#collision warning system

[navigatingthefutureofadas]

Enhancing Fleet Safety with Collision Warning Systems

mplementing a Collision Warning System (CWS) is crucial for fleet safety. These systems help prevent accidents by alerting drivers to potential collisions. Key benefits include:

Early Warnings: CWS provides real-time alerts about imminent collisions, giving drivers time to react.

Accident Reduction: With timely warnings, the risk of accidents decreases, ensuring safer journeys.

Cost Savings: Fewer accidents mean lower repair and insurance costs.

For an in-depth understanding, check out the full article.

[sharpeagle-tech]

Safe Zone Collision Sentry Corner Guard - All you need to know

In industrial environments, safety is not just a priority; it is a necessity. Ensuring the well-being of employees and the protection of valuable equipment are crucial aspects of efficient and productive operations. 

Blind spots and corners, however, pose significant challenges, often leading to unexpected collisions and accidents. Traditional safety measures like mirrors and signage have a limited scope as they fail to provide real-time warnings for threats, obstacles, and pedestrians that the operator might oversee, highlighting the need for more advanced solutions.

The Safe Zone Corner Guard System by SharpEagle is a groundbreaking innovation designed to enhance workplace safety. This state-of-the-art device not only prevents accidents but also minimises equipment damage, reduces downtime, and fosters a culture of safety within the workplace.

By investing in zone-safe solutions like the Safe Zone Collision Sentry Corner Guard, businesses can take proactive steps towards creating safer, more productive industrial environments.

What is a Safe Zone Corner Guard?

The Safe Zone Corner Guard is an innovative safety device designed to prevent accidents and collisions in industrial environments, particularly around blind spots and corners. This system employs advanced sensor technology to detect motion on both sides of a corner, providing real-time alerts to employees and forklift operators.

Key Features and Design Elements

At the core of the Safe Zone Corner Guard are its sophisticated sensors that detect any approaching movement. Once motion is detected, the system activates a dual alert mechanism consisting of bright LED lights and alarms — a combination that ensures engagement of the operator’s visual and auditory senses, even in noisy environments. 

One of the standout features of the Safe Zone Corner Guard System is its customizable audio settings. Users can adjust the volume and pitch of the alarms to suit the specific noise levels of their workplace, making it adaptable to various environments, from bustling warehouses to quieter office spaces. 

The system’s snap-on design allows for quick and hassle-free installation, ensuring that it can be deployed with minimal disruption to ongoing operations.

Materials Used in the Construction of Corner Guards

The Safe Zone Corner Guard System is constructed using high-quality, durable materials designed to withstand the rigours of industrial environments. The housing is made from robust, impact-resistant plastic that can endure collisions and harsh conditions without compromising its functionality. The LED lights are encased in shatter-proof glass to protect them from damage, while the sensors are designed to be both sensitive and resilient, ensuring reliable performance over time.

Importance of Safe Zone Corner Guards

Preventing Accidents and Injuries

In industrial settings, corners and blind spots are notorious for causing accidents. Unprotected corners can lead to unexpected collisions between employees, machinery, and equipment, resulting in injuries and damage. 

Safe Zone Collision Sentry Corner Guards play a crucial role in mitigating these risks by providing real-time warnings to those approaching a corner. The advanced sensor technology detects motion from both directions, triggering visual and audio alerts to ensure everyone is aware of the potential hazard. 

This proactive approach significantly reduces the likelihood of accidents, creating a safer work environment.

SharpEagle provides a range of forklift lighting solutions to enhance your workplace safety - Read about the complete range and functions of forklift safety lights.

Statistics on Workplace Accidents Related to Unprotected Corners

Workplace accidents are a significant concern in industrial environments, with many incidents occurring due to unprotected corners. 

According to the National Safety Council (NSC), workplace accidents involving collisions between people and moving equipment are the third leading cause of workplace deaths. Furthermore, a study by the same organisation highlights that unprotected corners and low visibility account for 93% of systemic risks connected to these accidents.

Implementing Safe Zone Corner Guards can drastically reduce these statistics. By providing clear and immediate warnings, these devices help prevent collisions and ensure that employees can navigate corners safely. This reduction in accidents not only protects workers but also minimises downtime and lowers costs associated with equipment damage and injury-related absences. ‍

Benefits of Safe Zone Corner Guard

The Safe Zone Corner Guard System offers a multitude of benefits for industrial and warehouse settings. 

Accident Prevention

The primary benefit of Safe Zone Corner Guards is the prevention of accidents. By detecting motion and providing real-time visual and audio alerts, the system ensures that employees are aware of potential hazards around corners, reducing the risk of collisions and injuries.

Protection of Equipment

In addition to safeguarding employees, the Safe Zone Corner Guard System protects valuable equipment and machinery from damage caused by collisions. This not only prolongs the lifespan of the equipment but also minimises repair and replacement costs.

Increased Productivity

A safer work environment leads to increased productivity. When employees feel secure and confident navigating their workspace, it inevitably leads to higher efficiency and output.

Customisable Alerts

The customisable audio settings of the Safe Zone Corner Guard System allow businesses to tailor the alerts to their specific environment, ensuring that warnings are effective without being disruptive. This adaptability makes it suitable for a variety of settings, from noisy warehouses to quieter offices.

Enhanced Safety Culture

Implementing Safe Zone Corner Guards promotes a culture of safety within the workplace. Employees become more aware of safety protocols and practices, fostering a proactive approach to accident prevention and overall workplace well-being.

Our experts at SharpEagle recommend the top three products to increase workplace safety! 

Installation and Maintenance Guide

Step-by-Step Guide to Install Safe Zone Corner Guards

Unpack the System: Carefully remove the Safe Zone Corner Guard components from the packaging. Ensure all parts, including sensors, LED lights, and mounting hardware, are present.

Choose the Installation Location: Identify the corners where the Safe Zone Corner Guard will be most effective. Ideal locations are high-traffic areas with frequent blind spot collisions.

Clean the Surface: Clean the surface of the corner where the device will be mounted to ensure a secure attachment. Remove any dust, grease, or debris.

Mount the Bracket: Attach the mounting bracket to the chosen location using the provided screws or adhesive pads. Ensure the bracket is securely fixed and level.

Attach the Sensor Unit: Snap the sensor unit onto the mounted bracket. Ensure it is firmly in place and correctly oriented to cover both sides of the corner.

Connect the Power Supply: If the unit is battery-operated, insert the batteries. For wired units, connect the power supply to a nearby outlet.

Test the System: Activate the Safe Zone Corner Guard to test its functionality. Walk towards the corner from both directions to ensure the sensors trigger the visual and audio alerts.

Tips for Proper Installation

Optimal Height: Install the sensors and lights at a height that ensures visibility and detection of both personnel and equipment.

Secure Mounting: Ensure all components are securely mounted to prevent them from being dislodged by vibrations or impacts.

Visibility: Position the LED lights so they are clearly visible from all angles to maximise the warning effect.

Maintenance Guidelines

Regular Cleaning

Clean the sensors and lights regularly to prevent dust and debris from obstructing their functionality.

Perform Battery Checks

For battery-operated units, check and replace batteries periodically to ensure continuous operation.

System Testing

Conduct regular tests to ensure the sensors and alarms are functioning correctly. Schedule these tests as part of routine safety checks.

Troubleshooting Common Issues

No Power 

If the unit is not powering on, check the power supply connection or replace the batteries.

False Alarms

Ensure the sensors are free from obstructions and not exposed to excessive vibrations or reflective surfaces that might trigger false alarms.

No Alerts

If the sensors are not detecting motion, clean the sensor lenses and check for proper alignment. Verify that the system is turned on and fully operational.

Future Scope

The future scope for Safe Zone Corner Guards is promising, as ongoing advancements in technology and growing awareness of workplace safety continue to drive innovation in this field.  

Integration with Smart Technologies

As industrial environments become increasingly automated and connected, the Safe Zone Corner Guard System could integrate with broader smart technology frameworks. This includes enabling real-time data collection and analysis. 

Enhanced Sensor Technology

Future iterations of Safe Zone Corner Guards may incorporate advanced sensor technologies, such as infrared, ultrasonic, or LiDAR sensors. These enhancements would improve detection accuracy and range, allowing the system to identify potential hazards more effectively, even in complex environments with multiple obstacles and varying levels of activity.

Customisable and Modular Designs

Future designs could offer greater customisation and modularity, allowing businesses to tailor the system to their specific needs. Modular units that can be easily expanded or reconfigured would provide flexibility for different industrial setups and evolving safety requirements.

Regulatory Compliance and Standardisation

As workplace safety regulations evolve, Safe Zone Corner Guards will likely adapt to meet new standards and compliance requirements. Enhanced features that align with global safety standards can help businesses maintain compliance and improve their safety ratings.

Expanding Applications

While currently focused on industrial and warehouse settings, the application of Collision Sentry Safe Zone Corner Guards could extend to other environments, such as construction sites, hospitals, schools, and commercial buildings. Each of these settings presents unique safety challenges that the system could help mitigate.

Case Studies and Success Stories

1. Global Logistics Warehouse

A leading global logistics company implemented the Safe Zone Corner Guard System across its major distribution centres. With a high volume of foot traffic and machinery operating in close quarters, the company faced frequent accidents at blind corners. After installing the Safe Zone Corner Guards, the facility saw a 40% reduction in corner-related collisions within the first six months. The system’s visual and audio alerts significantly enhanced awareness, allowing workers to navigate safely and efficiently.

2. Automotive Manufacturing Plant

An automotive manufacturing plant integrated Safe Zone Corner Guards into its assembly line operations. The plant, which had previously experienced several costly incidents involving forklifts and heavy machinery, reported a notable decrease in accidents. The customisable audio settings were particularly beneficial in the noisy environment, ensuring that alerts were heard over the ambient noise. This implementation not only improved safety but also led to a 20% increase in overall productivity, as employees could focus on their tasks without constant fear of accidents.

3. Retail Distribution Center

A large retail distribution centre adopted Safe Zone Corner Guards to enhance safety in its high-traffic areas. The centre had numerous narrow aisles and blind spots, posing significant risks to workers and equipment. After deploying the Safe Zone Corner Guard System, the centre observed a dramatic decline in near-miss incidents and collisions. The management noted that the easy installation and minimal maintenance of the system allowed for a seamless integration into their existing safety protocols.

Choosing the Right Safe Zone Corner Guard for Your Needs

Factors to Consider

Environment

Assess the environment where the corner guard will be installed. Different settings, such as warehouses, manufacturing plants, and retail spaces, have varying requirements. Consider factors like noise levels, lighting conditions, and potential environmental hazards.

Type of Traffic

Understand the type and volume of traffic in the area. High-traffic zones with frequent movement of forklifts and heavy machinery will need more robust solutions compared to areas with only pedestrian traffic.

Potential Hazards

Identify specific hazards present in your workplace. This could include sharp corners, blind spots, and high-speed machinery. Choose a corner guard that can effectively mitigate these risks.

Importance of SharpEagle Safe Zone Corner Guard

The SharpEagle Safe Zone Corner Guard stands out due to its advanced sensor technology, customisable alerts, and durable construction. It provides real-time visual and audio warnings, significantly reducing the risk of accidents and enhancing overall workplace safety. Easy installation and minimal maintenance requirements make it a reliable and cost-effective solution for a variety of industries.

Recommendations Based on Industry Requirements

Warehousing and Logistics

For environments with high forklift traffic and narrow aisles, choose a corner guard with robust sensors and loud, customisable audio alerts to ensure clear visibility and audibility in noisy conditions.

Manufacturing

In manufacturing plants with heavy machinery, select a corner guard that can withstand harsh conditions and provide precise motion detection to prevent collisions.

Retail Distribution

For retail distribution centres with mixed traffic (pedestrians and machinery), opt for a versatile corner guard that offers adjustable alert settings to cater to different noise levels and visibility requirements.

Expert Tips on Making an Informed Decision

Evaluate Your Needs: Conduct a thorough assessment of your workplace to identify the areas with the highest risk of collisions and accidents.

Seek Professional Advice: Consult safety experts like SharpEagle to get product recommendations tailored to your specific requirements.

Test the System: Test the Safe Zone Corner Guard in a small industrial zone before full-scale implementation to ensure it meets your safety needs.

Consider Future Scalability: Choose a system that can be easily expanded or upgraded as your safety needs evolve.

Compliance and Regulations

Ensure that the Safe Zone Corner Guard you choose complies with relevant safety regulations and standards. This not only enhances workplace safety but also ensures that your business meets legal and industry-specific compliance requirements. SharpEagle’s products are designed to adhere to these standards, providing an added layer of security.

Conclusion

From their advanced sensor technology and customisable alerts to their durable construction and easy installation, Safe Zone Corner Guards by SharpEagle offer a comprehensive solution to prevent accidents and protect both employees and equipment. 

Investing in Safe Zone Collision Sentry Corner Guards is not just about complying with safety regulations — it's about creating a safer, more productive work environment. By mitigating risks associated with blind corners and unprotected areas, you can significantly reduce accidents, minimise downtime, and foster a culture of safety.

We encourage you to explore Safe Zone Corner Guards for your safety needs. Take proactive steps to enhance workplace safety and protect your most valuable assets—your employees. Contact us today to learn more about how Safe Zone Corner Guards can revolutionise safety in your workplace.

[sharpeagle8]

Collision Sentry Corner Pro: Smart Safety Solution for Warehouse Blind Spots

In fast-paced industrial environments, especially warehouses and logistics hubs, blind corner collisions are a constant safety risk. Heavy equipment, like forklifts, pallet jacks, and even foot traffic, can create a hazardous mix when visibility is poor. This is where the Collision Sentry Corner Pro steps in — a smart, compact, and highly effective device designed to prevent accidents before they happen.

Why Blind Spots Are Dangerous in Warehouses

Warehouses are typically filled with racking systems, narrow aisles, and high shelves — all of which create blind spots. Forklifts navigating tight corners or intersections often face the risk of crashing into another vehicle or even a pedestrian. These collisions not only cause injuries but also lead to equipment damage, product loss, and costly downtime.

Traditional convex mirrors offer limited visibility and rely on the operator’s awareness. In contrast, a proactive safety alert system like Collision Sentry Corner Pro takes the guesswork out of blind corner navigation.

What is Collision Sentry Corner Pro?

The Collision Sentry Corner Pro is a plug-and-play safety device that mounts easily at corners, intersections, and aisle ends within warehouses. Using infrared motion sensors and LED warning lights, it detects motion on both sides of the blind corner. When motion is detected from two or more directions, the system activates a bright visual alert — flashing LED lights — to warn both parties of potential collision.

It’s a non-intrusive, battery-operated device that requires no wiring or network connectivity, making it incredibly easy to install and relocate as needed.

Key Features:

Infrared Motion Detection: Accurate sensing of movement in both directions.

Flashing LED Warning Lights: High-visibility alert that captures attention immediately.

Plug-and-Play Design: No electrical installation required.

Magnetic & Strap Mounting Options: Quick setup on racking systems.

Battery-Powered (with AC option): Long-lasting battery life ensures uninterrupted operation.

Adjustable Sensitivity: Customize detection range based on environment.

Real-World Use Case: How It Prevents Collisions

Imagine a warehouse aisle where two forklifts are approaching a T-intersection from opposite sides. Without visibility, both operators may proceed — risking a head-on collision. If the Collision Sentry Corner Pro is installed at that corner, it detects movement from both directions and flashes bright warning lights to stop operators in their tracks. This momentary alert allows both parties to slow down and avoid impact — saving lives, equipment, and inventory.

Benefits for Warehouse Safety and Productivity

Reduces Accidents: Acts as a reliable warning system where mirrors or human awareness might fail.

Increases Operator Confidence: Operators feel more secure when approaching blind spots.

Improves Workflow Efficiency: Prevents downtime due to accident investigations and repairs.

Protects High-Value Inventory: Avoids losses from collision-induced product damage.

Compliance with Safety Protocols: Adds a layer of protection that aligns with OSHA and HSE guidelines.

Easy to Deploy, Easier to Trust

One of the standout aspects of the Collision Sentry Corner Pro is how adaptable it is. Whether you're setting up in a new facility or looking to upgrade safety protocols in an existing one, this device integrates seamlessly. You can even move it around depending on traffic flow changes, seasonal warehouse layouts, or special event configurations.

Conclusion

Workplace safety isn’t optional — it’s essential. As warehouse operations scale and automation becomes more prevalent, so must smart safety tools. The Collision Sentry Corner Pro is more than just a gadget; it’s a proactive investment in the well-being of your staff and the protection of your operations.

If you're looking to enhance safety in your facility’s high-traffic corners, this device is the intelligent solution you've been waiting for. Contact SharpEagle for more details.

[vmantras]

BYD eMAX 7 Superior: The Ultimate Electric MUV for Families

₹29.9 Lakh Overview and General Features The BYD eMAX 7 Superior is an all-electric Multi-Utility Vehicle (MUV) that offers a spacious 7-seater configuration, making it suitable for larger families or anyone requiring a high level of interior space. The model comes in four attractive colors: Quartz Blue, Cosmos Black, Crystal White, and Harbour Grey. It features a 6-year/1.5 lakh kilometers…

[no-passaran]

Genocide experts warn that India is about to genocide the Shompen people

Who are the Shompen?

The Shompen are an indigenous culture that lives in the Great Nicobar Island, which is nowadays owned by India. The Shompen and their ancestors are believed to have been living in this island for around 10,000 years. Like other tribes in the nearby islands, the Shompen are isolated from the rest of the world, as they chose to be left alone, with the exception of a few members who occasionally take part in exchanges with foreigners and go on quarantine before returning to their tribe. There are between 100 and 400 Shompen people, who are hunter-gatherers and nomadic agricultors and rely on their island's rainforest for survival.

Why is there risk of genocide?

India has announced a huge construction mega-project that will completely change the Great Nicobar Island to turn it into "the Hong Kong of India".

Nowadays, the island has 8,500 inhabitants, and over 95% of its surface is made up of national parks, protected forests and tribal reserve areas. Much of the island is covered by the Great Nicobar Biosphere Reserve, described by UNESCO as covering “unique and threatened tropical evergreen forest ecosystems. It is home to very rich ecosystems, including 650 species of angiosperms, ferns, gymnosperms, and bryophytes, among others. In terms of fauna, there are over 1800 species, some of which are endemic to this area. It has one of the best-preserved tropical rain forests in the world.”

The Indian project aims to destroy this natural environment to create an international shipping terminal with the capacity to handle 14.2 million TEUs (unit of cargo capacity), an international airport that will handle a peak hour traffic of 4,000 passengers and that will be used as a joint civilian-military airport under the control of the Indian Navy, a gas and solar power plant, a military base, an industrial park, and townships aimed at bringing in tourism, including commercial, industrial and residential zones as well as other tourism-related activities.

This project means the destruction of the island's pristine rainforests, as it involves cutting down over 852,000 trees and endangers the local fauna such as leatherback turtles, saltwater crocodiles, Nicobar crab-eating macaque and migratory birds. The erosion resulting from deforestation will be huge in this highly-seismic area. Experts also warn about the effects that this project will have on local flora and fauna as a result of pollution from the terminal project, coastal surface runoff, ballasts from ships, physical collisions with ships, coastal construction, oil spills, etc.

The indigenous people are not only affected because their environment and food source will be destroyed. On top of this, the demographic change will be a catastrophe for them. After the creation of this project, the Great Nicobar Island -which now has 8,500 inhabitants- will receive a population of 650,000 settlers. Remember that the Shompen and Nicobarese people who live on this island are isolated, which means they do not have an immune system that can resist outsider illnesses. Academics believe they could die of disease if they come in contact with outsiders (think of the arrival of Europeans to the Americas after Christopher Columbus and the way that common European illnesses were lethal for indigenous Americans with no immunization against them).

And on top of all of this, the project might destroy the environment and the indigenous people just to turn out to be useless and sooner or later be abandoned. The naturalist Uday Mondal explains that “after all the destruction, the financial viability of the project remains questionable as all the construction material will have to be shipped to this remote island and it will have to compete with already well-established ports.” However, this project is important to India because they want to use the island as a military and commercial post to stop China's expansion in the region, since the Nicobar islands are located on one of the world's busiest sea routes.

Last year, 70 former government officials and ambassadors wrote to the Indian president saying the project would “virtually destroy the unique ecology of this island and the habitat of vulnerable tribal groups”. India's response has been to say that the indigenous tribes will be relocated "if needed", but that doesn't solve the problem. As a spokesperson for human rights group Survival International said: “The Shompen are nomadic and have clearly defined territories. Four of their semi-permanent settlements are set to be directly devastated by the project, along with their southern hunting and foraging territories. The Shompen will undoubtedly try to move away from the area destroyed, but there will be little space for them to go. To avoid a genocide, this deadly mega-project must be scrapped.”

On 7 February 2024, 39 scholars from 13 countries published an open letter to the Indian president warning that “If the project goes ahead, even in a limited form, we believe it will be a death sentence for the Shompen, tantamount to the international crime of genocide.”

How to help

The NGO Survival International has launched this campaign:

From this site, you just need to add your name and email and you will send an email to India's Tribal Affairs Minister and to the companies currently vying to build the first stage of the project.

Share it with your friends and acquittances and on social media.

Sources:

India’s plan for untouched Nicobar isles will be ‘death sentence’ for isolated tribe, 7 Feb 2024. The Guardian.

‘It will destroy them’: Indian mega-development could cause ‘genocide’ and ‘ecocide’, says charity, 8 Feb 2024. Geographical.

Genocide experts call on India's government to scrap the Great Nicobar mega-project, Feb 2024. Survival International.

The container terminal that could sink the Great Nicobar Island, 20 July 2022. Mongabay.

[Maps] Environmental path cleared for Great Nicobar mega project, 10 Oct 2022. Mongabay.

[leeb57555]

Truck Platooning Market Analysis by Trends, Size, Share, Growth Opportunities, and Emerging Technologies

It is common to hear in the news that a truck met with an accident, and the truck driver got badly injured or died. According to the data of National Safety Council, 5700 large trucks were involved in a fatal crash in 2021, which was 18% more than the preceding year.

So, the challenges involved in the day-to-day job of a truck driver on the job is a big reason for the shortage of labor in the industry. Trucking also involves long, hours spent squeezed into a cab. There are strict deadlines to be met, and this job requires the utmost attention. It is important that quality of life of the trucker should be improved, and truck platooning can surely help you with the way forward.

It is a Semi-Autonomous Approach

If you talk about platooning, it does not replace the existing trucks with a driverless solution, so, it is clear that it is not about full autonomy. Yes, you can always think of platooning as a strategy, which is made possible with the help of the developments in the field of connected driving.

Platooning is when many trucks, in the guidance of a lead truck can follow each other closely. These can accelerate, break, and take a turn while semi-automatic features in the lead truck reduces the probability of human error. Although, the lead truck is controlling the fleet, the following trucks will also have drivers so that they can complete their scheduled deliveries, by breaking the chain.

