Hi hello is this thing on *taps mic* HELLO cate nation hello Jaime how are you all doing? I feel like I’ve been away for YEARS, but sadly I recently got addicted to crack (started watching Supernatural) 💔 and it’s taken over my life completely now. I think I felt a little ashamed that i became so fixiated in the erik kripke white men show but Sam Winchesters floppy hair puppy eyes and general aura of sadness and despair captivated me
But mostly, I dissapeared because I felt deeply ashamed of the fact that…catenation I have been nothing but an awful liar LYING to you all, I was, in fact, seventeen this whole time. 💔
I am in reality, a 2008 baby, I just turned eighteen in march, I lied about my age on the internet which is NOT cool, please forgive me for this I will accept the public shame and tomato throwing.
If you can find it in youselves to forgive me I hope to be a little more active, if not I will accept exile, mango out, again and for real, I’m so sorry
-🥭
hello my dear mango!!! it’s so good to hear from you again<3 it really does feel like it’s been ages, but i totally understand the experience of something randomly taking over your entire life. i mean…that’s basically the whole reason this blog exists LOL. can’t fault you there! even if it IS supernatural.
i’ve actually lowkey been meaning to watch it too, if only because maddie’s in a couple episodes hehe. but i know myself…i’m incapable of just watching one random episode. i need the FULL context otherwise it’ll drive me insane, so it’s either s1e1 or nothing😭
and as for your confession...there is absolutely no need for a public shaming omg.
i appreciate you being honest with me. i know a lot of people lie or exaggerate their age online when they’re younger, and while i’d always encourage people to be truthful and stay safe, i’m not sitting here holding a grudge over something you did when you were a teenager. you also could’ve just...never told me😭 but instead you came back and owned up to it, and i really respect that!
so yes, of course i forgive you<3 you’re 18 now, i’m just happy you’re here, safe, and popping back into my inbox again.
love you mango!!! please don’t disappear forever because i always smile when i see you pop up in my asks<3
pocket patrol
aka cate realizing subtlety skipped a generation
tw: canon divergent, post-canon, domestic fluff, family fic, parenthood, mom!cate, dad!sydney, slice of life, biological children, grocery shopping, carnival, fourth of july, fireworks, ferris wheel, etc.
12.9k+ words
author's note: hi, it’s me. (insert lena dunham gif) okay, so i know this isn’t the new series, and i did say that was coming before another chapter of the weight of being loved, BUT i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a while now and figured this was the perfect time to repurpose parts of it since it features a carnival, fireworks, and was inspired by fourth of july festivities hehe. so please enjoy! consider this a little fourth of july detour before the western au rides in...i’m currently hard at work editing it<3
The cereal aisle smelled like cardboard and sugar. Sydney had one hand on the cart and the other wrapped around Ellie’s ankle where the three-year-old sat in the front basket, her sneakers kicking against the metal with soft, irregular clangs. Ellie had insisted on holding the grocery list, which meant the grocery list now looked like it had survived a rainstorm, a fistfight, and one exploratory bite. She kept smoothing it over her chest anyway, very serious, blue eyes narrowed beneath the curtain of her curls.
“Eggs,” Ellie announced, looking at a coupon for laundry detergent.
Sydney bent over her shoulder. “Bold interpretation.”
“It says eggs.”
“It says two dollars off Tide.”
“Eggs,” Ellie repeated, her little brows furrowing in stubborn disappointment as she looked up at Sydney, as though she couldn’t believe Daddy was disagreeing with her.
Behind them, Riley marched along the shelves with a box of Lucky Charms clutched against her chest like stolen treasure, apparently determined to spare the family a repeat of the cereal-aisle incident they’d barely survived when she was two. Her blonde curls had escaped the ponytail Cate had put in twenty minutes earlier, wild little spirals bouncing at her cheeks. She had Sydney’s forward momentum, Cate’s face, and the certainty of a tiny queen expecting her decree to be honored. Every aisle became territory. Every errand became a campaign.
Cate, meanwhile, was trying to compare granola bars without laughing.
“We are not buying the cereal that turns the milk blue,” she said, not even looking at Riley.
Riley froze, a pout already forming on her face. “But you didn’t even see.”
“I’m your mother. I have eyes in places you haven’t considered.”
Cate gave her a warm, pointed look over the granola boxes. She looked unfairly lovely for a random Tuesday grocery run in July, hair clipped back loosely, cream sweater slipping off one shoulder, jeans fitted, lashes lowered in concentration. She had dressed like a woman who intended to buy yogurt and leave. Unfortunately for everyone else in the store, Cate buying yogurt still looked like a luxury ad that had wandered into produce by mistake.
Sydney noticed the man before Cate did.
That was usually how it went. Sydney noticed doors, exits, sharp voices, teenagers sprinting with carts, old ladies who looked like they might need something lifted, men whose eyes lingered too long. Her body felt the change in the air before her brain gave it language.
This guy had been hovering near the endcap of protein bars for too long, pretending to consider peanut butter chocolate crunch while glancing at Cate every few seconds. Mid-thirties maybe, fleece vest, corporate haircut, wedding ring absent but confidence aggressively present. The kind of man who confused being acknowledged with being wanted.
Sydney rolled the cart a few inches closer, mostly out of instinct. Ellie leaned back and patted her wrist.
“Daddy,” she whispered loudly, “Riley’s bein’ sneaky.”
Riley had begun sliding the forbidden cereal behind a very respectable, Cate approved, box of oats.
Sydney glanced down, trying to hide her smile. “That’s not great sneaking, pup.”
“I’m not being sneaky,” Riley said. “I’m just hiding it somewhere.”
“That’s usually what sneaky means.”
Cate looked up, saw the cereal, and pointed one manicured finger at Riley. “Put the leprechaun cereal back.”
Riley gasped, attempting to reason with Cate. “Mama, it has vitamins.”
“It has a little evil man in a green suit selling you marshmallows for breakfast.”
“He has magic.”
“He has corn syrup.”
Sydney snorted, and Cate’s smile flashed, soft and bright and distracted enough that she didn’t notice the man finally deciding fate had personally invited him over.
“Excuse me,” he said.
Cate turned with her polite public smile already in place. Sydney hated that smile sometimes, not because it wasn’t beautiful, but because it was the one Cate gave strangers when she was preparing to manage them. A smooth little barrier dressed up as charm: pretty, polite, and already halfway out of the conversation.
“Yes?”
The man smiled like he had been waiting all day for her attention. “Sorry, I just had to say, you are absolutely stunning.”
Sydney’s fingers tightened around the cart handle.
Ellie looked up from the mangled list. Riley stopped mid-step with the Lucky Charms halfway back on the shelf.
Cate blinked once. Her smile held, but Sydney saw the tiny shift beneath it, that little social recalculation. The invisible file cabinet opening behind her eyes. Stranger. Male. Compliment. Children present. Wife present. Public space. Best exit: gracious deflection.
“That’s very kind,” Cate said. “Thank you.”
It should have ended there. In a civilized world, it would have ended there.
But this man had apparently been raised in a barn and taught to flirt by men’s fragrance ads.
“No, seriously,” he said, stepping a little closer, one hand resting on the shelf beside her like he’d rehearsed the pose in a mirror. “I don’t usually do this, but I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask. Are you seeing anyone?”
Sydney’s jaw tightened. Cate had a wedding ring on. What exactly did he think that meant?
Cate’s eyebrows rose, her smile cooling by a degree. She lifted her left hand between them, letting her wedding ring catch in the light. “I’m married.”
“Lucky guy,” he said, with a laugh that made Sydney grind her teeth.
Cate’s gaze flicked to Sydney, quick and knowing. She wasn’t worried. She wasn’t asking to be rescued. If anything, she looked faintly amused, because some small, wicked part of her liked watching Sydney restrain herself from becoming a headline.
Sydney lifted her brows back. Careful, her face said.
The man followed Cate’s glance and saw Sydney standing there with one hand on the cart, shoulders loose but eyes flat, hoodie pushed up at the forearms, wedding band visible. He looked at Sydney, then back at Cate, and somehow didn’t arrive at the obvious conclusion. A miracle of male incompetence.
“Oh,” he said, and gave Sydney a quick dismissive little smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were together.”
Sydney opened her mouth.
Riley got there first.
She moved so fast the cereal box almost toppled off the shelf. One second she was beside the Cheerios, the next she was planted directly in front of Cate with her arms flung wide, all forty-something pounds of righteous fury and light-up sneakers. Her green eyes were enormous. Her chin lifted. Cate’s face changed instantly, surprise cracking open into something helpless and bright.
“You’re not getting my mama!” Riley shouted.
The man startled. So did a woman three shelves down.
Sydney pressed her lips together so hard they almost disappeared.
Riley jabbed one finger toward him, little brows furrowed in outrage. “She’s married! Back off!”
“Riley,” Cate said, but it came out strangled, half warning and half laugh.
Riley didn’t back off. Riley had never backed off in her entire six years of life. She’d once tried to argue with a goose.
“That’s my dad,” she continued, pointing at Sydney now, “and she will fight you.”
Sydney coughed into her fist.
The man looked from Riley to Sydney again, his confidence finally beginning to deflate with a faint, beautiful hiss. “I, uh, didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Mama said she was married, and you didn’t go away,” Riley said, apparently possessed by the spirit of a courtroom attorney. “That’s weird.”
Cate lifted a hand to hide the smile threatening at her mouth, though her shoulders gave one small, helpless shake.
Ellie, not to be outdone and definitely not understanding the full scope of the conflict, lifted the grocery list. “We need eggs!”
Sydney lost it first. Not loudly, not fully, but her laugh cracked out of her before she could stop it, low and sudden. She rubbed a hand over her mouth, eyes creasing. Cate turned away into the shelf, laughing silently now, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other reaching down to touch the back of Riley’s head.
The man’s ears had gone pink.
“Right. Well. Sorry,” he muttered.
Riley narrowed her eyes. “You should be.”
“Okay,” Cate managed, voice trembling with laughter as she set both hands on Riley’s shoulders. “That’s enough, sweetheart. Thank you for defending my honor in the cereal aisle.”
“He was being weird, Mama.”
“He was,” Sydney said, before Cate could soften it too much.
Cate shot her a look.
Sydney shrugged. “What? She’s right. Tiny bodyguard.”
Riley puffed up so visibly with pride that Sydney could practically see the title settling into place. A promotion, a badge, a calling.
The man disappeared around the corner with the waning dignity of someone who had been defeated by a first grader and a grocery list.
For one suspended second, all four of them stood there in the aftermath. Then Ellie frowned down at the list again and said, “No boys for Mama.”
Cate wiped at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, trying to pull herself together. Sydney leaned over the cart handle, grinning so wide it changed her whole face. Riley looked between them, a pout forming as she tried to stay stern, because clearly everyone was missing the seriousness of her defense.
“It’s not funny,” Riley insisted. “He was trying to steal her.”
Sydney reached out and hooked a finger in the back of Riley’s hoodie, tugging her closer. “Nobody’s stealing Mama, pup.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“What if he had a van?”
Cate made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. “Riley.”
“What? You and Daddy said bad guys have vans.”
Sydney nodded in agreement. “Statistically, she’s not wrong.”
Cate shot Sydney a glare, one finger pointed in her direction. “You are not helping.”
Sydney pulled Riley against her leg and ruffled her curls until Riley squawked. “I’m helping. I’m validating our daughter’s threat assessment.”
“Our daughter just threatened a man in aisle seven.”
“Yeah,” Sydney said, glancing down at Riley with open pride. “And she had great instincts.”
Riley beamed.
Cate straightened slowly, cheeks pink. She looked at Riley for a moment, and the humor softened into something tender enough to quiet the air around them. She crouched in front of her, smoothing the curls back from Riley’s forehead with both hands.
“Baby,” Cate said gently, “I appreciate you wanting to protect me. I really do. It was very brave.”
Riley’s expression shifted at once, bravado wobbling into earnestness. “I didn’t like him talking to you like that.”
“I know.” Cate’s thumb brushed her cheek. “And you were right that he should have listened when I said I was married. But you don’t have to be the grown-up, okay? That’s Daddy’s job. And mine.”
Riley’s expression didn’t soften. Her little mouth pulled into a doubtful line as she looked over Cate’s shoulder at Sydney, clearly taking stock of the evidence. “Daddy was just standing there.”
Sydney put a hand to her chest, looking faintly offended. “Excuse you. Daddy was seconds away from being very annoying.”
Cate glanced up at her, blue eyes bright with amusement. “Only annoying?”
“I was already exercising restraint.” Sydney folded her arms and leaned one hip against the cart. “I’m perfectly capable of it.”
“Most days,” Cate said.
Sydney gave her a look. “I’m in a grocery store with our children, babe. I wasn’t going to start anything.”
Riley twisted to look at her. “What were you gonna do?”
“Use my words,” Sydney said.
Cate’s brows rose.
Sydney’s mouth twitched. “Probably.”
Ellie kicked the cart, still thinking it over. “Daddy fight with words?”
“Sometimes,” Sydney said. “That’s one of the Seven’s rules. Wraith tries talking first.”
Riley looked up at her. “Even when somebody’s bad?”
“Especially then.” Sydney nudged the cart lightly with her hip. “You try to keep people safe without making things worse. Fighting’s for when there isn’t another choice.”
Cate looked at her for a moment, the laughter still lingering at the corners of her mouth but softened now by something warmer. The girls knew Wraith in the simplest terms: Daddy was a superhero who helped people, listened first, and came home afterward.
Riley considered that, her little face going thoughtful. Then her eyes narrowed slightly, remembering something. “Daddy can even say bad words when she’s Wraith,” Riley informed Ellie with grave certainty, as though this was an equally essential part of Sydney’s hero strategy.
Ellie nodded slowly, looking as if she needed to test the information for herself to make sure she understood it. “Fuck?”
Cate closed her eyes, fighting the laugh that tried to rise. Across from her, Sydney’s face went entirely blank with the effort not to react.
Riley’s mouth dropped open in thrilled horror. “Ellie,” she whispered, aghast. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”
“Ellie Quinn,” Cate said at last, very softly.
Ellie sensed danger, smiled sweetly, lifted the grocery list in both hands, and said, “Eggs?”
Sydney turned her head into her shoulder and laughed silently until her shoulders shook. Cate took one long, careful breath through her nose, gathering enough composure to remain the parent in this situation. Then she plucked the grocery list from Ellie’s sticky hands before her youngest daughter could wave it around like evidence again.
“Okay,” Cate said, smoothing the paper between her fingers. “We’re going to get the eggs and then we’re all going home.”
Before Cate could turn the cart toward the checkout lanes, Sydney caught the handle with one hand. She leaned in just enough that her shoulder brushed Cate’s, her voice dipped, warm and private beneath the distant rattle of carts. “For what it’s worth, you handled that very gracefully.”
Cate looked up at her, still pink-cheeked from trying not to laugh. “Did I?”
“Mhm...” Sydney’s grin went crooked. “I was especially moved by the part where you let our six-year-old become your bouncer.”
“She volunteered.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Cate’s mouth twitched. “She’s very passionate.”
“She gets it from you.”
“She gets her willingness to start a confrontation from you.”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. “That is an outrageous accusation.”
Cate laughed again, softer this time. Then her hand came up almost without thought, fingers curling briefly in the front of Sydney’s hoodie. It was only a little tug, a familiar point of contact, but Sydney felt it settle somewhere deep in her chest. Cate had been fine. Cate had handled herself. Still, Sydney knew that polished smile well enough to understand what it cost sometimes to keep it in place.
Cate rose onto her toes and kissed Sydney’s cheek, quick and soft. “My hero.”
Riley’s head snapped up. “I was the hero.”
Cate looked down at her at once, smiling. “You were. My other hero.” She bent to kiss the top of Riley’s head, and Riley’s pout eased just enough to let pride win.
Ellie slapped one sticky hand against the cart handle. “Me too!”
“You,” Cate said, leaning over to kiss Ellie’s forehead, “are my grocery goblin.”
Ellie’s whole face lit up. “Gobbin.”
Riley considered this redistribution of titles for a second. Then her gaze slid back toward the Lucky Charms, sitting innocently on the shelf where she’d returned them, clearly still waiting for her. She pulled the box free with both hands and held it up to Cate.
“Can I get this for helping you?”
Cate looked from Riley’s hopeful face to the leprechaun cereal, then over to Sydney, who had suddenly become very interested in the cart handle. “No.”
Riley’s entire face collapsed into theatrical ruin. “But Mama.”
Sydney winced. “Babe.”
“No,” Cate repeated, though her mouth was fighting a smile. “You were brave, and you were very helpful, but you don’t get Lucky Charms every time you tell a strange man to back off.”
“That feels like a flawed reward system,” Sydney said mildly.
Cate turned her glare on her. “Sydney.”
Sydney’s shoulders lifted. “I’m just saying, she made a compelling case.”
Ellie leaned forward in the cart, watching the entire argument with sleepy concentration. “Fuck eggs.”
Cate made a small, wounded sound and finally pushed the cart forward. “We are never leaving the house again.”
Riley trailed behind for two steps, then doubled back to the Lucky Charms and picked up the box again. “Even though I protected you?”
Cate looked over her shoulder. “Even then.”
Riley returned it to the shelf with a deep, suffering sigh and fell into step beside the cart. Ellie resumed babbling to herself in the basket, still pleased with the word she’d learned, while Sydney came around to Cate’s side and rested one hand lightly over hers on the handle. They made it halfway toward the eggs before Cate noticed Sydney looking at her.
“What?” Cate asked, quieter.
Sydney shook her head. “Nothing.”
Cate’s expression turned knowing. “That’s your dangerous nothing.”
“It’s a good nothing.”
“Mm.”
Sydney’s thumb brushed over Cate’s wedding band, the one the guy had somehow managed to overlook. “Didn’t realize our family came with a six-year-old security detail.”
Cate’s smile bloomed slowly. “I did grow her.”
Sydney glanced toward Riley, warmth catching in her face. “Yeah. You did a hell of a job.”
Riley caught Sydney looking at her and stepped closer, tugging on her sleeve. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, bug?”
“If somebody tries to steal Mama again, can I say a bad word?”
“No,” Cate said instantly.
Sydney looked at Riley, then at Cate, already feeling the answer she’d wanted to give die under Cate’s stare.
Cate narrowed her eyes at her wife. “Sydney.”
Sydney sighed. “No, you cannot say a bad word.”
Riley groaned. “But Ellie did.” She looked deeply offended by the uneven distribution of consequences.
“Ellie is already on thin ice,” Cate said.
Ellie clapped, having no idea what anyone was talking about. “Ice!”
They kept moving, wheels rattling softly over the tile. Riley walked beside them for another few steps, quiet enough that Cate almost believed the matter had finally been settled. Then she looked back over her shoulder toward the cereal aisle, little brows drawing together.
“Back off,” she whispered to the empty aisle.
Sydney heard her and choked on a laugh.
Cate didn’t turn around. “I heard that.”
Riley faced forward at once, expression carefully blank. “Heard what?”
Sydney squeezed Cate’s hand, laughing under her breath.
Cate sighed, though she was smiling again. “I live with wolves.”
“Lucky you,” Sydney said with a grin.
Cate glanced at her, blue eyes bright. “Very.”
By the Fourth of July, after several days of Riley insisting she had saved Cate from the strange man in aisle seven, she had apparently decided the incident was a successful first day in her new career.
She brought it up twice before they reached the carnival: once while Cate was trying to get sunscreen onto Ellie’s squirming shoulders, and once in the car on the way, when Sydney had stopped at a red light and Riley leaned forward from her booster seat to announce that she was “still watching out for Mama.” Cate had thanked her very seriously, because Riley deserved that much, while Sydney had caught Cate’s eye and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
The carnival took over the park every summer, spilling across the baseball fields and the stretch of open grass behind the community center in a bright, noisy mess of food stands, rides, game booths, and local bands trying their best beneath the gazebo. It was the kind of thing Cate normally would’ve found mildly overwhelming, especially with the heatwave and the fireworks scheduled late enough to disrupt both girls’ bedtimes. But Sydney had promised them weeks ago, back when Riley had seen a flyer taped to the window of a coffee shop, and Cate had learned a long time ago that Sydney took promises to the girls with an almost ridiculous degree of seriousness.
So they went.
Sydney had packed the tote bag herself, which meant it contained water bottles, wipes, hand sanitizer, sunscreen, a tiny first-aid kit, spare clothes for Ellie, noise-reducing headphones for the fireworks, and a sweatshirt for Cate even though Cate had insisted she would not be cold. Sydney had only looked at her and tucked it in anyway. Riley wore a red-and-white striped T-shirt with denim shorts and a star headband she’d selected from a display near the entrance, while Ellie had chosen a blue dress printed with little white daisies and refused to let Cate put her hair up because she wanted it “big.”
Sydney had taken one look at the girls, then at Cate in her pale sundress and sandals, and said, “Great. I’m the only one dressed like I’m here to fix the Ferris wheel.”
Cate smiled sweetly. “You look like you’d be halfway up the thing before anyone found the ride operator.”
“I can fix things.”
“I know you can.”
Sydney had looked far too pleased with herself about that, which was how Cate knew it had landed exactly where she intended.
The first thing to go wrong was the cotton candy.
Cate had barely finished paying for it when Ellie, who operated entirely on divine whim and sugar-based prophecy, turned with sudden purpose and promptly mashed half the pink cloud into Sydney’s sleeveless shirt.
Sydney looked down at the bright, sticky smear spreading across her chest. Ellie blinked up at her with huge blue eyes, a fistful of dissolved sugar still welded to her tiny fingers. “Sowwy.”
Riley’s eyes went wide, then lit up. “Daddy looks like a firework.”
Cate laughed outright. “Well, now you’re on theme with the rest of us.” She pulled a fistful of napkins from the dispenser, gently trying to blot the melted sugar from Sydney’s shirt before it could sink any farther into the fabric.
Sydney looked down at herself again. “Great. I’m a patriotic dessert.”
“Thoughts and prayers,” Cate murmured, and that did it. Sydney turned her head and gave her a flat look so dry it practically crackled.
“You’re next.”
That only made Riley laugh harder. By then, she was bouncing in place beside Sydney, full of uncontained carnival excitement, clutching the cheap stuffed bear Sydney had won her at one of the first game booths they’d passed. Riley had declared, with utter seriousness, that no child should have to do a carnival “empty-handed.”
Cate had suspected Sydney threw the ring-toss game on purpose by initially acting like it might be hard. Then Sydney had landed all three rings in under ten seconds and handed the prize over with a shrug, as if she didn’t enjoy being looked at like she’d hung the moon.
Which she did. Unfortunately for everyone, especially Cate, she looked very hot doing it.
Ellie, clearly deciding the apology portion of this exchange had concluded, leaned her whole little body toward Cate instead with one sticky hand out. Cate surrendered immediately, because Ellie’s chubby cheeks and hopeful little face were impossible to resist. She scooped her up onto her hip. Ellie smelled like baby shampoo and spun sugar and sunscreen. She tucked herself in against Cate’s shoulder with the quick, possessive confidence of a child who had never once doubted where she belonged.
Sydney reached over and plucked a gummy strand of pink sugar off Ellie’s wrist. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I cute,” Ellie said, matter-of-fact.
Cate tipped her chin, watching Sydney lose the fight against a smile. It changed her whole face, every time. She went from sharp and handsome and a little dangerous-looking to something warmer, softer, devastating in a totally different direction. It still hit Cate like a punch to the chest.
