#nicolas vansteenberghe

it was supposed to be light-hearted .. that’s what was always said before these challenges. and yeah, there had been laughter at first. the kind that felt easy. electric and lively. a break in the tension that had hovered over the villa after last night’s game. but .. that emotional strain had returned just as quick when your comment-cards were switched out for a new pile. no one else had the change of comment-cards though.

:: “not to be rude but i don’t trust nic. he’s playing the long game and riding her likability to the final. open your eyes, girl.”

a beat of silence. then: a masculine awkward laugh. a cough. a feminine mumble of “damn, sis ..”

you smiled politely. pressed your tongue against your cheek. blinked down like you were being modest — even though your throat had gone dry. another tweet. you read it aloud, even though you probably shouldn’t have. :: “he acts interested when it’s convenient. she deserves someone who’d kiss her without needing a challenge to do it.”

huda glanced at chelley .. who had been switching her gaze between cierra and olandria, searching for something. amaya shifted uncomfortably, opening her mouth to speak .. and closing it again.

you swept the card back like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t bleeding in your trembling hands — the camera zoomed in slowly. :: “every time she talks about her feelings, he blinks like a broken npc.”

you flipped between the next. and the next. one after the other. you definitely weren’t reading them out loud anymore.

:: she deserves an oscar for pretending he’s even halfway interested );

:: sista, blink twice if you r bein held hostage in that couple /:

each one chipped away a little more — not just at the connection you thought you had, but at the trust you'd been building. with him. with this whole place.

your lip twitched. not from sadness — not yet — but from restraint. the pressure behind your eyes. the heat in your chest. you couldn’t cry here. not in front of all of them. you flipped another.

:: she’s a seat-filler for nic’s airtime. SIGH

the production cameras remained on you and nic .. not to mock, not even to sensationalize. just to watch. to see when you’d break.

:: if she doesn’t leave him in the next recoupling, i will personally jump into that villa myself.

:: you can see her trying. you can see him trying not to ):

:: he’s not emotionally unavailable, he’s just not emotionally available for her.

:: he’s using her to stay safe. i’m tellin yall!!!!!!!

:: bro has a stronger connection with every other chick /:

then, with careful precision, you gathered the entire stack of cards in your hands — the ones you hadn’t read aloud, the ones still humming with other people’s opinions. quietly, you smacked them down on the wooden decking beside you.

your hands returned to your thighs, palms flat, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your skirt. you let out a low, controlled sigh — not quite frustration, not quite defeat, just the sound of holding too much in for too long.

and then you lifted your gaze. nic sat at the couch, still in the firepit circle, half-lit by the glow of the flames. his arms were at his sides in defeat, jaw slack, brows drawn — like he couldn’t decide whether to speak or shrink back.

he saw the look on your face. something deeper than coldness or anger or exhaustion. it was the look of someone who had defended him in confessionals. chosen him in games. believed him when he said, “it is real. this is. i’m not here for the cameras.”

they see it. why couldn’t you?

the producers didn’t butt in. didn’t call out to check on you. didn’t pull you for a confessional. because they had gotten what they needed already. a full segment’s worth of silence, humiliation, and slow-burn devastation — all from a fan favorite breaking in real time.

you were trending two days ago. you were getting calls to the hideaway. being called the heart of the villa. you were all in. and for some reason, production needed the shock value; deep into the season. and you were the cleanest one to hit. the golden girl gets played? that’s reality television gold. this twisted plot would change everything from here on out.

then, the islanders began to scatter — slowly, awkwardly — like they didn’t want to be the first to stand, but couldn’t bear to stay. soft footsteps creaked against the wooden deck. a water bottle rolled off someone’s knee and was left behind. just quick and tight-lipped grins over-the-shoulder glances. someone murmured, “give them a minute.” and no one argued.

the villa emptied in pieces.

soon, it was just you and nic.

you took up the comment-cards again (feeling heavier than paper) and made for your previous spot .. now just a few inches away from nic. you made sure not to touch.

the fire danced lazily in the pit ahead, casting orange flickers across his face. he was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, fingers picking at the small silver hoop in his ear — not for style this time. just something to do.

you were staring past the flames. past the moth circling the overhead light. past the garden furniture, the cameras, the whole artificial warmth of the villa. you were gazing straight ahead, not on anything in particular, but your focus was splintered — your thoughts tripping over themselves, trying to untangle the truth from what you felt.

“i ..” your voice. “i don’t understand.”

nic blinked up, slightly startled.

“i’m not understandin’ where it’s coming from,” you continued, barely more than a whisper. “i don’t feel it.”

“the comments?”

you let out a soft breath .. just short of a scoff. “yeah,” you answered, sighing deeply. “obviously.”

a long pause.

