I was floating in the haze, that soft, dreamlike blur where everything felt light. The Nebula had taken the edge off, numbed the overwhelming guilt and anxiety that had been choking me. But in the back of my mind, I knew this wasn't real. It was just temporary relief.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting there, slouched on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, lost in the fog. The tablet had dissolved on my tongue a while ago, and now, the world felt distant, muted. The worries, the pressure— they were still there, but buried deep beneath the artificial calm.
The sound of the door opening snapped me back to reality, though my reactions felt slow, heavy. Oliver stood in the doorway.
My heart dropped, my stomach twisting into knots as his gaze locked onto me. There was no hiding it—he could see it. The way my body slouched, the dazed look in my eyes, the slight tremor in my fingers. He knew.
Panic surged through the haze as I tried to find my voice, to explain. But nothing came out. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, couldn't read the expression on his face. Was he angry? Disappointed?
The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating.
I forced myself to stand, my legs shaky as I walked toward him. Each step felt like a battle, like I was moving through water. I needed to explain. To say something—anything—to break the tension that hung between us like a knife waiting to drop.
"Oliver—" I started, my voice barely a whisper, but I didn't know what to say. I had betrayed him in so many ways
—scheming behind his back, making deals with people who could tear everything apart. And now this… giving in to the Nebula, letting it take control. I was terrified of what he would say, of what he would do. But he didn't say anything.
Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, familiar baggie. I watched him slip a Nebula tablet onto his tongue, holding it there as it began to melt.
My heart pounded in my chest, and the air between us crackled with tension. The sight of him—Oliver, who I had always seen as so strong, so in control—surrendering to the same temptation made something in my chest ache. It wasn't judgment. It wasn't anger. It was… something deeper.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The silence between us was almost unbearable. I stood, my legs shaky as I crossed the space between us. I didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. I just knew I couldn't stand the distance between us.
I reached for him, but before I could say anything, before I could even make sense of my own emotions, Oliver grabbed me.
His lips fell onto mine with a kind of desperation I hadn't felt from him before, his hands gripping my waist as if he needed me as much as I needed him. The Nebula coursing through my system made everything sharper, every sensation more intense. His touch was fire against my skin, his kiss a storm I was helpless to fight.
I melted into him, the weight of everything—my fears, my guilt, my plans—falling away as he pulled me closer. His hands slid down my back, gripping me with a raw intensity that made my heart race. The world around us blurred, the only thing that mattered was the feel of him, the taste of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against mine.
Without breaking the kiss, Oliver lifted me, his arms strong and sure as he carried me toward the bed. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, my hands threading through his hair as I held onto him, feeling the powerful beat of his heart against my chest. Every touch, every movement was amplified by the Nebula, turning my skin electric, every nerve alive and on fire.
When he laid me down on the bed, his body hovering over mine, I saw something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. It wasn't just lust or need—it was something deeper, something that mirrored the way I felt about him, even if I hadn't been able to admit it to myself until now.
As his lips moved down my neck, I realized I didn't care about the consequences anymore. I didn't care about the danger we were in, the lies we'd both told, or the chaos that was threatening to tear the Vault apart
All I cared about was this moment.
He didn't waste a second. His hands were on me, sliding under my shirt and lifting it over my head in one fluid motion. His hands trailed down my sides, his fingers rough but deliberate as he worked the clasp of my bra, tossing it aside. His lips found my neck, his kisses deepening, growing more possessive with every passing moment.
He paused, his hands resting on the waistband of my jeans, his dark eyes meeting mine. "Take these off," he commanded, his voice low and full of authority.
I obeyed, unbuttoning them and sliding them down as his gaze roamed over me with an intensity that made my skin flush. His hands were on me again, exploring every inch, his touch firm and claiming. He stepped back for a moment, shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, each movement deliberate, like he knew I couldn't take my eyes off him.