The carnival sprawled around them in saturated noise. Music bled from three different directions at once, one booth blasting pop, another old rock, the rides shrieking and rattling overhead like delighted machinery. The ferris wheel turned against the early evening sky in slow luminous circles. The whole place smelled like hot grease and sugar and summer asphalt holding the day’s heat. Kids ran everywhere in flashing shoes and stained clothes, parents trailing after them with strollers and balloons and the exhausted posture of people who loved their children enough to enter battle willingly.
Sydney looked like she belonged in the middle of it. Not polished into place the way Cate always was, not curated, but planted. Solid. One hand hooked over Riley’s shoulder to keep her from rocketing into traffic, the other reaching automatically for Cate’s elbow when a group of teenagers cut too close past them. Protective without thinking. Care baked into her reflexes.
Cate loved her in ways that still felt a little embarrassing.
“Okay,” Sydney said, scanning the midway. “Game plan.”
Riley shot a hand up like they were in school. “Rides.”
“Knew that was coming,” Sydney said.
“I want horsey,” Ellie said into Cate’s neck, then lifted her head just enough to point with wild confidence in entirely the wrong direction.
Cate kissed the top of her hair. “Carousel. We can do that.”
“And the fun house,” Riley added quickly. “And the giant slide. And the spaceship ride. And can I do the water gun race? And the basketball one. And maybe that one where you throw darts at balloons, but not the clown one because he looks scary.”
“Wow,” Sydney said. “Lot goin’ on in there.”
Riley planted both hands on her hips. “I’m making a list.”
Cate smiled. “That’s my girl.”
“No,” Riley corrected with immense dignity, pointing at Sydney. “I like sports and being loud and getting dirty. I’m her girl.”
Sydney barked a laugh. “Jesus, kid.”
Cate’s eyes narrowed fondly. “And yet you have my face, my curls, and my inability to leave the house without emotional support lip gloss.”
Riley considered this for a second, then nodded. “Okay. I can be both.”
Sydney wheezed. Cate closed her eyes for a second, smiling into the warm air. Sometimes parenting felt like being repeatedly mugged by delight.
They started with the carousel because Ellie had requested it and, at three, she still possessed the unilateral power to redirect the whole family’s orbit with one soft declaration. The line wrapped around the painted fence, gilt trim and chipped horses frozen mid-gallop. Calliope music drifted in bright warped circles while the ride turned, mirrors flashing under strings of bulbs.
Ellie insisted on the white horse with the pink saddle. Riley wanted the one that looked like it could “kick somebody,” which turned out to be a black horse with red trim and flared nostrils. Sydney stood between them while the ride started, one hand on Ellie’s pole and the other steadying Riley whenever she got too bold with the up-and-down motion.
Cate stayed near the edge of the platform for a minute, just watching.
Sydney never performed parenthood for anyone. She just did it. Her broad hand spread over Ellie’s back when she leaned too far. Her body angling instinctively toward both girls at once. The way she bent to listen when Riley launched into a breathless explanation of why her horse was obviously the leader of the horse army. Her face relaxed into a softness she only wore around very few people and somehow wore most easily around their children.
Cate’s throat tightened with a tenderness so abrupt it almost hurt.
Sydney caught her watching on the next pass. One brow lifted. That private little what? that was never just what.
Cate smiled at her, slow and helpless and probably too obvious.
Sydney’s mouth tipped at one corner. She mouthed, You good?
The ridiculous thing was that Cate nearly cried.
She just nodded instead, swallowing around the overwhelming emotion, and Sydney held her gaze for one beat longer before the carousel turned again and took her out of reach.
By the time the ride ended, Riley was flushed and loud and ready for something faster. Ellie had entered that stage of toddler joy where everything was either the best thing that had ever happened or grounds for societal collapse. She let Sydney lift her down from the horse and immediately looped both arms around Sydney’s neck, cheek smushing against her shoulder.
“My baby,” Sydney said, low and easy, bouncing her once.
“I not baby.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Ellie pulled back just enough to scowl. “I’m free.”
“Three,” Cate corrected, because she couldn’t help herself.
Ellie’s brows pinched as she looked between Cate and Sydney, clearly unsure what they were correcting. “That’s free.”
Riley was already tugging at Sydney’s hand again. “Fun house, fun house, fun house.”
The fun house turned out to be exactly the kind of chaotic architectural crime that children adored and adults survived out of love. It had a giant grinning face over the entrance, one eye lit blue and the other red, and a painted tongue for a walkway. Inside, everything glowed neon in the blacklight. Mirrors stretched and pinched them into impossible shapes. The floor tilted without warning. Air hissed up from hidden vents. Somewhere deeper in, mechanical laughter kept erupting from speakers in a way Cate found mildly cursed.
Riley thought it was the greatest thing ever created.
Ellie loved the first thirty seconds and then abruptly decided the moving bridge was, in fact, an assassination attempt.
“No,” she declared, halting at the entrance to a wobbling plank tunnel with ropes on either side. “No fank you.”
Cate bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “That’s fair.”
Riley, already halfway across, spun around dramatically. “It’s not scary, Ells! It’s just evil.”
“Wonderful reassurance,” Sydney called after her.
Ellie reached immediately for Cate, but Sydney had already crouched down in front of her. “C’mere, bug.”
Ellie climbed into her arms with a relieved little huff. Sydney straightened, settling her against her chest with one arm while testing the bridge with a boot. The whole thing swayed.
Cate looked at her. “You’re going to carry her?”
Sydney looked back. “What’s the alternative, leave one of our children to the haunted pirates?”
Well, when she put it like that.
Cate snorted and took the rope rail. “Riley, don’t run.”
“I’m not running,” Riley said, running.
The bridge rolled under Cate’s feet. She let out an involuntary laugh, shoulder knocking into Sydney’s as they crossed. Ellie had buried her face in Sydney’s neck, one tiny hand fisted in the collar of her shirt. Sydney, of course, was annoyingly steady, compensating for the sway with that athletic balance Cate had spent years admiring in increasingly inappropriate contexts.
“Show-off,” Cate murmured.
Sydney leaned closer without missing a step. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Mm. Tragic.”
At the end of the bridge, Riley was waiting in a room of warped mirrors, losing her entire mind at the tall stretched reflection of Sydney.
“Daddy!” she shrieked. “You look like a spooky noodle!”
Sydney stared at the mirror version of herself, all elongated limbs and nightmare proportions. “Rude.”
Cate caught sight of her own reflection next to Sydney’s, compressed into some tiny doll-like caricature, and laughed so hard she had to grab the wall. Ellie twisted around to look too, saw Cate’s distorted shape, and burst into delighted giggles that changed the whole tone of her body, fear evaporating on contact.
They made it through spinning barrels and a dark hallway with strobing stars and one deeply unnecessary room full of clown faces before emerging into evening air, all four of them a little flushed and disoriented.
Riley staggered theatrically, one hand pressed to her forehead. “That was so weird.”
Sydney set Ellie down as Riley kept talking. “I saw myself with really long legs.”
Cate brushed a curl off Riley’s damp temple. “And what do you think that means?”
Riley spread her arms wide. “I’m gonna be really big someday.”
Sydney looked at Cate over her head with that fond, helpless expression she reserved for moments when the girls were so unmistakably theirs it felt like fate was showing off.
Then came the games Riley had been waiting for.
This was where Sydney became intolerable.
Not because she was competitive, though she was. Not because she got weirdly intense in ways Cate found both hilarious and indecent, though she absolutely did. But because carnival games existed at the exact sweet spot where Sydney’s hand-eye coordination, natural athleticism, and pathological inability to half-ass anything combined into a display that made both daughters look at her like she was some kind of denim-clad demigod.
First, the water gun race. Riley sat perched on the little stool, elbows braced, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration while she aimed at the target. Sydney crouched beside her, one forearm draped over her own knee, talking her through it.
“Steady. Don’t chase it, just hold it there. Tiny corrections.”
Riley squinted. “I know, Daddy.”
“Cool. Just coaching.”
“Too much.”
Cate, holding Ellie on one hip, watched Sydney grin without offense. “She hates when you act like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She got that from you.”
Sydney didn’t look away from Riley. “No, she got that from both of us, unfortunately.”
The buzzer sounded. Riley squeezed the trigger and the water stream jittered wildly, then steadied under Sydney’s quiet instructions. Her little horse lurched forward on the overhead track. The kid next to her was gaining. Riley started to panic, then gritted her teeth so hard Cate could practically hear it from where she stood. Sydney touched the middle of Riley’s back.
“Breathe.”
Riley sucked in a breath and corrected. Her horse shot ahead just enough to win by a nose.
The sound that came out of her could have powered a small city.
“I WON!”
Sydney scooped her right off the stool and swung her around once before setting her down again. “You did.”
Riley beamed up at her. “Thanks for helping, Daddy.”
Sydney’s grin softened. “You did the hard part, bug.”
Something inside Cate dissolved on impact.
The prize was a gaudy purple dragon nearly as long as Riley’s body. She accepted it with the ceremony of a knight being decorated, the little bear Sydney had won her earlier tucked under one arm. Then she turned to Ellie. “You can help me take care of him.”
Ellie considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
Then Sydney won Ellie a plush bunny at the duck pond, even though every child technically won there and Cate told her that didn’t count.
“It counts emotionally,” Sydney said.
“It counts financially,” Cate corrected. “We paid eight dollars for that rabbit.”
Ellie hugged the rabbit so hard its head bent backward. “Her name Bunbun.”
“That’s inspired,” Sydney said.
Cate should have known better than to stand too close during the basketball booth.
The game operator, a bored teenager with a lip ring and the posture of someone spiritually over it, handed Sydney three rubber balls. Sydney gave the hoop one assessing glance. Cate watched the shift happen in real time, the little narrowing of focus that meant she’d become entirely impossible about something.
“Oh no,” Cate muttered.
Sydney bounced the first ball once. “What?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you decide this is now a matter of honor.”
Sydney’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Riley hugged the dragon tighter. “She’s gonna destroy him.”
The teenager looked up. “You get one minute.”
Sydney sank the first shot clean. Then the second. Then the third with a neat flick of her wrist that made Cate’s stomach do something adolescent and humiliating.
“Jesus Christ,” she murmured.
Sydney shot her a glance, smug now. “You seeing this?”
“I regret seeing this, actually.”
The next round came with smaller balls, higher stakes, and a bigger prize. Sydney rolled her shoulders once, tossed again, made every one. Riley was jumping. Ellie was chanting, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” in a shrill little rhythm. Cate stood there with her arms folded, smiling despite herself, and thought with some irritation that her wife could make even carnival fraud look hot.
By the final round, there was a tiny audience.
Sydney didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did and pretended not to, which was worse. The last ball sat in her palm while the teenager running the booth watched with open amusement, and Riley had gone so still beside Cate that she looked ready to explode.
Sydney glanced over at Cate, then lifted the ball to her mouth and kissed it with exaggerated seriousness. “This one’s for you, babe.”
Cate’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”
Sydney grinned and turned back toward the hoop.
“You’d better make that,” Cate called after her. “Because missing now would be incredibly embarrassing for you.”
“No pressure,” Sydney said.
Then she sank it clean.
Riley screamed. Ellie started chanting all over again, and the little crowd around the booth broke into applause. The teenager running it finally laughed as he pulled the oversized stuffed tiger down from the back wall.
“You play ball?”
Sydney hooked the giant tiger under one arm. “Not really.”
Cate laughed outright at that. “You’re such a liar.”
Sydney turned and passed the tiger to her, grin still bright and boyish. “For you, princess.”
The tiger was almost absurdly large. Cate took it, pressed it against her chest, and rolled her eyes with a practiced elegance that fooled no one. “You won me an enormous dust collector.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” Cate said before she could stop herself.
Sydney’s expression changed.
Just for a second. Just enough. The carnival kept roaring around them, shrieks and music and lights, but that look landed quiet between them. Fierce in a way that still sometimes caught Cate off guard, even after all these years. Sydney reached out and caught Cate at the waist, tugging her an inch closer.
“Yeah?” she said.
Cate’s smile gentled. “Yeah.”
Then Riley yelled, “Can we do the giant slide now?” and the moment burst like a bubble, sweet and brief and still real even though it’d been interrupted.
The prize haul had become ridiculous enough that Sydney called a tactical detour to the car. The tiger went in the trunk and Riley’s dragon and bear were wedged safely into the backseat. Only Bunbun was allowed to stay on active duty.
A few minutes later, free of the prize haul and back beneath the midway lights, they found the giant slide, which required potato sacks and a willingness to surrender any and all dignity. Riley was born willing. Ellie was convinced after watching another tiny child come down laughing instead of crying. Cate ended up racing Riley in one lane while Sydney came down the next with Ellie wedged between her knees, one arm wrapped around her middle.
Cate did not win. This, Riley later claimed, was because Cate “doesn’t have enough zoom.” Cate claimed sabotage. Sydney claimed nothing because she was too busy laughing at the way Cate’s hair had lifted in the wind and stayed slightly staticky afterward.
“Don’t,” Cate warned, seeing the grin already forming.
“You look cute.”
“Don’t.”
Sydney reached over and flattened one side of her hair with an open palm anyway. Cate smacked her wrist. Sydney kissed her temple in retaliation, quick and unshowy, and Ellie immediately made an outraged noise from Sydney’s arms.
“No kiss.”
Cate blinked. “Excuse me?”
Ellie frowned with all the sternness available to a child holding a stuffed bunny by one ear. “Not right now.”
Riley snorted. “She’s jealous.”
“I not,” Ellie snapped.
Sydney bit down on a smile. “Then what is it, bug?”
Ellie considered it for a long, dramatic moment. “Me too.”
“Well,” Cate said, deeply sympathetic. “At least she’s honest.”
So they corrected the issue at once. Cate took Ellie and covered her face in obnoxious little kisses until she squealed and squirmed. Sydney caught Riley around the middle and dragged her into a one-armed headlock while kissing the top of her head until Riley shrieked, “Daddy! I’m six, be serious!”
“Which means I can still legally embarrass you,” Sydney said, kissing her head again.
By then, dusk had deepened into that magical blue hour where every bulb in the carnival looked twice as bright. The Ferris wheel glowed against the sky. Somewhere nearby, oil popped in the fryers. A breeze moved through at last, cooler now, and Cate realized the girls were nearing that dangerous threshold between enchanted and overtired.
They still needed to find a good spot on the grass before the fireworks started, get the blanket down, and settle the girls before either of them hit the wall. Which made the Ferris wheel their last move. One final ride before popcorn, pretzels, and the sky lighting up overhead.
Riley wanted it because she loved heights so long as there was a seat belt involved. Ellie wanted it because Riley wanted it. Cate wanted it because she had the sudden fierce need to gather this whole evening up and keep it somewhere.
They loaded into one swaying gondola, the metal bench just wide enough for all four of them. Sydney took one side with Riley climbing immediately into her lap despite all previous claims of being six and mature. Cate settled beside them with Ellie tucked against her, Bunbun crushed between them. When the wheel jerked into motion, Ellie grabbed Cate’s arm with one hand and reached across the small space between them with the other until Sydney caught it, their fingers linking in front of the girls.
The carnival fell away slowly beneath them.
From up there, the whole fairground looked unreal. Strands of light, neon signs, the spin and flash of rides, people moving like spilled beads along the midway. Music rose in fragments. The sky overhead was violet now, the first stars almost visible beyond the glow.
Sydney had that same loosened expression she always got in moments where the girls forgot to perform being grown up and just let wonder hit them cleanly. Her thumb stroked once over Ellie’s knuckles where their hands were linked. Riley, settled back against Sydney’s chest now, pointed out landmarks below with increasingly elaborate confidence, as if she’d personally engineered the whole event.
“There’s the dragon game. There’s the popcorn place. There’s the evil fun house. There’s the bathroom where I didn’t wash my hands enough so Mommy made me go back.”
“Important memory,” Sydney said.
Cate gave her a look. “Thank you for that support.”
At the top, the wheel paused.
The gondola rocked slightly. Ellie made a tiny nervous sound, but Cate kissed her temple and Sydney said, “We’re good,” in that low grounded voice that made everyone believe her, and just like that the tension eased.
For a moment it was only the four of them suspended above everything.
Riley’s head tipped back against Sydney’s shoulder. Ellie’s curls brushed Cate’s jaw. The lights below blinked and shimmered. Cate looked over at her wife and felt that familiar ache, old now but never dull, that came from being allowed to have this. Not a fantasy, not a fragile almost, not one bright moment doomed to collapse. This. Their daughters sticky with sugar and heat and joy. Sydney rumpled and handsome, still carrying the smug glow of someone who couldn’t not prove herself to carnival games designed for failure. The ordinary miracle of being tired and happy at the same time.
Sydney caught her looking.
This time there was no joke in her face, just warmth and that quiet, attentive focus Cate had learned to trust with her whole life.
“You good?” Sydney asked, barely above the hum of the wheel.
“More than.” Cate smiled and looked out over the lights again, because if she kept looking at Sydney she might say something too raw for the middle of a ferris wheel with two children half asleep on them.
But Sydney knew her too well. She always had.
When the wheel started moving again, Sydney reached over just enough to squeeze Cate’s knee. Gentle. Hidden from the girls. Entirely for her.
Cate put her hand over Sydney’s.
After the Ferris wheel, they headed back to the parking lot to grab the picnic blanket from the car before finding a spot for the fireworks. By the time they reached it, Riley was fighting sleep like it had insulted her honor. Ellie was fully out, limp and warm in Sydney’s arms, Bunbun pinned between her chest and Sydney’s shoulder. Cate carried the two water bottles while Sydney, already balancing one sleeping child, fished the keys from her pocket with her free hand.
They got the blanket from the trunk and tried to convince Riley that the dragon would survive the fireworks without her.
“You know,” Cate said as they walked back under the yellow spill of the lot lights, “for someone who claimed not to care about carnival games, you got deeply weird about carnival games.”
Sydney adjusted Ellie higher on her shoulder without waking her. “I care about my daughters thinking I’m cool.”
Riley, from somewhere near Cate’s knee, mumbled, “You are cool.”
Sydney went quiet.
Cate looked over in time to catch the way her expression softened, startled and naked for half a heartbeat before she recovered. “Thanks, kid.”
Riley yawned. “Mommy’s cool, too.”
Cate lifted her chin. “That’s correct.”
“But different,” Riley added.
Cate narrowed her eyes. “Define different.”
Riley thought about it, then said, “Fancy cool.”
Sydney made a strangled sound that might have been laughter and might have been her soul leaving her body.
“Fancy cool,” Cate repeated, mostly to herself.
Sydney’s mouth twitched. “That’s a compliment, babe.”
“Obviously.” Cate looked down at Riley, who was yawning hard enough to make her whole face scrunch. “She just has terrible phrasing.”
By the time they made it back to the fireworks field, the grass had begun to fill with families claiming patches of space beneath the darkening sky. Blankets spread in uneven little islands across the lawn. Parents unloaded coolers and strollers, kids ran in loose circles with glow sticks around their wrists, and the first test boom from the launch field rolled low enough through the ground to make Ellie stir against Sydney’s shoulder.
Sydney found them a spot near the edge of the crowd, close enough that the girls would have a clear view but far enough from the thickest crush of people to make Cate breathe easier. She shook out the blanket and spread it over the grass while Cate set down the water bottles and the tote bag beside them. Ellie woke just enough to complain about being moved, then immediately crawled into Cate’s lap with Bunbun tucked beneath her chin. Riley folded herself onto the blanket beside them, still insisting she wasn’t tired even as she rubbed at one eye with the heel of her hand.
Sydney crouched beside Cate, one hand settling briefly on her knee. “Popcorn, pretzels, two beers?”
Cate nodded. “And napkins. Lots of napkins.”
“Always.” Sydney leaned in to kiss her temple, then looked at Riley. “Alright, tiny bodyguard, you keep Mama safe while I’m gone.”
Riley straightened at once. “I will.”
Sydney grinned, rose to her feet, and headed toward the vendor row just beyond the blankets.
The blanket had already collected grass, a few stray clover leaves, and one suspicious sticky patch by the time Cate realized Sydney had been gone too long.
Not alarmingly long. Not vanished-into-the-night long. Just long enough that the rhythm of the evening had changed around her absence.
Beyond them, the carnival had softened into a blur of lights and noise at the edge of the field. The Ferris wheel still turned slowly above the treeline, its gondolas glowing red, white, and blue against the deepening purple sky. Somewhere near the vendor row, a cover band was giving “Born in the U.S.A.” more enthusiasm than pitch accuracy. The air smelled like trampled grass, charcoal, and the first faint thread of sparkler smoke.
Cate sat on the picnic blanket with Ellie settled in her lap, Bunbun tucked beneath her chin and one sticky little hand fisted in the hem of Cate’s sundress. Riley was stretched on her stomach in front of them, chin propped in both hands, light-up sneakers kicking lazily in the air as she watched teenagers play cornhole with the disdain of someone who believed she could do it better and probably could if someone gave her an unreasonably dramatic entrance.
Sydney had left fifteen minutes ago.
Fifteen minutes for popcorn, pretzels, and two beers was not a crisis. Sydney had stopped for lost or crying children, dropped wallets and phones, tangled stroller wheels, and once, memorably, an elderly woman who had looked at Sydney’s tattooed arms and immediately decided she was the perfect person to carry four folding chairs across a parking lot. Sydney attracted logistics the way porch lights attracted moths. She could not cross a public space without becoming someone’s emergency handyman, directional sign, bodyguard, or reluctant emotional support butch.
Still.
Cate looked toward the vendor row again, one hand moving through Ellie’s curls.
The popcorn stand was lit gold under a scalloped canopy, the glass machine glowing like a tiny buttery furnace. Sydney stood in front of it, black sleeveless shirt leaving her tattooed arms bare, baseball cap turned backward because Ellie had insisted earlier that it made Daddy look “faster,” wallet still in one hand, elbow braced lightly on the counter. She had the posture Cate knew intimately: weight settled on one hip, shoulders loose, head tipped slightly as if listening intently because she’d been taught politeness was easier than noticing when someone was flirting with her.
And the girl behind the popcorn machine was absolutely flirting with her.
Cate felt the realization settle through her without heat.
Not jealousy. That would have required uncertainty, and Sydney had never once given Cate the kind of uncertainty that festered into jealousy. Sydney was ridiculous about Cate. Embarrassingly, publicly, deeply ridiculous. Sydney looked at Cate reaching for a jar on a high shelf like she was witnessing divine choreography. Sydney still regularly texted Cate from missions just to ask what she was wearing. Sydney had once gotten distracted in the middle of a conversation because Cate had tucked her hair behind her ear and then tried to pretend she’d been distracted by the weather.
So no, Cate was not worried.
She was amused.
The girl behind the counter had glossy dark hair in a high ponytail, cut-off shorts, and the fearless cheer of someone nineteen at most, still young enough to believe prolonged eye contact with a hot stranger was a viable life plan. She was leaning both forearms on the counter now, laughing at something Sydney had said. Or, more likely, laughing at something Sydney had said without realizing it had become charming by accident.
Sydney, devastatingly oblivious, gave her a crooked little grin.
Cate’s eyes narrowed.
Not with suspicion.
With opportunity.
“Riley,” Cate said quietly.
Riley barely lifted her head at first, cheek still pressed to the blanket. “What?”
Cate kept her gaze on the popcorn stand. “Do you see Daddy?”
That got her attention. Riley pushed herself up onto her elbows and followed Cate’s line of sight, sleepiness falling away as her little face went blank with concentration. Then it sharpened.
There it was.
Cate watched the family resemblance show up in real time.
Riley was still little, but some habits had clearly already taken root. The Stark side had given her a certain readiness to square up with the universe. Cate had contributed dramatic timing, weaponized observation, and the ability to make a stranger second-guess themselves with one look.