“i didn’t feel it ..” you said again. “whatever they’ve been seeing. i thought we were good. i thought you were with me. like .. actually with me.” you bit your lip to steady your tone, but it still shook. not from heartbreak though. from disorientation. “what am i missing?”

he let the question hang. you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. he ran a hand over his mouth, exhaled like the words were too massive. too thick to shove down. “i think ..” nic shook his head. “i think you’ve been showing up for me - in ways i haven’t .. quite matched.”

“not because i didn’t want to,” nic rushed. “just because .. i thought i had more time.”

“more time to what?”

nic held your stare now. this close, his eyes looked tired. regretful. still so handsome, still so familiar — but suddenly, so far from you. “to figure out how i feel,” he said, honesty spilling out, clumsy and raw. “to .. catch up to you.”

and your heart dropped. you tried to breathe through it. “catch up ..?” you echoed. “you’ve been waitin’ to feel somethin’ i’ve already been givin’ you?”

“no - it’s not like that -“

“it’s exactly like that.”

nic sat up straighter now, voice firm: “it’s not. you have to believe me. i care about you. i do. i’ve just been - i don’t know, like .. holding back.” his knee bounced. his fingers twitched. “and not because i don’t feel anything, but ‘cause everything’s been moving so fast. i don’t wanna mess this up.” his hands gestured uselessly in the space between, as if trying to shape the chaos into something cleaner. “didn’t wanna say the wrong thing, or come on too strong .. or get in too deep without knowing how to do it right.“

then: “i didn’t think it was .. obvious. thought i was .. hiding it better. you know?”

your eyes stung, lashes dampening. you blinked, swallowed, looked down for a second — not to avoid him, but to brace yourself. “yeah ..” voice rougher than you intended. “you hid it so well the entire country noticed.”

that shut him up.

and his gaze dropped. his shoulders drooped. “i didn’t mean to embarrass you. that - that was not what i was doing.”

you looked at him .. really looked .. and you could tell he meant it. but that didn’t make it better. if anything, it made it worse. “but you did.” words burned on the way out. “now i’m stuck wonderin’ if i ever had you -“

instantly. “you did have me.” nic’s voice cracked. “you do.” there it was again. that impossible closeness. so near, and still not touching. “you do.”

and now he was showing you. like actually showing you — in the only way he knew how .. with his mouth. using his mouth. licking and sucking and slurping and spitting. because where his words had failed you, his mouth spoke in full sentences — munching, devouring — making up for every second he kept you guessing.

but, this might’ve been more for nic than you ..

his forearms were pushed into the tops of your legs, biceps flexed and straining as he kept you wide open for his mouth. his fingers dug around the soft underside of your thighs, knuckles dragging into the mattress, refusing to ease up. you could feel him breathing against you — harsh, uneven — for he wasn’t just eating you out, he was trying to bury something. his mistakes. his fears. make you forget both.

through the mess of this — lips still latched to your clit, chin wet — nic’s eyes lifted and found yours. dark. blown wide. locked in. it wasn’t some fleeting, accidental glance. no — he studied. held his scan. let it burn.

and it hit you in your chest first, then lower — that look. like he was watching the exact moment you fell apart. like he needed to see you feel it. watch your face twitch, your lips part, your body arch. as if that was his proof — that you were still his. that this was still real. that those comment-cards were bullshit. because they knew.

“you know it’s yours ..” he’d whisper, devotion in every swipe and heavy lap of his tongue. “hated that .. seein’ you look like that. look at me like that .. you know me, baby. you know me -“ and you’re trying your very best not to let it all tumble out in one wrecked, broken sound. every whimper that bubbled up burned thick at the back of your throat, mixing with breathless gasps and swallowed moans you couldn’t quite keep down. they sat there, gargled and trembling, threatening to crack you open from the inside out.

nic peeled back, strumming the pad of his thumb down your messy slit before, again, rolling his tongue from bottom to top. to bottom. to top. to bottom. to top again. “you trust me .. right?” you let your shivering legs wrap around the back of his neck fully, ankles locking and toes curling. “tell me,” words muffled into you, vibrating deep through your stomach.

you swore — if he kept talking, you’d explode.

“nnnngh,” you whimpered, the grip of your hand in his hair getting stronger; acrylics all in the way. you’re fucking his face now, grinding yourself against his mouth while watching his eyes take mental snapshots — his cock erect and twitching in his pants. “nic ..”

“hmm?” he groaned into you. after a second, he did it once more. and more. if he wasn’t being verbal, he was humming; guttural quivers that rolled and made straight into your core. you could feel each sound — deep and constant — reverberating through your hips, your thighs, your spine. “mmf.” downright filthy.

“i .. i trust you ..”

with a gentle flick of his tongue, he swiftly slides in, diving past the ring of your entrance. you’ve slowed yourself against his mouth now, whining at the feel of his tongue prod in and out of you. you’re even closer to the brink of your edge and you can feel yourself shaking and twitching the second the tip of his finger taps down onto your clit.

you couldn’t help but start to babble, sick and incoherent. weakly rutting your hips against his face once again. “‘m cumming -“