"I've tried to resist you, but I can't anymore." He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants with a determined urgency. The sight of him, all lean muscle and raw intensity, sent a thrill racing through me that I couldn't ignore.
He leaned down, his body pressing against mine again, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice low and commanding. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His breath was hot, the rough timbre of his voice sending shivers through me. "I can't think straight around you. You're in my head."
His words sent a thrill through me, and I gasped as his hands slid down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. His lips found my neck, trailing fire as he kissed and nipped, his teeth grazing just enough to make me moan. My body arched beneath him, desperate for more, craving everything he was giving me and more.
He grabbed my jaw, his grip firm but not cruel. "You're mine," he growled, his lips brushing against mine but not quite kissing me, teasing me until I was trembling with anticipation. "Every inch of you."
You're mine. He claimed me as his and I reveled in the way he made me feel like I belonged to him.
I whimpered, a mix of frustration and desire spilling from my lips, and he smirked at my reaction. His free hand trailed down my body, every touch igniting sensation. "Look at you," he murmured, his tone softer now but no less intense. "So desperate for me. So perfect."
I tried to speak, to respond, but the words caught in my throat as his fingers slid gently between my legs, stroking slowly, deliberately. "Oliver…" I moaned, my voice shaky with need. "Please."
"Please, what? Use your words. Tell me what you want."
I felt a flush of heat course through me, my body tightening with every deliberate stroke of his fingers. "I need you," I managed to whisper, my voice raw with desperation.
"That's my girl," he said, his voice like velvet, roughened by the edges of his hunger. He released my face, his hands roaming over me, his body aligning perfectly with mine.
And then, with one slow, thrust, he was inside me.
He moved with purpose, each thrust deliberate but restrained, never fully inside me, his hands gripping my hips tightly, as if he was savoring every moment and couldn't get enough. His size was overwhelming, more than I had ever experienced, stretching me in ways that made my body tremble. The tension in his body radiated into mine, the desperation in his movements mirrored in the way I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as waves of intense pleasure and sensation coursed through me.
His eyes locked onto mine, his gaze searing and intimate. He rested his forehead against mine. "You're incredible," he breathed, his words laced with both awe and desire.
His pace slowed, his body pressing firmly against mine as he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. His voice, deep and rough, sent shivers down my spine. "Do you want more?" he asked, his tone a seductive challenge, his breath warm against my skin.
"Please," I whispered, my voice trembling with need, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My fingers curled into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping me grounded.
He pulled back slightly, his intense gaze meeting mine.
His hands gripped my hips with renewed intensity, and he thrust the rest of himself inside me in one deliberate, powerful motion. The sensation was electrifying, the fullness overwhelming, drawing a strangled cry from my lips as my body arched into his.
"Good girl," he growled, his voice a mixture of approval and restraint, his pace resuming with an unrelenting drive. "Let me hear you. Let me know just how much you want this."
And I did. Every word that spilled from my lips was a plea, a cry, a declaration of how much I needed him, each one pulling me closer to the edge as he consumed every part of me.
For the first time, sex didn't feel hollow or transactional. It wasn't just a means to survive, a way to navigate the streets or play the game. This was different. This was electric. Every touch, every sound, every movement felt meaningful, charged with an intensity I had never experienced before.
My heart raced as butterflies fluttered in my stomach, a sensation so foreign that it almost overwhelmed me.
I clung to him, feeling the weight of every shared breath, every whispered word, every deliberate movement. This was more than just pleasure—it was connection, raw and unfiltered. It shook me to my core, leaving me breathless in every sense of the word.
The way he touched me wasn't hurried—it was consuming, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of me.
His lips found my neck, trailing slow, heated kisses down to my collarbone. His breath was warm, his mouth skilled, and every press of his lips ignited a fire deep inside me. He whispered my name between kisses, his voice rough and filled with need, and the sound alone was enough to make my pulse quicken.
