees buckled. He held you firm, letting you ride the waves until you were nothing but limp and breathless in his arms.

Max pulled his fingers free, holding them up so you could see the slickness that coated them. His gaze was possessive, eyes locked on yours as he brought them to his lips and sucked them clean. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice rough. “Just what I needed.”

You sagged against him, still catching your breath, and he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder. “You’ll be watching?”

“Always.”

He grinned, the kind that was all teeth and promise. “Good. When I win, I want you waiting on that bed.” His hand traced the line of your throat, thumb brushing over the fresh mark. “And keep this dress on. I’m not done with you yet.”

The knock on the door signaled his time to leave, and you straightened yourself as best you could, cheeks still flushed. Max turned to leave, but not before casting one last glance over his shoulder, eyes dark and possessive. “Good luck charm.”

And then he was gone, leaving you breathless and aching, the scent of him lingering in the air.

[fratttymatty]

All British American Boy

(All characters are 18+)

Matthew Hastings leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the airplane window, watching as the endless patchwork of green and brown fields below gave way to the sprawling suburban grid. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, feeling a knot of nerves tighten in his stomach. He had read every guidebook, watched countless YouTube videos, and even practiced a Midwestern accent as a joke, but nothing could prepare him for actually being here—America.

More specifically, the East Coast of California, a small town near the beach where he’d spend his gap year as an exchange student before university. For an 18-year-old British boy with a penchant for sci-fi novels, indie music, and political debates, it felt like stepping into a completely different world.

At the airport, Matthew’s host family greeted him with big smiles and even bigger hugs. The Bennetts were the epitome of California Americana: Todd, the jovial dad in a baseball cap; Lisa, the bubbly mom with a perpetual tray of cookies; and Chase, their athletic, all-smiles son who was also 18. Chase was a senior at the local high school and the starting quarterback of the football team.

“Matthew,” Lisa said brightly as they piled into the family’s SUV. “What a great name! So classic. So All-American!”

Matthew blinked. “Uh, thanks?”

Chase chuckled from the backseat, where he sat next to Matthew. “Yeah, bro, it’s perfect. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Matthew wasn’t so sure about that, but he forced a polite smile.

The first day at school was a blur of introductions and unfamiliar faces. Everyone seemed fascinated by his accent, asking him to say random words like “bottle” and “aluminium,” which felt strangely alien to Matthew, now that he was in a place where everyone had the same cadence and lingo. It wasn’t long before his name became a subject of constant discussion.

As Matthew walked into the school, he could feel eyes on him. Cheerleaders, jocks, and teachers alike seemed to zero in on him, exchanging knowing glances.

One of the cheerleaders, a blonde girl with a smile that could light up a room, grinned as she approached. “Matthew, huh? Your name sounds so... All-American,” she said, giggling. “You’re not secretly a football player, are you?”

Matthew blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, no, not really.”

“Pfft, I bet you could be,” she teased, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she walked off, still chuckling. “We need more guys like you on the team. You’d fit right in.”

As Matthew made his way through the crowded hallways, another guy—a tall jock in a varsity jacket—clapped him on the back as he passed. “Matthew, huh? Dude, that’s a name you can take to the bank. Like, you’re straight outta one of those All-American movies, right?”

Matthew managed a smile, but inside, he was still trying to make sense of it all. What did they mean? What was this weird association everyone seemed to have with his name?

“Yeah, man,” another guy, a friend of the first, added as they walked past, “you’re gonna be a star here. Football, maybe? You look like you belong on the field.”

Later that day, in history class, his new teacher, Mr. Henderson, remarked on his name with an enthusiastic grin. “Matthew. Now that’s a name I can get behind! Really sounds like the kind of guy who’d be representing the All-American spirit. You’re the pride of your country, huh?”

Matthew, unsure how to respond, simply nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Cool, cool,” Mr. Henderson said, adjusting his glasses. “You’re going to get along great here.”

During lunch, as Matthew stood in line, he overheard a conversation between a group of cheerleaders. They were talking about the new kid—him—and they couldn’t stop commenting on his name.

“That Matthew kid?” one of the cheerleaders said, flipping her hair. “Totally All-American. I swear, he looks like he just stepped out of a high school movie.”

“Right?” another cheerleader responded. “I bet he’s gonna be the next big thing here. He’s got the look. That strong jawline? Those cheekbones? Definitely jock material.”

Matthew froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. Strong jawline? Cheekbones? He frowned and ran his tongue along his teeth. He’d never thought of himself as having any of those features. His jawline had always seemed weak and round, and his cheekbones were practically nonexistent. Had they mistaken him for someone else? He glanced around, wondering if they were talking about someone else. But no, they were definitely referring to him.

Later that afternoon, as he was leaving class, the principal—Mr. Gallagher, a tall man in his 50s with a firm handshake—stopped him in the hallway.

“Matthew,” Mr. Gallagher said with a smile, his voice warm but commanding. “I hear you’re fitting in well. It’s not every day we get a guy with such an All-American name. People around here are already talking about you. And I’ve gotta say, I think you’ll do great things at this school.”

Matthew blinked, feeling like the entire world was projecting some image onto him that he hadn’t asked for.

“Thanks, I guess?” he said hesitantly, unsure of how to respond.

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Gallagher said, still smiling broadly. “It’s good to have someone like you in our school. Now, go enjoy the rest of your day. You’re definitely going to fit right in.”

That evening, after dinner, as Matthew was settling in, Chase walked into his room with a mischievous grin and a bottle of cologne in hand.

“Alright, Matthew Hastings,” Chase said, leaning against the doorframe. “Time to complete your transformation.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “What are you on about?”

Chase stepped closer, unscrewing the cap of the cologne. “This is the secret ingredient. One spray of this, and you’re gonna be the perfect All-American boy.”

Matthew snorted. “Very funny.”

But before he could protest, Chase spritzed the cologne in his direction. The scent hit Matthew’s nose—strong, woodsy, and oddly intoxicating. He staggered back, his vision blurring.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, clutching his head as a strange warmth spread through his body. His glasses slipped from his face, and he blinked in confusion.

Matthew felt the change like a wave crashing over him. His clothes grew tighter, the fabric hugging new, broader muscles. His hands expanded, becoming larger and more defined. His spine straightened as his body seemed to bulk up, every inch of him transforming into a physical reflection of a guy who could play football, lift weights, and dominate any sports field.

But it was his hair that caught him off guard the most. The gelled, slightly messy brown hair he had always known as his was now slowly shifting. He could feel it growing, thickening, becoming wilder. His once-neat style unraveled, and it was replaced by a messy, dirty blonde wave that fell effortlessly into place, as if his hair had always been meant to look this way. His strands now had a natural tousled look, framing his face with an untamed, confident aura that screamed “California jock.”

He stumbled to the mirror, his heart racing. His reflection showed a tall, athletic figure with a strong jawline, perfect blonde hair that seemed to defy gravity, and bright blue eyes that gleamed with confidence. The nerdy, awkward British boy who had boarded the plane was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a tall, chiseled young man with a cocky smile and a powerful presence.

“Dude,” Chase said, clapping him on the back. “Looking good!”

Matthew turned to him, startled by the deep, American drawl that came out of his mouth. “What... what did you do to me?”

Chase shrugged. “Just helped you find your true self, bro.”

The following days passed in a blur of transformations—both external and internal. Matthew, now calling himself Matt Bennett, slid seamlessly into his new life. He joined the football team alongside Chase, becoming one of the star players almost immediately. His accent, his interests, even his political views began to shift. His love of indie music and intellectual debates slowly faded, replaced with a growing obsession for rap and R&B, the beats pounding through his headphones whenever he wasn’t on the field. He loved the swagger and confidence that came with it, the rhythms that felt so natural now, like they were a part of him all along.

His love of sci-fi novels seemed trivial now, a memory from another life. His sense of identity, too, morphed. The boy who had once questioned his sexual orientation—who had once enjoyed the company of both men and women—found himself suddenly, unmistakably attracted to women. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been with a guy. His attraction to men was now something distant and irrelevant, like a forgotten dream.

His new family felt like his real family. He called Todd and Lisa “Mom” and “Dad” without hesitation. And then there was Cassie, the bubbly cheerleader who became his girlfriend. With her blonde curls, wide smile, and endless use of words like “like” and “totes,” she was everything he never knew he wanted.

Chase noticed the change, of course. One day, while tossing a football back and forth, Chase shot him a sly grin. “You like the new you, right? You’re basically the ideal All-American man now. You’ve got the looks, the skills, the right political views, and, of course, the perfect girlfriend.”

Matt laughed, a confident, almost smug laugh. “Yeah, bro. I mean, it’s like I’ve always been this way, y’know? Girls, football... that’s all that matters. Oh, and, uh, conservative values, right?”

Chase slapped him on the back. “Hell yeah. If we all just stuck to our guns, everything would be perfect.” He paused, his grin widening. “Just like us.”

At school, Matt became a local legend. His name, now officially “Matt Bennett,” was on everyone’s lips. Teachers and classmates alike would remark on how “All-American” he looked. At the football games, Matt was cheered on as a hero. His life, once a tangled web of uncertainty and self-doubt, had been rewritten.

Now, he was Matt Bennett, the perfect All-American jock, and he couldn't imagine being anyone else.

One afternoon, as he walked hand-in-hand with Cassie through the school’s hallway, Chase slapped him on the back. “Told you, man. Brunettes are great, but blondes? That’s where it’s at.”

Matt laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming. “You were right, bro.”

And as he leaned in to kiss Cassie, he didn’t think about the boy he had been before. Why would he? He was Matt Hastings now, the perfect All-American boy.

At school, Matt became a local legend. His name, now officially “Matt Bennett,” was on everyone’s lips. Teachers and classmates alike would remark on how “All-American” he looked. His new, muscular frame made him a standout, but it was his natural charisma and sharp athleticism that earned him respect.

“You know,” one of his classmates commented during lunch, “Matt Bennett... that name just screams All-American jock. It’s like something out of a movie.”

Another added, “Dude’s gotta be the most ‘jocky’ guy in school. I can already picture him playing pro football someday.”

The attention was flattering. He found himself slipping into the role effortlessly, becoming the guy everyone admired, the one who fit the mold perfectly.

But there was something else. It was in the way he now saw the world—through a lens of conservative ideals. Matt often found himself in debates with classmates, his new opinions solidifying as the days went on. He believed firmly in traditional gender roles, the importance of family values, and a strong distaste for liberal ideologies. The political conversations he had once enjoyed with his friends back in England seemed ridiculous now.

One day, during a lunch break, he and Chase found themselves talking about their political views.

“You know what’s messed up?” Matt said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “The way the country’s going. I mean, I don’t know how anyone could vote for those liberals. Everything’s just getting too soft.”

Chase nodded. “Exactly, man. It’s like people don’t want to stand up for what’s right anymore. We need to take America back. Make it great again.”

Matt chuckled. “I’m with you. It’s all about family, football, and freedom.”

Everything about Matt Bennett felt right now. His identity was clear, his life full of purpose, and every moment felt like an affirmation of his new self. He was exactly who he was supposed to be—perfectly All-American, living the life he had never even known he wanted.

And when he kissed Cassie, his blonde, bubbly cheerleader girlfriend, the world felt even more complete. He didn’t think about the boy he had been, the questions he had once asked himself. Why would he? He was Matt Bennett now—an All-American jock, straight as an arrow, and proud of it.

[xhoess]

Dangerous Desires part 1

Nicholas chaves x reader

PART 2 HERE

Summary:In "Dangerous Desires," you are a private investigator hired to find missing Hollywood star Nicholas Chavez, only to discover he’s hiding from a dangerous criminal organization. As you delve deeper into his secret life as an undercover agent, a powerful attraction ignites between you. Together, you confront betrayal, navigate high-stakes missions, and fight for survival, ultimately forging a bond that transcends danger and chaos.

Wc part one: 10.6 K

Warnings: killing, sex, stalking, unprotected, semi public sex, angst

The rain pounds against the window, the steady rhythm a distant echo in your office as you stare at the file on your desk. The name leaps off the page in bold black ink: Nicholas Alexander Chavez. You’ve seen it before, attached to glamorous headlines, interviews, and red carpets. The rising star of Hollywood. Handsome, charming, with a smile that could melt hearts and a presence that demanded attention. But that’s not why you’re looking at his file now.

No, this is different. He’s gone off the grid. Vanished without a trace from a world where visibility is everything. And now, someone—a very wealthy someone—wants him found.

You lean back in your chair, the leather creaking under the weight of your thoughts. The client had been as secretive as they come, hiring you through intermediaries, leaving no name or personal contact. All they’d provided was a briefcase of cash and the insistence that Nicholas Chavez be found discreetly. No police, no press, and certainly no publicity. You specialize in missing persons cases, and you’ve had your share of tricky assignments, but something about this one feels different. It’s not just the money—though the payment alone could keep your agency afloat for a year—it’s the way Nicholas’s disappearance has been cloaked in shadows.

You’ve been in this business long enough to know when someone is running from something. The real question is, what was Nicholas running from? Or worse, what was he hiding from?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the soft chime of your phone. A message flashes across the screen. It’s a lead, one of the few you’ve managed to gather in the last few days of digging into Nicholas’s last known whereabouts. You thumb through the message quickly, your eyes catching on the words East End Hotel. Not exactly the kind of place a Hollywood actor would be seen—more like the kind of place you’d go to disappear.

Without hesitation, you grab your jacket and head out into the storm, the streets slick with rain. The city pulses with life around you, but you’re already focused, your mind running through possibilities, mapping out what you’ll do if you find him. What happens next depends on the man you find. The rain falls harder as you make your way through the back streets, the neon signs reflecting in puddles beneath your feet.

The East End Hotel looms ahead, its faded sign flickering against the wet night sky. The place reeks of neglect—peeling paint, cracked windows, and the kind of clientele that would rather not be noticed. You slip inside, immediately hit with the smell of cigarette smoke and mildew. A bored clerk barely glances up from behind the counter as you head toward the elevator, your senses on high alert. You’ve done this before—many times—and you’ve learned how to move unnoticed, to slip through the cracks just like the people you’re chasing.

The elevator rattles as it ascends, each floor passing with a creak and groan. Room 304. That’s where your lead pointed you. Third floor. Your heart rate picks up slightly, anticipation mixing with a familiar surge of adrenaline. You can’t help but wonder what state you’ll find Nicholas in. The golden boy of Hollywood hiding out in a place like this—it doesn’t add up.

The hallway is dimly lit, long shadows creeping along the walls as you approach the door. Room 304. You pause for a moment, listening for any sound from the other side, but it’s silent. Too silent.

You knock, the sound dull against the hollow wood. No answer. You knock again, harder this time. Still nothing.

Without hesitating, you try the doorknob. It’s locked, of course, but the kind of lock that a little persistence can work around. A few seconds later, the door clicks open, and you step inside, the faint smell of stale air greeting you.

The room is dark, save for the muted glow of the streetlights filtering through the rain-streaked window. You move quietly, scanning the small, dingy space. Clothes are strewn across the chair, a duffel bag half-packed by the bed. Whoever was here wasn’t planning on staying long.

You step further into the room, your eyes adjusting to the shadows when suddenly, a figure emerges from the corner. Before you can react, a hand grips your arm, twisting it behind your back and slamming you against the wall.

“Who the hell are you?” a low voice growls into your ear, rough and dangerous.

Your breath catches in your throat, not because of the pain, but because of who’s holding you.

Nicholas Chavez.

You’ve seen his face a hundred times in photos, on the screen, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of him. Up close, he’s taller than you imagined, his presence overwhelming in the tight space. His grip is strong, bordering on brutal, and his scent—something dark and masculine—fills your senses.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you manage to say, keeping your voice calm despite the sharp edge of adrenaline coursing through you. “I was hired to find you.”

“By who?” he demands, but you can tell he already knows the answer. There’s tension in his body, something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your heartbeat accelerating under his unrelenting grip. “Anonymous client. They want you found, and they’re paying a lot of money to make sure it happens.”

His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, his eyes flicker with something—fear? Anger? It’s hard to tell, but whatever it is, it’s deep. Nicholas releases your arm, stepping back, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. The intensity in his gaze is almost palpable, like he’s trying to decide whether to trust you or get rid of you. For a moment, you can’t tell which way it’s going to go.

“You need to leave,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shoot back, straightening despite the lingering ache in your arm. “Not until you tell me why you’re hiding in this place and why someone’s paying top dollar to find you.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you wonder if he’s going to throw you out. But then something shifts. His expression softens—just a fraction—and the tension between you sharpens in a way you didn’t expect. His eyes, dark and brooding, flicker over you, and you can feel the crackling energy between you.

“I’m not hiding,” he says, stepping closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “I’m trying to survive.”

There’s a pause, the air between you thick with unspoken questions. He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between you a live wire, humming with something unspoken.

“You should go,” Nicholas murmurs, his gaze lingering on your face. “Before it’s too late.”

But as you stand there, heart racing, you know it’s already too late. You’re in too deep now, and there’s no way you’re walking away.

The rain hasn’t let up. It’s relentless, like the gnawing feeling in your gut. You know you should walk away from this case. Nicholas had warned you—stay away—but you can’t. Something about him, about this entire situation, has hooked you, and it’s too late to turn back.

You sit at your desk, staring at the notes you’ve gathered over the last few days. The crumpled paper with scribbled names and dead ends mocks you. Nicholas Chavez isn’t just missing—he’s hiding from something, something dangerous. Every instinct you’ve honed over years of tracking down missing persons tells you there’s more to this story. More than just an actor gone rogue.

You lean back in your chair, the quiet hum of the city outside barely penetrating the silence of your office. He’s out there, somewhere, slipping through the cracks, but no one can hide forever. You pull out your phone, your fingers hesitating over the screen. You’ve spent hours going over every lead, every hint of where Nicholas might turn up next, but nothing solid has come through yet.

Except for the faint trace of something that feels like a trap.

You push the thought aside, dial the number of one of your informants, and after a few short exchanges, you get something—an address, this time on the other side of town. It’s risky. You’ve already crossed paths with Nicholas, and you doubt he’ll be pleased to see you digging into his business again, but that’s not enough to stop you.

You grab your jacket and leave the office behind, stepping out into the wet, pulsing city once more. The rain slicks the streets, the occasional burst of light from passing cars reflecting off puddles as you make your way toward your destination. It’s late—too late to be roaming these parts of town alone—but danger has always been an old friend of yours.

By the time you reach the address, the place is exactly what you’d expected—another seedy, low-end corner of the city, where people go to disappear. A bar, tucked into a narrow street, almost invisible unless you know it’s there. You can feel the weight of eyes on you as you approach, the kind of place where newcomers stand out, and where asking the wrong questions might get you hurt—or worse.

You step inside, the stench of stale beer and smoke wrapping around you like a blanket. The interior is dimly lit, shadowy figures huddled in dark corners nursing their drinks. You make your way to the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Nicholas. Nothing. You’ve learned to trust your instincts, and right now, they’re screaming that something isn’t right.

Then you feel it—someone watching you. You turn slowly, scanning the room again, but no one stands out. Yet the hairs on the back of your neck rise, a prickle of awareness flooding your senses.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks, low and dripping with suspicion.

You glance at the bartender, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and eyes that have seen too much. He wipes down the counter lazily, his gaze never leaving you.

“I’m just here for a drink,” you say, playing it cool. You’re not here to cause trouble—not yet, anyway.

The bartender raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it. You order something light, just to blend in, but your focus is elsewhere, your eyes darting from one shadow to the next. And then you see him.

Nicholas.

He’s not seated in the crowd but lingering near the back, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before his expression hardens. You can feel the tension crackling between you even from across the room. He stands there, tall and imposing, his presence as magnetic as it is dangerous. For a split second, you think he’s going to turn around and leave, but instead, he starts walking toward you, his movements slow, deliberate.

Your pulse quickens. You weren’t expecting to find him this easily—or this soon.

Nicholas reaches you, his gaze piercing as he leans in close enough for you to catch the scent of rain and something darker, more primal, clinging to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a quiet growl.

“Looking for answers,” you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. “You can’t disappear without a trace and expect no one to come looking.”

“I told you to drop the case,” he says, his jaw tight. “This isn’t a game.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” you shoot back, heart pounding in your chest. There’s something about him, the way he looks at you—part frustration, part something else—that makes it hard to think clearly.

Nicholas leans in even closer, his breath hot against your skin, and you suddenly feel trapped between the bar and his looming figure. “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he warns, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “This isn’t some missing person case you can wrap up neatly. People are going to get hurt. You could get hurt.”

