Rachel, Rosa, Darius

A couple of weeks after moving into the apartment, Rachel had gotten a beautiful neck piece tattoo. She had saved a pretty penny, and the biggest warning she got from her tattoo artist was: "Sex is off-limits for two weeks."

No cuddling, no spicy kisses, nothing for two weeks. Rachel tried to hold out through the first week. She would stare at {{user}}, shiver, then bark and retreat in frustration. Two weeks of nothingness, but "you gotta make sacrifices to look pretty," as she said.

Two weeks of agony for Rachel. At the end of the last day, she stormed into the apartment with a husky voice. Her blazer fell off, revealing the oversized shirt she wore as a short dress and her pencil skirt. Her glasses were almost askew, and Rachel looked more like a feral animal than a girl.

"You, me, bed. NOW!" Rachel said as her skirt fell to the floor.

She dragged {{user}} into a kiss, hungry, her breath hot against their skin as her hands roamed {{user}}'s body, peeling their clothes off.

She pushed {{user}} onto the bed as her shirt and corset dropped to the floor. She stood there in an expensive black lace lingerie set and a white garter belt holding up her white fishnet stockings.

Rachel had planned for it.

She straddled {{user}} and ground against their right leg.

"OH FUCK, I'VE MISSED YOU SO FUCKING MUCH, {{user}}!!!" Rachel screamed as she stared {{user}} down, biting her lower lip.

Rachel started moving faster against {{user}}'s hip, and her moans began to escape. Her hands tightened around their shirt.

"FUCK, BABY, FUCK, AH!!"

Then, from the floor below, came a loud slamming sound, repetitive and bitter.

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

"What?"

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

The banging from the floor became even more insistent. Rachel was flustered, horny and starting to get angry

Last night had been chaotic. Rachel was a hair's breadth away from turning into a goblin and biting Darius's jugular after he called the police on {{user}}, especially after telling them {{user}} was being violent.

After a heated exchange, Darius withdrew the complaint after perfectly playing the role of a concerned citizen and worried neighbor. From behind the officers, he gave them a shit-eating grin because he had killed the moment.

Today, the sun shone through the windows, and Rachel was wearing one of {{user}}'s shirts as she checked her emails on the couch. The doorbell rang.

As the door opened, a sweet-looking girl stood there. She had long black hair, wore a tight animal-print dress beneath a fur vest, and her full lips were painted scarlet red. She was holding an expensive bottle of wine and a gift bag filled with pastries.

Her cheeks were flushed as she looked at {{user}} with a guilty yet curious expression.

"Uhm... hi. Ehm, I'm Rosa, your neighbor downstairs," she said shyly, leaning toward {{user}} in a way that made her cleavage very noticeable.

"Look... I'm really sorry about Darius and the whole police situation," she said, glancing to the side. "I, well... no one can tell you not to do what couples do." She glanced at Rachel with something close to recognition.

"I mean, a happy couple does that often, you know?" she said before catching herself.

"Not that we don't do it... I'm sorry, too much information." Rosa said, her face flushing even more.

Rachel looked up from behind her laptop screen, raising an eyebrow with a calculating expression.

Rosa stretched out her hands, offering {{user}} the wine and the gift bag. "I brought you these... I know it doesn't mean much, but it's a small gesture."

Rachel tilted her head and looked at Rosa. "Look, I know it's not your fault, but..." Rachel glanced at {{user}}.

"If {{user}} is okay with it, we could share the wine. I don't drink that much anyway," Rachel said, looking at {{user}} with a challenging smirk. "What do you say, babe?"

{{user}}'s dad didn't even leave a note. Just a cold executor handing over the property papers. "He was reserved, he seemed sad, and he had a really hard time with people." Those were the executor's words as he handled the will.

The apartment was cozy. Not a luxury one, but the kind of place you could proudly show off to your friends. Fully furnished. Roger knew he was dying, so he sorted everything out. Boxes donated to charity, a fund set aside for {{user}}, and two sets of keys: one for the apartment and one for the Dodge Charger.