Together, it made for a very small, very effective field operative.
“Why is Daddy talking to that girl?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know,” Cate said lightly, reaching for one of the water bottles beside her. “Maybe Daddy got trapped.”
“Trapped how?”
“Oh, socially.”
Riley’s nose wrinkled. “Like when people see Wraith and won’t stop talking to her?”
“Exactly like that.”
Ellie lifted her head from Cate’s lap, cheeks flushed from the heat, blue eyes heavy with the pre-fireworks exhaustion she was valiantly fighting. “Trapped?”
“Yes, darling,” Cate said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Very dangerous.”
Riley pushed herself to her feet, already vibrating with purpose. “Do you want me to get her?”
Cate looked up at her with the softest possible expression and the least innocent heart. “Only if you want to help.”
Riley put both hands on her hips. “Mama.”
“What?”
“You know I do.”
Cate smiled over the rim of her water bottle. “I had a feeling.”
Riley adjusted the star headband she’d selected earlier with great seriousness, smoothed the front of her little denim shorts, then pointed at Cate. “Stay here. And don’t let anyone steal you.”
Cate pressed her lips together. “I’ll do my very best.”
“And don’t let Ellie eat grass.”
Ellie immediately looked down at the grass.
“Ellie,” Cate warned.
Ellie looked back up innocently. “I not.”
Riley huffed, deeply burdened by the incompetence of her household, then set off across the grass with the brisk, determined stride of a child on official family business.
“Stay where I can see you!” Cate shouted after Riley as she watched her go, fondness blooming so hard in her chest it almost hurt.
Riley moved through the crowd like she was owed right-of-way by birth. She dodged a man carrying nachos, skirted around a stroller, paused only long enough to stare down a teenager who nearly stepped backward into her, then continued toward the popcorn stand with her chin lifted and her arms swinging. The carnival lights caught in her curls. She looked so much like Cate from a distance that it sometimes startled Cate into silence, blonde brightness and an expressive face, and yet the way she walked was Sydney all over: forward, fearless, assuming the world would either move or be moved.
Cate’s heart gave one of those stupid, domestic twists.
“Where Ri go?” Ellie mumbled.
“To rescue Daddy.”
Ellie considered that. “Daddy lost?”
“In a sense.”
At the popcorn stand, Sydney was still trapped in conversation. She had acquired the pretzels. Cate could see them in a paper boat on the counter. The popcorn bag sat beside them, steam fogging the plastic window. The beers were in Sydney’s other hand, sweating in the heat. She had, by all visible evidence, completed the mission and simply failed to extract herself.
Classic.
The girl behind the counter said something and played with her own ponytail, smiling too wide.
Sydney nodded, polite and oblivious, probably saying something deeply unhelpful like, “Yeah, the fireworks are supposed to be good,” while looking exactly like the kind of person people wrote bad decisions about in private diaries.
Then Riley arrived.
Cate couldn’t hear her at first, not over the band, the ride noise, and the crowd. She could only see Sydney’s face change when Riley appeared at her side and tugged hard on the hem of her shirt.
Sydney looked down, surprised, then softened instantly.
Riley planted herself beside Sydney’s leg and looked up at the popcorn girl.
Cate wished, briefly and violently, that she’d brought binoculars.
The popcorn girl’s smile shifted, confused but friendly. She leaned over the counter, probably asking Riley if she wanted anything.
Riley didn’t appear to answer that question.
Instead, she pointed back across the grass.
Sydney followed the point and found Cate watching from the blanket. Cate lifted her bottle in a delicate little greeting.
Even from that distance, Cate saw the exact moment Sydney understood what she’d done. Sydney’s shoulders dropped. Her mouth opened slightly, then her eyes narrowed with betrayed amusement.
Cate smiled.
Riley tugged her shirt again, more insistently.
This time, Cate could hear her voice carry, shrill and clear as a parade whistle.
“Daddy, come on. Mama, your wife, is waiting.”
A couple of people nearby turned.
Cate ducked her head and bit the inside of her cheek.
Sydney said something to Riley, probably, “Jesus Christ, kid,” because her mouth was shaped like prayer and profanity at once.
Riley wasn’t finished.
“The fireworks are starting soon,” she announced, louder. “And you’re taking forever because you’re talking.”
The popcorn girl blinked.
Sydney rubbed a hand over her face.
Riley turned her attention back to the girl and, with the weary authority of someone who had already handled one grocery aisle seduction attempt this week, added, “Daddy’s married.”
The girl’s eyes flicked to Sydney, then to the ring on her finger, then over toward Cate. Pink rose quickly across her cheeks.
Cate’s shoulders shook.
The popcorn girl said something, flustered, hands fluttering toward the popcorn bag. Sydney grabbed the snacks like they were evidence at a crime scene. Riley, apparently satisfied that order had been restored, took the paper boat of pretzels from the counter with both hands.
Sydney said one last thing, and Cate didn’t need to hear it to know the tone. Apologetic, dry, kind enough to soothe but not enough to linger. Then she put a hand lightly between Riley’s shoulder blades and guided her back across the grass.
Riley marched ahead with the pretzels.
Sydney followed with the popcorn, beers hooked between her fingers, face arranged into the flattest possible expression. It was a terrible disguise. The tips of her ears were red.
Cate sat up straighter and arranged her face into polite serenity.
Ellie clapped when she saw the popcorn. “Daddy!”
Sydney lowered herself onto the blanket with a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t start.”
Cate widened her eyes, all innocence. “Start what?”
Sydney pointed at her with the popcorn bag. “Whatever that is.”
“I’m just sitting here.”
“You weaponized our daughter.”
“I did no such thing.”
Riley dropped down beside Cate and handed over the pretzels, still endlessly pleased with herself. “I helped.”
“You did,” Cate said warmly, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You were very helpful.”
Sydney made a disbelieving sound. “Helpful? She announced my marital status to a girl selling popcorn.”
Sydney slid Cate’s beer into her hand and settled on the other side of Ellie, who immediately climbed halfway into her lap in pursuit of popcorn. She tucked Bunbun against Sydney’s stomach and reached one determined hand toward the bag. Sydney let her steal a piece, then looked back at Cate. “I was being polite.”
“I know.”
“I was trying to leave.”
“I know.”
“She kept asking questions.”
Cate accepted the beer, cold condensation gathering against her fingers. She took a small sip, eyes bright over the rim. “What kind of questions?”
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one where you sound curious, but you’re actually waiting to make fun of me.”
Cate took a slow sip of beer, smile deepening as she savored the bitter cold and Sydney’s irritation in equal measure. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Riley leaned around her, clearly unable to let the record go incomplete. “She asked if Daddy lives here.”
Sydney dragged a hand down her face. “Riley.”
Cate’s brows lifted. “Did she?”
“She was just making conversation.”
“Mm.”
“She probably asks everybody that.”
Cate glanced toward the popcorn stand, then back at Sydney. “Did she ask the old man in front of you?”
Sydney paused.
Cate smiled into her beer. “No?”
“Maybe he had local energy.”
Riley scooted closer, delighted by her usefulness. “And she asked if Daddy was watching fireworks with somebody.”
Sydney pointed at her. “You have got to stop tattling.”
Riley’s little brows pulled together. “I’m not tattling. I’m telling Mama.”
Sydney let out a long, exasperated sigh and looked away, because there was no winning that one.
Cate had to lower her face behind her beer before Sydney could see how much she was enjoying herself. “And what did Daddy say?”
For one beat, Riley seemed to realize she had information Sydney might prefer she kept private. Her eyes got a little wider. Her mouth pressed into a line.
“Sydney,” Cate said sweetly.
Sydney blew out a breath. “I said I was watching with my family.”
Riley nodded, then frowned. “But you didn’t say you were married.”
“I didn’t realize I had to show people my marriage card to prove I have a family.”
“You should always say you’re married,” Riley insisted.
Cate set her beer down and pressed both hands dramatically over her heart. “I agree with Riley.”
Sydney gave her a look. “Shocking.”
Cate’s expression softened, just enough to take the bite out of the teasing. Under the carnival noise, beneath the rising thump of fireworks crews doing last checks, the moment thinned into something quieter. Cate held Sydney’s gaze, and there it was: that small, involuntary brightening Sydney tried to hide whenever Cate said something too plainly affectionate in public.
Sydney recovered with a crooked mouth. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I really am.”
“Your whole face is unbearable right now.”
Cate leaned back on one hand, bare legs tucked to the side, dress pooling over her thighs. “My face is probably why teenage popcorn girls think you’re worth flirting with.”
“She wasn’t flirting with me.”
“She asked if you were watching fireworks with anyone.”
“Maybe she was conducting a census.”
“A census.”
“Democracy is important.”
Cate laughed, unable to help it, and Ellie startled at the sound, then giggled too because Ellie believed laughter was contagious and legally binding.
Riley took a pretzel, chewed with great authority, and said, “I saved you.”
Sydney looked down at her. “From what?”
“That girl.”
“What’d she do?”
Riley frowned, searching for it. “She kept talking to you.”
Cate’s mouth twitched. “She was flirting with Daddy.”
Riley nodded at once. “Yeah. That.”
Cate dissolved, hand over her mouth, while Sydney stared at their daughter with a helpless kind of pride fighting its way up through the mock offense.
“She’s got you there,” Cate said.
Sydney reached across Ellie and poked Riley gently in the side. Riley squealed and collapsed sideways against Cate, nearly upsetting the pretzels. “Listen, tiny narc. I appreciate the assist, but Daddy had it handled.”
Riley sat up, curls wild, cheeks pink. “No you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You were standing there for like a hundred minutes.”
“It was not a hundred minutes.”
“Mama kept looking.”
Sydney’s gaze cut to Cate.
Cate stopped smiling a fraction too late.
Sydney’s grin appeared slowly, dangerous and warm. “Did she?”
Cate picked a grain of salt off her thumb. “I was wondering where the snacks were.”
“Were you?”
“The children were hungry.”
“Ellie ate a whole thing of cotton candy and what I’m pretty sure was a sticker.”
Ellie, mouth full of popcorn now, said, “Star.”
Sydney nodded. “See? She remembers.”
Cate gave her the look she reserved for moments when Sydney was being deliberately irritating and unfortunately attractive about it. “The point is, you were missed.”
Sydney’s grin gentled. She shifted closer on the blanket, knee brushing Cate’s thigh, Ellie settled between them with the popcorn clutched to her chest like treasure. “Yeah?”
Cate rolled her eyes, but her fingers found Sydney’s on the blanket and curled around them. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“Can’t help it. My wife missed me so bad she sent a bodyguard.”
Riley brightened. “I’m the bodyguard.”
“You’re unionizing at this point,” Sydney said.
“What’s unionizing?”
“Something Daddy supports,” Cate said smoothly.
Sydney laughed, surprised and low, and Cate felt it through their joined hands.
A crack split the sky.
Not a firework yet, just another one of the test booms from the launch field beyond the trees. Ellie jerked against Sydney, then froze, eyes wide. Sydney’s attention snapped down instantly, all her teasing evaporating into function. She set the popcorn aside and wrapped one arm around Ellie’s middle, pulling her more securely into her lap.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Sydney murmured, lips near Ellie’s hair. “That one was loud, huh?”
Ellie nodded, lower lip pushed out.
Cate leaned in and touched her knee. “The big ones are going to start soon, baby. Do you want your headphones?”
Ellie considered bravery, dignity, and sensory survival with a grave little frown. Then she nodded again.
Riley crawled across the blanket to the tote bag and dug through it, tossing aside sunscreen, napkins, a half-empty pack of wipes, Sydney’s spare hoodie, and a glow stick necklace. “I got them!”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Riley handed over Ellie’s pink noise-reducing headphones, then lingered close, her earlier boldness softening in the face of her sister’s uncertainty. Sydney fitted them over Ellie’s ears carefully, tucking curls away from the ear cushions. Ellie relaxed almost at once, small body melting back against Sydney’s chest.
Cate watched Sydney’s hands, the gentle precision of them, the way her thumb smoothed once behind Ellie’s ear before she let go. It did something to Cate every time, that contrast. Sydney with her tattoos, her rough edges, her mouth full of dry bite, her shoulders still warm from the day, handling their children like the world might bruise less if she just held carefully enough.
Then Sydney looked up and caught Cate staring.
“What?”
Cate’s throat tightened in a way she refused to make dramatic. “Nothing.”
Sydney smirked. “Dangerous nothing?”
“Good nothing.”
Riley flopped onto her back between them, legs sprawled across Cate’s lap, head near Sydney’s knee. “Can I have headphones too?”
“You said you were too old for them,” Sydney reminded her.
“I changed my mind.”
Cate laughed softly and reached into the bag for the second pair, blue ones with peeling dinosaur stickers from a phase Riley would now deny under oath. “A wise woman reserves that right.”
Sydney nudged Riley with her knee. “You sure? Fireworks are loud.”
Riley hesitated only a second before nodding. “But I’m not scared.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“I just don’t want my ears to explode.”
“Reasonable.”
Cate fitted the headphones over Riley’s curls, careful not to snag her star headband. Riley lay still for it, eyes tracking Cate’s face with that private little need for approval she hid under all her riotous confidence.
“There,” Cate said, tapping the end of Riley’s nose. “Perfect.”
Riley smiled, smaller now. “Can I still guard you with headphones?”
“Absolutely.”
Sydney leaned back on one hand. “Honestly, it might improve focus.”
Riley gave her a thumbs-up.
The first real firework climbed behind the trees with a screaming silver tail, then burst open above the park in a white flash that lit every face white for one suspended heartbeat. The crowd made that collective sound people made when they all remembered wonder at the same time. Ellie gasped, then laughed when the boom reached them muffled through her headphones. Riley shot upright, mouth open in awe, all previous missions temporarily forgotten.
Another firework bloomed red, then gold, sparks trailing down like burning willow branches.
Cate leaned into Sydney without deciding to. Sydney’s arm settled around her shoulders just as naturally, beer abandoned near her knee, popcorn cooling beside Ellie. The heat of Sydney’s body pressed through the thin cotton of Cate’s dress, familiar and grounding. Cate tucked herself closer, cheek nearly brushing Sydney’s shoulder.
For a few minutes, none of them spoke.
The sky kept opening.
Blue and gold. Crackling white stars that fizzed and scattered. The girls watched with full-body attention, Riley pointing every few seconds even though everyone was already looking, Ellie clapping softly from Sydney’s lap whenever one looked especially “sparkly.” The noise rolled over the park in waves, big enough to feel in Cate’s ribs. Children shrieked. Adults cheered. Somewhere behind them, someone’s baby began crying and was immediately soothed.
Sydney’s thumb moved back and forth against Cate’s upper arm.
Cate turned her face slightly, not enough to miss the sky, just enough to speak near Sydney’s ear. “You know, I think she was very pretty.”
Sydney’s thumb stopped.
Cate smiled at the fireworks.
“Cate.”
“What?”
“No.”
“I’m only saying.”
“You’re never only saying.”
“She had a certain charm.”
Sydney looked down at her with deep suspicion. Red light washed across her face, then green. “Are you trying to make me compliment the popcorn girl so you can get mad at me?”
Cate’s smile widened. “Would you fall for that?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
Sydney leaned closer, voice dry against the shell of Cate’s ear. “She looked like she still says ‘situationship’ unironically.”
Cate laughed so sharply Riley twisted around.
“What?” Riley shouted, not realizing the headphones made her volume completely unreasonable.
“Nothing,” Cate called back.
Riley squinted. “Are you flirting?”
Sydney pointed at the fireworks. “Watch the explosions, narc.”
Riley turned back around, satisfied for now.
Cate pressed her forehead briefly to Sydney’s shoulder, laughter still trembling through her. “You’re terrible.”
“You married me.”
“I did.”
“Publicly. Legally. In front of witnesses. Very binding.”
Cate turned her head and looked at her. The fireworks painted Sydney’s profile in restless color, catching on her nose ring, the edge of her jaw, the ink down her arms. Her cap was still backward. Her hair curled damply at the nape from the heat. There was a faint smear of cotton candy on her shirt from where Ellie had attacked her earlier. She looked like summer and trouble and home, like every impossible thing Cate had somehow been allowed to keep.
“I like when you say that,” Cate admitted.
Sydney’s expression shifted again, the teasing knocked slightly off-balance. “What, that you married me?”
Cate nodded, eyes going back to the sky because looking directly at Sydney made sincerity feel too overwhelming sometimes. “That I’m your wife.”
Sydney was quiet for half a beat. Around them, the park roared at a huge gold burst overhead.
Then Sydney’s arm tightened around her. Her mouth brushed Cate’s temple, not quite a kiss at first, just warm contact beneath the flicker of the fireworks. “You’re my wife,” she said, low enough that it belonged only to the blanket, the grass, the children pressed against them, and the sky breaking open overhead. “My very smug, very hot, deeply manipulative wife.”
Cate smiled, the word settling somewhere soft and familiar in her chest. Sydney said it like she still couldn’t quite believe she got to. Like it was a fact worth repeating until the whole world got tired of hearing it.
“My wife who sends our daughter to rescue me from popcorn vendors.”
“You needed rescuing.”
“I needed my pretzel.”
“You needed intervention.”
“I was leaving.”
“You were lingering.”
Sydney huffed, though Cate could feel the smile trying to pull at her mouth. “I was trapped in Midwestern politeness.”
Cate tipped her face up, blue eyes glittering in the shifting color overhead. “We’re from New York.”
“Does that mean I can’t be polite?”
“It means you’re not usually that polite.”
Sydney looked at her for a beat, caught between mock offense and the kind of helpless softness Cate could still pull out of her with almost no effort. Cate kissed her before she could recover, quick but unmistakable, right there under the fireworks with their daughters in front of them and the whole carnival blurred into summer noise. Sydney smiled against her mouth before she could help it, which was Cate’s favorite kind of victory.
Riley made a loud gagging sound without turning around. “I can hear kissing.”
“You have headphones on,” Sydney said.
Riley tilted her head. “I can still tell.”
Cate pulled back, laughing into Sydney’s shoulder. Ellie, who had been staring open-mouthed at a cascade of purple sparks, turned and patted Sydney’s cheek. “Daddy kiss Mama.”
“Yeah,” Sydney said, eyes still on Cate. “Daddy does that.”
Ellie nodded with approval. “Mama wife.”
Cate’s face softened so quickly it almost hurt. She reached out to smooth Ellie’s curls back from her forehead. “That’s right, baby.”
Riley spun around again, suddenly businesslike despite the fireworks. “And if the popcorn girl talks to Daddy again, I’ll tell her.”
Sydney groaned, tipping her head back toward the sky. “We’re not bringing this up for the rest of my life.”
Cate looked at Riley. Riley looked at Cate. Some silent treaty passed between them, swift and sacred.
“Okay,” Riley said.
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “Why did that sound fake?”
Cate took a bite of her pretzel, serene. “I have no idea.”
Another firework burst overhead, enormous and gold, loud enough to make the ground seem to jump. Ellie startled, then laughed when Sydney held her tighter and rocked her once. Riley leaned back against Cate’s legs, small body warm and solid, one hand absently reaching for Cate’s ankle as if to confirm she was still there.
Cate looked at the three of them: Ellie safe in Sydney’s lap, Riley sprawled across her like a guard dog off duty, Sydney with her arm around Cate and her wedding ring glinting whenever the sky flashed white.
Not stolen. Not stealable.
Chosen.
The thought moved through her quietly, deeper than the noise.
Sydney glanced over, catching the change because she always did when it mattered. “You okay?”
Cate threaded her fingers through Sydney’s again. “Yes.”
“Good yes or fake yes?”
“Good yes.”
Sydney studied her for another second, then lifted Cate’s hand and kissed her knuckles, unshowy but devastating. “My wife,” she murmured, softer this time.
Cate squeezed her hand.
Riley, without looking away from the fireworks, raised one finger. “Mama was waiting.”
Sydney laughed under her breath. “Yeah, kiddo. I know.”
“And you took forever.”
“I know.”
“Next time you should say, ‘Sorry, I gotta go, my wife wants pretzels.’”
Cate looked at Sydney, delighted. “She makes excellent points.”
Sydney tipped her head back toward the exploding sky, resigned and smiling. “I’m never surviving both of you, am I?”
“Nope,” Cate said, leaning into her.
Riley grinned. “Nuh-uh.”
Ellie, not knowing what they were agreeing to but loyal to the family consensus, lifted both sticky hands into the air. “No!”
Sydney looked at them, all her girls arranged around her in the flashing dark, and shook her head like she was annoyed by the exact shape of her life.
But her smile gave her away.
The finale came in a rush of gold and white, loud enough to shake the grass beneath them. Riley watched every second of it with her chin lifted, still determined to be on guard duty even as another yawn cracked through her halfway to the end. Ellie had gone warm and heavy against Sydney’s chest, one hand curled in the front of her shirt, Bunbun trapped securely beneath her chin.
“Next time,” Sydney said into Cate’s hair, almost drowned by the fireworks, “I’m making you get the snacks.”
Cate smiled against her shoulder. “And deprive Riley of her calling?”
Sydney’s laugh warmed her temple.
When the last sparks burned out over the trees, the crowd broke into applause. Then the whole field seemed to exhale at once, families rising from their blankets in slow, tired little waves. Sydney helped Cate shake the grass from their blanket while Riley insisted she could carry the tote bag herself, even though it nearly dragged her sideways. Cate let her try for exactly three steps before taking it back.
By the time they started toward the parking lot, Ellie was asleep again on Sydney’s shoulder and Riley had gone quiet beside Cate, one small hand curled around the hem of her sundress. The carnival kept buzzing behind them, softer now, music and distant ride shrieks fading beneath the dark.
At the car, Sydney buckled Ellie into her seat with the tender efficiency of long practice, then helped Riley climb in beside the dragon and bear they’d left waiting for her earlier. Cate stood by the open door for a moment just watching her. The parking lot buzzed softly around them. Somewhere behind them, the Ferris wheel kept turning against the dark.
Sydney shut Riley’s door and turned.
Cate stepped into her space before she could say anything and kissed her.
Sydney made a quiet surprised sound into her mouth, then kissed her back, one hand landing at Cate’s waist automatically, warm and steady. The kiss stayed brief because they were in a parking lot and because they had children in the backseat who would absolutely develop perfect timing for interruption, but it still landed with that same private force it always had. Like a lock. Like habit and hunger could live in the same gesture.
When Cate pulled back, Sydney’s eyes had softened.
“What was that for?” she asked.
Cate smiled, smoothing a wrinkle in Sydney’s cotton-candy-stained shirt. “For being the most annoyingly attractive person at a children’s carnival.”
Sydney huffed a laugh. “That’s a niche award.”
“You earned it.”
From the backseat, Riley’s tired voice rose through the cracked window. “Can we get fries on the way home?”
Ellie, somehow not fully awake and yet spiritually present, echoed, “Fwies.”
Sydney and Cate looked at each other.
Then they both laughed.
“Yeah,” Sydney said, opening her door at last. “We can get fries.”
And because she was who she was, because even now she couldn’t stop herself, she leaned in close as she passed Cate and murmured, “You win most dangerous woman at a children’s carnival.”
Cate gasped in scandalized delight and smacked her arm while Sydney ducked into the driver’s seat grinning. The girls dissolved into sleepy laughter in the back. The whole car seemed to glow with it, sticky and noisy and perfect.
Cate climbed in still smiling, carnival lights shrinking in the rearview as they pulled away with prizes crowding the backseat and sugar on their clothes and two girls already drifting toward sleep.
The night had that full, humming feeling afterward, as if joy itself had weight.