Fuel Costs are Reduced Considerably

It is not just about enhanced safety but, platooning can do good for the truck drivers and the trucking companies as well. By letting trucks to drive in close proximity, there is a reduction of the aerodynamic drag and the space taken by the trucks on the road, reducing the costs of fuel.

Room For Relaxation on the Roads

This might spring a surprise to many that how it is possible to have a room for relaxation, and that too while driving such a heavy vehicle, like truck. But, believe me it is true.

Platooning also enhances the experience of trucking. Drivers in the trucks, following the lead feel comfortable because of the presence of technology. It allows them to take their foot of the pedal and relax.

The Concept of Tele-Trucking

With the improvement in technology, platooning could transform the trucking industry. Drivers can monitor and operate their trucks remotely. And many drivers could work from the same room, decreasing the level of loneliness.

Get More Insights: Truck Platooning Market Analysis and Demand Forecast Report

There is often a threat to people with technology, that it could replace people but it is too hard to be true. With the implementation of truck platooning, it will not replace people, but it would take out the dullness from their jobs and make it more enjoyable.

Final Sum Up

It is quite clear that due to the need for safer road transport by the people, and to make the life of the truckers a bit easier, the demand for truck platooning will continue to advance in the future.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 1/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 1 :

London was bone-cold in the way only January could be. The streets sparkled beneath thin veils of frost, and breath puffed into the air like ghosts. Pastel skies bled into charcoal as evening settled, and the city—like always—buzzed with life beneath layers of scarves and city noise. 

Ariana stood outside the dimly lit entrance of the private members' club, her arms folded tightly against her chest, breath trembling as it left her lips. Her coat—cashmere, camel-colored, and belted neatly at the waist—hugged her frame with disciplined elegance. The streetlights cast a silver sheen over her dark hair, which was pinned in a low chignon, rebellious strands curling against her cheeks. Her heels were impractical for this weather, but they matched her quiet grace: poised, pointed, prepared. 

She hated being late. Even more than that—she hated being out of place. 

"You're late too ?" The voice came from behind her, smug and accented, sharp enough to make her spine stiffen. 

She turned, slowly. 

The man who stood there was all swagger wrapped in a North Face puffer and casual arrogance. Messy brown curls peeked from beneath a black beanie, and his eyes—icy blue-green and unapologetically amused—swept over her with the easy confidence of someone used to being looked at. 

“Excuse me?” Ariana asked, her French accent melting into her voice like warmed sugar, "do we know each other?" 

"Not yet." He extended a gloved hand. "Lando." 

She looked at his hand. Then at him. Then back at the door. 

She did not shake it. 

He laughed, not offended. “Alright. Tough crowd.” 

The door opened behind her, and warm light and louder voices spilled out. 

“Ariana! You made it!” The voice belonged to Maya—her friend, who’d dragged her to this gathering. “Come in, come in, it’s freezing. Oh—Lando, you’re here too.” 

So, he was part of the friend group too. 

Ariana entered the club, she peeled off her coat inside, revealing a slate-blue wrap dress. Not flashy, but impossible to miss. 

Lando followed, slower, watching her like someone flipping pages of a book they didn’t expect to like but couldn’t put down. 

The club was intimate, lit with golden chandeliers and velvet booths. The music wasn’t subtle, bass flirting at the edges of conversation. 

Ariana sat stiffly beside Maya, her back straight, her hands in her lap. She observed quietly as friends passed around cocktails and stories. She smiled politely, nodded at the right moments. But she wasn’t one of them. They were loud, unfiltered. Comfortable in their chaos. 

Across from her, Lando sprawled on a couch like it was his throne. One arm hooked over the back, the other swirling a whiskey glass he hadn’t touched. He kept looking at her, like she was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t solve. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he finally said, mid-conversation lull, loud enough that others chuckled. 

Ariana looked up slowly. “I talk when I have something worth saying.” 

He raised a brow. “And nothing here’s worth it?” 

“Not yet.” 

There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where something flickered in his eyes. A spark of amusement… or challenge. 

“I think you’re just scared.” 

“And I think you’re not used to people not liking you,” she countered, voice soft but razor-sharp. 

The table quieted. 

Lando tilted his head. Then he smiled. Not the cocky kind. Something else. “Fair enough.” 

Later, the group splintered. Maya dragged Ariana toward the bar, and Lando disappeared with someone toward the back. Ariana let out a slow breath, resting one elbow against the polished wood, eyes scanning the room. 

This wasn’t her scene. She could feel her muscles coiling with the need to return to something structured and quieter. 

“You don’t drink?” 

She turned. Lando was back, empty-handed now. His curls damp from the cold air outside again, like he’d stepped out for a moment to breathe. 

“Rarely,” she replied. 

“You’re hard to read.” 

“You’re easy.” 

He barked a laugh. “Touché.” 

Ariana wasn’t sure why she said it. Or why it felt strangely satisfying to say aloud. 

But something was happening here. Not flirtation. Not exactly. 

A friction. A friction that left her pulse uneasy and her skin warmer than it should’ve been. 

“I don’t get it,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You act like you hate this place, but you came.” 

“I came for Maya. She thinks I should meet new people.” 

“And?” 

She looked at him, then away. “I’ve met someone.” 

He smiled. “Let me guess. Opinionated. Loud. Annoying.” 

A pause. 

Ariana met his eyes fully. “Yes.” 

Their eyes locked—blue to blue, wild storm to still water. The music swelled in the background as time folded inward. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world slowed. Ther were no longer music or people dancing around them. 

Just her breath. His eyes. And the kind of tension that doesn’t snap—it simmers. 

Later that night, Ariana walked back to her flat alone, the city buzzing softly in the background. She replayed the encounter in her head, dissecting every gesture, every line. 

She didn’t like him. That much she was certain of. Yet something inside her when thinking about their encounter.

A few days after while the London’s December sun hung low and pale in the sky, turning the frost on the cobblestones into glitter, Lando adjusted his coat, stuffing his gloved hands deeper into the pockets as he waited outside a boutique, bored while Max tried to choose a gift for his sister inside. 

Pietra stood nearby, sipping on a to-go oat milk latte from a corner café. “You know,” she said between sips, “this would go faster if men actually planned before shopping.” 

Lando smirked, distracted. “You mean like making a list?” 

“Yes, or asking questions. Being observant. Like, oh, my sister mentioned she liked this brand.” She shook her head dramatically. “But no. Let’s just drag the whole squad through Mayfair and hope for divine inspiration.” 

The rest of the group—some of the Quadrant team floated between shops, their bags multiplying by the minute. It was noisy, easy, full of the kind of camaraderie that made winter bearable. 

Then Lando saw her. 

Across the street. Just past the Chanel display window. 

She didn��t walk like everyone else. 

That was the first thing he noticed. 

There was a grace to her steps—measured, light, like she’d learned to move in a world that required silence. She wore a black skirt that floated just above her knees, black heeled boots, and a soft pink sweater. Her hair was down this time—long, glossy, dark—and tied with a velvet ribbon in a soft bow at the back of her head.. 

She looked like something out of a painting. Or a poem. Or a memory that didn’t quite belong to him. 

Ariana 

He hadn’t forgotten her. Not for a second. Not since the night at the club. 

And she looked even more… real now, which somehow made her more impossible to reach. 

She paused near the silk scarves display just inside the glass, tilting her head to examine the arrangement. Her profile turned, and even through the window, he could see the faint shadow of her lashes, the way her lips parted slightly in thought. She reached for a soft ivory scarf, lifting it with both hands like it was something fragile and rare. 

“Lando.” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Lando,” Pietra repeated, stepping into his line of sight. 

“Hm?” 

She turned, following his gaze. 

And saw her. 

“Well,” she whispered, “helloooo again.” 

Max appeared at that moment, bags in hand. “Alright, got it. Can we—why do you two look like you’ve seen a ghost?” 

“Not a ghost,” Pietra said, her voice lilting with amusement. “More like someone haunting a certain someone’s brain.” 

Max squinted through the glass. “Wait—isn’t that the girl from the club?” 

Lando gave a short nod, his eyes not leaving her. “Yeah.” 

“Wow,” Max said. “She’s… not what I expected.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Pietra murmured, watching the girl in the window. “She looks like she belongs in some old French movie.” 

“She’s not really the type who goes clubbing, is she?” Max asked. 

Lando shrugged, looking mildly annoyed. “I don’t know. I don’t know her.” 

“You want to ?” Pietra grinned. 

“I talked to her for five minutes,” he said, a little too fast. “Barely.” 

“Exactly,” Pietra replied, already stepping off the curb. “Time to fix that.” 

“No, Pietra—don’t—!” 

But she was already weaving through traffic with the confidence of someone used to getting her way. 

Lando groaned. “She’s going to scare her off.” 

Inside the store, Ariana had just finished folding the scarf back when she felt the presence beside her. 

“Hi there!” came a bright voice. 

She turned slowly. 

A woman smiled at her like they were old friends. 

“I promise I’m not crazy,” she said quickly. “I saw you the other night. At that club. With Lando.” 

Ariana’s expression froze for half a second. Her hands dropped away from the scarf. 

“I’m Pietra,” the woman continued, offering her hand with a little flourish. “We’re actually just shopping with some friends. Lando’s outside with Max and the rest of the group.” 

Ariana shook her hand politely. “Nice to meet you.” 

“So,” Pietra went on, eyes flicking over Ariana’s outfit approvingly, “we were thinking of grabbing some drinks afterward. It’s just down the street—warm, chill vibe. You should come with.” 

Ariana’s eyes flicked toward the window, where she could now see Lando—standing awkwardly near the entrance, half-hidden behind a pillar, pretending he wasn’t watching them. 

Something in her expression shifted. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, gently but firmly. “I’m not one of Lando’s friends.” 

“Oh, come on—” 

“I barely know him,” she added, voice still quiet but now edged with finality. “And I don’t go for drinks with strangers.” 

There it was. The clean, cold line of refusal. Not cruel, but distant. Like a door closed with careful hands. 

Pietra blinked. “Okay, wow. You’re serious.” 

Ariana offered a soft smile. “Yes.” 

Then she nodded once, turned, and walked away—her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, ribbon swaying behind her like the tail end of a breath. 

Outside, Pietra returned with a smirk and a story. 

“She said no,” she announced. 

Max’s jaw dropped. “What?” 

“She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not one of Lando’s friends. I barely know him. And I don’t go for drinks with strangers.’” Pietra mimicked Ariana’s soft, deliberate tone with exaggerated drama. “It was cold.” 

The group howled. 

Lando exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched as he watched Ariana walk further down the street, blending into the crowd like she’d never been there at all. 

Max laughed. “Mate. Brutal.” 

Pietra nudged him. “You’ve officially been humbled.” 

“She doesn’t even know who I am,” Lando muttered. 

“Maybe that’s why she said no.” 

All evening, the teasing followed him like confetti stuck in his collar. 

But none of them noticed the way Lando went quiet near the end. Not sulking—just thoughtful. Like something had shaken loose in him. Like something important had been said, and not just to his ego. 

He couldn’t stop replaying it. 

I barely know him. I don’t go for drinks with strangers. 

Ariana wasn’t cruel. 

She was careful. 

And somehow, that made her more impossible to forget. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

So having finally gone through the main story update once, stared at the ceiling, then gone through it immediately again... I am in fucking awe. Speechless. How tf am I supposed to digest this lore drop??? I've been taking notes, gone over screenshots, gotten misty eyed over how much I love SylusMC and just augh... this has rewired the way I view a lot of things in this game.

For example... just how large part Sylus truly plays in the main story. How vital he is. He has been there from the very beginning, pulling strings, moving events along, watching, protecting... he is honestly Everythinglus atp. Universlus. Love and Deepspacelus. I cannot stress how central this man is to MC's story. No wonder he took 5 years to craft. And (loath as I am to say it) ... the gatekeeping of some of his content up 'til now kind of makes sense. His lore is just too closely tied to the main story plot (the lack of communication is still shitty though). I am still kind of shocked by this tbh because it's forced me to do a 180 on my stance re: Paperfold's feelings towards him.

This main story update is just mind blowing in different ways, sort of like Beyond Cloudfall and how that changed everything. I'll be obsessing over it for the rest of the week, at least.

Anyway, idc that it's too early in the morning for this I need to get my initial thoughts out of my system and what better way to do so than a long ass tumblr post. So yeah just gonna go ahead and wordvomit/theorize share some screenshots/details that blew my mind all the way to sunday, and also attempt a timeline b/c my autistic brain demands that of me.

(Be warned, it's long and kind of all over the place. I don't blame anyone that won't bother with it lol).

(Spoilers, obviously)

Can we talk about the SOULMATISM between SylusMC and how that is actually canon to the main story??? They reference the 10.5 grams of soul... Sylus says this

They are pretty much confirmed to still be destined archnemeses in their current timeline – they were meant to kill each other as kids/teens. But like in the myth – and honestly like always – they decided to give fate the middle finger and chose their own path together. Then they got separated but found each other again. Twice. And they always will keep finding each other. No matter which "soil" they find themselves in. They have always been soulmates. But not by fate. But by CHOICE.

I have tried to make a timeline of their relationship from what was revealed here, that I kind of think makes sense?

First, Beyond Cloudfall. Dragon!Sylus and later Dragon!MC dies, and are then reborn on the same planet. Note, that this is not earth but possibly Philos.

They are expected to fight each other to the death in the Arena. But instead they succesfully run off together. And perhaps go on to commit crimes... I am speculating this to maybe be the case because of the "even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit" line but also because of the potential scenario I mention in point 3.

At some point in time, they are separated by the Deepspace Tunnel. Either before or after the separation, Sylus is thrown into Tartarus. If it happened before, then it's possible that MC was somehow responsible for it (remember, as a child she threatens to throw Sylus into Tartarus. Which could be foreshadowing of some kind).

In whichever case, while Sylus is in Tartarus, MC has been taken to Earth – more specifically to the Gaia Research Center in the N109 Zone – where she has either regressed to or been reborn as a tiny child, and is experimented on by EVER who are after eternal life and want to use her powers to achieve it.

Sylus breaks out of jail and goes in search for MC, eventually pinpointing her location using the eye of Aether and landing in the N109 Zone in 2034 (this according to the Timelock Key). At this time, the Chronorift Catastrophe is happening and Dimitri – blaming MC for it and for the Wanderers – tries to kill her by putting her in the Deepspace Collision Chamber. But before she can succumb to it, Sylus arrives and breaks her out. He makes a deal with Dimitri to bring MC back to him in the future.

Sylus leaves MC to be raised by Josephine, and for the next 14 years he keeps watch over her from a distance (remember the giant red eye? And mephie ofc), while founding Onychinus and taking over the N109 Zone, and working on taking down EVER. He creates a special menu just for MC at Elysium, in the hopes that she will one day come there, order it, and find him.

LAR. They reunite again, but MC remembers nothing. Not their Dragon myth, nor their childhood, nor Sylus' rescue of her. Instead, she sees him as a monster and despises him.

Present time.

Now, there are some things I want to point out here re: this.

One – I was wrong about Sylus' being resurrected or reassembled. Clearly, he was reborn... but unlike MC with his past life memories intact. I also still see him as a Dragon for the same reasons I've stated before. And also because I want him to be lol. I definitely don't think he's human. Nor is MC.

Two – I still think that Sylus is older than what his profile states. Why? Because we know now that he came to earth in 2034. Fourteen years prior to LAR. Which would – if his profile age is to be taken as truth – have made him 14 at that time. Now, dgmw Sylus is crazy powerful and honestly probably could have won a gang war and perhaps even conquered a planet etc at that age. However... it does not at all line up with the descriptions nor with the visuals we have of him at that time. In the Tangible Shackles video, he is in no way shape or form a 14 year old boy. Same goes for the Anecdote – he is described there as "a tall man" and having a "deep male voice" and "striking features". That's as far as the physical descriptions go. Nowhere in the text is there a single allusion to his being a kid, but rather the opposite. And I do believe that the text would have drawn attention to him being well below legal drinking age in a story like that.

And then there is ofc the Approaching Dusk image as well as this one of him breaking MC out of the Deepspace Collision Chamber (it destroys me btw).

Just compare MC who is roughly 8-9 here to Sylus. The size difference is massive. So no, that is not a 14 year old. They are not that huge, not even a Burj Khalifa on legs like Sylus.

Anyway, what we learned re: SylusMC's lore for sure puts both of these scenes in a different light

We all thought he was talking about their Beyond Cloudfall past here.

But no.

He is more than likely talking about their childhood etc here... "you were quietly moved to another garden in a foreign land" ie their separation in the Deepspace Tunnel, when they had earlier been two flowers growing up together in the same soil and who were supposed to keep growing together and ＿|￣|●💔 yeah. Thanks for breaking my heart again with the same scenes but with new context, game...

And on this note... fuck, man, do I feel even worse for poor Sylus now. Not only did MC forget him once, but twice. While he remembers everything – Beyond Cloudfall, the Gladiator Arena, being separated from her... and also knows just what she went through with EVER. He knows in what ways the love of his life suffered at the hands of evil people.

How the fuck has this man not crashed out yet. He is as mentally and emotionally strong as he is physically powerful imo.

And then there is just his sheer love for her. All the things he did for her: Running away together. (Possibly) being imprisoned. Searching the galaxy. Rescuing her from Dimitri, and giving her a chance to have autonomy and a normal childhood for the first time in her life. Devoting his own life to taking down the organization that hurt her.

And waiting for her. Always.

But even after everything still being ready to let her go. In spite of everything.

HE LOVES HER SO MUCH SOBSADFHUJHJ

I thought I loved Sylus before this update but I swear it has made me appreciate his character even more. What sorcery is that??? You can really tell how much thought and care his team has put into crafting him and his story.

And the same goes for MC. She got fleshed out here in all the best ways and I admire her immensely. I think that line she has about hoping that she made the Gaia Researchers even for a moment see her as the child she was rather than as an object or experiment says so heartbreakingly much about her and who she is.

The two together have so many fantastic moments in this story that had me giggling and kicking my feet. I honestly think it's more romantic/hot than some of the memory/date cards. But I won't talk about it more here or now because this is already way too long lol. Will probably just make individual posts for them.

Anyway, I do want to share some screenshots I took that made me lose my shit

I noticed the patterns on the bell when I was going to take another screenshot from LAR and omfg do you guys see it too????? Tell me I'm not reaching or deluding myself????? Ouuuu Sylus team you always gag me

STAYRUS MY LOVE YOU'RE BACK

I think it's pretty funny how chill MC is about Sylus having wings like she really don't care she just rolls with it (as she does with a lot of huge revelations tbh). Unbothered Queen.

This is one of my very favorite parts of the Kindled. Look how tenderly Sylus holds her here... shielding and protecting her the way he has all these 14 years, but physically this time. And you can see how MC genuinely feels safe in his arms. Oh, how far they've come since LAR...

Anyway, I'm gonna finally leave off here with a prediction for Sylus' future myth. I have an inkling it will take place before and after they escape from the Arena and up until Sylus gets imprisoned. That makes most sense to me. We need to know what they were up to in between and what led to Sylus' imprisonment. In other words I feel like I can taste the Gladiator & the space pirate lore. If I am wrong though, I'm betting it will be a Hades & Persephone inspired one. There have been quite a few references to greek mythology after all. Gaia. Charon. The River Styx. Tartarus. Not to mention the Pomegranate imagery and references. And probably more I can't think of rn.

Oh and I'd love to hear if any of you guys have any theories or things you noticed in this update! I would not be surprised if I've missed important details.

[yurozo]

resident evil headcanons (restaurant au)

characters: leon, chris, jill, claire, rebecca, ada, luis, carlos, wesker. a/n: this was created as a joke between me and my friends that completely spiralled out of control. maybe the stupidest au i've ever created. wesker and friends hit me up if you wanna use this warnings: vulgar language. sorry, i'm canadian, we swear a lot here.

chris redfield (bartender): he's one of the first hires, and has been working as the head bartender forever. he absolutely loves to lowkey trauma dump on customers unknowingly, only to shake the mixer after just to avoid the awkward silence. the owner has had to move the tv's out of the way of the bar because chris will only look at the screen and fuck up every single drink during a big game. refuses leon everytime he tries to come up to the bar for drinks. he knows when it's him, leon always tries to input it in the system as a customer order for a table that isn't occupied, but he always orders his whiskey in a very specific way that outs him. chris will pour it out in front of him to make a point. he eventually had to make a memo about not letting leon take drinks from the bar anymore. to customers, he is every older woman's wet dream. he knows that flexing his biceps will rake him in more tips, so he does it often. also does it when women are being hit on by creepy men to scare them away. the night that he wears tight turtlenecks are his big paycheck days. chris will never admit that he likes when people squeeze his arms. chris is the guy that everyone has a crush on when they first start working there, it's basically an initiation rite at this point. he's the friendliest one of the bunch and gives wholesome big bro vibes and it makes him absolutely irresistible to new hires. (x reader) if you're working alongside chris in the bar, prepare to constantly run into him. he's a massive guy, and maneuvering around a little bar with that hunk is near impossible without a couple collisions. after a while, he's learned to put a gentle hand on your back whenever he has to move behind you, all for the sake of "workplace safety". he loves to sneak food from the kitchen and share it with you, but this man eats like a horse. like the chefs are genuinely surprised on how much food this man can physically fit inside his body, but he will always leave a portion for you. it takes him a long time to make a move because he's afraid of ruining your friendship and workplace relationship. leon kennedy (server): he got hired a little after everyone else, and got put onto the waitstaff because of his looks. however, this man is super awkward with patrons despite being super popular with older women. he's always getting propositions to get set up with someone's daughter and he always unknowingly shoots them down. (customer: "you're really cute, leon: "ok.") he always makes little jokes to lighten the mood and it is an instant vibe killer. the only people who like them are the old ladies who think he's cute, and dads who genuinely think he's funny.

as for the whiskey incident, leon has tried multiple times to pretend being a bartender when chris is on break to sneak himself a drink. he claims that it makes him better at serving, but three broken trays and countless shattered glasses say otherwise.

leon does have kind of a blank expression when patrons try and get him to cut them deals or do stuff for them. he will immediately go back and scream by himself in the freezer after a difficult customer interaction. has cried silently in the freezer after food got in his hair. (x reader) leon always smells like american crew hair pomade, and always showers himself in cologne on shifts he knows he's working with you. you smiled at him one time in the middle of a rush and he had to sit on the curb to collect himself. leon has a horrible tendency to get distracted whenever you're in his general vicinity, and will completely ignore customers whenever you walk by with literal hearts in his eyes. he's one of the fastest people to make a move, mostly because he lacks any form of subtlety. he always offers to drive you home, always offers to take you out to dinner after work like you already don't work in food service, and always keeps something in his bag for you. he loves to lowkey fuck with you on shifts, like putting an ice cube down your shirt to make you pay attention to him. jill valentine (hostess):

another og worker, and the most no-nonsense of them all, especially with customers. if the wait time is thirty minutes, then you're waiting thirty goddamn minutes. she does not care who you supposedly know. she has gotten a couple writeups for visibly rolling her eyes when large parties come in without a reservation. jill demands a break every thirty minutes to sit with chris on the curb while he smokes a cigarette. she calls it her mental health breaks.

pointedly does not listen to leon when he asks her to stop seating people in her section. her favourite past-time is to seat all the old women obsessed with him at his tables to watch him flounder. also gives leon's number out to people who try and hit on her at the job. she's also the only person who can scare the owner, so jill gets away with a lot more than most people. her and carlos often hang out after shifts to drink beer and play pool. her and claire have regular girls nights where jill's convinced into facemasks and terrible movies that only have a one star rating on whatever pirated movie website claire pays for. (x reader) every attempt you make to ask her on a date goes completely over her head. it's only at chris' intervention that she finally gets the hint and takes you out to dinner. she ends up having her own shelf of stuff at your apartment within a week, and she's more than happy to drive you to work everyday. if you have a pet, prepare for jill to come over to spoil it rotten and feign ignorance when you confront her about it. another victim of the 'takes extra long to get ready on shifts you work together'. she knows you like her arms, so she's wearing short sleeves or tanks whenever she has the opportunity, and silently preens in your attention. carlos, (line cook):

without a doubt, the line cooks are the vibe bringers of the restaurant. carlos always takes a hit off his dab pen before coming in, because he claims it makes his cooking taste better. he always gives food to the female servers at any given opportunity, and pretends to not know what the male servers are talking about when they bring it up. (is the reason for 90% of the memos regarding workplace behaviour).

carlos always smells like old spice and food, and there is almost nothing that could break his good mood during a shift. he really is just happy to be there. he's very particular on how the freezer is organized, but loved to label the items wrong to piss off the others (spinch). his mother taught him how to cook, so he has a dedicated dish named after her. carlos always comps her meals when she comes in and doesn't tell anybody about it.

as for the other employees, carlos torments them. he loves to play his own music in the kitchen but has a wildly inappropriate taste for work music. chris banned him from the speaker officially after only playing doja cat for three hours. however, him and luis love to carpool and play brazilian funk with all the windows rolled down at max volume. those two are not allowed to work together too much. he also has a mobile game rivalry with leon, so anytime carlos is missing from the kitchen, you'll find him in the bathroom on his phone. just follow the shitty iphone game music.