Despite the warning, the heat between you spikes, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. You can feel his intensity—his anger, yes, but something else too. There’s a spark of attraction, a pull that’s impossible to ignore, and it’s enough to leave you momentarily breathless.

“I can handle myself,” you say, but your voice is softer now, your bravado slipping under the weight of his gaze. Nicholas’s eyes flick down to your lips, just for a fraction of a second, and the air between you thickens with something neither of you can name.

For a moment, you think he might kiss you. His hand brushes against your arm, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. The closeness, the sheer heat of him, is almost unbearable. But then, as quickly as it began, he pulls back, breaking the moment. You catch your breath, trying to steady the rush of emotions that came so suddenly.

“You need to leave,” Nicholas says again, but this time, there’s less venom in his voice, as if he’s not entirely sure whether he wants you to go or stay. His eyes linger on you a beat too long before he turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows as if he was never there at all.

You stand there, heart still racing, the taste of that almost-kiss still on your lips. Nicholas is dangerous, that much is clear. But the danger isn’t enough to keep you away. If anything, it only draws you in deeper. And now, with each passing second, you’re more intrigued than ever.

Hours later, you’re back in your apartment, pacing, replaying the encounter over and over. The way he looked at you. The way you felt, pinned against the bar, caught between distrust and desire. You can’t shake the feeling that Nicholas is more than just a missing person. There’s something else going on—something bigger, darker, and much more dangerous than you initially thought.

A soft knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. You freeze. It’s late. Too late for visitors. Your heart jumps into your throat as you approach the door cautiously. You don’t have to guess who it is.

When you open it, Nicholas stands there, rain dripping from his hair, his expression unreadable.

“I warned you to stay away,” he says quietly, but there’s no threat in his voice now—just exhaustion. “I meant it.”

You don’t move, don’t say a word, as he steps closer, the space between you charged with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. For a moment, you think he’s going to leave again, but instead, he does the one thing you didn’t expect.

He reaches for you, pulling you against him in one swift motion, pinning you to the wall just like before, but this time, there’s no mistaking the desire burning between you. His breath is warm on your skin, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. The tension is unbearable, a tightrope strung between passion and control.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, Nicholas pulls back, leaving you breathless, wanting more, and more confused than ever.

“Stay away,” he says one last time, his voice low, almost pleading. Then he’s gone, leaving you standing there, heart pounding in the silence, knowing full well you’re in too deep to turn back now.

And the chase isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

It’s late—far too late for you to still be working, but you can’t stop. Nicholas has burrowed under your skin, an unsolved puzzle, pulling you deeper into a world you weren’t ready for. The usual thrill of a case has transformed into something sharper, more personal. Every lead you chase only tightens the knot in your chest, the sense that something terrible is looming just out of reach.

You sit at your desk, a dim lamp casting a weak glow over your scattered notes. Every piece of the puzzle feels disconnected, as if the truth is buried beneath layers of deceit you haven’t yet peeled away. Nicholas’s warnings replay in your head—Stay away—but how can you? There’s something about him that doesn’t fit with the Hollywood star persona. The charm, the danger, the secrets—they’ve drawn you in like moth to flame.

Your phone buzzes, cutting through the silence. You glance at the screen, an anonymous number flashing. Your gut twists in warning, but you answer anyway.

“There’s someone you should see,” a gruff voice on the other end says without preamble. “Nicholas isn’t the only one hiding.”

Before you can respond, the line goes dead, leaving a heavy sense of dread in its wake. Whoever that was, they know you’re looking for Nicholas. And more troubling—they know where to find you.

A flicker of fear sparks in your chest, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the burning need to see this through. You gather your things and head out into the night, the cool air biting at your skin. You should be more careful. You should probably stop digging into Nicholas’s life altogether. But curiosity—and something much stronger—drives you onward.

The address from the mysterious call leads you to a warehouse on the city’s outskirts, a place that looks abandoned, forgotten. But you know better. Abandoned buildings like this are where secrets hide. You step out of your car, pulling your jacket tight around you as you approach the entrance. The air feels heavy, thick with anticipation.

As you enter, the dim light inside reveals a few figures moving in the shadows. Instinctively, your hand moves to the small knife tucked in your coat—just in case. You’ve been in situations like this before, where danger isn’t just a possibility; it’s a guarantee.

Suddenly, you catch movement to your right. A figure darts past one of the broken windows—a man, tall and lean, but definitely not Nicholas. You follow, slipping deeper into the warehouse. Your pulse quickens as you realize you’re not alone in tailing him.

You crouch behind a stack of crates, watching as the man exchanges something with another figure—money, perhaps, or information. You can’t quite make out the details, but whatever it is, it’s important. Your gut tells you it has something to do with Nicholas. You edge closer, trying to catch a clearer glimpse when—

BAM!

The sound of gunfire rips through the air, sharp and deafening. You drop to the ground as instinct kicks in, adrenaline surging through your veins. Shouts echo around the warehouse, followed by the screech of tires outside. Whoever fired those shots isn’t here to negotiate.

Before you can react, more shots ring out. You press yourself against the cold concrete, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. You’re caught in the middle of something you don’t fully understand. This isn’t just about finding Nicholas anymore—this is something far more dangerous.

Suddenly, you hear rapid footsteps approaching from behind. You whirl around, your knife ready in your hand, but you’re not fast enough. Strong hands grab you, pulling you upright and slamming you into the nearest wall. Your heart races as you catch a glimpse of your attacker’s face—one of the men from earlier. His eyes are wild with fury.

“Who the hell are you?” he growls, his breath hot on your face.

You don’t have time to answer before another gunshot rings out, this one close enough that you feel the vibration through the wall. The man jerks, his grip on you loosening as his eyes widen in shock. Blood seeps through his shirt, and he crumples to the ground in front of you.

Standing where the man had been is Nicholas.

Your heart lurches as he steps toward you, his expression dark and unreadable. He’s holding a gun, still aimed at where the man fell, his posture rigid with tension. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sounds of distant shouting and footsteps echoing in the background.

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asks, his voice rough and low, the concern in it barely masked by the sharp edge of adrenaline.

You nod, still breathless from the close call. “What the hell is going on, Nicholas?”

His eyes flash with something unreadable, and instead of answering, he grabs your arm and pulls you toward the far exit. “There’s no time. We have to get out of here.”

You resist, yanking your arm back. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening!”

Nicholas glares at you, his jaw clenched tight. For a moment, you think he might actually walk away and leave you to fend for yourself. But then, his shoulders sag just a little, and he looks at you with something like regret in his eyes.

“There are people after me. Dangerous people. You’re caught in the middle of something bigger than you realize.” His voice is low, intense. “Now, come with me, or you won’t get out of here alive.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. You should be furious with him, should demand more answers. But the urgency in his voice and the way his eyes flick to the shadows behind you tells you that now isn’t the time for questions. There’s real danger here, and it’s closing in fast.

Without another word, you let him lead you out through the back, dodging the shadows that seem to creep closer with every step. Once outside, Nicholas pulls you into a narrow alley behind the building, pressing you both against the wall, listening for any signs of pursuit.

The night feels impossibly still compared to the chaos you’ve just escaped, and the tension between you is suffocating. You’re pressed against him, both of you breathing heavily, the cold night air doing nothing to cool the heat radiating from him.

“Why did you come back?” he asks suddenly, his voice raw with something you can’t quite place. “I warned you to stay away.”

“I couldn’t,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I needed to know the truth.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. And then, before you can process it, he’s kissing you.

The kiss is hard, desperate, fueled by adrenaline and fear. It’s as if both of you are trying to erase the danger, the chaos, by clinging to this one moment of connection. His hands cup your face, his lips urgent against yours, and you feel yourself melting into him, into the heat and intensity of it all.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the danger you’ve just escaped.

“This is going to get worse,” Nicholas says quietly, his forehead resting against yours. “You need to leave this alone. For your own safety.”

But as you look into his eyes, you know that leaving is no longer an option. Not now. Not after this.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly, and you mean it. Whatever this is—this danger, this desire—you’re in it now, and there’s no turning back.

Nicholas nods, as if he expected nothing less from you. His grip tightens on your hand as he pulls you deeper into the night, into the shadows, and into a world far more dangerous than you ever could have imagined.

The only question now is whether you’ll survive it.

The morning after the warehouse incident dawns with a strange sense of calm, but you know it’s deceptive. The sun filters through your blinds, casting faint patterns on the floor, but the warmth it offers does nothing to ease the cold knot in your stomach. You’re on edge, constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for the next explosion of danger.

It’s been two days since Nicholas pulled you out of that warehouse, his hands still warm on your skin, his kiss lingering like an unresolved question. Two days since you promised yourself that you wouldn’t walk away from this, no matter how deep it pulled you into his world.

But you need answers. Not just about him, but about everything that’s happening. You’ve followed enough leads to know that this isn’t just about a missing person anymore. Nicholas is hiding something, and not just from the world—he’s hiding it from you.

You head into your office, determined to sift through the clues you’ve gathered. You spread out the files, notes, photos, all of it in disarray but slowly coming together like a jigsaw puzzle. Every piece points to something bigger. There’s more than just a criminal network involved; it feels like you’ve stepped into a web of international proportions. And Nicholas? He’s at the center.

The knock at the door interrupts your thoughts, and before you can respond, it swings open. Nicholas strides in, his presence filling the room instantly. He’s dressed differently today, no longer the laid-back Hollywood star or the dangerous figure from the warehouse. There’s something official about him, almost… professional.

“Do you ever knock?” you ask, standing up from your desk, your tone sharper than you intend.

Nicholas stops in front of your desk, his eyes scanning the mess of papers, his jaw clenched. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You cross your arms, trying to keep your guard up even though his very presence makes it difficult. “About how you keep dragging me into your world without giving me any answers?”

He glances at the files on your desk, his expression darkening. “You’ve been digging.”

“I’m a private investigator. It’s kind of what I do.”

Nicholas lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair as if he’s trying to figure out how to begin. His gaze meets yours, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable, in his eyes. It’s a look that makes your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“I owe you an explanation,” he admits, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. This is the first time he’s willingly offered anything close to the truth. Your defenses lower just slightly, and you gesture for him to sit.

He doesn’t. Instead, he leans against your desk, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving yours.

“The reason I disappeared,” he begins, “the reason I’ve been in hiding—it’s not just about me. It’s about something much bigger. I’m not just an actor. I’m… working undercover.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, the words hitting you like a punch. “Undercover? As in law enforcement?”

“Not quite.” Nicholas’s jaw tightens. “I’ve been working with an international task force. We’re taking down an organization that’s been running an extensive criminal network for years. Drugs, weapons, human trafficking—it’s all connected. I’ve been posing as someone they could use, someone with enough money and fame to help them move product under the radar.”

You stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying. It makes sense, all of it. The danger, the secrecy, the way he’s been acting. But it doesn’t make it any easier to digest.

“So, all of this—the disappearances, the shady dealings, everything I’ve been following—it’s part of your cover?” you ask, your voice a mix of disbelief and frustration.

Nicholas nods. “Yes. And now that you’re involved, you’re in danger too.”

A heavy silence falls between you, and the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. You’re no longer just chasing a missing person case. You’re entangled in something far more dangerous—an international criminal ring, and Nicholas is right in the middle of it.

“How long have you been doing this?” you ask, your mind racing.

“Almost two years,” he replies, his voice grim. “At first, it was just gathering intel, getting close to the people running the operation. But it’s grown bigger, more dangerous. The deeper I go, the more risk there is.”

You sit down, trying to wrap your mind around everything. Two years. He’s been living a lie for two years, pretending to be someone he’s not. The Hollywood persona, the actor’s life—it was all just a cover for his real mission.

“And now you’ve dragged me into it,” you say, a mix of anger and resignation in your tone.

Nicholas pushes away from the desk, stepping closer to you, his expression serious. “I didn’t want to involve you. I told you to stay away, but you wouldn’t. You kept digging, and now you’re in as deep as I am.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding. There’s no turning back now, no way to untangle yourself from this mess. And a part of you, the part that’s always been drawn to danger, knows that you don’t want to.

“So, what happens now?” you ask, your voice steadier than you feel.

Nicholas takes a deep breath, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Now, we work together. You’ve already gathered valuable information. You can help me finish this.”

A surge of adrenaline pulses through you at the thought. The idea of working alongside Nicholas, of diving even deeper into this dangerous world, sends a thrill down your spine. But there’s something else, too. Something that makes your heart beat faster whenever he’s near.

“I’m not just going to be your pawn,” you warn, standing up and facing him.

He smirks, but there’s a seriousness beneath it. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before you can respond, his phone buzzes, breaking the tension. Nicholas glances at the screen, his expression hardening. “We’ve got a problem,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “There’s been a development. We need to move fast.”

Your pulse quickens as he explains that a crucial meeting with one of the criminal leaders is happening tonight—a meeting that could blow his entire operation wide open. You’ll have to go undercover with him, posing as his partner to get inside.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Nicholas asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You meet his gaze head-on, adrenaline surging through your veins. “I’ve come this far. I’m not backing out now.”

He nods, a look of approval crossing his face. “Then we’re in this together.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur. You spend hours preparing, going over the details of the plan, getting into character. Nicholas coaches you on what to say, how to act, but it feels like a performance you’ve been preparing for your entire life. You’re ready.

As the sun sets, you and Nicholas head out, the tension between you palpable. Every glance, every touch feels charged with the weight of what’s to come. The mission is dangerous, yes, but there’s something else simmering beneath the surface—something neither of you can ignore.

The plan is simple: attend the meeting, gather as much intel as possible, and get out before anyone realizes who you really are. But as you stand beside Nicholas, dressed in a sleek, professional outfit that screams wealth and power, you can’t help but feel the electricity in the air. The danger, the thrill—it’s intoxicating.

When Nicholas slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you enter the meeting, your pulse quickens. You can’t tell if it’s because of the mission or because of the heat radiating from him.

The room is filled with high-profile criminals, their eyes assessing you both as you make your entrance. Nicholas plays his part flawlessly, his charm and confidence drawing people in, but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly—a silent reminder that the danger is very real.

As the meeting progresses, tension mounts. You exchange subtle glances with Nicholas, every look charged with unspoken meaning. But the mission takes a dangerous turn when one of the men—a high-ranking figure in the criminal network—fixes his gaze on you.

“Who’s this?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice.

Nicholas doesn’t miss a beat, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulls you closer. “This is my partner,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with authority. “She’s been helping me with some of our more… delicate matters.”

The man’s eyes narrow, but Nicholas’s confident tone seems to placate him, for now. The rest of the night passes in a blur of tense conversations, subtle glances, and mounting danger. You can feel the eyes on you, the suspicion lurking beneath every smile.

By the time the meeting ends, you’re on edge, your heart pounding with adrenaline. But you and Nicholas managed to gather the intel you needed, and for now, you’re in the clear.

As you step outside into the cool night air, Nicholas finally relaxes, his grip on you loosening. But instead of stepping away, he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You did good tonight.”

The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you forget the danger. All you can feel is him—his body pressed against yours, his hand resting on your hip.

“We’re not out

“We’re not out of this yet,” Nicholas finishes, his voice a low whisper that hums against your skin.

You tilt your head slightly, your pulse hammering in your ears as you force yourself to focus. The mission isn’t over, not by a long shot. But it’s hard to think when his proximity stirs emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried. You step back slightly, creating just enough distance to breathe, but his hand lingers on your hip, as if reluctant to let go.

“I did what I had to,” you say, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the intensity in his gaze. “Now, tell me the rest. You didn’t drag me into this just to play dress-up.”

Nicholas sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks away for a moment, scanning the darkened street, as if making sure you’re alone. Finally, he turns back to you, his expression conflicted.

“I didn’t want to bring you in at all,” he admits, his voice rough. “But I had no choice. After what happened at the warehouse, you were in too deep. They know about you now.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You knew, on some level, that stepping into Nicholas’s world meant putting yourself in danger, but hearing him confirm it solidifies the gravity of the situation. You’re a target now, just like him.

“Who’s ‘they’?” you ask, your voice more controlled than you feel.

“The Syndicate,” Nicholas says grimly. “The organization I’ve been working to take down. They run everything—from trafficking to black-market arms deals—and they have eyes everywhere.”

The Syndicate. You’ve heard whispers of the name before, but now, hearing it directly from Nicholas, the weight of it feels even more ominous.“And you’re undercover, trying to take them down from the inside,” you say, piecing the puzzle together. “That’s why you’ve been on the run.”

He nods. “I was getting too close. My cover started to slip, and they began to suspect me. So I disappeared for a while, laying low. But now things are escalating, and they’re looking for any loose ends to tie up. That includes you.”

The realization of how close you’ve come to the edge settles in. You’ve tangled yourself in something far more dangerous than you anticipated, but instead of fear, you feel an unexpected surge of determination. If the Syndicate thinks they can use you as leverage, they’ve underestimated you.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask, your voice steady. “How do we take them down?”

Nicholas steps closer again, his dark eyes searching yours. “We work together. I need your help. You’ve already uncovered more than you realize, and with what we learned tonight, we’re closer than ever to getting inside their inner circle.”

Your chest tightens with the weight of his words. He’s putting his trust in you—something he’s clearly not accustomed to doing. But there’s more to this than just the mission. The tension between you, the undeniable pull—it’s growing stronger, more dangerous. And right now, you’re not sure which is the greater risk: the Syndicate or Nicholas himself.

“Alright,” you say, your voice firm. “But I’m not just some bystander. If we’re doing this, I’m all in.”

Nicholas’s eyes flash with something unreadable, but he nods, his expression softening slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You both linger there for a moment, the quiet street around you contrasting the storm of emotions churning inside. There’s so much left unsaid between you, so much unresolved tension. But right now, the mission takes precedence. The Syndicate is closing in, and you can’t afford any distractions—no matter how intoxicating they might be.

“We need to go,” Nicholas finally says, breaking the silence. “It’s not safe here.”

You nod, falling into step beside him as you head toward his car. The ride back to your safe house is filled with an uncomfortable silence, both of you lost in thought. The night’s events have raised more questions than answers, but one thing is clear: you’re in this now, and there’s no turning back.

When you finally arrive at the safe house, you both slip inside, the tension still thick in the air. Nicholas locks the door behind you, his movements tense, alert. You watch him for a moment, studying the lines of his face, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s constantly on edge.

“You’re different now,” you say, your voice softer than you intend. “Not just because of tonight, but… this whole thing. It’s changed you.”

Nicholas turns to face you, his expression guarded. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Then tell me,” you push, stepping closer. “You owe me that much.”

He exhales sharply, his eyes darkening as he regards you. “I didn’t ask for this life,” he says, his voice low, almost bitter. “I was supposed to just be an actor. That’s all I wanted—to live a normal life, to stay out of all this. But then I got pulled in, and once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. You’ve seen him in control, always keeping his emotions in check, but now there’s a rawness to him that makes your heart ache. You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, and the contact sparks something between you.

“Nicholas…” you start, but the words die in your throat.

He looks at you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. And before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you’re closing the distance between you.

The kiss is explosive, like a dam breaking, releasing all the pent-up emotions and tension that have been simmering between you for weeks. Nicholas’s hands are on you instantly, pulling you closer, his lips rough, desperate against yours. It’s like he’s been holding back for too long, and now that he’s let go, there’s no stopping it.

Your back hits the wall as Nicholas presses against you, his body hot and hard against yours. The room feels like it’s spinning, the heat between you building with every frantic touch, every gasp of breath. It’s overwhelming, consuming, but you can’t stop—neither of you can.

For a brief moment, the danger, the mission, the Syndicate—all of it fades away. There’s only the two of you, lost in the whirlwind of desire and need.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, you stare at each other, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. Nicholas steps back, his chest heaving, but his eyes are still locked on yours.

“We can’t… we can’t let this get in the way,” he says, his voice rough, though it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You nod, though you’re not sure you believe it either. The pull between you is too strong, too undeniable. But he’s right—there’s too much at stake to let your emotions cloud your judgment.

“I know,” you say, your voice steady, even though your heart is still racing.

Nicholas runs a hand through his hair, his gaze softening as he watches you. “We’ll figure this out. But for now… we need to focus on the mission.”

You nod again, forcing yourself to push aside the emotions swirling inside you. The Syndicate is still out there, and every second you waste is a second closer to them finding you.

“Right,” you say, your voice firm. “Let’s finish this.”

And as you stand there, the weight of the mission hanging between you, you realize that no matter what happens next—whether you take down the Syndicate or not—nothing will ever be the same between you and Nicholas.