And Cate, looking over at Sydney’s profile in the dashboard glow, thought with a quiet rush of certainty that this was one of those evenings their daughters would remember years later.
the worst thing about being both a writer and an artist is that i desperately need visual references for everything.
so now instead of simply mentioning a fictional band in one fic, i have somehow convinced myself i need to design their logo, album covers, merch, tour posters, stage visuals, and entire discography first.
hello! assuming you’re asking where the best place to get to know her is, i’d start with her character database: sydneystark.carrd.co :)
that has most of the important background/info in one place! you can also find posts about her under the #oc talk tag on my blog.
if you’re asking where to start fic-wise, there isn’t really one concrete timeline running through all of my sydcate fics because i write a LOT of aus lol. but the weight of being loved series is mostly canon-compliant and has the most installments right now, so that might be a good place to start if you want to get to know her in a canon-adjacent setting before branching out into the aus, though these are mostly post-canon domestic fics that feature children! most modern day non-canon fics are usually a good place to get a feel for her too! :)
all of my fics featuring sydney are on my ao3, which is probably the easiest place to find everything oc-related, though they aren’t necessarily in timeline order.
hiii! Just wondering since im a bit confused. What exactly is an oc? Im always been curious about what it is. Is it like a person you made up in your head that is like your dream you? Or is it just like a random character?
hello darling!<3
oc is just shorthand for “original character,” which can mean a lot of different things to different people!
you’re right that an oc can be an idealized version of the creator, a completely random person they invented, a combination of the two, or anything in between. there really aren’t any hard rules! the only requirement is that it’s a character YOU created.
an oc also doesn’t have to represent the creator at all! a lot of people assume they’re self-inserts, but that’s definitely not always the case. for me, sydney is her own person with her own backstory, personality, flaws, relationships, etc. she isn’t “me,” she’s just a character i created and have gotten very attached to hehe<3
for example, george r. r. martin originally created daenerys targaryen, so she was an original character of his. nowadays though, when people say “oc,” they’re usually talking about fan-created characters rather than published ones.
some people also use faceclaims (like i do for sydney!), while others prefer to draw their characters themselves or just imagine them without a specific face.
hopefully that helps explain it a little better!<3
Hey, where exactly did you get your gen v scripts? I know you mentioned a library but I couldn’t find anything on it online.
hello lovely!
i was able to access them through the writers guild foundation! it’s a fantastic resource for screenwriting in general, as they have thousands of scripts and screenplays in their collection.
you can find out more on their website here!
the biggest downside is that it’s an in-person only library located in los angeles, california, and they don’t offer digital copies of any of their materials :( so the only way to access them is to schedule an appointment and view whatever scripts you requested in person.
you can also browse their catalog here beforehand to see if they have what you’re looking for!
i was fortunate enough to be in LA for the gen v season 2 premiere, so i carved out some time to visit the library and take notes on the scripts while i was there. photography and scanning aren’t allowed, but you ARE allowed to bring electronics in to take notes, which is exactly what i did hehe.
kickstart my heart
aka cate discovers that the new mechanic has VERY capable hands
tw: girlcock, g!p reader, alternate universe, meet cute (kinda), sexual tension, flirting, mechanic!reader, ex-con!reader, family dynamics, porn with plot, vaginal sex, fingering, handjobs, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, public sex, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, workplace sex, etc.
22.4k+ words
author's note: DADDY'S HOME! hehe hoping i can get back to a more regular release schedule following this fic. no promises, but i finally have a bit more time to edit everything i've been working on, so fingers crossed! that being said, this was originally going to be a strictly sydcate fic, but i wanted to make it accessible to a wider audience by also creating a reader x cate version :) please enjoy!<3
The heat hit her first.
Midday sun baked the asphalt outside, and it felt like the entire block exhaled straight into the open bay doors of Dunlap Motor Works. Hot air, hot metal, the sour tang of old coffee, the thick, almost sweet smell of engine oil and rubber. An impact wrench barked from somewhere deep in the garage, then chattered to a stop. A rock station played low on a battered radio, distorted guitar riffs crackling through its one working speaker, the other blown sometime around 2004.
Cate stepped in off the sidewalk and paused just inside the threshold, letting her eyes adjust to the light. Dust motes spun lazily in the stripes of sun cutting across the concrete floor. Dark smears of oil tracked a path from the bays to the back office. A box fan rattled uselessly in the corner, only managing to push the hot air around.
“Dad?” she called, her bright voice cheerfully out of place among the grease and growling machinery. “You alive in here, or did one of your carburetors finally come for you in your sleep?”
No answer.
She took a few more steps in, the heels of her sandals clicking against concrete that looked like it would stain anything dumb enough to touch it. Her sundress was the wrong choice for a place like this and she knew it: soft pink, thin straps, hem flirting with mid-thigh every time she moved. But Cate didn’t own “appropriate.” Not really. It clung where the heat made her skin damp, fabric darker at the small of her back and under her breasts. A strand of blonde hair stuck to the side of her neck until she tipped her head to shake it free.
She was already annoyed, already planning exactly how she’d guilt trip her dad for making her come all the way down here instead of answering his phone, when she heard it: the scrape of metal against metal, then a muffled curse from under one of the lifted cars.
The voice wasn’t one she recognized.
Cate turned toward the sound. The boots sticking out from beneath the lifted car caught her eye first: scuffed black work boots planted against the stained concrete, soles braced for leverage and leaving faint prints in the dust. Then the long legs in faded jeans that sat low on lean hips, denim pulling tight where one thigh flexed to push you farther beneath the car. You were stretched out on a battered red creeper, most of your body obscured beneath the chassis, but not enough. A ragged white tank top had ridden up over a strip of stomach slick with sweat, the thin fabric darkened where it clung to your ribs.
A socket wrench clicked rhythmically. The red creeper shifted with each small adjustment of your body, cracked vinyl giving a faint squeak against the concrete.
Cate’s mouth watered with such immediate, shameless interest that she almost laughed. The universe really did love her.
She took another step, the air almost warmer here, smelling of gasoline and something else under it: sweat and old cologne and the metallic breath of hot steel. “Hi,” she tried, but it came out too soft. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Excuse me?”
The socket wrench stopped clicking. For a second, nothing moved beneath the car. Then one arm stretched out from beneath the chassis, reaching blindly for the toolbox sitting beside the front tire. The motion pulled every lean muscle taut, bicep flexing as the socket wrench landed against metal with a clank. There was grease streaked across the back of your hand and stuck beneath your short nails, exactly the kind of grime Cate went to unreasonable lengths to keep off her own body. Looking at that hand now, she had the sudden, vivid thought that she wouldn’t mind it at all if it left fingerprints all over her.
“Yeah, hang on,” the unfamiliar voice called, roughened by the hollow undercarriage. One boot pressed into the concrete, and the battered creeper rolled forward. A head slid into view.
Cate almost forgot to pretend she was here for anything but the woman under that car.
Short curls escaped from under a backwards cap, damp enough to cling to your forehead and temples. Your nose had a slight bump, like it had been broken once and reset by someone with good intentions and bad bedside manner. A thin scar split one eyebrow. There was grease on your cheekbone, a thumbprint like war paint. Your eyes were shockingly sharp even as they squinted against the light.
A toothpick shifted from one corner of your mouth to the other as you looked Cate up and down. Not subtle. Not even trying to be.
“Can I help you with something?” you asked, and the low rasp of your voice did something unhelpful to Cate’s knees.
Cate smiled like she wasn’t already committing you to memory in indecent detail, all of it material she would absolutely be replaying later, alone in bed, with far less need to pretend she was being polite. She almost said she was looking for her dad. The words made it as far as the back of her teeth before instinct stopped them. Boss’s daughter was information best saved until after this beautiful stranger had decided she wanted her. “Looking for Eric,” she said instead, smooth as silk. “Old, grouchy, swears the check engine light is a government conspiracy?”
You snorted. “Dunlap? Parts run. Should be back anytime.” You wiped your forearm across your brow, leaving another streak of grease over tanned skin, then let your gaze travel over Cate again, slower this time. From the thin straps of her dress to the bare length of her thighs, lingering at the hem before lifting back to her face. By then, your interest had become considerably less subtle. “You his…” The toothpick shifted lazily to the other corner of your mouth, “…customer?”
Cate had to bite back a laugh. If Eric saw the way you were looking at her, he’d have a coronary before he hit the floor.
“Not exactly,” she said. She hooked her thumb under the strap of her purse, tugging it higher up her shoulder, letting the movement tighten the line of her dress across her chest.
The non-answer settled easily between you two, sweetened by the way your gaze dipped again. Cate saw no reason to ruin a perfectly good first impression with unnecessary information.
“Mm.” Your gaze returned to Cate’s face. Up close, you were even worse. There was something unnervingly focused in the way you looked at Cate, as though she were a beautiful problem laid open in front of you, one you already knew you’d prefer solving with your hands.
“Boss didn’t tell me we were expecting company.” You rolled the rest of the way out on the creeper, catching the edge of the lift with one hand before you could coast too far. When you sat up, your tank rode higher over your stomach, revealing the waistband of your boxers above your jeans and the sharp, slick line of your hip. “Haven’t seen you before.”
Cate let her eyes linger there, not bothering to hide it. “Maybe you weren’t looking closely enough.”
A slow grin pulled at your mouth, crooked and a little dangerous. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’d remember a girl like you.”
Cate felt the smile break across her face before she could stop it. Well. Pretty and quick on your feet. That was almost unfair.
You planted your hands on your knees and pushed yourself to your feet in one fluid motion, leaving Cate to revise her opinion of the situation. Up close, you were taller than Cate by a few inches, broad across the shoulders, your tank clinging damply to the muscles in your chest. The strip of skin above your jeans disappeared again as the fabric settled, but the waistband of your boxers still showed when you reached back to dust off your palms. A chain gleamed at your throat before vanishing beneath the sweat-darkened collar.
You gave her your name. A name Cate could already imagine saying in circumstances that had nothing to do with introductions.
She offered her hand before that thought could become visible on her face. “Cate.”
You looked at it like you were deciding whether or not to be good. Then you wiped your own hand on a rag tucked into your back pocket and took Cate’s.
Your palm was rough and hot, fingers long, grease still caught in the creases. Cate felt the calluses drag against her softer skin, felt the firm, confident squeeze and the way it lingered a second too long. Heat crawled up her arm and settled low in her belly.
“Nice to meet you, Cate-not-exactly-a-customer,” you said. You released her hand and stepped back, reaching for the rag again. “Car broke down or what?”
“Mm, no. My car’s fine.” She let her gaze drift over your face, down the column of your throat where a bead of sweat slid under the fabric of her tank. “Sadly.”
You barked a laugh. “You say that like you wish you had an excuse.”
Cate tipped one shoulder, the movement exaggerated just enough. “Who says I don’t?”
The radio crackled quietly behind you, some old guitar riff rising and falling. A cicada buzzed somewhere outside. For a moment, the garage felt very small, like the heat and the smell and the noise had all rushed to the edges and left only the two of you in the center.
Your eyes sharpened, something alert slipping in under the lazy grin. “You kill time in mechanic shops often, or is this, like, a new hobby?”
“Depends on the mechanic.” Cate let her lips part, just a little. “You’re the first one I’ve seen who makes a tank top and sweat look like a sex crime.”
It was almost worth the risk just to see the way your expression twisted. For a second, you looked startled, like you’d expected polite small talk, not a girl in a short sundress walking into your bay saying that you looked like a felony.
Your tongue pressed briefly against the inside of your cheek, as if you needed half a second to decide whether laughing or flirting back would get you in more trouble. Then the surprise melted into pleasure, your grin dragging at one corner of your mouth like you were trying not to enjoy yourself too obviously. “You always talk like that, or am I getting the deluxe package?”
Cate lifted a shoulder, as if any part of this conversation had left her remotely unaffected. “I like to make a memorable first impression.”
Your gaze dropped, slow, from Cate’s mouth down her throat, over the line of her collarbones and the rise of her chest. Cate felt each inch of that look like a touch. Her skin prickled, goosebumps rising even in the oppressive heat.
“Well,” you said quietly. “You’re doing a hell of a job.”
Somewhere near the office, a phone rang and rang, then cut off. No footsteps followed. No familiar shuffle of Eric’s boots. The world didn’t intrude.
Cate let the silence stretch just long enough to feel intentional. “So, how long have you been working here?”
You glanced toward the office first, as if remembering this was still a place with walls, cameras, consequences. Then you hooked your thumbs into the front pockets of your jeans, shoulders settling into something that tried very hard to look casual. “Couple weeks.” Your voice stayed casual, but something in your jaw tightened around the answer. “Dunlap’s taking a chance on me.” You looked at Cate for a moment, visibly measuring how much to say. “Most people don’t love hiring ex-cons, no matter how good you are with an engine.”
Cate’s brows rose. If anything, that made everything worse in the best possible way. “Ex-con,” she echoed. “What’d you do?”
Your mouth quirked. “You ask everybody you meet to list their felonies, or am I special?”
“You’re special,” Cate said without missing a beat.
The silence that followed had weight. Your eyes darkened, a flush rising high on your cheeks and curling into the shell of your ears. You looked away, picked up a wrench from the toolbox, and turned it once in your hand like you’d suddenly found something fascinating about the chrome.
“Nothing glamorous,” you said. “Wrong place, wrong time, wrong friends. Got caught holding more than I should’ve, then got caught again before I was smart enough to stop. Court decided I needed a timeout. I decided I liked engines better than cell blocks.”
The casual shrug didn’t quite hide the faint tightness in your jaw. Cate filed it away, not to weaponize, just to know. You didn’t read as ashamed, exactly. More like you were determined not to let anyone else’s opinion of it affect the new life you were trying to build.
Cate stepped closer, enough that she could smell the salt on your skin, the faint edge of cigarettes in your hair. “Well. Sounds like you’re reformed now.”
You huffed out a laugh. “That what it sounds like?”
“To me.” Cate let her nails graze the edge of the workbench beside you, resisting the urge to just put her hand on your bicep and see what happened. “But then, I have a soft spot for bad decisions.”
“Yeah?” You angled toward her without quite closing the distance. “You make a lot of those?”
Cate thought about the guy she’d let talk her into the backseat of his car last weekend, the one whose name she barely remembered. Thought about the way her parents had looked at her when she came home smelling like perfume and beer and someone else’s cologne. Thought about how nothing ever quieted the restless ache under her sternum for more than an hour.
“You have no idea,” she said, as if she’d be happy to ruin the afternoon for both of you while proving it.
Your eyes flicked to the bay door, then back. There was no one else around. A radio jingle warbled from the front office, then clicked off. The fan clacked and clattered in the corner.
“So what’s your plan?” You asked. Your voice had gone a little lower, humor still there but thinned by interest. “Stand around making my day harder until Dunlap gets back?”
She could see it on your face: the hesitation, the little war between wanting to lean into this and remembering there were rules about flirting with girls who showed up at your workplace. Cate could have made it easy. She could have said, I’m his daughter, relax. She could have left.
Instead, she tilted her head, letting her smile return in a softer, more dangerous shape. “He called me,” she lied, though technically he had, earlier, to ask if she remembered where he left his reading glasses. “Said he needed me to stop by…guess I’m early.”
“How early?”
Cate checked her phone, more for effect than information. “Depends. How long before I become a distraction?”
Your laugh came out a little strangled. “That ship sailed the second you walked in wearing that dress.”
Cate’s bones turned to syrup. “So…” She took another half-step into your space, close enough now that if either of you breathed too deep, you’d touch. She tilted your chin up. The backwards cap kept your damp curls shoved back from your face, practical and careless, and Cate wanted to tug it off just to see what else you might let her mess up. “You gonna kick me out, or are you gonna let me watch you work?”
The words came out darker than she planned, threaded with real want. Cate almost winced at herself. Subtlety had never been her strong suit.
Your nostrils flared. Your gaze dropped again, this time straight to Cate’s mouth, then jerked up as if you’d been caught. “Kinda hard to focus with someone like you staring me down.”
“That a no?”
Your throat worked around a swallow. You looked toward the parking lot again. Still empty. The street outside hummed with distant traffic, nothing slowing. No familiar blue pickup turning into the drive.
Finally, you blew out a breath. “Fine,” you said, voice rough. “You wanna watch, you can watch. You get bored, you…whatever. Wander. Try not to trip over anything. I’d hate to have to perform emergency first aid when I’m already this filthy.”
Cate’s eyes slid down your torso, slow and blatant. “I wouldn’t.”
You muttered something that sounded like Jesus Christ under your breath and dropped back onto the creeper. In a practiced motion, you slid under the car again, one boot pushing off the ground.
Cate perched on the edge of a nearby tool cart, crossing her legs carefully. The hem of her sundress rode up, exposing more of her thighs. She didn’t adjust it.
From her new vantage point, she could see the taut line of your arm when you reached up, the flex and release of muscle as you turned the ratchet. Sweat ran down the inside of your bicep, disappearing into the crook of your elbow. The tank clung to your ribs every time you exhaled. Cate watched, shameless, while the rhythm of the work settled into something hypnotic.
“You stare like you’re cataloguing me,” your voice drifted out, muffled by metal. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Flattered,” Cate said. “Definitely flattered.”
Another laugh, softer this time. “You always this intense?”
Cate considered. “Yes,” she said, as a smile crept onto her face, slow enough to be dangerous. “But you’re getting a slightly upgraded experience.”
“Again with the deluxe package,” you muttered, but there was a smile in it.
The wrench slipped with a sharp metallic clank, and your knuckles glanced off something unforgiving beneath the engine. You cursed, jerking your hand back hard enough to make the creeper rock. When your arm slid into view, two knuckles were scraped raw, blood bright against the grease.
“Shit.” You shook your hand, more annoyed than hurt.
“Are you okay?” Cate slid off the cart before she even thought about it. She stepped closer until you rolled fully out and sat up again, hand cradled against your chest.
“It’s nothing,” you said reflexively.
Cate reached for your injured hand. “Let me see.”
You hesitated, then let her. Cate curled her fingers around your wrist and drew the injured hand closer, angling it toward the light. The scrape wasn’t deep, but it was definitely bloody, a raw red line split across two knuckles. Grease darkened the creases of your fingers, caught beneath your nails, and Cate had the very inconvenient thought that even hurt, even filthy, your hands were attractive.
Cate’s thumb brushed just beside it. “You need a bandage.”
“It’s fine,” you said, but your voice had dropped. You were looking at where Cate’s slender fingers circled your wrist, at the way your skin looked together: soft and manicured and pale against rough and stained and tan. “I’ve had worse.”
“Humor me.”
There was a first aid kit pinned to the wall near the office, a dirty white metal box with a red cross sticker peeling at one corner. Cate had seen it a thousand times growing up. She didn’t let go of your wrist as she tugged you to your feet, leading rather than asking.
She felt the tendons move under her fingers, the flex of muscle in your forearm. It was ridiculously easy to imagine those same hands on her, big and sure and a little careless. Her pulse skittered.
You went with her, resisting just enough to make it clear you knew better and not nearly enough to stop.
At the kit, Cate finally let go, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary. She popped the latch and rifled through the contents, coming up with an antiseptic wipe and a bandage.
“Here,” she said, turning back. “Hold still.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you said lightly, but your eyes weren’t joking. Not completely.
Cate bit the inside of her cheek, feeling something hot curl low. Of all the things she wanted from you, obedience wasn’t in the top five, but having it didn’t exactly hurt.
She unwrapped the antiseptic and took your hand again. Your fingers dwarfed Cate’s, knuckles nicked with old scars, veins rising under the skin. Cate dabbed carefully, watching your face.
“This might sting.”
Your jaw tensed, but you didn’t pull away. The wipe smelled like a hospital, sharp and sterile, quickly cutting through the scent of heat and oil. Cate’s thumb stroked unconsciously along the side of your hand, a soothing little rhythm she couldn’t seem to stop.
“You’re very good at this,” you said, gaze locked on Cate’s mouth.
“I have a lot of experience with damage control,” Cate said quietly.
The air between you shifted, something unspoken but heavy slotting into place. Cate could feel the choice forming there: make a joke, diffuse the moment, or lean into the gravity of it.
She chose neither. She leaned into the part of her that wanted to see how far she could push before something snapped.
She finished cleaning the wound, dropped the wipe in a nearby trash can, and peeled the backing off the bandaid. Her fingers were clumsy for once, the paper catching on her nails. When she pressed the bandage over your knuckles, she smoothed it down with two fingertips, slow. Her other hand slid unconsciously higher on your forearm, nearly to the elbow.
“There,” she said, voice softer than she meant it to be. “All better.”
Your throat bobbed. “You always this…hands-on?”
Cate smiled, quick and bright. “You complaining?”
Your teeth caught the toothpick, chewing down hard enough that Cate heard the tiny crack. “Not even a little.”
You stood like that for a heartbeat too long, Cate’s hand on your arm, your newly bandaged hand hovering close to Cate’s waist, like gravity wanted it there and only willpower kept it from settling.
An engine roared by outside, too loud as it accelerated past the shop. Cate flinched, the sound punching through the bubble you’d built together. She stepped back a fraction, dropping your hand. The loss of contact felt abrupt.
“So,” she said, forcing casual into her tone. “You gonna show me you actually know what you’re doing under there? Or are you just using the tools as props to impress me?”
You snorted. “Sweetheart, if I was trying to impress you, your panties would be off already.”
The words hit Cate like a physical touch. Her breath caught, pupils dilating. A flush rose under her skin, her thighs pressing together a little too automatically.
“Big talk,” she managed, trying for a smirk and mostly succeeding. “Especially for someone who hasn’t even bought me a drink first.”
You leaned in, close enough that Cate could feel the heat radiating off you. “I’ve got a vending machine in the break room,” you murmured. “That count?”
Cate laughed, the sound coming out a little breathless. “Depends. Are we talking name-brand soda or off-brand citrus surprise?”
“The good stuff.” Your eyes caught on the slight sway of Cate’s dress, then dragged themselves back up like it took effort. “I’m not a monster.”
“Tempting.”
“It could be.” Your hand twitched like you had to stop yourself from reaching out. “Pretty sure the boss wouldn’t love it if I fucked someone in the bay, though. Even if it’d be worth the write-up.”
Cate’s heart stumbled. The boss. Her dad. Reality slid back in, unwelcome but undeniable.
For one inconvenient second, the secret sat between you waiting to be noticed. You had no idea you’d just put your hand right on the tripwire. Cate could still end it cleanly: laugh, say something wry, drop the reveal, watch you scramble back into professionalism. It would be safer. Smarter. The right thing to do, probably.
Instead, she stepped closer, letting her gaze drop to your mouth, then lifted it again slowly. Self-preservation had never been her strongest skill.
“Who says he has to find out?” she asked, eyes bright and reckless.
Your inhale was sharp, your body going still in a way that wasn’t denial, just…tension. Your eyes searched Cate’s face, looking for something: hesitation, uncertainty, a no that hadn’t been said out loud.
“Cate,” you said finally, your voice lower than before, rough around the edges. “You should tell me if you’re fucking around or not. ‘Cause I just got this job. And I’m not great at being the bigger person when someone looks at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
Cate’s fingers curled in the fabric of her own skirt, knuckles pressing white against the soft pink. She knew that look. Knew what it meant. Had seen it in mirrors after nights she didn’t remember all the way through.
She swallowed once, then again, and made herself say the truth. “I’m not fucking around.”
Your jaw worked, muscle ticking. “You sure you want to do this here?”
Cate let her gaze dart to the open bay doors, the empty lot beyond, the narrow slice of street visible between the frame and the hedge. Someone could pull in at any minute. Her father could walk through that side door, bag of fast food in hand, eyes lighting up at the sight of his little girl and the pride in his voice when he introduced her to the new hire he’d taken a chance on.