He moved against me with perfect rhythm, his hips grinding into mine as he thrust deeper, the pressure building with every movement. The friction, the heat, the overwhelming intensity of his body against mine—it was all too much. His strength was intoxicating, his control driving me closer to the edge with every deliberate motion.
My hands clutched at him, desperate to hold on as he drove me higher and higher. His body pressed into mine, his chest warm and slick against my own as he kissed me deeply, his tongue teasing mine in a way that left me breathless. The connection between us felt almost unbearable, a knot of desire that tightened with every thrust, every grind of his hips.
I could feel it—the climax building inside me, a wave of pleasure that grew stronger with every movement, every sound, every whispered word. My body tensed beneath him, every nerve alight, as he pushed me closer and closer to the brink. It was overwhelming, consuming, and I knew there was no stopping it now.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice rough with need. I met his gaze, losing myself in the storm of emotion behind his eyes. "Let go for me," he whispered, his voice coaxing and commanding all at once, the sound wrapping around me like a promise.
My nails dug into his back as I cried out, my body shattering beneath him in a climax so powerful it left me gasping.
He didn't stop, his movements relentless as he chased his own release. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, his grip on my hips tightening. "You feel so good," he groaned, his voice laced with raw desire. "So fucking perfect."
His rhythm grew more erratic and desperate as he pushed himself closer to the edge. Each thrust was deeper, more forceful, his body trembling with the effort to hold back.
When he finally reached his climax, his body tensed completely, his head dropping to the curve of my neck as he released with a low, guttural sound. I could feel him pulsing inside me, the sensation sending shivers through my body as he filled me completely. His hips bucked against me one final time, his movements slowing but not stopping, riding out every last wave of his pleasure.
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. We just lay there in the stillness, our bodies tangled together, the echoes of what we'd just shared pulsing between us. The silence felt different—deeper, more intense, like we were suspended in time, in another world where nothing else mattered but this.
I turned my head slightly, my gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face in the dim light. He looked different—softer somehow, more vulnerable. His guard was down, and for the first time, I saw the man behind the power, the weight he carried, the loneliness that mirrored my own.
I think I loved him. If it wasn't love, it was something I didn't have words for. I had fallen for him—deeply, irrevocably.
And it terrified me.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on my hip. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine, the Nebula amplifying even the smallest sensation. I wanted to stay in this moment forever, to lose myself in him, in us, and forget about everything else.
But reality was waiting, just beyond the walls of this apartment.
He let out a low sigh and slowly rolled off me, collapsing onto the bed beside me, his arm still draped over my waist. For a few moments, we both laid there, the comfortable silence settling back in between us.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he stood up.
I watched him, my heart still racing as he walked naked across the room toward the kitchen. His body was a work of art—lean, muscled, every movement deliberate and graceful. The high made everything sharper, made him seem more… godlike. I let my eyes linger on him, committing every inch of him to memory.
He disappeared for a few moments, the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing breaking the silence. When he returned, he was holding a glass of ice water, the condensation dripping down the side. He sat on the edge of the bed and held it out to me.
"Here," he said softly.
I sat up slowly, my body still tingling from the Nebula and everything we'd just shared. I took the glass from him, our fingers brushing for a brief moment, and I brought it to my lips. The cool water contrasting to the heat still radiating from my body, and I welcomed the relief.
Oliver took the glass from me after I'd had a few sips and placed it on the bedside table. Then, without saying a word, he laid back down beside me, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me close again
Everything felt dreamlike, surreal. All that mattered was this—this moment, this man.
I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The rhythm soothed me, anchoring me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the moment wash over me.
His chest rising and falling steadily as the haze of Nebula kept us suspended in a world where everything felt distant, yet intensely close at the same time. I had expected silence to stretch between us, maybe even awkwardness after everything that had just happened. But instead, something shifted in the air, like we were standing at the edge of something bigger.
His arm tightened slightly around me, his fingers brushing against my skin with a gentleness that made my heart ache. For a moment, we were just there—two bodies, two souls, tangled in a complicated web of trust and betrayal.
