#real estate law suit

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I found it! The entire court document - it's loooonnnnggg, for the house I just posted. (That's the beauty of being a librarian.) I glanced at it, and it's something about land contamination!

[realtorlindasraymondposts]

Nantucket-Style Home Delivers the Ultimate Fairfield CT Beach Area Lifestyle!

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[esotericalchemist]

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 - 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫 ✧˖°.

Masterlist - YouTube (subliminals)

In Vedic astrology, the ruler of the 10th house plays a crucial role in shaping your career, professional success, and public image. While the 10th house governs your aspirations, ambitions, and how you are perceived in your career, the planet ruling that house provides deeper insights into how you achieve your goals and the nature of your profession. The placement of the 10th house ruler in the chart adds another layer, indicating where your career energies are focused and what kind of opportunities or challenges you may face. Understanding the 10th house ruler helps reveal the path toward success, showing how your personal strengths, ambitions, and the planetary influences converge to shape your professional life.

𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Capricorn in the 10th house, your career is shaped by Saturn, the ruler of Capricorn. This placement makes you ambitious, disciplined, and focused on long-term success. You approach your career with seriousness and dedication, determined to reach the top through hard work and perseverance. While your progress may be slow, Saturn's influence ensures that the achievements you build are solid and lasting. Challenges in your career will teach you valuable lessons in patience and resilience, and over time, you’re likely to gain recognition for your reliability, responsibility, and leadership skills. You thrive in structured environments that require organization and long-term planning.

Saturn through the Houses:

Saturn in the 1st House: Your career is a core part of your identity. You feel a strong sense of responsibility and work hard to establish a solid reputation, often taking on leadership roles.

Saturn in the 2nd House: Financial security is important to you, and you take a careful, steady approach to building wealth. You might work in fields related to finance, banking, or resource management.

Saturn in the 3rd House: Communication, writing, or teaching could be key elements of your career. You have a disciplined approach to learning and sharing knowledge, making you a natural teacher or writer.

Saturn in the 4th House: Your career could be linked to real estate, land, or home-related industries. Balancing work and family life may be a central theme in your professional journey.

Saturn in the 5th House: You may face challenges in expressing your creativity or leadership, but you work hard to develop these skills. A career in education, working with children, or creative fields may suit you.

Saturn in the 6th House: You thrive in structured, service-oriented careers, such as law, administration, or health. You are diligent and take on responsibilities, often being the problem-solver in the workplace.

Saturn in the 7th House: Partnerships play an important role in your career, whether through law, consulting, or other collaborative fields. Professional relationships may take time to grow but are key to your success.

Saturn in the 8th House: You may find yourself in careers involving finance, research, or transformation, such as investigative work. Success may come after overcoming significant challenges, particularly in shared resources.

Saturn in the 9th House: Higher education, law, or philosophy may shape your career. You are dedicated to learning and could work in fields like teaching, publishing, or travel, where your discipline helps you excel.

Saturn in the 10th House: You are highly driven in your career, and leadership roles are likely in your future. While it may take time, your hard work will lead to success and authority in your professional life.

Saturn in the 11th House: You may work in large organizations, social causes, or network-focused careers. You value long-term connections and are likely to achieve success through teamwork and collaboration.

Saturn in the 12th House: Careers in spirituality, healing, or behind-the-scenes work may appeal to you. You’re disciplined in solitude and may find fulfillment in helping others, possibly in hospitals, research, or working abroad.

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Aquarius in the 10th house, your career is driven by a desire for innovation, progress, and making a collective impact. Ruled by Saturn, Aquarius gives you the determination to challenge norms while maintaining discipline and long-term focus. You seek careers that allow you to express individuality and contribute to societal advancement, often in fields like technology, social change, or science. You thrive in roles that let you introduce fresh, forward-thinking ideas and revolutionize outdated systems. Saturn’s influence ensures that, despite your progressive mindset, you approach your career strategically, building success over time. Your blend of vision and discipline enables you to leave a lasting mark in your field.

Saturn through the Houses:

Saturn in the 1st House: Your career is closely tied to your identity, and you're seen as a responsible, visionary leader. You may work in fields that promote innovation or social reform, with a strong sense of independence in carving your own path.

Saturn in the 2nd House: Your career may involve managing finances or resources with a progressive mindset, possibly in technology or sustainability. You approach wealth-building cautiously, with an eye on long-term stability and community-focused projects.

Saturn in the 3rd House: Communication, technology, and intellectual exchange are central to your career. You may work in areas such as digital media, education, or tech startups, where your forward-thinking ideas can thrive. Your disciplined approach helps you stay ahead of trends.

Saturn in the 4th House: Your career could involve real estate, social housing, or projects aimed at improving community living standards. You may be drawn to futuristic housing concepts, urban planning, or ecological development, creating new models for sustainable living.

Saturn in the 5th House: Your creativity is structured, and you may work in innovative fields such as technology, entertainment, or education reform. You bring discipline to creative projects, working on long-term goals that push boundaries in media, teaching, or speculative industries.

Saturn in the 6th House: Your career may involve service, health tech, or innovative ways of improving work environments and systems. You thrive in positions where you can modernize old systems and improve efficiency, bringing a visionary approach to everyday problem-solving.

Saturn in the 7th House: Partnerships are crucial to your career, and you may work in law, consulting, or tech industries. Your professional relationships will likely take time to develop, but they will be built on mutual respect and a shared vision for the future.

Saturn in the 8th House: You could be involved in research, finance, technology related to transformation (like AI or biotechnology), or areas dealing with the hidden or taboo. Success may come after overcoming significant obstacles in deeply transformative fields.

Saturn in the 9th House: Higher education, technology, or international work may define your career. You may find success in spreading progressive ideas, possibly in academia, publishing, or humanitarian work, with a focus on future-oriented reforms.

Saturn in the 10th House: Your career is focused on innovative fields like technology, social reform, or large organizations that influence societal structures. You work towards leadership roles, contributing to systems that will benefit humanity over the long term.

Saturn in the 11th House: Your career involves large organizations, social causes, or the tech industry. You work well in teams and networks, building lasting professional connections. Your long-term vision aligns with solving global issues like inequality or environmental challenges.

Saturn in the 12th House: You may work in isolated or behind-the-scenes roles, such as research, technology development, or humanitarian work in foreign lands. Your career may focus on spirituality, healing, or hidden aspects of society, with a focus on advancing collective progress through quiet, yet impactful, contributions.

𝐆𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Pisces in the 10th house, your career is influenced by the expansive, philosophical energy of Jupiter, Pisces' traditional ruler. Pisces in the 10th house brings a fluid, creative, and intuitive approach to your professional life, guiding you toward fields that allow for compassion, creativity, and emotional expression. You may be drawn to careers in art, music, spirituality, healing, or social services. With Pisces, your career path is likely to be non-linear, seeking fulfillment through helping others and tapping into your emotional and spiritual sides. Jupiter's influence encourages growth through wisdom and knowledge, but you may need to guard against idealism or a lack of focus.

Jupiter through the Houses:

Jupiter in the 1st House: Your career is closely tied to your identity, with a focus on guiding or teaching others. You may work in fields like coaching, teaching, or spiritual guidance, where your expansive nature shines.

Jupiter in the 2nd House: Wealth management or creative fields such as art or media may define your career. You seek financial security through emotionally fulfilling work.

Jupiter in the 3rd House: Careers in communication, education, or media are highlighted. You may excel in writing, teaching, or creative expression that inspires others.

Jupiter in the 4th House: Your career could involve home, real estate, or nurturing roles, such as counseling, social work, or helping others find emotional security.

Jupiter in the 5th House: Creativity, teaching, or working with children may define your path. You are drawn to self-expression and growth, particularly through the arts or education.

Jupiter in the 6th House: Service-oriented careers, especially in health or healing, are key. You bring a compassionate touch to work in holistic medicine, counseling, or social services.

Jupiter in the 7th House: Partnerships are central to your career. You may thrive in law, diplomacy, or client-oriented professions, finding success through collaboration.

Jupiter in the 8th House: Careers in finance, psychology, or deep emotional work are appealing. You may excel in fields involving transformation, research, or healing.

Jupiter in the 9th House: Travel, education, or spiritual work may define your career. You are a natural teacher or guide, and your work might involve spreading wisdom across cultures.

Jupiter in the 10th House: Your career focuses on helping others and contributing to the greater good. Fields like teaching, philosophy, or creative arts align with your ideals and values.

Jupiter in the 11th House: Your career involves working with groups or organizations focused on social causes. You may find success in humanitarian work or fields that positively impact society.

Jupiter in the 12th House: You may work behind the scenes in healing, research, or spiritual professions, drawn to deep emotional or psychological exploration in fields like hospitals or institutions.

𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜����𝐫 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Aries in the 10th house, your career is fueled by the assertive and bold energy of Mars, Aries' ruling planet. This placement makes you naturally ambitious, courageous, and eager to take action in your professional life. You’re driven to lead, often preferring positions where you can make independent decisions and move quickly. You're not one to shy away from challenges and thrive in roles that allow you to assert your authority and pursue your goals with determination. Mars gives your career a pioneering spirit, helping you excel in fast-paced environments where quick thinking is essential. However, learning to manage impulsiveness is key to achieving lasting, long-term success.

Mars through the Houses:

Mars in the 1st House: Your career is a reflection of who you are, and you tackle it with confidence and drive. Leadership roles come naturally to you, and you thrive in competitive, high-energy fields where you can take charge.

Mars in the 2nd House: You may find yourself working in finance, resource management, or building material wealth, approaching these areas with assertiveness. You're focused on achieving financial security, often through bold business ventures or entrepreneurial paths.

Mars in the 3rd House: Careers in communication, tech, or marketing may appeal to you. You bring energy and confidence to your work, excelling in roles that require quick thinking, writing, or public speaking.

Mars in the 4th House: Your career could be connected to real estate, construction, or home-related fields. You approach your work with vigor, though balancing your personal and professional life may present challenges.

Mars in the 5th House: Creative pursuits, sports, or speculative ventures may shape your career. You bring passion and a bold energy to leadership, teaching, or entertainment roles.

Mars in the 6th House: You may work in service, health, or roles that require solving problems and resolving conflicts. You excel in demanding positions, thriving on hard work and resilience.

Mars in the 7th House: Partnerships are vital to your career success, though they may be competitive or dynamic. Roles in law, negotiation, or client services suit you, where boldness and directness are assets.

Mars in the 8th House: Careers in finance, research, or transformative fields like psychology or crisis management appeal to you. You bring intensity and thrive in high-stakes environments.

Mars in the 9th House: Your career could involve travel, education, or law, with an emphasis on exploring new ideas. You're passionate about expanding horizons, for both yourself and others.

Mars in the 10th House: Leadership comes easily to you, and you're highly focused on your career. Assertiveness and independence help you rise to the top through determination and a proactive mindset.

Mars in the 11th House: Your career may revolve around social causes, working with groups, or innovative fields like technology. You're driven to create change on a broad scale, bringing energy and passion to collaborative projects.

Mars in the 12th House: You may find fulfillment in behind-the-scenes or isolated roles, such as in hospitals, prisons, or research. You're drawn to careers that require strategic thinking and inner strength, often in healing or spiritual work.

𝐋𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Taurus in the 10th house, your career is guided by Venus, the ruler of Taurus, bringing a focus on stability, beauty, and financial security. You are naturally drawn to professions that offer consistency and allow you to build something long-lasting rather than chasing short-term success. With Taurus in the 10th house, you're inclined toward careers in art, design, real estate, finance, or any field that provides material comfort and aesthetic satisfaction. Venus’ influence gives you a polished and graceful professional image, making you appear charming and diplomatic in the workplace, which helps you navigate your career with ease. Your Leo rising adds leadership qualities, and combined with Venus' refinement, you’re suited for roles of authority in creative or luxury-related fields.

Venus through the Houses:

Venus in the 1st House: Your charm and elegance strongly contribute to your professional success. You come across as a natural leader with a refined presence, excelling in careers that showcase beauty, creativity, or harmony.

Venus in the 2nd House: You may work in finance, banking, or industries focused on material wealth. You have a natural talent for accumulating resources and thrive in fields that provide financial stability.

Venus in the 3rd House: Your career could revolve around communication, writing, or media. You might work in advertising, marketing, or teaching, where your creativity and diplomacy are key strengths.

Venus in the 4th House: Real estate, interior design, or careers related to home and comfort may be your path. You have a talent for creating harmonious spaces and excel in fields that enhance living environments.

Venus in the 5th House: Creative pursuits, entertainment, or education could define your career. You are passionate about self-expression and may find success in the arts, theater, or roles involving children.

Venus in the 6th House: You may work in service, wellness, or healthcare, focusing on improving others’ quality of life. You bring a peaceful approach to the workplace, excelling in roles that involve helping others.

Venus in the 7th House: Partnerships play a crucial role in your career success. You may work in law, counseling, or client-oriented professions, where negotiation and diplomacy are essential.

Venus in the 8th House: Careers involving finance, shared resources, or transformation appeal to you. You may excel in managing other people’s money or working in fields like psychology or counseling.

Venus in the 9th House: Higher education, travel, or law could play a significant role in your career. You may succeed in areas that involve cultural exchange, teaching, or spreading knowledge with diplomacy.

Venus in the 10th House: Your career revolves around creating beauty and harmony. You are likely drawn to design, art, or luxury-related fields, focusing on stability and material success.

Venus in the 11th House: You may work with groups, social causes, or in the arts. Collaborative environments that value creativity suit you, and you enjoy social recognition for your contributions.

Venus in the 12th House: You may be drawn to careers in spirituality, healing, or behind-the-scenes work. You find fulfillment in helping others, potentially through art therapy, retreat centers, or charitable organizations.

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐆𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Gemini in the 10th house, your career is shaped by Mercury, the ruler of both Gemini and Virgo. Gemini in the 10th house brings adaptability, communication skills, and intellectual curiosity to your professional life. You are drawn to roles that require versatility, such as writing, teaching, marketing, or any field where communication is key. With Mercury as your 10th house ruler, you excel in processing and sharing information, networking, and working in dynamic environments that challenge your mind. Your career path is likely to involve change, travel, or multitasking, as you enjoy variety and mental stimulation in your work.

Mercury through the Houses:

Mercury in the 1st House: Your career is closely tied to your personal identity, and you are seen as articulate and quick-thinking. You may thrive in roles that involve public speaking, writing, or any profession that lets you express your intellect.

Mercury in the 2nd House: Your career may focus on finance, resource management, or sales. You have a talent for handling money and may work in fields that involve communication, such as negotiations or teaching.

Mercury in the 3rd House: Media, technology, or communication are central to your career. You excel in multitasking roles like journalism, marketing, or PR, where your ability to convey information clearly is essential.

Mercury in the 4th House: Your career may involve real estate, education, or working from home. You use your intellect to create a secure and stable professional environment.

Mercury in the 5th House: Creative fields like writing, teaching, or entertainment could define your career. You are skilled at expressing ideas, especially in roles involving children, content creation, or education.

Mercury in the 6th House: Your career may involve health, service, or administrative work. You bring a practical and organized approach to your job, excelling in professions that require detailed communication and problem-solving.

Mercury in the 7th House: Partnerships are crucial to your career, and you may work in law, consulting, or client-based roles where negotiation and communication are key.

Mercury in the 8th House: Your career may involve finance, research, or uncovering hidden truths. You’re drawn to roles in psychology, investigative journalism, or finance, where deep analysis is required.

Mercury in the 9th House: Higher education, travel, or teaching may define your career. You enjoy sharing knowledge, and you may work in academia, publishing, or international fields.

Mercury in the 10th House: Communication is key to your career success. You likely work in fields like media, business, or teaching, using your intellectual abilities to influence and inform others.

Mercury in the 11th House: Your career involves working with groups, social causes, or technology. You thrive in collaborative environments and may work in innovation, community outreach, or tech-driven fields.

Mercury in the 12th House: You may work behind the scenes in research, healing, or spiritual fields. You are drawn to introspective roles that require deep understanding and investigation.

𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Cancer in the 10th house, your career is guided by the nurturing and emotional energy of the Moon, Cancer’s ruler. Cancer in the 10th house makes you empathetic and focused on providing emotional support and security in your professional life. You're drawn to roles where caring for others or creating a supportive environment is key. Fields like healthcare, hospitality, education, social work, or real estate may appeal to you. The Moon’s influence adds sensitivity and adaptability to your career path, meaning your professional choices may fluctuate depending on your emotional state or personal life needs. In your career, you are often known for your ability to connect with others on a deep emotional level, offering compassion and understanding in your work.

Moon through the Houses:

Moon in the 1st House: Your career plays a major role in your identity, and you’re seen as nurturing and empathetic. You gravitate toward leadership roles in fields like healthcare, counseling, or education, where caring for others is essential.

Moon in the 2nd House: Your career may involve managing resources that provide emotional security, such as finances, food, or hospitality. You’re likely drawn to roles that offer comfort and care, like banking or hotel management.

Moon in the 3rd House: Communication and community are central to your career. Writing, teaching, or media work are likely, allowing you to express emotional insight and connect with others through your words.

Moon in the 4th House: Careers related to homes, families, or real estate are likely. You might work in home design or real estate, focusing on creating emotional security and comfort for others.

Moon in the 5th House: Teaching, creative fields, or working with children could define your career. You enjoy nurturing others’ growth and could find success in art, education, or children’s services.

Moon in the 6th House: Service-oriented careers, especially in health or caregiving, appeal to you. You thrive in roles where you can help others, such as nursing, social work, or holistic health, bringing emotional insight to problem-solving.

Moon in the 7th House: Partnerships are key to your career success. You may work in counseling, consulting, or any field requiring strong one-on-one relationships, where your emotional sensitivity builds supportive connections.

Moon in the 8th House: Your career might involve finance, psychology, or transformative work. You’re drawn to deep emotional work like therapy or crisis management, helping others through transitions or managing shared resources.

Moon in the 9th House: Higher education, travel, or spiritual work could define your career. Teaching, publishing, or work involving exploration and emotional growth may provide fulfillment.

Moon in the 10th House: You're known for your caring, compassionate nature in your career, excelling in roles such as healthcare, education, or social services. Emotional intelligence and connection are key to your professional success.

Moon in the 11th House: Your career may involve working with groups, social causes, or community organizations. Collaborative environments where you can support others emotionally and contribute to social well-being suit you well.

Moon in the 12th House: You may be drawn to careers in healing, spirituality, or working in isolated environments like hospitals. Your emotional depth helps you assist others through challenging situations, often behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐋𝐞𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Leo in the 10th house, your career path is guided by the bold and radiant energy of the Sun, which rules Leo. Having Leo in the 10th house makes you ambitious, confident, and determined to gain recognition and authority in your profession. You naturally seek to stand out and gravitate towards leadership roles where you can shine and motivate those around you. With the Sun governing your 10th house, you're driven to create a reputation rooted in personal integrity, creativity, and influence. You’ll likely be drawn to careers in management, politics, entertainment, or any field that allows you to showcase your individuality and gain public attention. Your success lies in embracing your strength, leadership qualities, and desire to make a lasting impact in your field.

Sun through the Houses:

Sun in the 1st House: Your career is deeply tied to your identity, and you naturally take on leadership roles. You project confidence and authority, making you a natural in professions where your personal presence leaves a strong impression.

Sun in the 2nd House: You might pursue careers in finance, luxury goods, or fields that involve wealth and status. Building financial security is important to you, and you take pride in positions that enhance your public image and bring material success.

Sun in the 3rd House: Communication, media, or education plays a key role in your career. You excel in positions where you can share ideas, inspire others, and creatively express yourself through writing, teaching, or public speaking.

Sun in the 4th House: Your career could be related to real estate, family businesses, or work that focuses on the home and community. You take pride in building a solid foundation and may find success in areas tied to property or caregiving.

Sun in the 5th House: Creative fields, entertainment, or leadership in educational initiatives might shape your career. You thrive in roles where you can express your creativity and assume leadership, and you may be drawn to work involving children or artistic ventures.

Sun in the 6th House: Your career may revolve around service, health, or administrative duties. You’re skilled at managing teams and improving work environments, and you take pride in contributing to the well-being of others.

Sun in the 7th House: Partnerships are key to your career success. You might work in law, counseling, or client-based services, excelling in roles that require collaboration and negotiation, where your leadership skills and ability to inspire shine.

Sun in the 8th House: Your career may involve finance, psychology, or fields related to transformation and shared resources. You’re drawn to deep, transformative work, helping others through significant transitions or exploring hidden aspects of life.

Sun in the 9th House: Higher education, travel, or philosophical pursuits may define your career. You’re driven to share knowledge and inspire others through teaching, publishing, or roles that broaden perspectives and encourage personal growth.

Sun in the 10th House: Your career and reputation are central to your focus, and you’re naturally inclined toward leadership. Recognition and success come easily to you as you rise to the top of your field through your confidence, determination, and ability to motivate others.

Sun in the 11th House: Your career could involve working with large organizations, social networks, or groups working toward shared goals. You excel in collaborative environments, leading teams toward a common vision for the future.

Sun in the 12th House: You may be drawn to careers involving spirituality, healing, or behind-the-scenes work. Your success comes through helping others in quiet, meaningful ways, often through introspective or spiritual practices.

𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Virgo in the 10th house, your career is shaped by the practical and analytical nature of Mercury, Virgo's ruler. Virgo in the 10th house makes you detail-focused, precise, and committed to excellence in your professional life. You are naturally drawn to careers that emphasize organization, problem-solving, and intellectual engagement, which could include fields like healthcare, research, education, writing, or administration. With Mercury guiding your 10th house, you bring a methodical and logical mindset to your work, excelling in roles that require clear communication, sharp analysis, and the ability to juggle multiple tasks. Adaptable and always striving for improvement, you're consistently seeking to refine your skills and streamline processes in your career.

Mercury through the Houses:

Mercury in the 1st House: Your career is tied to your personal identity, and you're known for your intellectual and communicative abilities. You thrive in roles requiring quick thinking, adaptability, and effective communication.

Mercury in the 2nd House: Your career may involve finance, resource management, or business. Your talent for managing money and your analytical mindset help you excel in creating financial security and stability.

Mercury in the 3rd House: Careers in communication, teaching, or media are likely. You're drawn to roles involving sharing information, public speaking, or intellectual exchange, where you can express your ideas and knowledge.

Mercury in the 4th House: Your career could involve real estate, property management, or home-based work. You approach family business or nurturing environments with organization and analysis.

Mercury in the 5th House: You combine creativity and intellect in your career, possibly through teaching, entertainment, or creative writing. You succeed in roles that allow you to express yourself while using your mind.

Mercury in the 6th House: Your career may focus on healthcare, service, or administrative roles. You're diligent, organized, and excel in jobs that require problem-solving and communication in practical environments.

Mercury in the 7th House: Partnerships play a key role in your career, and you may work in law, consulting, or client relations. Your communication skills help you succeed in negotiation and collaboration.

Mercury in the 8th House: You may pursue careers in finance, research, or fields dealing with transformation and complex information. Your analytical nature suits roles involving shared resources, psychology, or deep investigations.

Mercury in the 9th House: Higher education, travel, or publishing could define your career. You're intellectually curious and thrive in roles that allow you to explore and share knowledge, particularly through teaching or writing.

Mercury in the 10th House: Communication and intellectual pursuits are central to your career. You may work in teaching, writing, research, or business, where managing and conveying information is crucial to your success.

Mercury in the 11th House: Your career might involve working with groups, networks, or technology. You excel in collaborative settings, creating innovative ideas and solutions that benefit a collective or community.

Mercury in the 12th House: You may be drawn to careers behind the scenes or in areas like research, spirituality, or healing. You excel in introspective roles requiring a deep understanding of the unseen or spiritual aspects of life.

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Libra in the 10th house, your career is shaped by the harmonious and balanced energy of Venus, Libra's ruler. Libra in the 10th house draws you toward professions that emphasize diplomacy, aesthetics, partnerships, or justice. You value balance and harmony in your professional life and are likely to excel in roles requiring negotiation, creativity, or building strong relationships. With Venus ruling your 10th house, careers in law, design, the arts, diplomacy, or public relations may be especially appealing. You are known for your refined approach to your career, always striving to create beauty and fairness in your work. Success comes when you balance professional ambitions with a desire for collaboration and maintaining harmony in your work environment.

Venus through the Houses:

Venus in the 1st House: Personal charm and diplomacy are central to your career success. You are a natural leader, excelling in roles involving public speaking, leadership, or design, where you harmonize diverse perspectives.

Venus in the 2nd House: Your career may focus on finance, luxury goods, or industries connected to beauty and comfort. You are adept at building wealth and creating value, particularly in areas associated with material success.

Venus in the 3rd House: Communication, media, or writing plays a key role in your career. You bring creativity and diplomacy to your work, excelling in advertising, marketing, or teaching, where your charm and intellect are highly valued.

Venus in the 4th House: Your career could involve real estate, interior design, or family-related fields. You are skilled at creating harmonious environments and may find success in roles related to property or nurturing spaces.

Venus in the 5th House: Creative fields, entertainment, or speculative ventures may shape your career. You thrive in artistic roles and enjoy professions involving the arts, teaching, or anything that allows self-expression.

Venus in the 6th House: Your career may focus on service, wellness, or healthcare, where you bring balance and harmony to your work environment. You excel in roles that value teamwork and cooperation.

Venus in the 7th House: Partnerships are key to your career success. You are drawn to law, consulting, or client-focused roles, where your diplomacy and ability to build strong relationships are critical.

Venus in the 8th House: Your career may involve finance, psychology, or transformative fields. You are skilled at managing shared resources and thrive in careers related to finance, counseling, or crisis management with a calm, balanced approach.

Venus in the 9th House: Higher education, law, travel, or philosophy could define your career. You seek roles involving the spread of knowledge or the pursuit of fairness, finding fulfillment in teaching, publishing, or diplomacy.

Venus in the 10th House: Aesthetics, balance, and diplomacy shape your career. You may work in creative fields, law, or public relations, where maintaining harmony and bringing beauty to your professional life leads to success.

Venus in the 11th House: Your career may involve working with groups, social causes, or organizations aimed at improving fairness or beauty in society. You excel in collaborative settings and may find success in networking or social movements.

Venus in the 12th House: You may be drawn to careers in spirituality, healing, or behind-the-scenes roles. You find fulfillment in helping others, working in art therapy, charitable organizations, or introspective and compassionate roles.

𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Scorpio in the 10th house, your career is shaped by the intense and transformative energy of Mars, Scorpio's ruler. Scorpio in the 10th house makes you fiercely ambitious, driven, and deeply focused on achieving success. You’re drawn to professions that involve transformation, research, and control, excelling in areas like psychology, finance, investigation, or any field requiring depth and resilience. With Mars ruling your 10th house, you bring passion, determination, and a strategic mindset to your professional life. You often thrive in high-pressure environments, where your focus and resilience allow you to rise from challenges with renewed strength and a clear sense of purpose. Your career path may involve moments of profound growth and transformation, but you’re equipped to handle the intensity with grace and power.