Her pulse thudded, loud in her ears.
“I’m very good with time constraints,” she said. “Adds to the fun.”
The sound that came out of you wasn’t quite a laugh. More like a growl strangled halfway. “Christ.”
“Problem?” Cate fixed her eyes on your mouth, the curve of it, the way the toothpick rested at the corner. She wanted to feel those lips against her own, wanted to taste your tongue.
You dragged your uninjured hand over your face, thumb and forefinger pinching briefly at the bridge of your nose, like you were trying to physically press some sense back into yourself. “Whole bunch of them,” you muttered. But you didn’t step away.
Instead, you reached past Cate to flick the switch on the bay door beside you. The massive metal frame began to rattle down, shading the space from the harshness of the noon sun, turning the garage into something darker, more private. The slice of street narrowed, then disappeared entirely behind corrugated metal.
The fan kept up its useless whir. The radio crackled, a DJ laughing at his own joke. Somewhere in the back, a drip hit the rim of a bucket in a steady, hollow plink.
You looked back at Cate. “Last chance to change your mind,” you said. “If I start something with you, I’m not half-assing it. And I’m not getting caught with my pants down because somebody wanders in needing an oil change.”
Cate’s breath came a little faster, chest rising and falling. “Who says I want you to half-ass anything?”
The corner of your mouth kicked up. Then, finally, you closed the distance.
Your hands landed on Cate’s hips, big and warm, fingertips denting the soft flesh just above the waistband of her panties. Cate sucked in a breath as you walked her backward, slow but deliberate, toward the shadowed space between the nearest tool chest and the concrete pillar. The corner of Cate’s bag knocked against a metal shelf, sending a socket clattering to the floor.
The sound jolted through her. She startled, then laughed, nervous and bright. Your fingers tightened.
“You okay?” you asked quietly, voice right against her lips now, the words warm with the ghost of your breath.
Cate nodded. “Yeah. I’m—yeah.”
You searched her face again, that same careful checking. “Say it,” you murmured.
Cate’s heart tripped. The insistence should have annoyed her, but it didn’t. It grounded her instead, pulled her out of the rush of risk and back into her body.
“I want this,” she said. Her voice came out rougher than she expected. “I want you.”
Something in your posture relaxed and sharpened at the same time. “Good,” you said simply.
Then you kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was hot and needy from the first second, like you’d been holding yourself back from the moment Cate walked in and the dam had finally cracked. Your mouth fit over Cate’s, plush and insistent, toothpick abandoned somewhere on the floor between you. Your hands dragged Cate’s hips forward, slotting your bodies together.
Cate gasped into your mouth, fingers flying to your shoulders for balance. Her nails bit into the warm, solid muscle there. The smell of you was everywhere now: engine oil and salt and the faintest hint of cheap peppermint gum. You licked into her mouth like you owned it, tongue sliding against Cate’s with shocking confidence.
Heat shot straight down between Cate’s legs. She tilted her head, chasing the kiss, letting herself get pinned between your body and the pillar. The concrete was hot through her dress, rough against her shoulder blades. Your thigh shoved between Cate’s, denim scraping the tender inside of her leg as you shifted, angling.
Cate moaned, the sound helpless. The vibration of it made you groan back into her mouth, a low, guttural noise.
“Fuck,” you murmured against her lips between kisses. “You taste like trouble.”
Cate laughed shakily. “You gonna arrest me?”
“Pretty sure I’m violating my parole just looking at you,” you said. Your hand slid from Cate’s hip down the curve of her thigh, fingers dipping under the hem of her sundress. Her skin felt like fire where you touched, callouses dragging over the smooth, sensitive flesh.
Cate sucked in a sharp breath as your fingers skimmed the edge of her panties. “Fuck,” she whispered.
You stilled. “Too much?”
Cate shook her head hard. “No. God, no.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m usually the one who takes control,” Cate said before she could think better of it. The words left her feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing.
You hummed, fingers tracing idle little circles at the hollow of Cate’s hip, just under the elastic. “You can,” you said. “If you want to. You want to tell me what to do, I’ll follow your lead.”
The offer landed like a weight in her chest, heavy and tempting. She could. She could take charge, push you to your knees, ride your face until her legs gave out. The image flashed hot and bright behind her eyes, almost enough to make her dizzy.
But right now, pressed against the pillar with your thigh between hers and your hand so close to where she ached, Cate didn’t want control. She wanted to be handled.
“Maybe next time,” she murmured, fingers curling in the hem of your tank and tugging you closer. “For now, I just…don’t stop.”
Your eyes darkened, though your grin twitched at the edge. “Next time?” You repeated. “Look at you, planning ahead.”
“I’m optimistic.”
“You’re trouble.” Your hand slid higher on her thigh. “But yeah. Okay. Next time.”
Your fingers slid fully under Cate’s panties, the pads of them dragging against hot, slick skin. Cate’s head thumped back against the concrete, the slight pain drowned immediately by the rush of sensation. You swore quietly under your breath.
“Already wet for me?” you said, a little incredulous, a lot pleased.
“The garage is very…stimulating,” Cate managed.
You huffed a laugh, then cut it off with another kiss. Your fingers found Cate’s clit with a certainty that made Cate suspect this was hardly the first time you’d had someone pinned up against something solid. You circled it slowly at first, testing, learning the rhythm that made Cate’s knees wobble and her breath stutter.
Cate clutched at your shoulders, at the back of your neck, fingers sliding into the curls along your nape where they escaped the cap. The hair there was damp and soft, the skin beneath burning. She rocked down against your hand, chasing pressure.
“Yeah,” you murmured against her jaw, lips trailing along the line of it, the hollow beneath her ear. “That’s it. Use me.”
The words sent a fresh lick of heat through her. Cate tilted her head, giving you better access. Teeth grazed her throat, not quite biting, just close enough to make her gasp.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Cate whispered, half-laughing, half-moan.
“Lot worse ways to go than getting fingered senseless in a garage,” you said, fingers dipping lower, slipping through slick and back up again.
Cate choked on a sound that might have been a curse. Her thighs were shaking now, muscles working to hold her up as your hand worked. She could feel the seam of your jeans against the inside of her leg, the hard line of your thigh pressing up against her. Every movement scrambled her thoughts further.
“Tell me what you like,” you murmured. “Fast, slow, deep…you want me inside you or you wanna ride my hand?”
The directness of it made Cate’s brain spark. She’d had guys fumble around, too shy to say what they were doing out loud, too caught up in their own stupid pride to ask her what worked for her. You were different. Present in a way that made Cate feel seen, not just touched.
“Inside,” she heard herself say. “Please.”
Your breath hitched. “Yeah? You want my fingers in you, princess?”
The pet name, the gravel in your voice when you said it, nearly undid Cate. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, please.”
You kissed her again, slower this time, a little reverent around the edges. One arm braced beside Cate’s head, palm flat against the pillar. The other slipped lower, two fingers circling her entrance once before pressing in.
Cate cried out softly, the sound muffled against your mouth. Her body clenched around the intrusion, welcoming the stretch. Your fingers were thick and sure, callouses scratching pleasantly at her inner walls as you eased them in to the knuckle.
“Fuck,” you breathed. “You’re tight.”
“Don’t—stop talking like that,” Cate gasped.
“Like what,” you said, starting to move your hand, slow, steady thrusts that had Cate’s breath coming in short little bursts. “You mean honest?”
Cate’s laugh broke apart halfway. Her head thunked back against the pillar again, the faint throb grounding her in her body. Her nipples were hard, peaked against the thin dress, the fabric brushing them every time her chest moved.
Your name escaped her in a strangled voice.
“Yeah, baby.” Your thumb found her clit again, rubbing small, precise circles in time with the slide of your fingers. “You feel so good. Taking me so well. Gonna make a mess on my hand, huh?”
Cate’s world narrowed to the heat between her legs, the rough drag of your skin against hers, the way your wrist flexed, the damp patch forming on her own dress where your bodies pressed together. She could feel your chest rising and falling against her, could hear the change in your breathing, the little hitch every time Cate clenched around your fingers.
“You…you’re good at this,” Cate whispered, half laughing as her thighs trembled.
“I like making pretty girls fall apart,” you said, matter-of-fact and filthy. “You gonna let me see your face when you cum? Or you gonna hide it from me?”
Cate’s hand flew up, fingers digging into the back of your neck, holding you close. “You first,” she said, words slurred by pleasure. “You look at me when I do.”
Your eyes locked on hers, color gone almost black. “Deal.”
The pressure built fast, a coil tightening low in Cate’s belly, heat licking up her spine. Her hips had a mind of their own now, grinding down against your hand, chasing the friction on her clit. The world blurred at the edges, all concrete and metal and the faint echo of music drowning under the staccato beat of her own heartbeat.
She felt it crest, that sharp, dizzy moment right before the fall, and panic flirted with the edges of it. The bay door was down. The office door was closed. But someone could still come in. Her father could still pull that cord, lift the door, see her pinned and panting and already too far gone to pretend otherwise.
The thrill of that danger tipped her over the edge.
Her orgasm hit like a punch, all the air leaving her lungs in a silent gasp before a broken moan tore free. Her fingers clenched in your hair, dragging your mouth down to devour a kiss that probably bruised you both. Her thighs clamped around your hand, trapping it, holding you exactly there as she rode the waves of it, each pulse sending another spike of pleasure through her.
You groaned against her mouth, working your fingers through it, slowing only when the intensity made Cate flinch and whine. You eased off, thumb shifting to gentler strokes, fingers still buried deep, a constant reminder of how completely you owned Cate’s body in that moment.
“Good girl,” you whispered, breath hot on Cate’s lips. “That’s it. Ride it out for me.”
Cate shuddered, the praise sparking another aftershock. “Fuck,” she panted. “Fuck, fuck…”
“Language,” you teased, voice hoarse. “What would your dad think?”
Cate’s whole body went rigid.
It was ridiculous, the way the mention of him hit her harder than the orgasm had. Reality crashed back in with all the grace of a falling anvil. Her lungs seized, her fingers tightening involuntarily in your hair.
Your eyes widened immediately. “Hey. Hey, relax. I didn’t mean…” You started to pull your hand back.
For one sharp second, Cate almost let you. Then she forced herself back into her body: your hand, your breath, the concrete warm against her back, the reckless pulse still beating between you.
Cate grabbed your wrist. “Don’t you dare stop.”
You froze. Then, slowly, that dangerous little smile crept back. “Yes, ma’am.”
You eased your fingers out carefully, coated in slick. Cate watched, dazed, as you brought them to your mouth and licked them clean. The sight sent another weak tremor through her.
“You taste like trouble, too,” you murmured, almost to yourself.
Cate’s brain felt half-melted. Her legs were jelly, her back damp where it pressed against the pillar. Her sundress was askew, one strap fallen down her arm, her lipstick a mess. She’d never been so thoroughly wrecked in such a short amount of time, and she hadn’t even touched you yet.
She blinked, forcing herself to focus on you. On the dark stain of arousal seeping through the front of your jeans, the outline beneath the denim, the tension in your jaw like sheer willpower alone was holding you together. You looked wrecked and furious about it, which only made Cate want even worse things.
“You’re just going to leave yourself like that?” Cate asked, voice rough.
You huffed a laugh, glancing down at the hard line straining against your jeans. “Trying to be a gentleman.”
Cate arched a brow, still breathing too hard to make the look as clean as she wanted. “You just got me off at work instead of fixing that car.”
“Yeah,” you said. “And kept my other hand to myself. I’m basically a saint.”
Cate swallowed, her eyes dropping to the front of your jeans before she could stop them. The knowledge sat heavy and electric in her stomach, less a surprise than an invitation her body had already answered. She wanted to see you. Wanted to know the weight and heat of you in her hand, on her tongue, the shape of you without denim and restraint in the way.
“You said you don’t half-ass things,” Cate murmured. She slid her hand down your abdomen, fingers toying with the hem of your tank top. “What, you only go all the way for girls with extended warranties?”
You laughed, pleasure cutting through the restraint you’d been trying so hard to keep. “You’re a menace.”
“So I’ve been told.”
You looked at her for a long moment, the humor in your eyes tangled up with something more hesitant. “We don’t have a lot of time,” you said quietly.
“That’s never stopped me,” Cate said. “You gonna let me take care of you or are you really gonna keep me wondering what you’ve got going on under there?”
Your breath stuttered. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” you said, echoing Cate’s earlier words.
“Like you said,” Cate murmured, fingers tracing the line of your waistband. “There are worse ways to go.”
Your resolve snapped with visible force. Your hand caught Cate’s wrist, pressing it firmer against the front of your jeans. The heat there made Cate’s mouth flood. There was no mistaking the hardness beneath the denim, thick and heavy, pushing against the zipper.
“Is this what you want?” You asked, voice gone low and harsh.
“Yeah,” Cate whispered, eyes wide. “Yeah, daddy.”
The word slipped out unbidden, instinctive in the fuzzy, overheated state she was in. The second it left her mouth, she stiffened, half in anticipation, half in fear of how it would land.
Your reaction was visceral. Your pupils blew so wide they nearly swallowed the color entirely. Your grip on Cate’s wrist tightened enough to border on painful.
“Fuck,” you breathed. “Say that again.”
Cate’s pulse roared in her ears. “Make me.”
Your breath hissed between your teeth. “You really don’t like making things easy, do you?”
“Nope,” Cate said, grin turning wicked at the edges. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You groaned, shifting your hips forward. Then you pressed in hard enough to flatten Cate more fully against the pillar, pinning her there with the full, hot weight of your body, one hand braced beside her head, the other catching Cate’s wrist and guiding it down to the front of your jeans. “Get your hand in my pants,” you ordered, voice rough. “You wanna see me lose it? You’re gonna help.”
Cate’s fingers fumbled at your fly, clumsy with afterglow and adrenaline. You cursed softly, batting her hand away long enough to pop open the button yourself and drag the zipper down. The fabric parted, revealing the band of your boxers and the suggestion of what lay beneath.
You guided Cate’s hand in, under the waistband, against bare, hot skin. Cate gasped as her fingers brushed the base of your cock, the sudden reality of it making her lightheaded.
“Fuck,” she whispered. “You’re…big.”
“Flattery’ll get you everywhere,” you muttered through gritted teeth. Your own hand stayed on Cate’s wrist, controlling the pace, guiding her. “Wrap your fingers around me.”
Cate did, curling her hand as best she could. She barely got her fingers all the way around, the thickness strained her grip. Your hips jerked forward at the first squeeze, a broken sound ripping from you.
“Jesus,” you rasped. “You’re killing me.”
“Feels like you could kill me with this thing,” Cate whispered, a shaky laugh slipping free.
“Not my style,” you said, voice strangled. “I like my girls breathing. Say it again.”
Cate swallowed, throat dry. “What?”
“You know what.”
Cate squeezed harder, thumb dragging over the head where it leaked precum, smearing slick over the sensitive skin. Your knees almost buckled.
“Fuck, baby,” you groaned. “Say it.”
Cate leaned up, lips brushing the slick line of your throat, her tongue catching on the tendon there. Her hand kept moving, stroking slowly, savoring the way your cock pulsed in her grip, the way every little twist of her wrist got a reaction.
“Daddy,” she whispered into your skin. “You look so good like this.”
Your entire body shuddered. A curse fell out of you, filthy but heartfelt. Your hips bucked into Cate’s hand, rhythm losing its steadiness.
“Jesus Christ,” you gasped. “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking fast.”
“Good,” Cate said, emboldened. “I want you to. I want to feel you lose it for me.”
“Shit,” you choked. Your forehead dropped to Cate’s shoulder, breath hot and ragged against her neck. Your hands dug into Cate’s hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring yourself as Cate stroked you, faster now, firmer, finding the cadence that made you whine deep in your chest.
Cate’s own arousal flared back to life, a slow burn under the fading aftershocks. The weight of you in her hand, the way your muscles jumped under your skin, the little helpless sounds you couldn’t swallow back. It all fed something greedy in Cate. It was more than satisfaction. It was the pleasure of discovering she could make you come apart, and the immediate, desperate need to do it again.
“You look so good,” she murmured, lips against your ear. “Getting off in my hand in this filthy little garage. Bet you’ve thought about this, huh? Fucker like you, you must jerk off in here all the time.”
You groaned loudly, half-laughing, half-mortified. “You’re gonna be the end of me, I swear to God.”
“You keep saying that,” Cate taunted. “But you’re still standing.”
“Not for long,” you gritted out. “Fuck. Faster, baby. Just like that.”
Cate obeyed, twisting her wrist, pumping her hand faster. Her palm was slick now, sliding easily. Your hips lost their rhythm entirely, stuttering into her grasp. Your breath came in harsh, broken pants, each one puffing hot against Cate’s neck.
“Where do you want it,” you managed, voice strangled. “Tell me where.”
The question knifed through her. Cate’s body answered before her brain did. “On me,” she breathed. “On my dress. Make a mess.”
You swore with feeling. “You’re fucked up,” you rasped, admiration heavy in your voice.
“Takes one to know one.”
Your whole body went taut, every muscle locking for a split second. Cate felt the tremor before she saw it, the way your cock jerked in her hand, the flood of heat that followed. You came with a strangled groan, biting down on Cate’s shoulder hard enough to make her hiss.
Hot streaks spilled over Cate’s fingers first, slicking her knuckles, then caught on the open waistband of your boxers as your hips stuttered forward. Cate’s hand shifted instinctively, sliding up with the motion, and you jerked once more with a broken groan. The last of it spurted higher, landing on the front of her dress, warm and wet as it soaked into the pretty fabric like evidence.
Cate kept stroking you through it, gentling the motion as you trembled, breath sawing in and out. One of your hands left her hip to slam against the pillar again, steadying yourself.
“Fuck,” you panted. “Fuck, fuck…”
“Language,” Cate whispered back, smug and soft.
You laughed weakly into her skin, the sound breathless and wrecked. “You’re evil,” you exhaled, voice roughened into something fond.
The front of your boxers were a disaster, soaked dark where they showed above your open jeans. Cate’s sundress wasn’t much better. The stain had already begun to seep into the pretty fabric, spreading at the edges in a warm, damning bloom.
“Worth it?” Cate asked, holding up her hand for inspection.
You groaned, tipping your head back as if appealing to whatever god watched over terrible decisions. When your eyes opened again, they fixed on Cate’s messy hand, and you swallowed hard. “Don’t show me that unless you’re planning on letting me lick it off,” you said, voice rough. “I’m hanging on by a thread here.”
Cate’s breath hitched, the image doing unholy things to her.
Before she could decide if she was brave enough to call that bluff, the distinct rumble of an engine cut through the haze like a warning.
Both your heads snapped up.
Cate heard it first in her bones, that particular uneven idle she’d grown up to, the rattle of her dad’s ancient pickup dragging itself off the street and into the lot, and damn near levitated. Gravel crunched under tires. A horn beeped twice in lazy greeting, as familiar as a knock on her bedroom door.
The sound reached you a beat later. Your whole body went still, desire wiped clean off your face by the kind of dread that came with rent, parole officers, and second chances held together with duct tape. Somewhere behind your eyes, Cate could see the realization land: truck, boots, boss.
“Shit,” you whispered.
Cate slapped a hand over her own mouth, as if she could quiet the guilty flush in her cheeks that way. Her other hand, the one still slick with your cum, hovered awkwardly in the air.
The truck engine cut off outside. A door creaked. Slammed. Heavy boots hit concrete.
For one suspended, stupid heartbeat you just stared at each other, both frozen in the wreckage of what you’d just done. Then panic hit you both in the same second.
“We cannot get caught like this,” Cate hissed, wild-eyed and breathing hard.
Your brain finally caught up. Eric Dunlap. The guy who’d given you the job and, by extension, your last shot at not screwing up your entire life. Your face went pale beneath the grease. “Fuck me.”
“You just had your chance,” Cate snapped, half-hysterical.
You had thirty seconds. Maybe.
You moved first. You grabbed the hem of your boxers and jeans, yanking everything up in one harsh drag. The hiss you let out when fabric smeared over oversensitive skin was almost a whimper. Your fingers fumbled with the button, slick and shaking.
Cate’s brain sprinted to exactly one conclusion: hide the evidence.
Cate looked down at herself and nearly laughed. The front of her sundress was ruined, a wet patch blooming dark over the fabric. Her thighs were sticky. Her hand looked like she’d just dipped it in something indecent. Her thighs still trembled. There was no universe where she could walk across the garage like this and have her father chalk it up to a heatwave.
“Rag,” she hissed. “Where’s a rag—”
You jerked your head at the bench. “Red one, left side.”
Cate lunged, nearly tripping over a rolling stool. She grabbed the rag and focused on her hand first, wiping furiously. It only half-worked. The fabric spread more than it erased, leaving her palm still damp, now perfumed with engine grease over the faint musk of sex.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
You made a strangled sound that might have been agreement, might have been panic, and finally managed to shove yourself back into your jeans. The button fought you for one humiliating second before it snapped into place. Your zipper came next, dragged up too fast, teeth catching once before you forced it.
Then your eyes dropped to Cate’s hand.
“Give me that,” you rasped.
Cate barely had time to loosen her grip before you took the rag from her and swiped it across the front of your own pants in frantic motions. The wet patch across your boxers had already seeped through the denim. No way was that passing for sweat.
“Okay,” you muttered, a little too loudly. “Okay, okay, okay. Maybe if—”
The idea hit you both at the same time.
Grease.
Cate stared at the rag, then at the stain on her dress, then at your zipper. “You’re not serious,” she said.
You were already smearing. “You got a better plan, princess?”
You pressed the heel of your hand into your own thigh, grinding dark fingerprints into the denim above and around the damp patch. It wasn’t perfect, but between sweat, cum and grease, it read more “I wiped my hands on my jeans like an animal” than “I just got jerked off against a pillar.”
“Come here,” you hissed.
Cate barely had time to squeak before you caught her by the hip and dragged her in, pressing the filthy rag into the wetness on her dress. You rubbed hard, blending the darker stain into wider, more ambiguous smudges.
“You’re ruining my dress,” Cate gritted out between clenched teeth, her whisper so exaggeratedly furious it would’ve been convincing if she weren’t still flushed and trembling.
“Actually, I’m saving your ass,” you shot back. “Turn.”
You manhandled Cate by the waist, dragging the rag across the back of her skirt in a few strategic streaks. It looked ridiculous. It also looked like she’d leaned against a car and lost.
Out front, the bell over the customer entrance jingled. The side door hinges shrieked open, a sound Cate had heard a thousand times.
Cate’s heart did a full somersault.
You looked at the closed bay door and swore under your breath. “Shit. He’ll think I’m napping in here.” You slapped the button. The metal gate rattled up just enough to make it look intentional rather than incriminating, stopping halfway with a groan. Outside, the blue pickup sat crooked in its usual spot.
For half a second, you stared at it like the truck itself had come to collect your soul. Then you turned back to Cate, and whatever color was left in your face drained out.
“You, uh…you look like…” you said.
Cate yanked her phone out of her bag, flipping to the front camera. One look made her wince. Hair skewed, lipstick smeared to hell, pupils looking like she’d just seen God and liked what she saw.
“Oh, great, I look freshly fucked,” she muttered.
“Hot,” you said, then winced like you’d heard yourself be useless in real time. “For me, anyway.” Your eyes darted toward the bay door. “But maybe not for Dunlap.”