And then, he spoke.
"I know everything," he said, his voice low and rough, like he had been holding onto the words for far too long. "About Aspen. Everything she's been doing."
I didn't move, but my heart clenched at the sound of her name. I half-expected him to pull away, to shut down, but he didn't. He kept talking, his voice carrying the weight of years of secrets.
"I've known for a while," he continued, his words slow, deliberate. "What she's been doing. How she's been taking over everything, little by little. I thought I had control, but… Aspen's smarter than I gave her credit for. She's had her claws in the Vault for years, and I didn't even see how deep they went until it was almost too late."
I stayed quiet, letting him speak, letting him release the weight he'd been carrying. The man I had seen—strong, untouchable, always in control—was starting to show cracks in his foundation, and I could feel it. The Nebula had brought down his walls, just as it had brought down mine. Vulnerability hung in the air between us, raw and exposed.
"I need her," he admitted quietly, his voice strained. "I've needed her to help run this place because I couldn't do it alone. She's made herself indispensable. I knew she was corrupt, but I didn't realize how far it had gone until recently. She got sloppy when she hired those theater guards, the runners… she started making mistakes, and that's when I really started admitting it to myself. The way she's been bleeding the Vault vendors dry. The way people are fed up with her. And every time I tried to fix it, to stop the damage, she'd pull another string and something else would fall apart. I've been running from fire to fire, just trying to keep everything from collapsing."
I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the way the pressure had been building for years. It wasn't just about Aspen anymore—it was about everything. The Vault, the streets, his entire world. And it was slipping through his fingers.
He let out a deep breath, his hand brushing absently through my hair. "I don't know who to trust anymore. I want to… but it's hard. Aspen made it impossible. But then there's you."
His words caught me off guard, and I shifted slightly, turning my head to look at him. His eyes were distant, staring up at the ceiling like he was talking more to himself than to me.
"You're the only thing in my world right now that feels… like I can still look forward to something," he said softly. "Everything else is slipping. The Vault, my control, my life… Aspen's taken so much from me. But you…"
I didn't know what to say. I didn't expect this. I didn't expect him to be so open, so raw, and it made my heart twist in ways I wasn't prepared for.
"Oliver…" I started, my voice soft. I didn't know how to express the rush of emotions I was feeling—relief, fear, guilt. All I knew was that I needed to say something, to be honest with him, even if it meant risking everything.
"I've been working on something," I confessed, my voice shaky. "I know you're trying to stop Aspen, and I've been… negotiating with some of the people she's screwed over. Trying to form an alliance. Vigo, Farrah… others who have bad blood with her. I didn't want to drag you into it until I knew it could work, but—"
Oliver leaned back slightly, studying me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. He took a deep breath, as though carefully choosing his next words. "I knew what you were doing," he admitted, his voice low but steady. "I knew you were working behind the scenes, meeting with people like Vigo, rallying support against Aspen. I let Marge help you because I wanted to see what you were capable of—what you'd do when left to your own devices."
His confession hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. My mind reeled with questions, but Oliver didn't give me the chance to voice them.
"I needed to know if you could handle the pressure," he continued, his hand brushing lightly against my jaw, grounding me even as my emotions swirled. "This place… it doesn't forgive weakness. I couldn't just hand you responsibilities without knowing if you could navigate the dangers on your own. I've been watching you, studying your methods, and I've been impressed. But it was a risk—letting you take those steps."
I pulled back slightly, his words settling over me like a weight I wasn't prepared for. "You were testing me?" My voice came out quieter than I'd intended, a mix of disbelief and unease.
Oliver's gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. "It wasn't just a test. I trusted you. I wouldn't have let Marge get involved otherwise. But I had to see for myself if you could handle the game Aspen's been playing."
A flicker of guilt twisted in my chest. Part of me understood his reasoning, but another part felt raw, vulnerable. "And what if I had failed? What if Aspen had caught wind of what I was doing?"