Mars through the Houses:

Mars in the 1st House: You are highly ambitious and driven, often assuming leadership roles. Assertiveness and a strong personal presence define your career, and you are likely to forge your own path toward success.

Mars in the 2nd House: Your career may center on finance, resource management, or industries where material stability is key. You approach money with intensity, determined to build wealth through strategic action and perseverance.

Mars in the 3rd House: Communication, technology, or investigative work may be pivotal in your career. You are excellent at uncovering information and thrive in fast-paced fields requiring quick thinking and decisive action, such as journalism or research.

Mars in the 4th House: Your career could involve real estate, property management, or creating stability through transformation in home settings. You bring determination and strategy to fields related to domestic security or family businesses.

Mars in the 5th House: Creative fields, leadership in education, or speculative ventures may define your career. You are bold in pursuing self-expression and may take calculated risks to achieve success in artistic or entrepreneurial ventures.

Mars in the 6th House: Healthcare, service, or conflict resolution may define your career. You are driven to solve problems, excelling in demanding environments where your resilience and strategic thinking allow you to overcome challenges.

Mars in the 7th House: Partnerships and collaboration play a critical role in your career, though these relationships may be intense or competitive. You may work in law, consulting, or negotiation, excelling in high-stakes decision-making.

Mars in the 8th House: Finance, research, or transformative fields may be central to your career. You are drawn to managing resources, uncovering hidden truths, or helping others through crises, thriving in roles such as psychology or forensic science.

Mars in the 9th House: Higher education, law, or travel may shape your career. You’re driven to explore and push boundaries, finding success in fields like philosophy, international relations, or academic research.

Mars in the 10th House: Highly career-focused, you are likely to rise to leadership positions through determination and intensity. You thrive in competitive fields, excelling in areas like strategy, crisis management, or transformation.

Mars in the 11th House: Your career may involve working with large organizations, technology, or social reform. You’re driven to create wide-scale change and may find success in collaborative projects focused on innovation or social movements.

Mars in the 12th House: Careers in spirituality, healing, or working behind the scenes in research or psychology may attract you. Your success may come from helping others through crises in environments requiring emotional depth and discretion.

𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

With Sagittarius in the 10th house, your career is shaped by the expansive and philosophical energy of Jupiter, the ruler of Sagittarius. Sagittarius in the 10th house makes you idealistic, purpose-driven, and eager to explore new horizons in your professional life. You are drawn to careers involving teaching, travel, spirituality, law, or higher education—anything that allows you to share knowledge and wisdom. With Jupiter as your 10th house ruler, you possess optimism and a broad vision for your career, often aiming for roles where you can make a meaningful impact. Your professional path is typically marked by growth through learning and sharing wisdom, and you are known for inspiring and leading with moral or philosophical direction.

Jupiter through the Houses:

Jupiter in the 1st House: Your career is closely connected to your identity. You are seen as a wise, expansive figure and likely to pursue leadership roles in teaching, spirituality, or counseling, guiding and inspiring others.

Jupiter in the 2nd House: Your career may involve finance, education, or managing resources tied to knowledge. You excel in fields like law or publishing, where moral values and a sense of justice are key to success.

Jupiter in the 3rd House: Communication, education, or media could be central to your career. You thrive in teaching, writing, or public speaking, using your intellectual curiosity and broad-minded approach to inspire others.

Jupiter in the 4th House: Your career may involve real estate, home-related industries, or family businesses. You aim to create emotional security through your work, perhaps in roles that nurture or support stability for others.

Jupiter in the 5th House: Creative fields, teaching, or working with children may define your career. You are passionate about self-expression and education, excelling in roles that allow you to inspire younger generations or pursue speculative ventures.

Jupiter in the 6th House: Your career may focus on service, healthcare, or wellness. You bring optimism and a broad outlook to work environments centered on helping others, finding success in professions that promote well-being.

Jupiter in the 7th House: Partnerships are crucial to your career success. You may work in law, consulting, or client-focused fields, where your sense of justice and wisdom enhances your effectiveness in negotiation or counseling.

Jupiter in the 8th House: Your career could involve finance, psychology, or transformative industries. You are drawn to work requiring deep emotional or intellectual insight, such as managing shared resources or guiding others through life transitions.

Jupiter in the 9th House: Higher education, travel, or philosophy may shape your career. You are driven to share knowledge on a global scale and may succeed in teaching, publishing, or law, spreading your ideals and vision widely.

Jupiter in the 10th House: Your career revolves around teaching, leading, or sharing wisdom. Fields such as education, law, or religion suit you well, where your ability to inspire and promote justice leads to career success.

Jupiter in the 11th House: Your career may involve working with groups, large organizations, or social causes. You are driven by the desire to improve the world, finding success in humanitarian work, community efforts, or technology-driven innovations.

Jupiter in the 12th House: You may be drawn to careers in spirituality, healing, or working in secluded environments like hospitals or retreat centers. Your path involves helping others with wisdom and compassion, often in quiet, behind-the-scenes roles.

Masterlist - YouTube (subliminals)

[astrosky33]

HOW YOU CAN GAIN WEALTH

THE 11TH HOUSE AND FINANCIAL GAINS

The 11th house in astrology is known for representing friends, socialization, technology, hopes/wishes, etc. However, a lot of people don’t know it also represents material gains (which includes financial gains)

The 10th house represents your career and the 2nd house represents money, so using Derivative Astrology you count 2 houses including 10 (10,11) meaning the 11th house gives insight on money made from your career

This is an underrated placement to check for your long term career to see which career path you should go down in order to make the most money. I discuss this in my readings

ARIES 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where you motivate others or ones that motivate you. You would struggle financially in careers you weren’t passionate about. Careers involving courage, athletics, physical fighting/aggression, tattoos, war, heat/fire, confidence, energy, enthusiasm, and/or lust would suit you best (Example- personal trainer)

TAURUS 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers that bring sentimentality to your life. You would struggle financially in careers that were too high stress. Careers involving material items, beauty, romance/love, art/artistry, pleasures, festivities, your voice, and/or luxury would suit you best (Example- singer)

GEMINI 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers that let you communicate your ideas. You would struggle financially in careers that didn’t require much communicating. Careers involving literature/writing, social media, the mind, speaking, lower education, short trips, ground transportation, trading, the press, gossip, and/or math would suit you best (Example- social media influencer)

CANCER 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers that are an emotional outlet for you. You would struggle financially in careers that make you suppress all your feelings. Careers involving emotional expression, family, homes/houses, taking care of people, femininity, the ocean, fertility/pregnancy, baking/cooking, and/or boobs would suit you best (Example- real estate agent)

LEO 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers that allow you to be in the spotlight and shine. You would struggle in careers that you never get to express yourself creatively in. Careers involving drama, your talents, happiness, development, pride, the ego, identity, festivals, royalty, creativity, attention/spotlight, entertainment, and/or leadership would suit you best (Example- actor)

VIRGO 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where you can put your analytical nature to use. You would struggle financially in careers where you couldn’t seem to voice your opinion. Careers involving analyzing with reason, health/fitness, literary works, the mind, and/or routine would suit you best (Example- author)

LIBRA 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where you’re expressing yourself artistically. You would struggle financially in careers where you can’t have a balance of work and play. Careers involving art, beauty, fashion, harmony/harmonies, romance, pleasures, compromise/cooperation, values, and/or festivities would suit you best (Example- dancer)

SCORPIO 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where you use your power for good and that you feel powerful in. You would struggle financially in careers where you have no control. Careers involving transformation, mystery/crime, surgery, sex, athletics, tattoos, aggression, and/or heat/fire would suit you best (Example- surgeon)

SAGITTARIUS 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where you’re learning something new daily or going on new adventures daily. You would struggle financially in careers where you’re surrounded by negativity or negative coworkers. Careers involving travel, law/justice, teaching, religion/spirituality, gambling, honesty, and/or fulfillment would suit you best (Example- lawyer)

CAPRICORN 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where there’s stability. You would struggle financially in careers where there’s lack of consistency in your income or just in general. Careers involving business, being the boss, responsibility, confinement, restriction, old age, and/or bones would suit you best (Example- manager)

AQUARIUS 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers where you have freedom. You would struggle financially in careers where you can’t create/invent new things and be your unique self. Careers involving technology, politics, socialization/groups/friendship, invention, film, fluctuation, rebellion, electricity, natural disasters/science, chaos, p*rnography, and/or followers would suit you best (Example- film producer)

PISCES 11H: You can benefit the most financially from careers that are an escape for you. You would struggle financially in careers that cause you lots of confusion. Careers involving compassion/kindness, spirituality, disguise, glamour, idealization, hypnotism, music, disappearance, and/or the hidden would suit you best (Example- model)

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© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[rafesfavgirl]

with a broken heart — r. cameron

part 1. something a little more lighthearted to make up for breaking y'alls hearts :)

series: every few lifetimes

❝ i was grinning like i'm winning  i was hitting my marks 'cause i can do it with a broken heart ❞

pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: after getting your heart broken, you pack your bags and leave the obx, only to come face to face with rafe again, eight years later.

words: 2.4k+

warnings: rafe and reader are aged up (26/27), old flames, FLUFF

"now remember, this client's a big prospect," your boss says as you follow him out of the office car and into the building you were scoping out today. "i guarantee if you can close this deal, you'll be well on your way to becoming the next junior partner."

"hank, are you serious?" you stop in your tracks and he looks at you. 

when you first left the outer banks for new york, you went to nyu without a clue on what you wanted to do with the rest of your life. somewhere along the way, you graduated magna cum laude and pursued law school at columbia. your first year, hank took you on as an intern, and by the time you graduated, you had a job lined up for you at one of the biggest real estate agencies in the world. and though you knew how well you did your job, becoming junior partner as a second-year associate was way beyond where you thought you'd be—it was nothing short of a dream come true.

"don't think what you've done for this company has been lost on me, y/n," he tells you. "you're an asset. i knew it since that first summer i took you on as an intern."

a smile comes across your lips. "well, i can't disappoint," you say. "let's close this fucking deal."

"that's what i like to hear, come on," he continues leading you through the building, until the two of you reached a tall guy with a buzzcut wearing a navy blue suit scoping out the place.

"mr. cameron," you don't miss the familiar name when you and your boss stop behind him, your breath hitching when the guy turns around to greet you both. "this is-"

"y/n," your name rolls off rafe's tongue the same way it always did, your heart beating so hard you feared it'd jump out of your chest.

hank's eyes shift between the two of you, as he shakes rafe's hand. "you two know each other?"

"yeah," rafe nods, his eyes set on you—he couldn't believe that you were actually standing in front of him. a part of him thought that when you left the obx he'd never see you again. "we uh— we went to high school together."

"well that's wonderful," hank smiles. "no need for the awkward introduction then."

except— it was awkward. you didn't just go to high school together. you fell in love in high school. and two months before you chose to go to nyu, rafe broke your heart.

"y/n here will be the one walking you through the contract, and hopefully setting you up with one of our best architects," hank explains to him, while you continue trying to process the fact that he was actually here.

what were the odds that he was the client you needed to win over in order to make junior partner? 

—

"so, does that all sound good to you?" you finish going over the contract for the building and look at rafe.

the two of you hovered over a table in the empty space that you'd spread out all the documents on.

"yeah, y/n, it all sounds great." the smile he throws your way makes your stomach turn in the worst way—making you realize that the piece of your heart that never stopped beating for him still existed. "where do i sign?"

"uh— right here," you pick up your pen to draw x's on all the lines he had to sign on, before holding it out to him.

he takes it from you, and you watch as he leans over to sign on each and everyone of them, your eyes trailing over how well his suit fit him.

he must hit the gym at least four times a week, you thought. he's grown quite a bit since you last saw him.

"there you go," rafe hands the pen back out to you, and you take it from him with a smile.

"thank you," you say. "you won't regret it."

"oh, i know," he nods, eyes scanning over your face. "i'd never regret anything that involves you."

you feel the heat rise on your cheeks, but you keep it professional, gathering the files on the table back into your folder. "well then, i'll leave you with the contacts of our architects and if you have any further questions, you can reach out to hank or any of the other executives."

"yeah, okay," he replies, hiding his disappointment in the fact that you didn't tell him to contact you with any questions he may have.

"it was a pleasure doing business with you, mr. cameron," you hold out a hand to him for a handshake and he stares at it for a second, before reluctantly placing his hand in yours.

"it sure was," he smiles. "but you know you can just call me rafe, don't you?"

"this is how i address all my clients," you tell him. "it's just the professional thing to do."

"yeah, yeah, i get it," he nods. "guess i'm just not used to it coming from you."

you crack a smile at his somewhat nervous stance—you weren't used to seeing him this way. "it was nice to see you again, rafe. good luck with everything."

"yeah," he grins. "you too."

you turn to walk away, while rafe stays back, scratching the back of his head in contemplation before calling out to you. "hey y/n?"

"yeah?" you ask, stopping to look at him again.

"you got any plans tonight?"

"rafe, i-"

"oh, come on," he cuts you off, slowly closing the distance between you two. "there's no reason we can't be friends, right?"

wrong—there were many reasons. one being that you spent years piecing yourself back together after he decided to give up on you. 

"let's catch up," he persists, his blue eyes locking with yours. "get a drink with me tonight."

despite your head screaming no, you agree. "one drink," you say, causing a smile to spread across his face. "ten o'clock. meet me at the bar on fifth."

—

the second you walk into the bar, rafe rises from his stool at the counter and waves you over. he had gotten there 30 minutes early to make sure you weren't left waiting for him—you'd done enough of that.

"hey," he seems nervous when you reach him, wiping his hands on his slacks before reluctantly wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

you resist the urge to giggle—it was kinda entertaining to see this six-foot-two tall man get nervous around you—and briefly return his hug.

"have you been here long?" you ask, taking off your jacket and taking a seat in the empty stool beside him.

"nah, just about five minutes or so," he lies, shrugging and giving you a lopsided smile, as the bartender walks up to greet you both.

"anything i can get you?" she asks, eyes lingering on rafe for a little longer than you.

"just a glass of whiskey for me," rafe tells her. "neat."

"and i'll just have a glass of pinot noir," you say, when the girl turns to look at you. "thank you."

"and you can just put it on this," rafe reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, and you cut in. "rafe, you don't have to-"

"nonsense," he shakes his head at you and slides his black amex across to the bartender. "i invited you out. it's on me."

the bartender picks up his card, and gives him a smile. "rafe cameron. i'll remember that."

subtly, rafe rolls his eyes and you hold back a snicker. "please don't."

the bartender huffs as her eyes shifts between the two of you, but walks away without another word to get your drinks and charge rafe's card.

you kink a brow at him. "you get bartenders flirting with you a lot?"

"i guess it happens every now and then," he shrugs.

"it's definitely the buzz," you tell him, as a different bartender brings over your drinks and hands rafe back his card.

"thank you," he briefly acknowledges him, before turning his attention back on you, an amused smile on his face. "you think?"

"yeah," you nod, bringing your wine glass up to take a sip. "it makes you look older— more mature. it suits you."

he cracks a smile, a small chuckle slipping out from between his lips. "and being a lawyer suits you."

"you really think so?"

"yeah," he nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "you looked so cute all dressed up in your little suit," those words make the heat rise on your cheeks, and you hide it with your wine glass. "i've never seen you more in your element. what made you choose law?"

"well…" you trail off, wondering whether or not you should tell him the truth. oh, fuck it. "after we broke up, i found out got into nyu. i was so… mad and hurt over you ending it that i packed my bags and i left, without looking back. during the summers, i stayed here and worked internships with the school just so i'd have an excuse not to go home."

he listened intently, a look of indifference falling across his features. a part of him was hurt at hearing that he'd broken your heart so badly you felt the need to leave, but the other part was proud. you really did that. figured your shit out and made a life for yourself—just like he always knew you would.

"after my second year, i worked an internship with a property management company in brooklyn. we scoped out places all around the city, and i don't know… i kinda just fell in love with it. seeing how happy people got when we'd found them the right apartment or the right space for them to start their business just made me feel really good. so i declared real estate as my major junior year and decided on law school," you continued.

"doll, that's amazing," he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "which law school did you go to?"

"columbia," you reply, his eyes only widening in amazement. no words could describe the amount of pride in his chest right now. "but enough about me. what about you?"

"oh— uh…" he started and set his whiskey down on the bar. "after you left, i went to rehab. went in and out of that place for about two or three years… i mean, you knew how bad it was— wasn't easy."

you frown upon hearing his struggles with rehab and relapsing, but nod along as he continues.

"been clean for about four years now though," he shrugs, as if it wasn't some big accomplishment.

"rafe, that's amazing," you tell him, setting your glass down on the bar. "good for you."

"i had to," he nodded. "not only for me, but for dad, too. he was starting to talk business and expanding the company, and i just… i couldn't let him down. especially not after i let you down."

you glance down, no longer being able to meet his eyes. you knew that your past together had to come up at one point, you just weren't ready for it. mainly because even after all this time, there was still that little piece of your heart that never stopped belonging to him. it would always be his. "rafe…"

"i hope i'm not being too forward when i ask you this but…" his hand reaches out to touch yours, and you look up at him. "are you seeing anyone?"

"no, i'm not," you shake your head. "after we broke up, i didn't really date much. and even when i did, nothing ever really stuck."

that was enough to have a smile crack across his his, eyes brighter than you'd seen them in a really long time. "guess that makes two of us."

"guess so," you shrug, thoughts running through your mind a hundred times a minute as you try to find a way to change the subject. you weren't ready for where this conversation was about to go. at least, not yet. "but, uh— tell me about cameron development, how's that going?"

he chuckles at your eagerness to change the subject, as you sipped on your wine, but goes with it. he'd break you down again. eventually.

—

after finishing your drinks at the bar, rafe offered to walk you home since your apartment was only about a block or two away, assuring you that he'd just get a cab back to his hotel afterward.

and while a part of you screamed at you to say no, that little piece of your heart that still beat for him won over, and you agreed.

"well, this is me," you say, stopping in front of your apartment complex and looking at him. "it was really nice to see you, rafe."

"so that's it?" he asks, catching you off guard. "this just ends here?"

he takes a step towards you, making your heart pitter-patter, as his eyes scanned your face.

"rafe-"

"don't you ever wonder…" he cuts you off, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a moment before his eyes shifted to meet yours. "what we could've been? what we could be?"

"i-"

"i know i fucked shit up with you, a'ight?" he said, hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

the gesture threatens to make your eyes flutter close at the feeling of his familiar touch, but you keep your composure.

"i was young and i was stupid, and i thought you deserved better," he continued. "but y/n, there isn't a day that has gone by in the last eight years that you haven't crossed my mind. i think about you all the time, just hoping for the day you'd finally come back to the banks."

your breath hitches at his confession, that tiny piece of your heart that held onto him, growing three sizes.

"i know i don't deserve a second chance, i know that," he told you. "but i'm not the guy i was back in high school. i'm clean now, and i've turned my life around. i can be that guy for you now. the one you needed me to be all those years ago."

"okay," you whisper.

"what?" he musn't have heard you right.

"i'd be lying to myself if i said i haven't thought about you either, rafe," you say.

a small chuckle falls from his lips, which spread into a smile. "seriously?"

you nod. "come pick me up at seven tomorrow. let's give it a chance."

part 3 coming soon!!

i'm rooting for them tbh

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[pickingupmymercedes]

I want South - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: That top, those arms, THAT CHEST. Blame Lewis and his ability to get me horny.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

The rhythmic clatter of her keyboard barely registered as Y/N navigated the labyrinthine spreadsheet on her laptop. Hours had melted away since Lewis had disappeared into the steamy confines of the bathroom, a hasty "Good luck with the media" thrown over her shoulder. Between the complex financial reports and the incessant ping of emails, she hadn't even noticed him leave.

Reaching a dead end, she leaned back in her chair, stretching out her neck. A quick scroll through Instagram was supposed to be a five-minute break, a mental breather before diving back into the work abyss. But instead, her breath caught in her throat as her feed exploded with photos. Lewis. In a tank top, but not just any tank top, mind you, but a ridiculously glittery low cut one that seemed determined to defy all laws of physics and hold onto what little fabric remained.

The offending garment offered more real estate to his sculpted arms and chest than it did to any semblance of modesty.

Oh, the audacity of that man. Knowing full well the chaos he could unleash with a single outfit choice, he'd strolled into the paddock like a bronzed Adonis on display. A playful desire to ruffle his feathers bubbled up, even if he was likely neck-deep in an engineer's meeting. Picking up her phone, she crafted the first text.

Y/N: "I want to go south."

A beat. Then another. Finally, a reply popped up on the screen.

Lewis: "What are you even talking about?"

She smirked. Clearly, her cryptic opener didn't land, so time to up the ante.

Y/N: "Your compass, baby. I want south."

There. A hint. A playful nudge in the direction of his, shall we say, exposed assets. Silence again. Maybe the meeting was more intense than she thought. Or maybe – just maybe – Lewis was finally catching on.

Lewis: "Are you stalking me on social media?"

A triumphant grin stretched across her face. He finally saw it. The news articles, the fan reactions, the absolute frenzy his outfit had caused.

Y/N: "Tits out Thursday?" she sent, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. "Or is it guns out all week?"

Another, longer pause this time. The anticipation was delicious, she was having way too much fun with that. Finally, his response arrived.

Lewis: "Wth with people not behaving on main?!"

Y/N: "At least Derik put something on you that covers the nipples. This time."

Suddenly, her phone buzzed violently. Not a text, but a video call. She answered with a raised eyebrow, ready for the fire Lewis was sure to unleash. But instead, the screen showed a face flushed, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

"You're in serious trouble" he said, his voice low and almost husky.

"Oh, am I?" she countered, meeting his gaze with a smirk.

He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. "When I get back to the hotel, prepare for a south-bound exploration"

The line went dead, leaving her hot under her shirt and a flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

Y/N eventually managed to refocus on her work, the playful banter with Lewis now a pleasant distraction lingering in her mind. But as the clock ticked on, the anticipation of his return began to build.

It was a couple of hours later when the door to their hotel suite swung open, and Lewis stepped in, now wearing a Mercedes shirt and the infamous top in hand. He leaned against the wall, clearing his throat until she looked at him, his gaze intense.

"Hello, miss explorer” he let out with a low voice, holding out the top that had cause do much distraction.

Y/N made a show of looking down at one of his t-shirts she had been wearing since the morning, no bras or shorts under, taking if off and leaving her in only lace panties. With a playful smirk and her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she threw the shirt on the bed and sauntered confidently towards him to retrieve the tank. “Thank you, Eric, I’d say” her voice full with amusement

As she took the top from his hand, she noticed how uncomfortable he seemed in his pants, a smirk playing on her lips. She enjoyed the teasing, reveling in the power she held over him in this moment. Putting on the tank, the piece of clothing hung dangerously low on her frame, the strings that were meant to be all the way to her shoulders acting as covers to her nipples. She could feel his gaze burning into her, and she savored every moment of it.

He swallowed hard at the sight, his eyes darkening with desire as she stood before him, clad only in the top and lace panties. The tension between them crackled in the air, a silent challenge passing between them as they locked eyes.

As Lewis closed the distance between them, Y/N could feel the tension in the air thickening. With each step he took closer to her the more he seemed to tower over her frame, even if they were almost the same size.

His eyes gleamed with amusement at her feistiness, but there was something more, something primal and undeniable simmering beneath the surface. She met his gaze through her lashes, a coy smile playing on her lips as she watched him approach.

His hand reached out, fingers grazing her cheek gently, sending shivers down her spine. Y/N's breath hitched as she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

Lewis tilted her chin up with a feather-light touch, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart race. There was a silent question hanging between them, a wordless invitation that neither of them could ignore.

Unable to resist any longer, he closed the remaining distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. It was like fire and ice colliding, a whirlwind of passion and desire consuming them both.

Y/N melted into him, her hands finding their way to his neck as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the intoxicating taste of him. There was no room for restraint now, no need for words as Lewis lifted her effortlessly, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

As he laid her down on the bed, a last lingering kiss was exchanged before he stepped back, his gaze dark with desire as he pushed his shirt off, revealing the toned muscles of his chest.

Her fingers went straight to undo his belt and push his pants and underwear down, eager to feel his skin against hers. But he seemed in a hurry for no reason, his movements frantic and impatient.

"Hey," Y/N murmured softly, her voice a gentle reminder of the moment they shared. "Let me savor this."

He paused, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of longing and anticipation, he breathed, his voice husky with desire. "I can't get enough of you."

A tender smile graced her lips as she reached out to trace the compass tattoo on his chest, a silent reminder of her first text that afternoon. "I still want South, you know…" she whispered, her touch feather-light against his skin.

His breath hitched at her touch, a shiver running down his spine. "How could I forget?" he murmured; his voice laced with desire. Her fingers continued to trace the intricate lines of the compass tattoo on his chest, each featherlike touch sending a shiver of anticipation through his body.

Lewis sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her gently into his lap, their bodies fitting together. She was straddling him and had full access to his tattooed chest. He leaned back slightly, allowing her to explore every inch of the inked design with her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

"South, huh?" he replied, his voice husky with desire. " I'm more than willing to be your guide."

In her inner thigh she could feel his already semi hard dick, slightly jerking each time she moaned mid kiss into Lewis’ mouth. His fingers sent butterflies into her stomach each time he grabbed at her skin, almost as if he was searched for something to ground him to earth.

Unable to resist the pull of their desires any longer, her hands slid down his chest, reaching for his cock, but she stopped short when she heard him moan. "Okay there, champ?" she teased, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

His hands immediately went to her covered pussy, covering her whole pelvis as his gaze held hers, desire burning in his eyes. "More than okay," he replied, his voice husky and low.

She chuckled softly, her fingers trailing lightly along his jawline as she leaned in to place a tender kiss on his lips. "I don’t think I could wait much longer" she murmured against his mouth, her breath mingling with his in the intimate space between them.

Y/n didn’t have to repeat for Lewis to pull her lace lingerie to the side and pull her up on his laps, brushing his tips a few times in her sleek, mixing hers to his own “No need for lube” his smile beaming with pride as he reveled in the fact, he could always get her there, even with almost no foreplay.

“Gloating then, are we?!” one of her hands came to wrap around his in his dick, signaling that she was more than ready and willing to take control. He let her, wrapping his fingers in her hips and paying his full attention on her face, waiting to see it contort with pleasure as she sunk into his hard member.

Her walls enveloped him tightly, her moans sending his own body into overdrive. She stopped and steadied herself halfway through, her controlled breathing a stark contrast to her beating heart. He caressed the skin between her hips and ass to sooth her, his touch gentle and reassuring.