(x reader) in all honesty, carlos is the man that's hooked up with the most employees. the mans charm is undeniable. but he has a particular soft spot when it comes to you-- you get to taste-test every dish, there's always a nice cold glass of water waiting for you, and carlos will take the fall for every fuckup at your table. he'll introduce you to his mom when she comes in, but is secretly terrified at how well the two of you get along. don't even get him started on bringing his siblings into the place, he would never hear the end of it. carlos received another memo after engaging in too much pda at work after the two of you got together.

claire redfield (waitress):

one of the main reasons for all the positive google reviews. it's not that she's naturally a super bubbly person, but claire knows how to turn it on and off when her shift starts. jill puts most of the families in her section since claire has a natural gift with kids. however, she is extremely biased when it comes to the food. her face always tells you exactly what she thinks of a dish.

since chris is always within eyesight of her, whenever difficult customers give her problems, she loves to sic chris on them. even just having him stand behind her is enough to give her leverage over someone trying to haggle on a bill. and with carlos' willingness to give food to pretty girls, she never goes hungry during a shift. the girl has her whole shift figured out on a system. she also knows exactly when the lull in service is going to be so she can take extended bathroom breaks.

out of everyone, she's the one to organize after-work hangouts, whether by putting gentle reminders into the group chat, or straight up bullying people to come (ie. jill). everyone always knows when she pulls up from the sound of her engine, but she refuses to let anyone on it. especially luis or leon, for insurance reasons.

(x reader) this girl has the uncanny ability to know what you need, and when you need it. forgot an iced tea for table 20? it's already in her hand on the way. it's her nice little way of showing what a good girlfriend she would be, that she can anticipate your needs. for every group hangout, you are the first person she texts and the primary benefactor of the tips she makes. claire is a no bullshit kind of woman, and when she wants you, you will know. she'll always ask you to hang out, always compliment how you look, tell you constantly how good you are at your job. maybe she'll let you ride behind her on the motorcycle just for the excuse of having your arms around your waist, and does that hot thing where she rubs your arms with her thumb at red lights.

rebecca chambers (head waitress):

dear old rebecca, truly the glue holding everything together. she's incredibly sweet to customers, and to most of the employees. the only reason the floor runs properly is her by the book attitude and highly perceptive personality. nothing is getting by rebecca. she's leon's number two nemesis for being able to drink on the job, and chris' number one nemesis for smoking outside. this woman has the nose of a bloodhound when someone is about to do something stupid.

despite her appearance, everyone is afraid to make her angry. she's lost her shit a total of one time, but it was enough for everyone to be on their best behaviour. she does have a tendency to make passive aggressive comments with such a sickly sweet smile on her face, that you won't even realize she insulted you until long after she's walked away.

least favourite part of the job? she is a hit with old men. they can never leave her alone. second least favourite part? finding ways to sneak vitamins into certain employees food so they can live to see another day. the way that some of the others operate is enough to give her grey hairs.

(x reader) rebecca is intelligent and ambitious, and more than willing to make sacrifices when it comes to you. she's more than happy to take the fall on a screwup if it gets you out of it, wanting nothing more than your smile in return. her main tactic of getting to know you is inviting you over to watch movies, inconspicuously of course, so she can ask you questions over the whole thing. overall, she's an acts of service girl, but is much more subtle about it than claire is. you need a meal prep plan? she's your woman. she wants nothing more than to take care of you, to make your life as easygoing as possible. but the true way to her heart is any form of baked goods. if you make a habit of bringing her pastries before a shift, she's putty in your hands.

ada wong, (head chef):

this woman, god help her, has the hardest job out of them all. not only does she have to babysit her two line cooks, but she's also responsible for cleaning up all the fuckups the waitstaff make. her saving grace is the fact that everyone else is terrified of her, creating a wide berth every time she picks up a knife. everyone can always hear her scolding carlos in the kitchen, who just brushes it off with a laugh.

despite the chaos of a kitchen, ada has the impeccable ability to never get food on herself. even after the dinner rush there is not a single hair out of place, looking just as perfect as when she started. every ingredient is measured precisely, every fda standard met and upheld-- pretty much the counterforce to carlos and luis. secretly, she loves when carlos has control of the speaker, but she would rather die than admit it.

the second an overcomplicated modification comes in, the temperature of the kitchen immediately drops. why the hell does she pore over a menu just for some middle-aged man to think he knows better than her? despite her no-nonsense attitude, she does secretly love fucking with leon. only luis knows about her secret tinder account that she catfished leon on with some fake woman in romania.

(x reader) ada is a woman in tune with herself, in tune with what and who she wants. the second she gets attached, she will display clear favouritism. every new recipe she tries is given to you for taste-testing, claiming that you will always give her the truth. it's a lie, she just like seeing the grin on your face when you enjoy it. if anyone asks her about it, she will vehemently deny it, claiming that you're the only one competent enough at your job. her asking you out is more of a demand than it is a question: this place, this time, wear that dress you know i like. she's not huge fan of pda at the workplace, but she'll always give you that look that screams, just wait until i get my hands on you later.

luis sera (line cook):

this man does not operate on a recipe, he operates on la pasion. really, it just means the foods always a tad spicier than it should be. he also sings obnoxiously loud in the kitchen, to the point that patrons can hear it if they're seated close enough. this man obeys ada for the most part, but he's honestly never touched a measuring cup in his life. he'll stop pouring when his ancestors tell him to stop pouring. however he has the uncanny ability to know exactly when meat is within three degrees of whatever temp they need it cooked to.

the waitstaff either love him or hate him. luis playfully flirts with everyone in his line of sight. who could blame him? he's stuck in a kitchen all day and everyone at this restaurant is unbearably attractive. mostly, he just likes seeing their reactions. leon adamantly begs claire to fetch his plates from the kitchen for him, because luis calls him prince charming every time, and leon hates it.

there's a rumour going around that he got drunk after a shift and made out with another employee, but no one knows who it is. there's a restaurant-wide betting pool on potential victims. also, since luis is the only person who knows about the catfish incident, he loves to ask leon innocuous question while feigning innocence about the whole thing. he's just really invested in his love life, he swears.

(x reader) if you think the flirting is bad towards leon, just wait until he catches an eyeful of you. it is a nonstop barrage of witty compliments, offers to go dancing (or clubbing), and pick-up lines that were definitely picked up off the internet. he's a suave guy, don't get me wrong, but he most definitely gets too many of his ideas from old romance novels. at some point he gives up, telling you straight that he wants to take you out, for reals, and cook you a nice home-cooked meal. maybe some wine. maybe more, if you'll let him. luis is another person who displays clear favouritism, and tries to convince ada into naming a dish after you. it has a horribly cheesy name, but it tastes wonderful and he loves shooting you a wink every time you see him making it (he always makes that dish more carefully than any of the others).

wesker (manager):

this man bought the damn place in a last ditch attempt to save himself from bankruptcy, and unknowingly entangled himself into the lives of the dumbest twenty year olds he's ever met in his life. the only person that he kind of tolerates is ada, because she runs that kitchen like it's the military, and he can respect how batshit terrifying she is. he has a particular vendetta against chris for reasons he can't name, but since chris brings in a lot of money, he can't really refuse. he mostly gets that frustration out by pinning things on chris that leon most definitely did.

he's rarely seen on the actual floor, usually just hanging in the back on the computer doing whatever the fuck he does. (he's playing farmville, but no one knows it's him because of a pseudonym. he also does not know how to turn the music off so if you stand at the right position outside the door you can hear it.)

when he is seen out on the floor, he's wearing the most obnoxious sunglasses and leather jacket known to man, and stalks around the bar to watch for mistakes. you know you fucked up around wesker when there's a sneer on his face. the place almost got robbed once, and wesker threw a punch so fast that everyone stopped trying to piss him off after that.

(x reader) truthfully, he doesn't act too much different around you. it takes months to catch onto the little quirks that show his softness-- just a slight ease in his eyebrow, a softer pitch when addressing you directly. he'll still chew you out for mistakes, but he forgets about it long before he'll let anyone else slide. if things did eventually progress between the two of you, that manager's office is staying locked.

thank y'all for reading! this ended up being way longer than i thought it was going to be lol.

[purplereina11]

Eleven 🏀 This is last part of chapter 9 and Chapter 10 re-written in Alexia's POV with what happened between the chapters and when Chapter 10 ended before Chapter 11 started

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: Smut; drinking Alcohol

Y/N 🤤: But let’s not pretend you were there for anything other than me.

Me: Is that what you think?

Y/N 🤤: I don’t think, I know.

I saw the message the moment it came through. A single line of text—and suddenly, everything in me tightened.

I didn’t respond. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I couldn’t.

My thumb hovered over the screen while something coiled low in my stomach. Heat. Tension. Anticipation. I hated how quickly it hit me. How fast she could undo me with just a few words. I was supposed to be the one in control. The one who didn’t react.

But this time, my mouth went dry and my fingers stilled. And I knew I felt she’d flipped the game.

A quiet voice in the back of my mind told me to let it go. Walk away. Don’t play into her hands. But my body had already betrayed me. My feet were moving before I even made the decision. In that moment I questioned why we were even playing a game anymore, we both knew what the other wanted. What ourselves wanted.

I found her just as she was heading out, casual as ever, like she didn’t just set my entire nervous system alight.

I slowed my steps, heart thudding against my ribs. She didn’t even need to turn around. She knew it was me. I knew by the way her body reacted, the slight tensing of her shoulders like she was bracing herself for a moment between us.

And when she did, that smile on her face—half-smirk, half-triumph—nearly stole the breath from my lungs.

“Couldn’t even wait to text back?” she said, one brow raised, like she already knew exactly what kind of reaction she was pulling from me.

I crossed my arms to keep them from fidgeting. I needed control. I needed to feel like I was still holding the reins. I felt my lips quiver as I tried to stem the smirk from forming. “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” I spoke. Cool. Detached. But my voice was rougher than I wanted it to be. There was a tremor under the words, barely there—but I felt it. In my chest. My throat. My thighs.

She shrugged like none of this mattered. Like I wasn’t unraveling one heartbeat at a time. “I think you like the chase.”

God. I did. That part wasn’t a lie. I stepped toward her. My whole body humming like it was tuned to her frequency. “And what if I do?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. Just stared at me like she saw right through everything I was trying to hold together. Could she read me just as well as I seemed to read her, I felt bare under her gaze. 

The silence between us crackled. Every breath I took felt heavier, like it had to fight to get into my lungs. “Careful. You might not like what happens next.”

Then she leaned in, just enough to tilt the balance. That mouth formed a smirk and god it sent a shockwave through me as her voice dropped, low and lethal. “Try me.”

And that broke something. Just a flicker—but I felt it in my spine. In the way my stomach clenched, the way heat flushed across my skin like fire licking just beneath the surface.

I could’ve walked away. Should’ve. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My tongue instinctively flicked out to wet my lips as I stared at her lips.

I moved. It was like a gravational pull, I was now in her orbit heading to a collision I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop even if I could. Maybe we both reached for each other at the same time—doesn’t matter. All I know is that suddenly, her mouth was on mine and it was like touching flame and finding out you like the burn.

My fingers fisted the front of her hoodie, needing something to hold onto because my knees nearly buckled from the first contact alone. Her lips were soft but insistent, dragging a groan from my chest before I even realised I’d made the sound. I kissed her hard. Needy. Like I’d been starving without knowing it, and she was the only thing that could satisfy.

Her body met mine with equal force—her chest pressing into mine, her hips rolling just enough to make my breath catch. She was heat and tension and a thousand unsaid things pressed into skin. 

When I pushed her into the wall, it wasn’t about power. It was about need. Desperation. I needed to feel her, all of her, because weeks of teasing, of lingering glances and almost-touches, had built up into something wild and unbearable. The bear had been released from its cage and I didn’t know how I was ever going to get it back inside after tasting her. Feeling her. God she was so intoxicating, I could be like this the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t feel like enough.

I kissed her like I was trying to memorise her. Like I wanted to consume her. My mouth moved against hers, tongue sweeping across her lower lip, tasting her, needing more. She opened to me with this little sigh that shot straight to my core. My thighs clenched. My skin felt too tight. I couldn’t control myself I nipped at her bottom lip and that switched something. 

She turned us. The world tilted and my back hit the wall with a soft thud. I gasped, not from pain, but from the sheer nerve of her—and God, the rush that came with it. That she could match me, step for step, grip for grip. I wasn’t the only one playing with fire.

And fuck, I loved that.

Her mouth crashed against mine, hungrier now, her hands rougher, sliding under my hoodie, fingertips skimming over bare skin and making me shiver. I arched into her, needing more. Every cell in my body lit up under her touch. Her hands gripped my hips like she owned me and I didn’t even care. I wanted it. I wanted her. I would whisper to her she could take whatever she wanted from me day after day.

I tugged her hair gently, felt her groan against my lips, and nearly lost it. That sound—low and raw and unguarded—made heat bloom between my legs. This wasn’t a kiss. It was a fucking collision. I felt her exhale against my mouth—shaky. Like she was barely holding on. Then she created a small distance, our noses touching, her lips painfully close. I rose my eyes searching for hers to just connect with my own. A dangerous game I know but I needed a clue on what she was thinking.

And it made me bold. Made me ask, low and rough, “You gonna run again?”

Her thumb brushed my jaw, slow, teasing, like she knew I was barely keeping it together. “Not this time.”

I held onto her hoodie like I needed it to breathe. Like if I let go, the floor might vanish beneath my feet. Or worse, she would vanish. She was so close, body flush against mine, heat rolling off her in waves. I could feel every sharp inhale, every tremble under her skin.

She was wrecking me. And the worst part, I was letting her.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So what now, capitana?”

The nickname slid down my spine like silk and fire. My grip on her tightened. I leaned in, lips brushing hers, breathing her in like she was oxygen. “That depends…”

She swallowed, and I felt it. Her tension. Her want. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. “On?” she whispered.

My hand trailed down the front of her hoodie, slow, deliberate, just to feel her shiver under me. Her skin was hot beneath my touch, muscles taut, waiting for what I’d say next. “…how badly you want me.”

That was the final crack. She snapped. And I followed. Her hand gripped the back of my neck, dragging me in again, and we kissed like the air around us had gone up in flames. Her mouth was relentless, her fingers gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises. I wanted her to. I wanted that reminder tomorrow of this moment.

I needed her everywhere. My hands slipped under her hoodie again, skimming up her sides, and her skin—warm, flushed, soft in all the right places—made my head spin. My thighs clenched again, and I rolled my hips against her just enough to feel the friction between us. And I could of came right there from the contact.

She parted her lips and I took the opening, tongue sweeping inside, tasting her again, deeper, hungrier. She moaned into me and my whole body lit up like a fuse. I didn’t know who was in control anymore. Didn’t care. She kissed me like she was trying to burn the memory of me into her skin.

And I let her.

Then the sound of a door. We both froze. My heart pounded, ears ringing as we stood there, still tangled, still pressed together like we couldn’t bear the thought of separating.

“Alexia!”

My eyes slammed shut. Joder. One of my teammates. Too close.

I forced myself to step back. Every part of my body screamed in protest. Her warmth disappeared, leaving my skin cold, my breath uneven.

I looked at her. She looked wrecked. Just like me. And fuck, she was beautiful like that. I for a second let my mind wander to what she’d look like if I got her to my apartment having her come undone under my touch. She seemed to notice my mind wandered, I snapped back to the corridor, to the wall I was pressed against. I smirked—just a little. Just enough to promise her this wasn’t over. That I would have her again. I had to. I felt like my whole being depended on it, like this whole time I’d been dormant and she’d awoken something in me.

And as I turned to walk away, body still buzzing, lips swollen, heart still caught in my throat, I already knew the truth. This game just got a whole lot more fucking intense.

I turned the corner, trying to pull in a breath that didn’t taste like her.

My hoodie clung to me, too warm, my skin still buzzing beneath it. My lips were swollen—I felt it. Tingling. Still wet with her kiss. Every inch of me was too aware of the last five minutes. The way her hands had slid under my hoodie, the way her hips had pressed into mine, the way I’d let it happen. No. The way I’d wanted it to.

The hallway stretched ahead, quiet—until I looked up and saw Irene. Shit. That wasn’t voice I wanted it to be, she never missed a trick and never missed the chance to ask.

She was leaning against the wall outside the locker room, one brow arched, arms crossed in that way that made her look like she could read minds. “That’s where you are”

And clearly, mine was loud as hell right now. Her eyes narrowed the moment she took me in. The flushed skin. The hair I hadn’t bothered to fix. The unmistakable, heat-drunk look on my face. And then her gaze dropped—right to my mouth. I didn’t even get the chance to speak. Her voice cut through the silence, low and sharp.

“Alright” Her voice called from around the corner, Irene’s eyebrow rose, we both knew she knew who that was and who I’d now just been with. “See you tomorrow” I tilted my head back just praying to the gods for her to not walk around this corner and right into us, when we both heard the door shut, Irene spoke.

“What the fuck have you just done?”

I froze.

Her tone wasn’t angry. Not exactly. But it was the kind of knowing that made my stomach clench with something dangerously close to guilt—or maybe just exposure.

I forced a breath through my nose, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand like that could somehow erase the evidence. It didn’t. The skin there still buzzed.

“I don’t—” I started, but my voice was hoarse. Raw. Goddammit.

Irene’s eyes widened, her expression shifting from suspicion to full-blown incredulity. “No. No way.” She pushed off the wall, arms falling to her sides. “At work?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Because what could I possibly say?

Yes, I just kissed her like I was going to die if I didn’t. Yes, I let her touch me like I belonged to her. Yes, I lost control.

Irene’s jaw dropped slightly, and then she muttered, “Joder, Alexia…”

I looked away, back toward the corridor I’d just come from. My chest was still rising and falling too fast. My mouth felt bruised. My fingers still smelled like her skin.

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t plan it,” I said, finally. Quietly.

Irene gave me a look. One that said since when do you not plan everything?

“I just…” I trailed off, because how do you explain something like that? How do you explain the way someone short-circuits your brain with just a look? The way your body moves toward them before your mind can even catch up?

Irene shook her head slowly, almost in disbelief, like she didn’t know whether to laugh or yell.

“Alexia, your mouth is—” She gestured vaguely toward my face, grimacing. “You look like you’ve been eating each other alive.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to play it cool even though my whole body still felt like it had been lit on fire. “It was… a moment.”

“A moment?” she repeated, voice pitched up. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Because we both knew—I wasn’t walking this one back. Not this time. And as I leaned against the wall beside her, heart still thudding, jaw tight, every nerve in my body still singing with the feel of her—I realised I didn’t want to.

---

I showed up to pre-drinks like nothing had happened. Hair done. Make up on. Hoodie swapped for a tight white tee that hugged just enough under my leather jacket, trainers giving me comfort I hadn’t had since the hallway—a short black skirt to boost the confidence I did have. I looked good. I knew I did.

And still—I felt off. Like something inside me was vibrating just beneath the surface. Like I’d walked into the room already half-distracted. Because I had.

The others were loud already, the music low, the drinks flowing, the usual chaos of a team night out. Laughter echoing from the kitchen, someone trying to figure out how to mix tequila with something that wouldn’t taste like regret.

I smiled when I was supposed to. Laughed when I needed to. But my mind kept drifting. Back to the hallway. The wall. The heat of her mouth on mine. I couldn’t stop replaying it.

The way she said try me like it was a dare and a promise.  

The way she pressed me to the wall like I was hers to take.  

The way I let her—no, wanted her—to.

I sipped my drink, too fast. Let the burn of vodka distract me for half a second before my eyes slid back to my phone. No new messages. Not from her. But I felt her everywhere.

I kept picturing her walking into this room, any room. That slow, confident stride. That grin when she knew exactly how much trouble she was about to start.

My stomach flipped. Beside me, Patri and Jana were arguing about the playlist again. Irene passed me a shot with a smirk that said she hadn’t forgotten a thing. I took it without comment, let it hit the back of my throat and settle low in my stomach, warm and coiled.

Still—she lingered. I checked my phone again. Still nothing.

By the time we piled into Ubers, half-tipsy and shouting about who was DJ on the way to the club, I was already slipping. Already thinking too much. I leaned my head back against the seat, let the night wash over me. Let the buzz blur the edges. But even with the music thumping through the doors, even with my teammates laughing around me, her absence felt loud.

We pulled up to Red. The line wasn’t too bad, and we skipped most of it anyway—benefits of being recognised, of course. Flash a smile, and we were in.

Lights. Heat. Bass in my chest. But still—not her. Not yet.

I stood near the bar, drink in hand, watching the others spill onto the dance floor, already moving. Already loud. Already lit. But I wasn’t in it. Not really. My phone was already in my hand before I even knew what I was doing.

Thumb hovering.