"She didn't," he said simply, his voice unwavering. "And that's why I'm standing here now, telling you this. You didn't fail. You've proven yourself more than capable. But Lux…" His hand tightened slightly against the back of my neck. "You have to trust that I see the bigger picture. I know how Aspen operates, and I know how to counter her. But this? Us? It makes everything more complicated."
His words carried a weight that sank into me, amplifying the guilt I already felt. I wanted to trust him, to believe that he'd been looking out for me all along, but the knowledge that he'd been studying me, analyzing my actions, made me feel exposed in a way I hadn't anticipated.
"I don't want to lose you, Lux," Oliver said, his voice quieter now. "But this world we're in—it's not forgiving. If you're going to be in it with me, you need to know that every move you make matters. And you need to tell me when you're making them."
I hesitated, my emotions twisting between gratitude and unease. "I just wanted to prove I could handle it. That I wasn't going to mess everything up."
"You did," he said, a small smirk pulling at his lips. "But next time, don't do it alone."
I met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. "And Marge?" I asked, my voice quieter. "She knew too?"
Oliver nodded. "She had her doubts, but I trusted her to guide you. And she did."
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension thick. Finally, I swallowed hard and whispered, "You should've told me."
"And risk you second-guessing yourself?" Oliver countered, his brow arching slightly.
A surge of emotion welled up inside me, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach fluttering. The intensity of his gaze, the way he'd admitted to trusting me, made my heart ache in a way I wasn't prepared for.
His hand slid down to my shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against my collarbone. "Promise me you'll keep trusting me. That no matter how messy this gets, you'll tell me everything. No more secrets."
I hesitated, the weight of his request hanging heavily between us. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw the vulnerability there, the trust he was extending to me despite everything. And I knew I couldn't let him down.
"I promise," I whispered, my voice steady. "No more secrets."
Oliver exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw a glimmer of relief in his expression. He pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my forehead in a gesture that felt almost too tender for the world we lived in.
"If we're in this together, all the way… don't go behind my back again," he said softly, but there was an unmistakable intensity in his tone. "I understand why you made those deals, why you did what you did. But if something happens to you because of this, I won't be able to forgive myself. You have to trust me enough to let me help."
Oliver's gaze softened, and the tension between us seemed to shift into something warmer, more certain. He leaned down, brushing his lips against my forehead, a silent acknowledgment of the promise we had both just made.
"And another thing," he said, his voice lower but still charged with the same intensity. "Getting Farrah involved that deeply? That's a risk you need to think twice about."
I frowned, feeling a flicker of defensiveness rise in my chest. "Farrah can handle herself," I replied, though even I wasn't sure how much I believed it.
"She's just a young girl," Oliver countered, his tone firm. "She might act tough, but she doesn't understand the gravity of the danger she's in. Not like you do." His eyes searched mine, as though trying to gauge whether I really grasped what he was saying. "I can see it in you, Lux—you get it. You know what's at stake, what Aspen is capable of. But Farrah? She's playing a game she doesn't even fully understand."
I hesitated, guilt tightening in my chest as I thought about Farrah's playful smirks, her cocky jokes, and the way she always brushed off the seriousness of the Vault's politics. "She's smarter than you think," I said softly, but the words felt hollow even to me.
"I'm not saying she isn't," Oliver replied, his expression softening slightly. "But that doesn't mean she's ready for this kind of heat. Aspen won't hesitate to use her as leverage. And if something happens to her because of this, you'll have to live with that."
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Farrah's bright eyes and mischievous grin flashed through my mind, and for the first time, I felt a pang of doubt about bringing her into all of this. I'd justified it as necessary, as part of the bigger picture, but Oliver was right—Farrah didn't truly understand the kind of fire she was playing with.
"She wanted to help," I said weakly, though I knew it wasn't much of a defense. "She knows what Aspen's doing to the Vault. She hates it as much as I do."