The next few days are a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. With Nicholas by your side, the world feels different—charged with an energy that both excites and terrifies you. The thrill of the mission looms large in your mind, but so does the tantalizing reality of your deepening connection with him.

You spend hours poring over files, piecing together information about the Syndicate and its operations. Nicholas is meticulous, guiding you through the layers of deception he’s encountered. Every moment spent working together intensifies the bond between you, and despite the underlying tension, you find yourself lost in his focus and determination.

Finally, the night of the high-profile event arrives. As you stand in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. The black dress clings to your curves, the neckline daring yet elegant. It’s the perfect outfit to play the role of a wealthy socialite. You glance at the clock, your heart racing as you anticipate Nicholas’s arrival.

When he steps through the door, time seems to stand still. He’s dressed in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his frame perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean waist. The moment you lay eyes on him, your breath catches. There’s an air of confidence about him that’s magnetic, and as he moves closer, you can feel the heat radiating between you.

“Wow,” he breathes, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively. “You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a rush of warmth flood your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends a thrill down your spine. But his expression shifts as he steps closer, his gaze turning serious. “Remember, this is just a performance. We have to stay in character at all times. The moment anyone suspects us, everything falls apart.”

“I know,” you say, swallowing the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “But we’re also pretending to be a couple, right? That adds a layer of complexity.”

Nicholas’s lips curl into a smirk. “Complexity is one way to put it. Just stick close to me, and let’s keep our story straight.”

You nod, trying to suppress the rush of excitement mingled with anxiety. This isn’t just a game anymore; it’s a high-stakes dance on the edge of danger.

As you both make your way to the event, the ambiance shifts from the quiet intimacy of the safe house to the bustling energy of the gala. The venue is an opulent hotel ballroom, adorned with crystal chandeliers and elegant décor. The air is thick with the laughter of the elite, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the soft strains of a live band playing in the background.

“Stay close,” Nicholas murmurs as he takes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, and you instinctively lean into him, feeling safe and exhilarated.

The crowd swirls around you, and as you navigate through the sea of well-dressed guests, Nicholas introduces you to various attendees, spinning tales of your wealth and influence. He’s in his element, effortlessly charming everyone with his charisma, and you can’t help but admire the way he commands the room.

But beneath the polished surface, you can sense the tension in the air. You keep your eyes peeled for any signs of danger, scanning the room for familiar faces associated with the Syndicate. Each time Nicholas leans in to whisper something sultry in your ear, the heat between you ignites, making it harder to maintain your focus.

“Let’s find somewhere a little quieter,” he suggests, a playful glint in his eye. You nod, your heart racing as he leads you away from the crowd, toward a secluded balcony that overlooks the city lights.

The moment you step outside, the cool breeze brushes against your skin, providing a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you. Nicholas leans against the railing, looking out over the cityscape, and you take a moment to admire him—his profile strong and defined against the night sky.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at you sideways. “You look a little overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him, even though your heart is racing for a different reason. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”

Nicholas steps closer, his body radiating warmth as he closes the distance between you. “Just remember to breathe. We’ve got this.”

As he speaks, the chemistry between you crackles like electricity. The way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat, and despite the looming threat, the desire swirling in the air is palpable. You can feel it—their shared breaths, the closeness drawing you in, and the way his gaze flickers down to your lips.

Before you can think, you lean in, seeking the warmth of his body, and he meets you halfway, their lips colliding in a heated kiss. It’s hungry and desperate, an unspoken promise of everything you both want but can’t yet fully embrace. The world around you fades, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment of passion and chaos.

When you finally pull away, your breath mingles with his, both of you panting as you struggle to regain your composure. “We should… get back,” you murmur, though part of you longs to stay in this intimate bubble, away from the prying eyes and dangers of the night.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though his eyes are still dark with desire. “But I think we’re going to need to play this part a little more convincingly.”

Your heart races at the implications of his words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we need to give them a show,” he says, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “If we’re going to convince the Syndicate that we’re a couple, we need to act like one.”

His words hang in the air between you, charged with potential. You know what he’s suggesting, and a thrill of excitement runs through you. This is more than just a mission now; it’s a game where the stakes are life and death, but it’s also a dance that tests the boundaries of your connection.

“Alright, show me how it’s done,” you say, your voice steady as you take a step closer.

Nicholas smirks, that devil-may-care charm igniting a spark of courage within you. “Follow my lead.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you head back inside. The energy shifts as you rejoin the crowd, the vibrant chatter surrounding you. You fall into step beside him, the charade deepening as you lean into him, playing the part of the enamored socialite.

Nicholas effortlessly navigates through conversations, keeping up appearances while subtly gathering information from the people around you. You watch him work, fascinated by how he switches from charming to serious in an instant, his eyes sharp and alert beneath his playful demeanor.

As the night unfolds, you find yourself drawn into the role more than you expected. When Nicholas leans in, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, you realize you’re not just pretending anymore. The way he touches you, the way he looks at you—it all feels too real, too intoxicating.

At one point, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “The main players will be here soon. We need to find out who they are.”

“Right,” you nod, your heart racing as the adrenaline of the mission heightens your senses.

Just as he pulls back, a figure catches your eye across the room—a man clad in a sharply tailored suit, his presence commanding. There’s something about him that sets your instincts on high alert. You don’t recognize him, but Nicholas’s body stiffens slightly beside you.

“Do you see him?” he murmurs, eyes narrowing as he observes the man. “That’s Victor Reyes. He’s one of the top operatives in the Syndicate. If we can get close to him, it might lead us right to the heart of their operation.”

You glance back at Nicholas, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. “What do we do?”

Nicholas’s eyes flicker with determination. “We get close to him, but we can’t blow our cover. Let’s keep our act together while we gather intel.”

You nod, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you both weave your way through the crowd, each step bringing you closer to the danger you seek. As you approach Victor, you feel the tension in the air rise, a palpable anticipation buzzing between you and Nicholas.

“Act natural,” Nicholas whispers as you reach the group surrounding Victor. “And remember, you’re with me.”

You plaster on a smile, feeling the weight of the moment as you engage with the other guests, keeping the conversation flowing as you subtly edge closer to Victor. Your heart races in your chest, both from the thrill of the encounter and the sheer proximity to the man who could unravel everything.

As the night continues, you and Nicholas play your parts perfectly, dancing between flirting and feigning disinterest in the dangerous conversations that swirl around you. With each passing moment, the connection between you grows deeper, electrifying the air around you.

But just as you feel yourself getting lost in the moment, Victor’s gaze flickers toward you, and a glimmer of recognition sparks in his eyes. You freeze, heart pounding as you try to maintain your composure. You can feel Nicholas’s presence beside you, an unspoken reassurance as you both play your parts flawlessly.

“Ah, you must be the new socialite everyone’s been talking about,” Victor says, his voice smooth and laced with curiosity. “Tell me, what’s your secret?”

Your pulse

Your pulse quickens as Victor’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing you with a blend of intrigue and challenge. You can feel Nicholas tense beside you, his protective energy radiating off him, but you maintain your composure, forcing a smile as you meet Victor’s gaze.

“Just the usual secrets of success,” you reply lightly, your voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. “A little charm, a little finesse. You know how it is in this world.”

Victor chuckles softly, leaning closer as if to catch every word. “Indeed, charm is essential. But I find it’s also about knowing the right people.” His gaze drifts over to Nicholas, a knowing look passing between them. “And who you associate with.”

Nicholas steps in smoothly, his arm tightening around your waist as he tilts his head slightly in Victor's direction. “This is my partner, after all. She’s got a knack for finding the most interesting circles to mix in.”

“Interesting circles, indeed.” Victor’s gaze shifts back to you, a flicker of curiosity igniting in his eyes. “I’d like to know more about you. What brings you to this particular gathering?”

You catch the glint of danger in his question, the way he’s trying to gauge your motives. Instinctively, you lean a little closer to Nicholas, allowing the chemistry between you to speak volumes. “Just looking to expand my horizons and connect with influential people,” you say, your tone light, but your mind races as you consider your next words.

“Always a good idea,” Victor replies, his expression unreadable. “And with your partner here, you couldn’t have made a better choice.”

“Absolutely,” you say, your smile unwavering. “Nicholas has been quite the guide in this world.”

Nicholas smirks, his confidence radiating as he interjects, “And we make quite the team, don’t we?” He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Stick with me; I’ll keep you safe.”

The intimacy of his words sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight to keep your composure. You glance around the room, noting how the other guests watch the interaction unfold, some with mild interest, others with palpable curiosity.

“What do you do, Nicholas?” Victor asks, shifting his focus, his tone deceptively casual. “You seem quite well-connected.”

Nicholas chuckles, a lighthearted sound that belies the tension in the air. “Let’s just say I dabble in a few businesses. A little of this, a little of that. It’s all very exciting.” He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But nothing nearly as thrilling as our friend here.”

“Thrilling, indeed,” Victor replies, his smile tight, but his interest piqued. “I have a keen eye for talent. Perhaps we could discuss opportunities that might interest both of you.”

The suggestion hangs between you, and a warning bell rings in your head. You know Nicholas’s real agenda here, and while the prospect of working with someone like Victor could be advantageous, it also carries significant risks.

“Opportunities are always welcome,” you say smoothly, masking the tension building within you. “But I’m sure Nicholas has a busy schedule. Isn’t that right?”

Nicholas’s gaze meets yours, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m always open to exploring new ventures, but tonight’s more about enjoying the festivities, wouldn’t you agree?”

Victor studies both of you, his expression inscrutable. “Of course. But let’s not let this opportunity pass us by.” He gestures toward the grand room filled with guests. “Perhaps you’d like to join me for a drink later? I know a few spots that might be more… enlightening.”

A chill runs down your spine. The invitation feels loaded, as if he’s testing the waters to see how deep your involvement runs. You exchange a glance with Nicholas, who nods subtly, his demeanor calm but alert.

“We’ll see,” Nicholas says, his tone noncommittal but friendly. “For now, let’s enjoy the night.” He expertly steers the conversation away from Victor, guiding you back toward the crowd.

As you walk away, your heart races, the weight of Victor’s gaze lingering on your back. “That was close,” you murmur, leaning closer to Nicholas, your pulse pounding in your ears. “He’s definitely onto us.”

Nicholas nods, his expression serious now. “Yeah, we have to tread carefully. He’s smart and observant, which means we need to keep our wits about us.”

“What’s our next move?” you ask, glancing back to ensure Victor hasn’t followed.

“For now, we gather more intel,” Nicholas replies, his gaze scanning the room. “Let’s keep mingling and see if we can spot any other players. If we can get a sense of who’s who in this crowd, we can better navigate our next steps.”

As the night wears on, you move through the gathering, chatting with other guests while keeping a watchful eye on Victor. Nicholas remains by your side, his presence both comforting and electrifying, a constant reminder of the stakes involved.

After an hour, you find yourselves near the bar, exchanging pleasantries with a group of wealthy patrons. You laugh and flirt, letting the act come naturally as you try to gather information. The tension between you and Nicholas is palpable, though, and every time he leans in to whisper a witty remark, it sends your heart racing.

“Do you think we can trust anyone here?” you ask quietly, scanning the crowd. “Everyone seems to have their own agenda.”

Nicholas nods, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, but the risk is worth it if we can gather enough information. Just stay alert. We need to keep our cover intact.”

As you sip your drink, you notice a commotion near the entrance. A group of men in dark suits has arrived, their demeanor sharp and commanding. They move through the crowd with an air of authority, immediately drawing attention.

“There they are,” Nicholas murmurs, his focus shifting. “The ones we need to watch. The Syndicate’s higher-ups.”

You turn to look, and your breath catches as you spot a familiar face among them—a man with a scar running down his cheek, a haunting reminder of the dangers you’ve been trying to evade. You didn’t expect to see him here, and the realization sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that—” you start to say, but Nicholas interrupts.

“Keep calm,” he warns, his voice low. “If they see us panicking, it could blow our cover.”

You nod, forcing yourself to breathe steadily as you watch the group. Nicholas stands close, his arm around your waist, the connection grounding you in the face of potential danger. But as the men circulate through the crowd, their presence feels like a storm brewing.

Suddenly, the tension becomes palpable, and without warning, the lights flicker, dimming for a moment before returning to their full brightness. You can feel Nicholas tense beside you, his eyes narrowing as he scans the room.

“What was that?” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Just stay close to me,” he replies, his voice low but firm. “It could be a distraction. They might be planning something.”

As the music swells and the guests resume their conversations, you can’t shake the feeling of unease settling in your stomach. The air feels charged, and you sense the impending danger lurking just beneath the surface.

Nicholas tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you in closer. “We need to move,” he says, his tone urgent but controlled. “Let’s find a way to gather more information about those men without drawing attention to ourselves.”

With every ounce of your instincts telling you to run, you follow his lead, navigating through the crowd with purpose. You can feel your heart racing, the thrill of danger intensifying as you blend in with the other guests, slipping further into the shadows of the evening.

As you weave through the throng of people, Nicholas stays close, the heat of his body radiating against yours. You exchange glances, a silent understanding passing between you—this isn’t just a mission anymore; it’s a fight for survival, and you’re in it together.

Finally, you spot a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the main flow of guests. You duck into the alcove, the darkness enveloping you as you press against the wall, breathing heavily from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Is this a good spot?” you ask, glancing up at Nicholas, who remains focused, his eyes scanning the area.

“Let’s listen in,” he replies, nodding toward a nearby group of men, one of whom is speaking animatedly about recent dealings with the Syndicate. You strain to hear, the tension thickening as you grasp for any useful information.

The conversation is tense, filled with veiled threats and promises of loyalty. The men are discussing operations, their words dripping with malice, and you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine as you realize just how deep the web of corruption runs.

Nicholas glances at you, his expression serious. “We need to be careful. If they catch us eavesdropping—”

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. The men stop talking, their eyes narrowing as they scan the room. You can feel the tension in the air as they shift, their attention honing in on your alcove.

“Let’s go,” Nicholas hisses, grabbing your hand and pulling you deeper into the shadows. You follow his lead, heart racing as you duck into a narrow hallway, desperately hoping to escape their gaze.

But as you navigate the darkness, the sound of footsteps follows closely behind, the realization dawning that the men are

The sound of footsteps echoes through the narrow hallway, a relentless reminder that you’re not safe yet. Panic bubbles up inside you as you sprint alongside Nicholas, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You can hear the hushed voices behind you, growing closer.

“Quick, this way!” Nicholas urges, pulling you into a side corridor that leads to a series of smaller rooms. The dim light flickers overhead, casting long shadows that play tricks on your mind as you press forward.

As you run, you glance back, catching a glimpse of the men as they round the corner. Their expressions are hard and determined, the dangerous glint in their eyes sending a chill down your spine. You can’t shake the feeling that they’re on to you.

Nicholas leads you into an empty storage room, its contents stacked haphazardly against the walls. The door creaks shut behind you, and he quickly moves to block it with a nearby crate. The sound of footsteps draws nearer, and you hold your breath, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers, his voice low but urgent. You nod, the gravity of the situation sinking in as you press against the cool wall, trying to calm your racing heart.

The footsteps pause just outside the door, and you can hear the men’s hushed voices, discussing your appearance and the fact that you had been near Victor. Your stomach knots as you realize how close you are to being discovered.

“They were definitely eavesdropping,” one of the men says, his voice gravelly and filled with menace. “We can’t let them get away.”

“Split up and search the area,” another replies. “They can’t have gone far. We’ll find them.”

Your breath quickens as you grip Nicholas’s arm tightly, feeling the tension radiate off him. His gaze is intense, his mind racing as he weighs their options.

After a tense moment, the footsteps recede, and Nicholas releases a quiet sigh of relief. “We need to move, now,” he murmurs, scanning the room for an exit. “If they’re searching for us, we can’t stay here.”

He leads you to a back door, and you follow closely behind, your heart racing. As he pushes it open, the door creaks, and you wince at the sound, fearing it might draw attention. But the hallway beyond is empty, the only light filtering in from a small window at the far end.

“Go!” Nicholas urges, gently pushing you forward. You step into the hallway, adrenaline flooding your system as you hurry to keep pace with him.

As you move cautiously, you hear muffled voices growing fainter in the distance. Nicholas pauses, glancing back to ensure you’re not followed. “We have to find a way out of this area,” he whispers. “Stick close to me and stay quiet.”

You nod, focusing on his words as he leads you further into the maze of hallways. The tension in the air feels electric, and you can’t shake the fear of being discovered. The stakes are higher than ever, and with every step, the danger looms closer.

Finally, you reach a stairwell leading down. “This way,” Nicholas says, his voice firm as he guides you down the steps. The silence envelops you, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the distant chatter of the gala above.

As you descend, you can feel your heart racing. You can’t help but wonder how this night, filled with excitement and seduction, has turned into a desperate escape. The thrill of danger hangs in the air, intertwining with the electricity between you and Nicholas.

When you reach the bottom, you emerge into a dimly lit hallway that seems to lead to a staff area. The distant clinking of glasses and soft music echoes from above, a stark contrast to the tension you feel.

“Let’s find an exit,” Nicholas says, his voice low but steady. “We can regroup outside and plan our next move.”

You nod, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings. As you move through the corridor, you catch a glimpse of a door marked “Employees Only.”

“Here,” you suggest, pointing toward the door. “This might lead us out.”

Nicholas moves toward it, pushing it open just enough to peek inside. After a brief moment, he nods and gestures for you to follow him. You step inside, the faint scent of cleaning supplies mingling with the air.

The room is small and cluttered, filled with boxes and supplies. You can hear the muffled sounds of the party echoing outside, and for a moment, you feel an overwhelming sense of isolation in this hidden corner of the world.

“Over there,” Nicholas whispers, pointing to a door at the far end of the room. “That should lead to a back entrance.”

You nod, your pulse quickening again as you move toward it, feeling the weight of the moment. As you reach for the handle, a sudden thought strikes you. “Nicholas, what if they find us? What if they—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, placing a finger against his lips to silence you. His eyes are intense, full of urgency. “We have to keep moving. Trust me.”

With that, you push the door open and step outside, the cool night air hitting you like a wave. You squint against the sudden brightness of the outdoor lights, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings.

You find yourselves in a small alley behind the hotel, a stark contrast to the opulence of the gala. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you, leaving only the hum of the city.

“Is there a way to blend in?” you ask, glancing around nervously. “We can’t just walk out into the street.”

Nicholas nods, his expression thoughtful as he scans the alley. “There should be some staff uniforms in that supply room. If we can change, we might be able to slip past anyone looking for us.”

You nod, your heart racing with the idea of disguising yourselves. “Let’s do it.”

You move quickly back inside, rummaging through the boxes until you find a couple of staff uniforms. With a mix of urgency and adrenaline, you change as quickly as possible, slipping into the dark trousers and button-up shirts that disguise your evening attire.

Nicholas pulls his hair back into a neat ponytail, the uniform transforming him into someone entirely different. You can’t help but admire how effortlessly he pulls off the look, even in the face of danger.

“Ready?” he asks, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

You nod, straightening your own outfit. “Let’s do this.”

As you step back outside, you take a deep breath, trying to suppress the anxiety swirling within you. With Nicholas by your side, the thrill of the mission mingles with a sense of hope. You have a chance to escape, to regroup and plan your next move, but you also feel the heat of the connection that’s been building between you.

“Stick close,” Nicholas says, his tone serious as you both start to walk down the alley, blending into the shadows.

You navigate your way back to the street, the bustling energy of the city wrapping around you. The gala feels like a distant memory, a world of glamour and danger that you’ve left behind.

“Where to now?” you ask, glancing up at him, your heart racing at the thought of being out in the open again.

Nicholas’s gaze flickers around the street, his mind clearly working. “We need to find a safe place to lay low for a bit. There’s a café a few blocks away that I think we can use.”

You nod, trusting his instincts as you walk side by side, the tension of the night still crackling in the air between you. The thrill of the mission intertwines with the undeniable chemistry, and with every step, the stakes feel higher.

As you reach the café, you both duck inside, the warm ambiance contrasting with the cold reality outside. The smell of coffee fills the air, and you take a moment to catch your breath, the adrenaline of the night still pulsing through your veins.

“Let’s grab a table in the corner,” Nicholas suggests, his eyes scanning the room. “We can talk strategy without anyone overhearing.”

You nod and lead the way, settling into a small booth at the back. The café buzzes with activity, the soft murmur of conversations creating a comforting backdrop as you both take a moment to regroup.

After ordering drinks, you lean across the table, your eyes locked on Nicholas. “What now? What do we do about Victor and the Syndicate?”