And then—

Me: I’m at Red. Come see me.

Send.

Simple.  

No games.  

No emojis.  

No qualifiers.  

I meant every word. Come see me. Because this time, I wasn’t pretending. Not about what I wanted. Not about her.

I followed a few of the girls toward the VIP booths—plush velvet, tucked away just enough from the chaos of the dance floor to pretend we had privacy. Music pulsed through the floor, the bass in my chest like a second heartbeat. I sat down, set my drink and phone on the table, and leaned back into the cushions, pretending to be relaxed.

But I wasn’t. Not even close.

I kept my eyes on the crowd, scanning without really meaning to. Looking for dark hair, familiar shoulders, that damn look she always gave me when she knew she was about to wreck my night in the best possible way.

And then—  

Buzz.

My heart stuttered. Her name lit up the screen, bold and dangerous.

Y/N 🤤: Is that an order, capitana?

My lips curled before I could stop it. God, that mouth. I picked up the phone, thumbs already moving, pulse quickening.

Me: Would you prefer if it was?

The message sent, the screen dimmed.

I tried to act casual, tried to listen to whatever Jana was saying about some guy at the last match, but my mind had already left the room. My legs crossed. Uncrossed. My fingers drummed once against my knee before I caught myself.

Another buzz.

I didn’t even try to hide the way I looked down this time.

You: I’ll be there soon.

My breath hitched, just slightly. And then I typed it, without thinking, without needing to think,

Me: I know.

Because I did. I knew she would come. And the minute she walked through that door? I was going to stick to her like glue.

Time passed.

Maybe ten minutes. Maybe two. It felt longer than it was. The music kept thumping, bodies moving on the dance floor, laughter from the girls around me as they tossed back shots and leaned in close to share whatever drama was already brewing. But I barely heard any of it.

I was somewhere else entirely. My phone sat face-up on the table, screen dark, but my eyes kept flicking to it anyway. Like just looking might will her name to light it up again.

It didn’t. So then I started watching the door. Every few seconds, my gaze slid over. Pretending I wasn’t. That I was just scanning the club, people-watching.

I wasn’t fooling anyone. I caught Claudia smirking into her drink, nudging Mapi with her elbow. Even Irene shot me a look like she wanted to say something but chose mercy instead.

“Expecting someone?” Ingrid teased, eyes glinting.

I didn’t answer. Just lifted my glass to my lips and took a slow sip, letting the tequila burn down my throat like it could settle the ache building in my chest. Still nothing. Still no her. I crossed one leg over the other, restless, fingers tapping once against the rim of my glass. My skin felt too tight. My body  hyperaware of the empty space beside me, like I’d already saved it for her without meaning to.

And then—There.

A flicker of movement near the entrance. My eyes snapped toward it without hesitation, like my body knew before my brain caught up. Her. She stepped inside like she owned the fucking place—eyes scanning the room, deliberate, slow, dangerous. That walk. That look. Like she already knew I was watching her. Like she wanted me to be.

Heat rushed up my spine so fast I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep it together. She hadn’t seen me yet. I picked up my phone, thumbs already moving, heart pounding now—not with nerves, but with something sharper. Hungrier.

Me: VIP section. Left side.

Send. A beat. Then I watched her pause—read the message—and turn her head. And when her eyes found mine across the room, everything in me locked into place. Like gravity. Like inevitability.

I didn’t wave her over.

Didn’t call out.

Didn’t move at all.

I just held her gaze.

And that was enough.

Her eyes locked on mine the second she saw me, and something passed between us—unspoken, electric. Her steps were slow but sure, weaving through the crowd like she had all the time in the world, but I knew better. There was something in her walk, in the set of her jaw, in the way her eyes never left mine, that said this wasn’t casual.

This was a decision.

A surrender wrapped in swagger.

And when she stopped in front of me, close enough that the music blurred behind her, I looked up and murmured, “You came.”

Her lips curved slightly. Not a smile—something darker. Something quieter. “You didn’t give me much choice.”

The way she said it made something spark low in my stomach. I chuckled, soft and slow, fingers tracing the rim of my glass. “I think we both know you had a choice.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel it—my teammates watching, whispering to each other behind their drinks, the air thick with glances and half-smiles and raised eyebrows. They knew. Of course they knew. But I didn’t care.

I nodded to the open space beside me. My voice was steady, sure. “Sit.”

She did. Her thigh pressed against mine the moment she settled beside me, heat bleeding through the thin barrier of our clothes. She didn’t shift away. Neither did I. “Still so bossy,” she murmured, low and just for me, her lips barely brushing the shell of my ear.

I leaned in before I even thought about it. Just to be close. Just to breathe her in again. God, she smelled the same—like heat and skin and the kind of trouble I couldn’t stay away from. “You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

She turned her head just slightly, our noses nearly touching, her voice dropping even lower. “Careful.” My pulse jumped. “You started something you might not be able to finish.”

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, just enough to feel the smirk ghosting across my lips. “Try me.” And I meant it. Every word.

“So you’re the one who’s been driving our captain crazy,” Aitana said in her usual accented, teasing English—grinning like she already knew she was about to start shit.

My head snapped toward her. I didn’t even try to hide the look. Sharp. Flat. Deadly.

“Aitana.”

She just laughed, completely unfazed, lifting her glass like a toast. “What? Just telling the truth.” I could feel my jaw tighten. “She’s been checking her phone every five minutes since we got here.”

I didn’t need to look around to know who was listening. The table had gone quiet enough to make my ears burn. And I sure as hell didn’t need to look at hjer to feel the shift in her energy—she had already turned toward me, eyes glinting with something dangerous and amused.

And God, that flush was already crawling up my neck. I felt it. I kept my face neutral, but I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Because the truth was—I had been watching my phone. Like a fucking addict waiting for a fix. Waiting for her.

She leaned closer, her voice soft, smooth, a challenge wrapped in silk. “Is that right?”

I didn’t look at her at first. Just rolled my eyes, slow and deliberate, taking a long sip from my drink as if I could drown out the embarrassment.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

But then she leaned in even closer, her breath brushing the side of my cheek, her voice low enough to be a touch. “Too late.”

Fuck.

I didn’t move away. Didn’t even blink. The tension snapped back into place like a rubber band pulled too tight. My arm brushed hers again, and this time, I felt it—the heat of her skin, the way her body tilted subtly toward mine like gravity itself couldn’t help but pull us together.

Her thigh against mine. Warm. Steady. Deliberate. The scent of her wrapped around me again—clean, soft, with something sharp and tempting underneath, like citrus and sweat and something that could ruin me if I let it. My fingers circled the rim of my glass, slow and thoughtless, trying to keep my hands busy because they wanted to be on her.

The music shifted, bass dropping lower, thicker, more seductive. I felt it through the floor, thrumming up into my spine, my ribs, my lungs. Then she looked at me—and I looked back. And for a second I forgot where we were. Forgot the noise. The people. The eyes on us. My gaze dropped. Just for a second. Her lips. Soft. Full. Close enough that if I leaned in an inch, maybe less, I could taste them again. I dragged my eyes back to hers. And I knew she saw it.

That moment.

That weakness.

That want.

And the worst part? I didn’t even care.

“Dance with me,” I said suddenly, setting my glass down before I could think better of it.

It wasn’t a question. I knew it. She knew it, too. She raised an eyebrow, that infuriating, sexy kind of smirk tugging at her lips. “You asking or telling?”

God, her voice—always calm, always teasing, always dragging something raw out of me. I tilted my head slightly, letting my own smirk bloom slow and deliberate. “Does it matter?”

Her eyes sparkled with challenge. I could see it—the exact moment she decided to push back. “Maybe I like to be asked nicely.”

And fuck, the way she said it—soft, defiant, amused—it sent a ripple through me. Something sharp. Something deep. I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, and whispered low enough for only her to hear. “Please… dance with me.”

I knew what I was doing. Knew how the word sounded coming from my mouth—part request, part command, part promise of everything I wanted to do to her if she said yes. But I didn’t wait for her to say it. I stood and held out my hand. My heart was steady, but everything else inside me was heat and anticipation. When she slid her fingers into mine, It was over.

I pulled her from the booth, didn’t even glance at the others—not even when I caught Aitana’s very smug grin in the corner of my eye. I didn’t care what anyone thought. Not right now. Not with her hand warm in mine, not with her following me like she already knew I wasn’t going to let her go.

The club swallowed us whole as we stepped into the crush of bodies—lights flashing in time with the bass, the air thick with heat and sound and movement. I found a spot, turned to face her, and there it was again. That moment. Her eyes locked on mine, and everything else blurred. People danced around us, voices rose and fell, but I only saw her.

And she was looking at me like she saw through every layer I was still pretending to keep on. I moved first. Hands on her waist. Firm, sure. Like I’d been waiting to touch her all night—because I had. She let her hands rest on my shoulders, her fingers curling gently into the fabric of my shirt. Her touch sent a thrill up my spine.

Then she leaned in, her mouth brushing my ear. “This what you had in mind when you texted me?”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Part of it,” I murmured, my fingers tightening just slightly on her waist.

We started to move together, slow at first, swaying to the beat. Her body pressed closer to mine, warm and perfect, like we were made for this. For dancing. For orbiting each other. For pretending this wasn’t everything. The way she moved—it was fluid, effortless, sensual without trying. And every time she rolled her hips, every shift of her weight, I felt it like a spark in my blood.

The music thickened around us, bass low and relentless. The crowd moved in tighter, and I let it carry me forward, my chest pressing to her back now, her body slotting perfectly against mine. Her head tilted back slightly, resting on my shoulder, baring her throat like it was nothing. Like she didn’t know what it did to me.

Or maybe she did.

I leaned in without thinking. My lips grazed that soft, sensitive spot just beneath her ear—barely a kiss, just a whisper of contact.

And fuck—she reacted. I felt the sharp inhale, the way her body arched back into mine, the way her hips instinctively pressed closer. It nearly unraveled me. My hands slipped lower on her waist, anchoring her to me, holding her like I had every right to. Because I did. Right now, she was mine.

She turned in my arms. And just like that, the air shifted. Her eyes found mine—darker now, filled with something I couldn’t name but felt everywhere. Something that made my pulse stumble and my breath shorten like my body had caught on before my brain could.

Without a word, she slid her hand into mine again. And I didn’t hesitate. I led her off the dance floor, through the packed crowd. I barely registered the heat, the lights, the noise. All I could feel was her hand in mine—warm, steady, trusting. That alone sent a rush of adrenaline through my chest.

“Where are we going?” she asked behind me, and even her voice sounded different now—lower, softer. Curious.

I looked back at her over my shoulder, let the smirk pull at my lips. “Somewhere we can hear ourselves think.”

Not that thinking was high on my list right now. We slipped past the velvet ropes into a tucked-away section of the club most people didn’t even know existed. I nodded to the security guy on duty. He stepped aside without a word, like he’d been expecting us.

She looked around as we climbed the short set of stairs, and I felt her hand tighten just slightly in mine. The space opened up into a quiet, dimly lit balcony. Private. Secluded. Plush seating, sleek tables, and a small bar set in the corner like it was waiting for secrets.

The music below was muffled now, like it was underwater. Just enough to remind us where we were—but not enough to drown us.

“Private VIP?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

I shrugged, letting the answer roll off my tongue like it was nothing. “Owner’s a fan.” Her eyes didn’t leave mine. I moved to the bar, reaching for a bottle of whiskey—good stuff. Not the watered-down club rail nonsense. The kind you drink slowly, with intention. “Drink?” I asked, already pouring.

She nodded, watching me the whole time. I could feel it—her gaze like a hand trailing over my skin. When I passed her the glass, our fingers brushed and neither of us moved away. That small contact sent a bolt through me.

I lifted my glass. “To crossing lines.”

She clinked hers against mine, voice lower now. “To whatever comes next.”

The whiskey burned its way down, smooth and hot, but I barely noticed. Because she was still looking at me. Because I was still looking at her. And something was shifting. I watched her over the rim of my glass, watched the way the low light painted her skin in gold and shadow. Every inch of her was sharper now—like the edges had come into focus after weeks of holding back.

My gaze dropped to her mouth. Those lips. The same lips that had crashed into mine earlier like they were claiming something. The ones I hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

“You know,” I said softly, stepping closer, close enough that my arm brushed hers as I leaned against the railing, “I didn’t invite you here just to dance.”

Her pulse jumped—I saw it, felt it—but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t give me the satisfaction. She swirled the whiskey in her glass, that smug tilt in her voice that always got to me. “No? I’m shocked.”

That made me laugh. Quiet. Low. The sound slipped from my lips before I could stop it, warm and amused. “There’s that mouth again.”

Her eyes lit with something dangerous. Confident. “You seem pretty interested in my mouth.”

I didn’t deny it. How could I? I’d been looking at her lips like they held every answer I’d been pretending not to need. Instead, I placed my glass down on the table beside us and turned toward her fully. One hand still on the railing. The other hanging loose, casual, though nothing about the way I felt right now was remotely calm.

Below us, the club pulsed—bass thumping, lights flashing, bodies moving like they were all chasing the same kind of escape. But up here, it was just us. Time slowed.

My voice dropped. “I’ve been thinking about what happened earlier.”

She didn’t move, but her eyes sharpened. She set her own glass down, slowly, carefully, like she wasn’t sure her fingers would cooperate. “And?” she asked.

I let the corner of my mouth lift. “And I think we were interrupted at a very… inconvenient moment.”

I knew what I was doing. The word rolled off my tongue like silk, like sin. Like I’d been replaying that kiss a hundred different ways in my mind since it happened. Because I had. She stepped in, closing the last bit of space between us until the air itself felt hot and tight and electric. “Is that what you’d call it?” she murmured, voice brushing against my skin. “Inconvenient?”

I exhaled a soft laugh through my nose, shaking my head once. “What would you call it?”

She didn’t answer with words. Her hand reached out instead, fingers brushing bare skin—just a light touch along my arm, but it lit me up like fire. I felt the goosebumps rise instantly. I couldn’t stop them. Her hand kept moving, trailing higher, deliberate, slow, until she was at my shoulder. Then my neck. Her fingers rested there, warm and steady, and the feel of her touch over my pulse made something in me stutter. “Unfinished,” she said, voice low, steady, but her hand gave her away.

My breath caught. She was right. God, she was right. My eyes met hers, darker now. Blown wide. My body was humming, every nerve pulled taut. Then I said it—simple, devastating. “So finish it.” And for one suspended moment, the world held its breath. So did I. Then she moved.

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Her hand slid to the back of my neck, warm and sure, fingers threading into my hair like she’d done it a thousand times before. She pulled me in, slow and steady, and I didn’t resist. I couldn’t.

This time, when our lips met, there was no hesitation. No testing, no question—just the undeniable fact that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Her mouth on mine. Her body against mine.

Everything else faded.

My hands went straight to her waist, fingers digging into her hips like I needed to anchor myself. I pulled her closer, kissed her deeper, and the second our tongues slid together—whiskey, heat, want—I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop.

I didn’t want to.

I kissed her like I meant it. Like I’d been starving. Like this was mine. Like she was. And she gave it back. Every bit of it.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugged just enough to make my stomach flip and my knees weaken. I wanted to crawl inside her, feel every inch of her skin, memorize every reaction she gave me.

My hands slid lower—waist to lower back—and I pressed her into me until there was nothing between us. No space. No pretense. Just body on body, breath to breath.

And fuck, the sound she made when I caught her bottom lip between my teeth? It nearly undid me.

The music below us kept pulsing, bass vibrating faintly underfoot, but it was background noise now. The only rhythm I was moving to was her.

I walked her back—slow, deliberate—until her spine hit the wall, tucked into the dark corner of the balcony. Out of sight. Out of reach. Just us.

I pressed into her, hips to hips, chest to chest, and when our lips finally broke apart, I kissed down her jaw—lazy, slow, open-mouthed. She tilted her head back, offering me her neck, and that quiet surrender lit something primal inside me.

I kissed just below her ear, the skin soft and flushed, and felt her pulse flutter against my mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” I murmured against her throat, voice lower than I meant it to be, thick with everything I’d been holding back, “since the first time I saw you.”

She let her head fall back, resting it against the wall, her breath ghosting across my cheek.

“That right?”

I didn’t answer.

Not with words.

I grazed my teeth over the slope of her neck, down to her collarbone. She shivered under me, and I felt it—felt how much she wanted this too.

I smiled against her skin, kissed lower.

“You know it is.”

Her hands found the hem of my shirt.

I felt it—first the slow slide of her fingers, then the warmth of her touch against the bare skin of my lower back. A shiver rolled through me, sharp and sudden, and I instinctively arched into her, a soft sound slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

God, her hands felt so good.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” she said, breathless—trying, maybe, to be rational—but her hands didn’t stop. They kept moving. Sliding up the curve of my spine like they had a mind of their own, like her body already knew what her mouth was trying to deny.

I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling fast. I could still feel the ghost of her kisses against mine, could still taste her on my tongue. Her touch lingered under my shirt, burning into my skin, and my heart was pounding like a drum in my throat. I met her eyes—steady, sure—and asked quietly, “Do you want to stop?”

I needed to know. I needed to hear her say it, even as I prayed she wouldn’t. The pause that followed was thick with tension, charged with everything we hadn’t said. Then—her voice, rough and honest, “No.” She swallowed, eyes locked on mine. “I don’t want to stop.”

And that was it. That was all I needed. A slow, satisfied smile curled at the corner of my lips. I leaned in, close enough to taste the air between us. “Good.”

I kissed her again—deeper this time. Hungrier. My tongue found hers, and we moved together like we were trying to memorise every detail, every taste. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about teasing anymore—it was about taking. And fuck, she gave it to me.

Her hands roamed beneath my shirt like she couldn’t get enough. Tracing every dip and curve of my back, fingers brushing the edge of my ribs, my waist. Her touch sent sparks through my skin, my whole body leaning into her like instinct.

But I wasn’t still, either. My hands slid down her sides, fingers gripping her hips like I needed to hold her still or I might completely lose control. And then I moved lower, pressing into her just enough to hear the hitch in her breath before I reached the front of her jeans. I toyed with the button, slow and teasing.

Her skin was hot beneath my touch, and when I brushed her lower stomach, I felt the muscles tense beneath my fingers. Her whole body was coiled tight—wanting, waiting—and that made my head spin. I popped the button with a flick of my fingers. She gasped, soft and sharp, as I slipped my hand inside, just under the waistband of her jeans. Not far—just enough to feel the heat there. Just enough to tease.

I traced lazy, maddening patterns just above her underwear, my fingers feather-light. Her hips pressed forward, chasing the contact, a wordless plea that made something primal spark low in my belly. Every part of her was so responsive. So ready.

The bass from the club below still thudded faintly through the floor beneath our feet, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was reckless. That we weren’t truly alone. That the wrong angle, the wrong glance, the wrong moment could expose us.

But then her eyes met mine. And every rational thought disappeared like smoke in wind. She was looking at me like she needed me to finish what I’d started. I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear as I whispered, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

She shook her head instantly, her grip tightening on my waist. “Don’t you dare.”  

And God, the way she said it—sharp, breathless, fierce— It broke whatever restraint I had left.

My laugh was low, rough, almost feral. I couldn't hold it back. There was something about the way she looked at me—completely undone and still holding on—that made something wild curl inside my chest. I kissed her again, and this time it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was need.

Mouth open, tongue hungry, like I could kiss her hard enough to sink beneath her skin, to stay there. I wanted to devour her. Mark her. Take her apart, piece by piece, until nothing existed but the way she sounded when she said my name.

My fingers slid deeper, under lace now, past fabric and into heat—fuck. She was already soaked.

My breath caught against her lips as I muttered, “Fuck… you feel” I didn’t even finish the sentence. Couldn’t. Words wouldn’t do it justice. So I let my hand speak for me instead.

I stroked her slowly at first, deliberately, learning the way her body responded—how her hips rolled forward to meet me, how her breath stuttered with every pass of my fingers. I felt her thigh tense against mine, her back arch, her grip on my shirt tightening.

Her head fell back with a quiet thud against the wall, and God, she looked—she looked wrecked already. I dropped my mouth to her neck, teeth grazing that perfect spot just beneath her ear, where her pulse raced like it was trying to catch up to mine. Her skin was hot, flushed, tasted faintly of sweat and whiskey, and I couldn’t help the low sound that rumbled in my chest as I licked a slow line down her throat.

Everything in me was pulsing. Lit. Every one of her gasps went straight to my core. And then I slowed.

My fingers eased, dragged, softened just enough to make her body writhe, chasing more. I needed to see her. Needed her to feel just how close I could bring her—how close she was.

“Look at me,” I whispered, voice rough, low. It took her a second. But then her eyes fluttered open, wide and dark and shining with everything she was holding back. And fuck—she looked at me. The kind of look that made my chest tighten. Like maybe this wasn’t just about lust. Like maybe I’d already gone deeper than I meant to. “I want to watch you,” I said, barely holding it together. “When you come for me.” And then I moved I pushed my fingers into her for the first time, I stilled letting her become accustomed to me inside her, but my want and desire didn’t afford her that for long, I began moving and when she moaned for the first time I moved. Faster. Deeper.

Her hips jolted. Her mouth hung open. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, her nails digging in like she needed to hold on to something or she'd fall apart right there. The sound she made was half-moan, half-sob.

The bass from the club pulsed up through the floor, syncing with my heartbeat—erratic, wild. Anyone could hear us if the music dropped for even a second, but the risk only fed the fire. She was so close—I could feel it in the way her walls fluttered around my fingers, the way her breath caught, the way her legs trembled. I could hear how close she was, the sloppy noise my fingers were making only adding to the senses.

I pressed my forehead to hers, eyes locked on hers, and whispered, “You’re close, aren’t you?” She nodded, barely—her whole body taut. “I can feel it.” And God, I wanted it. I wanted to watch her fall. For me.

I felt the tremble in her thighs, the way her breath came in sharp little gasps, her body clenching around my fingers with every careful stroke. I pressed my palm more firmly against her, right where I knew she needed it most, and her whole body jolted, her hips stuttering forward against my hand.

She bit back a moan. I hated that. “Don’t hold back,” I whispered, my voice rougher now, more urgent. I brought my free hand up to cradle her face, my thumb brushing the edge of her cheekbone. “I want to hear you.”

And that was all it took. She broke. Her mouth fell open with the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Her breath hitched. Her hands clutched at my side like I was the only thing keeping her grounded. And fuck, maybe I was. I could feel how eager she was—how easy she gave herself over to this. To me.

“God,” I breathed against her lips, barely able to hold myself together. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this.”

Because it was true. Every glance. Every smirk. Every moment I’d stood too close or looked too long—I’d been waiting for this. Fantasising about the sound she’d make when I finally touched her. The way she’d feel around my fingers. How perfect she’d look falling apart for me.

She couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t get a single word out. Her forehead pressed against mine, her breath mingling with mine in short, desperate bursts, and it was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever experienced. My fingers moved inside her in slow, deliberate thrusts—just enough to drive her crazy. Just enough to keep her right there on the edge. Prolonging the touch, prolonging this view.