Her head fell to the side as she resumed the descend until their thighs touched and her clit hit his pelvic bone “Gosh, you always make me so full”, she gasped, her voice a mixture of pleasure and desire.

He matched her rhythm with slow, deliberate thrusts upwards, his movements syncing perfectly with hers as they moved together in a dance of passion and desire. With each thrust, he felt her walls clench around him, her moans growing louder everything his dick brushed past that sweet spot.

Just as he felt her walls start to flutter around him, he reached for her clit, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. With one angled thrust, she shattered, her body convulsing with pleasure as she reached her climax, her moans filling the room as he pulled himself up and held her convulsing legs, savoring the feeling of her release still buried inside her.

As Y/N came back from her high, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on her back on the plush covers and pillows, Lewis's face inches from hers, his member still buried deep inside her.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice husky with a sweetly sick smile playing on his lips. With a swift movement, he pulled his top down from her body, exposing her breasts from the straps on both sides, and gave each of them a tender kiss.

Just as she thought he would linger in this moment of tenderness; his eyes grew dark again. Without warning, he started to hammer into her, his movements urgent and frenzied. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she surrendered to him.

His hands held her legs up, allowing him to penetrate her even deeper, his thrusts driving her wild with ecstasy, her nails finding in his chest the place to sink and ground her.

As Lewis picked up the pace, the rhythm of their bodies melded into one, each thrust driving them closer to the edge. A thin layer of sweat coated their skin, aiding the glide of his body on hers as they moved together.

As he approached his release, his movements became more urgent, more desperate, his need for release evident in every grunt. When she felt him start to falter, his thrusts losing their rhythm, his hands reached for her ass, pulling them apart to allow impossibly deeper access to her.

With each thrust, his tip hit her cervix, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, her hands inadvertently reaching for his ass to try and make him thrust deeper, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their movements.

And just as she thought she couldn't take any more, she came undone, her body convulsing with pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed over her again. Lewis wasn't far behind, his own release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless.

But as he spilled himself into her, filling her with his semen, they both heard a knock at the door, pulling them both out of their frenzies.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle as Lewis huffed with annoyance, his face flushed with exertion as he glanced towards the door, a mixture of frustration and desire evident in his eyes as he shouted, still deep inside her, that they needed another hour to get ready.

The knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment, until finally, Lewis reluctantly pulled himself away from her, his body still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. With a muttered curse, he made his way to the door, his movements slightly unsteady as he attempted to compose himself and hide his lower part with a towel he grabbed going for the door

Y/N watched him, now propped up on her elbow on the bed, a playful smirk playing on her lips as she reveled in the sight of him, disheveled and breathless, his desire for her still evident in every line of his body.

As Lewis opened the door to reveal Daniel standing on the other side, a sheepish grin on his face, she couldn't help but laugh as Daniel’s brain processed the state of the room and Y/n wearing the glittery top on the bed, a gasp coming from his throat before he muttered "Right, another hour then?! Make it two.” Already on his way to his own room, hands on his eyes and Lewis closing the door.

“I think we could have some fun with that extra hour” his eyes darkening again as he approached her on the bed, his fingers finding his seed now seeping out of her pussy.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[vrystalius]

Can I request an ask? How would Sanemi Shinazugawa propose to his girlfriend?

Sanemi, before he proposes to you, would…

… ask Tengen for advice.

— Sanemi, after meeting your parents and having been in a relationship with you for many years now, he started thinking about marriage. But the thought of seeing you in a wedding-kimono, holding your hand and slipping a ring onto your finger, made him really nervous for some reason. Not that he’s afraid of commitment or being bound to you by law, but rather because he’s incredibly nervous about your reaction. You never openly expressed that you wanted to marry him, and if you gave him any hints, they flew right over his head.

— But also how Sanemi is going to propose made him nervous. Where is he gonna do it? And when? What is he supposed to say?? How do other people even do this?!

— Sanemi remembered that he actually has someone who proposed three times, and got married three times (two too many times if you ask him). Tengen, the sound hashira. Sanemi found himself on his doorstep, dreading for the conversation to come. He knows that his colleague will tease him for the rest of eternity for crawling to him and asking for advice on how to propose…

— The conversation was surprisingly insightful. Tengen gave Sanemi tips on how to stay calm, where to bring you and that he should prepare his words beforehand. But he can’t help himself and tease Sanemi, even it’s just a little bit.

“I never thought you’d marry someone so soon! I always saw you as a lonely grandpa. I betted that Giyu would marry before you, but oh well.”

“What?”

— Sanemi left pretty quickly after. He decided to ask the big question on your anniversary, so it won’t seem weird if he asked you to dress up pretty and to take you somewhere.

— He decided to not propose to you with his mother’s wedding ring. His father’s and mother’s marriage was abusive and the worst possible, but Sanemi also skid that ring off his mother’s corpse. He doesn’t want to tie you to all these terrible memories and experiences, instead you two should start this potential marriage with positive memories.

— So, Sanemi secretly got your ring size by wrapping a string around your finger while you slept and then cutting it into the accurate length. Later, he went out to buy a ring. It’s nothing too fancy or expensive, but he thought it would suit you.

— It’s a silver-plated engagement ring with a small gemstone in the middle. On the inside were your and his initials engraved alongside a heart between them.

— On the day of the proposal, Sanemi took you to the place he confessed his love to you first; underneath a blooming wisteria tree near his estate. He was incredibly stiff and silent the whole walk there.

— But as soon as you two arrived, his shoulders sagged. Sanemi took your whole body and being in while you were distracted by the blooming wisteria.

“You look real beautiful, you know that? I love you so damn much.”

— You were looking around in the area before he spoke, and barely heard him say talk to you. You turned to face Sanemi, but you were met with the view of him dropping to his knees, holding out a ring to you.

—Sanemi’s words got stuck in his throat. He just stared at you, holding the ring in his hand. He was shaking terribly and his pupils were dilated.

— And of course, you fell into his arms and said yes, over and over. You’ve been giving him hints over the past months that you wanted to marry him, and you always thought Sanemi was the one who didn’t want to get married for whatever reason, but him proposing first blew all of your worries away.

— Sanemi was sobbing for the first time in a long time. His whole body was shaking and he could slide the finger onto your finger as he kept dropping it or missing your finger entirely.

“F-Fuck! C-C’mon!”

— You laughed at him for missing so many times, but after he finally managed to slip it on, you cupped Sanemi by his cheeks and kissed him over and over on his lips, cheeks, nose and forehead. You’re letting all of your affections and nervous energy out on him while kissing his tears away at the same time.

— You two needed a moment to calm down for a moment. Sanemi surprisingly calmed down first as he grabbed your hand and kissed the ring on your finger, holding it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat.

“Th-Thank you. Th-Thanks for marryin’ me. I know ‘m not the best, b-but I’ll try to be the best m-man for ya. I l-love you.”

💠

Thank you for reading! I decided to do this ask next as a sort of continuation on this ask I wrote earlier. I just received another ask about Sanemi, wich will be a continuation after this one as well.

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves.

My masterlist for the hashira.

My masterlist for the demons.

[threepandas]

Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards.maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

[navybrat817]

Preliminary

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You give Andy a call, but may have more questions than answers. Word Count: Over 1.3k Warnings: No major warnings. Reader is broke (is that a warning?), Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Follow up to Keep the Change and building this world! Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics, and warning banner by the wonderful @sgt-seabass. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are welcome!

You weren’t sure how you made it through the rest of your shift when all you wanted to do was call Andy. It was late by the time you got home and refused to disturb him at that time. You couldn’t sleep though. Not when your mind raced with the possibilities of what the potential job could be.

Maybe he needs a personal assistant. Could I handle someone that handsome being my boss?

Researching Andy on the internet didn’t calm your thoughts. From what you gathered, he had practiced law before he invested in a friend’s real estate company. When that took off, he invested in additional real estate and a range of various businesses and companies. He did well for himself, but you refused to look at his speculated net worth.

It’s not like he’s going to hand any of his cash directly over to me.

Andy was also single. At least, he wasn't married anymore. A quiet divorce before he made his money. You could only imagine how difficult it had to be for him to date. How many people wanted his money and nothing more?

A man as handsome as him, you couldn't picture him sleeping alone. Was it wrong that your gaze lingered on a few photos of him in his suits? Was his beard as soft as it looked?

You decided to call him the next morning. Normally you would have had your first cup of coffee consumed by then, but you didn’t want to be jittery on the call. Your fingers drummed nervously on the counter anyway as you waited for him to answer. Maybe it was too early. Or maybe he was like you and needed caffeine before he conversed with others.

“This is Andy,” the deep voice rang through the phone once he picked up.

“Hi,” your voice cracked. Cringing, you pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Sorry about that.”

“Hi, honey. Don’t be sorry. I was expecting your call,” his voice softened, a bashful smile forming on your face when he recognized your voice.

A smile that quickly shifted to a yawn.

This call is off to a wonderful start.

“You didn't just wake up, did you?” he asked. "Did you sleep okay?"

“I'm fine. I just haven’t had my caffeine yet,” you tried to joke.

“I know that feeling,” he chuckled. “I hope it wasn't rude of me to ask. I just want to make sure you’re getting enough rest.”

“So you overtip when someone stiffs me, you want to make sure I’m sleeping enough, and you have a possible job for me?” you asked.

You didn’t want to sound suspicious since he was nothing but kind to you. The question is why he’s so nice. You weren’t naive enough to ignore that he was somewhat of a powerful man. Probably liked being in control. Money could get people like him far. You, on the other hand, didn’t have any. Power, money, anything.

You didn’t want to be a charity case.

“You don’t trust my intentions,” he mused.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought of how to respond. Saying the wrong thing could cost you whatever he had to offer. On the other hand, transparency might be the best option.

“I want to trust your intentions. It’s just that most people today don’t display kindness without expecting something in return,” you said carefully, keeping the device at your ear as you grabbed a coffee mug out of the cupboard. “I don’t want to lump you in that category and I hope it doesn’t sound like I am. I think part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop because my luck hasn’t been so great. I guess I’m being cautiously optimistic.”

Andy hummed on the other end of the line, but didn’t say anything.

You closed your eyes, an apology on the tip of your tongue as your stomach sank. Why did you have to say what you did? It didn't matter. Beneath the nerves, you were proud of yourself for answering truthfully.

Though at this point, you waited for Andy to tell you to get rid of his card and not call again.

Would it be a blessing if he stopped coming into the diner so you could save face, or a curse that you pissed off a great customer and might never see him again?

"I appreciate your honesty."

You opened your eyes and pulled the phone away for a second to look at it. Surely you misheard him. "You do?"

"Yes, I do. You wouldn't believe how many people tell me what they think I want to hear instead of the truth. Maybe they do it to spare my feelings or avoid confrontation, but it's a hindrance more than anything."

"So you prefer honesty?" you asked. "Even if it's something you don't want to hear?"

"One thing you'll learn about me is that I value honesty," he said.

You wondered how many other things you'd learn.

"An ex-lawyer who likes to hear the truth."

"You did your research on me," he said.

"I may have a little," you admitted, your cheeks hot when he chuckled again.

I can't think a laugh sounds sexy if I work for him.

"Research is a good thing. I would expect anyone to do so before switching jobs."

"Speaking of that," you began, eager to shift the conversation to work and not about looking him up on the internet. "You still haven't told me what this job is all about. I'm not even sure which business it's for."

"Do you have your resume ready?" he asked.

Why isn't he answering my question?

"I do," you answered, glancing at your printer where your recent copy was sitting. "Though I can't exactly tailor it to the specific job if I don't know what it is, Mr. Barber."

"Call me Andy," he said. It was more a command than a suggestion, but somehow made you feel at ease. "I'd prefer to discuss the details in person."

You took a chance by calling, now you could take it a step further and meet him.

"And where would you like to discuss the details, Andy?"

"Are you free for lunch today? We can meet at The Courthouse at 12pm."

The Courthouse was one of the nicest restaurants in the city. The tip Andy left you the night before could maybe cover the price of an entree. Thankfully you still had a couple of decent outfits from when you had an office job.

"I'm free," you said. Luckily you had the day off. "I didn't know they were open for lunch."

"They usually open at 4pm, but they make exceptions."

What's it like to have that kind of sway over anyone?

"I don't want to go to the trouble of doing that."

"I already did," he said confidently. "I told you I was expecting your call."

"What if I had to work today?" you asked.

"I would have had to find a way to convince you to call in. And if I have my way, you'll be quitting there very soon."

"That's if I accept the job," you said, smiling as you leaned your hip against the counter. "But I'll be happy to discuss the details over lunch."

"I can send a car to pick you up," he offered.

"I'll take a cab, but thank you."

A car was too much for a job discussion and you didn't want his driver to see where you lived.

"I'll cover the cost of the cab and lunch," he said, leaving you no room to protest. "I look forward to seeing you."

You tapped a fingertip against your mug when he hung up. His businesses looked legitimate, so you didn't believe he would ask you to do something illegal. He also didn't seem like the type to waste his time and play games.

You had nothing to lose.

Here's to being cautiously optimistic.

Are we excited to meet Andy for lunch? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An excerpt from The Bezzle

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Today, I'm bringing you part one of an excerpt from Chapter 14 of The Bezzle, my next novel, which drops on Feb 20. It's an ice-cold revenge technothriller starring Martin Hench, a two-fisted forensic accountant specialized in high-tech fraud:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Hench is the Zelig of high-tech fraud, a character who's spent 40 years in Silicon Valley unwinding every tortured scheme hatched by tech-bros who view the spreadsheet as a teleporter that whisks other peoples' money into their own bank-accounts. This setup is allowing me to write a whole string of these books, each of which unwinds a different scam from tech's past, present and future, starting with last year's Red Team Blues (now in paperback!), a novel that whose high-intensity thriller plotline is also a masterclass in why cryptocurrency is a scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865854/redteamblues

Turning financial scams into entertainment is important work. Finance's most devastating defense is the Shield Of Boringness (h/t Dana Clare) – tactically deployed complexity designed to induce the state that finance bros call "MEGO" ("my eyes glaze over"). By combining jargon and obfuscation, the most monstrous criminals of our age have been able to repeatedly bring our civilization to the brink of collapse (remember 2008?) and then spin their way out of it.

Turning these schemes into entertainment is hard, necessary work, because it incinerates the respectable suit and tie and leaves the naked dishonesty of the finance sector on display for all to see. In The Big Short, they recruited Margot Robbie to explain synthetic CDOs from a bubble-bath. And John Oliver does this every week on Last Week Tonight, coming up with endlessly imaginative stunts and gags to flense the bullshit, laying the scam economy open to the bone.

This was my inspiration for the Hench novels (I've written and sold three of these, of which The Bezzle is number two; I've got at least two more planned). Could I use the same narrative tactics I used to explain mass surveillance, cryptography and infosec in the Little Brother books to turn scams into entertainment, and entertainment into the necessary, informed outrage that might precipitate change?

The main storyline in The Bezzle concerns one of the most gruesome scams in today's America: prison-tech, which sees America's vast army of prisoners being stripped of letters, calls, in-person visits, parcels, libraries and continuing ed in favor of cheap tablets that bilk prisoners and their families of eye-watering sums for every click they make:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

But each Hench novel has a variety of side-quests that work to expose different kinds of financial chicanery. The Bezzle also contains explainers on the workings of MLMs/Ponzis (and how Gerry Ford and Betsy DeVos's father-in-law legalized one of the most destructive forces in America) and the way that oligarchs, foreign and domestic, use Real Estate Investment Trusts to hide their money and destroy our cities.

And there's a subplot about music-royalty theft, a form of pernicious wage theft that is present up and down the music industry supply-chain. This is a subject that came up a lot when Rebecca Giblin and I were researching and writing Chokepoint Capitalism, our 2022 book about creative labor markets:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Two of the standout cases from that research formed the nucleus of the subplot in The Bezzle, the case of Leonard Cohen's batshit manager who stole millions from him and then went to prison for stalking him, leaving him virtually penniless and forced to keep touring to keep himself fed:

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2012/apr/19/leonard-cohen-former-manager-jailed

The other was George Clinton, whose manager forged his signature on a royalty assignment, then used the stolen money to defend himself against Clinton's attempts to wrestle his rights back and even to sue Clinton for defamation for writing about the caper in his memoir:

https://www.musicconnection.com/the-legal-beat-george-clinton-wins-defamation-case/

That's the tale that this excerpt – which I'll be serializing in six parts over the coming week – tells, in fictionalized form. It's not Margot Robbie in a bubble-bath, it's not a John Oliver monologue, but I think it's pretty goddamned good.

I'm leaving for a long, multi-city, multi-country, multi-continent tour with The Bezzle next Wednesday, starting with an event at Weller Bookworks in Salt Lake City on the 21st:

https://www.wellerbookworks.com/event/store-cory-doctorow-feb-21-630-pm

I'll in be in San Diego on the 22nd at Mysterious Galaxy:

https://www.mystgalaxy.com/22224Doctorow

And then it's on to LA (with Adam Conover), Seattle (with Neal Stephenson), Portland, Phoenix and beyond:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

I hope you'll come out for the tour (and bring your friends)!

Between 1972 and 1978, Steve Soul (a.k.a. Stefon Magner) had a string of sixteen Billboard Hot 100 singles, one of which cracked the Top 10 and won him an appearance on Soul Train. He is largely forgotten today, except by hip-­hop producers who prize his tracks as a source of deep, funky grooves. They sampled the hell out of him, not least because his rights were controlled by Inglewood Jams, a clearinghouse for obscure funk tracks that charged less than half of what the Big Three labels extracted for each sample license.

Even at that lower rate, those license payments would have set Stefon up for a comfortable retirement, especially when added to his Social Security and the disability check from Dodgers Stadium, where he cleaned floors for more than a decade before he fell down a beer-­slicked bleacher and cracked two of his lumbar discs. But Stefon didn’t get a dime. His former manager, Chuy Flores, forged his signature on a copyright assignment in 1976. Stefon didn’t discover this fact until 1979, because Chuy kept cutting him royalty checks, even as Stefon’s band broke up and those royalties trickled off. In Stefon’s telling, the band broke up because the rest of the act—­especially the three-­piece rhythm section of two percussionists and a beautiful bass player with a natural afro and a wild, infectious hip-­wiggle while she played—­were too coked up to make it to rehearsal, making their performances into shambling wreckages and their studio sessions into vicious bickerfests. To hear the band tell of it, Stefon had bad LSD (“Lead Singer Disease”) and decided he didn’t need the rest of them. One thing they all agreed on: there was no way Stefon would have signed over the band’s earnings to Chuy, who was little more than a glorified bookkeeper, with Stefon hustling all their bookings and even ordering taxis to his bandmates’ houses to make sure they showed up at the studio or the club on time. Stefon remembered October of ’79 well. He’d been waiting with dread for the envelope from Chuy. The previous royalty check, in July, had been under $250. The previous quarter’s had been over $1,000. This quarter’s might have zero. Stefon needed the money. His 1972 Ford Galaxie needed a new transmission. He couldn’t keep driving it in first.

The envelope arrived late, the day before Halloween, and for a brief moment, Stefon was overcome by an incredible, unbelieving elation: Chuy’s laboriously typewritten royalty statement ended with the miraculous figure of $7,421.16. Seven thousand dollars! It was more than two years’ royalties, all in one go! He could fix the Galaxie’s transmission and get the ragtop patched, and still have money left over for his back rent, his bar tab, his child support, and a fine steak dinner, and even then, he’d end the month with money in his savings account.

But there was no check in the envelope. Stefon shook the envelope, carefully unfolded the royalty statement to ensure that there was no check stapled to its back, went downstairs to the apartment building lobby and rechecked his mailbox.

Finally, he called Chuy.

“Chuy, man, you forgot to put a check in the envelope.”

“I didn’t forget, Steve. Read the paperwork again. You gotta send me a check.”

“What the fuck? That’s not funny, Chuy.”

“I ain’t joking, Steve. I been advancing you royalties for more than three years, but you haven’t earned nothing new since then—­no new recordings. I can’t afford to carry you no more.”

“Say what?”

Chuy explained it to him like he was a toddler. “Remember when you signed over your royalties to me in ’76? Every dime I’ve sent you since then was an advance on your future recordings, only you haven’t had none of those, so I’m cutting you off and calling in your note. I’m sorry, Steve, but I ain’t a charity. You don’t work, you don’t earn. This is America, brother. No free lunches.”

“After I did what in ’76?”

“Steve, in 1976 you signed over all your royalties to me. We agreed, man! I can’t believe you don’t remember this! You came over to my spot and I told you how it was and you said you needed money to cover the extra horns for the studio session on Fight Fire with Water. I told you I’d cover them and you’d sign over all your royalties to me.”

Stefon was briefly speechless. Chuy had paid the sidemen on that session, but that was because Chuy owed him a thousand bucks for a string of private parties they’d played for some of Chuy’s cronies. Chuy had been stiffing him for months and Stefon had agreed to swap the session fees for the horn players in exchange for wiping out the debt, which had been getting in the way of their professional relationship.

“Chuy, you know it didn’t happen that way. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about when you signed over all your royalties to me. And you know what? I don’t like your tone. I’ve carried your ass for years now, sent you all that money out of my own pocket, and now you gotta pay up. My generosity’s run out. When you gonna send me a check?”

Of course, it was a gambit. It put Stefon on tilt, got him to say a lot of ill-­advised things over the phone, which Chuy secretly recorded. It also prompted Stefon to take a swing at Chuy, which Chuy dived on, shamming that he’d had a soft-­tissue injury in his neck, bringing suit for damages and pressing an aggravated-­assault charge.

He dropped all that once Stefon agreed not to keep on with any claims about the forged signature; Stefon went on to become a good husband, a good father, and a hard worker. And if cleaning floors at Dodgers Stadium wasn’t what he’d dreamed of when he was headlining on Soul Train, at least he never missed a game, and his boy came most weekends and watched with him. Stefon’s supervisor didn’t care.

But the stolen royalties ate at him, especially when he started hearing his licks every time he turned on the radio. His voice, even. Chuy Flores had a fully paid-­off three-­bedroom in Eagle Rock and two cars and two ex-­wives and three kids he was paying child support on, and Stefon sometimes drove past Chuy Flores’s house to look at his fancy palm trees all wrapped up in strings of Christmas lights and think about who paid for them.

ETA: Here's part two!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

[laguezze]

PAC: What's your ideal career path?

(This is for the career oriented people that got absolutely no idea what to do with their lives or have an idea but are so overwhelmed and lost with all the possibilities. I salute y'all bc same)

More piles this time because why not lol

Here are the piles:

Pile 1

Pile 2

Pile 3

Pile 4

Pile 5

Pile 6

Ready? Let's go!

Pile 1

I'm so into you, I can barely breathe ~

👩‍🍳🏖️🩴🍹🚣‍♀️🤝👩‍💼🕴️🧳

There are two subgroups within this pile so I will read them differently right now.

Seems like Group 1 is actually free spirited and out there and independent. You guys don't need anyone and you hate being restrained by boundaries or rules. Thus, I think a career that best suits you is one where no one rules over you but yourself. And of course not a high stress environment. I'm seeing you, group 1 fellows might thrive in a customer service position. Some of you might open your own bar or something, I'm seeing a lot of entrepreneurship here. Do it. Start that business and be happy.

And now onto group 2

For group 2, seems like you guys have some things to work on. You say your dream is to be a hippie by the beach that is free spirited and carefree but you are nothing like that. And that is ok. You're not less cool or more boring or ordinary. You being yourself is already unique, there is nothing to complete in you.

I'm seeing some of you guys are quiet and shy, but actually love people. Wouldn't be hurtful to try out some customer service as well! Weirdly enough I see the same career paths as group 1 for you guys. Entrepreneurship, having your own company, etc.

In general, for both groups I see these:

culinary arts (big on this one), Chef, waiter, bartender, owner of any place that serves food or drink, secretary, CEO, business management, HR worker, meeting mediator, etc

Pile 2

You like my hair? Gee, thanks! Just bought it ~

🎹👮‍♀️⚖️👩‍🔬🔭🔬💅

You guys seem like a bit of an airhead but in a wonderful way. I can't stress how positively I mean that. People seem baffled by the way you act and say things and you surprise them everyday. Seems like you really don't care about who you're talking to, there is no filter or personality switch. You're just you. And it's genuine. And it's enough. You seem to have some issues with people because of that, but also you attract wonderful opportunities as well. Think Elle Woods from Legally Blonde. Big Elle energy for real.

I think you guys might even be in a male dominated industry, which is tough considering your personality, but not impossible. And especially not impossible for you. Absolutely not customer service, though. Some people hate your personality (f them ngl) but your ideal career is probably one where your work speaks for itself and they can't deny your talent.

I see careers such as STEM, law, IT, music, biology, forensics, investigator, nail tech and criminal Justice.

Pile 3

Wrote some songs about Ricky, now I listen and laugh ~

🩰🪩🕺🏠👩‍💼🎭💵🤑😎

You guys are powerful. When you enter a room, people notice you. Which is why you could either do great in the performance arts or in a position of power within an organization. This is so short and straight forward, but so are you so...

Careers I see: dancer, CEO, event planner, actor, real estate agent.

Pile 4

She might've let you hold her hand in school but imma show you how to graduate ~

🏖️🤑🧳✈️🍹🍔🍕👨‍🍳🧥🚣

Ok you guys, this is gonna be a bit straightforward so beware.

A lot of you guys think you're hot s*-#, which you can be but you are not right now. What I mean by that is you seem like the type of person that says: yeah! I'm gonna have a private jet and a thousand cars and blah blah. Very materialistic. But you're not putting in the work at all, you probably don't even know what it is you're passionate about or want to do with your life (which is so valid). You just want to be rich, which honestly I get it, but you need some drive other than "i want a Maserati" you need to want something bigger. You need to be good at something and you don't even know what that something is. And something tells me that you are not even thinking about what that could be. You fantasize about being rich without wondering how to get there. Why do you want that? Status? Relationships? Reevaluate.

That said, I see two types of outcomes. If you put in the effort I'm seeing you can achieve that level of richness you're looking for. Some of you might start a company or climb up an existing one. Some of you might become travel vloggers or influencers.

If you keep doing what you're doing I see you're working at fast food chains (i literally channeled that I'm not gonna lie to y'all) as a manager maybe retail too, that type of jobs.

Careers I see: McDonald's worker, fast food manager, retail worker, makeup store worker (I'm seeing Sephora), mall business owner, souvenir store owner, business owner in general, travel vlogger, boat driver, tourist attraction worker, marketing specialist, hotel worker, hotel owner.

Hope it resonates and my apologies for the bluntness, seemed like the pile wanted to call you out. Maybe you needed it.