Nicholas takes a deep breath, his expression serious as he considers the options. “We need to gather more intel, especially on Victor and the men he was with. They’re dangerous, and if they suspect we’re onto them, we could be in real trouble.”

“But how do we do that without raising suspicion?” you ask, your mind racing with possibilities. “They know we were close to them at the gala.”

Nicholas leans back, his gaze thoughtful. “We’ll have to play a careful game. Keep mingling, stay in touch with contacts who can provide information. And if we can get a lead on where they’re operating, we might have a chance to expose them.”You nod, feeling the weight of the task ahead. “And what about us?” You hesitate, the question hanging in the air between you. “I mean… after all of this?”

Nicholas meets your gaze, his expression softening for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “Right now, we need to focus on the mission. But… I won’t lie; this connection between us complicates things.”

Your heart races at his words, the heat of desire and uncertainty swirling within you. “It

Your heart races at his words, the heat of desire and uncertainty swirling within you. “It complicates things, but in a good way, doesn’t it?” you ask, leaning forward slightly, searching his eyes for clarity.

Nicholas hesitates, his brow furrowing as he contemplates the tension between you. “It does. But we need to keep our focus. There’s too much at stake right now.” His gaze drifts away, momentarily lost in thought. “Once we’re out of this, we can figure out what this is… whatever it is.”

The unspoken words linger heavily in the air, and a thrill runs through you at the idea of what could be once the chaos subsides. The connection you share feels electric, but with danger still lurking, you can’t afford to let your guard down.

Just then, your drinks arrive, interrupting the moment. You take a sip, the warm coffee grounding you. As you glance around the café, you notice a few familiar faces in the crowd—other guests from the gala, their expressions ranging from jovial to cautious.

“Do you recognize anyone?” Nicholas asks, noticing your gaze.

“Not sure,” you reply, straining to see more clearly. “But it looks like the party might still be going strong. We might want to be careful.”

“Right,” he says, his eyes scanning the room with renewed vigilance. “We can’t afford to be seen. Let’s finish up here and regroup. I think we should check in with some of my contacts to see if they’ve heard anything about Victor or the Syndicate.”

You nod, feeling a sense of determination settle in. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us safe,” you say, your voice steady. “I can help gather information too.”

Nicholas smiles, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “I know you can. You’re resourceful, and you’ve got skills. We’ll need that.”

As you sip your coffee, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. You glance around again, searching for any sign of danger. “Do you think they’ll come looking for us here?”

“Maybe,” he replies, frowning slightly. “But we’ve got a little time. The café is bustling, and the last thing they want is to draw attention to themselves. If we play it smart, we can slip away without a hitch.”

You finish your drink, the warmth settling in your stomach but unable to quell the tension building inside you. “What’s our exit strategy?”

Nicholas leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Once we leave here, we’ll head toward the alley. It should be clear, and then we can take a back road to avoid the main streets. I have a car parked a few blocks away.”

“Perfect,” you say, feeling a sense of relief at having a plan. “Let’s get moving then.”

After a quick check of the café to ensure the coast is clear, you both slip out the door, stepping into the cool night air. You can still hear the distant sounds of the gala, but the thrill of the chase keeps you focused on what’s ahead.

As you navigate through the back streets, the atmosphere changes from the glamour of the gala to the gritty reality of the city. The shadows stretch long against the walls, and you feel the adrenaline kicking in as you walk quickly, the fear of being discovered pushing you forward.

“Stay close,” Nicholas instructs, his voice low as he walks beside you. “If anything feels off, just follow my lead.”

“Got it,” you reply, trying to keep your pace steady. The night is filled with sounds—distant sirens, the hum of traffic, the murmur of voices—but it feels like an illusion, a reminder that danger lurks just beyond your periphery.

As you turn a corner, you spot a group of men loitering at the entrance of an alley. The uneasy feeling in your stomach tightens, and you glance up at Nicholas, who’s already assessing the situation.

“We can’t go that way,” he whispers, pulling you back slightly. “Let’s find another route.”

You nod, instinctively clutching his arm as he leads you further down the street. Just as you round another corner, a figure steps out from the shadows, blocking your path.

It’s a tall man, dressed in dark clothing, his expression unreadable. “Going somewhere?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

Nicholas tenses beside you, and you feel a surge of fear. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says evenly, stepping slightly in front of you as a protective gesture.

“Oh, I think you do,” the man replies, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re a long way from the party, and I’d say you’re in a bit over your heads.”

“We’re just trying to get home,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “No one wants any trouble.”

The man chuckles, but it’s devoid of humor. “Home? This isn’t your neighborhood, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be wandering around here alone.”

Nicholas shifts closer, his protective instinct kicking in. “We’re fine. Just let us pass.”

But the man steps forward, blocking your way. “I don’t think so. Not until I get a little something in return.”

Your heart races, and the realization hits you: he’s not just looking for a simple exchange. The threat in his voice is clear, and you can see the glint of danger in his eyes.

“What do you want?” Nicholas asks, his voice firm, but you can hear the tension lacing his words.

“Information,” the man replies, his eyes flicking between you and Nicholas. “I heard some interesting chatter at the gala about a certain Victor. You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

You exchange a glance with Nicholas, fear pooling in your stomach. This man has ties to the very people you’re trying to avoid. “We don’t know anything,” you say quickly, trying to maintain a façade of confidence. “Just leave us alone.”

The man’s expression darkens. “That’s too bad. I think you do know more than you’re letting on. And if you don’t want to make this difficult, I suggest you start talking.”

Nicholas takes a step closer, his body blocking you from the man’s view. “We’re not going to share anything with you. Just let us go.”

For a moment, silence hangs in the air, thick with tension. The man’s gaze sharpens as he considers your words, weighing his options.

Suddenly, you hear a commotion in the distance, the sounds of shouting and footsteps approaching. The man’s expression shifts, irritation flickering across his face. “Looks like you’ve got some company,” he says, glancing back down the street.

Without thinking, you take the opportunity. “Run!” you shout, grabbing Nicholas’s hand and bolting past the man.

The adrenaline surges through you, propelling you forward as you sprint down the alley, your heart pounding in your chest. You can hear the man shouting behind you, but you don’t dare look back.

Nicholas keeps pace beside you, his grip firm around your hand as he guides you through the maze of alleys. “This way!” he urges, leading you toward a side street that opens up into a dimly lit park.

You burst into the park, the cool night air rushing past you. The sounds of the city seem to fade as you find yourself surrounded by trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.

“Over there!” Nicholas points to a nearby bench, and you both duck behind it, gasping for breath as you hide in the shadows.

“Do you think he followed us?” you ask, trying to catch your breath as you press your back against the cool metal of the bench.

Nicholas shakes his head, his expression serious. “Not yet, but we can’t stay here long. We need to figure out our next move.”

You nod, the gravity of the situation settling in. “What do we do now?”

He takes a deep breath, looking around the park as if searching for something. “We need to find a way to get back to the car without drawing attention. Let’s stay low and avoid the main streets.”

As you move cautiously through the park, you can feel the tension between you and Nicholas growing. The thrill of danger is intermingled with a pulse of excitement, an awareness of the connection that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asks, glancing back at you, his expression softening momentarily.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though you can feel your heart racing—not just from the adrenaline, but from his concern. “Just a little shaken.”

“Let’s keep moving,” he says, his voice low and steady. “We’ll find a way out of this.”

You nod, your resolve strengthening as you follow his lead. The night stretches ahead of you, filled with uncertainty, but with Nicholas by your side, you feel a flicker of hope.

As you make your way through the park, you suddenly spot a figure in the distance, standing near the edge of the trees. Your breath catches in your throat, and you grip Nicholas’s arm tighter.

“Do you see that?” you whisper, pointing toward the figure.

Nicholas squints, his expression hardening. “I see it. Stay behind me.”

As you move cautiously closer, you can make out the silhouette of a man—broad shoulders and a confident stance. The closer you get, the more familiar he looks.

“Is that…?” you start to say, recognition dawning.

“Victor,” Nicholas murmurs, his voice low. “We need to avoid him.”

But before you can respond, Victor suddenly turns, his gaze piercing through the dim light as if he senses your presence. Your heart races as he scans the area, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“We can’t let him see us,” Nicholas whispers urgently, tugging you back into the shadows of the trees. You feel the heat of his body against yours, and the sudden closeness sends a shiver of adrenaline coursing through you.

As Victor continues to search the area, you and Nicholas crouch low behind a thick bush, your breaths shallow and quiet. You can see Victor’s silhouette clearly now; he’s talking to someone on his phone, his expression tense.

“I’ll find them,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “They can’t have gotten far. They’re too curious for their own good.”

Nicholas clenches his jaw, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. “We need to stay out of sight. If he catches wind of us, it’ll be game over.”

You nod, the weight of his words pressing down on you. The stakes have never felt higher, and the danger of being discovered is palpable. You watch as Victor paces back and forth, his frustration evident.

“We can’t let them interfere with the plan,” he mutters into the phone. “I’ll send a couple of guys out to keep an eye on them. We need to control this before it gets out of hand.”

Your stomach drops at his words. They’re already planning to hunt you down, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. You glance at Nicholas, who meets your gaze with a fierce determination.

“We can’t let that happen,” he whispers. “We have to find a way to turn the tables on them.”

You nod, the idea igniting a spark of hope. “What if we gather information on them? Use it against them?”

Nicholas looks thoughtful, his eyes scanning the park for any potential routes of escape. “That’s a good idea. If we can find out where they’re meeting or what they’re planning, we might be able to expose them.”

Victor hangs up the phone, a scowl on his face. “They’ll regret crossing me,” he says under his breath before stepping further into the park, clearly looking for you.

“This is our chance,” Nicholas murmurs, his grip tightening around your hand. “We can slip away while he’s distracted.”

You nod, feeling a surge of adrenaline as you both carefully maneuver through the trees, keeping low and quiet. As you inch away from Victor’s sight, you feel the thrill of the chase and the undeniable connection between you intensifying.

Finally, you reach the edge of the park, peering around a tree to check if the coast is clear. Victor is still moving further into the shadows, the distance between you growing. “Let’s go,” Nicholas whispers, leading you toward a nearby street.

Once you’re safely across the road, you take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs. The adrenaline from the encounter still buzzes in your veins, and you glance up at Nicholas, whose expression is a mix of relief and determination.

“We made it,” you say, your voice low but filled with awe.

“For now,” Nicholas replies, his tone serious as he scans the area. “But we need to keep moving. I don’t want to stick around here longer than necessary.”

You both set off down the street, your pace quickening as you make your way toward the car. The thrill of the evening has taken a turn, and now the tension between you feels electric. With every step, the danger that surrounds you only seems to amplify the connection.

As you near the car, you glance at Nicholas, your heart pounding with more than just fear. “What happens next?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to you, his gaze intense. “We’ll regroup and figure out our next move. But we need to keep our heads down for a while. I’ll reach out to some contacts, see if they can provide any intel on Victor and his operations.”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety at the thought of what lies ahead. “And what about us? What if they’re always watching?”

Nicholas pauses, searching your eyes for a moment. “Then we’ll have to be smarter. We can’t let our guard down. But I promise you, once this is over, we’ll figure things out.”

His words hang in the air, a promise tinged with uncertainty. The tension between you feels thick and unyielding, a connection that transcends the chaos around you.

Just then, you reach the car, and Nicholas opens the door for you, a small gesture that feels both protective and intimate. You slip into the passenger seat, your heart racing with anticipation.

As he starts the engine, the low rumble fills the silence, and you look at him, feeling the weight of the night’s events. “No matter what happens, I’m with you,” you say, your voice firm. “We’ll face this together.”

He meets your gaze, a fire igniting in his eyes. “Together,” he agrees, a determined look crossing his features.

As he drives away from the park, you can’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline mixed with something deeper. The night has brought you closer, forged a connection through danger and intrigue, and as you navigate the dark streets, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

The city lights flicker outside the window, and as you lean back in your seat, you find comfort in the thought that this was just the beginning. The game was far from over, and with Nicholas by your side, you’re ready to play.

The drive back to your apartment is filled with an unsettling silence, the weight of the night’s events hanging heavy in the air. The rhythmic thump of your heart feels louder than the engine, and each passing streetlight casts fleeting shadows across Nicholas’s face, illuminating the tense lines of determination etched there.

“Do you think Victor knows we were there?” you ask, breaking the silence as you watch him navigate the darkened streets. “What if he contacts the Syndicate?”

Nicholas tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t know, but we can’t assume he doesn’t. We need to be smarter about this. They’ll be looking for us now.”

The reality of the situation settles over you like a fog. The danger is real, and it feels as though every moment you spend together increases the stakes. You glance at Nicholas, whose jaw is set in a firm line, eyes focused on the road ahead. His intensity both excites and unnerves you, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re both walking a razor’s edge.

Arriving at your apartment, you follow him inside, the door clicking shut behind you, muffling the noise of the outside world. You take a moment to catch your breath, still reeling from the night’s close calls. The adrenaline that had propelled you through the evening now leaves you feeling a mix of exhilaration and dread.

Nicholas moves around your living room, checking the windows and ensuring the curtains are drawn tight. “We need to lay low for a while. I’ll make some calls, and we can try to figure out our next move.”

You nod, feeling a rush of gratitude and concern. “What if they come looking for us?”

“We’ll be ready,” he says, his voice steady but firm. “But for now, I need you to trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

His words send a ripple of warmth through you, mingled with fear. You’ve never been in a situation like this, but as you look at him, you realize that your trust in him has grown deeper than you anticipated. There’s something about his fierce determination that draws you in, making you feel a sense of security amidst the chaos.

“Can I help?” you ask, moving closer to him. “I want to do something, not just sit and wait.”

He glances at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You’re already helping just by being here. But if you’re serious, I could use your perspective. We need to figure out how much Victor knows and who he might be working with.”

You nod, determination surging through you. “Okay, let’s brainstorm. I might have some ideas.”

As you sit on the couch, Nicholas joins you, his body angled toward yours. The tension in the air shifts, morphing into something different, charged with an undercurrent of attraction that seems to grow with every passing moment.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to focus. “First, we need to think about how he found out we were at the gala. Did anyone see us together?”

Nicholas shakes his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know. But he must have had someone watching. That means we have to be careful who we trust.”

His gaze is intense, and you can feel the heat between you rising as the conversation deepens. You want to reach out, to close the distance that feels both electrifying and overwhelming.

“Do you think there’s a mole?” you ask, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer ground, though the awareness of the attraction lingers.

“Maybe. Someone close enough to us to gather information. I’ll need to make some calls to my contacts to see if they’ve heard anything,” he replies, but his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

Just then, your phone buzzes on the coffee table, interrupting the charged moment. You glance down at the screen, your heart dropping as you see a message from a familiar name: Mia.

Mia: I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay?

The worry in her message pulls you back to reality, the reminder of your life outside this whirlwind of danger. You hesitate, feeling the pull of your normal life but knowing you can’t share the truth with her.

“I need to respond to Mia,” you say, your voice slightly strained.

Nicholas nods, his expression serious. “Be careful. Don’t share too much.”

You pick up the phone and quickly type back, trying to keep your response vague.

You: I’m fine, just busy with work. Can’t talk now. I’ll call you later.

You hit send, but the knot in your stomach remains. The betrayal of keeping secrets from your closest friend gnaws at you. You look up to see Nicholas watching you intently.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone softening slightly.

“I’m just… worried about Mia. She’s my best friend. I don’t want to put her in danger,” you admit, the weight of your concern spilling out.

Nicholas shifts closer, the space between you growing smaller. “I get it. But right now, your safety is what matters. If Victor is looking for us, then anyone close to you is at risk too.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of the danger sinks in further. “I understand. I just feel so trapped in this situation.”

“Just remember, we’re in this together,” he reassures you, his gaze steady and fierce. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his words ignites a spark inside you. You want to believe him, to trust that he will keep you safe. But as you study his face, the shadows of the night reflect in his eyes, revealing the weight he carries. There’s something deeper in his gaze—something raw and vulnerable that makes your heart race.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means a lot to me.”

He leans in closer, the heat radiating between you palpable. “I don’t want you to worry about anything else. Just focus on us.”

The way he says it sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire of desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. You can feel the electric tension drawing you closer, the lines between safety and attraction blurring as you find yourself caught in his gaze.

“Us,” you repeat, the word heavy with meaning. The air thickens with anticipation as you inch closer, the urge to bridge the gap overwhelming.

Then, in a sudden rush of boldness, you reach out, fingers brushing against his hand. The contact sends sparks shooting through you, and you can’t help but lean in slightly, drawn by an invisible force.

“Do you ever think about what happens after this?” you ask, your voice shaky yet steady.

Nicholas’s breath hitches slightly, and for a moment, he looks caught off guard. “I do. But right now, we have to stay focused. We can’t let our emotions get in the way.”

His words sting, but you understand the need for caution. “You’re right. But it doesn’t change what I feel.”

He studies you for a moment before responding, “What do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I feel like there’s something between us. Something more than just… this.”

Nicholas leans in, his voice low. “And what do you want to do about it?”

You bite your lip, your eyes locked onto his. “I want to explore it. I want to know where this could go.”

“Are you sure about this?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

He nods, closing the distance between you. “More than anything.”

His lips find yours in a soft, exploring kiss. Your hands roam his back, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, tongues meeting and dancing in a tantalizing rhythm. You moan softly, your body pressing against his.

Nicholas trails kisses down your neck, his hands exploring your curves. You arch your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips. “You taste incredible,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire.

He leads you to the bedroom, where the soft glow of a lamp casts shadows on the walls. You stand before him, your breath coming in quick gasps. He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. You shiver under his touch, your body aching for more.

He unbuttons your shirt slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You help him, shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a soft moan, your head tilting back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his hands moving to unhook your bra. You step out of it, standing before him completely bare from the waist up. His eyes darken with desire, and you can feel the heat of his gaze on your skin.

You reach for his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you unbutton it. He helps you, pulling it off and tossing it aside. Your hands run over his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath your touch. He groans softly, his hips pressing against you.

You can feel his erection through his pants, and it sends a jolt of excitement through you. You unbuckle his belt, your hands fumbling slightly in your eagerness. He kicks off his shoes, and you help him out of his pants and boxers.

He stands before you, naked and aroused. You take a moment to appreciate the sight of him, your eyes roaming over his body. He smiles, a slow, sexy smile that makes your heart race.

You guide him to the bed, lying down next to him. Your hands explore his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, the soft skin of his inner thighs. He groans softly, his hips moving against yours.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his cock. It’s hard and hot in your hand, pulsing with his heartbeat. You stroke him slowly, your thumb brushing over the tip. He lets out a soft moan, his hips bucking slightly.

“You feel amazing,” he breathes, his hands roaming your body. He cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You arch your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

He rolls you onto your back, his body covering yours. His lips find yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You can feel his cock pressing against your entrance, and you lift your hips, inviting him in.

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, his eyes locked onto yours. You let out a soft moan, your nails digging into his back. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire.

He starts to move, his hips thrusting against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, your body moving in sync with his. The room fills with the soft sounds of your lovemaking, the wet smack of skin against skin, the soft moans and gasps of pleasure.

“Faster,” you whisper, your body aching for more. He complies, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. You can feel the pleasure building inside you, your body tensing with anticipation.

“Yes, right there,” you moan, your hips meeting his. He leans down, his lips capturing one of your nipples. You cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure.

He continues to thrust, his body slick with sweat. You can feel the orgasm building, your body tensing with each thrust. “I’m close,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back.

He groans, his body tensing with you. “Me too,” he whispers, his voice ragged.

You come together, your bodies shuddering with the force of your release. You cling to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts pounding in sync.

He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. You lie there, your bodies intertwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal. You look into his eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“That was…” you start, but the words fail you.

He smiles, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Incredible,” he finishes for you.

But just then, the ringing of your phone breaks the moment, and you both startle. You glance at the screen, your heart sinking as you see another incoming message, this time from an unknown number.

Unknown: We know where you are. You can’t hide forever.

Panic grips you as you look up at Nicholas, whose expression shifts from calm to alert in an instant. “What does it say?” he demands, his voice low and tense.

You swallow hard, the words echoing in your mind. “It’s from someone who knows where I am. They’re… they’re watching us.”

Nicholas’s eyes blaze with intensity, the protective instincts surging back to the surface. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Your heart races as you stand, urgency flooding your veins. “What do we do?”

“Grab your things. We’re moving,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

[amirasainz]

I admit I read everything with baby Sainz in it.🫢 And as I'm on a Lando bender again. (Loving all things Lando) I was wondering if you could write something with Baby Sainz and Lando about how they got into a fight and the whole grid is there for her and being mean to Lando but like the fight was something really little and silly. (Something like Lando not putting his clothes away)

I hope that makes sense.