Cate snatched the rag from you and found the cleanest corner by instinct, blotting carefully at her mouth instead of scrubbing, redistributing pigment into something less obviously post-orgasmic. The lipstick came away uneven, leaving her lips softer, less devoured-looking, though still swollen enough to incriminate her. Her pupils were still blown, but there was nothing she could do about that short of sticking her head in the parts washer.
You reached out impulsively and straightened the fallen strap of her dress, fingers brushing the warm curve of Cate’s shoulder. “There,” you said, softer. “You look…fine.”
Cate snorted, sarcastic. “You have no idea how reassuring that is, coming from you.”
You, who could still feel your own heartbeat in places it had no business being, forced yourself to move. You grabbed the nearest wrench, some random size that matched absolutely nothing you’d been working on, and planted yourself next to the lifted car.
Deep breath. Shoulders back.
You rolled your neck, popped a new toothpick between your teeth, and tried to remember how to be the cool, lazy mechanic who’d been here for all of two weeks and desperately needed this job.
Then you looked at Cate.
Cate, still too close. Cate, flushed and bright-eyed, sundress strap barely fixed, standing in the middle of the bay like the prettiest piece of evidence anyone had ever left at a crime scene.
Your grip tightened around the wrench. “You should…go stand over there or something,” you said, jerking your chin toward the far side of the shop, away from you. “Look like you just got here.”
“I did just get here,” Cate said primly. “Sort of.”
“You know what I mean.”
Cate scooped up her purse, fingers still slightly tacky even after the rag, and sashayed toward the far workbench. She prayed no one would notice her legs were still a little shaky. She leaned a hip against the bench and picked up a random part, turning it over like it was fascinating.
Her heart thudded. Her cunt ached, pleasantly sore. She could still feel the ghost of your fingers inside her when she shifted her weight.
Across the bay, you gave her one frantic look that said, Please act normal.
Cate lifted the random metal piece a little higher and widened her eyes at it, as if she had developed a sudden, scholarly interest in whatever the hell it was.
Eric called out your name, cheerful and unaware. “You in here or did the heat finally finish the job the state started?”
You rolled your eyes reflexively, then caught yourself and pasted on something resembling respect. “In here,” you called back. Your voice only cracked slightly. Not bad.
For one glorious, delusional second, you thought you might actually pull this off.
Then the office door banged open.
Eric strode into the bay in his standard uniform: oil-stained coveralls half-zipped, t-shirt underneath that said EAT MY DUST in cracked white letters. His hair, grayer at the temples every year, stuck up at odd angles like he’d been running his hands through it for the last hour. The man was a walking laundry disaster.
Eric saw you first, naturally. You were front and center, wrench in hand, tank clinging, tattoos on display. If you were still flushed, he didn’t comment on it. His gaze flicked down once, taking in the smears of grease on your jeans, then moved on. Probably exactly what you’d both hoped for.
He made it three more steps before the heat hit him properly, his face creasing as he squinted toward the open garage door, then back at the button on the wall like it had personally betrayed him.
“What’d I tell you about closing the door?” He grumbled. “Feels like Satan’s asscrack in here as it is.”
You lifted the wrench, trying to make it look like you’d been using it this whole time. “Had the intake open,” you said, nodding toward the car. “Didn’t want dust getting all up in the lady’s guts.”
Eric paused, blinked, then nodded, conceding the point.
Behind him, a younger guy stepped in, still chewing the last of a burger, brown hair sticking up in sweat-curled tufts. Caleb, you remembered from half-heard conversations: helped out around the shop sometimes, took classes, rolled his eyes a lot.
“You trying to cook her in here or what?” Caleb asked, sweeping a look around the bay. “It’s like ninety.”
Eric shot him a look. “She had the intake open, genius. You want road dust in Mrs. Alvarez’s engine because you’re delicate?”
Caleb lifted both hands, burger still pinched in one of them. “I’m just saying, my organs are boiling.”
“Then take your organs to the office,” Eric said. “Door stays down until she’s done.”
You kept your jaw loose, fingers relaxed on the wrench even as every nerve in your body screamed. You could feel the damp patch cooling inside her jeans. Could feel the faint pull of your fly against barely contained thickness. Could feel, like a phantom, the press of Cate’s hand.
Eric wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Parts show up?”
“Yeah,” you said, proud that your voice mostly cooperated. “Box in the corner. Intake’s half on. Another hour and she’ll be purring.”
Eric nodded. “Atta girl.” He shuffled the rag in his hand, then looked around again. “We get any walk-ins while I was gone?”
You felt Cate’s presence like a knife between your shoulder blades.
“Uh, yeah,” you said, keeping your eyes fixed on Eric’s face, determined not to let your gaze skate traitorously toward Cate. The grease smears on your own jeans felt like neon signs. “You got…someone waiting.”
Eric huffed, already sounding resigned. “What’d you do, leave your number on an invoice?”
Your mouth twitched before you could stop it. “Not this time.”
“Mhm.”
“What? I’m growing as a person.” You rolled the toothpick from one side of your mouth to the other, still not looking at Cate. “Blonde. Pretty. Said she was here to see you.”
From her corner, Cate sank her teeth into the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Her heart still hammered, but the edges of her fear had gone fizzy with adrenaline.
Caleb perked up instantly. “Where?” His gaze started darting around like a golden retriever’s. “You holding out on us already, new girl?”
You didn’t look at the far bench. Didn’t look at the smears on Cate’s dress. Didn’t look at the way your hands probably still had grease in every line.
“Back there somewhere,” you said instead, jerking your chin toward the shadows.
Eric sighed like a man deeply wronged by fate. “Unless the shop fairy turned into a swimsuit model while I was gone, I’m guessing that’s just—”
“Hi, daddy!”
Cate’s voice cut through the air like a bell, bright and sugar-sweet, ricocheting off metal and concrete.
You flinched on reflex. Everything in you snapped to attention. The word hit the same place it had ten minutes ago, hot and low and Pavlovian, and you whipped around so fast the wrench nearly slipped from your hand.
You froze halfway through the turn.
Because Cate wasn’t looking at you.
Cate was halfway across the bay already, dress swinging, purse bouncing against her hip. She went straight past you, straight past the car, straight into Eric’s arms.
He caught her without missing a beat, laughing as she looped her arms around his neck like she’d been doing it since she could walk, body pressing into the front of his filthy coveralls with zero concern for her clothes.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said into her hair, voice turned warm and mushy in a way you’d never heard. “You’re gonna break my back one of these days.”
“You’re strong, you’ll survive,” Cate said, grinning, nose pressed into his shoulder.
You watched everything unfold and had the horrifying thought that Cate probably still smelled like the sex you’d barely managed to wipe off her skin. Close up, tucked against Eric’s chest like that, there was no way to know what he might catch.
Eric set Cate back on her feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder like he didn’t quite trust gravity not to steal her away. “What’re you doing down here, kiddo?” he asked. “Thought you were gonna study. Or whatever it is you pretend to do at that fancy school.”
“Thought you might want these before you tried to read another invoice by threatening it,” Cate said brightly, producing his reading glasses from her purse.
Eric squinted at her, then at the glasses. “Knew I left those somewhere.”
“Kitchen counter,” Cate said. “Right next to the coffee you also forgot.”
Caleb snorted behind him, the laugh escaping around the last bite of his burger. Eric shot a warning look over his shoulder. “You keep chewing.”
“I am chewing,” Caleb said, muffled and innocent.
Eric grunted, already sliding the glasses onto the top of his head instead of his face. Cate opened her mouth to comment on that too, but Caleb was faster. The second Eric set her back on her feet, Caleb swooped in from the side and hooked an arm around her shoulders, dragging her into a sloppy half-hug that nearly knocked her purse off her arm.
“Careful, Catie,” he said, squeezing her obnoxiously. “You walk in here lookin’ like that and someone’s gonna blow a gasket.”
Your grip tightened around the wrench so fast your knuckles ached. For one insane second, you thought he knew. Thought Caleb had somehow looked at Cate’s messy hair, her swollen mouth, the careful angle of her body and seen the whole thing written there in neon. Then Caleb grinned, entirely too pleased with himself, and you realized he was just being an annoying little brother.
“Hi to you too,” Cate said dryly, elbowing him. “Did you bring me fries or are you useless as always?”
“No fries for traitors.”
“I drove all the way here to keep our father literate.”
“That’s like, bare minimum daughter behavior.”
They fell into sibling bickering like muscle memory, easy and sharp and affectionate beneath the insults. Eric watched them with the long-suffering fondness of a man who had built an entire life out of pretending not to enjoy this.
You stood rooted to the spot, wrench heavy in your hand, brain quietly catching fire.
You gotta be fucking kidding me, you thought, and somehow managed not to say it out loud.
Cate. Catie. Eric. Caleb. The names pinged around in your head like loose bolts.
You remembered Eric mentioning his kids once, almost offhand, somewhere between bitching about tuition, car insurance, and the way teenagers apparently treated brake pads like a renewable resource. You also remembered the old family photo in the office, half-hidden behind a stack of invoices when you’d signed your hiring paperwork: Eric younger and less gray, one arm around a boy with Caleb’s grin, the other around a blonde girl with bright eyes and a smile already sharp enough to get her out of trouble.
You looked at Cate again, watching all of it unfold like someone had dropped you into a movie halfway through and forgotten to give you a script. At the way Caleb still had her hooked under one arm, at the casual way she stole the rag from Eric’s hand and used it to wipe a smear of ketchup off Caleb’s chin, ignoring his immediate protest. At the way Eric watched her do it with fond exasperation, like this was an old ritual and not the most devastating reveal of your adult life.
Cate felt you watching. Of course she did. She could feel you like a magnet in the back of her skull, heat and panic and something else prickling along her spine. She let herself enjoy it for two whole seconds before she glanced over Caleb's shoulder while Eric was busy settling his glasses onto his face, and finally, deliberately, met your eyes.
You looked, briefly, like you might drop dead on the spot.
Cate’s mouth curved. She didn’t wink. That would have been too much, too obvious. Instead, she let her expression go sweet and contrite, all wide eyes and soft cheeks, and silently shaped one word at you across the bay.
Oops.
You felt your stomach drop, your blood go cold and hot at the same time.
Eric, oblivious, followed the line of Cate’s gaze. “Oh hey,” he said, brightening, hand still resting proud on his daughter’s shoulder. “You two met already, huh?”
Cate turned, all sugar and innocence, leaning lightly into his side. The grease smear on her sundress looked exactly like she’d brushed up against a fender. Only you knew better.
“We’ve been talking,” she said sweetly. “She was keeping me company while I waited. She’s very…attentive.”
You tried not to choke. Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. Eric just nodded, pleased.
“Good, good,” he said. “She’s the best thing that’s happened to this place since air tools. Knows her way around an engine better than most of the clowns that apply here. And she works, too. None of that phone bullshit.” He gave you an approving jerk of his chin. “You keep that up, we’re gonna make a decent mechanic outta you yet.”
You managed a sound that might, in generous light, be mistaken for a laugh. “Yessir,” you said. Your voice came out a touch higher than usual. “Just, uh. Doing my job.”
Cate’s eyes danced. “She’s very committed to it,” she said, voice bright with manufactured innocence. “You’re in good hands, daddy.”
Your fingers spasmed around the wrench. The urge to sink through the concrete or spontaneously combust was almost overwhelming. Either would be fine.
Cate stepped sideways, brushing past you on her way out. The proximity was deliberate, just close enough that your arms almost touched. The faint scent of her perfume hit you again, floral and bright over sweat and grease. It made the aftershocks in your body flare.
As she passed, Cate let her fingers twitch once, barely grazing the back of your hand where it hung at your side. Too light for anyone else to see. Heavy as a promise.
Her voice was quiet, meant for you alone. “See you around.”
You didn’t trust yourself to answer. Instead, you smiled weakly and decided, very clearly and very specifically, that you were absolutely, totally, cosmically fucked.
For three days, you saw her everywhere.
Not literally, which was somehow worse. There was no Cate leaning against the office door, no Cate perched on the front counter, no Cate wandering into the bay with those kissable lips and dangerous eyes and the kind of dress that made workplace safety feel like a myth invented by the involuntarily celibate. There was only the absence of her, which you discovered was its own form of haunting.
You found yourself looking up every time the bell over the front door jingled. Found yourself wiping your hands twice before stepping into the office, like Cate might be there and you might need to look less like a walking oil spill. Found yourself listening for a voice you had no business wanting to hear again.
Which was stupid.
Dangerously stupid.
The garage taught you to hear things before they became problems.
The hiccup in a starter. The thin, bright scrape of a belt about to go. The wrong rattle under the hood of Mrs. Kline’s Chevy that wasn’t the muffler no matter how many times Mrs. Kline insisted her cousin knew a muffler sound when he heard one. You’d always been good at listening to machines, probably because machines never pretended to be anything but fucked until fixed. They complained honestly. They leaked where they were hurt. They didn’t walk into your workplace in a little pink dress, let you put your fingers inside them, make you cum in your own jeans, and then reveal they were your boss’s daughter with a smile sweet enough to commit fraud.
Machines were civilized.
People were a dumpster fire with legs.
For three days after the Cate Dunlap incidentTM, you existed in a state of mechanical hypervigilance that bordered on religious punishment. You worked. You worked well. Better than well, actually, because panic did excellent things for productivity when it had nowhere else to go. You changed oil, bled brakes, installed an alternator, cleaned a carburetor until it shone like something that had confessed its sins, and replaced a belt on an old Tacoma while thinking very hard about not thinking about Cate’s thighs bracketing your hand.
It didn’t work.
Everything turned into her. The smear of pink chalk Caleb used to mark a tire rotation became the color of her dress. The cherry scent of the cheap air fresheners by the counter became the soft, bright perfume that had clung to Cate’s neck. The snap of latex gloves reminded you of Cate’s mouth pulling off yours, breathless and bruised. The word daddy became an active threat. Eric said it once in passing, something about a customer telling her kid to “ask daddy which tires he wanted,” and you dropped a socket straight into an oil drain pan.
“You good?” Caleb had asked, leaning around the side of the Civic you’d been under, eyebrows raised.
“Livin’ the dream,” you muttered, fishing blindly through warm oil for the lost socket. “The dream has sludge in it.”
Caleb snorted and disappeared again.
He was too perceptive. That was the problem with younger brothers, you thought bitterly. Caleb was observant enough to notice, annoying enough to say something, and blessed with the exact sibling-born talent of standing precisely where you didn’t want him.
Eric, somehow, noticed nothing.
Or maybe he noticed only in the broad, fatherly way that men like him noticed things: you were working hard, eating badly, drinking too much coffee, and keeping your nose clean. Good enough. He clapped you on the shoulder twice since and told you that you were “settling in,” which made you feel like a criminal being praised for hiding the body properly.
By the fourth day, you’d started flinching at every bell.
The customer entrance jingled and your whole spine went rigid. Delivery driver. The side door opened and you nearly brained herself on a chassis. Caleb. The office phone rang and you glanced toward the front like Cate might materialize through the receiver, voice pitched soft enough to ruin you from three rooms away.
“She’s got you jumpy,” Caleb said that afternoon.
You went still, elbow-deep in the engine bay of a dented Subaru. “Who?”
Caleb leaned against the tool chest with the hateful leisure of someone born into his place in the world. He had a soda in one hand and a rag in the other, neither being used for their intended purpose. “Didn’t say a name.”
“Then you’re talking to yourself.” You ducked back under the hood. “Which checks out.”
“Mhm.” Caleb slurped his soda. “You know, Cate does that.”
Your wrench slipped.
Your knuckles hit something metal, pain sparking hot across your hand. “Fuck.”
Caleb grinned. “That.”
“Your sister makes people hurt themselves?”
“My sister makes people act like they’ve never seen a woman before. You’re doing the thing.”
You straightened slowly, flexing your injured hand. The bandage from the other day was gone, replaced by a fresh scrape across the same two knuckles. Very poetic. Very stupid. “Your sister dropped by once.”
“Yeah, and now you look at the door like it owes you money.”
You stared him down. Caleb stared back, cheerfully unbothered.
“I’m observant,” he said.
“You’re unemployed with a hobby.”
“I work here.”
“You hover here.”
He shrugged. “I’m family. Hovering is in the benefits package.”
You wiped your hands on a rag, resisting the urge to throw it at him. “Don’t you have a fuel filter to misplace?”
“Already did.” Caleb pushed off the tool chest and started backward toward the office, walking with the loose, obnoxious confidence of someone who had been loved too openly to fear consequences. “Anyway. Cate’s got class today. Long day. So you can stop looking like you’re gonna be jumped at any minute.”
You hated the relief that moved through you. Hated it more than anything else that week.
“Wasn’t worried,” you called after him.
Caleb laughed. “Sure, buddy.”
By Friday, you had almost convinced yourself it was over.
The logic was solid enough if you didn’t think about it too hard. Cate was your boss’s daughter. Beautiful, spoiled, reckless, obviously used to getting exactly what she wanted and bored once she had it. You were a new hire with a record, one bad reference away from being unemployable somewhere that wasn’t night shift warehouse work or a kitchen with questionable ventilation. Cate had gotten the thrill of the dirty mechanic in the family garage. You’d gotten the kind of orgasm that made you nearly rethink the concept of God. You’d both survived. Great. Done. Put a bow on it, throw it in the dumpster, set the dumpster on fire, deny everything under oath.
The bell over the customer door stayed quiet all morning. Eric and Caleb were both in and out, orbiting around a nightmare of a Ford F-150 whose owner had apparently believed oil was optional if you had enough confidence. Around noon, Caleb came in from the office saying something about a stranded Jeep across town. Eric grumbled for all of three seconds before grabbing his keys, because he couldn’t hear the words won’t start without developing some sort of moral obligation.
“Consider this an educational field trip,” Eric had said, as he led Caleb out to the truck.
Caleb had groaned. “I literally work here.”
“Then start acting like the gene pool gave you tools.”
The garage settled.
No Eric booming from the office. No Caleb making commentary like a Greek chorus with a learner’s permit. No customers in the waiting area, no voices drifting from the front, no familiar truck rattling in the lot. Just you, the radio mumbling through static, and the mid-July heat pressing against the bay doors.
You’d been left alone with a ’69 Camaro the color of black coffee, its driver’s side door open, its dash half-gutted beneath the shop lights, and the blessed chance to work without anyone talking at you.
The car had come in smelling like cigarettes, sun-baked leather, and somebody’s second divorce. You had one boot planted on the concrete, the rest of your body folded awkwardly inside as you wrestled with the wiring behind the dash.
Your cap was backward again, curls damp at your temples, tank top stuck to the hollow of her spine. Sweat gathered beneath the band of your sports bra and slid down your ribs in slow, irritating lines, arms already streaked with grease.
You’d just found the bad connection when the bell jingled.
Your whole body reacted before your brain gave it permission. Your wrist jerked, the back of your hand smacking the underside of the dash.
“Fuck,” you hissed, ducking your head out of the footwell.
The bell’s echo faded through the empty front office.
You stayed still, half in the car, listening.
Heels on concrete.
Not heavy. Not a work boot. A click, then another, measured and light.
Your stomach dropped.
No. Absolutely not. The universe had standards. Surely.
The footsteps paused near the office, then drifted into the bay like they owned the place. You slowly turned your head.
Cate stood in the mouth of the garage wearing a white sundress and sunglasses, looking like a pristine thing delivered by mistake to a filthy world.
This dress was worse than the pink one, because it looked innocent from far away and criminal up close. It was one of those soft little things with buttons down the front and a skirt that moved around her thighs when she walked. Her hair was loose over her shoulders in soft blonde waves that caught the light, as if she hadn’t spent any time making it look exactly that way. Her sandals were glossy red. Her mouth matched them. In one hand she held a cardboard drink carrier with two iced coffees sweating through their cups. In the other, a small paper bag folded at the top.
You stared.
Cate pushed the sunglasses up into her hair and smiled. “Hi.”
Your first thought was not remotely safe for work.
Your second was: I need to leave the state.
Your third, arriving with terrible clarity, was: She planned this.
The garage had gone too quiet. You slid out of the Camaro with as much dignity as one could manage while sweaty, greasy, and actively trying not to look at the way sunlight moved through cotton when Cate took three steps forward.
You dragged your eyes back to the Camaro with all the strength of a woman attempting emergency re-entry into civilized society. “No.”
Cate’s heels gave a light tap against the concrete as she stepped into the bay. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You didn’t need to.” You ducked back into the driver’s side doorway, one boot planted on the concrete, the rest of you angled awkwardly inside as you reached beneath the dash. You fit the wire strippers around absolutely nothing useful with much more aggression than the wiring deserved. “Whatever you’re about to do, no.”
A pause, delicate and put-on. “I brought you coffee.”
“Weaponized coffee.”
“And food.”
“Bribery.”
Cate gave a soft, affronted exhale. You could hear the smile inside it, that pleased little curl of amusement you’d already learned was dangerous. “I didn’t realize it was illegal to be thoughtful.”
“It’s illegal for you to be in here when your dad’s not around.”
“Technically, I think it would be weirder if he were around.”
You barked a laugh before you could stop yourself, then immediately regretted rewarding her. The wire strippers clicked once, twice, and slipped because your hand had gotten slick against the grip. You straightened with a sharp sigh, braced one hand on the Camaro’s roof, and turned around.
That was your second mistake. The first had been letting Cate touch you at all.
Cate had placed the drinks and the paper bag on the cleanest corner of the workbench, apparently finding this small act domestic enough to be pleased by it. Up close, she looked cool and expensive and utterly wrong against the stained concrete and tool carts, which meant she looked exactly right for the specific kind of ruin your self-control seemed determined to pursue.
You tightened your jaw. “Your dad’s gonna be gone for at least an hour.”
Cate tipped her head. “Is he?”
Her expression didn’t change fast enough.
There it was. A tiny flash. Satisfaction, bright as a match behind her eyes.
You stared at her.
Of course Cate knew. Of course she’d known before she ever stepped through the door, probably before she’d picked the dress, probably before she’d ordered two iced coffees and packed the little paper bag like a prop in a very horny sting operation.
“Right,” you said flatly. “So obviously this is premeditated.”
Cate’s mouth dropped open, one hand lifting to her chest like you’d just accused her of armed robbery, blue eyes going wide with theatrical offense. “Premeditated?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you wandered into your father’s garage at the exact moment he and your brother are out chasing some mystery tow because you suddenly developed an intense interest in dashboard wiring.”
“Maybe I missed you.”
The sentence was soft enough that it scraped you in an entirely different place than Cate’s usual teasing. Your grip tightened around the rag hanging from your pocket. You wiped it over your hands because you needed them occupied, needed something between yourself and the memory of your hands gripping Cate’s hips against a concrete pillar.
“You met me once,” you said.
Cate’s smile turned just a little less playful. “It was a very memorable once.”
Your cock gave an inconvenient pulse inside your jeans. You looked away quickly, scanning the Camaro’s open door, the gutted dash, the dark footwell, as if any of them might hand her a usable exit strategy.
Five days. It had been five days since she’d found out the pretty stranger who had been moaning her name in Bay Three was Eric Dunlap’s daughter. Five days of showing up early, putting her head down, working like a machine, and avoiding every thought that began with Cate’s mouth or ended with the breathy, devastating way she’d said daddy before turning around and revealing an entirely different daddy had just walked through the door.
Eric had been decent to you. More than decent. He’d looked at the felony on your application, looked at the ugly, empty years behind it, and asked whether you could rebuild a transmission. When you’d said yes, he’d pushed a tool cart your way and told you not to make him regret it.
You needed this job. Needed the paychecks, needed the clean routine, needed someone on the outside willing to believe you could be more than a charge sheet and a parole officer’s appointment calendar. Fucking the boss’s daughter in his own shop was not how a woman safeguarded a second chance.