Lots of love 💕

Pile 5

I've been here all night, I've been here all day ~

🎤🩰🏡📚🧑‍🍳💐👨‍👩‍👦‍👦

You guys are actually going to be successful. I'm seeing some of you have bigger dreams, some of you have smaller ones (which is cool too!) But all of you will definitely achieve them in some way or another.

I see someone with a family and a big house. Some kids running around. Some of you want to be stay at home partners to a rich person (respect to you guys, every dream is a valid one) and I see you'll get that and be fulfilled. Vacation is a given. You don't struggle with money. None of you guys do.

Some common themes you all have is that your career will allow you to be calm and chill. There are no problems. Money comes easy and secure. And you're living the dream, whichever dream that may be.

A lot of you guys here are here for confirmation of an ideal life you have. Let me say, yes. It's happening. Maybe not in the way you think, maybe not in the amount of success you want it. Or maybe it does fully! But it's happening. I'm seeing some of you might want to act? You'll be an actor and have work but maybe you won't be a big Hollywood star. Or maybe you will!

Some of you may want to be singers. Again, you might not win a Grammy and become Beyonce, but you will work as a singer and it will pay your bills. Like singing at events, hotels, etc. (Or maybe you will win a Grammy! Don't let tarot discourage you from achieving anything! It's just a tool, not a strict rule to follow)

Anyways, you will be whatever it is you want to be.

I know this reading might be confusing but that's what I channelled.

Careers I see: actor/actress, stay at home partner, flight attendant, singer, dancer, librarian, real estate agent, restaurant owner, chef, coffee shop owner, flower shop owner, bakery owner.

Pile 6

A feeling that you can't fight, my one ~

🥖🇫🇷🌍✈️📸

You guys are travelers, no matter what you do you will be up in the air and onto a new place. Kinda chaotic, but you like that.

I'm seeing some of you might work in the fashion industry, models, designers, makeup artists, etc. You all are here gathered. I hear Milan, Paris, London, Fashion Week.

Some of you could just be a flight attendant and that's why you travel so much.

A couple of you might be touring for some reason, you might play in a band or you might sing backup for someone or you might sing yourself or play.

I'm seeing such chaos, though. Like a lot.

Some of you might do film! Or photography! And probably need to relocate for shoots a lot. So cool.

Careers I see: photographer, filmmaker, model, magazine editor, security guard, flight attendant, pilot, makeup artist, wardrobe assistant, set decorator.

The End

[astrosethu]

Astrology

Astrology can provide insights into potential career paths based on your zodiac sign. Aries individuals are suited for entrepreneurship, sales, or sportsmanship. Taurus individuals excel in finance, banking, or real estate. Geminis thrive in fields like journalism, writing, or acting. Cancer individuals may find fulfillment in nursing, healthcare, or counseling. Leos are ideal for leadership roles, entertainment, or fashion. Virgos find their niche in interior design, writing, or engineering. Libras thrive in careers related to law or event planning. Scorpios make excellent investigators or psychologists. Sagittarians may find fulfillment in travel writing or teaching. Capricorns excel in roles such as CEOs or architects. Aquarians thrive in technology or social activism. Pisceans often lean towards careers as artists or healers.

[strictlyfavorites]

One state prosecutor and one civilian plaintiff have already won huge fines and damages from Donald Trump that may, with legal costs, exceed $500 million.

Trump awaits further civil and criminal liability in three other federal, state, and local indictments.

There are eerie commonalities in all these five court cases involving plaintiff E. Jean Carroll, Manhattan district attorney Alvin Bragg, New York Attorney General Letitia James, federal special counsel Jack Smith, and Fulton County district attorney Fani Willis.

One, they are either unapologetically left-wing or associated with liberal causes. They filed their legal writs in big-city, left-wing America—Atlanta, New York, Washington—where liberal judges and jury pools predominate in a manner not characteristic of the country at large.

Two, they are overtly political. Bragg, James, and Willis have either campaigned for office or raised campaign funds by promising to get or even destroy Donald Trump.

Carroll’s suit was funded by left-wing billionaire Reid Hoffman.

Smith sued to rush his court schedule in hopes of putting Trump on trial before the November election.

Three, there would not be any of these cases had Donald Trump not run for the presidency or not been a conservative.

Carroll’s suit bypassed statute of limitation restrictions by prompting the intervention of a left-wing New York legislator. He passed a special bill, allowing a one-year window to waive the statute of limitations for sexual assault claims from decades past.

Until Trump, no New York prosecutor like James had ever filed a civil suit against a business for allegedly overvaluing real estate assets to obtain loans that bank auditors approved and were paid back in full, on time, and with sizable interest profits to the lending institutions.

Alvin Bragg bootstrapped a Trump private non-disclosure agreement into a federal campaign violation in a desperate effort to find something on Trump.

Smith is also charging Trump with insurrectionary activity. But Trump had never been so charged with insurrection, much less convicted of it.

Willis strained to find a way to criminalize Trump’s complaints about his loss of Georgia in the 2020 national election. She finally came up with a racketeering charge, usually more applicable to mafiosi and drug cartels.

Four, in all these cases, the charges could have been equally applicable to fellow left-wing public figures and officials.

Joe Biden, like Trump, was accused of sexual assault decades earlier by former staffer Tara Reade. Yet Reade was torn apart by the media and the left for inconsistencies in her memory. By contrast, the wildly inconsistent and amnesiac E. Jean Carroll won $83 million from Trump.

Jack Smith created the precedent of charging former president Trump for unlawfully removing classified files to his private residence.

But the government simultaneously did not charge Joe Biden for similar offenses. Yet Biden had removed files not for two years but for more than 30. He stored them not in one location but several.

His rickety garage was a mess, not a secure family compound like Trump’s estate. Moreover, Biden did so while a senator and vice president, without any presidential authority to declassify almost any presidential document he wished.

Biden never came forward to report the crime for over thirty years—until Trump was charged. Indeed, he was caught on tape six years ago, admitting to his ghostwriter that he possessed classified files but never reported it.

Bragg might have noticed that both Hillary Clinton (fined $113,000) and Barack Obama (fined $350,000) broke campaign financing laws. Neither was subject to federal criminal charges by local prosecutors.

An array of left-wing celebrities, politicians, 2004 House Members, former Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA), and failed Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams have all recently challenged elections. They sought either to delay or redo ballot counting or, on the federal level, to sidetrack electors to ignore popular votes in their respective states.

These lawfare cases are part of other efforts that were highly partisan and without merit. Recall the Trump “Russian collusion” hoax and the “Russian disinformation” laptop farce.

In another first, some blue states are suing to take Trump’s name off the ballot for “insurrection,” a crime for which he has never been charged.

Total up the deaths, damage, and length of the summer 2020 Antifa/BLM riots. Then compare the tally to the one-day January 6 riot.

The former proved far more lethal, long-lasting, and destructive. Yet very few of the 14,000 arrested rioters in 2020 were ever prosecuted, much less convicted.

By contrast, the Biden administration sought to jail hundreds for crimes allegedly committed on January 6, such as “illegal parading.”

We are entering a dangerous era in America.

Ideology and party affiliations increasingly determine guilt and punishment. Opponents are first targeted, and then laws are twisted and redefined to convict them.

The left is waging lawfare with the implicit message to political opponents: either keep quiet or suffer the consequences.

[featherymalignancy]

CHAPTER TEN—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

Check out the In Vino Masterlist HERE

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

Chapter 10, Pt. 1: Dom Perignon

Though Nesta had spent the better part of a week attempting to rationalize the feeling away, by Friday afternoon she could no longer deny it: she was nervous.  

Ordinarily, meeting new people didn’t scare Nesta. Winning over strangers was literally part of her job, after all, and her record in court suggested she was rather good at getting strangers to trust her. Compared to some of the juries Nesta had faced, meeting one of her boyfriend’s best friends should—in theory—have been a cakewalk. 

Except that Rhysand Sadeghi was no ordinary stranger, and Nesta couldn’t deny that he had several distressingly valid reasons for not liking her. Cash had never given her any details about his weekend with Azriel and Rhys in Vegas and Nesta had never asked, in large part because she selfishly didn’t want to know what ungenerous things he may of said about her while under the influence of alcohol and the pain she’d caused him.

Still, Rhys had seemed supportive enough when Cash and Nesta first went public with their relationship two months ago, which would have been enough to assuage the worst of Nesta’s fears about meeting him had she not also surmised from Cash’s many stories that the Sadeghi family prized loyalty above everything else, and that their good opinion, once lost, was difficult to regain. She wasn’t naive enough to think that a few flame emojis on an instagram post meant that Rhys genuinely approved of her. Despite Cash’s assurances to the contrary, Nesta could see Rhys’s current trip to the States for what it really was: a test.

When she’s suggested as much to Cash, he’d merely laughed, explaining that Rhys was coming to California to finalize an acquisition deal he’d been trying to close for months, and that he’d only decided to extend his trip and stay the weekend after Cash had suggested it.

It was a plausible enough story, Nesta supposed, and she might have even been tempted to accept it was true had Rhys been traveling alone.

 Except he wasn’t coming alone. 

Seemingly unsatisfied with the prospect of interrogating her one-on-one, Rhys had summoned what felt like a tribunal of Cash’s closest friends, including Mor and Azriel, despite the fact the former allegedly hating getting involved with the family’s real estate business and the latter lived over six hours away.

 Even Rowan was supposedly coming to their gathering this evening, and though Nesta might have otherwise been relieved to have him there as a potential ally, she felt she knew him well enough to understand that if Rowan was going to a nightclub, it was likely because Aelin was forcing him. Nesta had still yet to formally meet Aelin thanks to the latter's current AVP tournament schedule, and despite the role Nesta had played in saving Nehemiah from deportation, Aelin still remained very much a wildcard. 

As did Mor.

She’d been warm and perfectly friendly the first time Nesta met her, but things had admittedly been very different then. And now…

Nesta knew that Mor was one of Cash’s fiercest defenders, and she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking Mor would ever forgive her for what Nesta had put Cash through that night at Tonga Room, even if she didn’t know all the ugly details. 

Then again, maybe Mor would understand. From the little Cash had shared about her romantic history, Nesta had gathered that Mor had first-hand experience with abusive relationships. Perhaps if the opportunity presented itself this evening, Nesta could get Mor one-on-one. She knew that she had nothing to apologize for, but perhaps if she could explain her side of things, she and Mor could move past all the messiness and possibly start over. Maybe, with enough time and patience, they could even become... friends .

The idea filled Nesta with a dangerous sort of hope, and she found by the time that she got home to the townhouse she and Cash now shared that she was actually somewhat looking forward to seeing where the evening might take them. 

Kicking off her stilettos, Nesta gave her grandmother’s beloved bookcase an affectionate pat as she headed up the stairs to the main floor, calling for Cash as she did. 

“You still here, Mister?”

Yet another complication of the evening: Cash—who was in the final stage of interviews for the coveted North American brand manager position at Dom Pérignon—had been invited to a last-minute dinner with one of the company top executives, who’d flown in from Reims specifically for the meeting. Thrilled as Nesta was for Cash—particularly now that Devon was home and back running The Merchant full-time—she couldn’t help but be nervous for the two or so hours she’d be spending with his friends sans Cash. 

Nesta glanced at her watch and frowned. It was barely six o’clock, and the reservation wasn’t until nine-fifteen; surely he hadn’t left already. Checking her phone to ensure he hadn’t texted her, she made to call out again before hearing the rumble of his voice coming from the third floor. 

Abandoning her cell phone and purse on the dining room table, Nesta headed up the stairs, listening with increasing worry as Cash’s voice grew louder. 

He was in the study speaking to someone via video chat through the tv which had been mounted to the wall, and as Nesta drew closer, she heard an uncharacteristic bite in Cash’s tone that instantly had her good mood curdling to worry.

“If you didn’t want to come,” he was saying, voice harder than usual. “You could have at least been straight-up with me about it, instead of putting on this dog-and-pony show just to punish me—”

“Don’t be dramatic. I didn’t plan this, and I certainly didn’t do it to punish you.”

Nesta knew that voice—that lovely, posh accent, so much colder now than the first time she’d heard it. 

Mor.

And if she was on the phone, it meant she couldn’t be on a plane, and if she wasn’t on a plane, then that meant—

Nesta’s shame spiral was interrupted by the sound of Cash’s brittle laughter.

“Oh I see. To punish Nesta, then.”

Mor was silent for a moment, her voice softer but no less fierce when she finally said, “I’m not trying to punish her, either, but can you honestly tell me she wouldn’t deserve it if I was?”

Nesta’s heart sank, dragging her down with such brutal force that she had to lean against the wall to keep her balance. Every fear she’d had about meeting Cash’s friends came flooding back to the surface, and she felt the guilt she’d been trying to swallow these past months rising like bile in her throat, acrid enough to make her mouth water.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you and neither does she,” Cash said. “Jesus, what is your problem?” 

Mor gave a soft snort of disgust, her own patience seemingly frayed by Cash’s accusatory tone.

“Oh, so now I’m the villain? Even though she's the one who strung you along then broke your trust? Look, I get that she’s been through a lot and that you always want to see the best in people, but sometimes you’ve got to do the selfish thing and put yourself first.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Cash demanded.

“It means that having a shitty ex—even an abusive one—isn’t an excuse for treating others badly! I’ve known a million girls just like her, and I’ve seen how this story ends. She’s a taker, and if you let her, she will take and take and take from you until there’s nothing left.”

Mor’s words struck Nesta like a blow, driving straight to the fear that most often plagued her about her relationship: that she was selfish for still wanting Cash after everything she’d put him through, and that by continuing to be with him, she was proving she cared more for herself than she did him.

Six months ago, that one thought would have been enough to send Nesta spiraling into panic and self-doubt. Today—despite the pain—she managed to catch herself, rooting down in the knowledge that what she and Cash now had, they’d built together .

Cash—for his part—seemed equally as unwilling to allow the comment to find its mark.

“You don’t know her, though. You don’t know a goddamn thing about her, because if you did, you’d understand what an absolute dickhead you’re being right now.”

Mor gave a tight, almost-pained, sigh.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m telling you because I care about you and I’m worried.”

“Well you have a shitty way of showing it,” Cash snapped. “I love this girl, Mor! Does that really mean so little to you?”

It had apparently been the wrong thing to say, because when she finally spoke again, Mor’s voice had gone cold enough to burn.

“Do what you want, then,” she said flatly. “I’m not going to pretend I’m fine with this just because no one else has the bollocks to tell you the truth.”

There was a pause before Cash replied, voice softer but no less edged, “You’re way out of line right now; if you don’t want to admit it to me, I hope you can at least find the courage to admit it to yourself.”

“Fine,” Mor said. “Anything else?”

“Actually yes,” Cash said, a renewed bite in his tone. “While we’re on the subject of messing about in other people’s business, get off Az’s back . He’s never going to be able to open up enough to meet someone when he’s terrified you won’t approve of anyone he picks.”

Mor’s answering laugh was acerbic, and though Nesta didn’t know her well, the bitterness in her tone didn’t seem to suit the bright, kind women Nesta remembered meeting all those months ago.

“Why, so he can meet a girl like Nesta?” 

“You wanna lose me? Stay one more cruel thing about her, I fucking dare you.”

“Cash—”

“Goodbye Morrigan.”

Nesta listened as Cash ended the call before swearing to himself, the sound partially muffled as he presumably buried his head in his hands.

Nesta remained where she was, debating if she ought to just sneak back downstairs and pretend she hadn’t heard any of what had just been said. It would be easier for Cash if he could keep believing he’d managed to shield Nesta from the worst of Mor’s scorn.

Nesta’s mind was nearly made up when she recalled the look on Cash’s face as he’d begged her not to lie to him anymore, even in the service of protecting his feelings.

It was that promise which gave Nesta the courage to finally move, deliberately shuffling her bare feet along the rug in the hallway to alert him of her presence before pausing in the doorway.

Cash raised his head, his tender expression managing to slightly lessen the current ache in Nesta’s chest.

“Hi,” she said, leaning her head against the wall as she took him in.

“Hi,” he said, seeming to study her with the same intensity. “How much of that did you catch?”

She shrugged, not bothering to hide the truth of it in her eyes.

“Enough,” she admitted.

Cash swore softly before extending his arms to her.

“Can I hold you?”

That he’d asked—that he’d cared enough to seek her permission instead of simply reaching for her—soothed a part of Nesta she’d hadn’t realized was still healing.

Wordlessly she crossed to him, sinking into his lap and breathing in his inviting masculine scent. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Don’t be,” she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I understand.”

“No, please don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t internalize this.”

“She's not wrong, Cash.”

“Yes she is!” he said, his voice firm. Still, his touch remained gentle as he reached to cup her cheeks. “What happened at Tonga was between us , and we’ve moved past it! Besides—”

He let out a sigh.

“Look, this doesn’t excuse her behavior, but this isn’t about you. Mor’s got plenty of her own baggage she’s yet to fully square up with, and sometimes I think she chooses to get overly-invested in other people’s problems to avoid having to deal with her own.”

“I understand why she doesn’t care for me,” Nesta said. “If the situations were reversed, I’d likely feel the same way. I just—I don’t want you to lose friends because of me.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” Cash assured her. “Mor and I have been in much nastier fights than this before and we’ve always managed to patch things up. Besides, if she truly isn’t willing to give the woman I love a chance, she isn’t the friend I thought she was.”

Nesta nodded, desperate to take comfort in what he’d said about Mor and move on. Still, hearing the righteous venom Mor harbored had felt to Nesta the way she assumed opening that damned box had made Pandora feel, and now that the floodgates had been opened, she found there was one fear in particular she couldn’t shake. 

Unable to suppress the urge any longer, she finally asked, “And Aelin?”

“Aelin?” Cash asked, brows knitting. “What about her?”

“Please don’t play dumb,” Nesta said, hating the slight pleading in her voice. “I assume she hates me, too.”

Cash gave a wry smile that she couldn’t help but be slightly assuaged by. 

“On the contrary, Aelin has been picking out our wedding china since before we were even dating.”

Nesta huffed a laugh, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And next to Rowan, Nehemiah is hands-down the most important person in Aelin’s life. Regardless of what she may have thought before, I guarantee that after what you did to help NeNe, you have a friend for life in Aelin.”

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said. “For causing all this. I didn’t—”

She broke off, and though Cash waited for her to finish, she realized after a beat she didn't actually know what to say.

“Nesta,” Cash said softly. “I love you. Nothing anyone else says will change my mind about that, and I am never going to let anyone tear you down, whether you think you deserve it or not.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Nesta asked, tucking a strand of dark hair that had come loose behind his ear. 

Cash answering grin was soft and achingly lovely.

“Should I go alphabetically or chronologically?”

Nesta brushed his lips with the pads of her fingers, her own smile growing as well. It never ceased to amaze her how easily he could change her mood.

“Chronologically.”

“Okay,” Cash said, tugging her more fully into his lap so he could kiss her neck. “Then how about this morning in the shower?”

With similar schedules and a dual-head shower in the master bath, they showered together most mornings, a simple ritual that had nonetheless become one of Nesta’s favorites. 

Most days they merely shared the space in contented silence, focusing on their own tasks and only speaking to request the other fetch the shampoo or pass the body wash. However, when Nesta glanced over that morning just in time to watch Cash tip his head back to rinse his hair, water cascading down his toned back and over his gorgeously sculpted ass, she hadn’t been able to resist. Pushing him against the wall, she’d gotten on her knees and sucked him off until his eyes had rolled back in his head. 

They’d ended up staying in the shower until the water had gone tepid after that.

“That was mutual,” she reminded him. 

Cash grinned, leaning up to kiss her neck again.

“The sounds you make when I fuck your ass honestly make me feel like I’ve won the lottery,” he said against her skin.

“I know,” she said with a smirk, moving to slide off his lap. “You should probably start getting ready. You need to leave in an hour and a half.”

Cash was undeterred by her prudence. 

“That’s plenty of time,” he breathed, hitching up the pencil skirt she wore and toying with the waistband of her black silk thong. “Take these off and let me make you feel good.”

Nesta dug her nails into his toned shoulders, grinding against him almost involuntarily. 

“Here?” She asked, distracted by the fact he was already growing hard beneath her. 

“Study’s still on the list.”

It was a tempting offer, and though part of Nesta badly needed the distraction, the lingering guilt over what she’s wrought between Cash and Mor kept the worst of her selfish impulses in check.

“You went down on me in here last week,” she pointed out in deflection.

Cash, unsurprisingly, wasn’t deterred by this explanation.

“True,” he agreed. “But your sister called before I could make you come, so it doesn’t count,” he said, tugging her thong up until the fabric was roughly splitting her. “Don’t make me beg, gorgeous.”

She couldn’t hold back the groan when he gave another her thong coaxing tug, the material brushing against her unsheathed clit.

“I like when you beg,” she said, already growing breathless from his machinations. 

“What’s coincidence,” he said, leaning forward to nip at her ear. “I like when you beg, too.”

“I don’t beg,” she said, not quite ready to give up their little game despite her own growing anticipation for what was sure to follow.

Cash’s answering laugh was pure sin.

“Don’t tempt me to make a liar out of you, Nes. We both know that I could have you crawling on hands and knees for me if I wanted, and that you’d enjoy every sweet second of it.”

Nesta only smirked in response, sliding off his lap in a way that made him groan in pleasure. Slowly she retreated to the opposite wall before shucking the thong off from beneath her pencil skirt and kicking it to his feet in offering.  

Cash settled further into the plush velvet couch in answer, arms draped across the back and legs casually splayed. 

“Good girl. Now everything else,” he said in a silken command. 

She flashed him a tarty, ‘fuck-me’ smile. 

“Everything?”she repeated.

He studied her with a stark male appreciation that made her instantly wet, his gaze slithering  from her bare feet to the chignon still wound into her hair. 

“You can leave the earrings.”

“How generous,” she said, easing the hem of her silk blouse out from where it had been tucked into her skirt and beginning to unbutton it. 

Cash made a soft sound of appreciation as she finally slid the garment from her shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby club chair. 

His eyes glazed a bit as she reached behind her back to unfasten her bra next. When the clasp came free, she tossed the frilly scraps of evergreen lace into his lap. 

Though he hadn’t moved from his languid position on the couch, Nesta could clearly make out the consequence of her teasing as it pushed against the front of Cash’s trousers. 

“Don’t stop,” he urged, voice midnight soft now. 

Nesta obeyed, pulling the clip from her hair and giving it a soft shake before finally reaching for the zipper of her skirt. Cash was practically panting by the time Nesta began easing the garment down her thighs, and when she straightened to reveal her completely bare form, his eyes were dark with hunger. 

He surveyed her for a moment without comment, head slightly cocked as he admired her beneath the soft glow of the office’s recessed lighting. His gaze was like warm honey, sweetly clinging to every place on her body it touched. She felt her own desire coming alive under his unceasing attention, and she rubbed her legs together to ease the ache which had begun to throb between them. 

Sensing her impatience he finally rose, advancing on her with quiet intent before pushing her against the bookcase which had been built into the wall and kissing her. She moaned as he eased his tongue into her mouth, the soft material of his shirt brushing against her bare chest as he strung an arm around her waist and tugged her more fully into him.

She moaned again when his hand finally found its way between her thighs, but he only spared her a teasing stroke or two before coaxing her legs around his waist, carrying her to the center of the room and easing her onto the sheepskin rug.

She might have objected to being naked on the floor had the cleaning woman not been there the day before. Cash must have thought the same because he laughed; not at her, but in a way that told it safe to let go. 

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he said, lips brushing a spot on her neck which instantly had her melting.

Noting the change, he huffed another soft laugh onto her skin, lightly grazing the same spot with his teeth before breathing, “good girl.”

Nesta wasn’t ashamed to admit what praise did for her in bed, but she had little time to revel in Cash’s words before he was easing his way down her body, lips brushing her ribs and the crease of her hip before his tongue lazily found its way directly between her legs.

She swore at the first contact, her fingers finding their way into the dark water of his hair and tugging as he applied a small amount of pressure just where she needed him.

She could still hear Mor’s venomous rebuke ringing in her ears, but the words grew fainter with each careful stroke of Cash’s tongue, her conscious mind yielding to pure sensation.

Despite the time constraint, Cash remained unhurried in his task, and Nesta was weak-kneed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat by the time release finally found her.

Cash pulled back slightly to survey her, a satisfied smirk tugging at his full mouth when he brushed a finger down her torso and she trembled in response. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he breathed, bending to kiss her.

“What time—” she began, but he cut her off with another kiss.

“It’s 7:15,” he said against her lips. “You still have plenty of time to get ready.”

However, when he attempted to pull back she dug her nails into his shoulders to keep him close. 

“Take your clothes off. I need you inside of me.”

His answering laugh skimmed across her bare skin like silk.

“As my lady commands.”

“Now, pleasant,” she said, pressing a teasing foot to the center of  his chest and nudging him back.

Cash laughed again before rising to his feet and beginning to undress. When he peeled off his shirt, her hand found its way between her legs almost of its own volition, moving lazily as she drank him in. 

“That’s it, gorgeous,” he said, hands at his belt buckle now. “keep going.”

“I’d rather have your fingers between my legs,” she admitted.

He chuckled.

“I wouldn’t. You know what watching you get yourself off does to me.”

“Maybe sometime you’ll let me watch you, Handsome.” 

They hadn’t experimented with mutual masturbation yet, but it was on Nesta’s list. 

By now Cash had shed his boxer briefs to reveal—unsurprisingly—that he was fully ready for her. 

“I could come just from the way you look at me,” he said, stroking himself as he once again knelt to join her. 

Before she could protest, he put his head between her thighs again, tongue focused solely on her clit as he continued working himself. When she felt herself begin to tip over the edge he pulled back, pressing a hand to the crease of her hip and sinking into her in a single motion. 

It was timed perfection she could only marvel at. In several quick thrusts the head of his cock scraped her g-spot just as her orgasm had been ready to fade, and she came hard.

“That’s it,” he said as she clenched around him, trembling. “Squeeze me, Nes.”

She panted as the sensations continued to ripple through her.

“How did you even—“

“Because I know this body even better than you do,” he said. “ Fuck , that was so hot to watch.”

“Ride me,” Nesta demanded in response. “Hard.”

“Flip over,” he said. 

She did, and he wasted no time in sinking inside of her again, one foot braced on the carpet for better leverage as he grabbed her hips.

“Keep touching yourself.”

“I’m not going to be able to come again,” she said. 

“We’ll see about that. Go on Lovely, do it for me.”

Her clit was still throbbing from his earlier machinations so Nesta kept her touch featherlight as he began to move. Instead of thrusting forward into her, Cash instead pulled her back onto him while Nesta rocked her weight in the opposite direction to create tension. It was a rhythm they’d discovered early on in their sexual odyssey, and the friction was blinding for both of them. 

The room filled with the sound of their bodies as they came together, and Nesta could feel the swing of Cash’s stones against her ass as he thrust, a depraved sensation that drove her out of her mind with want. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she demanded. 

