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- 03/16/2025
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Shadows of the Night - 7. Chapter 7 - Dive into the Unknown
Nicolas and Kamel roll up to a plush house where some guy greets them with mad energy. Caught between confusion and curiosity, Nicolas steps into a whole new world… while Kamel, laid-back as ever, stays glued to his smartphone vibes.
“Alright, you’re good to go!” Khaled calls out, sliding back into the driver’s seat. Kamel pockets his phone:
“Come on, what you waiting for?”
“Chill, I’m coming!”
“Come on, what you waiting for?”
“Chill, I’m coming!”
…Follow him!
“Yeah, I got it already,” I mutter under my breath. Why’s he always so hyped up? And what are we even doing here? I glance at Kamel—he’s practically Spider-Man-ing it to the door now. “Alright, alright, I’m there!” I slam the car door shut behind me.
Man, this place looks unreal. Peering through the gate, I can’t help but think it—the house is next-level, decked out with flowers everywhere, and that view in the back? You couldn’t dream up better. But Kamel’s already at the door, strolling in like he owns the joint. No knock, no shout, just straight through the hallway to a wide-open double door. For real, he’s acting like it’s his crib! “You… you know this place?”
“Nah,” he says, not even pausing.
Fair enough—Khaled did say we could—
“Oh, I’m spoiled today!”
Whoa, a voice from the right cuts in.
“Two cute lads at once!”
I clock him now. Some old geezer—maybe my history teacher’s age? Rocking a white Bermuda and a floral shirt, probably the owner. Meanwhile, Kamel’s already crashed on the sofa. Uh… me too, then?
“Go on, sit. Make yourself at home like your mate,” the guy says.
This is mad plush! A massive living room, the kind you don’t even dare dream about, especially with that pool gleaming through the terrace doors. I’m proper buzzing off this vibe.
So I plop down next to Kamel, who’s already glued to his phone again. The guy settles into one of the three armchairs across from us:
“So… who’s who?”
“Kamel,” he grunts, barely looking up before diving back into his screen.
“And you?”
“Nicolas.”
“Ahh… perfect.”
“Kamel,” he grunts, barely looking up before diving back into his screen.
“And you?”
“Nicolas.”
“Ahh… perfect.”
Perfect? What’s that supposed to mean? It’s just my name! Why’s he staring at us like that? Both of them are—Khaled too. I’d pull my phone out like Kamel, but—
“Right… who’s coming over?”
“Him!” Kamel pipes up, not even glancing from his phone, pointing at me. Then he cracks up like he’s taking the piss.
“Go for it, don’t stress,” he adds.
“Him!” Kamel pipes up, not even glancing from his phone, pointing at me. Then he cracks up like he’s taking the piss.
“Go for it, don’t stress,” he adds.
Wait, what? I don’t get any of this. Go where? There? Next to the guy? But there’s no space! I turn to him: “Uh, there’s no room?”
“Tsk, it’s made for it,” he smirks.
“Made for what?”
“Look—there’s just enough for half a cheek, see?”
“Made for what?”
“Look—there’s just enough for half a cheek, see?”
I eye the other armchairs. Yeah, that one’s bigger, but… fine, fine, he’s insistent. I squeeze in next to him. Man, this is tight!
“Nah, it’s fine,” he says, slinging his left arm around my neck—I’m on his left. I’m wedged in proper now! What’s he playing at? Then his other hand lands on my thigh, just like
Khaled did that time. Oi, what’s this again?
“Oh, oh… a rebel, are we?” he teases.
“Huh? Nah, I just don’t like being touched like that.”
“What, your thighs?”
“It’s his first go!” Kamel chimes in, finally looking up.
“First what? Your mate’s a virgin?”
“Yeah, first time,” Kamel nods.
“Oi, hold up!” I snap. “You’re talking about me here! Why we even on this?”
“Huh? Nah, I just don’t like being touched like that.”
“What, your thighs?”
“It’s his first go!” Kamel chimes in, finally looking up.
“First what? Your mate’s a virgin?”
“Yeah, first time,” Kamel nods.
“Oi, hold up!” I snap. “You’re talking about me here! Why we even on this?”
But the guy keeps going, kneading my knee now.
“Khaled’s proper treating me with this one!”
“Khaled?” My stomach drops. “Wait… no way we’re here for…?”
“Khaled?” My stomach drops. “Wait… no way we’re here for…?”
And I’m stuck like this—oh, I’m starting to get it now! Then he nudges me:
“You know what, my little darlings?”
I stumble back to my feet, yeah? And he turns to Kamel, who’s just put his phone down:
“To celebrate, how about a dip in the pool? And you”—he nods at me—“you’re all tense. I reckon it’d chill you out before we get to the rest. What d’you say?”
I don’t even need to check Kamel—the guy takes it as a yes:
“Come on, I’ll show you. While you get ready, I’ll whip up something to sustain us…”
“Sustain?” I blurt out. “Like ‘sus’ in Fortnite? He tryna sus-tain us or what?”
Kamel cracks up. “Bruv, you thought he’s sussing you out? Nah, he just means food!”
My face goes red, pride stung, but I try to play it off:
“Oh… yeah, cool, I didn’t clock that.”
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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