Oooppp!!!! That make me so happy to know that people enjoy reading my writing. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as well and let me know if you have any requests. I will do my best to write them ASAP

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Trouble in paradise

There were two things Lando hated dearly: fish and seeing his girlfriend cry. The first one is pretty self-explanatory. For him, fish tasted horrible and looked disgusting. It had a weird consistency and smelled—oh god, don’t get him started on the smell. The second thing, seeing his girlfriend cry, was because a beautiful girl like her should never have to feel any sadness. Her pretty eyes should never fill with tears, making the window to her soul more obvious than ever. Her perfect lips should never tremble, and her voice should never crack. Amira was made for being happy and carefree.

However, this morning, Lando managed to do the worst thing ever. He made his girl cry. And why? Because he is the biggest idiot on earth. The only thing she asked him yesterday was if he could start doing the laundry. Like the lovesick fool he is, he was more enamored with her presence than actually listening to her words. When she wanted to wear her favorite shirt today, which was in the laundry, Lando had to admit that he didn’t do anything. Maybe it was the current heat, her jet lag, her hunger, or the frustration that he didn’t do the simple task she asked him to do, but all of it was too much. And Amira tried to be brave, she really did. But she couldn’t help but let her frustration and sadness out through her tears. When Lando saw his girlfriend crying in front of him, he wanted nothing more than to cry himself. What kind of monster is he, making his perfect girlfriend cry because he was a lazy idiot?

The others around them immediately realized something was wrong when the couple arrived this morning in the paddock. Usually, Lando would have his arm around her shoulders, their hands intertwined, kissing her shamelessly in front of everyone and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. But today, they arrived with only their pinkies intertwined. Despite having a huge fight about something so silly this morning, the couple couldn’t stand not touching one another. If their unusual entrance wasn’t a huge sign that something was wrong, it was Amira’s behavior. Instead of wearing bright, vibrant colors, the young woman wore a black jacket with sunglasses on. Her blue shirt was the only speck of color in her outfit. If even THAT wasn’t a sign that something was amiss between them, it was on their way to the motorhomes. Instead of leading Amira proudly into his side of the garage, he brought her to the Ferrari garage. There, one could see Lando hugging Amira, whose shoulders shook. Without another word, Amira left a heartbroken Lando inside. One might have thought that something terrible had happened to his family, instead of him forgetting to do the laundry…

The news spread like wildfire that Amira and Lando had a fight because Lando couldn’t be trusted to do a simple task. The drivers and WAGs were furious when they heard about what happened. Carlos even went as far as keeping his sister inside his driver’s room, making her sleep and eat something. While Carlos was busy taking care of his precious sister, Lando had the worst day of his life. EVER.

It all started when he ran into Carmen and George. The couple were busy staring daggers at him while he was on his way to the media pen. Lando was so distracted by their glares that he didn’t see Lewis. He bumped straight into the 8-time world champion, who wasn’t very keen on seeing the young Brit. “Oh, sorry Lewis. I didn’t mean to bump into you,” Lando apologized. Lewis looked him up and down before muttering, “Seems like you never mean to do something.” Before Lando had a chance to ask what he meant, Lewis turned around and walked away.

A confused Lando continued walking to the media pen. During the conference, he was asked about his outfit ( new Quadrant merch) when Max muttered loud enough for the microphones to pick up: “Must be nice to have clothes you can wear because you can rely on your partner.” The atmosphere in the room became strained in a matter of seconds. The reporter awkwardly tried to move on. Lando wasn’t stupid; he knew what this was. This was his punishment for upsetting the paddock princess.

After a 40-minute-long speech from Lily and Kika about how important giving and taking in a healthy relationship was, Fernando calling him “El mayor idiota que ha existido en la tierra,” Charles letting Leo bite him, Lily and Oscar giving him the biggest side-eye ever throughout the day, Yuki “accidentally” pushing him into a wall, and Pierre starting gossip about him, he finally went to Carlos’s driver’s room.

He gently knocked on the door, wishing it would be his girl opening it. Sadly, today was truly not his day, because he was met with the sight of an angry Carlos. Before Lando had the chance to say anything, Carlos brought him closer. He whispered quietly in Lando’s ear: “If Amira wasn’t so damn much in love with you, you would already be under the earth. I know where you live, I know your password, I know your deepest secrets. If you ever, and I mean ever, in your entire life make my sister cry again, it will be the last thing you’ll ever do. ¿He sido claro?” Carlos only let poor Lando go after he swore to never do something stupid like that again. “Good, now you will go inside, apologize to Amira, and buy her a new freaking Birkin bag. Did I make myself clear?” Carlos sternly asked.

Safe to say that Lando did a lot of groveling that day. It took the drivers and WAGs 5 months, 1 week, 28 days, and 17 hours to stop with the “Lando-fuck-up” jokes. And Amira? She never had to wonder about a thing again; they now had a housemaid, Aurelia, who only adored Amira and not Lando.

[rose24207]

Roseee‘s Masterlist pt. 2

ℕ𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾

Mafia - ✪ Angst - ♤ Fluff - ♡ Suggestive - ✰ Dark - 𖣔

Humor - ߷

Taxi Driver

Park seung-tae

• I said move 𖣔

-> Seung-tae, becomes obsessed with a quiet, unfazed girl who refuses to cower before him or his friends, leaving him intrigued and frustrated by her indifference.

Twinkling Watermelon

Ha yi-chan

• his melody ♡

-> Yi-chan surprises his bandmates when his sweet girlfriend picks him up from school, leaving them stunned that someone like her is actually dating him.

Weak hero

Ahn suho

• I think he love you more than me now ♡

-> When Suho asks his sweet, introverted girlfriend who works in women’s clothing for her employee discount to help his friend Sieun, the unexpected kindness she shows earns her not just gratitude—but Sieun’s rare and heartfelt approval as someone truly good for Suho.

• Excuse me, dear? ♡

-> A kind and hardworking girl working in a women’s clothing department helps a sweet grandmother find a blouse in the right size, and when the grandmother’s handsome grandson comes to pick it up, he’s instantly captivated by her warmth and charm, sparking an unexpected connection.

•You think pain makes you stronger ♤

-> You finally break on Suho for constantly getting into fights and shutting you out, and you walk away, fed up with his self-destructive ways.

Yeon sieun

• I want to physically throw both of you out the window ♡

-> Suho’s best friend and his little sister are painfully in love with each other—so he does what any exhausted older brother would do: traps them on a rooftop until they kiss and end his suffering.

Go Hyun-Tak

• I think I just fell in love with you all over again ♡

-> While on a casual city date, you and Gotak unknowingly take part in a wholesome social experiment by comforting a shy little girl

Blooodhounds

Woo-jin

• Choose ♡

-> bold Woo-jin and sweet Geon-woo—compete for your heart with relentless teasing, only to be left flustered when you flip the game on them.

Geon-woo

• Choose ♡

-> bold Woo-jin and sweet Geon-woo—compete for your heart with relentless teasing, only to be left flustered when you flip the game on them

The Mazerunner

Minho

• send Minho ♡

-> The Glade boys keep getting rejected by you—leader of the ultra-organized girls’ camp—until they send Minho, who surprisingly wins you over, leaving everyone stunned and teasing him relentlessly as he becomes their unofficial envoy.

Teen Wolf

• This is pushing it ♡

-> A shy but powerful witch surprises Scott’s pack by proving she’s their best chance against a rogue alpha.

Harry Potter

Fred Weasley

• I’ve got you ♡♤

-> Fred comforts you after your traumatic experience with Umbridge

George Weasley

• not until you ♡

-> At Hogwarts, George makes you realize that home isn’t a place—it’s being with him.

Formula one

Daniel Riccardo

• Professional, huh? ♡✰

-> An innocent late-night work session turns into a passionate encounter when Daniel finally acts on the tension between him and his assistant, breaking all professional boundaries.

Max Verstappen

• “Problem?“ “Not yet“ ✰♡

-> As Red Bull’s social media manager, you’ve become Yuki’s safe space—and now everyone on the grid wants your attention, including one very possessive Max Verstappen.

• Lacy ♡♤

-> You’ve loved Max your whole life, watching in silent heartbreak as he falls for the impossibly perfect Lacy

• "you piss me off“ "good“ ♤✰

-> Max, the reigning king of illegal street racing, finds his world turned upside down when a fierce rival—you—steals his wins

• It’s not enough ✪♡♤

-> After a brutal attack on his pregnant girlfriend, Mafia Max goes to extreme lengths to ensure her and their baby's safety, revealing the depths of his love and protection.

Oscar Piastri

• No distractions ♡♤✪

-> In a world where attachments are dangerous, you and Oscar fight to ignore the growing tension between you—until a life-or-death mission forces a kiss that feels far too real to be just a distraction.

Lando Norris

• I‘m not gentle ✰♤

-> In a cold, arranged marriage with Lando Norris, you try to bury your feelings—until jealousy over his mistress ignites a fiery confrontation

• Leave her alone ♤

-> At the Australian Grand Prix, you’re forced to face Lando Norris—the ex who cheated on you and broke your heart—while trying to keep the peace as Oscar Piastri’s sister around the paddock

• Trust is fragile ♡♤

-> Lando neglects you to help an old female friend, but when you get close to another man to “even the score,” he realizes what he’s been risking.

• The best part ♡

-> Years after marrying a princess, retired villain Lando tells their daughter a bedtime story about “a fearsome villain and the beautiful princess who ruined everything.”

• Miss and Mister Norris? ♡

-> You teach biology. He teaches PE. You’re secretly dating. The students? Not fooled for a second.

• Broken ♤

-> Lando’s need for secrecy strains his relationship with you, leading to a heated confrontation that nearly ends things between you.

• I am possessive ♤✰𖣔

-> After seeing you dance with another man at a club, a jealous and possessive Lando confronts you in a heated argument that leads to an intense, passionate turn.

• no wall is strong enough to keep us apart ♡♤

-> A family torn apart by the Berlin Wall reunites in an emotional embrace the night it falls, proving that love endures even the strongest barriers.

• Me? Dramatic?! ♡♤߷

-> You prank Lando by ignoring him to see how long it takes for him to get upset. Spoiler: it doesn’t take long

• My everything ✪♡♤

-> After discovering that Lando had only pursued you to investigate your family, your heart shatters—but as you try to walk away, his desperate pleas and undeniable love make you question if, despite everything, you can ever stop loving him.

• knew you couldn’t resist me, sugar ♡♤

-> You try to resist bad-boy Lando Norris, but when he corners you behind the bleachers, smirking in his leather jacket and telling you he’s taking you to the dance, you know you’re already his.

• love isn’t always enough ♤

-> Your love with Lando falls apart as unresolved pain drives you both away from each other.

• Never going to be love ♤

-> After falling for Lando, you confront him about his flirtations and walk away when he can’t return your feelings.

• Are you hurt? ♡♤✪

-> After a chilling note reveals you're being watched and an intruder invades your home, Lando arrives just in time to ruthlessly kill the attacker and protect you.

• I mean it, love ✪♡♤

-> Lando warns you not to touch the mysterious box on his desk, but when you do, you unknowingly mark yourself for death—forcing him to protect you at all costs

• on your own ♡♤✪

-> Kidnapped after a fight, you learn the hard way—leaving Lando after a fight was a mistake.

• my dad is a dumbass ♡

-> Lucas is sent back in time to ensure his teenage father falls for his outcast mother instead of the wrong girl.

-> p2

• like a kiss ♡

-> after coming to terms that his girlfriend is a ghost, a new routine builds.

• dtMF ♤

-> Lando sits on a San Juan beach, holding a Polaroid camera, reflecting on his lost love and regretting the moments he took for granted, wishing he could tell her he still loves her.

• an angel ♡♤

-> guilt eats Lando alive when he wants to come clean to you after dating you for a bet. What he didn’t expect was that you would be so understanding and calm about it.

• I’ve missed this ♡♤

-> Lando confesses his love on midsummer night but pushes you away for years before finally apologizing and winning you back.

• two pink lines ♡✪

-> When Y/N suspects she might be pregnant, she tries to hide her worries from Lando, only to take a test and confirm her life is about to change forever.

• AHHH..! ߷♡

-> Lando panics mid-stream over his girlfriend’s scream, only to find she’s overreacting to a horror game.

• hyperpigmentation ߷

-> you son‘s drawing sparks chaos as Lando laughs hysterically, and you scramble to boost Jacob’s confidence.

• Anything for you 𖣔♤

-> A devoted girlfriend takes deadly measures against anyone who ruins Lando's career, believing her actions are for his benefit, until he discovers the horrifying truth.

• I can’t pretend ♡♤

-> After weeks of distance, Lando's jealousy ignites when you kiss another guy at a party.

• I know I‘m yours ✪

-> Lando's jealousy boils over at a gala when a stranger gets too close to you, prompting him to assertively remind you—and everyone else—that you’re his.

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[deadhands69]

Hitching a Ride get in the church van

League of Villains x Villain Reader  Eventually: [Tomura Shigaraki x Reader]  [Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Reader] 

“what are the odds of two serial killers in one car?” A quick intro, no real tws for this series other than crimes committed? Unofficially a Route 66 type AU: no locations explicitly mentioned and some references are elsewhere but that's kind of the vibe.

part 1 ▷ next [series masterlist]

Money acquired, security evaded, and you need to get out of here. 

The unlocked Kia you had your eye on is gone. So much for a getaway car. 

You'll have to hitchhike. With any luck, you can steal the car from whoever picks you up and be off the grid in no time. 

One issue, the deserted road you ran down has almost no cars. The few that have passed are definitely not bold stupid enough to pick up someone dressed head to toe in black with a suspiciously bulky bag slung over their shoulder. Especially not when the windows to the nearby bank are shattered.

But you keep trying, thumb held as high in the air as you can manage. 

You're aware the sirens in the distance are searching for you and you're about to give up hope.

SKKKRRRREEEEETTTCHHHHH

A white van with the words “New Faith Church of God †” on the side swerves two lanes towards you and over the curb half a block down. 

A church van isn't what you expected, particularly one driven so recklessly, but you're not in a place to complain. 

You run to make up the distance. 

Expecting a van of grandmas, you're shocked when a heavily scarred man in his twenties dressed in all black steps out and gestures you in through the sliding door. His turquoise eyes follow as you hastily enter, sliding to an open seat by a white haired man with red eyes. You notice he also has quite a few scars.

“You're in middle,” his gruff voice mutters before he climbs in after you, taking the seat on your other side after slamming the door shut. 

The van lurches back onto the road and you're off. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you exclaim, still breathless from the sprint over. 

“Of course,” a blonde girl in the passenger seat answers, “We had to. Someone thought you were pretty.” She stares at one of the men next to you. He's... also attractive, you think to yourself. Cheeks beginning to flush. 

“Where are you headed, anyways?” asks the purple haired driver. He swerves slightly while gesturing back at you. 

“Anywhere, preferably far.”

“Well, you certainly got lucky today,” a man with a top hat and feather laughs behind you. His face completely covered by a mask. 

The silence becomes tense as they wait for you to recognize them. Unfortunately, you haven't had time (or a consistent location) to relax long enough to watch the news so you have no idea who these people are. But you do know one thing - 

“You're not really a church group, are you?”

The white haired man next to you mumbles “what gave you that idea?” Most of the others laugh. 

In the next hour, you learn a lot. Everyone introduces themselves. Their names are pretty easy to remember, you're certain most of them are made up. You debate on giving them your real name, instead going with the alias you typically use (which might as well be your actual name at this point, no one's called you anything else in years.)

You also get the feeling they're in the same boat as you: on the run in a vehicle that clearly doesn't belong to them after doing who knows what. They haven't asked you why you were in a rush to leave so you return the favor. 

At this point, they've realized you're not a threat (and definitely not about to call the heros on them) so they loosen up. You do too.

“Who wants to play a game?!” Toga asks. The two on either side of you groan but everyone else seems interested so she continues. 

“I spy with my little eye, somethinggg green!”

Turns out I spy is incredibly easy when all you can see are fields and distant mountains. After a few turns, you've tuned the game out. As have most of the others. Twice, Spinner, and Toga continue to play while everyone else begins to nap out of boredom. 

Everyone but one person. 

The gorgeous guy from earlier, who is the reason you’re here instead of a jail cell. 

He rests his hand on the seat between you, pinky brushing against your thigh. 

This will be an interesting ride.

next chapter - series masterlist - bnha masterlist

The following chapters start the same then split into separate Shig/Dabi routes.

This will probably be fluff/eventually suggestive, very minimal angst. I just wanted to make something light, fun, and easy.

Maybe a few smut side quests that aren't plot/are skippable, but idk yet. Those aren't written and i have no explicit plans for them.

This one is particularly short but they should all be pretty quick reads. This won't be a long series. (says everyone before dropping 20 more chapters of 5k words.)

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Ohh I just thought of one actually after watching the Monaco GP, I like the idea of the reader and Charles been enemies on the track like always pushing each other off etc, however reader sees Charles getting a lot of hate for not getting pole in his home race, and in the final few laps reader has managed to over take Lando for the lead and realises how important the race is too Charles so holds Lando up and lets Charles take the lead (we all know that’s what max did too) and at the end he whispers thank you and they all make up and fluffy and kissy and she’s like I don’t know what your talking about,

It’ll never be the same

i am backkkkk and here is a soft small fic to celebrate 🥳

The sun had barely risen over the jewel-toned coast of Monaco, and yet the streets were already echoing with the high-pitched roar of engines. The city was alive electric with anticipation.

But none of it mattered to you. Not the cameras. Not the fans. Not even the podium dreams hanging in the air like saltwater mist.

Only one thing mattered today -: beating Charles Leclerc.

He was Monaco’s prince. The prodigy. The boy raised by the streets that now shaped into curves and chicanes under your tires. And you? You were the problem child of the paddock the one with enough fire in your blood to challenge a golden boy on his home turf. Every race weekend, it was the same. You and Charles locking wheels, hearts racing, always pushing the boundary between rivalry and war.

Last weekend in Imola, he ran you wide in Turn 6. The one before that in Miami, you boxed him in so tight he radioed Ferrari with a full symphony of curse words.

And Monaco? It was meant to be the crescendo

Qualifying was a mess. Charles had been the favourite fastest in all three practice sessions. But in Q3, he clipped the barrier in the swimming pool section. Just enough to kill the lap. The cameras caught his jaw tighten, his gloves clenched. The Monaco crowd went silent for him in a way they never did for anyone else.

And you? You were third on the grid, right behind Lando in P2, and Max in P1.

Charles was stuck in sixth.

You didn’t gloat. Not this time.

Because when you walked past him in the paddock that night and caught the press hounding him like vultures, microphones shoved too close, voices questioning if he’d ever win in Monaco you saw something you weren’t used to seeing in him.

Vulnerability.

And for once, it didn’t make you feel powerful. It made you ache.

Race day.

The air was heavy with heat and tension. The tarmac shimmered, and so did the stakes. As the lights went out, your instincts took over. You were flawless slipping past Max with a lunge into Sainte Devote, a calculated move that left even the commentators breathless.

Then, you hunted Lando lap after lap until, finally, on Lap 68, he braked just a touch too early at Rascasse. You pounced.

P1. You were leading Monaco.

And Charles? By some miracle strategy, brilliance, or sheer Monaco chaos he was now right behind Lando in P3.

The crowd was screaming. Your heart was thundering. You could taste champagne already.

But then

You glanced at the big screen. A replay.

Charles diving down the inside of Oscar a few laps earlier, wheel-to-wheel, sheer audacity. He was driving like a man possessed. But even more than that, the camera caught him in the cockpit silent, focused, jaw tight not angry.

Desperate.

This wasn’t about points for him. This was Monaco. It was family. Legacy. Ghosts he hadn’t laid to rest.

And suddenly, it hit you like a wall of G-force.

This wasn’t your win.

It never was.

You saw the narrowest window open as you exited the tunnel. Lando breathing down your neck, Charles closing in on him. You had the pace to hold both of them off. You should have.

Instead, you eased just slightly enough for your engineer to squawk confusion in your ears.

“Box? Why are you—wait, you’re slowing?”

You blocked Lando just enough. Not dirty. Just enough to give Charles the line he needed. He didn’t hesitate.

Lap 77. Charles overtook both of you in a move so clean, so poetic, the crowd erupted like firecrackers.

And you? You sat back and watched.

Let him take it.

Let Monaco give him back his soul.

Final lap.

You finished third. Lando second.