“I’m thinking that if this rug wasn’t three grand, I’d be tempted to pull out and come all over you.”

“You’re close?” 

“Oh God , yes.”

Nesta couldn’t help but preen at that.

“Keep talking,” she demanded, always greedy for as much of him as she could get.

And Cash, God love him, was always just as eager to oblige. 

“Do you know why I like to go down on you right before we have sex?”

“Tell me.”

His thrusts increased in intensity, a sign he was close. 

“Because your gorgeous little cunt is so tight, I’m never sure if I’ll be able to last long enough to give you an orgasm.”

“You’ve given me tons of vaginal orgasms,” Nesta panted.

“Only through sheer power of will. Fuck , Nes.”

She threw her hips back into Cash’s a final time and he was a goner.

He kneaded her ass with a firm grip as he emptied himself inside her, and though Nesta felt herself going boneless as the pleasure Cash had thrust her into finally began to relax its hold. 

Fisting her hair, Cash coaxed her head back for a soft kiss before pulling out and slapping her ass. 

“Go jump in the shower, I’ll join you in a second.”

Nesta  rose to her feet, keeping her thighs neatly tucked to avoid making a mess of the carpet after all. Cash marked the gesture before rewarding it with a cocky, bone-melting smirk. The Nesta of a year ago would have snarled at him for the stark appreciation shining in his eyes; today she could only marvel that he seemed to find her as desirable as she found him.

A beat of comfortable silence passed as they remained drinking one another in, and when Nesta’s gaze finally met Cash’s again, it was to find his expression had faded to something almost reverent, though the hunger remained.

“I know it probably makes me a total caveman, but I never get tired of seeing you full of me like that.”

The admission was so stark and primal that Nesta felt her belly clenching pleasantly.

“Maybe it does,” she agreed. “But I’m too much of a junkie for that look you’re giving me to care.”

Cash laughed.

“She digs the caveman vibe; good to know.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, even as she laughed a little herself. 

“Don’t push it,” she said, turning to the door and slipping down the hall to the bathroom.

Despite his promise, Nesta more than halfway through her post-sex shower ritual by the time Cash joined her, his touch warming her skin in a way the water alone never could.

“Are you going to miss me while I’m at dinner?” He asked, kissing her neck.

“Of course,” she said, leaning in as he nipped playfully at her ear.

“How much?” 

“Enough that I’m still debating if I ought to call a bomb threat into Mastro’s so dinner will have to be postponed.”

Normally Cash would have simply laughed at that, but he must have heard something in Nesta’s tone, because he pulled away slightly so he could study her, a frown tugging at his sensuous lips.

“Are you seriously nervous about tonight, because you have no reason to be; everyone is going to love you.”

“Everyone except Mor, you mean.”

Cash’s frown deepened, though his gaze remained almost unbearably tender.

“Don’t worry about her.”

“How can I not?”

“Nes—“

“It’s fine,” she said, slipping past him to grab her towel. She turned, forcing a smile as she reassured him, “I’m fine.”

She left before he could push the issue, trying to focus on getting ready as a means of distraction from Mor’s voice still echoing on repeat in her head.

Cash, for his part, seemed to sense she didn’t want to be pushed, because she was nearly through drying her hair by the time he finally re-emerged, dressed in a burgundy sport coat and slacks, his own hair pulled back in his typical style.

He didn’t immediately speak, simply leaned against the doorframe and watched her as she finished her hair and moved onto her makeup. 

She allowed his silent assessment for as long as she could bear before glancing up at him in the mirror and snapping, “what?”

Her tone was slightly sharper than she would have liked, but she was still learning how to accept his concern without defensiveness.

“Do you want me to cancel dinner?”

At this she stopped what she was doing, turning from her vanity to face him fully.

“Are you insane?”

“Gabriel already told me last week that I’m Dom’s top choice. If that’s true, then they will understand—”

“I’m sure it is true!” she interrupted. “But how could you possibly think I’d let you take that risk? Especially over something so trivial.”

“Your emotional safety isn’t trivial,” he said quietly. “Not to me.”

She felt herself softening at that, especially as she noted the unbearable tenderness which had crept into his expression.

“I know that,” she said. “But you should know that I would never let you give up something this important for my sake.”

“Fair enough,” he said, but before she could revel in the knowledge he wouldn’t be risking his career over something as petty and inconsequential as her feelings, he added, “then don’t go tonight. You can meet my friends another time.”

Nesta couldn’t hold back the surprised laugh which slipped out, the sound brittle even to her ears.

“And how will that look? You can’t make it so I just decide to bail?”

“I don’t really give a shit how it looks. I only care that you are alright.”

“I am,” she assured him, and seeing that she’d yet to fully convince him, she added, “At least, I’m getting there. I know what tonight means to you, and that’s important to me! Besides, I want a chance to get to know your friends and for them to get to know me. I can’t do that if I spend the rest of our relationship casually hiding from them.”

Cash’s expression didn’t change, but Nesta could tell the idea pleased him, which only hardened her resolve to see things through.

“You’re sure?” He said.

“Seeing as we already know that my biggest detractor won’t be there, how bad can it be?” Nesta said, turning back and flashing him a sardonic smirk in the mirror.

“Too soon,” Cash said with a huffed laugh, coming over to kiss her cheek before adding more quietly, “I love you.”

In lieu of responding, she reached back to string a hand around his neck, scraping her nails along the nape in a gesture she knew soothed him.

They remained there for a long moment in comfortable silence before Cash gently extricated himself.

“I’ll let you finish getting ready,” he said. “I’m not leaving for another twenty minutes.”

Nesta nodded, leaning into him for another kiss on the cheek before attending to her makeup.

Cash was sitting at the kitchen island reviewing LVMH’s latest earning statement when Nesta finally emerged, the soft rustle of her sequined mini dress the only sound as Cash eyed her appreciatively.

“You like?” She asked, reaching the landing and giving a turn to show the open back and dangerously-short hem. “It’s new.”

“You look stunning,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “Though I would argue that has very little to do with the dress.”

She rolled her eyes even as she draped an arm over his shoulders and settled into his lap. She didn’t miss the way his gaze flitted to the forbidden stretch of thigh which was revealed as her skirt rode up to accommodate the new position.

“I assume LVMH is sending a car?”

Cash nodded, smoothing a hand down said thigh and causing Nesta’s skin to tingle.

“Should be here in five.”

She nodded, preparing to ask if he was ready for the meeting when he spoke first.

“Okay, last offer, hear me out.”

“Cash—” she began, attempting to stand up even as he coaxed her to remind where she was.

“I can tell Az we’ll just meet him at the club, then you can hang out here and wait for me and we can go toge—”

“Don’t do that, he’s probably already on his way,” Nesta cut in. “And I said I’ll be fine, so I will be. Just…stop, please.”

Cash opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue before his phone dinged, signaling his driver had arrived. 

“Go,” she said, sliding to her bare feet. “You don’t want to be late.”

After a final moment’s hesitation he did the same, straightening his slacks as she grabbed his sports coat from the back of a nearby stool and held it out for him.

He obliged her, slipping his arms through and shrugging it on as Nesta came around to adjust the collar. She sometimes forgot just how much taller he was than her when she wasn’t in her typical heels, and she had to rise to her tip-toes to kiss him.

“Go kill it,”she said against his lips. “You’ve earned this.”

He brushed his nose against hers in response, an affectionate gesture that still made butterflies dance in Nesta’s stomach every time. 

She could tell that Cash was fighting with the urge to offer her one final out on the evening’s festivities, but she was grateful when he chose to simply kiss her instead.

“Have fun with the boys,” he said. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two behind you.”

“Take you time,” she said firmly. “From everything you’ve shared, I don’t see Rhysand ending the party anytime before daybreak.”

“How very terrifying and true,” he said, eyes full of all the things still left unsaid as he grabbed his phone, blew her a kiss, and jogged down the stairs to the front door. 

Nesta felt some of the fight go out of her as she listened to the door open and shut, the telltale chime of the security system being re-armed echoing up a second later.

The plan to have Azriel meet them at the townhouse for drinks prior to joining up with Rhys and the rest of their cabal had been made before Cash had known he’d be entertaining the Dom execs, and though Nesta had been adamant that they needn’t change the plan simply because Cash wouldn’t be there, she couldn’t help but wonder at her own stubbornness as she waited nervously for Azriel to arrive.

On the one hand, Nesta’s initial interaction with Azriel had been entirely pleasant, and had left her with an adequate degree of certainty that—despite the Owen debacle—she and Az could get on just fine without Cash present to act as a buffer. 

However, Mor’s assessment earlier had challenged any confidence Nesta may have had when it came to Cash’s friends. Perhaps she’d been arrogant to think that Rhys and Aelin were the only one she had to be worried about winning over tonight, even with Mor temporarily out of the picture. After all, Rhys may have been Mor’s cousin, but it was clear to Nesta that Azriel and Mor had some kind of history.

Cash had never fully explained what—if anything—had gone down between them, but Nesta had always gotten the sense from his stories that Azriel had carried a torch for Mor at some point. It was only just occurring to Nesta that he very well still could. Perhaps all of Azriel’s seemingly meaningless flings were just a distraction from the girl he wanted but couldn’t have. 

And even if he didn’t have romantic feelings for her, it was clear that Mor’s opinion was incredibly important to Azriel.

What was it that Cash had said earlier?

 He’s never going to be able to open up enough to meet someone when he’s terrified you won’t approve of anyone he picks. 

If Mor voiced her concerns about Nesta to Cash, it was entirely possible (and indeed fairly probable) that she’d shared the same—or worse—with Azriel. And even if she hadn’t, what was to say that he hadn’t come to his own unfavorable conclusion about Nesta after the Vegas trip? She could only imagine what he’d heard and seen that weekend, and frankly she couldn’t blame him if he’d decided that he hated her, too.

Nesta’s heart rate kicked up as she considered the increasingly-grim possibilities. Perhaps she’d been too quick to reject Cash’s offer to send Azriel ahead. If she hadn’t—

Nesta’s phone chimed to signal a notification, and she’d been so deeply engrossed in her catastrophizing that the sound startled an undignified shriek out of her. Pressing a hand to her chest in an attempt to slow her hammering heart, she glanced down to see an alert from the Ring app signaling someone was at the door. 

Having no time left with which to ponder her potential evisceration, Nesta simply exhaled a steadying breath before heading down the stairs and disarming the security system.

Nesta felt some of her initial apprehension melt away as she pulled open the door to find that—far from the anger or aloofness she’d feared—Azriel was actually smiling, a modest bouquet of tulips tucked under one arm.

Much like the first time Nesta had met him, Azriel was in all black, from his silk bomber jacket to the well-tailored Japanese denim he wore, his designer boots—Prada, if Nesta had to guess—shined to perfection.

“For you,” Azriel said in greeting, extending the flowers, already neatly trimmed and arranged in a stylish vase, before flashing another soft smile. “I would normally have just brought a bottle of wine, but given what Cash has told me about your incredible palette, I didn’t want to embarrass myself by bringing something terrible.”

“These are lovely,” Nesta assured him. “Please, come in.”

Azriel gave a polite nod and stepped past her, waiting as she re-armed the door before following her up the stairs to the main living space. She thought to offer him a tour before remembering he’d already seen the place when Cash first moved in with her, so instead she opted for what she hoped was amiable silence as she set down the flowers on the island.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked, turning to the fridge in an effort to mask her unease. 

Despite Azriel’s warm greeting and the flowers he’d brought, Nesta felt her nerves lingering. However, not wanting to dwell on the stakes, she simply forged on.

“I have water, wine, beer, some of those disgusting hard seltzers....”

When Azriel still didn’t reply, she glanced up to see wry amusement sparkling in his eyes, brows slightly raised.

“I have two college-age sisters,” she explained. “Feyre in particular has terrible taste in beverages.”

Azriel huffed a polite laugh, though the slight flush in his cheeks told Nesta he’d been perhaps warned off making any comment about the youngest Archeron, even if it was friendly.

Smart man.

Instead he said, “If I asked for a shot of tequila, would you join me?”

Nesta smiled, retreating to the liquor cabinet and fetching a bottle of reposado and two rocks glasses. 

“I should have known,” she said, pouring the golden liquor into both glasses before raising one to him in a toast. “Cash said you’d be the one to watch out for; the knife in the dark.”

At this Azriel laughed outright, his impeccably straight teeth on display as he raised his own glass. It was a deep, rich sound, made all the more satisfying by the knowledge that it had been earned. 

“I’ve been to this club before,” he explained. “Trust me when I say it’s not a place you want to go sober.”

It surprised Nesta a little that Azriel—for whom a weekend in Ibiza had been a self-professed torture—was nevertheless familiar with some gaudy nightclub in a city almost 400 miles away from his own. 

She opened her mouth to say as much before remembering Cash’s sly remarks about Azriel’s dating life. It seemed a reasonable bet that the last time that Azriel had gone to Divinity, it hadn’t been for the shitty music or overpriced cocktails. 

Still, that wasn’t any of Nesta’s business, so she instead replied, “I will drink to that,” tapping his glass and throwing the shot back. It didn’t burn the way the cheap tequila she’d always drank in college had, instead warming her belly as it settled in her stomach. 

She poured them each a second measure of tequila—this one for sipping on—and gestured Azriel take a seat on one of the barstools studded around the large granite island. 

There was a measure of surprisingly comfortable silence as they both took a sip of their refreshed drinks, and Nesta cast around for something polite for them to talk about before the moment stretched too long. 

Nesta hadn’t forgotten the comments both Cash and Azriel himself had made about Azriel’s family, but unsure of where else to begin, she began carefully, “Cash mentioned you met in London. Are you from the UK originally?”

He didn’t have an accent, but that didn’t mean much. Perhaps he’d trained himself out of it as a means of transformation. If there was one thing that Nesta felt certain of in regards to Azriel Macar, it was that the man who stood before her today—hair impeccably styled and clothes tailored to perfection—was a facade crafted with the same artistry which had made him so successful as a designer. 

The real Azriel, Nesta sensed, was hidden somewhere beneath all the trappings of wealth and success, and for a reason she couldn’t fathom, the idea he felt the need to keep himself disguised made Nesta’s chest ache a bit. 

Azriel huffed a quiet, humorless laugh at the question, and Nesta wondered if—however innocuous—it had been the wrong one to ask. However, after another small sip of his drink, Azriel met her gaze, expression steady but guarded. 

“Hardly,” he said before glancing back down into his glass. “I grew up in Oklahoma.”

It had been the last thing Nesta had expected, and her struggle to master herself earned a laugh from Azriel, this one slightly easier. 

“You seem surprised,” he mused.

“I’m sorry,” she said, cheeks flushing a little. “I—”

“Don’t be,” Azriel said. “I’d have been offended if you hadn’t been. It’s a Hellhole.” He gave another humorless laugh. “Which is ironic considering churches practically outnumbered people in the town I grew up in.”

Not wanting to offend him by saying the wrong thing, Nesta settled for what felt like the safest option.

“I’ve never been to Oklahoma,” she offered. “The closest I’ve come is Dallas, and I can’t say I’m a huge fan of that, either.”

“Oh agreed,” Azriel said. “Though I wouldn’t say that in front of Rhys; you’ll break his bougie black heart. He loves Dallas.”

“For some reason that doesn’t surprise me,” Nesta admitted, and Azriel smiled.

“Then you’re a quick study.”

They fell into another comfortable silence as Nesta turned the comment over and over in his mind, debating the merits of voicing the question dangling on the tip of her tongue. The potential for blowback if she overstepped remained a clear and present danger, but Azriel’s relaxed demeanor emboldened her to take the risk.

“So…Rhysand,” she began, trying to keep her tone casual rather than anxious or over-eager. “Any tips?”

Azriel paused at this, his glass halfway to his mouth as he raised his eyebrows. Not as if he were offended by the question, but rather to indicate he hadn’t been expecting it. 

He took a sip of his drink in lieu of giving an immediate answer. Nesta wasn’t sure what to make of this stall tactic, but she resisted the urge to fill the silence, waiting instead for him to speak.

Finally he said, “Rhys is like skiing. Easy to learn but difficult to master. When I first met him, it took me all of ten minutes to decide I had him all figured out and that I fucking hated him. Now we’ve been best friends for almost five years, and he still finds ways to surprise the hell out of me on a regular basis. Still, chances are that even if you don’t want to like him, you still will. He’s inevitable in that way.”

“And what about the people he doesn’t like?” She asked carefully.

Azriel’s smile had grown soft and slightly more elusive, but he answered gamely, “I don’t think Rhys has ever met a female he didn’t like.” 

She didn’t know why she said it, but Nesta found herself blurting, “first time for everything, I suppose.”

It was more vulnerability than she’d wanted to show, and seeing the smile slip from Azriel’s face, she knew at once she’d said the wrong thing.

However, he didn’t immediately clap back like she feared he would, instead seeming almost...concerned.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” he said after a beat, “but can I be...honest for a second?”

“Please,” Nesta said, despite the fact she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for whatever it was he had to say.

“I assume this has to do with Mor.”

It wasn’t a question, but it certainly answered any doubt Nesta had over whether Mor had voiced her dislike to the rest of the group.

“What makes you say that?” Nesta said, annoyed at herself for the tartness which had slid into her voice.

However, if her curt tone bothered Azriel, he didn’t show it. Instead he merely nodded, seeming to weigh his next statement before continuing on.

“I usually try to stay out of the inter-group politicking because there are enough busy-bodies in this crew as it is, but I will say this: Mor is entitled to her opinion; don’t make the mistake of assuming it’s an opinion that everyone shares.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you or Rhysand if you didn’t like me,” she admitted, fighting the urge to grow defensive in her vulnerability.

Azriel only shrugged. 

“Like I said, it’s not my style to insert myself into other people’s business, but…” 

He paused for a second to meet her eye before quietly adding, “I saw what was done to that bookcase, Nesta. Mor didn’t.”

Nesta felt a lump swelling in her throat at the memory, Tomás’s screaming still echoing faintly in her ears.

“That’s probably more grace than I deserve, but thank you.”

Azriel nodded again, looking down into the swirling remains of his drink before adding, “And for what it’s worth, you should know that Cash has never said one ugly thing about you, even in Vegas. He had every opportunity to tear you to pieces that weekend, and he never did.”

“I think that says more about his character than mine,” Nesta admitted, “But I can’t deny it��s a relief to hear.”

“Cash may seem carefree, but I don’t think I need to tell you that everything he does, he does with intention. That includes the company he chooses to keep.”

There was a finality to the way Azriel said it, as if he’d finally exceeded his limit for getting mixed up in his friends’ personal lives and was hoping to change the subject. 

Nesta rewarded his tacit request by refilling both their glasses and saying, “So, as two people who don’t like clubs, any idea what we can expect from tonight?”

“A bloody nightmare,” Azriel said half under his breath, accepting his glass back from her and taking a healthy drink. “Rhys promised we wouldn’t have to be there all night, so I’m praying he can accomplish whatever required schmoozing quickly so we can fuck off to somewhere slightly less atrocious.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nesta said, raising her glass in salutation and taking a generous swig.

The conversation flowed fairly effortlessly after that, shifting from the friend group to Azriel’s work. He’d seemed hesitant to discuss it at first, as if he were afraid he might bore her if he talked about himself or his own interests for more than a sentence or two. However, once she’d coaxed him into opening up slightly, no doubt aided in her effort by the tequila, she found they had no shortage of topics to discuss. 

Beyond his own work, Azriel was a walking encyclopedia on the history of modernist architecture and design, and he was effortless in his ability to recite fascinating anecdotes about the movement’s pioneers. The way his eyes lit up as he regaled her with a story about Frank Lloyd Wright reminded Nesta of the look Elain always wore when discussing the Papal intrigue of Quattrocento Rome, and she envisioned—not for the first time—how well those two would likely get on were they to ever meet.

Nesta was surprised when she glanced at the oven clock and realized it was nearly 11:30. Azriel must have seen it too, because he drained his glass and reached for his coat.

“I’ve unfortunately exhausted all my tactics for delaying the inevitable,” Azriel said, pulling up the Uber app on his phone and showing Nesta that their driver was six minutes away. “Shall we?”

It was nearing midnight by the time they reached the white lacquered doors of Divinity, a throng of club hopefuls already beginning to amass behind the velvet rope which snaked off to the right of the entrance.

It was only then that Nesta realized they’d never been given any instruction on how or where to find the others. However, Azriel seemed to know the drill, because he skirted the line and went to the bouncer guarding the other side of the rope, presumably the entrance for VIP guests.  It didn’t take more than the words “Rhysand Sadaghi” to get them through the rope and following a hostess to what she continued to remind them was the club’s “premiere suite”. 

The farther they traveled into the space, the louder the hypnotic bass became until they were skirting the massive dance floor en route to a private balcony fashioned to look like a giant cloud suspended in mid-air. Nesta swore as she picked her way up the narrow staircase leading to the box, praying none of the smarmy-looking douchebags below would think to look up. If they did, she was fairly sure they'd have a full view up her skirt through the translucent steps. 

Finally, they reached the landing, and Nesta permitted herself one last steadying breath before accepting Azriel’s hand to clear the final stair.

The suite seemed to be divided into two chambers separated by a silk curtain. The initial space was currently unoccupied, but through the partition in the silk, Nesta spotted a single figure lounging in a plush armchair as it if were a throne, a drink balanced lazily on a knee as he surveyed the crowd below. However, she had less than a second to study him before he took notice of their arrival, his arms outstretched as his mouth split into a breath-taking grin.

Rhysand Sadeghi was gorgeous almost beyond comprehension. The picture of elegance and obscene wealth, he was as tall as Azriel and just as well-built, with glittering azure eyes and a smile bright enough to dazzle even in the semi-darkness. 

On paper his beauty was profuse to the point of revulsion—his eyes too blue, his lips too full, his cheekbones too sharp. In short, Rhysand should have been too pretty to actually be attractive. But there was something so devilishly human in the arch of his dark brows and the curve of his smile that made him, hands-down, the most handsome man Nesta had ever met. 

But not, she noted with a swell of pleasant emotion, the most attractive. Rhysand may have been physical perfection, but he would never be more beautiful to her than Cash; no man would. 

Rhysand gave a cat-like smile as he approached, straightening the lapels of his Armani suit jacket as if he were preparing to step into a business meeting. The crisp shirt beneath had the first several buttons undone, and Nesta could see the making of what was clearly a very intricate chest piece tattoo peaking above the collar, the swirling lines matching the designs which covered the backs of each of his hands.

“Nesta,” he said in greeting, tone warm as if they were old friends. “Finally. I was starting to worry that Cash was hiding you from me.”

His English accent was clipped but smooth, a clear product of his education at Eton and Oxford. 

Nesta turned to allow him to brush a kiss on her cheek. 

“So you’re the philandering rake I’ve heard so much about,” she said as they pulled away. 

It was perhaps a somewhat risky thing to say considering how badly she wanted Cash’s friends to like her, but Rhysand’s answering smile indicated he enjoyed a good verbal spar.

“And you’re even more beautiful than Cash described,” he shot back easily. “Careful, I might be tempted to steal you for myself.”

Nesta hit him with an expression Cash had affectionately termed “Disney Villainess.”

“I don’t know if I’m expected to laugh in your face, or slap you across it.”

Rhys only tipped his head back and laughed as Azriel said from behind her, “A fairly common reaction to meeting him, I’d say.”

“Drink?” Rhys asked, gesturing to the various champagne buckets scattered around the space. “What can I get you?”

He was already pouring a whiskey for Azriel before patting his friend affectionately on the cheek, a gesture which Azriel swatted away. 

“No special friend with you tonight, brother? Cash said it’s been a proper revolving door since you moved to LA!”

“Oh fuck off,” Azriel said, tone light even as his cheeks pinked. “You’re just jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” Rhys said, shooting Nesta a wink. “Champagne, Nesta?”

“Please,” she said, noting the bottle of $500 Armand de Brignac nestled in the closest chiller. Being around this level of wealth was going to take some getting used to. She seemed to sense that Rhys was waiting for her to take a sip, so she did.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

Rhys grinned. 

“I’m so pleased you like it. Cash says you have a palette for wine that’s destined to put the rest of us to shame.”

Just then another dark-haired man appeared from the darkness, bending to speak quietly in Rhys's ear. Nesta noted the radio at his belt and the gun at his hip, and the way his dark eyes shone with an alacrity which told her he was stone-cold sober. 

When the man straightened up, Rhys gestured to him with a smile. 

“This is my bodyguard, Adan. Donnie, this is Cash’s better half, if you can believe that.”

“Nice to meet you,” Adan said, voice thick with a French accent. “Welcome to the court of nightmares.”

Rhys’s crushing blue eyes glittered as he laughed. 

“Nightmares? Brother, this is a court of dreams! Algerians take everything too seriously,” He added with a smile. “Relax, Don.”

Adan rolled his eyes and snapped a retort in French, though his body language suggested he wasn’t actually bothered. Rhys only laughed in response before offering a rapid reply in the same language.

“Shall we, then?” Rhys said, ushering Nesta forward while keeping his hand a respectful distance from her low back.

“Your timing is impeccable as always, Az,” Rhys said, dropping onto one of the low couches with a lazy grace before kicking his feet up on the glass table. “Even five minutes earlier and you’d have been forced to make small talk with the owner. The man’s a complete knob.”

“Sorry to have missed him,” Azriel said wryly, appraising the space with a designer’s critical eye.

Rhys seemed to note Azriel’s assessment, because he gestured to their surroundings and asked, “So, what do you think?”

Azriel’s lip curled in disgust, the most expression Nesta had ever seen him show.

“It’s fucking horrendous.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Rhys said with a grin. “Wouldn’t buy this place if it were free.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though there was no malice in the gesture.

“If that’s true, then what are we doing here?”

“You mean besides running up an obscene tab on the ownership’s dime? We’re celebrating.”

Az simply rolled his eyes again, but Nesta shrugged. 

“I’ll bite; celebrating what?

“The successful culmination of a well-deserved revenge plot.”

“I’m officially intrigued,” Nesta said, and Rhys flashed her a bone-melting smirk.

“I thought you might be,” he replied, drawing a cigar from his inside pocket before lighting it and settling back into his seat.

“Six months ago the prick who owned this place called me wanting to see if we’d be interested in going in with his group on a joint venture for a new property they wanted to open in Miami. They’ve been wanting to break into the market but didn’t have the contacts to do it, so they were hoping I could provide leverage. I said I’d consider it, but the financials didn’t pencil so I thanked him for the offer but told him we were going to pass.” 

Rhysand paused to take a casual sip of his drink before continuing on.

“A few days later he pocket dials me. I was getting ready to hang up when I realized he happened to be talking about me to a colleague. Didn’t catch the whole conversation, but considering the fact I stayed on the line long enough to hear him refer to me as a ‘towel-headed terrorist”, I think I got the gist.”