Oliver sighed, his hand sliding from my shoulder to my hand, his fingers curling around mine. "I know," he said quietly. "But wanting to help and being ready to face someone like Aspen are two very different things. Just… don't let your guilt about dragging her in blind you to the reality of what could happen. You might be able to handle the fallout, but I'm not sure she can."
His words hung heavy between us, and I felt a lump forming in my throat as the guilt I'd been suppressing bubbled to the surface.
"I'll keep an eye on her," I promised, my voice barely above a whisper. "I won't let anything happen to her."
"You'd better," Oliver said, his tone softening but still firm. "Because if she goes down because of this, it won't just be on you. It'll be on me, too. And I don't want that on either of us. "You'd better," Oliver said, his tone softening but still firm. "Because if she goes down because of this, it won't just be on you. It'll be on me, too. And I don't want that on either of us."
The world outside the room, the chaos of the Vault, the threat of Aspen—it all faded for a moment as we stayed there, locked in the quiet understanding that whatever came next, we were in it together.
Oliver's lips lingered on my forehead and I tried to hold onto the moment—this fragile, fleeting sense of security, of being wanted. But underneath it all, my thoughts were spiraling, anxiety curling tight in my chest, threatening to crush the brief calm we'd found in each other.
Was this real? Or was it just the Nebula talking?
I knew how the drug worked—how it could blur lines, intensify everything, make you feel things deeper than you ever thought possible. Right now, with the Nebula coursing through both of us, it felt like we were invincible. Like nothing could tear us apart. But when it wears off? When reality crashed back in, would he still feel the same? Would I?
The thought gnawed at me, sending a ripple of unease through my body.
I glanced up at Oliver, his face still soft with the afterglow of what we'd just shared. He looked calm, peaceful even, in a way I hadn't seen before. But that only made the fear worse. What if this peace was just the Nebula dulling his sharp edges, and when it wore off, he'd go back to being distant, guarded? What if all of this—the vulnerability, the closeness—disappeared?
"Oliver…" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly
He looked down at me, his eyes soft but tired, like he was teetering on the edge of sleep. "Yeah?"
I hesitated, biting my lip. I didn't know how to say it, how to voice the fear gnawing at me without sounding desperate or weak. But it was there, lodged in my chest, too heavy to ignore.
"Do you think… do you think this will change when the Nebula wears off?" The question came out quieter than I intended, but I couldn't help it. I hated how vulnerable I sounded, but I needed to know.
Oliver's brow furrowed slightly as he studied my face, his thumb brushing gently over my cheek. He didn't answer right away, and that only made the anxiety worse, my heart pounding harder in my chest as I waited.
"I don't know," he said finally, his voice low and rough with honesty.
The knot in my chest tightened, and I nodded, looking away. I didn't know what I'd expected him to say—maybe some kind of reassurance, a promise that this was real. But Oliver wasn't the kind of person to make promises he couldn't keep, and I had to respect that.
"But," he added, his hand tightening slightly around mine, "I know what I feel right now. And it's not just the Nebula."
I looked back at him, my breath catching as his eyes met mine with a sincerity I hadn't expected. "You're the only thing in this place that makes sense to me," he whispered. "You're the only thing that feels real."
His words hit me harder than I'd anticipated, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly. But the fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, whispering that this was too good to be true.
"I just…" I swallowed, my voice barely audible. "I don't want this to end when the high does."
He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me as if to reassure me without words. "It doesn't have to," he whispered into my hair, his breath warm against my skin.
But that wasn't a promise either. Not really.
Because the truth was, we didn't know what would happen. We didn't know what would be left between us when the fog lifted and reality came crashing back in.
But for now—for this moment—I let myself believe him. I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, into the quiet comfort of his presence, and tried to push the fear away. Maybe this wouldn't last. Maybe when the Nebula wore off, everything would change. But for now, it was enough. It had to be. Because if I couldn't hold onto this—if I couldn't trust this fragile connection between us—then what was the point of any of it?