Her hips jerked again, chasing friction, chasing more. I gave it to her. But I needed to see her.

My hand slid up into her hair, fingers tangling tight, and I gently tugged—pulling her head back, making her look at me. And fuck. What I saw wrecked me. Her mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, her chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths. She looked ruined—open and raw and utterly undone.

It should’ve made her shy. She should’ve looked away. But she didn’t. She let me see her. All of her. And it made my pulse stutter.

“Look at you…” I whispered, eyes tracing every flicker of expression across her face. “So beautiful like this.”

And she was. She really, really was. I wanted to remember this forever. The way her body trembled under my hands. The way her eyes stayed locked on mine. The way she trusted me—fully, completely—in this moment. She was close. I could feel it. And I wasn’t going to let her go until I watched her fall apart in my arms.

Her hands fumbled at my waist—urgent, shaky, desperate. And fuck, something about that wrecked me.

The way she needed to touch me.

The way she wanted to make me feel even a fraction of what I was doing to her—it was heady. Intoxicating. A sharp rush that had me gasping before I could stop it.

She slipped her hand under my skirt, fingers trailing up the inside of my thigh, and I swear I could feel every inch of that slow, burning journey. My breath hitched when she reached the edge of my underwear, her fingertips brushing there—barely.

And that barely made my knees weaken.

I faltered, just for a second. My fingers stilled inside her, the rhythm I'd been holding onto falling out of sync as a sharp inhale escaped me.

“Don’t tease,” I warned, voice tight, already unraveling. But there was no bite in it. Just breathless, aching want.

She looked at me like she knew. Like she'd been waiting for this moment—to flip the switch. To make me tremble.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all along?” she murmured, her voice all velvet and challenge.

Then she moved. And when her fingers pushed my underwear aside and finally touched me, bare and wet and ready, I broke.

“Fuck,” I hissed, forehead dropping to her shoulder, my entire body jolting forward. She was so good. Too good. Her fingers found me like she’d always known how. Like her hands were made for me.

And for a moment, everything spun. The shift in power hit hard. Sharp. I’d had the control. I’d kissed her first. Touched her first. Pushed her to the edge. Now I was the one faltering. The one clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping me grounded.

But I wasn’t going down alone. My hand picked up its rhythm again, faster now, deeper, curling inside her in that exact way that made her whole body jerk against mine. I felt her fingers stutter—just for a heartbeat—before she matched me again, just as determined, just as reckless.

We moved in sync. Hands between thighs, bodies pressed tight to the wall, breathing like we were trying to survive each other. The music below us pounded through the floor—bass and lights and chaos—but we’d carved out our own rhythm up here. Faster. Sharper. Closer.

I was panting now, open-mouthed against her skin, barely holding on, whispering her name like it was a prayer and a curse all at once. And when our eyes met again, dark, wild, desperate. I knew. Neither of us was going to last much longer.

“Someone could hear us,” she whispered against my ear, voice broken between moans, her breath hot against my skin.

Her hips moved against my hand, chasing friction, chasing release.

I didn’t hesitate.

“Let them.”

I didn’t care anymore. Not about who could hear us. Not about who might see. Nothing mattered but the way she felt—her body tight around my fingers, slick and aching, responding to every move I made like she was made for it.

She gasped against my mouth, just as I felt her pulse at the edge, right there, trembling and close, and I withdrew.

She let out a broken sound. Sharp. Frustrated. Desperate. I traced slow, deliberate circles instead, dragging her back from the edge just enough to make her feel it—that aching, unbearable almost. I wanted her wild for it. Needing it. Begging.

Weeks. We’d been dancing around this for months. And now she was in my hands, shivering, pleading, and I wanted her to feel every second of it. “Is this what you want?” I murmured into her ear, my voice a rasp of heat and hunger.

She couldn’t answer—just nodded, frantic, her fingers gripping my shirt like she was seconds from falling apart. I gave in. My fingers dove back in, fast and deep, no more teasing—just taking. She gasped, her body jolting forward, thighs trembling against mine as her breath caught.

The balcony was too small. Too exposed. Too risky. And somehow, perfect. This had been building since preseason—since the first lingering look, the first unspoken dare. Since every fucking moment we pretended we weren’t thinking about this exact thing.

Then her eyes locked onto mine, wide and pleading, and she moaned my name like it was sacred. “I need you to make me cum,” she said. I didn’t even think. I just moved. I crashed my mouth to hers—hard, greedy, messy—and let my fingers do what they were meant to do. I worked her fast, deep, curling my fingers just right, matching the rhythm to the beat of her gasps. And when my thumb found her sensitive spot—slick, swollen, perfect—I started to circle.

Slow at first. Then faster.

Her moan tore from her throat, loud and raw, and I swallowed it with my mouth, kissing her like I needed it to survive. She was so close, her whole body shaking, grinding against my hand with wild abandon. My own legs were weak. My own heart was racing.

I was falling with her. Her composure was long gone—and mine was fracturing too. I could feel it in my breath, ragged against her lips. In the tremble in my hand, in the way I whispered her name like it was the only thing I had left to hold onto.

“God,” I gasped against her mouth, the rhythm of my hand faltering for just a heartbeat as her fingers found exactly the right spot—slick, precise, devastating.

“I’ve thought about this—about you—for so long.” The confession tore out of me before I could stop it. No filter. No defence. Just truth.

And she felt it—because suddenly, we moved in sync. Like we were on the pitch, reading each other instinctively. Only this, was bodies instead of balls. Skin instead of football boots. Breathe instead of strategy.

My forehead pressed to hers, our breathing ragged and uneven, and all around us, the club carried on—laughing, drinking, dancing. Clueless. Because up here, in this small, dimly lit balcony, a fucking earthquake was happening.

“’M gonna come,” she whispered. My eyes snapped to hers, locking. And it nearly broke me. Because what I saw wasn’t just arousal. It wasn’t just pleasure or want. It was vulnerability. It was trust. It was real.

And it shook something loose inside me—something I hadn’t let myself feel for anyone in a very long time. “Don’t stop,” I managed to say, voice trembling as I clung to her. “I am too.” And I was. Fuck, I was so close. And she—God, she was wrecking me.

There was something deeply addictive about seeing her like this—this beautiful, powerful woman, usually so composed, so untouchable—now begging against my mouth, her body desperate for more of me. Her hand between my thighs was confident but shaking. We were both shaking. And I couldn’t tell anymore if I was holding her together or if she was the one keeping me from falling apart.

Every stroke of her fingers drove me higher. My hips moved against her without thought, chasing the friction, chasing that perfect pressure. She curved her fingers again and I saw stars.

“Alexia,” she moaned, voice rough, wrecked.

My name. Spoken like prayer. Like surrender. Like everything.

And it lit something inside me. Something fierce. Something final.

I focused, driving my fingers harder, deeper—watching the way her mouth parted, the way her eyes fluttered and locked back on mine like she couldn’t look away even if she tried. “Let go,” I whispered, voice thick, accent heavier now than ever. “Come for me.”

The words vibrated against her lips, my mouth barely brushing hers as I said it. We were trembling, clinging to each other, trying to hold on as the storm inside us crested. Her body was molten in my hands. Every breath was a whimper. Every movement fed something raw and wordless between us.

Our foreheads pressed together, sweat-slick and shaking, our breathing tangled and erratic. She looked at me like I was the only person in the world.

“Together,” she whispered, and the word—half-broken, half-holy—cracked me open.

She curved her fingers inside me again, found that spot that made my vision white around the edges, and I gasped—loud, uncontrolled. “Yes,” I hissed, my back arching, body pressing flush to hers. “Together.”

And then she said it, “I’m coming, aw fuck yes, Alexia... come for me—”

And I did. Hard. Loud. My whole body locking up, pulse slamming, every nerve ending alight with her. My orgasm crashed through me like a wave I’d been holding back for months, and I felt her go with me—her cry in my ear, her hand still between my legs, our bodies trembling, clinging, breaking together.

It wasn’t just a drunk fumble. It was a collision. It was ours. And as we came undone in each other’s arms, breathless and tangled, nothing else existed. Just her. Just me. Just this.

I kissed her again, but softer now. Less desperate. Less fire. More… need. Not for more friction, more release—we’d had that. We were still trembling from it. This kiss was something else.

Something quieter. Something real. Her hand moved from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair with a gentleness that made me shiver. I melted into it, let myself sink into her mouth, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue—salt, sweetness, and something so uniquely her that I knew I’d crave it forever.

I breathed her in like oxygen. Kissed her like I didn’t want to forget. And then I felt her move—felt the shift in her body, the way her hand slowed, withdrew from where it had been buried inside me. Her fingers slipped free, dragging against over-sensitised skin, and I let out a sound I couldn’t even try to hide.

A soft, wrecked little moan against her lips. She smiled into the kiss, and I felt it—felt that curve against my mouth, warm and quiet and devastating. I could’ve stayed there forever. But I had to give her back what she gave me.

So I moved inside her again. Just a few times. Slow. Deep. Deliberate. She twitched under me, her body still quaking, breath hitching like I’d touched something sacred.

Then I let go. Withdrawing my fingers completely, leaving her bare in the space where I’d just been. She gasped—half from the loss, half from the aftershocks—and I hated the sudden cold between us, even as I felt it in myself. That absence. That ache.

I pulled back—just a little. Enough to see her face. Her expression was raw, unguarded in a way I’d never seen. Not on the court. Not in passing. Not even in those rare, stolen moments we’d shared up until now.

Satisfaction. Wonder. And underneath it all—vulnerability. The kind that mirrored my own. I stared at her like she was a secret I’d just been trusted with. My hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, fingertips lingering at her temple.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to. She did.

“I need a fucking drink after that,” she said, voice rough, words breaking on the edge of a laugh and a moan.

I let out a low chuckle, breath still catching in my chest, forehead dropping to her collarbone as we both tried to recover. Her skin was warm and damp against my lips. I wanted to stay there, breathe her in. Live in this moment like it wasn’t already slipping forward into something new.

Eventually, I pulled back—just enough to really look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from my kiss, pupils still blown wide with everything we’d just done. She looked ruined. Unguarded. Perfect. And mine.

She smirked, wicked and satisfied, one hand trailing down to squeeze my ass with a boldness that made me bite my lip. Possessive. Teasing. And I fucking loved it.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, brushing a kiss to her jaw, letting the words settle between us like a promise. “Stay right there.”

She didn’t argue. Just leaned back against the wall again, eyes heavy-lidded, smiling like she was drunk on something much stronger than whiskey.

I turned away, heading back toward the bar. Adjusting my shirt as I moved, I caught my reflection briefly in the dark window beside the shelf of bottles. Hair a mess. Mouth pink. Neck blotched with her fingerprints and lips. And legs, god, my legs still felt shaky.

My fingers tingled. Still buzzing with memory. With the way she came apart in my hands like she’d been waiting to. I poured the drink slowly, watching her out of the corner of my eye.

She was still there. And it made something twist deep inside me. I brought her the glass, the amber liquid catching the soft light between us. Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and even that tiny contact sent a fresh jolt through me.

“Gracias,” she said quietly, voice low.

She took a sip, eyes fluttering closed in appreciation before they slid back open, locking on mine over the rim.

“You trying to kill me tonight?”

I grinned, leaning in close, letting my mouth graze the shell of her ear. “Not yet.”

She hummed, low and lazy, but the heat in her eyes hadn’t faded—it had just shifted. Gone deeper. Thicker. Like fire sinking into embers, slow and smouldering.

No more pretending we didn’t want this. No more pretending this was just a game.

She set the glass down behind her and turned to face me again. Her body was loose, posture lazy with satisfaction, but there was still an alertness in her eyes. A flicker of something sharper.

“You always this good with your hands?” she asked, voice teasing—but not entirely casual.

There was real curiosity there. Real weight. I moved closer, slow and steady, until I was standing between her legs again. I let my hands rest lightly on her hips, thumbs brushing bare skin beneath her shirt. “Only when I really, really want someone,” I said, gaze steady on hers.

She blinked. Just once. Not expecting that. Her smile softened. Warped into something slower. Something dangerous. “I think I’m in trouble then,” she murmured. “Your friends are probably wondering where you’ve gone.”

I exhaled, still high on her, still tasting her, still not quite ready to return to reality. But she wasn’t wrong. They always noticed when I disappeared. And with her—like that—it was bound to raise eyebrows.

We took a few extra seconds to breathe, to let the buzz between us settle without fading.

She gave me a look—half amused, half warning—and downed the last of her drink before setting the glass aside. I followed her lead, I downed the rest of my drink and watched her do the same, that same glow still on her skin. Her smile was lazy, satisfied, and it made something tight curl low in my stomach all over again.

So we made our way back down—slower than we should’ve been. We couldn’t stay tucked away forever. As much as I wanted to. I adjusted my shirt, did a half-hearted check in the reflection of the glass for any evidence of… well, everything. It was useless. My lips were still red, my skin flushed, and I was pretty sure I still had her breath on mine.

She walked beside me, slipping through the crowd like nothing had happened—even though everything had. My heart beat just a little faster, and I could feel her hand brushing against mine now and then as we walked, like neither of us were quite ready to break the physical connection. We were different now. Changed. And still, she walked like she wasn’t carrying any of it. Like she hadn’t just come undone in my hands minutes earlier.

But then, just before we reached the table, she pointed—smiling—toward someone I didn’t expect.

Mariona.

Mariona Caldenty

My brows shot up. What?

I blinked, confused, and before I could say a word, she was moving— quick, loose, smiling wide, straight across the floor, toward her, that same bright smile still lighting up her face. She didn’t hesitate. Just pulled Mariona into a hug. Arms wrapped around her like old friends.  Like this was the reunion of the year.

And Mariona grinned like she’d been waiting for her all night. I stopped short, trying to mask the surprise tightening in my chest. I stood there for a second, weirdly frozen. I hadn’t known they knew each other. Neither had mentioned it.

They started talking immediately—her hand brushed Mariona’s arm when they did. Her fingers lingered on her wrist.

I stood there like an idiot.

Then I moved back to the group and took my seat. My body still warm from her, my mind still caught somewhere between the wall upstairs and the way she said my name when she came.

But now I was watching her laugh with Mariona. And she didn’t come back to sit beside me. She sat with her. At the opposite end of the table.

Smiling. Like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t still tasting her in my mouth. I watched her lean in, laughing, eyes wide as Mariona showed her something on her phone. Their heads dipped together. I couldn’t hear a word over the music and the buzz of the table, but their body language said enough—casual, close, familiar. It made something stir in my chest I didn’t want to name.

She looked so comfortable. Too comfortable.

I was too stunned to be subtle.

My eyes flicked over constantly. Watching every small movement. Every grin. Every bit of casual closeness that I couldn’t quite read. Were they close friends? Something more? Something past?

She hadn’t even glanced back at me yet.

“Stop staring,” Patri muttered beside me, sliding back into her seat like she’d been waiting for her moment.

“I’m not,” I lied.

Irene leaned in, her expression a little too amused for my liking. “You are.”

They both had that look. One eyebrow arched, their drinks held casually like they hadn’t clocked every second of my spiralling. I didn’t answer. They didn’t need me to.

“She’s not flirting with Mariona,” Patri said, voice low but firm.

“From what we heard,” Irene added, “They know each other from some girls’ poker night.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Apparently,” Patri said, clearly enjoying herself, “Mariona went on a date recently. With a girl. First date. The girl brought her to a poker night the girl was at.”

“My girl,” I muttered before I could catch myself. I regretted it instantly—but neither of them called me on it. Irene just smirked into her drink.

“Chill,” she said. “It wasn’t her date. She just happened to be there.”

“Mariona said the girls friends were lovely and welcoming, that she really got on with them” Patri added with a smile. “Seems your girl makes an impression on every footballer she meets”

My jaw relaxed just enough. I looked across the table again.

She was still laughing with Mariona, but now I saw it.

Friendship.

Not flirtation.

Support.

Not seduction.

And then—she looked at me. Across the table. Right at me. Our eyes met. Her smile shifted—just a little. A curve that said she knew I’d been watching. That she’d wanted me to. I didn’t look away. Because she might’ve been sitting with Mariona. But her body remembered mine. Her eyes they were already coming back to me.

I barely had time to savour the feeling of her next to me again before Patri leaned in with a sly grin.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes flicking between us, “Does Liv flirt with everyone?” Y/N didn’t answer she just smiled ever so slightly, I rolled my eyes, already regretting the conversation shift, but Patri was relentless. “Irene,” she added, elbowing the defender beside her. “Didn’t Liv hit on you at that preseason event last year?”

Irene groaned dramatically. “Ugh, yes. Told me she liked the way I 'stood like a warrior.’”

Patri cracked up. “Right! And then tried to arm wrestle you.”

“While winking,” Irene said, deadpan, tipping her drink toward her mouth.

I felt the girl beside me shake with quiet laughter, and God, I wanted to lean in. To bury my face in her shoulder and laugh there instead. But I kept it cool. Barely.

“Why is Liv like that with everyone?” Patri asked, looking genuinely bewildered. “She’s like… a walking Tinder bio.”

“She flirted with me to when we first met,” she rose her eyebrows, “said I gave off ‘top energy.’”

I choked on my drink. Irene leaned back, cackling. As Patri watched seemingly the only one to see the drink I had to wipe from my chin, “That is such a Liv thing to say.” Irene spoke

“She brought Mariona to team night for a first date,” she added, sipping from her glass, like that explained everything. It kind of did.

“Oh, that was a date?” came a familiar voice behind us, light and full of faux offence. We all turned to see Mariona grinning down at us, arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted. I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my mouth. Mariona slide into the seat on the other side of me.

I watched Y/N, who leaned forward with a teasing glint in her eye. “I told you,” she said to Mariona, mock-serious. “Too sweet for Liv.”

“I am not sweet,” Mariona said, scandalised.

“You are literally the team’s emotional support cinnamon roll,” I deadpanned.

Mariona threw a coaster at me. The group burst into laughter, the kind that made your chest feel full and light at once. My cheeks ached. And beside me, she laughed too, head tilted back, eyes shining. When she looked at me, something flickered between us again—something softer now.

It didn’t need words.

I didn’t expect her to stay. Not really. Not after what we did upstairs, not after the intensity of it. I figured she’d slip away after a while, disappear before things got messy—before anyone started asking questions I couldn’t answer.

But she didn’t. She stayed. And worse—for me, at least—she fit. Too easily. Too well. She sat wedged between Irene and Mariona now, playing some ridiculous drinking game Patri made up on the spot, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink on her lap when she lost.

Again. “You suck at this,” Irene teased, nudging her shoulder.

“Unfair!” she cried, pointing dramatically. “I’ve had three shots in ten minutes and you’re all clearly cheating.”

Mariona threw an arm around her, grinning. “No one cheats in Patri’s games. We just don’t tell you the rules.”

“That’s called cheating,” she deadpanned, but she was smiling.

God, that smile. It was killing me. I leaned back in my seat, nursing what had to be my last drink of the night, watching her like I wasn’t already trying to memorise everything—how her eyes creased when she laughed, the way she tucked her legs beneath her, how easily she gave affection, warmth, attention. Too easily. I wasn’t used to this. To sharing her. To her being so effortlessly in my world.

Because now she wasn’t just a secret up on a balcony or a message on my phone. She was here. With my people. Making them laugh. Winning them over without even trying. And I should’ve been uncomfortable. But I wasn’t. I just couldn’t stop staring. She caught me once—eyes locking from across the circle of bodies. Her smirk curled slow and subtle. Like she knew. I looked away first. And that said everything. 

“Alexia,” Mariona called across the table, still flushed from laughing. “You’re being quiet.”

“She’s just mad I’m more fun than her,” came that voice again—teasing, soft, only half-joking.

I looked up. Straight into her gaze. “I’m not mad,” I said slowly. “Just... watching.”

Her brow lifted. “Watching what?”

You, I almost said. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t have to. The look I gave her said enough. And the way her smile faltered—just a little, just for a second—told me she understood. She held my stare. And she didn’t look away. 

---

It was later than I realised.

The club had thinned out, music a little lower, lights a little brighter—everyone’s signal that it was time to go. Time to peel ourselves off the couches, say half-drunk goodbyes, make promises we probably wouldn’t keep in the morning.

I stood with the others, wrapping an arm around Irene’s shoulder while she complained about her feet, her voice slurring just enough to make me laugh. Patri yawned mid-sentence. Mariona was still attached to her, of course, dramatically refusing to let her leave without “just one more shot” before realising she couldn’t stand straight.

I pretended not to watch her check her phone. Pretended not to care when she finally pulled her jacket on, tucking her hair behind her ear as she glanced toward the door.

She was going.

And I could feel it in my chest like pressure. Like something unfinished.

I slipped away from the others quietly, catching up to her as she stepped outside, the night air crisp enough to lift some of the heat from my skin. She stood by the curb, waiting, eyes scanning for a taxi.

“You leaving?” I asked, voice low as I came up beside her.

She glanced at me, surprised. “Yeah. I’ve got to be up stupid early.”

I nodded, keeping my hands in my jacket pockets so she wouldn’t see how much I wanted to reach for her.

“Didn’t think you’d stay as long as you did,” I said.

She gave me a look. “Did you want me to leave earlier?”

“No,” I said, too fast.

She smiled. Slow. Like that answer mattered more than she was letting on.

A taxi pulled up, headlights cutting through the streetlight haze. She stepped toward it, then turned back. I beat her to it.

“I’ll make sure you get in okay.”

She paused, eyebrows lifting, amused. “You walking me to the car now, Putellas?”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

But I opened the door for her anyway.

She climbed in, then leaned out the window, eyes locking on mine again in that way that made everything go quiet.

“Thanks for… everything,” she said. I just nodded. “Text me when you get home.”

The window slid up.

The taxi pulled away.

And I stood there on the curb, hands still in my pockets, heart still too full, watching the tail lights disappear.

I hadn’t kissed her goodbye.

But it didn’t matter.

Because this didn’t feel like an ending.

Not even close.

Hands still shoved in my pockets like that might keep the warmth in. Like I hadn’t just watched her disappear down some quiet Barcelona street, leaving me with her taste in my mouth and her voice in my head. God, what the fuck was that?

I turned back toward the group just as they were pouring out of the club’s entrance in loud, chaotic waves—Mariona dragging Irene by the arm, Patri trying to herd them all like she hadn’t been doing shots with them ten minutes ago.

“There she is,” Patri said with a sly grin, falling into step beside me. “Our mysterious vanishing act.”

“She’s been making heart eyes for two hours,” Irene added, nudging me with her elbow. “We just gave her some space.”

“I wasn’t—” I started.

“You were,” Mariona cut in from behind me. “You definitely were.”

I exhaled through my nose, keeping my pace steady as we started walking toward home. The streets were quiet now, just the sound of heels on pavement, the occasional passing car, and my teammates acting like they hadn’t just witnessed me fall face-first into whatever the hell that was.