The champagne she’d been enjoying moments earlier turned immediately sour in Nesta’s mouth. It wasn’t always easy being a woman—particularly in a chauvinistic, ego-centric industry like hers—but even with all the wayward comments and veiled jabs she’d endured over the years, she couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of ugliness. Glancing between Rhys and Azriel, she could see in their expressions the same bleakness she sometimes glimpsed on Cash’s face, a stark reminder of the realities of racism they didn’t have the privilege of ignoring. It made Nesta want to hunt this hideous prick down and bury her stiletto into his jugular.

Azriel, for his part, only gave an unamused snort, gaze going cold. “He should meet my brother Tanner. Sounds like the two of them would get along great.”

“Indeed,” Rhysand said, his own smile razored. “I won’t bore you with the gory details, but the long and short of it is that while he’s been kissing my ass the last three days thinking I’m interested in investing in this dump, my lawyers have been finalizing a deal to buy the property across the street.”

“So you can rub what an asshole he is in his face for the rest of eternity?” Azriel asked.

Rhys opened his mouth to reply, but Nesta beat him to it.

“You wanted him to open his books,” she said, reading Rhys’s cold smile. “You needed to see his balance sheet so you’d know what it would take to put this place underwater.”

He nodded, grin widening.

“Turns out that in addition to being an ignorant piece of shit, dude’s also an idiot,” Rhys said, smoke slithering through his lips as he took another drag from his cigar. “His distributor’s been fleecing him on booze. I already have a supplier lined up who’s willing to sell to me at cost, which means I will be able to charge 30% less per drink while maintaining the same margin. This place will be lucky to last six months.”

At this his crushing gaze met Nesta’s, and she couldn't decide if he was seeking her approval or illustrating the power he had to destroy people who crossed him. The fear that it had been the latter had the instinct to go on the defensive flaring, but Nesta forced the urge down, merely raising her glass to him instead. 

“All’s well that ends well, then.”

“I wouldn’t start gloating just yet,” Azriel said. “It’s gonna take more than cheaper drinks to thin this herd.”

He gestured to the packed throng of revelers below.

Rhys remained unruffled.

“True, but when have you ever known me to not hedge my bets?”

“Let me guess: you’ve convinced some Kardashian sibling to come on opening weekend and lie to their billion followers about how great it is.”

“Kardashians? You’ve got to learn to dream bigger, Azzy!”

“We’re not going to play twenty questions with you about it,” Azriel shot back mildly. “So either tell us what you’ve got up your sleeve or I’m changing the subject. Cash won’t thank you for boring Nesta to death within the first twenty minutes.”

Rhys laughed, undimmed by Azriel’s slightly-acerbic wit. It made Nesta like Rhysand slightly more than she otherwise might have, knowing that his wasn't the sort of ego that was so large it had grown inflexible.

“Conn agreed to a two-week residency when the place opens,” Rhys explained instead. “ People are going to forget this joint even exists when they find out he’s performing at such an intimate venue.”

Azriel gave an appreciative chuckle, clearly understanding who that was and what it meant. Nesta, on the other hand, didn’t have the slightest clue. 

Part of her didn’t want to give Rhysand the satisfaction of asking in the event he’d only brought it up as a means of making her feel foolish for not knowing. However, a glance up at him showed that the chilly gleam in his eye from earlier had softened to pure amusement, and she decided to play nice by saying, “I admit I don’t frequent enough clubs to know what that means.”

“If we said the name ConMan, would that mean anything to you?” Azriel asked.

Actually it did. ConMan’s signature was blending classical movements by Mozart and Bach with modern electronic music, and though Nesta wasn’t usually one for house or EDM, she admittedly had more than one ConMan track on her gym playlist.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re friends with one of the most famous DJs in the world,” she said to Rhysand, and he laughed again

“Actually I met him through Cash. They grew up together in Hawai’i.”

Now it was Nesta who wanted to laugh. In all the stories Cash had told about his childhood friends, including the twins—Fen and Connall0—he’d failed to mention that one of them happened to have a Vegas residency. She loved that about him, that he wasn’t one to drop names or lord his impressive friends over her.

“I don’t know how you feel about house music,” Rhys continued, “But you should come see him spin. He’s incredible on stage. Watching him perform, you’d never guess what a massive homebody he actually is.”

“I don’t know how he does it,” Azriel added, the whiskey stones in his drink clinking as he rotated the contents with a practiced flick of his wrist. “If I were Connall, I would have faked my own death years ago.”

“I do love that the two biggest introverts I know both ended up being famous,” Rhys said with a grin.

Azriel rolled his eyes.

“I am not famous.”

Rhys only bubbled his lips.

“Bruv, you were featured in Vogue. Give it up already.”

Recognizing that Azriel was currently her closest ally in the fight to win over Cash’s friends, Nesta decided to throw him a bone and redirect the spotlight by asking, “How well do you two know the Hawai’i boys? They seem like a fun bunch.”

“Nah, they're all assholes,” a voice echoed from beyond the gauzy curtain.

They all turned at the intrusion, Rhys whistling appreciatively and rising to his feet as Rowan Whitethorn cleared the last of the stairs and emerged into the lounge.

“There he is,” Rhys said. “Nice hair, brother!” 

Rowan grinned as he ran a tattooed hand through the grey strands, which gleamed silver under the club’s sleek lights.

Rhys was right; it was quite different than Nesta had ever remembered it looking. Though he still wore it in an undercut, the sides were now almost to the skin and the top longer and more ostentatiously styled, making him look less clean-cut and more...dangerous.

Nesta didn’t have to wonder too long at the change. When she’d asked Cash why he  hadn’t been seeing as much of Rowan—worried that he was still avoiding his friends because of her—Cash had made a vague remark about Ro’s current caseload requiring him to work extra hours. Seeing Rowan now, she suspected that ‘extra hours’ had actually been a euphemism for working undercover. 

Rowan only smirked at Rhys’s assessment, their vibe easier than Nesta might have imagined. But then, that was the magic of Cash; he could bring anyone together.

“I’m trying something new,” Ro offered coyly.

“I like it,” Rhys said. 

Rowan's smile grew a little, green eyes flicking up to Rhys’s own dark hair, which was styled in a similar manner.

“I bet you do.”

“I can’t resist a bit of drama,” Rhys admitted before glancing behind Rowan. “No Ace tonight?”

Rowan's face fell slightly even as he accepted a drink from Rhys and smiled at Nesta and Azriel in greeting. 

“She and NeNe were playing in a tournament in Latvia until yesterday, and her flight out of Riga got canceled because of staffing shortages with the airlines. Don’t get me started.”

For her part, Nesta couldn’t decide if she should be disappointed or relieved. She hadn’t been lying all those months ago when she’d told Cash she liked Aelin already. But after Mor...Nesta wasn’t sure how much hope she could realistically harbor that Aelin would ever like her back. 

She was saved from her self-improvised spiral by Rowan, who’d finished greeting Azriel and turned his full attention on her.

“Nesta,” he said, brushing a soft kiss on her cheek the same way Rhys had. “Good to see you.”

His smile was full of meaning, and she found herself flushing a little.

“You don’t seem...surprised. To see me.”

Didn’t seem disappointed, she didn’t need to say. She could see in his eyes that he knew what she meant, and the way they softened at the corners told her that he was genuinely glad she was with Cash, even after all her mistakes.

“Can’t say I am,” he said, accepting a whiskey from Rhys with a nod. “I had faith you two would...figure it out when you were ready.”

“I’m sorry Aelin’s not here,” Nesta said, hesitating for only a second before admitting, “I was looking forward to finally getting to meet her.”

“She’s gutted to have missed it,” Rowan said. “If there was any way she could have been here, she would have.”

Rhys and Az traded a furtive glance at this, but before Nesta could worry at what it might mean, Rowan flashed a soft smile, the sincerity in it putting her at ease.

“It really is a shame she’s not here,” Rhys said as they resettled. “I like to think she would have really appreciated the unholy douchbaggery of this place.”

“That’s because she’s a godless hedonist,” Rowan said, expression neutral but tone full of affection. “Why do you think she likes hanging out with you so much?”

“You’re just lucky you met her first,” Rhys shot back easily.

Remembering how Rowan had reacted when Eris had dared to make a comment about Aelin, Nesta half expected Rowan to clap back. Instead, he only grinned, clearly at-ease with this dynamic.

“Please,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “You two would tear each other apart.”

“Agreed,” Azriel said mildly. “She’d have your sensitive little ass in tears the first time you got into a disagreement.”

“Fuck you both,” Rhys said, grinning now too. 

Friends, Nesta realized. These three, despite all their perceived differences, were genuinely friends in their own right, even when Cash wasn’t around.

“Honestly, Sadeghi,” Rowan said, “I can’t wait to meet the girl you end up with. She's going to need the patience of a saint to deal with your…”

Rowan trailed off, head cocking towards the new song currently building in the space below. Nesta didn’t recognize it, but it was hypnotic and dark, admittedly a lot better than the manic-tempo shit they’d previously been playing.

Rowan remained on alert, listening intently, and finally Nesta asked, “Is everything alright?” 

“This is Ace and NeNe’s warmup track,”Rowan said, seeming almost dazed. “Connall made it for them specifically after Aelin complained women's sports don’t get the same pre-game hype.”

“How annoyingly true,” Rhys said with an almost-theatrical frown.

Despite his disapproving words, Nesta didn’t miss the undercurrent of self-satisfaction in Rhys’s tone.  Rowan clearly hadn’t missed it either, because his head instead snapped back to Rhys, his expression caught between confusion and excitement.

“Is this you?” He said, gesturing to the speakers.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Rhys said, blue eyes glittering with delight.

Rhys’s reaction, despite meaning absolutely nothing to Nesta, seemed to confirm something for Rowan, and he leapt to his feet.

“No way,” he said, a smile growing on his face now. “Even you couldn’t pull something like that off.”

Rhys pretended to buff his nails on his lapel.

“Couldn’t I, though?” He said with exaggerated self-importance before gesturing to the dance floor below with his eyes.

Rowan leapt up, running to the balcony to peer over it. Still unsure of what the fuck was going on, Nesta followed, reaching the balcony just as the beat dropped, everyone in the crowd seeming to pulse in time with the music. 

That was, everyone but three people, who were instead cutting a distinct path away from the stage and towards the roped-off stairs.

Even if Nesta had not recognized the gorgeous blonde leading the trio, Rowan’s reaction to seeing her would have been enough to tell her who it was.

Rowan was in motion at once, abandoning his drink on the nearby table and taking the stairs two at a time. He ignored the belch of fake fog which exploded around him as his foot reached the last stair, because by that time the blonde had noticed him as well, and in two long strides she was in his arms, the hem of her tight dress riding dangerously high as she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him.

“Nice work, brother,” Azriel said, extending his knuckles to a preening Rhysand. “Wasn’t sure you were going to be able to pull it off.”

By now Rowan and Aelin had finished their steamy reunion and were heading back up the stairs, Aelin tucked comfortably under Rowan’s muscled arm as they continued to grin at one another.

Finally Rowan turned back to Rhys, laughing a little.

“You sneaky bastard! All those questions about Ace not being here when you knew full well she was already on her way!”

“You know Aelin tears are my kryptonite,” Rhys said, winking at a beaming Aelin. “When she called me crying earlier saying her flight had been canceled, how could I leave her stranded, especially when I knew my father’s jet was sitting idle in London?”

It was then that Rhys finally came into greater focus for Nesta. If Cash was the group’s unifying thread, weaving all the disparate personalities into a single, tight-knit clan, then Rhys was its magic wand, trailing sparks through the air and achieving the seemingly impossible with a flick of the wrist. 

It would have been easy to attribute it to his extreme wealth, but watching him now, Nesta could see it was more than that. Yes, money had a way of making big problems seem small, but the finesse with which Rhys handled roadblocks told her that he was neither as frivolous nor as rash as he liked to pretend.

And he hadn’t just done it to prove he could, Nesta realized. He’d done it knowing what even one extra day together would mean for Aelin and Rowan, and so that Aelin wouldn’t have to miss out on this rare opportunity for them to spend time together as a group. It was clear watching them interact how much they all meant to one another, and how much they cherished any time they got to spend in one another’s company. More than friends, it was clear this group was more like a second family, even scattered as they were across the globe. And it was all because of Cash.

Nesta watched the joyous reunion unfold without comment, feeling so caught up in the moment that she’d nearly forgotten her own outsider status. It wasn’t until Aelin finished greeting the others that Nesta remembered herself at last, the same anxieties which had plagued her all week swelling with renewed urgency.

A quick glance over Aelin’s shoulder revealed wary expressions on both Rhys and Rowan’s faces, as if they too weren’t sure how this meeting would play out. 

It was only when Aelin’s stunning blue eyes fell on Nesta that the latter realized how badly she wanted this woman to like her, despite all the legitimate reasons Aelin—like Mor—had to dislike her.

To aate her even.

It was too late for all of that though, as Aelin was making her way over, her slinky gown glittering like molten gold under the lights. Nesta guessed that even barefoot Aelin must have been over six feet, but she towered close to Rowan’s height in her spindly heels, making Nesta feel positively minuscule in comparison. 

Still, she did her best to steel her nerves, unsure whether to extend her hand as she forced herself to meet Aelin’s gaze and say, “I’m Nesta.”

“I know,” Aelin said, not extending her hand either.

Unease sluiced through Nesta as she tried to decipher Aelin’s tone. However, before she could worry about what to do next, Aelin continued.

“I know we don’t really know each other, but…” she paused, glancing over her shoulder at Rowan before turning back to Nesta and continuing,  “Can I hug you?”

It wasn’t what Nesta had expected, but she nodded, extending her own arms with a slightly-strangled, “of course.”

Aelin pushed forward at once, pulling Nesta to her as if they’d been friends all their lives. It wasn’t the overly-tight embrace Nesta had feared, and she found herself immediately inundated by the fresh citrus scent of Aelin’s perfume.

When they pulled back, Nesta found Aelin smiling at her, no calculation or contempt on her face.

“I want to thank you again for what you did for Nehemiah,” she continued. “We were in a proper panic until you stepped in.”

“I was happy to help,” Nesta said, grateful for the warmth in Aelin’s tone, even if she wasn’t sure she deserved it. “I’m just glad it worked out.”

“It did. Thanks to you,” Aelin said, tone full of meaning. 

Nesta nodded and made to step away, terrified she might ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing. However, Aelin reached forward to grab her hand, giving a soft squeeze as she leaned forward, voice pitched low as she said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Nesta admitted, pausing before adding, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

“Me too,” Aelin said with a smile. “We all have.”

Nesta could barely contain what those words did to her—how they soothed all the jagged self-loathing she’d harbored over the last several months. Aelin seemed to read the lingering pain on Nesta’s face, because her own smile dimmed slightly.

“She’ll come around,” Aelin said simply. “Just give her time.”

Nesta didn’t need to ask who Aelin was referring to, but she nodded, grateful beyond measure for Aelin’s kindness.

Not wanting to monopolize Aelin’s attention, she turned back to the rest of the group, which now included two more men she didn’t know. 

Though they’d yet to be introduced, it was clear from their piercing blue eyes who they were. 

The Ashryvvers, Aelin’s maternal cousins.

The blonde was the first to notice Nesta, and his answering smile was deceptively mild as he nodded to her in greeting before leaning over to his cousin and whispering—perhaps a bit louder than he’d intended, “Ella está buena.”

Despite her parents’ insistence, Nesta’s Spanish had never been nearly as good as her Portuguese. However, it was certainly good enough to understand when a man was checking her out.

Flustered, Nesta tried to keep her expression neutral. It wasn’t that she was offended; she just wasn’t sure how to proceed without embarrassing Aelin’s cousin and possibly offending Aelin herself in the process.

Fortunately for Nesta, it seemed that Aelin had also overheard what had been said, and she reacted with no hesitation.

Quick as an adder, she slapped the blonde soundly upside the head and hissed, “That’s Cash’s girlfriend, you ignorant doorknob!” before flipping into smooth, clipped Spanish and adding, “Y ella habla portugués; puede entenderte. Sorry,” she said, turning back to Nesta with an apologetic smile. “You’d honestly think these two were raised in a barn. These are my cousins, Aedion and Galen.”

“Why am I being scolded?” Galen, the darker-hair one, asked. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” Aelin sniffed at him. “So you’re just as bad.”

Galen rolled his eyes in defeat and turned to make himself a drink, but Aedion only grinned, seemingly unruffled by Aelin’s rebuke as he extended his hand to Nesta.

“Lovely to meet you,” he said. “Cash is a lucky man.”

“Knock it off,” Aelin said, pushing his hand aside as she steered Nesta away. “She’s probably gotten enough of that from Rhys already.”

“Me?” Rhys said, laughing. “What did I do?”

“Plenty, I’m sure,” Aelin said, blowing him a kiss. “Besides, I thought you saved the worst of your shameless flirting for me!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Rowan said.

“Don’t get possessive,” Aelin lobbed back, flashing him a tarty smile over her shoulder. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“God, I’ve missed you,” Rhys said, grinning appreciatively at her.

“Then move to California already,” Aelin said, pouring herself a glass of champagne before topping off Nesta’s glass as well. “Then you can annoy Ro to your heart’s delight.”

“It’s tempting,” Rhys admitted. “But I wouldn’t want to encroach on Az’s hunting grounds.”

Azriel, who Nesta expected to clap back the way he usually did when someone brought up his love life, simply raised his glass in answer.

“Be my guest. You and I have very different taste in women.”

It was a testament, Nesta decided, to how comfortable Aelin’s arrival had made her, that she actually debated actually asking Azriel what his type might be. However, after a moment of consideration she decided not to push the issue, if only for fear of upsetting the delicate but promising balance she’d struck within the group.

She thought of how it had felt watching Cash meshing with her own friends, and she hoped he would be similarly pleased when he saw how easily she’d seemed to find her way with his. Because they’d all gone out of their way to accept her, even after what she’d put Cash through. Being here with them, it became dangerously easy, in fact, to imagine what a future amongst these people might look like for her. 

Before tonight, Nesta had been apprehensive to plan too far ahead where she and Cash were concerned, afraid to get her hopes up while things with his friends remained so much in the air. Hard as it had been, Nesta had promised herself when they’d started dating that she would never let herself come between Cash and the people who were most important to him, even if it someday meant making the difficult decision of letting him go so he wouldn’t be forced to choose.

She supposed she’d never forgiven herself enough to actually imagine they might accept her the same way Cash had. Sitting amongst them now, listening to them talk and laugh as if they didn’t all know how selfish and broken she’d been, her heart felt full in a way even she didn’t have words for.

“Boo, we’re out of champagne!” Aelin said, pulling Nesta from her reverie as she shook the empty bottle upside down and pouted in Rhys’s direction. “Please tell me we don’t have to flirt with the horrible owner to get more.”

“No champagne?” a familiar voice called, sending Nesta’s heart soaring into her throat. “What kind of shit party is this?”

Nesta leapt up in time to see Cash emerging from behind the gauzy curtain, a huge smile on his face. A cheer went up at his appearance, but he only had eyes for Nesta, stringing an arm around her waist as she approached and pulling her close.

“Miss me?” He asked, brushing his nose against hers as he grinned.

“A little,” she said, stroking a hand down his cheek. 

Before she could ask how the dinner went, Rhys interrupted with a laughing groan.

“Guess I’m going to have to order the expensive stuff, now that Kahukore is here.”

“No need,” Cash said, pulling a bottle from behind his back. “I brought my own.”

Nesta recognized the crest-shaped label and laughed.

“You got it?”

Cash grinned.

“They offered me the job on the spot. I fly to Paris next week to sign the papers. Here Sadeghi, this shit is bougie enough to get even your spoiled ass excited. Dom P3 Plentinude Brut, a gift from the personal wine cellar of Dom’s COO.”

“This beauty spends 20 years aging on its lees, and you want to share it with these animals?” Rhys asked.

“Good point,” Cash said. “We better open before I change my mind.”

Divesting the bottle of its cage with practiced ease, Cash held his thumb to the cork to keep it from accidentally popping off before offering the bottle to Nesta.

“Will you do the honors?”

She gently pushed the bottle back towards him.

“You’re better at it than I am,” she said.

“True,” he said, grin widening as she bared her teeth at him. “But I wouldn’t have gotten this job if you hadn’t pushed me to apply, so this one’s all you.”

“Nes-ta! Nes-ta! Nes-ta!” Aelin chanted, the others joining in until Nesta finally accepted the bottle from Cash, applying pressure to the cork before it finally came loose with an expert kiss of sound.

They all cheered again, Cash pouring a measure into the fresh glasses Rhys had produced before raising his own, Nesta still tucked comfortably into his side.

“Oscar Wilde once wrote, ‘pleasure without champagne is purely artificial.’ Since I’m not one to argue with the greats, I’ll simply say, here’s to genuine pleasure, friends!”

Another cheer went up as they all clinked glasses and took a sip, Nesta nearly moaning as it hit her tongue. It was even better than the bottle of Armand de Brignac they’d opened after Nesta’s trial, every carefully-cultivated flavor dialed to 11 by the lengthy aging process.

“What do you think?” Cash said quietly, studying her reaction with delight.

“Perfection.”

“Just like you, then,” he shot back easily.

Instead of sniping back like she normally would have, she merely smiled, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” he said. “For making me go tonight. It would have been a mistake not to.”

“No thanks necessary,”  she replied firmly. “Since there was no way I was going to let you miss it.”

“Things have been going...well here, I take it?”

She took a minute to compose herself, glancing down into her glass before meeting his eye again.

“The only thing that would have made it better would have been if you’d been here.”

He studied her face, seeming to relax as he read the calm contentment on hers.

“I’ve told you a million times; to know you is to love you, Nesta Archeron. Anyone who refuses to see that is truly blind.”

Nesta's heart stuttered a bit at that, both at the compliment and the reminder that there was still work to do when it came to repairing all the damage that had been done. Still, that was a problem for another day. Tonight, they were celebrating. 

xx 

It was Nesta’s phone which woke her the following morning, the annoyingly-bright chime alerting her there was someone at their front door. She turned over to wake Cash, intent on making him fetch whatever package had been dropped off so she could continue sleeping.

She was fairly certain she was going to be hungover for the next month after the bender they’d embarked on the night before, and she didn’t plan to get out of bed until she had to leave for work on Monday. Maybe not even then.

Blindly reaching for him, she found his side of the bed cool, and when she’d gathered the strength to open her eyes, she swore to find a note instead of the mass of naked man she’d been expecting.

Gone to the gym with Ro to sweat out the demons. Take the Advil I left you. &lt;;3 

She swore again at realizing he wasn’t there, and a third time for good measure when the doorbell chimed again.

“Just leave whatever it is and go!” She yelled, even knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell the delivery person could actually hear her.

When the door chimed a third time, Nesta groaned and hauled herself to her feet, slugging down the Advil and nearly falling down the stairs in her attempt to reach the front door. 

Dredging up whatever decorum she could muster, she smoothed her rumpled hair and fought down the urge to snap at the overeager UPS driver who’d thought it was appropriate to ring the doorbell three times on a Saturday morn—

Nesta felt herself go pale as she wrenched open the door to find that it wasn’t a delivery at all. It was Mor, looking fresh as a daisy and distressingly composed when compared to what Nesta was sure she must have looked like. 

A beat of horrifyingly awkward silence reigned before Nesta regained her wits enough to say, “I’m sorry, Cash isn’t home right now.”

“Actually,” Mor said, “I came to see you.”

The panic must have shown somewhat on Nesta’s face, because before she could manage a reply, Mor pressed on.

“I would have been here sooner, but apparently Rhys lent the jet to Aelin, so I had to fly commercial.”

When Nesta still didn’t reply, Mor shifted slightly, the first sign of discomfort she’d allowed to show.

“I know it’s early for a social call, but I thought—would you like to come to breakfast? I know a great place in Portrero Hill. My treat, of course.”

Nesta, for all her usual composure and aplomb, remained speechless. When she finally opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was “Why?”

“I was hoping we could...talk,” Mor said. When Nesta made no move to reply, Mor continued, “I wanted to apologize for yesterday, and for us to hopefully...start over.”

After another hideous beat of silence Mor seemed to relent, nodding as she stepped back, gaze falling to her feet.

“But I understand if now is not a good time. I’ll just let you get back to—“

“No,” Nesta said finally, making up her mind. If Cash could forgive her for the mistakes she’d made and allow her to move on from them, the least she owed him was to offer Mor the same chance. “I’d like that. I just need to—” she glanced down at herself. “I could be ready in twenty minutes, if that works.”

“Yes!” Mor said, eyes lighting up. “Take your time, I’ll come back in an hour.”

Mor was already heading for the stairs, and Nesta considered the courage it had taken to extend this olive branch before deciding to extend one of her own.

“Would you like to wait here instead? I can make coffee.”

Mor’s smile went from edged hopefulness to soft relief.

“I’d love that.”

@that-golden-lyre @aspidenchantress @annedub @so-chill-mochill @verypaleninja @bookofmaas @katexrenee@mightymorphingayagenda @tswaney17 @keshavomit @subhuman-queer @123moiaussi @b00kworm @sezkins79 @marnz @wesupremeginger @toallthefandomsivelovedbefore @rhysanoodle @actuallyacotartrash @empress-ofbloodshed-writing @superspiritfestival @donnarosemary @regolithheart @kingdomofbrokenhearts @mariamuses @verifiefangirl-mainblog @awesomethreedragons @awesomelena555 @kayak34

[egberts]

The legal costs may not be worth suing but some states have laws where the buyer's real estate agent can also be held liable if the seller failed to disclose problems so your realtor may be extremely biased in not wanting there to be a suit

very weird, i hope this isn't the case because she was very sweet. she sent us a copy of the "seller's disclosures" and under a section asking about if there have been any sewer problems they said "don't know" despite the fact that they apparently already had half the line replaced so. they definitely knew and then lied about it but I really don't know what our next step would even be? we are literally having to crowdfund just to have a working toilet, we can't really afford a lawyer and if our agent isn't working openly with us that'll make things even harder ):

[foxymoxynoona]

Over the Falls (Part 1: Ch 1)

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s…  fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings  rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and  unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband  has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds  himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit,  Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Masterlist | Chapter Two

“But you said it was fine for this year,” Grace sighed. Belatedly she remembered the sigh would send her husband. He hated when she sighed, even though it was unintentional. It was just… just breathing. She held so much tension in her shoulders and her lungs and periodically it had to ease out or she’d just die or something. 

“Well I didn’t know the board meeting would get pulled up, did I?” Tim didn’t even bother looking at her as he draped his suit bag across the back of the couch and set his rollerboard behind it. “So now I have a week to close this deal before I have to stand in a room in front of the men paying our bills and tell them that I failed. I fucked up.”