Even when the boss’s daughter was standing three feet away looking like every bad choice you’d ever wanted to make had been distilled into perfume and bare legs.
“You can’t miss me,” you said, voice flatter than it felt. “You don’t even know me.”
Cate’s expression flickered. Not wounded, exactly. More like interested in the bruise beneath the words. She took one slow step closer. “Then let me.”
You laughed once, without humor. “This isn’t a date, Cate.”
“It could be.”
“Here?”
“You have a coffee. I have a coffee. You’re avoiding my eyes because you’re thinking about me naked. That’s already better than most dates I’ve been on.”
This time you couldn’t help it. You looked.
Cate rewarded you with the faintest lift of her chin, the movement elegant and shameless. Her dress floated around her legs when the box fan swung in your direction, cooling nothing, only carrying the scent of her deeper into the bay. Vanilla and something floral, mingled with shop heat and motor oil.
“Jesus Christ,” you said quietly.
“I remembered your order.”
You stared at the iced coffee, condensation dripping down the cup. “You don’t know my order.”
“Black with an extra shot.”
You scoffed. “That’s not an order. That’s what everyone thinks mechanics drink in porn.”
Cate laughed, genuinely this time, a bright little sound that seemed absurd in the hot, hollow garage. “Fine. I guessed. Was I wrong?”
You looked at her for a long second, then crossed the distance to the workbench and snatched the coffee. You took a sip through the straw, refusing to make eye contact as the cold bitterness hit your tongue.
Cate watched you expectantly.
“It’s fine,” you said.
“Mm. Rave review.”
“Don’t get smug. You haven’t earned smug.”
Cate glanced meaningfully at the lower half of your body, then raised her eyes again. “I thought I made a fairly strong case for it last time.”
You nearly inhaled coffee into your lungs. You coughed, turning away, one palm braced on the Camaro’s roof.
“Nope,” you said when you could breathe again. “No. We’re not talking about last time.”
“That’s unfortunate. I’ve thought about it quite a lot.”
“Cate.”
“Especially your fingers.”
You set the coffee down harder than necessary. The plastic cup rocked, ice clattering inside it.
“Stop.”
Cate did. Immediately.
The little pause that followed changed the air. You felt it before you looked up, the shift from Cate pressing because she liked the game to Cate waiting because she already understood the severity in your voice. Her smile had softened away, her hands folded loosely in front of her sundress, eyes clear and attentive.
You dragged a hand down your face, smearing sweat and a faint stripe of grease along your temple. “I’m not saying I don’t want you.”
Cate’s lashes lowered slightly. “I know.”
“That is very much the fucking problem.” You pushed away from the car, restless energy pricking under your skin. You paced once toward the tool chest and back. “Your dad gave me a job. A real one. Do you know how many people looked at me after I got out and saw the word felon before they saw my face?”
Cate didn’t answer. Her posture remained still, but you saw the careful attention in her eyes, the way all of Cate’s bright, provocative movement quieted when something mattered.
“He didn’t,” you continued, hating that the words were already coming out now, too honest and too rough. “He said he didn’t care what I did before as long as I didn’t bring any bullshit into his shop. And then his daughter shows up in a dress with coffee and starts looking at me like…” You broke off, jaw flexing.
“Like what?” Cate asked softly.
Your laugh was a strained thing. “Like I’m something you want to eat alive.”
Cate’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t entirely a joke. “Maybe you are.”
“See?” You gestured at her helplessly. “This. You do this, and I forget that I’m supposed to have a functional survival instinct.”
“Isn’t that the fun of it, though?”
You closed your eyes.
There it was. Sugary and terrible and delivered with that voice, the one that made recklessness sound less like a fatal character flaw and more like a door you simply hadn’t had the nerve to open yet.
“No,” you said, reopening them. “That’s the part where I wind up unemployed and your dad uses a tire iron to introduce me to God.”
“He won’t murder you.” Cate leaned her hip against the fender, crossing one ankle over the other. “He likes you.”
You stared at her. “That makes it worse.”
“Being liked?”
“Being trusted.” Your voice sharpened around the word, and you hated how much it gave away. “There’s a difference.” You swallowed, your tongue clicking against your teeth, mouth suddenly dry. “This is a bad idea.”
“I know.”
“Catastrophically bad.”
“I know.”
“I could lose this job.”
“I know.” Cate stepped close enough that you could see the quick pulse beneath the skin of her throat. There was nothing uncertain in her expression now, no careless little performance, only the bright insistence of a grown woman accustomed to wanting what she wanted and sharp enough to understand the stakes. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s smart. I’m asking whether you want me enough to do something stupid.”
You stared down at her. The fan shuddered in the corner. Somewhere outside, a delivery truck groaned through the intersection, brakes squealing in the heat. The radio slid from one old rock song into another, guitar filling the silence between you.
You laughed under your breath, disbelieving. “You are unbelievable.”
“Sometimes.” Cate’s fingers skimmed the edge of the open car door. “Sometimes I’m very believable.”
“You’re my boss’s daughter.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
“No, don’t stand there saying that like it’s just a fun fact while you’re looking like that.”
Cate glanced down at herself, feigning surprise. “Like what?”
“Like entrapment with lip gloss.”
That startled a real laugh out of her, bright and delighted. It filled the bay, bounced off the Camaro, went straight into your bloodstream like a spark hitting gasoline. Cate covered her mouth for a second, shoulders shaking. The laugh made her younger somehow. Less polished. More dangerous.
Your resolve, already coughing blood in a ditch, made a weak little noise and died.
Cate took the final step between your bodies. Not touching yet. Close enough that you could smell her perfume, something clean and floral over the warm cotton of her dress. Close enough that you could see the faint sheen of sweat at her throat, the little pulse fluttering there like a trapped moth.
“I thought about you,” Cate said softly.
Your hands curled at your sides. “Don’t.”
“I thought about your hands.”
“Cate.”
“And your mouth.” Cate’s gaze dropped there, lingered. “And the way you looked at me when you realized who I was.”
“Like I was seeing my parole officer in hell?”
“Like you wanted me anyway.”
You swallowed. Your mouth was dry. “Wanting isn’t the issue.”
“No?”
“No.” Your voice came out rougher now, dragged over gravel. “Wanting you is apparently the easiest, dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
Cate’s face changed, pleasure blooming high in her cheeks before she tried to hide it. “That’s almost romantic.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s a little romantic.”
“It’s a felony-adjacent HR violation.”
Cate gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “My dad does not have HR.”
“That doesn’t improve my situation.” You backed up a step and hit the Camaro’s doorframe with your hip. Perfect. Great. Nowhere to go but into the car or through Cate, and the second option had already proven to be a career-ending hazard.
Cate noticed. Her eyes flicked to the driver’s seat behind you, then back. A slow thought moved across her face, one you desperately wished you could swat out of the air before it landed.
“No,” you said.
Cate smiled.
“Do not smile at me like that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re thinking something.”
“I’m always thinking something.”
“I’m serious.” You braced one hand on the roof of the Camaro, the other on the door. “We are not doing this again. Especially not in a customer’s car. That’s insane.”
Cate stepped into your space.
You sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it, because now Cate’s perfume was in your lungs. Cate’s hand lifted, two fingers brushing the chain at your neck where it disappeared beneath the sweaty collar of your tank. The touch was featherlight. It still made you stiffen, every nerve turning toward Cate.
“You’re very dramatic for someone who came on my dress less than a week ago,” Cate said.
“I’m going to die.”
“Not yet.” Cate tugged gently on the chain, not enough to pull, just enough to make your head tilt. “You haven’t even let me kiss you again.”
Your eyes slipped shut like that might save you. “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“We can’t.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“That is not the same as can’t, and you fucking know it.”
Cate’s smile sharpened, pleased in a way that made your grip tighten on the car door.
You opened your eyes. “You’re evil.”
“I’m bored.”
“That’s worse.”
“I’m bored,” Cate repeated, but the softness under it trembled. “And I keep thinking about how you looked at me like I was the first thing you’d wanted in years.”
Your expression cracked before you could stop it.
Cate saw that too. The tiny wince. The way your throat worked once, hard. The way your fingers flexed on the car roof like you needed something solid beneath your hand.
The air changed. It always did when Cate stopped playing with the pretty knives and reached for the ones under the ribs.
She said your name, quieter.
“Don’t make this sweet,” you muttered. “I can survive horny. Sweet is what gets people in trouble.”
Cate’s lips parted. The want in her face shifted, deepened. “You think this is just horny?”
“I think I’m trying not to ask questions that make me dumber than I already am.”
Cate reached up and touched the grease on your cheek with her thumb, smearing it instead of wiping it away. Her eyes tracked the mark like she’d done it on purpose, like she liked leaving proof. “You aren’t stupid.”
“I’m about to be.”
The corner of Cate’s mouth lifted. “Yeah?”
You should have stepped back. You should have put both hands up, walked into the office, and locked yourself inside until Eric came back to save you from yourself. Instead, you stood there while Cate’s fingers slid from your cheek to your jaw, then down to the front of your tank.
“Last chance,” you said, even though it was a lie and you both knew it.
“For me or you?”
You huffed a laugh, helpless and furious about it. “God, you’re a pain in my ass.”
Cate leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You noticed.”
You turned your head and caught her mouth.
The kiss lit so fast it felt less like starting and more like something already burning through the floorboards. Cate made a soft, pleased sound and pushed into you, one hand fisting in the front of your tank, the other sliding around the back of your neck. Your hand went to Cate’s waist on instinct, greasy fingers curling over white cotton, and some lucid part of your brain screamed about fingerprints on a sundress before being shoved under by the feel of Cate’s tongue against yours.
She kissed differently this time. Last time there was a spark and panic and you pushing her up against concrete. This time Cate took. Not forcefully. Not clumsy. She kissed like she’d arrived with an agenda and a schedule, like every little tilt of her head had been rehearsed privately and improved in the moment. She nipped at your lower lip, soothed it with her tongue, pulled back just far enough to make you chase.
“Fuck,” you breathed against her.
Cate’s answering smile touched your mouth. “Language.”
Your laugh broke into a groan when Cate’s hand dropped to the front of your jeans. “Do not start with me.”
“I thought I already had.”
You caught her wrist. “Cate.”
Your tone was serious. Cate went still enough to listen, though her fingers stayed curled just above the button of your jeans.
You breathed through your nose, trying to wrestle sense from the molten wreckage of your nervous system. “If you’re doing this because it’s fun to make me squirm, fine. Congratulations. I’m squirming. I’m squirm city. Population: me. But if this is just a game you’re gonna get bored of once I’m fired and living under a bridge, I need you to stop.”
Cate’s smile faltered. Not enough to look guilty, not enough to retreat, but enough that the game slipped sideways for a second. Her eyes stayed on your face, suddenly more careful than teasing.
Then she leaned in and kissed you again, soft this time, maddeningly soft. It was barely more than a press of lips, warm and steady, her body still close enough to make every warning in your head flash red.
“I don’t want to get you fired,” Cate said against your mouth. “I don’t want you living under a bridge.”
“Great. So civic-minded.”
Cate’s fingers tightened in your tank. “And I’m not bored with you.”
You tried not to react. Failed.
It would have been easier if Cate had stayed a game. A beautiful, overly sexual little disaster who liked getting under your skin and under your clothes. It was harder to resist the plain truth in her face, the way her thumb moved once across your knuckles, stroking over the bandage she herself had put there five days earlier.
Cate saw the flicker and pressed closer. “I came here because I wanted to see you.”
You stared at her for half a second before laughter escaped you, disbelieving and breathless. “You are so fucking spoiled.”
Cate’s gaze snapped back to you, pupils widening. “Say that again.”
Your amusement faltered into heat. “Spoiled?”
Cate kissed you before you could sharpen it further. This time, when she pushed, you moved with her. One step back. Then another. Your thighs hit the edge of the driver’s seat, and Cate used the moment, palm flat against your chest, to shove you gently but decisively back into the car.
The Camaro had been babied all morning, polished paint shining under the shop lights, interior cleaned until the old leather gave off a warm, sun-baked smell every time you opened the door. You’d spent half your shift working inside it with reverent patience, careful with the brittle plastic around the dash, careful with the wiring, careful with the kind of vintage car that made grown men use the word original like a prayer.
Now Cate had both hands on your chest and was shoving you backward into the driver’s seat.
You had one passing, doomed thought about Eric’s reaction to discovering grease-stained fingerprints on the upholstery, or worse, fingerprints that were sticky from other fluids.
Then Cate moved in, and the Camaro ceased to be a customer’s car so much as a cramped, leather-lined confession booth with terrible ventilation and no room left for good decisions.
You landed in the seat with a grunt, knees still outside, boots planted on the concrete, torso angled awkwardly because the steering wheel hemmed you in. “Jesus, Cate.”
Cate followed before you could recover. She stepped between your knees, gathered the skirt of her dress in one hand, and climbed into your lap with determined precision. One knee sank into the worn driver’s seat beside your hip, the other bracing near the edge as she straddled you. The car creaked beneath their combined weight. Your hands flew to Cate’s hips automatically, steadying her before your better judgment could get a word in.
“Absolutely not,” you said, breath already uneven. “No. This is not happening. Get down.”
Cate settled her weight over your thighs. “You’re holding me.”
You looked at your own hands like they’d betrayed you entirely. “That’s because I don’t want you falling.”
“How noble.”
“I’m chivalrous as hell.”
Cate’s fingers slid under the brim of your backward cap and tugged it off. Your damp curls sprang loose, unruly from heat and sweat, falling over your forehead as Cate tossed the cap onto the passenger seat.
“There,” Cate whispered, threading her fingers through the mess she’d made. “Much better.”
You lifted your head, eyes dark and mouth already too close. “You come in here just to redecorate me?”
“I came in here to get your hands back under my dress.”
For a second, you just stared at her.
Then your hands moved.
They slid under Cate’s skirt with the kind of helpless, decisive hunger that made Cate’s smile falter into something softer and far less smug. Your palms dragged up the backs of her thighs, rough with calluses, warm from the shop heat, leaving invisible tracks over skin that already felt too sensitive. Cate’s knees tightened around your hips where she straddled you, breath catching as you found the lace at the top of her thighs.
Cate murmured your name.
Your grip tightened. “Don’t say my name like that while you’re sitting on my dick.”
Cate went still for half a breath.
Then she shifted.
It was small. Almost nothing. A delicate roll of her hips that dragged her over the hard length straining against your jeans. Both of you went silent. Your hands flexed on Cate’s thighs, fingers digging into flesh.
Cate’s breath hitched. “You’re hard.”
“I’m aware.”
“Already.”
“You climbed into my lap in a sundress. It’s not a character flaw, it’s math.”
Cate laughed softly and did it again, slower, grinding down with enough pressure to make your head fall back against the seat. The car smelled like old leather and sun-bleached vinyl. The air inside was hotter than the bay, trapped and intimate, Cate’s perfume mixing with dust and gasoline until everything felt dizzy and illicit.
“Cate,” you warned, but you sounded wrecked.
Cate leaned down, lips at your ear. “You told me I could take control this time.”
Your eyes squeezed shut. “I’d say anything with you in my lap.”
“You meant it.”
“Unfortunately.”
Cate sat back enough to look at you. There was something pleased in her face, but under it, a careful question. “Do you still?”
Your hands eased where they held her, thumbs stroking once over her waist before you seemed to realize you were doing it. Your voice dropped. “Yeah.”
The word landed heavy. Simple. No performance to hide behind.
Cate’s expression flickered. For one second, just one, her confidence wavered into something soft and almost startled, as if you agreeing plainly had hit harder than all the filth before it. Then she bent and kissed you again, slower, deeper, claiming gratitude without having to say it.
You let her. Let Cate’s mouth take yours apart. Let Cate press you back into the car, let her fingers card through your hair, let the warm weight of Cate’s body pin you there so completely that there was nowhere for either of you to pretend distance still existed.
When your hands slid higher under her dress again, Cate shivered. Your fingers slipped beneath the edge of her panties and found her already slick.
Your expression changed.
“You’re so wet,” you said, unable to stop yourself, voice huskier now. “All this because you thought you might get me alone?”
Cate’s breath caught as you touched her properly, fingers sliding through heat and then pressing in just enough to make her hips lift. “I knew I would.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Dad’s predictable.” Cate’s hands tightened in your hair, her composure thinning fast as you curled your fingers and found the angle that made her whole body tense. “Caleb’s even easier.”
You stilled just enough to stare at her.
Cate bit down on her lip, trying to look innocent while your hand remained under her dress. She failed spectacularly.
Your eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Cate.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Fine. I might have mentioned that someone outside the campus gym was complaining about needing a tow.”
You stared at her.
Cate’s mouth twitched, breathless and pleased with herself. “Caleb likes rescue missions. And Dad likes proving he can fix anything with an engine and a bad attitude.”
“You engineered a fake emergency?”
“I never said it was fake.” Cate tried to lift her chin, but your fingers shifted and ruined most of the effect.
“You manipulative little menace.”
“You’re welcome.”
You withdrew your hand, and Cate made an outraged sound that nearly made her laugh.
Before Cate could demand anything, you caught her by the hips and shifted her higher in your lap, using the cramped seat and the open driver’s side door to make room where there wasn’t any. The skirt of Cate’s dress rode up around her waist, pale lace bared beneath it, darkened at the center and pulled crooked by your hand.
Cate’s hand slid between your bodies, palm pressing over the hard shape of you through the denim. Your breath caught, hips twitching up despite yourself.
Cate’s smile deepened. “Is this my reward for setting everything up so nicely?”
You looked down at Cate’s hand, then back up at her face, jaw tight and eyes dark enough to make Cate’s pulse jump.
“No.” You hooked your fingers into Cate’s underwear and tugged them down carefully, working them over one thigh, then the other, awkward in the tight space but determined enough to make Cate’s pulse trip. “This is me making an informed series of terrible decisions.”
Cate lifted her hips for you, obedient only because it got her what she wanted. The lace came free after a bit of fumbling, and you shoved it into the pocket of your jeans without thinking.
Cate’s lips curled. “Planning to give those back?”
“Not sure yet.”
“That seems unethical.”
“So is sabotaging your father’s schedule so you can seduce his employee.”
“I didn’t sabotage.” Cate leaned in until her mouth brushed yours. “I facilitated an opportunity.”
Then Cate reached for the front of your jeans.
You grabbed her wrist. “The upholstery.”
Cate blinked at you.
Your face was flushed, mouth swollen, eyes dark. “I’m serious.”
“You’re thinking about upholstery right now?”
“I’m trying to prevent another forensic incident.”
Cate’s lips twitched. “Incident feels dramatic.”
“We’re developing a pattern.”
“That sounds intimate.”
“Sounds expensive.” You glanced toward the dash, then the cracked black seat beneath your bodies. “This is a customer’s car.”
Cate looked around, considering, then reached behind you and plucked an old shop towel from the passenger seat. “There.”
You stared. “You can’t just put a towel down and call it morally solved.”
“Watch me.”
“Cate.”
She laid the towel over your lap with maddening ceremony, smoothing it once over the bulge in your jeans. The touch was light enough to torture. Your hips jerked.
Cate’s eyes lifted. “See? Practical.”
“You are a demon in lip gloss.”
Cate unbuttoned your jeans.
The sound of the zipper inside the hush of the car was obscenely loud. You looked toward the office, panic flashing across your face. Cate caught your chin and turned you back.
“No one’s coming,” Cate said.
“If this goes well, we both are,” you muttered.
Cate’s mouth parted with a laugh, then curved. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m noticing the empty office, the missing truck, and your suspiciously good timing.” Your eyes narrowed. “You really did plan this.”
“I always come prepared.”
Your mouth opened, ready to let another joke loose.
Cate put a finger against your lips. “Don’t.”
Your lips moved against her fingertip anyway. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say I respect preparedness.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Your eyes flicked down, then back up, bright with the kind of grin you were barely holding in. “I respect follow-through too.”
Cate stared at you for half a second, then laughed under her breath despite herself. “You’re impossible.”
Her hand slipped into your open jeans, under the waistband of your boxers, and whatever smug little follow-up you’d been building toward collapsed into a low, broken sound. Your cock was hot and heavy in Cate’s hand, already slick at the tip, trapped against your stomach until Cate freed you carefully. Your head tipped back against the seatback at an awkward angle, throat exposed, tendons standing out.
Cate stroked you slowly, looking down with undisguised fascination as she freed you fully from your jeans. Your cock settled against your stomach, flushed at the head and already slick.
“I thought about this, too,” Cate confessed, voice soft and indecent.
Your eyes opened, dark and unfocused. “Did you?”
“In my bed. In the shower.” She drew her thumb over the leaking head, collecting precum, and your eyes shut again for one dangerous second. “In my car outside a coffee shop about twenty minutes ago.”
You groaned. “Tell me you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You touch yourself thinking about me?”
Cate’s smile went languid. “I didn’t cum. Thought I should save something for you.”
You made a sound like something inside you had just torn loose.
Cate looked down between you.
The sight hit Cate harder the second time, maybe because she now knew what you looked like when you lost control. You bare in her hand, thick and flushed, obscene and perfect against grease-stained denim and the fabric of Cate’s dress. There was something deeply unfair about how much you fit every kind of want Cate had ever been told to bury. Rough hands, sharp mouth, a body that looked built to work and fight and hold and—most importantly—fuck. A body that, under Cate’s touch, went breathless and obedient in a way that made Cate feel powerful enough to glow.
“You’re so pretty,” Cate said before she could stop herself.
Your laugh came out ragged. “I’m covered in grease.”
“I know.”
“That’s pretty?”
Cate stroked you once, slow from base to tip, watching more precum bead at the head. Your stomach jumped under your tank. “Part of it.”
“Fuck,” you whispered.
Cate’s thighs tightened around you. The sound of that word in your mouth, low and scraped raw, made her feel like someone had lit a match inside her ribs. She gathered her dress higher, exposing her thighs and the slick evidence of exactly how much the grinding had begun to ruin her. Your eyes dropped immediately, helpless.
“You’re staring,” Cate said.
Your tongue moved against your lower lip. “Yeah. I’m suffering.”
“Good.”
“That is such a rich girl thing to say.”
Cate smiled, gathered her dress even higher, and shifted forward until the heat of her pressed against you through open denim and the last scraps of restraint you were both running out of reasons to respect. Your hands snapped to her hips, holding her there.
You grinned despite the ache between your legs. “You think you’ve got me figured out already?”
“I think you’re trying to act cruel while rubbing your cock against me like you can’t stand not being inside.”
The grin vanished.
Cate saw it and brightened with victory.
“You’re such a little shit,” you said, breathless.
“And you’re still not inside me.”
“Wait.” Your voice went sharp enough that Cate stilled instantly. Cate froze, one hand braced on the seat, her body hovering over your lap. The shift was immediate. Teasing gone, eyes searching. You swallowed hard, gaze flicking up to hers. “I mean, not wait wait. Just…” You grimaced, breath still uneven. “I don’t have a condom.”
Cate blinked.
Your jaw tightened. “What?”
“You don’t?”
“I didn’t exactly pack for sex at my job,” you said, voice low and strained. “Because I’m normal.”
Cate stared at you for half a second, then gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “After what happened the last time I was here, that feels less normal and more overly optimistic.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Cate.”
“What?” Cate reached blindly toward the passenger seat for her purse, one knee pressing harder into the leather as she shifted. The movement brought her closer by accident or, knowing Cate, by theater. The low neckline of her dress dipped, her breasts looming dangerously close to your face as she stretched across you.
You went very still.
Cate glanced down at you. “You thought I came all the way down here in this dress with nothing but good intentions and iced coffee?”