“Tell us everything,” Patri said dramatically, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Actually, wait, don’t tell us anything. We already know.”

“She left you speechless,” Irene added. “Which is hard to do.”

“She is cool,” Mariona said, less teasing now, more sincere. “Like… chill. Funny. I get it.”

I side-eyed her. “You hugged her like you were soulmates.”

“We are,” she said, grinning. “We trauma bonded over Liv.”

Everyone laughed. Except me.

I just smiled quietly to myself, because I was still thinking about how I said text me when you get home, and meant it. How her eyes locked on mine just before the window went up, like there was something we still hadn’t said.

“She’s the first girl you’ve let stick around after... you know who,” Irene said, softer now. “After everything.”

That made me pause for half a second, the air catching slightly in my chest. I didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Because she was right. And I wasn’t sure if that terrified me—or thrilled me. Maybe both.

“She better text you,” Patri said with a grin. “Or I’ll text her for you.”

“She will,” I said before I could stop myself.

They all turned to look at me. And I didn’t take it back. Because somehow, I knew she would. And that’s what scared me most of all.

[navigatingthefutureofadas]

Navigating the Future of ADAS with Starkenn Technologies in India

Navigating the Future of ADAS with Starkenn Technologies

Introduction

Advanced Driver Assistance Systems (ADAS) play a pivotal role in enhancing road safety and revolutionizing the driving experience. Starkenn Technologies, a leading provider of indigenous ADAS solutions, is committed to delivering cutting-edge technologies that enhance safety, convenience, and efficiency on the roads. Let’s delve into the key aspects of ADAS and explore how Starkenn is shaping the future of automotive safety.

Understanding ADAS

An ADAS is a suite of technologies designed to assist drivers in safe vehicle operation. By leveraging automated technology such as sensors and cameras, ADAS detects nearby obstacles and driver errors, responding promptly to mitigate risks. These systems can enable various levels of autonomous driving, making roads safer for everyone.

Starkenn’s ADAS Solutions

1. Collision Warning System

Starkenn Safe Collision Warning System: This radar-based system senses the surroundings and detects possible collisions. It alerts and warns the driver just in time, even in challenging conditions like heavy rainfall, fog, or low visibility.

2. Collision Mitigation System

Starkenn Brake Safe Collision Mitigation System: An active safety system that engages Starkenn’s patented* Automatic Emergency Braking (AEB) mechanism in critical collision scenarios. It significantly reduces the risk of fatal accidents with minimal false alarms.

3. Driver Monitoring Systems

Starkenn Attention Driver Monitoring System: Using on-the-edge computer vision and AI, this in-cabin solution continuously monitors the driver. It detects distractions, drowsiness, and over-speeding, issuing audio-visual alerts. Starkenn’s ‘Made in India’ technology minimizes accidents due to human error.

4. Telematics Fleet Management

Stark-I Virtual Eye (Cloud Platform): This advanced analytics solution provides real-time vehicle information, including live location, trip data, accident details, and incident videos. Fleet managers gain insights to optimize driving behavior and collect accident evidence.

Unique Selling Points (USPs)

Competitive Pricing: Starkenn offers cost-effective ADAS solutions.

Made in India: Starkenn’s expertise lies in hardware, firmware, AI/ML, and IoT technologies.

Field-Proven Algorithmics: Starkenn’s systems are reliable and effective.

All-Weather Protection: Starkenn’s ADAS works seamlessly in diverse weather conditions.

Impact and Vision

Starkenn Technologies has already saved over 1200 lives and prevented more than 350 accidents with its ADAS solutions. As the adoption of ADAS grows, Starkenn aims to make roads safer for all by continuing to innovate and drive positive change.

For more information, visit Starkenn Technologies.

[sharpeagle-tech]

How a Collision Avoidance System Can Keep Your Fleet Safe?

The forklift collision avoidance system emerges as an innovative technology with the primary objective of averting potential injuries and ensuring the safety of passengers. Undoubtedly, underscoring the significance of road safety is imperative in curbing the incidence of accidents resulting in harm. However, the utility of collision avoidance systems extends beyond the realm of highway-bound vehicles. 

One of its key applications in industrial context is related to forklifts operating within workplace environments. By adopting the anti-collision warning system, both the operators and the forklifts experience a heightened safety level.

Diverse workplaces encompassing factories, warehouses, construction sites, mining facilities, and shipyards are swiftly recognising the indispensable value of the collision warning system. Projections indicate a substantial increase in the worth of the forklift collision avoidance system by 2028. This technology's escalating significance might instigate companies' inquiries regarding how precisely the collision avoidance system can safeguard their fleets. 

Without further delay, let us embark on a journey into elucidating the operational mechanisms and merits of the collision avoidance system. 

How Does the Collision Avoidance System Work?

The fundamental objective of the collision avoidance system centres on averting collisions involving forklifts. This is achieved by integrating a collision detection system and a proximity alert module, which jointly furnish real-time location awareness to in-motion forklifts. Consequently, when two forklifts approach each other, an automatic reduction in speed or a complete halt occurs. 

This positioning awareness extends beyond forklift-to-forklift interactions and encompasses the interplay between pedestrians and forklifts. In scenarios where pedestrians manoeuvre around forklifts, the forklifts' velocity is diminished, and pedestrians receive timely notifications. The overarching goal is to establish a workplace environment that prioritises the safety of operators, pedestrians, and forklifts, all facilitated by accident prevention measures.

The collision avoidance system can be implemented for both pedestrians and forklifts, encompassing specialised equipment for pedestrians and fixed readers installed within forklifts. Pedestrians are alerted to their proximity to forklifts through the utilisation of high-frequency technology integrated into the forklifts. This system holds particular significance within loading zones frequented by trucks, forklifts, and other vehicles. As a testament to its emphasis on health and safety, the accident avoidance system continues solidifying its presence within the overarching regulatory frameworks companies adopt.

Anti-Collision System Specs

Quick-release thumb lever

Great for hearing-impaired personnel

The sensor Indicator Light glows blue when the sensor is activated.

Alert pedestrians when forklifts are crossing

Unit mounts up and out of the way.

No reflectors required

No expensive microwave sensors

Nothing attached to your forklifts

Low voltage wiring eliminates the need for conduit 12V transformer plugs into an overhead outlet power source.

Super bright LED lights with 100,000 hours of life

Sensors are factory pre-set monitors from inches to 35' away.

Sensor temperature ranges: -200C-800C

Red spot project on the ground

Injuries & fatalities as a result of forklift collisions can be eliminated.

An externally mounted optional universal transformer will handle incoming voltage from 277V to 12 V as required.

Indoor, outdoor, and cooler applications

Significant loss prevention benefits

Collision Avoidance System Between Forklifts

Utilising cutting-edge high-precision technology, the anti-collision warning system imparts precise location awareness to forklifts. Within this framework, predefined proximity thresholds are seamlessly integrated into the forklifts, orchestrating speed adjustments and halts based on these thresholds. The forklift collision avoidance system employs a combination of visual cues and audible alerts to furnish vital information to operators, enabling them to navigate their vehicles with heightened safety awareness, especially when encountering neighboring forklifts.

The synergy between artificial intelligence and this technology seamlessly functions across indoor and outdoor environments. Incorporating specialised map systems driven by artificial intelligence further enhances the operational scope within workplace premises. These systems can also impose certain restrictions within hazardous zones, ensuring enhanced safety protocols. 

Given that the crux of collision avoidance revolves around forklift safety, managerial oversight is facilitated through dedicated platform tools, allowing for comprehensive monitoring of forklift movements.

Collision Avoidance System Between Forklifts and Pedestrians

The central objective of this technology is to ascertain and manage the proximity between pedestrians and forklifts. When pedestrians traverse predefined safety thresholds, an integrated visual and auditory alert is activated, effectively cautioning pedestrians and forklift operators. This collision avoidance system proves particularly invaluable in areas with limited visibility, fostering heightened awareness and interaction between forklifts and pedestrians. In instances where pedestrians might not perceive the visual and auditory cues, the wearable equipment employs tactile vibrations as an additional alert mechanism.

Crucially, the effectiveness of this system is accentuated by the often noisy settings encountered in environments such as factories, shipyards, or warehouses. Moreover, the forklift collision avoidance system plays a pivotal role in ensuring the safety of employees with visual or hearing impairments. The wearable devices can take the form of watches, badges, or cards suspended from lanyards, designed with a keen focus on comfort through their lightweight construction.

Key Benefits of Collision Avoidance System

Factory, warehouse, and shipyard environments abound with intricate passageways, sharp turns, intersections, and zones housing hazardous materials in concentrated quantities. Ensuring security within such operational landscapes is imperative for companies striving to cultivate a serene and gratifying workspace that is characterised by safeguarding personnel and assets.

The Collision avoidance system harnesses the prowess of artificial intelligence technologies to engender optimal safety within these dynamic work settings. Integrating emerging technologies into our operational fabric is an inescapable trajectory for corporate advancement. Adopting the collision avoidance system is a strategic imperative, positioned at the nexus of safety enhancement and cultivating a brand committed to staying abreast of contemporary developments.

The advantages presented by the Collision avoidance system encompass:

Zone-Centric Forklift Speed Regulation: This feature substantially diminishes accident risks within blind spots, narrow passages, and bustling zones by dynamically controlling forklift speeds.

360-Degree Proximity Sensing: Equipment fortified with comprehensive proximity sensing capabilities ensures the well-being of both forklift operators and pedestrians from all vantage points.

Versatile Wearable Equipment: Wearable gadgets and equipment, harmoniously integrated into forklifts, seamlessly operate indoors and outdoors; their resilience to environmental factors such as dust, dirt, and water guarantees uninterrupted performance.

Enabling Real-Time Forklift Tracking: Integrating systems that underpin the collision avoidance setup concurrently lays the groundwork for a real-time forklift tracking mechanism.

Proactive Safety Measures: Anticipating potential hazards, operational constraints can be enforced upon operators and pedestrians. Carrying specialised cards, they receive visual, auditory, and vibrational cues upon breaching these limitations.

How SharpEagle Helps

SharpEagle's Collision Avoidance System (CAS) stands as an advanced early-warning solution designed to promptly notify equipment operators and pedestrians of potential collision risks with other vehicles. This innovative system significantly enhances operators' safety awareness, effectively mitigating vehicle-to-vehicle and vehicle-to-pedestrian collision risks. These commendable attributes have garnered recognition from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA).

The CAS uses precision-engineered predictive algorithms to evaluate critical parameters such as vehicle positioning, velocity, and trajectory within the monitored vicinity. This rigorous analysis ensures that alerts are triggered solely in the presence of genuinely perilous conditions, thereby minimising the occurrence of false alarms. The result is a system that fosters operators' unwavering trust by consistently delivering reliable alerts. This, in turn, elevates operators' overall situational awareness and bolsters their confidence in SharpEagle's CAS, thereby contributing to the establishment of an injury-free workplace ethos.

‍

FAQs What is the primary objective of the Collision Avoidance System?

The primary objective is to avert potential injuries and ensure the safety of passengers and operators, particularly in industrial contexts like warehouses, factories, and construction sites. ‍

How does the Collision Avoidance System work in industrial environments like warehouses or factories?

The system integrates a collision detection mechanism and a proximity alert module, providing real-time location awareness. It automatically slows down or halts forklifts when approaching other forklifts or pedestrians. ‍

How does the Collision Avoidance System contribute to safety between forklifts?

It uses high-precision technology to provide precise location awareness, with predefined proximity thresholds in forklifts that trigger speed adjustments and halts to prevent collisions. ‍

How does the system ensure safety between forklifts and pedestrians?

The system manages the proximity between pedestrians and forklifts, activating integrated visual and auditory alerts when safety thresholds are crossed. Wearable equipment for pedestrians may include tactile vibrations as additional alerts. ‍

What are the key benefits of implementing a Collision Avoidance System in such environments?

Benefits include zone-centric forklift speed regulation, 360-degree proximity sensing, versatile wearable equipment, real-time forklift tracking, and proactive safety measures. ‍

How does SharpEagle's Collision Awareness System enhance safety?

SharpEagle's system uses predictive algorithms to evaluate critical parameters like vehicle positioning and velocity. It provides reliable alerts to mitigate vehicle-to-vehicle and vehicle-to-pedestrian collision risks. ‍

How does the Collision Avoidance System align with contemporary safety regulations and advancements?

The system is increasingly being integrated into regulatory frameworks due to its effectiveness in preventing accidents, aligning with contemporary safety advancements and corporate safety commitments.

You can call us at +971-4-454-1054 or mail us at sales@sharpeagle.uk

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (5/?)

Inspired by @xarology amazing art - just my own wild thoughts on nose scar because HALAS;DFJL;AFJD

Thank you @jackalackqwq and @swiftyangx12 for lovely art and always following my random thoughts with comments ily guys <3 Literally bringing this story to life with the amazing visualisations! And ty everyone for the reblogs, likes and comments they keep me going!!

Nose scar: You crash due to someone's incompetence and totally crack your faceplate open. Cue Starscream screeching

The war had totally upended your previous way of life, but one thing that remained constant through it all was the nonstop training. That was fine with you for the most part, as it provided a mote of familiarity amidst all the uncertainty. But aside from improving your ability in the air, there was another practical reason for it.

Group attacks.

Common, of course, but there was an issue.

Back in the academy, group maneuvers were only introduced towards the end of the program. Not only did seekers need competence in solo flight, but friendship, for the lack of a better word, was a significant contributory factor to success. As it turned out, closeness was most important in determining the harmony of a group flight, so you were ordinarily given a few years to form bonds with one another before actually being allowed anywhere near group maneuvers.

However, the war affords you no such luxury, and you find yourself lumped in with bots you've never met before in preparation to attempt a group drill. As usual, Starscream had been in command with a few other lieutenants to provide air support, but as soon as the session started, he'd been abruptly called away to attend to matters on the bridge.

Scores collected from individual drills means that you've been assigned the lead, and you stiffen as soon as you hear this. Part of you swells with pride to see proof of your hard work - even though you're contented yourself with being a follower, you've always wanted to be like Starscream. Having your capabilities acknowledged to be of leadership quality pleased you immensely, but at the same time... Starscream would never have risked your helm by putting you in such a high-profile position. However, a lieutenant seeker was now temporarily in charge, and had no such qualms about putting you straight in the firing line. He’d glanced at the score when was your turn and promptly waved you to the front.

“But-”

“You telling me that someone with your abilities should be wasted in the back?”

You promptly shut your intake.

You glance at the two other bots you're with - older than you, and probably more experienced, too. But they hadn't said anything when you timidly stepped to the front of the formation. You hope they're not the sort to take offense.

Lifting off without issue, it’s smooth sailing for the most part. The extent of your communications remained blessedly limited to curt reports on flight conditions as you soared straight ahead, and you're hopeful for an equally peaceful descent before you go your separate ways.

Unfortunately, no such luck.

Just as you think you’ll be able to make it safely back, your sensors pick up on a strange wind pattern up ahead. The collision point of a Ferrell cell and a Hadley cell - this planet had its own unique system of atmospheric circulation, which led to the collision of strong, opposing winds at certain latitudes. Starscream had taught you how to recognise them before, with an ominous warning that flying into them could disable even the most experienced of seekers.

You activate your comms. "In eight hundred metres, bank right.”

There’s a momentary silence before your comms crackle back online. “What did you say?”

“There’s really strong winds up ahead. We can’t just fly through it,” You say. You’re getting a bad feeling about this. Now would be a horrible time for your partners to misunderstand your urgent instructions as a show of power, rather than an increasingly frantic attempt to save your sparks.

“Strong winds, my aft,” The other jet’s derisive laughter crackles mockingly through your comms. “My sensors didn’t detect anything. Maybe you’re just a weakling.”

“No! Just look!”

The worst thing was that this formation required you to fly together at incredibly close quarters - meaning that you weren’t able to stop, because the others would crash right into your wings.

Five hundred meters.

“Come on, don’t you guys want to impress the lieutenant?”

“He’s a fragging slaghead,” Was the immediate response you got.

Just as you truly begin to panic - “Wait,” The other jet suddenly says. “I think they’re right.” As you fly closer, the clouds almost seem to be distorting before your optics, warped by fierce columns of wind.

“A likely story,” The first one snorts. “How long have you been flying? Longer than our squad leader -" his voice takes on a derisive tone - “has been alive.”

“Two hundred meters,” You warn.

A tense silence falls over your comms.

“I’m following what they said,” Crackles decisively through. “You’ll have to send me to the scrapheap before I fly through that just to make a point.”

“Frag you,” Growls the other voice, outraged static marring his words.

One hundred meters.

“Come on,” You say again, frantic, on the cusp of pleading.

The other jet says nothing, but you can feel the spike of his EM field when the column of wind begins to make itself known against the plates of your altmodes.

Fifty meters. Surely he wouldn’t be that stubborn. It was hard enough to stay alive in a war - would a mech really risk his spark over something as inconsequential as this?

You decide to take a gamble. If he banks with you at the last minute, no harm, no foul. If he doesn’t…

Surely, surely he would.

Twenty meters.

Ten.

The screaming of engines overtakes your audials as you and the jet to your left swerve sharply to the right - and your optics widen in fear as you realize what the defiant jet to your right has decided to do.

He’d wisely decided not to challenge the whipping column of wind, but in order to defy you, he’d decided to maneuver upwards instead. You’ve been told that losing position is one of the worst things that can happen, and you’re about to find out precisely why that is. The jet’s altmode clips your wing. Being of a heftier build, he wobbles in the air before managing to right himself. However, you are not so lucky. The momentum of your turn sends you careening straight for the wind column. Burning pain radiating outwards from the dent in your wing, you find yourself buffeted by the winds and unable to regain control of your spiralling frame.

You hurtle through cloud layer after cloud layer in a wild tailspin, mist obscuring your vision as you’re tossed around like a ragdoll by the roaring winds. Next to the Terrans, you may be a giant. But at the mercy of the natural world, you may as well be an ant. Through the panic that fizzles your processor, you suddenly latch onto something Starscream had drilled into your processor before.

You were done for the day - you’d done everything exactly as he instructed and by all standards, the session should have ended on a high. But as Starscream had quietly turns round, ready to return to base, an oddly somber mood had settled over you both. It took only two steps before he was glancing back at you, seemingly torn over whether or not to share what was bothering him.

“Sir?”

“…If you ever find yourself without control over your frame in the air, and nothing you do is working,” Starscream says, “transform into bot mode. Less resistance on the wings.” His voice has an edge to it, but you can’t quite discern what the emotion tingeing his words is. “Understand?”

“…Yes?” To you, this felt completely out of the blue - advice, while you were certain of its value, had nothing to do with the maneuvers you practiced today.

Starscream pivots to face you head on, optics feverishly bright. “Repeat it.”

Your confusion lasts for a few nanokliks too long for his liking, because he bares his denta in a frustrated snarl. “Are your audials working? Repeat what I just said!”

“Uh,” You fumble, trying to gather your thoughts. “If I don’t have control over my frame in the air, I should transform into bot mode?”

“Because there’s less resistance on the wings,” Starscream repeats. He sniffs, even if his plating isn’t drawn so tight now that he knows you’ve listened to what he said. “I hope I don’t have to spell out the necessity of transforming back into your altmode as soon as you regain control of the situation.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

The mood when you walk back to base is considerably lighter, but what prompted that sudden piece of emergency spark-saving advice had always been a mystery to you.

Well, now in the air and reduced to a chew toy flung around by the screaming forces of nature, it clicks into place. With all your strength, you activate transformation protocols, and feel the acute resistance against your plates and gears even as you transform. The sudden shift in mass and surface area throws you off-kilter for a nanoklik, but it’s in your favour. You’re abruptly thrown from the column of wind and into open air before your frame continues its downward plummet, gathering speed as the lush colours of the Terran earth once more bleed into your vision.

The Earth is green, you realise. Oh so green. Blurs of Decepticon paint zip into view. You send a silent apology to Starscream, already having calculated your odds. You’re sorry for not obeying his orders well enough. You’re sorry for being an embarrassment. You’re sorry for making him worry.

You grit your denta and focus the last ounce of strength you have into transforming into your alt mode, thrusters screaming as you try to pull up - however, you simply don’t have enough airspace to pull it off successfully. It’s enough to save your spark, you think, as you make agonising contact with the unforgiving earth. You just don’t know how permanent the damage will be.

For a nanoklik, your sensors are so overwhelmed with sensation that the pain doesn’t kick in right away. Everything happens at once - a billion warnings leap up on your HUD, the agony flares across the entirety of your plating, arcing through your wires like electricity. Through the ringing in your audials, you hear shouts approaching - echoing, warping through your rattled processor. Vaguely, you could make out the lieutenant, your partners - and… was that… Starscream…?

Scrap.

Half of you didn’t want him to see you like this. The other half of you wept and screamed for him to comfort you.

It seemed you had no choice, though. When you tried to move, or at least transform back into bot mode, you realised that you were as good as frozen - systems locked as your frame desperately tried to minimise further damage.

“CADET!”

You only manage a horrific crackle of static in response. But through the pain, you can still feel Starscream’s warm servo on the nose of your altmode. You focus with everything you have on that source of warmth, of kindness. “Listen to me,” Starscream says, next to your shattered cockpit. He’s forcing himself to sound calm, neutral - but the underlying tension in his voice threatens to bleed through, stringing his words tight. “I know it’ll use up the rest of your reserves, but you need to transform now so I can take you to med bay.”

You want to obey, but you’re so tired, the fuzziness of pain and exhaustion weighing your frame down. You try to tell your commander this, through another slurred buzz of static and frag, that hurt. Didn’t even know you could hurt there.

Distantly, you feel the panicked fluctuations of Starscream's EM field. “For the love of Primus, TRANSFORM!” Starscream roars, panic rearing its head as he abandons all pretence of neutrality. They can’t fix you like this. Maybe on Vos, once upon a time. But Knockout, for all that he can do, is not a seeker - and there are limits to what can be done with the seeker altmode without specialised knowledge. Besides, you wouldn’t fit into his med bay, and all of these become urgent problems when Starscream can feel your EM field growing fainter by the nanoklik.

Blearily, you register the frantic spikes of his EM field against your plating. Was he upset? You didn’t want Starscream to be upset. You could fix it. What was that he was yelling at you to do?

Transforming hurts. Every inch of your frame screams as loose screws and fractured plates twist and warp themselves into bot mode. Two warm servos clamp down on either side of your helm, and Starscream’s panicked expression swims into view. “Good,” He murmurs, and you hear his vocaliser reset as he forces the tremor from his voice. “Now, was that so hard?”

No, you want to say, because it was you who asked it of me. But all that comes out is another garbled mess of incoherent static and this time, you’re more aware that there’s something wrong with your intake, beyond your vocaliser. Without thinking, you shakily raise a servo to touch, to find out exactly what’s wrong. But Starscream sees your servo move and promptly scolds you back into submission, even if his frantic worry steals the bite from his words. Slowly, you take in the warnings on your HUD and realise it’s way more than just your intake. Another wave of pain sweeps through your misfiring sensors, cracking through your helm and splintering across your faceplate. Oh, scrap. Was Starscream… holding you together? That would explain the look on his faceplate.