Charles? He crossed the line with a sob in his throat and a whole nation roaring his name. He did his cool-down lap with tears streaking his cheeks. You’d never seen him cry. Not even when you collided in Austria two seasons ago and he got a DNF because of it.

You waited by parc fermé, helmet still on.

He climbed out of the Ferrari, trembling. The moment his eyes found you through the crowd, something broke open.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

He walked up to you slowly, cautiously, like you were something holy and dangerous all at once. His hand curled around your wrist and leaned close, lips brushing the edge of your helmet.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Soft. Raw.

And your voice came through your visor before you could stop it.

A smirk ghosted your lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Later, on the balcony above the harbor, champagne in your hands, the sun melting into the Mediterranean, Charles found you again. No cameras. No crowd. Just sea breeze and silence.

You barely had time to react before his lips found yours gentle at first, then urgent, like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

When you pulled away, breathless and flushed, he laughed against your cheek.

“You’re still insufferable.”

“And you’re still a drama queen,” you replied.

His arms wound around your waist, forehead against yours.

But the rivalry? Still there. You could feel it under your skin, crackling like static.

Only now, it had teeth. And it had tenderness.

Monaco would never be the same again.

[fxrmuladaydreams]

i didn’t miss it (ln4)

lando norris x reader , oscar piastri x reader (platonic)

summary: lando nearly misses out on wishing his crush a happy birthday

notes: we’re going to say that the reader works for mclaren for convenience sake but i’ll let you decide exactly what the job is

Lando, with the help of Oscar, had everything planned down to a T. After months of pining for you, of sending you longing looks in the paddock, of making sure that he could take his lunch around the same time you took yours just so he could eat with you, of practically stalking your social media, of staying longer at McLaren at night so he could “conveniently” be there to walk you to your car, he was finally going to confess his feelings to you.

Oscar was proud. Well, he was happy he wouldn’t have to hear Lando drone on and on about you anymore. He liked you just fine, but Lando was very clearly head over heels for you.

It was strange seeing Lando act this way. Oscar had heard that Lando was a bit of an introvert, but he had never really experienced it firsthand. He had always been a friend to Oscar, an older brother type. Then there were his relationships with the other drivers, Lando was quite popular, half the grid claimed he was their best friend. But as soon as you were anywhere near the older McLaren driver all of that went out the window. He turned into a shy, blushing boy, who fidgets with his fingers and can’t seem to look you in the eyes for longer than a minute.

Birthdays were a big celebration at McLaren. Lando’s and Oscar’s were usually met with loud fanfare and cameras so that the fans could see the drivers celebrating. But even all of the other members of the team had parties when it was their birthday, complete with a cake, a rousing chorus of an off-key happy birthday, and essentially a break in the usually chaotic workday.

Lando had your birthday marked down. It was in the calendar on his phone, there were little doodles around the date on the calendar in his house, he even had a reminder set for it just to make sure he wouldn’t forget.

The plan was simple really, you would have your little McLaren party at work, then go out to a nice dinner with Lando and Oscar. Oscar would stay for a little while but eventually excuse himself for not feeling well, leaving you alone with Lando. He was going to use the romantic atmosphere to confess his feelings, and hopefully you’d tell him that you felt the same and within the week you would be the paddock’s new favorite couple.

What Lando hadn’t expected was to wake up late that morning, rushing to get ready in an attempt to get to work on time, not sparing the calendar on his wall a glance. He didn’t expect his meetings to run longer than expected, pushing his time on the simulator back as well.

You found him hunched over a table in the break area, quickly scarfing down a wrap.

“Hey Lando, are you okay?” You ask, sitting down next to him.

He wipes the crumbs away from his mouth with a napkin, then looks over to you. “Yeah, I’m good, just, busy day, you know?”

You smile, sure he’s alluding to the fact that it’s your birthday. You’re about to bring up how much you’re looking forward to dinner with him and Oscar as he stands up and starts gathering his trash.

“I have to go get some laps done on the sim, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before leaving you alone with your lunch.

You feel giddy as you’re led from your work area in the afternoon to the lobby area of the building. The lights are low as you walk in, and the brightness when they’re turned on is close to blinding.

You grin as McLaren employees all give a resounding “Happy Birthday!” shout, but your heart sinks a little when you search for the familiar head of curls and only manage to find Oscar who gives you a small smile.

He finds you later in the gathering, pulling you aside to talk privately.

“Happy birthday Y/n.” He says, pulling you into a hug.

You return the hug, wrapping an arm around his frame. “Thank you Oscar.”

When you pull away there’s a moment of awkward silence. You’re close to both the drivers, your job requires that you be, but you were arguably closer to Lando than Oscar.

“I don’t know where he is, I’m sorry.”

You don’t have to ask to know that he’s referring to his teammate. You plaster on a smile and shrug your shoulders.

“It’s alright. If he’s busy, he’s busy. I’ll see him at dinner.”

“Definitely.” Oscar nods.

While you were downstairs eating cake, Lando was upstairs, completely unaware, driving lap after lap in the sim. Music blared in his ears coming from his headphones that he’d put on, in hopes that it would help him concentrate and get some good lap times.

He was doing well, practicing on the Singapore track over and over until his music cut out. He finished his lap, then looked down at his phone. The screen was dark, and didn’t turn on when he’d pressed any buttons. Great, his phone had died.

He took that as a sign that he’d spent enough time working. He logged his final times, then gathered his things and headed towards his car.

The parking lot was nearly empty, most everyone having already gone home for the day. A few stragglers left as well, wishing him a goodnight.

As soon as he’d made it home, he threw himself down on his bed. He was exhausted after having run around like a headless chicken all day from meeting to meeting to meeting to sim practice. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

He reached for his phone, plugging it into it’s charger before he lets his head fall back against the pillow and lets sleep consume him.

The restaurant that the drivers were meant to bring you to is nice, overtly so. It’s dimly lit, the servers all wear matching vests and ties, and the clientele are equally as dressed up.

Oscar sits across from you, an awkward smile resting on his face. He looks uncomfortable, his eyes constantly dart between the door to the restaurant and his phone in his lap. He sighs as he types something out on his phone, then looks back up at you.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“He’s not coming, is he?” You ask.

Oscar gives you an apologetic smile. “I can’t get a hold of him.”

You can feel a tightening feeling in your chest as you shake your head. “That’s okay. We can still have a nice dinner.”

You try to make the most of your meal, talking with Oscar about the season so far and the upcoming races. You tell him about fun things you’ve done in the upcoming cities, usually accompanied by Lando and Daniel back when he was still at McLaren.

You leave the restaurant with Oscar, giving him a quick hug and a thank you before you separate to your cars.

Once home you change into your pajamas and lay down in bed. You check your phone and see happy birthday texts from various people, even some drivers from other teams. You scroll to your messages with Lando, and sigh when you see nothing.

You didn’t expect anything big from him, you had just hoped for at least a text from him. Maybe an apology for missing out on your party at the office and for ditching you at dinner.

Lando awoke to an incessant dinging sound coming from his phone. He groaned, and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but his phone would not stop sounding off.

He slung his arm over to grab it, and looked at all of the notifications he had.

7 missed calls from Oscar

23 new messages

He furrowed his brows as he opened his texts. There were two texts from Max.

Did you do it?

I’m going to assume you did it and it went well if you’re too busy to text back

Then 21 messages from Oscar, the first few from that afternoon.

Are you coming down soon?

Where are you?

Party’s over, I guess we’ll see you at dinner

Then more from this evening.

Seriously man where are you?

Are you on your way?

When did you leave the office?

The varying texts all have essentially the same message, until he reads the most recent three.

We had a plan

She’s trying to put on a brave face but I know she wants to see you

You’ve been missing all day and now you don’t show up to dinner?

Dinner. He can practically feel his heart in his throat. He checks his calendar on his phone, and there on today’s date, in all uppercase lettering it says “Y/N’S BIRTHDAY”

He scrambles out of bed, grabbing a hoodie, and runs for the door. He throws himself in his car and speeds to your house. He’s surprised he isn’t pulled over by anyone on the way there.

He sprints from his car to your front door, knocking a little too aggressively for someone showing up at your apartment in the pitch black night.

Your heart startles at the loud knock on your door. You slowly make your way too it, then look through the peephole. Lando stands outside, fidgeting with his hands as he waits for you to answer the door.

You open it, giving him a questioning look. “Lando?”

“Happy birthday!” The words tumble out of his mouth as soon as he sees you.

“What?”

He looks down at his phone, the time reading 11:57 pm. “Happy birthday. I didn’t miss it.” He holds his phone up so you can see the time.

“Thank you Lando. Did you drive all the way over here just to tell me happy birthday? You know you could’ve just sent me a text…” You tell him.

He’s at a loss for words, he knows he could’ve, but it wouldn’t have been the same. He’d already ruined what was meant to be a special night, he couldn’t possibly imagine not really seeing you at all today.

“Do you want to come in? I’ve got some leftover cake from the party.” You step to the side when he nods.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he steps inside your apartment. He follows you as you lead him to the kitchen, pulling out the cake you had mentioned.

Most of it is missing. He can see the left side of the McLaren logo with letters that read “Hap Birt” and the first few letters of your first name. You hand him a slice and a fork.

The two of you eat the cake quietly on opposite sides of the kitchen, unsure of what to say to the other. The silence is only broken when Lando takes a breath, then starts speaking.

“I’m sorry for missing your party. And dinner.”

You stop eating the cake and shrug your shoulders. “It’s okay. There will be other parties, other dinners.”

Lando scoffs. “Right.” He stabs at the cake with his fork, just moving it around his plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look up at you. You step over to him and lean against the counter.

“Lando, what’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

You brush a hand over his arm. The soft orange fabric bunches up a little against your hand as you feel the toned muscle in his bicep.

“I don’t believe you. You know you can tell me what’s wrong. It’s just me.” You say.

Your voice is sweet, and is close to lulling him into a sense of security, but then he remembers how tonight should’ve gone.

“That’s the problem. It’s you. And I’ve somehow managed to fuck it all up.” He groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up at you. You can see unshed tears start to form in the soft blue eyes you love. It takes everything in you to not lean forward and softly wipe them away.

“Tonight was supposed to be special. I was going to celebrate with you, then go to dinner with you. But instead I had a shit day where I was so busy that I completely forgot what day it was. So I missed the party, and I didn’t even show up to dinner, so Oscar couldn’t leave and-”

“Why would Oscar leave?”

Your question makes him freeze. His mouth opens and closes as if he’s searching for something to say, but just can’t seem to find the right words.

He stutters, then asks “What?” as if he didn’t hear your question.

“Lando, why would Oscar leave?” You ask him again, this time slowing your words down.

He runs a hand through his hair as his eyes meet the ground in front of him.

“Oscar was going to leave so that we could have dinner together… you and I…” his voice is soft, just barely a murmur.

Your heart skips in your chest. “Lando-”

“And I missed it. I can’t believe it. I had so many reminders set up so that I wouldn’t forget it. That’s why I came here, so that I could tell you,” he looks at his phone “but now it’s after midnight, so it’s not even your birthday anymore.” His words come out quick. He’s rambling, too afraid of what you’ll say to give you a chance to speak. “It was a stupid idea anyways. Why would I even think that there would be any chance that you’d feel the same way I do? Especially when I can’t even keep track of the day-”

His words are cut off when you lunge forward to press your lips to his. They taste sweet, like the cake you had been eating. Your hands softly cup his face, brushing against the scruff he’s started to grow out.

His hands hover in the air awkwardly, unsure of what to do, or if this is really happening. It only clicks when he feels you start to pull away, the warmth of your body moving away from his triggers something in him as he plants his hands on your hips pulling you back to him.

He kisses you now, his lips moving confidently against yours as he pulls you impossibly closer to him.

You’re both out of breath when you reluctantly pull away from one another. His lips are pink and a little swollen. You can’t imagine yours look much different.

“I do have feelings for you Lando.” You lean your forehead against his.

He smirks, a newfound confidence taking over. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

You lightly push on his chest, escaping his hold. “Go away.” You laugh.

He’s quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you against his chest. His eyes travel down to your lips, then he gives you another quick kiss. His smirk is replaced with a grin when he pulls away. “Never.”

[kwisatzworld]

Since the 2020s, Luca Marini has become many press men’s ‘go-to’ rider. The Italian’s ability to open the window on what he does has increased his stock vastly as a member of the MotoGP grid. He managed to repel most of the nepotism finger-pointing over being Valentino Rossi’s stepbrother with six wins and fifteen podiums in Moto2 and then gathered two podium finishes and a gaggle of top five results in three years with Ducati. ‘Ay, this is bullshit,’ Uccio told me in Sepang. ‘If you are in the top five in MotoGP then it’s not because you are Valentino Rossi’s brother. It is not like this.’ I’ve spoken with him a few times. In 2023, I felt like I had to ask why he made such effort engaging with media when the same activity for his teammate, Marco Bezzecchi, looked as much fun as removing one of his tattoos. ‘I like to answer questions well,’ he told me calmly but firmly, with his angled face and almost sleepy blue eyes. ‘I like looking at interviews from other riders but also from other athletes in other sports. I feel that I want to understand more from what people are saying. I love to learn something new or something from the “inside” of sports that is impossible to understand from only watching TV. I like to give this to fans, to the journalists and to the people that want to know more about our job and our sport. In my opinion, this sort of stuff is interesting … and I don’t mean just in MotoGP but in football or whatever. I don’t want to be a rider that answers just “generally” – sometimes, yes, you need to – but if I can do something more then I like to, because the fans of racing are very passionate. Maybe telling them more about it will increase the passion? From the television it is hard to take in everything.’ Interviews take place on a clock, and they rarely run over fifteen minutes, but the possibilities for discussion and insight with athletes like Marini give substance that very rarely comes through a TV equivalent or even a podcast (those mediums require more of a performance). There is more nuance and subtlety to a written article, and arguably more storytelling. Luca spoke with me in his second language and his general enthusiasm to ruminate on the minutiae of MotoGP gives writers a reason for being. The evaporation of magazines and outlets for long-form material is a gnawing frustration in MotoGP. There are constantly stories to be told, and not solely to stuff a website for clicks or to bash out lines to service SEO protocol. Therein lies another ‘rub’: dwindling readerships mean it’s not always easy for writers to acquire a tiny block of a rider’s day. It’s a matter of priorities. Understandably, teams must comply with a sponsor’s ambitions for visibility and that means mainly TV and lots of eyeballs. A racer will have minimal time for promotion in a grand prix schedule that involves the track sessions, preparation, team meetings, guest and fan engagements, commercial duties and physio. If a team’s PR crew then want precious minutes for him to dress as a panda and produce a humorous video for TikTok or social media where it will gather hundreds of thousands of views and lots of interaction then it’s clear that the humble journo with a drastically smaller audience will slip down the list. We’re lucky that press officers still value the contribution of specialist ‘print’ media and that analysis and perspective can co-exist with other ‘output’.

The Catalan Grand Prix in 2024, round six of the series, and Luca Marini was yet to score a point. There had been rumours in the Italian press that he wanted to break his two-year contract and escape the results-and-performance limbo. Apparently, Marini was pissed off. Not an apt time, then, for another one-to-one chat. Luckily for Luca and me, Honda’s woes were not really my subject on the table. I was more interested in his genesis than the company’s regeneration. Why MotoGP for him? Especially with a name like ‘Rossi’ a permanent part of his shadow. Due to his family and his connections, was MotoGP and motorcycle racing some sort of pre-ordained path? Sitting on the top floor of the wobbly HRC hospitality, I watched the eyebrows raise as he jostled on the edge of the armchair in his white HRC shirt. ‘I was just trying to do what I like,’ he explained. ‘Sport was one of the most important things to me because I believe it can teach you many good things for life, and motorbikes was the sport that gave me the most emotion. I tried to understand my feelings and to enjoy the whole process. When I was a child, I never thought I was different. I was doing what made me happy. If I was not happy to be in the disco then I would be at home watching races or thinking about school – because I had to be good at school. I wanted to be on a track, on a bike and trying to improve myself every day.’ But where did that come from? ‘This I don’t know! My parents never told me how to do something. They gave me a lot of love in their ways, for sure, but my father told me – always – that the day I wanted to stop with the bikes then no problem, be free to do whatever you want, and I really appreciated this on one side but on the other side I would have liked to have been pushed more by my father to improve more when I was younger.’ Luca was twenty-seven when we spoke. He had recently married Marta, his partner of seven years, who he met while they were in primary school together. They were expecting their first child. Marini would end up as one of seven fathers on the grid. He was talking from a position of reflection and hindsight, but it is still unusual to find someone who wished he had been urged further. ‘Yes, because I saw many riders that were forced more by the parents.’ I brought up Jorge Lorenzo and the fractured relationship with his father/coach Chicho as an example of the other extreme. ‘Extreme maybe… but he won five world championships!’ Luca reasoned. ‘So, it depends on which side you want to see it. I think he is enjoying his life now and with time, everything passes. I think you have to thank your parents because they only want the best for you, and they love you in their ways. Also, my mum let me be free in every way, not just bikes. She just told me: “Keep focused and don’t worry.”’

‘My parents saw I was fast and I was enjoying motorbikes and could have a career,’ Luca went on. ‘It was just the flow, following the flow. I was a rider and I was enjoying myself, so we looked to see if we could continue because I had problems of money as my dad was paying everything. He is a psychologist so not a rich man. I had to find sponsors and also my brother sometimes helped me and that was great. I was growing a lot during the years in the [VR46] academy and everything was getting better. I was enjoying it more and more and continued with this flow. I was loving what I was doing.’ Remuneration was apparently one of the reasons for his HRC choice. Understandable enough for a factory rider with a sizeable job on his hands, but Luca felt like he had to offer some perspective because sportsmen at his level have another type of determination and motivation. He stared into space, thought and then tried to express himself. ‘The thing is that money is not what you are looking for when you are a rider. Yeah, we earn a good amount of money but it is never enough! It is for this that people go to Andorra. And, in the end, if you focus on that it is never enough. I focus on enjoying my life and doing something that gives me emotion, good feelings and trying, obviously, to earn as much as possible!’ He pointed at his personalized but blank cap on the low coffee table in front of us. ‘But, as you can see, I don’t have a sponsor so I’m not a guy who is pushing as much as others to have them because unfortunately it is not my target here. I think I am smart and clever and when I stop this career I will find something that can help me earn more money than here. I am just trying to enjoy this career and the only way to do that is to fight for victories and this moment I need to find fun in a different way.’ Marini’s mentality switch from a race-winning motorcycle to a machine, team and company in flux was one of the running themes on the grid during 2024 MotoGP. His career choice might still turn out to be inspired, didactic. His predicament could be very temporary, for the better or the worse, but it does provoke questions about the role of psychology. ‘It is a super-powerful tool but, trust me, everybody uses it a lot,’ Marini confided. ‘You cannot see it clearly but it [MotoGP] is more about this than the physical side on many occasions. This sport is super-difficult and dangerous sometimes, so you have to be focused when you are riding. We have trained a lot since we were children because most of us started when we were four or five years old and we are ready to do everything. ‘I am in my best moment and mental shape,’ he insisted. ‘It means when I arrive in the paddock, I am happy and calm and ready to do my job in the best way. But then we start to struggle with the bike on track! When you miss the speed then you cannot be … happy. I want to be fast, and I want to enjoy riding the bike, but at the moment, without the results, it is a little bit difficult. However, I’m also satisfied to work with all these engineers and Honda.’

[nyc-tophile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

After a desperate fight for your life in the snow, Steve rescues you and Bucky, bringing you both back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Steve explains that you and Bucky need to go into hiding before Hydra finds you again. Now, as you’re sent to a safe house in the mountains, you have to sit down with Bucky and explain everything.

Warnings: OOC Winter Soldier, fluff, kind of sad coming down to the end, reader comforting Bucky, mentions of torture.

Author’s Note: I'm not sure how I feel about this, as I wrote it while half asleep. I love you all, though, so I managed to finish it. ENJOYYYYY <3<3<3

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟔

Morning came quietly. Soft light slipped through the small window of the med room, painting pale stripes across the walls. You stirred, the unfamiliar smell of antiseptic and clean sheets reminding you that you weren’t in your bed. The ache in your leg was still there, but duller now.

The room was still except for the soft hum of machinery and the faint creak of a chair. You turned your head and spotted Bucky, seated near the door. He hadn’t moved; his posture was rigid, eyes fixed on the floor like he was lost in thought, or lost somewhere far beyond the walls of the base.

Before you could say anything, the door opened quietly. Steve stepped in, the smell of coffee and something warm trailing in with him. He looked tired, but there was a small smile on his face when he saw you awake.