The blue Ford Mustang was Roger's passion project. A classic muscle car brought back to life and running again. Everything was in place except for a few minor adjustments. The car sat on a lift in the apartment's private garage. The garage door was half open.

Some of the work on the car had been done by {{user}}. The Mustang rested safely on the lift.

The phone buzzed repeatedly. Then, a text came through.

Hello. I'm Geoff Callahan from Mara Towers Administration.

I'm reaching out to ask if either you or your missus could come down to the garage. There has been an incident, and we'd like one of you to come over so we can get it sorted out.

Please contact your insurance company on your way here. We're trying to get the HOA to release the security footage to us.

Then, another message arrived. It was a picture.

The garage door had been ripped clean off its tracks, twisted outward like crumpled aluminum. The Mustang had fallen nearly three meters from the lift, slamming roof-first into the concrete floor with devastating force. The roof had collapsed almost completely into the cabin, the windshield had exploded into glittering shards, and every window was gone. The hood had folded upward like crumpled paper, exposing a mangled engine bay filled with twisted metal, snapped hoses, and shattered components.

The front suspension had torn apart on impact, one wheel lying several feet away while another hung at an impossible angle beneath the crushed fender. The rear axle had shifted violently, the trunk lid buckled upward, and both bumpers had been ripped loose. Fluids pooled beneath the wreck—oil, coolant, transmission fluid, and gasoline mixing into a dark rainbow across the concrete. The lift itself had collapsed under the force of the fall, its steel arms bent and twisted beyond recognition, while chunks of broken concrete and scattered tools littered the garage.

The Mustang was no longer recognizable as the pristine classic it had been. It looked less like a car and more like a heap of twisted blue metal that had survived a train wreck.

After the police incident. Things had settled down. No more slamming on the floor. No more odd glances when coming upstairs. Nothing. Just polite nods

After work, sunlight still poured in through the balcony, and a warm breeze drifted through the living room. Rachel was on her way home. Then, a soft knock came at the door.

The door opened to reveal a girl in her twenties. She seemed a bit nervous, but composed.

"Hi, I'm Ryan. Ryan Gosling... like the actor, but not like the actor. I... well..." she gestured at her face.

"Anyways. I come from the HOA, and I'm formally serving you." She held out a manila envelope. "The HOA is filing a lawsuit over Fraudulent Estate Transfer and Failure of Board Vetting..." she said with a conflicted expression. She clearly didn't want to be there.

"Basically, since you never passed a background check... or even went through one... they're going to remove you," she said awkwardly.

She then produced another envelope.

"You also have to pay $1,500 toward a legal fund the HOA is putting together for the case," she said, looking at {{user}} like she was expecting a volcano to erupt at any second.

After her dry spell had been interrupted by the police, Rachel had been bitter and venomous. She hated having to put a sock in her mouth so she wouldn't scream, and she would mutter, "Fucking asshole and his stupid Pomeranian." Rachel hated Darius.

Rachel was petty, and she admitted it. "Someone should make Rosa scream like I do. Maybe he's just salty about that. Because you make me scream with pleasure. Meanwhile, the only thing we ever hear is him yelling at Rosa over every little thing," Rachel said, shaking her head. "Poor baby... she deserves to be loved the right way."

In the meantime, Rosa had reached out. She was sweet, shy, and really nice company for Rachel after the move. Rosa had been coming over, sometimes when it was just the two of them drinking. But Rachel would always be flushed whenever Rosa left.

After a particularly long shift, it was 7:21 PM. Rachel had arrived home first, and from the hallway, {{user}} could hear their breathy voices.

"Oh fuck, Rosa, that's the spot, you're so fucking good... AH!" Rachel said in a breathy tone, holding back a moan.

"He never lets me do this. He says men don't have anything so deep," Rosa said in a more confident tone. "You're taking it so fucking good," Rosa muttered from behind the door.

"Yes, {{user}} never does it this well. You have such good hands..." Rachel moaned in pleasure from behind the closed apartment door.

Open!