There’s so many things you want to tell him, but only manage to place your bloodied servo over his - a firework show of popups on your HUD are all the warning you get before you’re out like a light. It's a shame that the all warnings have to obscure Starscream's faceplate before that.

---

The screech of a welder is what you awaken to. Knockout abruptly switches it off as soon as he notices you're awake - you can't help but think that it's uncharacteristically gentle of him, but you're thankful enough not to question it.

"Nasty tumble you took there," He remarks, as you groan. The pain has lessened, but your frame feels like lead and the warnings on your HUD are relentless despite your continuous attempts to close them.

Knockout regards you for a nanoklik more before shaking his helm, tutting disapprovingly. "Such a nice paintjob, too. Now hold still, I'm nearly done."

Gritting your denta as the welder screams to life again, you wish you had just stayed unconscious because by Solus, getting soldered back into one piece fragging hurt. You note with surprise and pleasure, however, that you've regained your sensory systems in your faceplate. Gently touching a servo to your cheek, you gratefully realise Knockout has chosen to work in order of most to least pain - as he'd knocked out (you bite your glossa to keep the inappropriate laughter back) the most painful aspects of your repair while you were still unconscious. The crack across your faceplate from chin to optic has been welded and buffed to perfection, save for... you frown as your fingers find a sizeable dent in your nose. Knowing Knockout's perfectionist streak, you wonder why something so obvious would have been left out, but hesitate to ask since he's already done such a good job on the rest of your frame and you feel guilty asking for more. However, you fail to quell the disquieting sense of unease that bubbles up in your chassis, which tells you that Knockout wouldn't have left your nose out without a very good reason.

You're panting by the time he finishes, plates drawn tight against your frame as you work through the residual pain. The dull grey of your metal shines through in patches, having ungracefully smeared the Terran grass with your paint - but your once-fractured plates are perfectly smooth and polished thanks to Knockout's handiwork.

It's relatively smooth sailing up until that point, because the final part of your frame requiring repair is your wings. Tender, not to mention the pain that arcs through your leading edges, spoilers, ailerons whenever you move... Primus. You decide not to think too hard about it. You have no idea how Starscream managed to stay still under your trembling servos that time you had to patch him up - every touch of the welder to your wings has you seizing in pain, writhing under Knockout's servos no matter how he tries to soothe you. Finally, he clicks the welder offline, with your wings still largely in disrepair.

Your ragged in-vents are all that fill the med bay. "Primus," Knockout mutters. "This isn't working."

For some reason, you get the feeling that his disgusted snarls of frustration aren't directed at you.

You watch quietly as he paces the length of his med bay, before finally whirling around to face you. "No matter what you're about to say, kid, I'm paging Starscream," He informs you. "Primus knows how many times he's had his wings repaired."

Knockout tilts his helm towards the ceiling, optics shuttered and his intake set in a grim line. "After all that effort to keep him out of my med bay, too."

The mental image of Starscream attempting to force his way into med bay just to make sure you're alright is almost too mind-boggling to entertain. Still, now is not the time. Your wings droop as Knockout sends the message out, angry at yourself for causing so much trouble. The pain that radiates from your wing joints at such a movement is deserved, you tell yourself. Is this how you repay Starscream for all that he's done for you? However, your downward spiral is promptly cut short by aggressive hammering at the door of med bay - Knockout emits a long-suffering sigh before going to open it. Starscream all but hurtles into the room, but you'd sensed his EM field even before that - spiking in waves as he attempts to suppress the panic before it gets the better of him.

"Well?" He demands, having taken in your prone form, patches of paint missing and the bridge of your nose chipped.

"Calm yourself," Knockout sniffs. "This is some of my best work to date."

"Best?" Starscream hisses. "Look at their nose! What do you call that?"

"Ah." Knockout looks oddly solemn at that. "One of the reasons I called you here. Filling in a part of one's anatomy requires high quality metal - and as you know, our glorious leader has deemed it un-utilitarian to allow soldiers access to such materials."

"Then put it under my designation," Starscream snarls, but Knockout shakes his helm, almost looking regretful.

"Even if you could, we're simply too short on materials to conduct such an operation. Abundant on Cybertron, sure. On the Terrans' planet, however? In a word: lacking."

By now, you're sure the anger pulsing off Starscream's EM field could power a small spaceship. Unfortunately, Knockout isn't done yet.

"The more pressing matter, however," he continues, "is the repair of their wings. I'm sure you understand."

At that, Starscream freezes. His optics zero in on you with intense precision and in the next nanoklik he's striding over to you, no-nonsense. "Show me."

You shuffle your frame upright, baring your wings to him. Judging by Starscream's sharp in-vent, it's not looking good. A few tense nanokliks pass, and you swivel back round to see Starscream nod curtly at Knockout. "I'll take it from here."

Turning back to you, he jerks his helm in the direction of the door. "Come on."

Before you can protest, Starscream loops a servo round your waist to support you, mindful of your wings. You strain to stay upright in front of the wandering eyes of other Decepticons, thankful that Starscream is more or less holding you up. You won't disgrace him any further. You won't - but finally, in the privacy of Starscream's habsuite, you can't hold back the ragged gasp of pain as the door slides shut behind you.

"On the berth, wings up," Starscream says shortly. He's already dug the welder out. But in spite of your best efforts, you can't stop trembling, already anticipating the pain.

However, instead of the unforgiving heat of the welder, Starscream's warm servo lands comfortingly on an unblemished area of your wings. "Brave," he murmurs, in Vosian, and it nearly makes coolant spring to your optics all over again.

There's a few instances in which you thrash so hard under the welder that Starscream has to hold you down, but you understand why Knockout decided to call Starscream in for wing repairs. Starscream murmuring to you in Vosian takes the raw edge of pain off, gently stroking the broad sections of your wings in between welds.

You're exhausted by the time he's finished, tremors jolting your frame even as the pain subsides. "All done," Starscream says, even if his vocaliser clips out for a nanoklik. "Now, was that so hard?"

Another garbled mess of static is all you can manage, but you determinedly extend your EM field to brush against his. Starscream stiffens before ex-venting deeply and allowing your fields to merge. "Recharge," He commands gently, tucking your frame against his, mindful of fresh welds. Exhaustion sweeping over you like a tidal wave, you're distantly aware of Starscream lightly stroking a thumb over the jagged scar on your nose. "'m sorry," You mumble into his chassis. "Hush," Starscream scolds. "What are you even sorry for?"

"Didn't do your lessons justice," You slur. "'m a waste of time." Starscream's arms tighten around you at that.

"Don't you dare call yourself a waste of time," He growls. "It's not your fault that some slagheads can't deal with their own incompetence. You're under my watch. That's all you, and the others, need to know."

"Mm," You mutter, burrowing closer to his warmth. "Yesssir."

Starscream ex-vents, but it's fond. He gently strokes his servo over your wings, soothing you enough to fall into recharge.

"Patience," He murmurs, more to himself than to you. "One day, they'll pay for what they've done."

Previous / Next

Edit: Now with more art!!!!!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Realistic Injuries (pt. 4)

The Mechanism of Injury

Assists in establishing both the safety of the scene and guides the remainder of the primary survey.

The seriousness of the mechanism of injury is a significant clue as to the potential seriousness of the patient's actual injuries, be they external or internal.

Relaying the mechanism of injury to downstream care providers early in the course of transport helps them be better prepared and have the necessary resources available for when they are treating the patient in the near future.

A patient with a severe mechanism of injury (MOI) warns providers that they may have a patient who requires many hands/tools/teams for treatment.

Getting those people alerted and organized is a great head start for the patient.

MOIs can be divided into 2 broad categories:

Significant Injuries. Some examples:

Ejection from a vehicle.

Prolonged extrication time.

Multi-system trauma.

Motor vehicle-pedestrian/biker accidents.

Motor vehicle accidents where any occupant of the vehicle was killed.

Any fall over 3 times the patient's height.

Insignificant Injuries. Some examples:

Fights or physical altercations without loss of consciousness.

Minor injuries to isolated body parts.

Car accidents without injury or symptoms of injury to any occupant.

The division between these groups is nothing more than the likelihood that a patient with a certain MOI will present with trauma requiring intensive care. Not all patients with an insignificant MOI are free from severe injuries and vice versa.

More Mechanisms of Injury Categories used to Classify Narratives

Caught accidentally in or between objects

Drowning

Electric currents

Explosive material

Exposure to radiation

Fall

Firearm

Overexertion

Poisoning

Suffocation

Head-on collision frequently results in the rider ejecting or partially ejecting over the handlebars. Common injuries include:

Head and neck injury if no helmet in place

Thoracoabdominal injury from handlebar impact (common in children)

“Open book” pelvic fracture—a splaying open (like a book) of the anterior and posterior pelvis from striking the handlebars

Bilateral femur fracture

Skin abrasions, lacerations

Injuries are decreased when a helmet is in place in proper position and if protective clothing is worn.

Gunshot wounds (GSW) are usually intentional (suicide, homicide) but can be unintentional (hunting, gun not in holster, gun cleaning).

Some mechanisms at work with gunshots include:

Yaw: vertical and horizontal oscillation about the axis of the bullet; can result in a larger surface area on impact with the body depending on the position of the bullet on the axis at time of impact.

Tumbling: rotation of the bullet upon impact resulting in some parts of the cavity larger than others as the bullet rotates along the path.

Rifling: spiraling grooves within the barrel of the weapon put spin on the bullet as it exits the barrel; provides stability in flight along the axis.

Hollow-point bullets: deform on impact causing a larger surface area to inflict damage.

Shotgun: multiple pellets within the cartridge; also possible to have one large projectile, such as a “pumpkin ball,” both air resistance and gravity spread the pellets over distance; closer shotgun wounds result in serious large wounds as the pellets remain clumped together.

The bullet does not usually travel in a straight path. This results in the need for exploration as multiple injuries can occur although the path appears to be in a straight line. Intentional injuries may require either psychiatric support (suicide attempts) or safety (homicide attempts).

Stabbings are also usually intentional (suicide, homicide) but can be unintentional, (eg, a slip on wet floor and landing on open dishwasher with knives pointing upward). A stabbing most often:

follows a direct path,

is low velocity resulting mostly in damage along the line of the path itself, and

are of varying depth.

The type of blade affects the wound inflicted, such as straight blade versus a serrated edge.

From a forensic medicine perspective, a stab is deeper than it is long and a cut is longer than deep.

A cut differs from a blunt laceration in that the edges are clean and the direction of the wound inflicted indicates the direction of the force.

Stabs to the chest and abdomen are particularly important to investigate as the angle of the penetration may indicate that the wound crosses both cavities injuring the diaphragm in between the two.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2 ⚜ Part 3 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[kenzdolls]

𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑

𖤐 synopsis: it’s tomura’s birthday! so what better way than to celebrate it with him?

𖤐 trigger warnings: fluff!

𖤐 pairing: shigaraki tomura x gender neutral! reader

The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you checked the time once more: 11:47 PM, April 3rd. In just thirteen minutes, it would officially be Shigaraki Tomura's birthday. You smiled to yourself, knowing he probably didn't expect anyone to remember—least of all you, considering how your relationship had begun.

Your mind drifted back to your first encounter with the League of Villains' leader. It wasn't exactly a meet-cute; more like a collision of worlds that neither of you had anticipated. Yet somehow, against all odds, a connection had formed between you—tentative at first, then undeniable as time went on.

Shigaraki was asleep in the next room. You had convinced him to let you stay over tonight with some flimsy excuse about apartment renovations, hiding your true intentions. The cake was hidden in the back of his refrigerator, a small vanilla affair with minimal decoration—anything too elaborate would have aroused his suspicion. The gift, wrapped in simple black paper, was tucked away in your overnight bag.

The minutes ticked by. 11:55 PM.

You slipped out of the guest room and padded quietly to the kitchen. The hideout was silent except for the occasional creak of the old building settling. You removed the cake from its hiding spot and placed a single candle in the center. No need for twenty-something candles; Shigaraki wouldn't appreciate the fire hazard anyway.

11:59 PM.

Heart pounding, you lit the candle and carefully made your way to his bedroom door. You balanced the cake in one hand and knocked softly with the other.

"What?" His voice came through the door, alert despite the hour. Of course he wasn't asleep. When did Shigaraki ever sleep properly?

"Can I come in?" you called softly.

A pause, then: "Fine."

You pushed open the door with your foot to find him sitting up in bed, the harsh light of a gaming console illuminating his face. His pale blue hair was messier than usual, falling haphazardly around his face. His red eyes widened slightly at the sight of you holding the cake.

"Happy birthday," you said, smiling as the digital clock on his nightstand clicked over to 12:00 AM.

He stared at you, then at the cake, his expression unreadable. "How did you know?"

You entered the room fully, setting the cake down on his desk. "I have my sources," you replied with a mysterious smile. In truth, you had overheard Kurogiri mentioning it to Dabi weeks ago and had been planning this moment ever since.

"You didn't have to do this," he muttered, but you noticed he didn't take his eyes off the cake.

"I wanted to." You sat on the edge of his bed. "Make a wish?"

Shigaraki scoffed, but he set aside his console and moved to the desk. "Wishes are for children."

"Humor me?"

He gave you a look that might have been intimidating to anyone else, but you'd grown accustomed to his attempts to appear disinterested. With an exaggerated sigh, he leaned forward and blew out the candle in one quick breath.

"What did you wish for?" you asked.

"If I tell you, it won't come true," he replied sarcastically, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Isn't that how the superstition goes?"

You laughed and retrieved your gift from your bag. "Here. It's not much, but..."

Shigaraki took the package with surprising gentleness. His fingers worked carefully at the wrapping paper, methodically removing it without tearing it—so different from his usual destructive tendencies. Inside was a custom controller for his favorite gaming system, matte black with hand-painted details that matched his aesthetic.

"I noticed your current one was getting worn out," you explained when he didn't immediately respond. "And I added some modifications that should improve the response time for those games you like."

He turned the controller over in his hands, examining it from every angle. "You made this?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling nervous. "Do you like it?"

Instead of answering, he set the controller down carefully and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Why do you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Care." The word seemed to cost him something to say. "About me. About my birthday. About any of this."

You moved closer to him, brave in the quiet darkness of the early morning. "Because you matter to me, Tomura. Because everyone deserves to be remembered on their birthday."

"Even villains?" There was a challenge in his voice, but also vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to hear.

"Especially you." You reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "The world might see Shigaraki Tomura, leader of the League of Villains. But I see you."

Something shifted in his expression then, the hardness momentarily giving way to something softer, more human. He squeezed your hand gently.

"Thank you," he said, the words coming out slightly stiff, as if he wasn't used to saying them—which he probably wasn't.

You smiled and reached for the cake. "Now, do you want to eat this, or should I have gone with the ice cream option instead?"

He gave you one of his rare, genuine half-smiles. "Cake is fine. But only because you went to the trouble."

As you cut slices for both of you, you caught him looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher—something between wonder and confusion, as if he couldn't quite believe you were really there, celebrating his birthday with him at midnight.

"What?" you asked, handing him a slice.

"Nothing," he said, taking the cake. Then, more quietly: "Just... no one's done this for me in a long time."

Your heart ached at the implication. How many birthdays had he spent alone? How many years had passed without anyone marking the occasion?

"Well," you said, keeping your tone light despite the emotion welling in your chest, "get used to it. I plan on celebrating many more birthdays with you."

His eyes met yours, searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, he nodded once, a barely perceptible movement.

"I might not hate that," he admitted, which from Shigaraki was practically a declaration of affection.

You ate cake together in comfortable silence, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the world continued to turn, heroes and villains alike sleeping through the first hours of April 4th, unaware of this quiet moment between you and the man society had deemed irredeemable.

But you knew better. Here, in this space you'd created together, he wasn't the villain from the news reports. He was just Tomura, eating birthday cake at midnight, occasionally glancing at you as if to reassure himself you were still there.

Later, as dawn approached and you both grew tired, you found yourself curled against his side, his arm tentatively around your shoulders as you watched him play with his new controller.

"Best birthday?" you asked sleepily.

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. Then, so softly you almost missed it:

"Yes."

And as you drifted off to sleep beside him, you knew that whatever tomorrow held—whatever plans the League had, whatever conflicts awaited—you had given Shigaraki Tomura this one perfect moment. A birthday to remember.

mutuals: @haikyuubby @https-bakugo @va-3 @kitkat13001 @lotusstarr @shigarakislaughter

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

[mikaylathenerd5]

The Code We Carry + Chapter 1

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Pairing: Isla Sage Navarro x AU Roman Reigns

Summary: What happens when one wild night crashes your carefully coded life?

Meet Isla Navarro, a brilliant Latina AI researcher at Georgia Tech, juggling groundbreaking algorithms, academic pressure, and the weight of being the first in her field. Her life is a high-stakes balancing act—until a steamy night with a stranger flips her world upside down. Enter Roman Reigns, former NFL star turned coach, whose intense eyes and guarded heart are as dangerous as his past.

One night. One secret. One life-changing collision.

When their paths cross again, Isla’s carrying more than her career dreams—she’s pregnant, and Roman’s the father. Now, with viral photos, nosy colleagues, and a high-profile project tying them together, they’re forced to navigate a minefield of attraction, ambition, and secrets. Will they crash and burn, or build something unbreakable?

Content Warning: This chapter contains references to pregnancy, alcohol consumption, sexual content, and workplace pressure/stress. There are also brief mentions of nausea/vomiting and social media scrutiny. Please take care if these topics are sensitive for you.

A/N: Hey loves! 🖤 I’m back with something new, and I’m honestly a little nervous to share it. Meet The Code We Carry, a story that’s been simmering in my heart for a couple of weeks—full of messy decisions, slow-burn heat, and a Latina AI researcher named Isla who’s about to have her world flipped by a guy named Roman. It’s got neon nights, high stakes, and all the feels I love pouring into my writing. If you’re here for fierce POC leads, STEM vibes, or drama that keeps you up past midnight, I hope this hits the spot.

Word Content: 8.6k

Have you ever felt like your life is one bad line of code, waiting to crash the whole system? That was me, Isla Navarro, at twenty-seven, hunched over my laptop in a caffeine-fueled haze, debugging my career and my heart. I should’ve stayed home that night—should’ve ignored Camila’s texts, her promises of neon lights and freedom. But the universe doesn’t care about your to-do list. It’s got a knack for rewriting your script when you’re not looking.

Three weeks ago, I was just a PhD candidate turned Georgia Tech’s youngest faculty hire, my life a tangle of algorithms and deadlines. My inbox was a warzone—grant proposals, seminar notes, emails from undergrads begging for extensions. I hadn’t slept properly in weeks, hadn’t felt alive in longer. But that night, one reckless decision—one collision—changed everything. If I hadn’t gone out, I wouldn’t have met him. If I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t be carrying a secret that could rewrite my future—or break it entirely.

They say chaos is a great teacher. Guess I’m about to get schooled.

The Atlanta skyline glittered beyond the glass walls of Club Eclipse, a constellation of light and shadow that pulsed with the city’s restless energy. Inside, the air was thick with heat and bass, a rhythm that sank into Isla Navarro’s bones, urging her to move, to feel, to forget. She stood at the bar, her fingers tracing the condensation on her mojito glass, the ice melting into a bittersweet pool. At 27, Isla was a force—an Afro-Latina PhD candidate turned faculty, her name whispered in academic circles for her innovative AI and cybersecurity research. But tonight, in this neon-lit chaos, she was just Isla, out of her depth, her emerald dress clinging to her warm brown skin, her curls loose and wild, bouncing with every subtle shift of her weight. The alcohol—her third drink, maybe fourth—softened the edges of her unease, making the world feel less like a puzzle to solve and more like a wave to ride.

Her cousin Camila had orchestrated this night with the precision of a general, her energy as relentless as the Miami sun they’d both grown up under. Hours earlier, in their cramped Atlanta apartment, Camila had tossed the emerald dress at Isla, her grin wide and unyielding. “You’re a genius, prima, but you’re not a machine,” she’d said, hands on her hips, her gold hoop earrings glinting. “We grew up dancing at Tía’s parties, shaking it till the neighbors complained. You’re 27, not 87—let’s bring that Isla back.” Isla had protested, her voice sharp with excuses—her dissertation revisions, her undergrad mentees, the algorithm she was debugging for early injury detection. But Camila, her cousin and fiercest ally, had laughed, tossing her braids. “You’re coming, Isla, or I’m dragging you, like that time we snuck into Abuela’s quinceañera stash.” Isla had sighed, the memory of their teenage mischief softening her resolve. Resistance was futile with Camila, who’d been her shadow since they were kids in Miami, two peas in a Cuban pod.

Now, here she was, surrounded by strangers, the music a siren call she didn’t know how to answer. Camila was on the dance floor, her laughter cutting through the noise like a blade. She spun with a guy whose name Isla hadn’t caught, her red dress a blur of motion, her joy infectious. Isla sipped her mojito, the mint sharp against her tongue, and let her eyes wander. The crowd was a kaleidoscope of bodies, swaying to a Bad Bunny remix that made her smile. This is home, she thought, her hips twitching to the reggaeton beat, even if I’m lost in it. She caught herself, her practical side whispering, Not tonight, Isla. You’re here for Camila, not to lose control. But the rhythm had other plans, pulling at the edges of her restraint.

She leaned against the bar, the cool metal grounding her, and scanned the room. The air was heavy with perfume and sweat, the neon lights painting the crowd in electric hues—pink, blue, green. A group of women laughed nearby, their heels clicking against the floor. A couple swayed too close to the bar, their hands tangled in each other’s clothes. Isla’s gaze drifted, aimless, until it landed on him.

He stood near a VIP booth, a pillar of quiet strength amid the chaos. Broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his black shirt, the sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with muscle. His dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face, and his presence seemed to bend the room’s gravity, drawing eyes without effort. He was talking to a group of guys, his laugh low and rich, like thunder rolling in the distance. One of them clapped his shoulder, grinning. “Man, you’ve been through worse than a bad season, Roman,” the friend said, his voice carrying over the music, laced with respect. “Dodging linebackers, dodging drama—same thing, right?”

Roman smirked, his eyes crinkling, but there was a shadow in his expression, a guarded edge that flickered and vanished. “Old habits,” he replied, his voice deep and warm, a sound that settled into Isla’s chest like a stone. “Some fights you don’t walk away from clean.” The words were light, but his tone carried weight, a hint of battles fought off the field, scars hidden beneath his easy charm.

Then his gaze flicked up, meeting hers across the sea of bodies. The world tilted. His eyes, dark and piercing, held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. They were the kind of eyes that saw too much, that stripped away pretense without trying. He raised his glass, a subtle nod, his lips curving into a half-smile that promised trouble—delicious, dangerous trouble. Isla’s pulse quickened, a drumbeat she couldn’t silence. She wasn’t the type to flirt with strangers—her life was code, data, control—but the alcohol sang in her veins, loosening the walls she’d built since she was a girl in Miami, carrying her parents’ dreams.