“Hey,” he said softly, crossing the room. “You’re up. How’re you feeling?”

You shifted, testing the stiffness in your leg. “Sore. But better.”

Steve handed you a steaming cup and set a tray with food on the bedside table, simple, but it smelled better than anything you’d had in days. He passed another cup to Bucky, who took it slowly, his fingers curling around it like it was an anchor.

“Figured you could both use this,” Steve said, sitting down at the foot of your bed. His voice was calm, but you could hear the worry just beneath it. “We’ve got time to breathe now. Just for a little while.”

The room settled into a quiet stillness again. The kind that felt like the eye of a storm, peaceful, but not for long.

Steve took a sip of his coffee, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky. His expression softened, but there was a seriousness behind his eyes that made your chest tighten.

“We’ve got to be careful,” he began, voice low. “You and Bucky need to lay low for a while. Hydra’s not done coming after either of you. We’re setting up a safe house, somewhere quiet. Somewhere off the grid. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be close enough to help if anything goes south, but not so close that it draws attention.”

You nodded slowly, glancing at Bucky. He hadn’t said much, but his grip on the coffee cup had tightened. His knuckles had gone white.

Steve noticed it too. His gaze softened as he looked at Bucky, the weight of everything they’d been through etched in the lines around his eyes.

“We’ll figure this out,” you said, eyes looking at Bucky, “But you need to trust us.”

Bucky finally spoke, his voice rough like he hadn’t used it in days. “Where?”

“There’s a cabin,” Steve said. “Up in the mountains. An old friend of mine used to use it for missions that went off the books. It’s stocked, isolated. No one’s gonna find you there.”

You swallowed hard, the reality of it sinking in. The running, the hiding. The fact that Hydra wasn’t going to give up. Not this time.

Bucky set his cup down, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment. There was fear there, but also determination.

“When do we leave?” you asked.

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”

The three of you sat in heavy silence for a beat longer, the sound of the wind outside filling the space where words failed. Then, with a nod, Steve rose, the leader again, ready to do whatever it took to protect the people he cared about.

“Pack light, only what you need. I’ll handle the rest.” Steve finished.

The room remained quiet except for the soft sounds of distant footsteps, the murmur of voices, and the low hum of equipment coming to life for the day. Morning light spilled across the floor, warmer now, but the tension between the three of you kept the air heavy.

Steve glanced toward the window, as if gauging how much time you had before leaving. “We’ve got a few hours before we move,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “We’ll leave tonight, when it’s safer. Less chance of being spotted.”

You nodded, the thought of waiting both a relief and a weight. The idea of one last day in relative safety was comforting, but it also gave your mind time to race, to worry about what came next.

Bucky stayed by the wall, silent, but his eyes were sharper now, more present. He seemed to sense your unease and crossed the room to stand closer, not saying anything — just there. It helped.

Steve set his empty cup down, his expression softening as he looked at the two of you. “Get some rest while you can. Eat something. We’ll need to be ready tonight.”

He hesitated for a beat, like there was more he wanted to say, but instead he gave a small, reassuring nod and turned for the door. “I’ll check in on transport and supplies. We’ll be ready.”

The door clicked quietly shut behind him, leaving you and Bucky in the soft, quiet hush of morning. He glanced at you but didn’t say anything.

A sigh escaped you as you lay back down, your eyes fixed on the ceiling’s dull, cracked paint. The ache in your leg pulsed beneath the sheets, a dull reminder of how close you’d come to losing everything. The quiet in the room was heavy, almost too heavy, like the calm before a storm no one could stop.

Your eyes found Bucky, his eyes flicked up, meeting yours for just a moment, tired, guarded, but maybe a little hopeful. No words came, but that small connection was enough to steady your racing heart.

-----

The day stretched ahead, slow and heavy with waiting. Around lunchtime, Steve returned quietly, carrying a bag with food for both you and Bucky. Alongside it, he set down two packed duffel bags carefully on the floor beside your bed.

“These are packed with everything you’ll need for the safe house,” he said, his eyes shifting between you and Bucky.

Your eyes met Bucky’s. He didn’t say anything, just glanced down at the bag by his feet. “I’ll be driving you guys, but I won’t be able to stay,” Steve said.

“How are we supposed to contact you if something happens?” you asked, reaching for the fork beside the bowl of mac and cheese.

“Burner phones,” Steve replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. “There’s one in each bag. You can use them anytime, just be careful with them.”

You nodded, mentally kicking yourself, you should have known that.

“Since it’s already four, I’ll come back around eight-thirty for you guys,” Steve said, standing up and stretching his legs.

He lingered for a second, like he wanted to say more but decided against it. Then he gave a small nod, more to Bucky than to you, and walked out without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.

The room fell silent again, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the clink of your fork against the bowl. Bucky hadn’t touched his food. You glanced at him, he was still staring at the floor, knuckles resting on his knees, his jaw set like he was bracing for impact.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Then he nodded. You let the silence stretch, not wanting to push.

-----

Before you knew it, it was already eight. You glanced at the clock, then leaned over to grab the duffle bag at the edge of the bed. Bucky was sitting in the corner, eyes closed, completely still.

You moved as quietly as possible, swinging your legs off the bed and setting the bag beside you. Unzipping it, you rummaged through until you found some sweats and a plain t-shirt.

As you stood up, a soft groan escaped your lips. You couldn't help but glance back at Bucky, his eyes were still shut, head down, hair falling over his face.

You moved slowly, opening the door, moving to close it behind you as you looked around before walking down the hallway looking for a bathroom.

The hallway was dim and quiet, lit only by the sterile glow of overhead lights. You walked slowly, muscles stiff, leg aching more than you let on.

You found the bathroom at the end of the hall, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. For a moment, you just stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection.

The person in the mirror looked like you, but worn down, eyes tired, skin pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. The bruises had started to fade, but the tiredness behind your eyes hadn’t. You splashed cold water on your face, the coldness of it grounding you, reminding you that you were still here. Still alive.

You took your time getting dressed, pulling on the sweats and shirt. Tonight, everything would change again, a new place, a new routine, and a fragile, unspoken partnership with someone who barely seemed to recognize himself.

When you returned to the room, Bucky was standing now, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, staring out the small window. He didn’t turn when you came in.

“Nice view?” you asked lightly, closing the door behind you.

His shoulders tensed slightly, then relaxed. “Just clouds,” he said, voice quiet. “But... yeah.”

You sat back on the edge of the bed, watching him. The light caught the edge of his metal arm, dim but reflective, like a weapon waiting to be drawn. 

A knock sounded at the door.

Steve’s voice came through. “It’s time.”

You both stood in silence, grabbing your bags. The air in the room felt heavier now, but not with dread. With the possibility.

The walk through the base was silent.

You, Bucky, and Steve moved silently, heads down, footsteps quiet. There was a tension in Steve’s jaw, in the way his eyes kept scanning every hallway like he expected something to go wrong. You understood.

When you reached the garage, Steve typed in a code, and the heavy metal doors groaned open, revealing a plain black truck tucked into the shadows. No markings. No weapons in view. Just a plain vehicle that could camouflage in a sea of vehicles.

Steve opened the back door and looked at Bucky first. “You good to ride up front?”

Bucky gave the faintest nod and slid in without a word. His duffel sat in his lap, like it was something precious. You climbed into the back, settling in with a sharp inhale as your injured leg stretched out along the seat. Steve shut the doors and walked around to the driver’s side.

The engine started quietly. No roar, no drama. Just a low, steady hum.

As you pulled out of the compound, no one spoke. You watched trees blur past in the dark, frost glinting off their branches like tiny daggers. The farther you got from S.H.I.E.L.D., the quieter the world became, and the city faded behind you.

-----

As the hours passed in near silence, occasionally broken by the soft shuffle of Bucky adjusting his seat and the occasional sigh from Steve, Steve said quietly, “You’re not alone up there. Not really. There’s a contact nearby, an old S.H.I.E.L.D. safe route through the woods. If something happens, follow the river downstream. It'll lead you to a logging road. Someone will be watching it.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. In front of you, Bucky didn’t react.

Eventually, Steve pulled off onto an unmarked trail that twisted up into the mountains. The road narrowed, the trees crowding close on either side. When the truck finally rolled to a stop, the cabin appeared like a ghost out of the dark, a simple, wooden structure tucked deep in the trees.

“This is it,” Steve said quietly.

You all got out without a word. The cold bit hard, and your limp had returned, worse now after sitting so long. Bucky grabbed both bags before you could reach for yours and started toward the door. He didn’t say anything, but you caught the smallest glance back.

Steve followed you up the steps. The porch creaked under your weight. The cabin was silent, dark, but remote.

Steve unlocked the door and flicked on the lights.

It was simple. One main room with a small couch, a fireplace, and a tiny kitchen. One door to the bedroom. Another to the bath. Wood walls, worn furniture, and the scent of dust and pine.

You stepped inside, letting the warmth of the space chase the cold from your skin. Bucky stood near the fireplace, scanning the room like it might still be a trap.

Steve lingered at the doorway, his face unreadable.

“I’ll check the surroundings. You’ve got about two weeks’ worth of supplies here: food, medicine, basic gear. There’s a satellite radio, but don’t use it unless it’s life or death. I’ll check in when I can.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Steve hesitated again, then his eyes settled on Bucky.

“Take care of each other,” he said, and you knew he meant more than just survival.

He stepped back into the dark and shut the door behind him. A moment later, the truck pulled away, its headlights disappearing into the trees. You were alone now.

-----

You sat on the couch, your eyes fixed on the fire flickering in front of you, your hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. Across from you, Bucky sat quietly, his gaze distant and lost in thought.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting your cup down on the side table. “You okay?”

His voice came out low, uncertain. “I don’t know.”

You gave a small nod. “Fair.”

Shifting slightly, you turned fully toward him. “Do you… Remember anything? About your past? Anything at all?”

Bucky’s voice was hesitant, almost fragile. “Sometimes. Bits and pieces. It’s all… jumbled.”

You took a steadying breath, keeping your voice gentle but clear. “After the train… after Hydra found you, things got dark. They experimented on you, tried to erase who you were, and turned you into the Winter Soldier. A weapon.”

Your mind flashed to the videos you’d seen, him strapped down, screaming in pain as they whipped his mind.

Leaning forward slightly, you spoke gently. “Steve was your best friend. More than that, he was family. He never stopped looking for you. Never stopped believing you could come back.”

For a moment, a flicker of something passed through Bucky’s eyes, hope, maybe, or the distant echo of a memory.

“He talked about you all the time,” you added softly. “Every chance he got, it was always about you.”

You met his eyes, steady and calm. “It’s okay to be scared, Bucky. What they did to you was cruel. But that’s not who you are anymore. You’re here now, with us. And you’re safe.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find solid ground. “I don’t know who I am,” he admitted quietly.

You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “You’re Bucky Barnes. Steve’s best friend, a good man who’s been through hell but is still fighting to come back. And you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out together.”

“Steve won’t let you down. He’ll be with you through everything, me too. Just trust us. We’ll help you find your memories again. We’ll get you back to being Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped, his fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. The weight of your words seemed to settle over him, a fragile hope threading through the uncertainty.

“I want to believe that,” he said softly, voice rough like it hadn’t been used in a long time. “But it’s hard. Feels like I’m lost and I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way.”

You nodded slowly, understanding all too well the battle raging inside him. “It’s okay to feel that way. You’re not expected to have all the answers right now. What matters is that you’re here with us. And every day, little by little, things will get better.”

He looked up, eyes searching yours again. “And if I can’t?”

You gave him a steady look, soft but firm. “Then we’ll keep trying. Together. You’re not alone anymore, Bucky.”

The fire crackled beside you, the room warm despite the chill outside. In that quiet moment, you could almost feel the weight on his shoulders lighten, just a little.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You smiled gently. “No need to thank me. Just focus on being here now. We’ve got a long road ahead, but we’ll be with you all the way.”

He nodded once, slowly, and for the first time in a while, there was something like peace in his eyes.

join my тαgℓιѕт -

@avgdestitute, @chimchoom, @xoxo-moonlight

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 4,998

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

This was my first story that really gained traction. I'm so grateful to the people who left likes and comments, you all really made this worthwhile, and to the people on AO3 who left kudos and commented as well, love you all. Sadly it is time to say good bye to this story now I hope you guys are happy about the way it ended, if you want to add your two cents it makes my day to read it, if you are not happy about the way it ended let me know in the comments but be nice pls Check my other works on Tumblr and my AO3 page bye bye (。・∀・)ノ

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The road appears through the trees like salvation, a ribbon of cracked asphalt cutting through the wilderness that has held you captive for what feels like hours but must have been days. Your legs give out the moment your feet hit the pavement, and you collapse to your knees, gasping. The sound of your own breathing is foreign—ragged, desperate, animal-like.

Behind you, the forest seems to watch with a thousand eyes. Somewhere in those trees, Soap is nursing the wound you gave him, probably calling in reinforcements, coordinating a search grid. The thought should terrify you, but all you feel is a strange, hollow numbness.

You made it out. You actually made it out.

A semi-truck rumbles to a stop beside you, air brakes hissing. The driver—a weathered man with kind eyes and a trucker's cap—leans out his window.

"You alright there, miss?"

You look up at him, this stranger offering help without asking questions, and something inside you nearly breaks. When was the last time someone showed you simple human kindness without an agenda?

"Car trouble," you manage to croak, though you know you look like you've been through hell. Your clothes are torn, mud caked in your hair, scratches covering your arms like a roadmap of your escape.

He doesn't believe you—you can see it in his eyes—but he doesn't press. "Come on then. Let's get you somewhere safe."

Safe. The word feels foreign on your tongue.

The cab of his truck smells like coffee and cigarettes and honest work. He hands you a thermos without a word, and you drink the bitter liquid gratefully, letting it burn away the taste of fear that's been coating your throat.

"Name's Bill," he says, eyes on the road. "Been driving this route for twenty years. Seen all kinds of folks need a ride."

You don't give him your name. Names can be traced, tracked, used against you. Instead, you curl into the passenger seat and watch the miles roll by, each one taking you further from the nightmare in the woods.

Bill drops you at a truck stop three hours later, pressing a twenty into your palm despite your protests. "Get yourself a hot meal," he says. "And maybe clean up in the restroom. Fresh start and all that."

You want to hug him, this stranger who showed you more genuine care in three hours than Simon did in months. Instead, you just nod and watch his truck disappear into the distance.

The truck stop restroom has harsh fluorescent lighting that makes your reflection look like a ghost. You barely recognize the woman staring back at you—hollow cheeks, wild eyes, a hardness around your mouth that wasn't there before. Your hands shake as you splash cold water on your face, trying to wash away the grime and the memory of Soap's blood on your fingers.

You've hurt someone. Actually hurt another human being. The knowledge sits heavy in your chest, but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty about it. He was hunting you like an animal. You defended yourself.

That's what survivors do, isn't it? They do whatever it takes.

The next three weeks pass in a blur of small towns and cheap motels, libraries and bus stations. You learn to pay in cash, to avoid cameras, to trust your instincts when something feels off. You learn to sleep with one eye open and to always know where the exits are.

But most importantly, you learn.

In library after library, you devour books on psychology, on abuse, on manipulation tactics. You read about gaslighting and love-bombing, about trauma bonds and learned helplessness. Each page feels like a revelation, giving names to things you experienced but couldn't articulate.

You're not crazy. You were never crazy. You were being systematically broken down by someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

The knowledge is both liberating and terrifying. If Simon was that calculated, that methodical, then how far does this go? How deep does the rabbit hole run?

You're in a diner in some forgettable town, nursing your third cup of coffee and trying to make sense of everything you've learned, when Kyle slides into the booth across from you.

Your blood turns to ice.

"Thought I might find you here," he says, and his voice carries that same easy warmth you remember from childhood. But you see through it now, recognize the careful modulation, the practiced concern.

You don't look up from your coffee. "Let me guess. Simon sent you."

Kyle's expression flickers—just for a moment, a crack in the facade—before settling back into concerned friendship. "He's worried about you. We all are."

"We." You finally meet his eyes, these eyes you once trusted above all others. "So you admit it now?"

"Admit what?" But there's something guarded in his voice now.

"That you were working with him. That you've been lying to me since the beginning. Maybe since we were kids."

Kyle sighs, a sound heavy with what might be genuine regret. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" You lean back, studying him with new eyes. Everything looks different now—the way he holds himself, the careful placement of his hands, the micro-expressions he probably doesn't even realize he's making. "You've known me since we were eight years old, Kyle. You were supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend," he says, and for a moment, his voice wavers with something that might be real emotion. "Everything I did was to protect you."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Even now, even after everything, part of you wants to believe him. This is Kyle—the boy who walked you home from school, who helped you with your math homework, who held you when your dog died.

But that's exactly what makes it so insidious, isn't it? The best manipulations always come wrapped in genuine affection.

"Protect me from what?" you ask.

"From yourself." The words come out sharper than he intended, and you see him immediately try to soften them. "You have no idea what you're doing out here. You're not equipped for this kind of life."

There it is. The condescension that Simon trained you to accept, delivered in Kyle's gentler tones. But you hear it now, recognize it for what it is.

"You sound just like him," you say quietly.

Kyle's jaw tightens, and for just a moment, you see something flash in his eyes—irritation, maybe even anger. "Simon loves you. He made mistakes, yes, but everything he did came from a place of—"

"He had you spy on me." Your voice is getting stronger now, more certain. "He had you manipulate me. He had you pretend to be my friend while you reported back to him about everything I said, everything I did."

"Because I care about you!" Kyle's mask slips completely now, and suddenly you're looking at a stranger. "Because I've watched you make one bad decision after another your entire life. Because without someone looking out for you, you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere."

The cruelty in his words steals your breath. This is Kyle—sweet, protective Kyle from your childhood—talking to you like you're a burden, a problem to be managed.

"How long?" you whisper.

"What?"

"How long have you been reporting on me? Since we were kids? Since high school? Did Simon recruit you, or were you always—"

"It's not like that." But he won't meet your eyes anymore.

"How long, Kyle?"

He's quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. "Since before you met him."

The world tilts on its axis. "What?"

"Price has been watching you for years. Your family, your connections, your psychological profile. You were... you were perfect for what they needed."

"What they needed for what?"

Kyle looks up at you then, and there's something almost like pity in his eyes. "Simon needed someone to anchor him. Someone to give him a reason to stay human. You were the ideal candidate—isolated, eager to please, with abandonment issues that made you easy to control."

The words hit you like physical blows. Your entire relationship, your entire life, reduced to a psychological profile and a strategic need.

"They sent you to watch me," you say, pieces clicking into place. "To make sure I stayed isolated. To make sure I didn't have any real friends who might interfere."

"I was your friend," Kyle insists. "I am your friend. That was never fake."

"But you still chose him over me."

Kyle opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. Because what can he say? How do you defend the indefensible?

"Get away from me," you whisper, standing on unsteady legs.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, settling back in his seat with renewed determination. "Not until you come to your senses and come home."

But you're already walking away, already pushing through the diner door into the late afternoon sun. Behind you, Kyle calls your name, but you don't turn around. You can't. If you look back, you might see the boy who used to protect you from bullies, and that would break something in you that's only just started to heal.

You walk until you reach another diner on the other side of town, this one smaller and shabbier but blessedly empty except for a tired-looking waitress and a trucker reading a newspaper. You slide into a booth at the back, order coffee you don't want, and try to process what Kyle told you.

They've been watching you for years. Years. Your entire adult life has been a carefully orchestrated performance, with you as the unwitting star.

But even as the horror of it sinks in, there's something else growing alongside it: rage. Pure, clean anger that burns away the last traces of doubt and self-blame.

You're not crazy. You were never the problem. You were targeted, selected, groomed—but you fought back. You survived. And now you're going to make sure no one else goes through what you did.

You're lost in these thoughts when the bell above the diner door chimes. You don't look up immediately, but something makes your skin prickle, some primal recognition that has your head snapping up.

Simon stands in the doorway.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, fight-or-flight responses warring in your chest. He looks exactly the same—tall, broad-shouldered, those dark eyes scanning the room with military precision until they find you. When they do, his entire posture changes, shoulders dropping slightly in what might be relief.

He approaches slowly, but there's nothing gentle about it. It's the careful movement of a predator who doesn't want to spook his prey. He slides into the booth across from you without invitation, without permission, claiming space like he's always done.

"Hello, love," he says, and his voice has that familiar warmth that once made you feel safe. Now it just makes you feel sick.

You don't respond immediately. Your hands are shaking slightly around your coffee mug, and you hate that he can probably see it, probably cataloging it as another data point in his endless assessment of your emotional state.