“But you didn’t fuck up,” she argued. “You’ve been busting your ass to make this partnership happen–”

“After the last one got yanked out from under my feet. Only a fuckup loses a deal that close to closing.”

“That’s not true,” she said and stepped in front of him. She pressed her hands to his chest. He paused and looked at her for a moment, truly looked at her. She saw in his face the long hours, the hard work, the tight deadlines and high stakes. She saw the years of constant travel, of rushed pitches, of last minute victories that secured first one, then another, then another acquisition. Tim was good at what he did. He was building an empire –an empire for Bang Si-hyuk rather than himself, but being the right-hand man paid well. Very well. 

Not that Tim had really needed the money. His father had been very good at this as well and built his own empire. Tim had wanted to make a point of not taking handouts from his father, but secretly Grace knew how much of their home and cars and lavish vacations had been her father-in-law’s gift until Tim got his feet under him. Their elaborate wedding had been her parents’ contribution, though. Nothing but the best for their angel daughter.

But in general her parents didn’t offer as much. Her family were investors and attorneys intermarried with prestige –old money, not the new, bubbly, flashy money that Tim and his parents needed to flaunt. They hadn’t offered her anything except a raised eyebrow when she’d decided to marry Timothy Birch. Was it necessary? Was she pregnant? Did she need money after all? Because if things were really bad–

It wasn’t any of those things. It was love. Grace had seen in Tim a fire, a desire to change the world, a strong moral center, and a safe, comfortable future. And love paid off! They’d been married for ten years now, paid off that first modest home Tim’s dad had co-signed for and traded it for a much bigger Colonial, and Grace worked her high-paying real estate job because she genuinely enjoyed it. No matter how many times Tim or her closest friends and most certainly her parents had suggested that maybe she’d be happier at home. You know. With kids.

But how were she and Tim supposed to start a family if he couldn’t even be home to celebrate this important date?

Tim stepped away and her hands were left hovering in the air as he sighed, “I’m sorry, Grace. But I can’t tell the board members I failed to close the deal because my wife needed me at home for a dinner.”

“Not just a dinner. Our anniversary dinner.”

“So we’ll eat our anniversary dinner next week,” he insisted. “The day isn’t important.”

“I know it’s not, we are. But you already had me cancel the week we were supposed to be in the Bahamas. You already had me cancel the luncheon I was going to throw–”

“That was stupid anyway.”

“Your mother demanded it! And I had to be the one to tell her we weren’t doing it –and I’d already put a lot of work into it! And now you won’t even be home to be with me.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“You’re gone too much,” she tried one more time, grabbing his arm. 

“It’s my career, Grace. You know it’s important to me.”

“I know that but… but I thought it was supposed to slow down at this point. You said it would.”

“Do you know what happens to a fighter jet if its propellers slow down?”

She sighed. He glared. She nodded.

“It crashes,” she answered. She’d never forget the day he’d made that demonstration while they were up in his hobby plan. Two years ago? He’d finally earned his license and taken her out for a joy ride even though she hated that fucking plane. She’d made the mistake of asking if he’d be home more now, because between work and golf and flying, she saw more of him at dinner parties than at home. 

His response had been to demonstrate a drop. 

She hadn’t been back in the plane with him since. 

Another of her mounting failures.

“Hey. I love you,” he said, suddenly taking her hand. “I’m really sorry I’m missing everything. I promise I’ll make it up to you, ok? The deal should only take me a couple days to close and then… it’ll be belated, but maybe you and I can take a long weekend somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you like.”

“Galapagos Islands,” she said, because she wanted to see the turtles. “Iceland,” for the Northern Lights. “Oh, what about that ship that takes people to Antarctica–”

“I was thinking more like Cabo,” he laughed. He patted her cheek and kissed her forehead. “I love that you still dream like a little girl. Don’t ever lose that, sweetheart. See you in a week, I hope!”

He grabbed his bags and headed out. 

It hadn’t been a bad fight, all things considered. Neither of them had gone for the jugular because there wasn’t really a point, since he had a flight to catch and this trip was an immovable object. Grace was disappointed about it all but not even a little surprised, so she hadn’t wasted her energy getting worked up over something that she couldn’t change.

The house was quiet without Tim; even though he worked a lot, there was still a marked difference around the place when he was in town or out. She’d obviously done all the designing and decorating, but he had such particular taste about things, and the combination always just seemed so loud when he wasn’t here to balance out the echo of her voice. He had so many things to mark his presence here even though he spent half of each month traveling. 

Movement in the backyard drew Grace’s attention and she leaned against the sliding door with a sigh. The pool boy was here again. He must have let himself in. Usually he knocked on the backdoor and waved to let her know he was there –a routine begun after once scaring the shit out of her when she’d come up from the gym to see a figure lurking in the backyard. Her scream had been mortifying, though he’d been kind and apologetic.

He hadn’t knocked today, but he might have picked up that she and Tim were fighting and steered clear. He seemed to have a knack for coming over when they were fighting, or maybe it was just because they fought so much. Every little thing seemed to blow up these days, from her not putting the laundry away quickly enough to him leaving whiskers around the bathroom sink after he shaved. Yes, they had housecleaners, but it was trashy to leave a mess for someone else to clean up. “New money,” Grace’s mother had mumbled when she’d complained about it, looking for sympathy or reassurance that men just are like that or something.

She was mortified if the pool boy had actually seen them fighting and felt that staunch Arison pride take over. If someone saw something that might look poorly on you –like fighting with your husband– you needed to immediately do damage control. Hired help talked. Rumors of domestic unrest were like blood in a swamp; nothing drew the gossiping mosquitos faster. 

Grace didn’t know how long he’d been working but decided it didn’t matter. She always offered him a drink and a snack anyway. Pink Lemonade or Sprite, he preferred those to anything else. And he always accepted a bag of chips “for the road,” which had amused her the first time he’d said it. As if he just drove from pool to pool in that garishly painted company truck, tossing back kale chips or spooning tuna salad onto crackers. After a few weeks of her offering the foods she kept on hand, he’d once asked if she had any Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. It had taken all her etiquette training not to laugh –definitely not something they kept stocked! But he looked so sweetly sheepish about making a request, and the whole point of offering was to actually show gratitude to the other person. He kept their pool looking so nice! So she tried to keep a box of chips tucked in the back of the pantry where Tim didn’t go anywhere.

She carried a sweaty Sprite and a bag of chips out with her now. He looked up from spooning something out of the pool with his net at the sound of the sliding door.

“Good afternoon!” she called as she slid her feet into a pair of sandals. 

“Hello, Mrs. Birch,” he called back. He had on a pair of dark sunglasses and a big floppy white bucket hat and a tank top with long arm holes that gave him a real beach bum vibe. She carried the tray over to the table beside the pool house where it could rest in the shade.

“I brought you a snack. I hope you aren’t too hot out here!”

“Ah, it’s pretty warm,” he said. She thought she might be annoying him because he turned his back to her and lifted the net out of the pool. 

“Ok, well, I’ll leave you to–”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Birch. Wait a moment. Just a moment…” He shuffled along the side of the pool and emptied the net into a trashcan, before setting it on the side of the pool and coming to her. “I’m sorry about that.”

“That’s ok! I know you’re working. I don’t mean to slow you down.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you with that…”

“With… what?” 

He swept his hat off and pushed his sunglasses up, revealing hair spiky with sweat along his hairline and a pressure mark on his tanned nose. 

“Ah, um… a mouse,” he mumbled. She stared. “It’s ok. I took care of it.”

“There was a mouse in the pool?!”

“Well… a rat…”

“I’m so glad you told me! If we have rats I need to call pest control! I promise we don’t usually have rats–”

His face opened up in a laugh as he assured her, “No, Mrs. Birch. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t a rat…”

Now she was absolutely confused and demanded, “JK, what was dead in my pool?” 

He smiled like this was all very funny. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand and lifted the Sprite from the tray, opening it with a quick twist of his hand. 

“I didn’t want to scare you, it was a squirrel.”

“I’m not scared of a squirrel…”

“A dead squirrel? Ok,” he shrugged and smiled again. “Sorry, Mrs. Birch. Sometimes the ladies are…” He gave her a sheepish look now. Her heart slowed down with the threat of a rat infestation gone. Why in the world had he not just said that from the beginning? It was kind if he’d been trying to spare her but honestly, she was made of sterner stuff than that!

“Well not this one,” she told him, “but thank you for trying to spare me. Is there sanitation that needs to be done in the–”

“Yes, I’ll definitely take care of it, Mrs. Birch.”

She gave him an apologetic smile, “I know you will, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I doubted your professionalism. It’s just been a day…” She turned her head to the side but glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, testing to see if he’d seen or heard anything. Maybe he had knocked on the door and she just hadn’t heard it?

“Well it’s beautiful outside,” he said. “Nothing a little sun can’t solve, right? I’ll have your pool nice again in no time or you can just…” He gestured to the lounge chairs at the far end, then dropped his face to put his mouth around the lip of the Sprite bottle. He tossed his head back and took a big sip with a sigh at the end, eyes red and watering. He sniffled. “It’s good, thanks.”

Grace grinned. “I’m glad. You know, I honestly don’t remember the last time I laid out by the pool.”

“Don’t you like to?”

“Oh yeah, when we first bought this house, I was out here every day with a Bloody Mary and a good thriller. Take a dip to cool off afterwards and–” She broke off, realizing she was waxing poetic about the happy earlier days of her privileged marriage to the fucking pool guy. Not to mention the rudeness. She was never totally sure what sounded like bragging, but suspected Bloody Marys by the pool on a weekday morning were not a part of JK’s routine.

“Won’t bother me if you give it a go while I’m working,” he shrugged. He set the Sprite down. “I just mean, don’t miss the sun on my account. Supposed to rain tomorrow.”

As tempting as the thought was, she didn’t want to make JK uncomfortable while he was working. She knew plenty of women who leered at their pool boys, who were just young men trying to do an honest job. She didn’t know a great deal about JK, but she knew he worked as a pool boy and a lifeguard and taught swim lessons, surfed in his free time, and that his favorite place he’d ever traveled was a summer he spent in Costa Rica, although he’d also gotten really sick there. Bad diarrhea. He hadn’t said that but insinuated it heavily and then looked embarrassed and Grace had thought that was pretty endearing. He was a nice guy, and he worked hard and did a good job. 

He was also rather good looking, so safe to assume he dealt with plenty of lecherous old women. Grace refused to be one of them! She was happily married and also not a predator, thanks!

“I appreciate the thought,” she thanked him now. “But I have some things I have to finish up inside and I need to–” Actually she no longer needed to pick up the dry cleaning with any sense of urgency, because she wouldn’t be wearing that blue dress that Tim liked so much to their anniversary dinner after all. “Finish some things up,” she clumsily finished. “So I’ll stay out of your way. If I’m gone when you finish just please be sure to lock up.”

“Yes, Mrs. Birch,” he nodded. “Thank you for the Sprite and chips.”

He was always so polite. She tried to treat all their household staff with kindness and respect but found it returned in various degrees. JK the pool boy was a good one though.

With nothing further to say or do, she bid him good day and returned inside. The conditioned air made her shiver at the contrast. It was going to be an incredibly hot summer if it was already like this in May. Global warming and all that. Thank god for the pool. She glanced over her shoulder one last time to see that JK was back to fishing things out of the pool, then went to cancel the dinner reservation with a sigh.

*

Mrs. Birch was not like the other women Jungkook cleaned pools for, that was the first thing he could tell you about her.

Agewise, he thought she was somewhere in the middle of the pack –those rich old dudes were always marrying women half their age, but sometimes they had old cutthroat wives who stuck around. He didn’t know how old Mrs. Birch was but he guessed somewhere in the middle of the range, maybe mid-30s or something? Late 30s? Could be 40s with a great surgeon or whatever, but usually you could tell when a white woman had a lot of work done trying to cling to her youth. Mrs. Birch had laugh lines and slight crinkles beside her eyes and a crease between her eyebrows but she had a youthful vibe and a girlish laugh, so fuck if he had any real clue about her age. 

She was definitely younger than her husband, Mr. Birch, who sucked donkey balls. Dude deserved a juvenile nickname but what the fuck could you do with the name Timothy Birch? Dickothy? Jungkook was a professional and tried not to spy or anything but he’d seen Mr. Birch obviously being a dick to Mrs. Birch too many times. Even if he couldn’t hear their arguments, it was always easy to tell who was being a bag of shit and who was on the verge of tears, having done nothing wrong.

Who gave a fuck about Mr. Birch, that overbaked piece of toast?

Mrs. Birch was kinder than the women at any of the other mansions Jungkook cleaned pools for. Some of them came out to say hello. Some of them brought food or drinks. Lots of them asked questions about who he was or how old he was or if he had a girlfriend or if he worked out. It came with the territory, and he’d learned how to handle the bolder ones in a way that didn’t cost him his job and usually got him glowing reviews and an occasional awkward tip. They always guessed that he surfed and giggled when they were right. Sometimes they even guessed he played guitar in a band and there were more giggles at how neatly he fit into this fantasy they were brazenly concocting about him. He actually played the drums. Maybe they’d ask when he was playing or if he gave surf lessons and he’d dodge the questions because he didn’t want these women stepping into those corners of his life. 

Mrs. Birch only asked the kind of questions he didn’t mind answering. She was the only one who, when he said he surfed, wanted to know what his favorite beach was. He’d gotten so flustered when she listened intently to his impulsive raving about the beaches in Costa Rica that he’d wound up telling her about getting the traveler runs. He’d left the job that day swearing he could never face her again.

But he had, and he didn’t regret it, because Mrs. Birch never made him feel weird or watched or like he was a piece of dog shit stuck to her designer heels. The ones who didn’t flirt often treated him like that. He’d been called Mexican too many times to count, which was racist in so many directions at once. There were ones who didn’t pay their bill and yelled at him when his boss told him to bring it up. There were ones who left disgusting shit –sometimes literally shit– in their pools for him to deal with. Or dangerous stuff; he’d sliced his foot open on broken glass once after someone’s rager, and when he’d calmly explained it was not his job to clean up the yard around the pool, they’d started chucking all the trash and broken glass into the pool. Thank fuck Jungkook’s boss had been happy to drop that client, but usually you had to just do whatever to get the job done.

Mrs. Birch would never do something shitty like that. Her husband was kind of intimidating, a real entitled rich asshole, but not Mrs. Birch. She never hovered but always said hello. She had told him before she sold houses and seemed really passionate about her job which was cool. She also clearly wasn’t from California, with her sweet little hint of Southern accent –he’d heard from some of the other guys she came from money too. Oil money in Tennessee or something. But she wasn’t a rich asshole at all, she was really nice, and remembered whatever stupid things he blurted out about himself whenever she asked. 

Because ok, the other thing was that aside from being really nice, Mrs. Birch was fucking hot. Not in the skinny plastic tanned way most of the other women were. She wore makeup and dressed nice and all that, and she was thin and athletic, but there was a naturalness to her. She carried some weight in her thighs and hips that was sexy. She did dye her hair blonde and he kind of wished she’d just let it be whatever the regular brown color was, but it looked nice on her. She had a really bright, sweet smile even without the lip fillers that seemed so popular, and cute dimples, and she had a really nice ass, if he was going to list the things he liked to notice about her. When she opened the sliding door, she never pulled hard enough and had to bump it with her hip; he always looked over the second he heard the door slide so he could see the way she popped that hip out. Her calves were shapely and he was pretty sure her thighs were too, though she was always wearing too much clothing to really get a detailed view of her body. Tits looked real though, a nice size, not so big he suspected they were fake, and they matched her ass. 

Well. Well there was one time he’d seen her wearing slightly less than her regular clothes. He’d only been working at their house a couple months –this was a couple years ago now– and she had clearly been working out in their home gym. The back of the house had tons of windows, windows everywhere, so he could see right into the living room and kitchen and dining room and even a bathroom that connected to the outside with an outdoor shower. So he’d seen her walk past all those windows just wearing a sports bra and tight little workout pants. He’d scared the shit out of her; the way she’d screamed had scared the shit out of him too! And sadly, he’d been so flustered by her rocking bod, he had failed to adequately commit her to memory, a regret he had to live with every day. But he had seen, he was certain he’d seen the dark blur of a tattoo on her lower back. He was sure of it! So that dark blur would also haunt him every day because Mrs. Birch was not someone you expected to have a lower back tattoo and he had questions…

Questions he would never get answers to. Because even if her husband was an asshole, he was just a run of the mill rich asshole, and women like Mrs. Birch never left their husbands. And while there were other women who might have not let that stop them –women who were eager to flirt and Jungkook didn’t know how far they’d take it if he didn’t sidestep their attentions– Mrs. Birch wasn’t one of them. He knew that and respected that a lot. Even if he did secretly wish she could hover a little bit.

Like why couldn’t she just get some sun on one of the lounge chairs while he cleaned the water? She could sit out with a bikini and a Bloody Mary and a book and he wouldn’t mind. It was against company rules to work shirtless, but if she enjoyed the view, he wouldn’t mind risking it for her. He could enjoy the view too, her in a bikini. Was she a black bikini woman? Or a flirty polka dot number? He hoped she wasn’t an animal print bikini person, it didn’t match her style at all, but he didn’t think she was. He could see her as a white bikini woman… damn, those always got a little see-through… Anyway, just looking wasn’t a crime…

But Mrs. Birch was one of those women who loved their husbands even when he didn’t deserve it. She had never shown even the slightest sexual interest in Jungkook. She only had eyes for her shitty, unappreciative, scumbag husband. Maybe Jungokok didn’t really know much about Mr. Birch or their relationship, but he definitely saw them unhappy way more than he ever saw them happy and that was enough for him to feel sure about it. He thought the way Mr. Birch kissed her on the forehead instead of the mouth when he said goodbye was stupid. Mrs. Birch seemed like a woman with untapped passion. She needed someone to really grab her and kiss her, not out of duty but out of need–

Maybe he was paying a little too much attention to Mrs. Birch. But nothing was happening, so he cared? He sure wasn’t going to start anything. Way too fucking shy and way too interested in keeping his job and again, Mrs. Birch wasn’t like that, even towards a pool boy. So it was all just in his head, and he didn’t let it go far in his head or anything. The fantasies. Maybe he thought about it sometimes, if she wasn’t home while he was working so there was no risk of getting caught red-faced and guilty-brained. Maybe he thought about her turning around and sliding her skirt down so he could see exactly what was going on with that maybe-tattoo… or sliding her skirt up so he could see what was going on with those thighs… but he hadn’t let it go further than that. The tease and denial was part of the fun after all. 

It was just that seeing Mrs. Birch was one of the best parts of his job, and he just wished she’d ogle him a little bit… The other women thought he was hot but, sadly, Mrs. Birch wasn’t like the other women…

It was a bad day. Long. Annoying. He’d spent the morning fighting with the owners of his first pool who insisted that the pool had been over chlorinated even though he showed them the readout proving the chemicals were on the lower end of normal ranges. They wanted a saltwater pool now because someone else had a saltwater pool, and when he tried to walk them through what the changes would entail, they spoke to him like he was stupid. They couldn’t believe he knew anything about pools. “He just cleans them. I’ll call the manager and talk to him about the work involved to switch it over…” 

Seething, Jungkook had left to find a missed call from his sister asking if he could babysit for her on Friday morning because she had a job interview. He understood that was more important than his morning surf time so of course he’d do it, and he loved his nephew, but it was still disappointing.

So he’d opened his messages to see if maybe– but no, he couldn’t make plans with Corri for Friday night to still have something to look forward to because she’d told him it was better if they just stayed friends. There were other girls he could try to message but he kind of didn’t see the point because they kept ghosting him. Did he really want to message Vic, who had once asked him how long he planned to keep cleaning pools? Or Deeda who said she didn’t think they had anything to talk about anymore just because she was in grad school now? Or Mara, who thought he spent too much time with his family and should “cut the umbilical cord already”? Teona disagreed, she thought Jungkook ought to spend more time thinking in the family way; time to grow up already because who still lived with their friends after college? Um, people without family inheritances funding their surfer influencer lifestyle maybe? At least Jungkook didn’t live at home anymore, right? That had certainly cost him a lot of dates before he moved out, like girls who didn’t even want to give him a chance just because he was an economic king? Fuck that! But he did move out, and now he still got shit about having roommates and his parents didn’t get the bonus rent he had paid whenever he could.

Dating sucked. Women his own age didn’t like him. Older women liked him too much. His friends had suggested he just go for it more than once. What’s wrong with a sugar mama? Jimin always asked, hitting his arm. Doesn’t that mean everyone’s happy?

Everyone except Jungkook! He wanted more than that in the grand scheme of things, so what? More than just to be some boytoy for ogling and flirting with when their husbands’ backs were turned… More than just a drunk fuck on the weekend, skin salty from a day on the waves… More than a hopeful second or even third date with a pretty woman he met on an app, only for her to suddenly decide it was going nowhere because he was going nowhere… Where was he supposed to go? He was happy! Except for the lack of girlfriend part.

He pulled into the Birch’s pool house driveway already cranky. At least this was the next house. He saw Mrs. Birch’s car in the open garage, though that didn’t guarantee she was home. If she’d bring him out the usual lemonade and chips, at least it would be one little bright spot on his otherwise miserable day. 

Not knowing when she might come out or if she could see him, he tried to look less like an angry asshole than he felt as he dragged the things he needed out of his truck and from their pool house. The sun was bright today; his skin glistened with sweat before he even started. He pulled on his wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off his face and neck as he grabbed the net to start fishing out the leaves that had fallen in and evaded their filter. Mr. Birch refused to have one of the automatic pool cleaner robots because the cord annoyed him, but it meant weekly or sometimes twice-weekly visits from Jungkook so whatever, not his money.

He’d reached the deep end of the pool to scoop out a cluster of leaves huddled under the diving board as if they’d been seeking shade when he saw her. Mrs. Birch in the kitchen. Crying. 

She leaned against the counter looking at something in her hand and clearly didn’t realize he had arrived. Only strange coincidence had them look at each other at the same time and he could tell by her expression she hadn’t expected him to be there. Because he hadn’t knocked like he usually did, fuck. 

Quickly Jungkook dropped his gaze and concentrated as hard as he possibly could on the pool. Pool guys were definitely not supposed to be looking into the windows of a house; they were supposed to be unseen, unheard, unremarked upon staff. But Mrs. Birch had definitely just seen him looking into her kitchen, watching her cry against the counterlike a fucking creep.

Shit.

Shit, not so much because he’d been caught –while it wouldn’t have been the first time a nice-seeming client turned asshole the second something went wrong, or even the first time a woman turned on him because a vulnerability got exposed, he wanted to believe Mrs. Birch was better than that.

But shit because something had made Mrs. Birch cry. Obviously he had no actual idea what it was. Maybe her childhood dog had died. Maybe her favorite salad place had closed down. Maybe her favorite character had finally left whatever daytime soap was popular among older women right now. Maybe it was that time of month and a really emotional Coca Cola commercial had played –that always got his mom going.

Jungkook’s money though was on Mr. Birch being a dick. Once again. Mr. Birch was a rich asshole. Rude, impatient. Apparently he was a really talented businessman, which Jungkook assumed meant incapable of kindness, softness, or passion  –all of which of course a nice woman like Mrs. Birch would need and deserve. Besides, Jungkook did know they fought sometimes, and he couldn’t imagine Mrs. Birch actually doing anything wrong. Mr. Birch was the obvious culprit. He’d put his money on it.

The fantasy came into his head without permission: Jungkook, striding through the sliding door into her house, opening his arms and calling, “Hey, pretty girl, what did that asshole do this time?” She’d fall into his arms sobbing but he’d hear her out and talk her down and ask if she wanted him to beat down the prick husband. Which he would and could, obviously. Something about calling an older woman “pretty girl” just seemed nice, like for a moment he could just erase the age difference with her or something and be the strong, mature caretaker. Mrs. Birch needing him not only sexually but emotionally too seemed pretty bitchin’. Obviously she’d need him sexually, but to look up to him and admire him and rely on him too? Yeah, sweet…

Aside from the obvious reality checks (Mrs. Birch was married and had never expressed any interest in him sexually or otherwise), he realized Mrs. Birch might find it hella offensive for Jungkook to call her “pretty girl.” That might not actually be something older women liked. Women his own age were divided on it, based on his personal research. And when it didn’t land well, it really didn’t land well. 

He would have liked a raunchier fantasy to play out but none immediately came to call. Fuck his bad day, it was making his mind-dick limp too? He stabbed at the water and tried to dredge up filth but instead he thought of sitting down beside Mrs. Birch and laying his head in her lap and feeling those tits press against the side of his head as she leaned over to comfort him… ok, that was something, he could just turn his face a little, maybe catch a nipple with his teeth–

Fuck it. 

He was having a shit day and could use some ogling. Mrs. Birch was having a bad day and deserved some eye candy. He was eye candy, other women clearly thought that! Maybe just this once Mrs. Birch would notice.

He doubled back to strip off his shirt. He tossed his hat aside too and took a moment to apply sunscreen –for safety, obviously, but also so his skin would have that shiny glow to it. He looked himself over, just to make sure everything was oiled and in place. Without the hem of his shirt to cover it, his boardshorts hung low, showing off the shallow cliff of his v-line and the ridges of his abs. He wished he was a bit taller and bulkier but his chest and shoulders and back were fire, so whatever. His muscles came from surfing more than pressing iron and he didn’t exactly have the time for body-building but he was fit and toned. Who the fuck could afford a personal trainer anyway? 

Shit, why was he second guessing his own looks? No! Fuck it! Older women thought he was hot. They liked the combo of his baby face and washboard abs –their words, not his. Ah, too bad the board shorts hid his thighs, his thighs and ass got him compliments from those blessed enough to see him naked… He was hot! Women said so! 

He reached into the pool to wet his hands and splashed water onto his hair so he could push it back. Maybe she’d be inspired by his shoulder tattoo to show off her own…

He’d never felt so naked at someone’s house before, but he did his best to look sexy as he worked. Actually the cool water looked sexier on this hot day than anything he could do. It was a nice big pool, rectangular and deep with lane-markers in the tile, so one of them must have been a swimmer. Wider than a lap pool though and there was a fountain on one side. If he had a pool like this, he’d be out in it every morning for a dip. 

He kept trying to look in the window without it being obvious he was looking in the window. Having his shirt off… it didn’t look desperate, right? It was just a thing pool guy’s did. Yes it was against the rules but he knew plenty of guys did it anyway in the hopes of a bigger end of season tip or, even riskier, cougar bait. 

He paused on the edge of the pool with the test strip. Was he… cougar baiting? But it wasn’t going to go anywhere. He wasn’t doing anything. There was nothing wrong with looking, if Mrs. Birch wanted to look at him. That’s why he’d taken his shirt off! Nothing was going to happen!