“I was hoping to preserve one illusion,” you said, though it came out strangled.
“Relax.” Cate dug through the small leather bag with infuriating calm, pushing aside lip gloss, sunglasses, a compact, her keys. Then she pulled out a foil packet between two manicured fingers and held it up like evidence. “Didn’t I tell you? I always come prepared.”
Cate’s smile lingered as she shifted back just enough to give herself room, the torn wrapper crinkling between her fingers. The joke left your face when Cate reached for you again. Not completely, not enough to erase the crooked edge of your mouth, but enough that your breath changed, hitching as Cate wrapped her fingers around your cock and stroked once, slow, before fitting the condom over the head.
Your hands flexed uselessly on Cate’s thighs. “Jesus.”
“Hold still,” Cate murmured, though her own voice had gone thinner than she meant it to.
“I am holding still.”
“You’re twitching.”
“You’re rolling a condom onto me in a Camaro.”
Cate’s lashes dipped, her smile turning private as she smoothed the latex down with careful fingers, feeling you pulse hot and hard through it. “And you’re being a very good girl while I do it.”
You made a rough, disbelieving sound that collapsed when Cate gave you one last firm stroke, checking the fit with a concentration that made the air feel even hotter. Only then did Cate rise carefully on her knees, bracing one hand on the seat back, the other still wrapped around you. The towel bunched between you. The car gave a faint groan, leather creaking. Your hands slid up under the hem of Cate’s dress to hold her bare hips, and the heat of your palms made Cate’s concentration fracture.
The first press of your cock against her entrance made you both go still.
Cate lowered slowly, jaw going slack as the head pushed into her. The stretch was immediate, bright, almost too much after days of remembering the first time in flashes: your mouth, your fingers, the heavy ache of being opened around you. You made a sound like you’d been punched in the gut, hands tightening hard enough on Cate’s hips that she knew she’d have bruises come morning.
“Easy,” you rasped, though you looked like you were saying it to yourself. “Fuck, Cate, easy.”
Cate’s lashes fluttered. “I’m trying.”
“I know. I know, baby.” Your voice changed, all the sharp edges melting into something rough and steady. “Take your time.”
That didn’t help. That made it worse, actually. Made Cate ache with something that wasn’t strictly physical, because your hands were dirty and trembling, but careful. Because you looked wrecked already and still cared more about whether Cate was in pain.
Cate sank another inch, then another, the stretch filling her until she had to stop, forehead dropping to yours. Your breath tangled. Sweat slid down your temple. Cate could feel every tremor in her thighs, every pulse of you inside her.
“You okay?” You asked, voice tight.
Cate nodded, then shook her head, then laughed once because neither answer was right. “You’re big.”
Your mouth twitched despite yourself. “Yeah, we covered that during the first felony.”
Cate laughed again, softer, and the movement made both of you gasp. Your eyes squeezed shut. Cate steadied herself with one hand on the seat, then lowered the rest of the way until she was seated fully in your lap, you buried inside her, the towel already useless between them.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The garage breathed around you. Radio static. Fan rattle. Distant traffic. The occasional clink from the office. The world had not stopped, which felt rude, because Cate was fairly sure hers had reorganized completely around the pressure inside her.
You opened your eyes.
Your gaze was unfocused at first, then sharpened on Cate’s face. “You look…” You swallowed. “Fuck.”
Cate smiled faintly. “Articulate.”
“I’m using all available processing power not to cum in this customer’s car.”
Cate clenched around you on purpose.
Your head snapped back. “Fuck. You’re evil.”
Your hands tightened on Cate’s hips, holding her still for one more breath before you shifted underneath her. Not hard. Not yet. Just a careful upward roll that made Cate’s fingers dig into your shoulders and her mouth fall open around a sound she didn’t quite let out.
You found the rhythm slowly at first, careful in spite of the recklessness of everything around you two. You wanted to feel Cate adjust, wanted to map what made her tighten, what made her eyes squeeze closed, what made her hand clutch at your arm as if it were the only solid thing in the room.
“You can move more,” Cate whispered, breath breaking at the end when you thrust up again. “I’m not delicate.”
Your gaze flicked to hers. “Never thought you were.”
“Then fuck me like it.”
The plea was perfectly Cate, dressed as a challenge so she didn’t have to admit how badly she wanted to be given something. You felt the understanding click into place, tender beneath the rush of lust.
Your grip shifted, one hand spreading against Cate’s lower back, the other firm on her hip. “Yeah?” you murmured. “That what you want?”
Cate’s chin lifted, stubborn even as her thighs trembled around yours. “Yes.”
Then you moved harder.
Cate slid both hands into your hair and curled her fingers tight, using the grip to steady herself as she met your rhythm.
Slow at first, because she had to learn the angle. One knee pressed into the worn leather beside your hip, the other braced awkwardly near the edge of the seat, the towel bunching between them with every careful shift. Your jeans were peeled open but not enough, rough denim scraping the inside of Cate’s thighs, and the center console crowded your shoulder so tightly that Cate had to tilt herself just right to take you deeper. None of it mattered. Or all of it mattered, each discomfort sharpening the pleasure until there was no clean line between wanting and taking and the hard physical reality of doing this somewhere you absolutely shouldn’t.
You let her set the pace. More than let her. You held Cate’s hips and followed, jaw clenched, breathing through each downward roll like it cost you something. Her muscles shifted under sweat and sunlight when your forearms flexed. Your eyes stayed fixated on Cate’s face, hungry and watchful, tracking every small change, every blink, every breath.
Cate rode you with increasing confidence, slow giving way to deep, deliberate rolls of her hips. Each one dragged you through her in a way that made her fingertips go numb. She’d expected the thrill, the danger, the smug satisfaction of getting you to cave. She hadn’t expected how intimate it would feel to watch you try to survive being wanted.
“Thought you said no,” Cate breathed.
Your laugh broke apart into a groan. “I did.”
“You’re not very good at it.”
“No,” you panted, grip tightening. “Apparently not with you.”
Pleasure curled through Cate’s belly, hot and greedy. She leaned down and kissed you hard, swallowing the next sound out of you. Your hands slid from her hips to her ass, bunching her dress higher, helping her move now. Not taking over, not yet, just guiding when Cate’s rhythm faltered, lifting her enough to make the next drop hit deeper.
Cate gasped into your mouth. “Fuck.”
“There it is,” you murmured. “All that attitude had to run out sometime.”
Cate bit your lip in retaliation.
You groaned. “Okay. Deserved.”
Cate sat back enough to look at you and then changed the angle. Her next downward roll made both of you choke on a sound. The pressure hit deep and bright, dragging a shudder out of Cate’s whole body.
“There?” You asked immediately, voice strained.
Cate nodded, breathless.
Your expression went focused, predatory through the haze. Your hands found the angle again and helped her keep it, guiding Cate down in a rhythm that punched pleasure up through her spine. Cate’s control frayed fast. She still rode you, still set the pace, but you were there under her, steadying, calibrating, learning her too quickly.
“God,” Cate whispered. “You’re so—”
“What?” You rasped, chest burning. “Say it.”
Cate’s breath hitched. She hadn’t known what she’d meant to say until you asked for it. “Good,” she managed. “You’re so good.”
Your face changed.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just a fracture, a split-second crack in the filthy confidence where something softer flared, startled and vulnerable. Cate felt it more than saw it, the way your whole body responded, your grip tightening, your cock twitching inside her.
“That’s cheating,” you said roughly.
Cate smiled, dazed. “Praise?”
“From you?” Your laugh was almost a gasp. “Yeah.”
Cate bent and pressed her mouth to your jaw. “Good,” she whispered there too, because now she knew. “You’re good.”
“Fuck.” Your hips jerked upward, your first real loss of control, and Cate cried out, hand slapping against the roof of the car. “Sorry, shit, sorry.”
“No.” Cate grabbed your face and made you look at her. “Do it again.”
Your pupils blew wide.
“Spoiled,” you breathed, but there was awe in it, hunger and surrender tangled tight.
Cate lowered herself further and you thrust up to meet her.
The sound that came out of Cate was too loud. Your hand flew to the back of her neck, dragging her into a kiss to muffle the next one. It turned messy, all teeth and breath and saliva. Cate’s hips moved faster now, control turning fluid, instinctive. The car rocked faintly beneath your bodies, springs creaking, the seat complaining in little rhythmic sighs.
Your body was a live wire under her. Every thrust up was restrained but not gentle, careful only because you had to be, because the world was still outside the windshield and Eric could theoretically come back early with Caleb and the wrath of God in a plastic bag. The risk didn’t cool anything. It sharpened it until Cate felt skinned alive by sensation.
You slid her hand between your bodies, fingers finding Cate’s clit where your cock stretched her open. Cate’s cry rose immediately, too sharp for the open bay, and you covered it with your mouth, swallowing the sound while rubbing firm circles in time with each upward thrust.
“Oh my God,” Cate whimpered against your lips. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.”
“Not stopping.” You kissed her jaw, then the damp hollow below her ear, your voice rough enough to scrape. “You feel too fucking good. Got me risking my whole life for this pretty cunt.”
Cate’s legs tightened around her. “It’s worth it.”
“Cocky girl.”
“You’re the one inside me.”
“Yeah.” You gave one hard, grinding thrust and held there, watching Cate’s eyes flutter. “I am.”
Cate clutched at the back of your neck, drawing you closer until your noses brushed, her expression suddenly unguarded in the haze of pleasure. “I knew you’d cave.”
You laughed into her mouth. “Should I be offended?”
“No.” Cate’s voice softened, fragile only at the edges. “I wanted you to.”
That nearly ruined you more completely than any filth Cate could have said. Your hand slowed for half a heartbeat, attention caught by the nakedness of it. Cate wanted you, yes, but she’d also wanted to be wanted enough to override reason, caution, every sensible argument. She’d come to the garage carrying coffee and manipulation in her pocket because she needed proof you hadn’t written your first encounter off as an accident.
You stared at her, breath ragged, thumb still pressed against her clit. “Cate.”
Cate swallowed, eyes flicking over your face. “Don’t make me regret saying that.”
Your chest tightened. The words hit harder than they should have, harder than anything had a right to hit while you were half-trapped in the driver’s seat of a customer’s Camaro with your jeans open and your boss’s daughter in your lap. But there it was anyway, soft and dangerous under all the heat.
“I won’t,” you said, and then moved again, harder, because Cate had asked for stupid and you, apparently, had always been better at stupid than survival.
You fucked Cate harder, the careful rhythm going rough at the edges, every upward thrust driving deep into the wet, tight clutch of her. Cate held on, nails dragging down your chest, hips dropping eagerly to meet you. She was past teasing now, past theatricality, making broken, stifled sounds against your mouth and shoulder as the pressure rose through her.
“You like this,” you murmured, voice ragged. “Using me in your dad’s shop. Climbing on top of me like you own the place.”
“I do,” Cate gasped.
You laughed, dark and breathless. “Yeah, princess, I know.”
Cate clenched hard around you.
Your laugh died. “Fuck.”
The nickname hit Cate somewhere molten. She rode you harder, chasing the deep grind and the pressure against her clit where your bodies met, the drag of denim and cotton and the damp heat between. Your hands shifted under her dress, one gripping her ass, the other sliding around to press at the small of her back, keeping her close.
Cate’s orgasm built differently this time. Not sudden, not sparked by panic, but climbing and climbing with every roll of her hips, every helpless sound you failed to swallow, every moment of eye contact that felt too naked for two people committing something indecent in a Camaro. It made her chest ache. Made her want to laugh or cry or sink her teeth into your shoulder.
You saw it coming before Cate did.
“There,” you whispered. “That’s it. Keep going. Don’t stop.”
Cate’s thighs burned. Her knees ached against the seat. Sweat dampened the back of her neck, made the thin dress cling to her spine. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her body chased what you promised, and you watched her like every second of it mattered.
“Want you to cum on me,” you said, rough and low. “Want to feel it.”
Cate whimpered.
“Yeah?” Your thumb found her clit again beneath the bunched fabric of her dress, circling with maddening precision. “Come on, baby. You got what you came here for. Take it.”
That broke her.
Cate came with a sharp, bitten cry, folding forward against you as pleasure snapped through her. Her body clenched tight around your cock, hips stuttering, rhythm falling apart. You groaned like it hurt, arm wrapping hard around her waist to keep her steady through it.
For a few seconds Cate couldn’t think. Couldn’t perform. Couldn’t be clever or composed or careful. She was just heat and pulse and your name broken against the side of your neck.
You held her through the whole thing.
And then you started to lose it.
Cate felt the shift underneath her, the tight tremor in your thighs, the way your breath went ragged and shallow. Your hand left Cate’s clit and grabbed at the seat beside you, fingers digging into old leather. Your rhythm broke rougher, every upward thrust driving deep into the wet, tight clutch of Cate’s body as the last waves of her orgasm rolled through her.
Cate convulsed around you again with a cry she couldn’t fully smother. Her back arched, dress pulling tight over her chest as her thighs locked around your hips. The first clench nearly tore your orgasm out of you by force, the second left you breathing in helpless, guttural sounds against Cate’s hair.
You kept moving through it, shorter thrusts now, letting Cate ride the aftershocks while you fought not to spill without asking. Cate’s body shook in your lap, softening and tightening in waves.
“Fuck,” you gasped. “Cate, I’m close.”
Cate lifted her head, dazed, hair stuck to her cheek. “Don’t pull out.”
Your eyes snapped to hers. “What?”
“Want you inside me when you cum.”
The words were soft but clear, reckless as a match dropped into gasoline, even with the latex between you. Maybe because of it. Maybe because the barrier made the request feel less dangerous and somehow more intimate.
Your face twisted. “Jesus Christ.”
Cate rocked down again, slow and cruel, overstimulation sparkling at the edges. “Please.”
Your grip on her waist tightened. “You can’t say please like that. It’s not fair.”
Cate brushed sweaty curls off your forehead, thumb dragging through the grease smudge there. “Cum for me,” she whispered.
You made a ruined sound and thrust up hard enough that Cate had to grab at the headrest to steady herself. The rhythm went frantic for three strokes, maybe four, and then you came with a hoarse groan buried against Cate’s mouth. Heat pulled violently through you, your cock pulsing deep inside Cate as your hands held Cate’s hips pressed tight to your lap. Cate shuddered around you, arms tightening around your shoulders as if she could feel every release through the thin barrier of latex, as if she wanted to keep all of it exactly where you gave it to her.
For several seconds the garage contracted into breath and sweat and the slick, intimate pressure of your bodies still joined. The radio murmured some chorus you couldn’t have identified at gunpoint. The fan turned its useless head toward you, stirring the damp ends of Cate’s hair where they clung to her cheek. The Camaro’s old leather creaked beneath you, a quiet complaint neither of you had the decency to heed.
You stayed slumped in the driver’s seat, one arm locked around Cate’s waist, trying to retrieve your ability to think from wherever Cate had tossed it.
Then Cate gave a small, pleased sigh and stroked one hand lazily through your hair.
“That,” she murmured, “was a much better lunch break than I was expecting.”
You huffed, dazed and wrecked beneath her. “Pretty sure lunch breaks are legally supposed to involve less property damage.”
Cate smiled against your mouth. “You loved it.”
“I did,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
Then you shifted.
A slick warmth slipped between you, smearing down where your bodies were joined as Cate exhaled shakily. She became suddenly, horribly aware of the towel bunched uselessly to one side, your jeans open, the condom still on but doing absolutely nothing about the rest of the mess you’d made together. The seat beneath you was not nearly as protected as either of you’d pretended.
You lifted your head slowly.
Your eyes dropped to the mess.
Silence.
“Fuck,” you said, with flat despair. “We got cum on the upholstery.”
Cate blinked down at the seat, then back at you. “Technically, I don’t think all of that is cum.”
“That does nothing to comfort me.”
“It should. Some of it is just evidence.”
You stared at her.
Cate’s mouth twitched. “Chemistry?”
“Don’t laugh,” you warned.
Cate’s shoulders shook.
“Cate.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re visibly laughing.”
“I’m emotionally processing.”
You looked at the seat, then at Cate, then at the ceiling of the Camaro like divine intervention might descend through the headliner with a steam cleaner. “We really need to stop with the cumstains.”
That was it. Cate broke, laughter spilling out of her, bright and helpless, her face tucked into your neck to muffle it. You groaned, but the sound softened halfway through because Cate was still in your lap, still warm around you, still laughing because the world hadn’t caught you yet.
“This isn’t funny,” you muttered, though your hands had already slid up Cate’s back to hold her.
“It’s a little funny.”
You shifted slightly, and both of you sucked in a breath at the sensitivity. Cate stilled, suddenly softer, fingertips brushing the damp hair at your temple. “We can clean it.”
“Can we?” You asked. “Because I know engines. I don’t know how to remove my own bad decisions from vintage leather.”
Cate grinned. “You’re a mechanic. Improvise.”
“I hate that I’m attracted to you.”
“Do you?”
You stared at her for a long second, then sighed dramatically through your nose. “No.”
The admission landed gently this time. No joke sharp enough to cut it. No immediate retreat. Cate’s smile dimmed into something smaller, warmer. She touched your cheek with the back of her fingers, tracing the grease she’d smeared earlier.
You started to answer, but the office phone rang.
Both of you froze.
It shrilled once, twice, violently ordinary in the overheated shop.
Cate’s eyes widened. You, still buried inside her in the driver’s seat of a customer’s Camaro, felt every drop of blood in your body abandon pleasure and report directly for panic duty.
The answering machine clicked on in the front office.
“Dunlap Motor Works,” Eric’s recorded voice crackled through the shop, tinny and cheerful. “Leave a message and we’ll call you back.”
The beep came.
Then Eric’s real voice followed, somehow even worse. “Stark, you there? Tow was a bust. Kid got it started before we even made it across town, so Caleb and I are heading back. Ten minutes, maybe less. Need you to clear space by bay two before we pull in.”
Cate pressed her lips together.
You stared at her.
For one long, airless second, neither of you moved.
Reality reentered like a brick through a stained-glass window.
Your eyes went wide. “Off. You need to get off.”
Cate nodded quickly, though her body protested the idea with a deep, delicious ache. She lifted herself carefully, biting her lip at the slow slide of you out of her. Your hands stayed at her hips, helping, steadying, even while panic began rebuilding itself in the room.
The second Cate was clear, more warmth slipped down her inner thigh.
You saw it and your brain visibly short-circuited. “Jesus.”
Cate grabbed the towel from your lap and shoved it between her thighs. “Stop looking.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“I was doing great before you weaponized cotton.”
Cate climbed awkwardly out of the Camaro, smoothing her dress down with one hand and holding the towel discreetly with the other. You removed the condom in a frantic little blur, tied it off, then tucked yourself away with fumbling hands, wincing as oversensitivity and panic performed a duet on your nervous system. You wrapped the condom in another shop towel and buried it in the trash under the workbench before grabbing a clean towel from the floorboard and staring at the stain on the seat like it had personally betrayed you.
Cate peered down. “It’s not that bad.”
You looked up at her.
“Okay, it is,” Cate amended. “But in a manageable way.”
“Great. Put that on my tombstone.”
The next several minutes vanished into frantic, silent triage: towel, stain, trash, jeans, dress, breath. Every sound from the street made your shoulders jerk. Every second made Cate’s smile wobble closer to panic.
You’d just managed to scrub the worst of the evidence from the seat when your hand brushed the pocket of your jeans and found lace.
You froze.
Cate, still blotting at her mouth with the least filthy corner of a rag, noticed immediately. “What?”
Very slowly, Cate’s gaze dropped to your pocket.
Her mouth curved. “Were you planning to return my property before my father walks in?”
Your jaw flexed. For one terrible second, you looked like you might actually give them back. Then Caleb laughed somewhere outside, loud enough to slice straight through the bay, and you shoved the lace deeper into your pocket with the grim resolve of a woman choosing crime under pressure.
“Later,” you muttered.
Cate’s smile went dangerous and bright. “Promise?”
You gave her a look that could have stripped paint. “Go stand by the workbench.”
The bell over the front door jingled again.
Your face went blank with horror.
Cate’s mouth opened.
You held up one greasy finger. “Do not,” you whispered, “say oops.”
hi there! just wanted to say your carrd for your gen v oc is absolutely fucking amazing!!!! never seen anything like it :0 sorry if this is a random question but any chance you’d be willing to make it into a template for other folks to use? if not that’s totally ok, was just curious :3
hello darling!!! thank you so much😭❤️
it was a loooong work in progress and is honestly still being updated all the time, but i had so much fun putting it together, so it makes me really happy that other people enjoy it too even if it initially started as something i was making just for myself hehe<3
i actually started with a template from @rcsea and then heavily modified/customized it over time to fit what i wanted. so i definitely can’t take full credit for the original design! the template credit is still listed on my carrd too, it’s just not on every single page!
that being said, i think it would probably be totally fine for me to make a blank version of my modified layout as long as i still properly credit them for the original inspiration/template, so i’ll look into putting something together for everyone to use with their own superhero ocs :)
no promises on timeline because i am perpetually busy and distracted by seventeen other projects, but i do think it would be fun hehe<3
Hallo jaime, just wanted to check in how you were doing and also to say we(your children) miss you<333333
hello darling<3 thank you for checking in!!! i’m doing okay! just very busy with work and life lately, but also spending a lot of my free time editing my next fic hehe.
i know it’s been a little while and i miss you all too😭 but i promise i HAVE been writing a ton behind the scenes. i’m just unfortunately much slower at editing lately than i am at actually writing lol.
hopefully the next fic will be out within the next week! and i promise it’ll be worth the wait because it’s currently sitting at 20k+ words😭
i also decided to make it a reader x cate fic as well instead of JUST sydcate, so hopefully even more people can enjoy it :)
i hope you’re doing well too!!! sending all my love right back to my children hehe<3
i feel like maddie would’ve nailed the role of nikki in obsession 🤔
okay so! i actually waited to answer this until i had seen the film, and i finally went this week on my day off hehe
5 stars. i LOVED it.
but yes, i 100% think maddie would have nailed the role. that being said, inde did an absolutely insane job too. genuinely a generational performance.
if anything, obsession just made me even more excited for all of maddie’s upcoming horror projects because indie horror has been on an unbelievable run lately. i really hope her films and performances end up getting the same kind of critical acclaim that obsession and backrooms have been receiving, because she deserves it so much.
she’s honestly such an underrated actor. she’s phenomenal. she just needs that ONE breakout role that catapults her into more widespread recognition...and yes, i am still manifesting her eventual harley quinn casting. i will never let that go.
also not to go off on a tangent, but i’m not sure everyone here knows that breeder was bought by an independent distributor and shudder and is supposedly getting a limited theatrical release THIS FALL!!!
which is super exciting!!! though i am a little scared it won’t play anywhere near me lol. so fingers crossed for a simultaneous streaming release on shudder for all of us who might not be able to make it to a theater<3
hiiii, sorry for bother you at this time but i cant find the boss!r bots on c.ai, i wonder if you had delete them or not😔, i just finished the film secretary and i need secretary cate so bad🥀🥀
again thanks for every beautiful works and efforts you put on the brattiest of brat cate dunlap💗💗
hello darling!<3
i’ve never personally deleted any of my bots, but sometimes c.ai randomly “moderates” them and they disappear without my knowledge😭
in this case though, i think i just have so many bots now that they’re hard to find sometimes lol. which is why i have a bot masterlist! which you can find here if you’re ever looking for something specific :)
i’m guessing you’re referring to the power play bot? (secretary cate my beloved hehe) which you can find here!
and thank you for all the kind words about my bratty cate content hehe she’s very special to me<3
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