"You look tired," he continues when you don't answer. "Thin. Are you eating enough?"

The casual concern in his voice—as if you're still his to worry about—makes anger flare in your chest.

"How did you find me?" you ask finally.

He glances pointedly at your wrist, and you follow his gaze to the silver bracelet still clasped there. The one he gave you before his "deployment." The one you should have thrown away weeks ago but couldn't quite bring yourself to remove.

Of course.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for the clasp. Your fingers are trembling more than you'd like, but finally the bracelet slides off your wrist and onto the table between you with a soft clink that sounds impossibly loud in the quiet diner.

"There," you say, pushing it toward him. "Now you can't follow me anymore."

Simon's eyes flick to the bracelet, then back to your face. There's something dangerous in his expression now, a predatory stillness that raises every hair on your arms.

"You think that's the only way I've been keepin' track of you?" he asks, voice deceptively mild.

The words hit like a physical blow. "What do you mean?"

"The libraries," he says simply. "Every town, same pattern. You go straight to the psychology section, check out the same types of books. Abuse recovery, manipulation tactics, trauma bonding." His lips curve into something that isn't quite a smile. "Always were a good student."

Your stomach drops to your feet. He's been watching you. Even when you thought you were safe, learning, growing stronger—he was there. Cataloging. Analyzing. Always one step ahead.

"I know you probably already know that," you say, voice hoarse with the effort of keeping it steady. "That I've been to the libraries. You're probably watching me everywhere."

"Smart girl." The praise feels like poison, delivered with that same patronizing tone he used to use when you figured out something he wanted you to know.

You take a shaky breath, trying to remember what you've learned, trying to apply all those hours of reading to this moment. "This is—you're trying to intimidate me. Make me feel like I have no privacy, no safe spaces. That's psychological control."

The words come out less steady than you'd hoped. You've read about these tactics, spent hours studying them, but sitting across from Simon now, you're not entirely sure you're getting it right. What if you're wrong? What if you've misunderstood everything and you just sound foolish?

Simon leans back, and you can see him assessing your uncertainty like a weakness to exploit. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of textbook manipulation?"

"Isn't it?" But you don't sound confident anymore, and you hate yourself for it.

"You've got it all wrong." His voice is almost gentle now, which somehow makes it worse. "This isn't some big military operation, some conspiracy with Price pulling strings. There's no master plan, no other women, no grand scheme." He shakes his head, looking almost sad. "It's just me, tryin' to keep the woman I love safe."

The words hit you like a slap. Everything you thought you'd figured out—the files you saw on his laptop, the operation Kyle hinted at, the systematic nature of it all—what if you were wrong about all of it? What if you've been running from shadows, building conspiracies out of coincidences?

"But the files," you whisper. "I saw them. The profiles, the psychological assessments—"

"You saw what you wanted to see," Simon interrupts, and his voice is so reasonable, so patient. "What you needed to see to justify leavin' me." He leans forward, and his eyes are so sincere, so genuinely hurt. "I'm not the monster you've made me out to be."

You feel yourself wavering, that familiar doubt creeping in like poison. This is what he does—what he's always done—makes you question your own reality, your own perceptions. But knowing that doesn't make it less effective.

The worst part is, he looks genuinely wounded. This isn't the cold, calculating operative you've imagined. This is just... Simon. Flawed, damaged Simon who loves you in the only way he knows how.

"You had an app to track me," you say, grasping for solid ground.

"Because you wouldn't answer your phone," he replies immediately. "Because you'd disappear for hours and I'd be terrified somethin' had happened to you. Do you know what it's like, lovin' someone who won't let you protect them?"

"You controlled everything—the house, the car, the money—"

"I took care of everything." His voice rises slightly, and you see a flash of the temper he usually keeps so carefully controlled. "Because you needed me to. Because you were fallin' apart and too proud to admit it."

"I wasn't falling apart!"

"Weren't you?" He's fully focused on you now, intense and overwhelming in that way that used to make you feel like the most important person in the world. "When's the last time you slept through the night? When's the last time you ate a full meal without lookin' over your shoulder? You're a mess."

The worst part is, he's not wrong. You are a mess. Exhausted, paranoid, jumping at shadows. Your clothes hang loose on your frame, and you can't remember the last time you felt truly safe. Maybe you have been seeing things that aren't there. Maybe you have been building conspiracies out of coincidences.

"Come home with me," he says, and his voice has that gentle quality that used to soothe your nightmares. "We can talk about this properly. We can work through it. I can change."

For a moment—just a moment—you almost consider it. The thought of being safe, of not having to run anymore, of sleeping in a real bed and eating regular meals is so tempting it makes your chest ache. You're so tired of being afraid, so tired of being alone.

But then you remember the app. You remember the bracelet tracker. You remember the way he answered for you, spoke for you, made decisions for you without ever asking what you wanted.

"You're doing it again," you say quietly.

"What?"

"Making me doubt myself. Making me think I'm crazy for wanting to make my own choices." Your voice is getting stronger now, more certain. "This is what you do—you make me question my own reality until I don't trust my own perceptions."

"What perceptions?" His mask is slipping now, frustration bleeding through the careful control. "You call this a choice? Livin' like a fugitive? Sleepin' in your car? Eatin' one meal a day because you're too paranoid to stay in one place long enough for a proper sit-down dinner?"

"Yes," you say, and your voice is stronger now than it's been in months. "Because they're my choices to make. My mistakes to learn from. My life to live."

Something in Simon's expression shifts. The careful control he's maintained throughout this conversation starts to crack, and you see something raw and desperate underneath.

"Your choices," he repeats, and there's an edge to his voice now that makes your skin crawl. "Your choices nearly got you killed in that forest. Your choices have you lookin' like a skeleton. Your choices—"

"Are mine!" The words burst out of you, louder than you intended. The few other patrons in the diner turn to look, but you don't care anymore. "I don't need you to make them for me! I don't need you to protect me from myself!"

"Yes, you do!" He's shouting now, leaning across the table, and suddenly he's not boyfriend-Simon anymore. He's Lieutenant Riley, Task Force 141, a man accustomed to command and unquestioning obedience. "You've never been able to handle pressure, never been able to make hard decisions without fallin' apart! You panic, you freeze up, you make everything worse!"

Other patrons are definitely staring now, some looking concerned, others annoyed by the disturbance. But Simon doesn't seem to care anymore. His composure is unraveling in real time, and you're getting a glimpse of what he's really like when his control is threatened.

"Look at yourself," he continues, voice harsh with frustration. "Look what your choices have done to you. You're barely functioning. You need me."

"No," you say, and the word comes out steadier than you feel. "I needed to learn how to function without you. And I'm learning."

"This isn't functinin'!" He gestures at you, at your hollow cheeks and tired eyes. "This is survivin', barely. This is—"

"This is my choice," you interrupt. "Even if it's the wrong choice, it's mine to make."

And that's when you see it—the exact moment something breaks in Simon completely.

His face crumbles, but not in the way of someone who knows how to be vulnerable. It's angry and desperate and confused all at once, like a child throwing a tantrum because someone took away his favorite toy. He's never learned how to process these emotions, never learned what to do when control fails completely.

"No," he says, and his voice cracks. "No, you don't get to—you can't just—" He's struggling for words, his hands clenching and unclenching on the table. "I did everything for you! Everything!"

"You did everything to me," you correct quietly.

"That's not—" He stands abruptly, the booth seat scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. "You're wrong. You're wrong about all of it."

But even as he denies it, you can see the truth in his eyes. The careful facade is gone, stripped away by desperation and rage, and underneath is exactly what you suspected—a man who sees you as a possession, a problem to be solved, a variable to be controlled.

"I know you still love me," he says suddenly, desperately, playing his last card. "I can see it in your eyes. You can't just turn that off."

And the terrible thing is, he's right. Even now, even with everything you know, part of you still loves him. The part that remembers his gentle hands and protective arms, the way he made you feel cherished and special. Love doesn't die easily, even when it should.

Tears start sliding down your cheeks—when did you start crying? You don't even realize you're doing it until Simon's expression changes, becomes almost confused.

"You're cryin'," he says, as if this means something, as if tears are proof of surrender.

"So?" You wipe your face with the back of your hand, but the tears keep coming. "I'm allowed to be sad about this. I'm allowed to grieve what I thought we had."

"If you're sad, then why—" He stops, stares at you like he's never seen you before. This woman who can cry and stand firm at the same time, who can love him and leave him in the same breath. It doesn't compute with his understanding of how you work, how you're supposed to respond.

"Because love isn't enough," you say through the tears. "Not when it feels like drowning. Not when it means losing myself completely."

The words seem to hit him like physical blows. His face cycles through emotions too quickly to track—denial, anger, desperation, something that might be genuine grief.

"I never asked you to lose yourself," he says, but his voice lacks conviction.

"You didn't have to ask. You just... took. Little pieces at a time until there was nothing left of me that wasn't shaped by what you wanted me to be."

Simon's hand moves to his jacket, and your body goes cold as you see the outline of something concealed there. A weapon. Of course he's armed—he's always armed. But this is the first time he's ever let you see it, the first time the implicit threat has become explicit.

"Even if you're right," you say, meeting his eyes despite the fear clawing at your throat, "even if I am making the wrong choice—I still get to make it."

The moment stretches between you, taut as a wire. Simon's hand hovers over whatever he's carrying, and you can see the war happening in his expression—love and fury and desperation all battling for control.

But then, slowly, his hand falls to his side.

"You have no idea what you're doin'," he says, and his voice is broken now, smaller than you've ever heard it. "No idea what's waitin' for you out there."

"I know." You stand up, leaving money on the table with hands that only shake a little. "But I'd rather face the unknown than live in a beautiful cage."

You walk toward the door, your legs unsteady but your steps determined. Behind you, you hear Simon's voice, smaller and more desperate than you've ever heard it:

"Please."

The word stops you at the door, not because it changes anything, but because it's the first time he's ever asked instead of demanded. You pause, not turning around.

"I hope you find peace, Simon," you say without looking back. "Real peace. Not the kind that comes from controlling other people."

The bell chimes as you step into the afternoon sunlight. The air is crisp with autumn, and you breathe it in deeply, filling your lungs with freedom. Your chest is tight with grief and fear and something that might be hope.

You walk two blocks before you stop at a payphone outside an old gas station. Your hands shake as you dig change from your pocket. You've been carrying her number in your head for weeks now, afraid to call, afraid that Simon's control had extended even to this.

The phone rings three times before a familiar voice answers.

"Hello?"

"Sarah?" Your voice cracks around her name, three weeks of isolation and fear breaking open at the sound of her voice.

Silence. Then: "Oh my God. Oh my God, is that really you?"

You close your eyes, leaning against the phone booth for support. "Yeah. It's me."

"Where are you? Are you okay? I've been so worried—I tried calling but your number was disconnected, and when I came by the house, Simon said you were traveling for work and couldn't be reached, but something felt wrong about the way he said it, and I've been trying to find you for weeks—"

"Sarah." You interrupt her gently, smiling through your tears at the familiar sound of her rambling when she's upset. "Can I... can I come see you?"

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is thick with tears. "Of course. Of course you can. I'm still in the same apartment. Do you remember how to get here?"

You do remember. Sarah's little apartment across town, with its mismatched furniture and plants in every window. The place that always smelled like coffee and vanilla candles, where you used to go when you needed to feel human again.

"I'll find it," you say. "I might... I might need somewhere to stay for a while. If that's okay."

"It's more than okay," she says immediately. "It's perfect. I'll make up the couch, and we can order pizza, and you can tell me everything when you're ready. Or not tell me. Whatever you need."

The unconditional acceptance in her voice nearly breaks you. When was the last time someone offered you something without expecting anything in return?

"I'll be there soon," you promise.

"I'll be right here waiting," she says. "I'll leave the porch light on."

You hang up and stand there for a moment, listening to the ordinary sounds of the world around you. Cars passing. A dog barking somewhere. The hum of the gas station's neon sign.

Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

You start walking, and for the first time in weeks, you're not running from something. You're walking toward something. Toward someone who knew you before Simon, who will help you remember who you were before all of this happened.

The walk to Sarah's apartment takes forty-seven minutes. You count every step, partly because counting helps keep the panic at bay, and partly because you want to remember this—the feeling of choosing your own direction, of walking toward safety instead of running from danger.

Sarah's building comes into view just as the sun is setting, golden light spilling across the brick facade. The porch light is on, just like she promised, and you can see her silhouette in the window, watching for you.

She meets you at the door before you can even knock, pulling you into a hug that smells like home and safety and all the things you forgot you missed. You break down completely then, months of suppressed fear and loneliness pouring out in ugly, gasping sobs.

"It's okay," Sarah whispers, rubbing your back like she used to when you were kids and you'd had another fight with your parents. "You're safe now. You're home."

Home. The word feels foreign and precious at the same time.

Later, much later, you're curled up on Sarah's couch with a cup of tea and a blanket that smells like fabric softener instead of fear. You've told her everything—or at least, everything you can bear to say out loud. She listened without judgment, without trying to fix anything, just holding space for your pain.

"I'm proud of you," she says now, and the words hit you like a surprise. "For leaving. For surviving. For fighting back when you had to."

"I hurt someone," you say quietly. "That man in the forest. I cut his face."

"Good," Sarah says fiercely. "He was hunting you like an animal. You defended yourself."

The validation feels like a gift. For weeks, you've been carrying the weight of that violence, wondering if it made you as bad as them. But Sarah's acceptance helps you see it for what it was—survival.

"What happens now?" you ask.

Sarah considers this. "Now you heal. Now you figure out who you are when you're not afraid. Now you live."

You nod, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. The road ahead is still uncertain, full of challenges you can't predict and dangers you don't know how to face yet. But they're yours to face. And maybe, just maybe, you won't have to face them alone.

Outside, the world continues its ancient rhythm. Cars pass by. A siren wails in the distance. Somewhere, Simon is probably still sitting in that diner, staring at the silver bracelet you left behind, trying to understand how his perfectly controlled situation slipped through his fingers.

But that's his problem now, not yours.

You close your eyes and listen to the ordinary sounds of safety—Sarah moving around in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of a television from the apartment upstairs. Normal sounds. Human sounds.

Maybe you shouldn't have dated Simon.

All banners by @cafekitsune

[daryltwdixon]

Hey BB! For the giveaway prompts! not really a prompt but a song: the chain by Fleetwood Mac for Joel. I was thinking a little bit of angst? But smut would also be nice. Anyway, just curious what you'll come up with! Thxxx

joel x reader drabble

|| angst, pre & post Boston QZ, complicated feelings and joel isn't good at talking about them ||

hiii! going through some requests and wanted to give you guys some love. I am no longer doing a prompt giveaway, just finishing some requests ive had sitting in my inbox

Your boots crunch over shattered glass. The warehouse smells like rust and mildew, old rainwater collected in oil drums, the tang of something long dead hanging in the air.

You round the corner of the corridor, moving quiet, gun steady in your hands. They told you someone had been squatting here. That your target was armed. Dangerous. That he went by Joel Miller.

You laughed when they said it.

But you took the job anyway.

Because if it was true—if it really was him—you had to know.

The first thing you see is his back as you push through to the open warehouse. Fogged up windows let in slats of light, spotlighting him in the center of the room. His faded flannel, broad shoulders. A slow, methodical way of rifling through a crate like he's lost any semblance of fear of turning his back. You'd think he'd know better by now.

But still. The sight of him makes your stomach turn. Like no time has passed at all.

Your gun clicks as you take the safety off, and he freezes, back straightening.

“Don’t move,” you warn, voice low and sharp. “Not unless you want a bullet in your brain.”

He doesn’t move.

“Turn around.” you order.

He does. And when his eyes meet yours, it’s like the earth tilts sideways. He looks… older. Grayer. More lines in that face. There’s a weariness behind his eyes that you don’t remember, not quite like this. But it’s still him. Still Joel.

For a second, the past and the present slam together like two fists.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, the words barely escaping him.

You cock your head. “Still believe in God, Miller?”

Before

The world outside was falling apart again.

FEDRA checkpoints burned in the distance. The power grid was out for the third night in a row. Screams echoed now and then like they were part of the wind, like they belonged to the city’s bones.

But inside the apartment—your little borrowed corner of the world—it was quiet.

You sat cross-legged on the mattress, wearing one of his old shirts, threadbare at the collar. It still smelled like him. Sweat and gunpowder and that little bite of whiskey he managed to sneak in.

Joel stood with his back to you, shoving the last of his gear into a worn pack.

“You’re not serious,” you said, voice catching even as you tried to hold it steady.

He didn’t answer. Just tightened the straps.

“Joel. Look at me, please.”

He finally turned. And the look on his face… God.

Like he’d already buried you.

“You don’t need me draggin’ you around,” he said, voice low, guarded. “You’ll be better off without me.”

“That’s not true,” you breathed, rising to your feet. “You don’t get to decide that.”

He shook his head once. “Ain’t ‘bout what I get to do. It’s about what I know. And I know I ain’t good for you.”

Your throat burned.

“You’ve kept me alive, Joel.” you say, brows knotting and pleading, "I'm only here because you've—"

“I’ve kept you trapped.” His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking. “You don’t know how to survive ‘cause I’ve been doin’ it for you. You’re too soft. Too trusting. One day I won’t be there to save you and you’ll—” He stopped, eyes dark.

You stepped closer, careful, like you were approaching a wounded animal. “Then stay. Teach me. Don’t go, please—”

Your fingers brushed his wrist.

He pulled away like it burned.

“You deserve better than this life. Better than me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. How do you argue with someone determined to believe they’re poison?

So instead, your voice cracked as you whispered, “Joel. I love you.”

His mouth parted like he might say something. Like he might take it all back and climb back into bed with you, forgetting about any plans of leaving you here in this shit hole.

But all he did was sling the pack over his shoulder and murmur, without looking at you, “Don’t follow me.”

And then he walked out.

The door shut with a click. Not a slam. Not a goodbye. Just a click.

He doesn’t lower his hands, doesn’t reach for a weapon. He doesn’t even blink. He just stares.

You watch the shift happen in real time.

That flicker of recognition turning to something else—something hollowing. Like he’s looking at a ghost that crawled out of the dirt on its own.

“You… changed,” he says finally, quiet. His voice is soft enough it barely sounds like a sin.

You keep the gun raised. “You forced my hand.”

His gaze drops for a second. You watch the hazel of his eyes take in the tightness of your jaw, the scar cutting through your brow, the callouses that weren’t there before. You see it hit him. Everything he did by leaving you.

And you see something else, too.

Guilt.

A quiet, rotting kind of guilt that’s settled deep in the lines around his eyes. The weight he’s been carrying ever since that door shut behind him.

“You grew up,” he says.

“No thanks to you.”

There's a long stretch of silence until, even quieter, he adds: “You survived.”

“Don’t say that like it’s some kind of miracle,” you snap. “You didn’t leave me a knife. Didn’t leave me a fucking map. Just turned me loose in hell and hoped I wouldn’t follow.”

“I didn’t hope that.”

You step closer.

Gun still aimed. Voice low. Eyes burning.

“Then why did you leave me, Joel?”

His jaw works, like he’s chewing on broken glass. “Because I loved you.”

That stuns you still. For a beat, neither of you breathe.

“Fuck you.” you finally whisper.

“I mean it.”

“You don’t get to mean it now.”

He looks… wrecked.

The kind of tired that sleep can’t fix, that comes from carrying too many ghosts.

You should pull the trigger. You want to.

But the longer you look at him—weathered and worn and tired in a way that feels carved into the marrow—you realize you can’t. Not when every part of you still remembers the way he smelled in the dark. The way his hands knew how to hold you without breaking you.

That bond didn’t break. It just stretched. A rusted chain, coiled tight and mean.

And maybe that’s worse.

Your hand falters, dropping a few inches, and his face falls with it.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he says.

Your lips part, hands shaking. That nickname wraps around your ribs and squeezes.

You want to hate him.

But all you can do is whisper, “Why... why now? Why did it take for me to find you?”

And Joel gets on his feet and steps toward you, slow and sure, like if he moves too fast you’ll point the gun back at him and actually pull the trigger.

“I’ve been lookin’,” he says. “Since Dallas. Since that day. I never stopped searchin' for you.”

You stare at him.

And then you bark a sick laugh, dry and sharp. “You’re full of shit.”

“I am,” he says. “but not about this. I went back the next day...but you...you were gone.”

"There was nothin' left for me there." you whisper, brows furrowing, biting your lip in frustration.

And when he closes the last of the space between you, when he touches your wrist and doesn’t let go, you don’t pull away.

You should.

But you don’t.