Unless… unless what if it did? What if this was a signal for action he hadn’t meant to send? What if Mrs. Birch had simply been polite but he’d now set a train rolling that wouldn’t be stopped… they were both in a weak place today. She might seek comfort and... And obviously he couldn’t go through with that, she was married for fuck’s sake, and he could lose his job, and honestly he didn’t put it past Mr. Birch to fucking shoot him or ruin his life or something… and there was the emotional part too that he didn’t really want to be the other guy, he wanted to be the guy for someone–

The door slid open behind him. He spun, definitely not looking as cool and casual as he had hoped.

“Hello,” Mrs. Birch greeted, carrying the tray of chips and a cold pitcher of lemonade over to the glass-top table. “The lemonade is fresh and I added extra ice. If it’s too miserable out here, you can turn those cabana fans on. It’s a real scorcher today, isn’t it?”

He walked over, trying not to overthink his saunter.

“Ah, yeah, it’s brutal today,” he agreed, reaching for the glass. She’d… she’d noticed he was shirtless, right? That’s why she was talking about how hot it was? Did she mean him? If not,  she wasn’t reacting at all. “I’ll have your pool nice so you can enjoy it later; perfect day for it.”

“Thank you so much,” she smiled at him. “I have to run out to meet a client soon but I look forward to it later today. I really appreciate all your hard work keeping it nice out here.”

Not sure how to respond to her kindness when he’d been trying so hard to be ogled, he awkwardly pointed out, “That’s what you pay me for.” Wait, did that sound too dismissive or too flirty? Was he trying to flirt? Not really but… but if she wanted to flirt, he’d flirt! If it would cheer her up! She didn’t look like she was crying anymore so maybe it had worked? Quickly he added, “But I try to keep this pool particularly nice.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Well I appreciate your hard work and… thanks. Just please make sure to close the gate on your way out.”

“I always do.” 

She didn’t say anything else, just gave him a watery smile and retreated back into the house. Usually they talked for at least a couple minutes, so that had been remarkably short. She had said she had errands to run, but she wound up not leaving the house for a long time yet. And he already knew she was having a bad day, but he saw her in the kitchen and she didn’t seem to cry again. 

Or… had she been nervous talking to him when he didn’t have a shirt on? Could that be true, had he left her too flustered for smalltalk? Could Mrs. Birch be shy? 

He whistled to himself as he left.

**

Why was the pool guy shirtless?! Was it really so hot out there? She felt bad if he was that miserable –they had fans with misters that could help! He knew that, didn’t he? But honestly it wasn’t that bad out there… but he was probably running around working by pools all day while she was inside her crisply air conditioned home, crying her eyes out because of that stupid argument with Tim–

Whatever. It wasn’t a good time for the pool guy to be shirtless. Did he have to look like that?! Sure, she already knew his arms and shoulders were toned, and likely the rest of his body as well from all the surfing. His shoulders and cheeks were always sunkissed. But she wasn’t in the business of objectifying people going about their day, so she’d noticed without noticing. He had such a charming smile, that’s what she had always let remain fixed in her mind, but now she couldn’t unknow. She knew too much! She had seen way too low down his happy trail, like his board shorts were going to slip off at any second and leave nothing left for the imagination.

Not that she was imagining! Just… noticing. Was it wrong to notice the muscular curve of his shoulders, and how toned his back was and how his chest actually pillowed as he dragged the net through the water? Probably! But she was married, not dead. How could she not notice? Jungkook was a hunk and he was probably only going to get even more handsome as he aged. Lucky woman who got to–

No, no, stupid line of thought. Just because she was cranky about her own marital troubles didn’t mean she should go down that salty path. The grass was always greener. Hopefully he did have a happy life going on outside of tending to rich peoples’ pools. And anyway, wasn’t she lucky to have Tim? Handsome, successful, enamored(ish) with her…

She took out snacks to try and be normal but found herself a bit tongue-tied talking to him. God, men like him had never paid her much attention when she was younger unless they were after her family money. Suddenly she was fourteen at summer camp again, enamored by the cool surfer boy lifeguard who only ever looked right through her… Except Jungkook didn’t look through her, he kept grinning like he knew he was fucking with her head. Were reviews coming up or something? Was he working shirtless this week, hoping everyone would put in a good word? She refused to be worked! 

She fabricated a meeting with a client as an excuse to keep their chat short. The crooked grin and dimples beneath the dark shades were bad enough but then he slid his sunglasses up to rest in his mop of dark curls and arched his eyebrow –she wasn’t even sure what they were talking about, the weather?-- and she thought for sure he was about to quip my eyes are up here, Mrs. Birch. His skin looked warm, like molded sunlight, like summer vacation in the form of a man. Damn, he had the kind of natural glow and ageless beauty she knew plenty of people spent top dollar trying to emulate. 

It was good she kept the conversation short. A bad day was not the right time to harass the poor pool guy just here to do his job! She fled quickly inside, but forgot to follow through on leaving for her non-existent errand at first, until she realized she needed to go by her office anyway. Maybe she dragged her feet… just looking wasn’t a crime, right? Maybe? If he didn’t want someone looking, why had he taken off his shirt?! 

No. No no she didn’t want to be this kind of woman! This wasn’t who her parents had raised her to be. She shouldn’t be crude about a real person just because she was having a bad day and it didn’t make her feel better anyway, it made her feel worse. Was Tim right about her? One fight with her husband and she slid right into being a lecherous old cougar…

So she grabbed her purse and keys and fled her own house.

Mr. and Mrs. Birch weren’t always fighting when Jungkook came over. 

In general it wasn’t unheard of to be working on a pool and accidentally notice things going on inside the house even when you really didn’t want to. To people with money, the staff was invisible until you fucked something up. And some people just had no shame about what the help saw. He’d gotten an unwanted eyeful plenty of times, or turned on music to drown out the fucking floating out of an open window. Lucky bastards, fucking in the middle of the day like that while some people had to work…

Such was the case when Jungkook came over to clean the pool one Wednesday afternoon. 

Usually he came by at the same time each week so he could maximize the likelihood of running into Mrs. Birch and minimize the likelihood of running into Mr. Birch. That day when he pulled up though, he could see every spot in the garage filled with a car. Four cars. Mr. Birch had two old ones that were pretty fucking cool, the kind of cars old rich men bought to drive on the weekends up the coast. The kind of car his dad would have loved to drive but had never been anywhere close to. God, he would have loved to buy his dad a convertible for his fiftieth birthday a few years ago but that definitely wasn’t happening on a pool guy’s salary and neither of them knew the first thing about fixing up an old junker.

Jungkook was already brittle with jealousy about the cars as he began his work and then gradually realized that the distant sounds of sex were maybe not so distant. His face jerked towards the source, an upstairs window of the Birch’s house. Honestly, he’d never heard a man that loud during sex before, grunting like an old lawnmower that wouldn’t start. A repetitive lighter gasp, like an alarm no one was bothering to tend to, sat on top of the grunts, so consistent that he didn’t even register it first.

Jungkook’s ears went red. Shit. 

Look, Jungkook had fucked around plenty. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been around other people fucking. For fuck’s sake, he lived with two other guys, so he’d had his morning cornflakes to the annoying sound of an early-risen roommate. 

But the second he realized he was overhearing Mr. and Mrs. Birch fucking, mortification consumed him. Maybe it was because he had that funny kind of crush on Mrs. Birch. Maybe it was because he thought Mr. Birch was so vile. Maybe it was because the idea of that shriveled old guys’ raw dick being anywhere near the nice and pretty Mrs. Birch was just a bridge too far and now it was confirmed. Ok, sure, they were married, they’d probably had lots of sex in their lives together. Maybe? But he’d never seen or heard it before, and since he saw them fighting, he’d sort of assumed they didn’t do that. Obviously Mr. Birch couldn’t be good. He was selfish and way too old for Mrs. Birch. He looked all wrong next to her, there was no way he looked better on her.

This dose of reality was an unwelcome one: Mr. and Mrs. Birch were married and had sex and Jungkook’s happy fantasy that they were miserable and on the cusp of divorce and she’d turn to him for comfort was slapped in the face by reality. He didn’t actually know anything about them. For all he knew, they were wildly in love and he, as the pool boy, just wasn’t privy to the realities of their marriage. For all he knew, he just managed to always see them at the wrong time for the two and a half seasons he’d cleaned their pool. Or maybe he misunderstood the emotional charge in those moments; maybe something else was upsetting Mrs. Birch and Mr. Birch was her champion. Maybe Mr. Birch was somehow a great husband! She sure seemed to be, um, enjoying that… maybe? That wasn’t how he’d imagined she sounded when he sometimes– look, it wasn’t personal, but she was hot and his mind went to a desperate, embarrassing place when he was jacking off

At least they finished up quickly. He must have arrived at the very end of it, thank fuck. Or maybe Mr. Birch couldn’t last long. He was old, after all. But that didn’t put Jungkook in any better of a mood when Mr. Birch wandered into the kitchen not long after, pouring two glasses of ice water. Mrs. Birch wasn’t far behind, but while he had only a robe on, she had pulled on leggings and a t shirt, like she’d just been working out or watching TV or something casual…

But Jungkook knew what they had just been doing. Usually he didn’t give a shit but now he felt weird and unhappy to be here. It was confirmation of an obvious thing: Mr. Birch fucked Mrs. Birch. Wow, alert the media. A husband fucks his wife! So what that Jungkook didn’t like that? Now he knew they fucked in the middle of the day sometimes. Cool. He could have died happy without knowing that but ok.

He sulked as he cleaned the pool. He contemplated taking his shirt off again, because it was a hot day, and maybe in the hopes Mrs. Birch would notice and think about what Mr. Birch didn’t look like, could never look like… but he didn’t. 

That was for the best, since when Mrs. Birch came out to bring Jungkook ice water and a bag of chips, Mr. Birch came with her. It was less than she usually offered, and Jungkook thought she looked apologetic about it, but maybe he just imagined that.

“We’re having people over this weekend,” Mr. Birch said, walking along the side of the pool with his hands in the pockets of his robe. He curled his toes in a weird way when he walked, and Jungkook wondered if the concrete was too hot on his little wealthy feet. 

They weren’t little actually. They were big, ugly and wrinkly and Jungkook wondered if maybe Mr. Birch was actually an honest-to-god gremlin.  

“Make sure the pool is perfect,” Mr. Birch said because he was still talking. “None of the leaves in the bottom like last time.”

Mrs. Birch looked uncomfortable as she said, “Those happened after he was here last week because the O’Connor’s cleaned their yard and blew all their leaves our direction–”

“Those fuckers need to fix that shitty fence or I’m going to start throwing shit right back,” Mr. Birch grumbled.

“Tim…” Mrs. Birch gave him a look that must have been fond. Jungkook could not for the life of him figure out how someone like Mrs. Birch could be fond of Mr. Birch. It ruined his brief high that Mrs. Birch had defended him. 

Jungkook was still holding the net and trying not to look at Mr. Birch in the hopes he’d fuck off, but he didn’t miss the nod in his direction that Mrs. Birch gave her husband, like he was saying something he shouldn’t. Now Jungkook didn’t think she looked fond –she was embarrassed, he realized. Of course she was. Mrs. Birch was a saint and wouldn’t shit talk her neighbors like that, she’d just been stating a fact about the O’Connor’s and defending Jungkook’s work. He smiled at her before he could stop himself, then hurried to cover it with,

“Mr. Birch, if you’re concerned about debris in between cleanings, I could install a pool cleaner robot for–”

“No, that’s what we pay you for,” Mr. Birch interrupted. “You’re the pool boy. Don’t farm out your own job,” he scoffed. It took great self control from cleaning rich peoples’ pools for years to not snap back and point out that the robot wouldn’t remove dead squirrels or check the chemical levels, it would just slurp up the pine needles in between his thorough care.

“A pool technician manages many things to keep your pool nice,” he suggested evenly. “If you don’t want the robot, I could come out twice a week, or you could always call if you need a cleaning ahead of an event–”

Mr. Birch actually laughed and pointed, saying to Mrs. Birch, “Yep, there’s that upsell!” Jungkook felt hatred deep in his belly for this asshole. He was doing his job. 

It was clear Mr. Birch sailed through life because he had a woman like Mrs. Birch to clean up the shit he stepped in and tracked everywhere.

“He’s a professional, of course he knows the answers,” she laughed gracefully. “I can run the net around if I need to before everyone comes over on Saturday, Tim,” she added. Jungkook wanted to box Tim’s ears that’s your job, fucker, don’t make her do it! At least let me do it! She continued, “Anything more than that, you’ve lost me. Chemistry was not my best subject in high school…”

Without missing a beat, Mr. Birch laughed, “Well you didn’t need chemistry after all anyway, huh? No science to selling houses.”

“Economic science,” Jungkook suggested, unable to help himself. He wasn’t even sure that was a thing but he blurted it out because it sounded like Mr. Birch was disparaging Mrs. Birch, who worked hard (probably) at her job even though she (probably) didn’t even need to and could just sit at home on her ass spending his money like a lot of the other wives (probably) did. 

Unfortunately Mr. Birch just laughed.

Mrs. Birch smiled too, like she appreciated his effort, and suggested, “We’ll leave you to it but call if you need something, as always.” She gestured to the snacks on the table with one hand and nudged Mr. Birch back into the house with the other. 

Jungkook waited until Mr. Birch had stepped inside ahead of her to call after, “Hey, if it’s bad before your party, the O’Connor’s clean their yard again or whatever, just call and I can come clean up as a one-off. S’not a problem.”

“Thank you, JK. I’m sure we’ll be fine though. Saturday is surf time, isn’t it?”

The fact she remembered that he liked to go surfing Saturday mornings flustered him into saying nothing in response. He just dropped his gaze and stared at the pool. Sure, that was a low fucking bar for people but still! How could a woman who so kindly remembered he spent his Saturday mornings surfing be married to that limp-dicked troll? She deserved so much better than that. Someone like him, right? Someone who thought her real estate work was cool and impressive and wanted to spend lazy evenings swimming together in this nice pool and who understood how to really take care of that body of hers. No way had Mr. Birch been good to her upstairs. She was faking it, he was sure of it. She’d never need to fake it with him, he’d fuck her so good–

Fuck, he wished Mr. Birch would just drown in this pool. He’d just do a full cleanse after and the pool would look great and Mrs. Birch’s problems would be solved.

Grace carried the two glasses of rosé to join Megan in the living room. Usually Megan was wandering along the gallery wall, admiring the art or peppering Grace with questions about the framed photographs of holidays and events tucked in among the paintings and prints Grace had collected over the years. She only ever bought small paintings because Tim thought big paintings were tacky and they cost too much to convince him otherwise, though she did have one large one her grandparents had gifted her currently hanging in the dining room. She wanted it in the bedroom but it wasn’t worth the fight.

Tim also didn’t like rosé –he considered it a bastardized wine– but Tim wasn’t here right now, so she took great delight in handing Megan the glass and lifting her own to her lip.

“Hey, does your pool guy always work shirtless?”

Grace swallowed some wine down the wrong pipe and had to pound on her chest to free it. Once able to breathe again, she could see that JK was in fact shirtless by the side of the pool, sunlight shiny on his tanned arms and shoulders and back.

Holy hell, not again.

“No, not usually,” she said, sounding cool and calm.

“Damn. My poolboy doesn’t look like that… what service are you using again?”

“Oh, I don’t know the name, I think it’s printed on his truck,” she lied, waving her hand. He’d crouched over to adjust something with the net and his board shorts hugged his frame tight, so low she suspected she might see ass if she looked closely. There was so little to his torso! Maybe she had noticed before how narrow his waist was compared to his shoulders, but from the side she was scandalized by the reminder that his pecs had actual volume to them and his stomach, in fact, did not. 

“God, I’d be out there sunbathing if my poolboy looked like that,” Megan continued. “That’s a young man in his prime. Look at that tan, it’s real! And those muscles… I bet he’s insane in the sack…”

“Megan!”

“What! I’m lonely and horny. Adam’s been on site for a month now… Oh don’t look scandalized, I’m not actually banging the help. A girl can dream, can’t she? No harm in looking. I adore Adam… but he’s definitely not outperforming someone like that in bed.”

Grace sighed and insisted, “You can’t tell how someone performs in bed just by looking at them.”

“Maybe you can’t…”

“Stop,” she laughed. “Stop gawking at my pool technician. If he looks over and sees us– Megan!”

He had, in fact, looked over. He waved at them, so there was no hoping he hadn’t seen them peering out the window at him. Grace was good at smoothing over awkward situations but couldn’t see an easy way out of this one except to wave back and grab Megan’s arm and drag her away from the window. She’d already taken his snacks out earlier before Megan got here. He’d been wearing a shirt then… 

“Does Tim know you have a hot stud like that around here every week?”

“Oh please,” Grace laughed. “Like he has anything to worry about.”

“I know, I’m just teasing. Good-girl Grace, definitely the last person anyone expects to fool around with the poolboy. Which means…” Megan wiggled her eyebrows.

Grace just rolled her eyes, “Yes, the last person. He’s very young and definitely not looking to be harassed by a couple of old married women while he’s just doing his job.”

“If he didn’t want us to admire him, he wouldn’t have his shirt off.”

“Meg! That’s crass victim blaming, even from you–”

“He’s not a victim, is what I’m saying! Poor boy is probably desperate for you to notice him every week. He’s rubbing one out every night wishing you’d march out there one day and mount him on the lounge chair–”

“MEGAN FERRERO!”

“Ugggh I’m reading too many romances lately,” Megan sighed. “I’m going to tell Adam he can’t ever leave me alone this long again. I can’t be trusted.”

Grace didn’t want her friend to see how flustered that little scenario had left her. Not because she was thinking about that sort of thing with JK. But just because it was suggested and– honestly, he was just a guy doing his job! 

“That’s right, you can’t be trusted!” Grace teased to cover herself. “From now on I’ll have to schedule your visits when I have no staff around the house–”

“Oh god do you only hire really attractive people? See, this is why it helps to be friends with people who like art. You have an appreciation for beauty!”

“I do but that did not get utilized when choosing a pool cleaning service…”

“No wonder you wound up with a handsome man like Tim. You have a good eye.”

“Hm, I suppose so…” Grace smiled. Things with Tim seemed… off lately. Which wasn’t saying much because they’d always had their highs and lows, and this wasn’t even really low compared to previous lows. He just seemed strange lately, bouncing between standoffish and more ardent than she’d seen him in years. He was closing in on a big deal. He was traveling less but to more interesting places. He’d even suggested she could go on the trip to St. Bart with him next month, maybe they could make a longer stay of it. That would be nice, right at the end of the season, once the Europeans were done with their obscenely long summer holidays. Probably the place would be rife with people they knew, as close to the “trip to the sea” holidays that showed up so often in the old English novels Grace liked to read on a rainy day.

“Or more like Tim has a good eye,” Megan corrected, nudging her with her toe.

Quickly Grace slid decorum back into place and nodded with an arched eyebrow, “Yes, we both made quite the acquisition.” It made Megan laugh and Grace suppressed the sigh of relief. If there was anything her parents had taught her, it was never to show your belly, even to your friends. Especially to your friend who seemed to accumulate any bit of gossipy trivia about everyone. With any luck, the pool business JK worked for was going to see a surge in business soon, right at the end of the summer pool season, with probably particular requests for JK… But dear lord, how would Megan figure that out? Grace hadn’t said his name. How would Megan describe him– oh, she realized, probably as “the young man who cleans the Birch’s pools.” Probably the requests would be good for JK career-wise, though she hoped no one bothered him actually. Was it ok to ogle your handsome staff? Grace really didn’t think so. And so she didn’t!

“Now I didn’t bring you over here to prey on my pool guy, we’re supposed to be talking about what we want to pitch for the benefit to the committee–”

“Before those skanky hoes Trish and Nancy scoop us again,” Megan instantly sulked. 

“Adam will be back before the vote, right? It’s ultimately the men on the board who decide–”

“Oh I’ll make sure he’s back, and you keep Tim here too. Just because we aren’t blowing the rest of them doesn’t mean we can’t find other ways to sabotage–”

“Or we could just have the best idea.”

“Oh Grace,” Megan laughed. “Sometimes I forget you’re so much younger than me. You’re not even forty yet! A fresh babe.”

“You’re only forty-three.”

“Yes, and so worldly. Trust me. This is important. This is about establishing ourselves! Those old bitches need to roll over and die, it’s our turn to take over, the younger generation. She doesn’t look a day over sixty but Nancy is definitely in her seventies. Might just take one good jump-scare…”

“You are incorrigible,” Grace laughed, shaking her head. Megan was new money, lavish, ostentatious, a gossip, overly blunt –literally everything Grace had been raised not to be. It was shocking! And yet, despite the dent it likely caused on her impeccable social card, Grace found herself seeking out Megan’s company time and time again. In a sea of masks, Megan let hers slip sometimes. Usually when she was throwing it off because someone had pissed her off…

“But you love it. Ok. So I’m thinking… exotic dancers–”

“Meg!”

“Sorry! Your poolboy inspired me! Fine, I forgot, that’s only what the men do on their own, we’re supposed to pretend not to know. What about… Old Hollywood?”

“Does it seem out of touch? It’s to benefit starving children…” Grace tactfully reminded her.

“All right, let’s refill our wine glasses to think, I need more rosé.”

Mr. Birch had complained to the pool company about his pool. He’d felt there were too many leaves in it within days of cleaning. Fortunately Jungkook’s boss Bob understood these kinds of complaints and had said all the right things and then carried forward zero of the reprimands. When asked if he wanted a different pool technician, Mr. Birch had said he “didn’t give a fuck, I just want it done right.”

But Mrs. Birch had also called, Bob explained further, to apologize for her husband and insist that Jungkook did a fantastic job taking care of their pool and there was no need to replace him unless he was uncomfortable working at their house, which she would understand. Mrs. Birch was a class act. His boss told him the calls happened close together, and Mrs. Birch’s voice sounded like she was upset, so he suspected there was a fight. Probably the pool wasn’t the important thing they were fighting about and Mr. Birch’s anger just got passed down the little guy, that’s how these things went.

Jungkook thought it was possible Bob told him all this to make sure he wasn’t getting into something he shouldn’t, because Bob stopped laughing and had that look on his face. Jungkook would not be the first guy to get fired for fucking someone’s wife on the side. Jungkook easily and honestly reassured him that was not an issue here. He was not involved with anything but cleaning the pool.

How could he be when Mr. and Mrs. Birch were suddenly so busy fucking like rabbits on the afternoons he came by? The sex noises were even louder this time and it was so fucking obnoxious he almost just turned around and left. Was Mr. Birch trying to prove a point or something? Fuck that guy. Mrs. Birch shouldn’t be married to that piece of shit and either it was a money thing or a magical tongue thing but Mr. Birch didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d eat pussy so probably it was a money thing. Well… Jungkook couldn’t offer anything when it came to money but his tongue was a different story and which really led to a happier life?

Ok honestly probably the money…

He decided to stay, in the hopes it would grate on Mr. Birch’s nerves to see him still working there after his complaint. At first it was fine, he just put his headphones on. But eventually the noise got too loud to be drowned out, and it was pissing him off to hear, “Oh Tim! Oh Tim!” chanted through music he loved.

He ripped the headphones out just as the woman gave an actual scream of pleasure. The mixture of anger and embarrassment that Mrs. Birch could sound like that froze him in place for a moment. That had apparently been the end of it because sudden silence followed. Thank fuck.

His blood was still boiling though, a nauseating mixture of horny and angry. What the fuck? He always came on Wednesdays. This didn’t have to happen on a Wednesday afternoon with the windows wide open. Didn’t they have any fucking decency for the neighborhood?!

Also what the fuck had Mr. Birch done to make Mrs. Birch cum so hard? Jungkook had found some comfort over time in convincing himself that sadly Mrs. Birch’s sexlife was a pleasureless one and he could be so much better for her. But he’d never made a woman scream like that… not that he didn’t work hard to satisfy anyone he landed in bed with but that scream was unreal. In fact, it had to be literally unreal, right? It had to be fake. It had to be! He thought he’d be able to tell as soon as Mrs. Birch came down and remembered he was here and brought him his usual snacks. Maybe she’d just been in a hurry to get Mr. Birch to stop poking at her with his skinny hot dog dick.

Nonetheless, his ego was threatened. It was the one area he’d felt superior. It was bullshit if this pimpled-asshole got to be rich, lazy, married to someone like Mrs. Birch and actually had good dick game. It wasn’t fucking fair. Assholes always got ahead in life and meanwhile decently-ok guys like Jungkook were stuck cleaning their pools and fantasizing about their wives bent over the side of the pool when they jacked off in the shower because another girl had ghosted after only a couple of dates. Not to mention living to paycheck to paycheck and arguing with the landlord about whether they were in their right to install a basketball hoop over the garage or not. Probably he wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn’t ripped the gutter down the first time Jungkook hit the backboard…

He texted the loudest woman he’d ever fucked who he was also still on friendly terms with to see if she’d be willing to chill this weekend. Fine. Mrs. Birch wanted to get fucked so hard by her husband? He could fuck a woman even harder! One who wanted to be fucked by him! He didn’t care if he was being crazy right now!

But when he realized there was movement in the kitchen and that he was standing here on his phone, he nearly dropped it in his panic. Mr. Birch already wanted him fired, it wouldn’t help him if they saw him on the side of the pool on his phone. He hurried to shove it into his back pocket while also glancing at the window to make sure no one had seen him.

They had not. Because in fact they were fucking again. The woman was sitting on the kitchen counter wearing a silky robe spread open while Mr. Birch clearly tried to guide his dick into her, staring down as if he wasn’t sure how to work his own junk. He had a robe on too, thank fuck, but that wasn’t the important part.

The important part was that that was not Mrs. Birch.

Without even thinking about it, Jungkook raised his phone without moving any other muscle of his body, like they couldn’t see him if he didn’t move. He took several photos.

Illegal? Yes. Immoral? Probably. Likely to get him fired? Definitely. But he wasn’t thinking about that right now. His brain was too busy rocketing around his skull because A.) if Mr. Birch realized Jungkook was here, he was definitely going to get him unjustly fired and B.) Mrs. Birch deserved so so so much better than this fucking piece of shit limp dick who had his head so far up his own ass he’d have an affair while the pool guy was here. 

Where was Mrs. Birch? She was usually here at this time! Why wasn’t she? Why was Mr. Birch here instead? 

Jungkook ducked down beneath the window and ran as fast as he could out of the backyard, leaving supplies scattered. He’d go to the next house and come back later. Right now, everything in his gut told him not to be at this house a minute longer. He’d say there had been an emergency and he had needed to go, if Mr. Birch even noticed the half-done job outside. He didn’t seem interested at the moment in noticing anything except that woman who was not his wife with her lips wrapped around his dick.

Heart pounding, Jungkook peeled out of there like a bat out of hell.

Masterlist | Chapter Two