She tilted her head, returning the nod, her own smile tentative but real. Qué locura, she thought, her heart racing. The connection lingered, electric, a wire sparking between them. His friends pulled him back into conversation, but his eyes flicked to her again, a second glance that felt like a question. Isla turned to the bar, her fingers tightening around her glass, her breath uneven. She downed the rest of her mojito, the burn grounding her, and signaled the bartender.

“Another?” he asked, already reaching for the rum.

She hesitated, her practical side screaming to slow down, to leave. But the music, the heat, the memory of his smile—they drowned it out. “Make it quick,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The night unraveled like a dream she couldn’t pin down, each moment vivid but fleeting, like code running too fast to debug. Camila reappeared, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her skin glowing with sweat. “You’re not hiding at the bar all night, prima,” she declared, grabbing Isla’s hand. “Dance with me, like we did at Tía’s block parties!” Isla laughed, the sound foreign to her own ears, and let Camila pull her to the dance floor.

The music swallowed them, a reggaeton beat that had Isla’s hips swaying, her body remembering the rhythms of their childhood—salsa lessons in their abuela’s living room, merengue at Miami block parties. She closed her eyes, letting the bass guide her, her curls bouncing as she moved. Camila spun her, shouting, “There’s my girl!” and Isla grinned, the alcohol and music stripping away her usual restraint. She felt alive, untethered, the weight of her research, her deadlines, her responsibilities dissolving in the heat of the crowd. For once, she wasn’t the prodigy, the mentor, the daughter carrying a legacy. She was just Isla, free.

She opened her eyes, and he was there. Close. His scent—sandalwood and cedar, with a hint of smoke—cut through the haze of perfume and liquor. He stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching her, his presence a physical weight. The crowd seemed to part for him, his broad frame cutting a path as he approached. “Dance with me,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine, barely audible over the music but clear as a bell in her mind.

She didn’t ask his name, didn’t think. Her body answered before her mind could catch up, a nod that felt like surrender. He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist, firm but not possessive, guiding her into the rhythm. She pressed against him, her hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her palms. His body was solid, warm, a contrast to the chaos around them. Dios mío, she thought, what am I doing? But she didn’t pull away.

“Roman,” he said, leaning in, his breath grazing her ear. The name was a promise, a key unlocking something she hadn’t known was locked.

“Isla,” she replied, her voice soft, almost lost in the music. His lips curved, and she felt it against her skin, a smile that made her heart stutter.

They danced, bodies locked in a conversation words couldn’t touch. His hands traced the curve of her hip, her spine, each touch electric, sparking heat that pooled low in her belly. She tilted her head back, meeting his gaze, and found his eyes dark with want, but also something softer—curiosity, maybe, or recognition. The world shrank to the heat between them, the pulse of the music, the way his fingers tightened slightly when she pressed closer. She wasn’t drunk, not entirely, but she was intoxicated by him, by the freedom of this moment.

“You dance like you mean it,” he said, his voice teasing but his eyes serious, as if he saw more than she wanted him to.

“Only when the music’s right,” she shot back, emboldened, her smile playful. “You’re not bad yourself.”

He laughed, a sound that vibrated through her, and spun her gently, pulling her back against him. “I’ve had practice,” he said, his lips brushing her ear. “Years on the field, reading moves, staying one step ahead. But you—you’re making it easy.”

The hint of his past—on the field—caught her, a glimpse of a life shaped by discipline and pressure. “Sounds like a story,” she said, her voice light but curious, testing the waters.

His smile tightened, just for a moment, a shadow crossing his face. “One I don’t tell on dance floors,” he said, but his tone was warm, deflecting without shutting her out. “Tonight’s about you, Isla.”

The words sent a thrill through her, his focus a spotlight she hadn’t expected. They talked—about the music, the city, the way Atlanta never slept—but it was surface, a veneer over the real conversation happening in their touches, their glances. When he suggested shots, she laughed, reckless, and followed him to the bar, her hand in his, his thumb brushing her knuckles.

At the bar, he ordered tequila, his eyes never leaving hers. “To new beginnings,” he said, raising his shot, his voice low, like he meant more than the night, a man chasing something beyond the moment.

She clinked her glass against his, her heart pounding. “To forgetting tomorrow,” she replied, and they drank, the burn searing her throat, his laugh searing her deeper. “You’re trouble,” he said, his voice teasing, but his gaze said he meant it, his hand brushing hers as he passed her another shot.

“Me?” She arched a brow, the alcohol making her bold. “You’re the one buying shots for strangers.”

“Not a stranger anymore,” he countered, his fingers lingering on hers, the touch a spark that set her alight. “Isla,” he added, her name a caress, and she shivered, caught in the pull of him.

The cab ride was a fever of anticipation, neon lights blurring outside as their hands roamed. Roman’s fingers gripped her thigh, his touch firm and possessive, sending heat coursing through her. Isla’s nails grazed his neck, drawing a low growl from him, his eyes dark with hunger. “You’re playing with fire, Isla,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a warning that thrilled her.

“Good thing I like the burn,” she shot back, her voice husky, her lips grazing his jaw, tasting salt and desire. His hand tightened, pulling her closer, and she laughed, the sound swallowed by the city’s hum. In the backseat, their bodies pressed close, her hand sliding up his chest, feeling the hard lines beneath his shirt, his breath hitching as she teased the edge of his collar. “Careful,” he whispered, his voice rough, his hand catching hers, pinning it against his chest. “You’re testing me.”

“Test passed?” she teased, her lips brushing his earlobe, her boldness fueled by tequila and desire.

“Not yet,” he growled, his free hand sliding to her lower back, pulling her flush against him, the heat of his body igniting hers. The cab stopped, and they stumbled out, the night air cool against their flushed skin, their hands still tangled, their laughter breathless.

The hotel was sleek, impersonal, a glass-and-steel tower that promised anonymity. They stumbled through the lobby, her heels clicking against marble, his arm around her waist, steadying her. In the elevator, the air crackled, their reflections in the mirrored walls showing two people teetering on the edge. Roman pressed her against the wall, his hands framing her face, his lips hovering over hers. “Last chance to walk away,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes searching, a man who knew the cost of reckless nights.

“Don’t want to,” she whispered, her hands gripping his shirt, pulling him down. Their kiss was a spark, igniting the space between them, her body arching into his, his groan vibrating through her. His hands slid down, cupping her hips, lifting her slightly so her legs brushed his, the friction electric. She tugged his hair, loosening more strands, her fingers tangling in the dark waves, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers, a promise of what was coming. The ding of the elevator broke them apart, their breaths ragged, their eyes locked.

In the hallway, they were a tangle of hands and heat, Roman’s lips on her neck, her nails scraping his back through his shirt. He fumbled with the keycard, cursing softly, and she laughed, stealing it from him, her fingers brushing his as she unlocked the door. “Slow, huh?” she teased, her voice playful, her eyes daring him to prove her wrong.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he growled, his smirk predatory, and he pulled her inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

The hotel room was a cocoon of dim light and city hum, the curtains half-drawn, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The door clicked shut, and the world fell away, leaving only the heat between them, a wildfire ready to consume. Roman’s hands were on her before she could catch her breath, pulling her against him with a hunger that set her alight. His lips crashed into hers, urgent and demanding, tasting of tequila and raw desire, a kiss that devoured her senses, deep and unyielding, like he was claiming every inch of her soul. Isla melted into it, her fingers tangling in his hair, yanking the tie free until dark strands spilled over her hands, soft and heavy, a contrast to the hard planes of his body. He groaned, the sound low and primal, vibrating through her, and lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist, the emerald dress riding up her thighs, baring her skin to his touch.

He pressed her against the wall, the cool plaster a shock against her back, his body a furnace pinning her in place, his hips grinding against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her gasp. His lips broke from hers, trailing fire down her jaw, her neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against her skin, leaving a trail of heat that pulsed low in her belly. “You’re driving me fucking crazy, Isla,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping her hips, fingers digging in just enough to make her arch into him, her nails raking his shoulders, urging him closer. Dios mío, let me burn, she thought, drunk on him, on the night, on the freedom of this reckless surrender.

“Keep up, then,” she challenged, her voice husky, her lips curving into a defiant smirk as she tugged at his shirt, buttons straining, her fingers itching for skin. His eyes darkened, a predator’s gleam, and he set her down, only to yank his shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing a chest sculpted from years of discipline, scars and tattoos telling stories of battles won and lost. A jagged scar curved along his ribs, a testament to pain survived, and a Samoan tribal tattoo sprawled across his shoulder, its bold lines flowing like a river, drawing her gaze. She traced it with her fingertips, her touch light but deliberate, and he shivered, his breath hitching, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his intensity.

“Old wounds,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, a confession that hung between them, raw and unguarded, a glimpse of a man who’d fought and lost and fought again.

“Beautiful ones,” she replied, her voice steady, her eyes locking on his, and his smile was small, guarded, but real, a crack in his armor that made her heart ache for a man she’d never truly know.

Her dress was next, his hands deft and sure, peeling the emerald fabric from her body until it pooled at her feet, leaving her in black lace that made his eyes flare with hunger. His gaze raked over her, dark and reverent, taking in every curve, every inch of her warm brown skin, the shadows playing across her body like a canvas. “Goddamn, Isla,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, almost a prayer, and she laughed, the sound turning to a moan as he pulled her close, his lips claiming her collarbone, her throat, his teeth grazing just enough to spark heat that pooled between her thighs.

“You’re all talk,” she teased, her voice a dare, her nails grazing his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoo, drawing a hiss from him that made her smirk. He grinned, wicked and wild, and lifted her again, carrying her to the bed, the mattress creaking under their weight as he laid her down, his body hovering over hers, a storm ready to break. But he didn’t rush, his lips finding hers in a slower kiss, teasing, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, coaxing her open, savoring her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She moaned, her hands roaming his back, feeling the flex of muscle, the heat of his skin slick with sweat, her curls brushing his shoulders as she arched into him. He pulled back, his eyes locked on hers, and slid a hand down her thigh, hooking her leg over his hip, his fingers teasing the edge of her lace, maddeningly light, drawing a whimper from her. “You want this?” he murmured, his voice rough, his touch a deliberate torture, a man who knew how to play her body like a game he’d already won.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hips arching, her body begging for more, her hands tugging at his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan. “Don’t make me wait, Roman.” Her words were a dare, and his laugh was low, dangerous, as he stripped the lace away, his hands sure and unyielding, tossing it aside like it offended him.

He kissed her again, deep and consuming, his lips trailing down her neck, her chest, pausing to tease her breasts with slow, deliberate licks, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, making her gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured, his voice a rumble against her skin, his hands cupping her, thumbs circling until she was writhing, her breath hitching. She clutched his hair, pulling him closer, her moans soft and desperate, her body trembling under his touch, the anticipation a sweet ache.

His lips moved lower, kissing a path down her stomach, his stubble scraping as he lingered, his breath hot against her core. “Let’s see how much you can handle,” he teased, his voice a challenge, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, a smirk playing on his lips. She laughed, breathless, her hands fisting the sheets, but the sound turned to a moan as his tongue found her, teasing, exploring, each stroke deliberate, drawing sounds she couldn’t stifle. The room spun, the dim lights casting shadows on their bodies, the city’s hum a faint echo against the creak of the bedframe, the slickness of their sweat, the rhythm of her ragged breaths.

He didn’t rush, his hands gripping her thighs, holding her open, his tongue relentless, pushing her closer to the edge with every flick, every swirl. “Roman,” she gasped, his name a plea, her hips bucking, her body trembling, and he groaned, the vibration sending shivers through her, as if her voice alone could undo him. She reached down, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard, and he growled, the sound raw, his pace intensifying until she was teetering, her moans louder, unfiltered, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth, the fire building inside her.

Just when she thought she’d break, he pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes wild, and she whimpered, her body aching for release. “Not yet,” he said, his voice rough, his smirk infuriating and intoxicating, and he rose, shedding his pants, his body a masterpiece of strength and scars, his arousal evident, making her pulse race. She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around him, stroking slowly, drawing a hiss from him, his head tipping back, his control fraying. “Fuck, Isla,” he muttered, his voice strained, his hands gripping her hips, steadying himself.

“You’re all talk,” she taunted, her voice playful, her eyes daring him, and he laughed, a sound that was half-growl, half-surrender, as he pulled her hand away, pinning both her wrists above her head with one hand, his grip firm but not cruel. “Let’s see you handle this,” he countered, his lips brushing hers, his free hand guiding himself, teasing her entrance, drawing a moan from her that echoed in the quiet room.

He entered her slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of her expression, the stretch and heat overwhelming, her breath catching. She arched, her legs wrapping around him, urging him deeper, her nails digging into his hand, leaving marks he’d feel tomorrow. He moved, powerful and precise, each thrust a rhythm that matched the fire in her veins, the bedframe creaking in protest, the shadows shifting across his tattooed shoulder. “You feel so good,” he growled, his voice rough, his lips brushing her ear, murmuring her name like a mantra, “Isla, fuck, Isla,” the sound sending shivers through her.

She tugged a hand free, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard, drawing a growl from him that made her smirk, the power shifting, their bodies a dance of give and take. “Harder,” she whispered, her voice a challenge, her hips meeting his, and he obliged, his pace quickening, his grip on her hip tightening, his fingers leaving faint bruises she’d trace later. She kissed him, hard and messy, her teeth grazing his lip, tasting salt and desire, her moans swallowed by his, the intensity building, a wildfire neither could control.

He shifted, rolling them so she was on top, his hands gripping her hips, guiding but not controlling, letting her set the pace. She moved, slow at first, then faster, her curls bouncing, her skin slick with sweat, her eyes locked on his, the intensity of his gaze pushing her closer to the edge. “Look at you,” he said, his voice rough, his hands roaming her back, her thighs, one thumb finding her core, circling until she gasped, her rhythm faltering, her body trembling. She leaned down, kissing him hard, her nails scraping his chest, leaving faint red lines, the power hers for a moment, his groans spurring her on.

But Roman wasn’t one to yield for long. He sat up, pulling her flush against him, his hands gripping her ass, guiding her movements, his lips claiming her neck, her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin, marking her in ways that felt primal. “You’re something else, Isla,” he murmured, his voice heavy with want, his eyes locking on hers, and for a moment, she felt seen—not the PhD, not the mentor, just her, raw and real, a woman unraveling under his gaze. The vulnerability shook her, a crack in her armor, but she pushed it aside, chasing the heat, the now, the man who’d set her alight.

She pushed him back, straddling him, her hands on his chest, her movements deliberate, drawing moans from him that matched her own, the bed creaking louder, the room a haze of heat and shadows. “You’re not bad yourself,” she teased, her voice breathless, her smirk defiant, and he laughed, the sound turning to a groan as she tightened around him, her body responding to every thrust, every touch.

He flipped them again, pinning her beneath him, his weight grounding her, his hands framing her face, his thrusts deeper, harder, pushing her closer to the edge. “Come for me, Isla,” he whispered, his voice a command and a plea, his thumb circling her core again, relentless, his lips brushing hers, their breaths mingling. She shattered, her moans loud and unfiltered, her body trembling, her nails digging into his back, the world dissolving into heat and light and him. He followed, his groan raw, his grip tightening, his body shuddering against hers, their release a shared wildfire that burned through them both.

When they collapsed, breathless and spent, the air was heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, their bodies tangled, hearts pounding. He pulled her against him, his arm heavy across her waist, his chest rising and falling against her back, his breath warm against her neck. “You’re something else,” he murmured, half-asleep, his voice warm with amusement, but there was a softness there, a hint of a man who didn’t let many people close. She smiled, her heart twisting, savoring his warmth but pulling back mentally. “Just for tonight,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, the fleeting nature of the night settling in, a spark that would burn out by morning. This burns bright, but it’s gone by dawn, she thought, the truth a quiet ache in her chest. She drifted off, the alcohol and exhaustion pulling her under, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that lulled her to sleep.

She woke to sunlight slicing through the curtains, her head pounding, her mouth dry as sandpaper. The bed was empty, the sheets cold, the space beside her a void that echoed in her chest. No note, no trace of him beyond the ache in her muscles, the faint bruises on her hips, and the lingering scent of sandalwood on the pillow. Her dress lay crumpled on the floor, a silent accusation, its emerald fabric stark against the beige carpet. She sat up, her head spinning, and pieced together fragments of the night—his voice, his touch, the way she’d let go. Roman. The name was all she had, a ghost of a man she’d never see again.

Shame crept in, sharp and unwelcome, a blade slicing through her haze. She wasn’t this person, the one who hooked up with strangers and woke up alone. She was Isla Navarro, cybersecurity innovator, mentor to undergrads, the daughter her parents had pinned their dreams on. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, firm and unyielding: “Never let anything derail you, mija. You’re our future.” This night, this mistake, was a glitch, a bug in her carefully coded life. She’d delete it from her memory and move on.

She dressed quickly, her fingers fumbling with the zipper, her reflection in the hotel mirror showing a woman she barely recognized—curls tangled, eyes shadowed, lips still swollen from his kisses. She called an Uber, ignoring the driver’s curious glance, and spent the ride home staring out the window, the Atlanta skyline blurring into streaks of light and steel. Her apartment was a sanctuary, small but hers, filled with books, plants, and the faint scent of the café con leche she brewed every morning. She showered, the hot water washing away the night, and collapsed into her bed, the familiar creak of the mattress grounding her. By the time she woke again, Roman was a ghost, a name she’d never hear again, buried deep where it couldn’t touch her.

Weeks later, Isla stood in her kitchen, the scent of sazón and garlic lingering from the arroz con pollo she’d cooked the night before, a recipe from her abuela that always calmed her. She was trying to focus, her laptop open to a half-finished paper, but her body had other plans. Nausea had plagued her for days, a nagging discomfort she’d blamed on stress—her seminar was looming, her mentees needed her, her tenure track demanded perfection. But this morning, she couldn’t keep breakfast down, the toast and café con leche rebelling in her stomach.

She sat on the bathroom floor, the tile cold against her legs, staring at the pregnancy test in her hand. Two lines. Her breath caught, her vision narrowing to those stark blue marks. No. No puede ser. She’d bought the test on a whim, a precaution, but the reality hit like a tidal wave. She was 27, her career on the cusp of greatness—her AI research was turning heads, her mentorship program lifting underrepresented students. A baby wasn’t in the plan. Neither was a father she barely remembered, a man whose face was a blur of tequila and desire.

She clutched the test, her hands trembling, and leaned her head back against the wall. Dios mío, what have I done? Her parents’ faces flashed in her mind, their pride and sacrifice a weight she’d carried since childhood. Her mother, a nurse who’d worked double shifts, had always said, “You’re our future, Isla. Don’t let anything stop you.” Her father, a mechanic with calloused hands, had saved every penny for her education, his quiet pride a constant pressure. A baby, now, felt like a betrayal of their dreams, of the girl who’d promised to make them proud.

For days, she carried the secret like a stone, her routine a fragile shield. She went to work, coded algorithms, met with mentees, but the test haunted her, hidden in a drawer under papers. One night, alone in her apartment, she sat at her desk, a journal open, her pen hovering. Te siento, pequeño, she wrote in Spanish, pero no estoy lista. I don’t know how to be your mother, not when I’m still building me. The words blurred, her tears smudging the ink, and she closed the journal, her heart heavy with guilt and a strange, growing attachment.

She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over a contact labeled “Unknown,” a number she vaguely remembered Roman giving her at the bar, scribbled on a napkin she’d kept for reasons she couldn’t name. She drafted a message: I need to talk. It’s important. Her finger lingered on send, her mind racing. He deserves to know, she thought, but what if he ruins everything? What if he’s not the man I felt that night? Fear won, and she deleted the message, her breath shaky, her secrecy a painful choice she wasn’t ready to unravel.

She told no one, not even Camila, who’d see through her in a heartbeat. She needed time to think, to debug this variable that didn’t fit. She hid the test deeper, buried under papers, and threw herself into work, her research a lifeline. Her latest project, using AI to detect early player injuries for the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets, was her focus. She coded algorithms that analyzed biomechanics, predicting micro-injuries before they became career-enders. It was groundbreaking, a chance to save athletes and secure her tenure. Her undergrad mentees thrived under her guidance, their enthusiasm a reminder of why she loved this work.

One of them, Maya, a shy freshman with a knack for coding, stopped by her office one afternoon, her eyes bright. “Dr. Navarro, I got into the research program because of you,” she said, clutching a notebook. “You make me believe I can do this, even when I feel out of place.” Isla smiled, her heart twisting. Maya was like her younger self—brown skin, big dreams, the weight of being “the first” in her family. Can I still be that for her? she thought, her hand brushing her stomach, where the secret lay.

Camila, relentless as ever, noticed the change. They met for coffee at a campus café, the air thick with the scent of espresso and cinnamon. Camila leaned across the table, her eyes narrowing, her gold hoop earrings catching the light. “You’re off, prima,” she said, her voice soft but firm, her Miami accent thick with concern. “Pale, quiet, like you’re carrying the world. Tía would kill us both if you burn out like this. What’s up?”

Isla stirred her latte, the foam swirling in patterns she couldn’t read. “Just stress,” she said, avoiding her gaze. “The seminar’s coming up, and the project’s intense.”

“Bullshit,” Camila said, her voice sharp with love, her hand reaching for Isla’s. “You’ve handled worse. Deadlines, grants, teaching—you eat stress for breakfast. This is different. Is it a guy? That night at the club I dragged you to?”

Isla’s heart skipped, the memory of Roman’s hands flashing unbidden. She shook her head, her curls bouncing. “No guy. Just work.”

Camila leaned back, crossing her arms, her red nails tapping the table. “You’re a terrible liar, Isla. I’m your cousin—I know you better than anyone. Something’s eating you, and I’m not letting it go.” She softened, her eyes searching. “You don’t have to do this alone, prima. We’re family.”

Isla squeezed her hand, grateful but guarded. “I’m fine, Camila. Promise.” But her voice cracked, and Camila’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced.

That night, Camila’s texts lit up Isla’s phone: You’re pregnant, aren’t you? I see it in your face, prima. Who’s the guy? Isla stared at the screen, her thumb hovering, then typed, I’m fine. Drop it. But the next day, Camila called, her voice gentle but insistent. “Isla, you can’t code your way out of this. If you’re pregnant, you need to deal with it. You know how our family is—secrets don’t last. Who’s the father?”

Isla sat on her couch, the TV muted, a plate of uneaten tostones on the coffee table. “I don’t know him,” she lied, her voice barely a whisper. “It was a mistake.”

Camila sighed, the sound heavy with love. “A mistake doesn’t mean you’re alone, prima. Tell me when you’re ready, okay? I’m here, always.” Isla nodded, though Camila couldn’t see, and hung up, her secret a weight she carried alone, Roman’s name a locked file she couldn’t open.

The seminar was days away, and Isla threw herself into preparation, her office a chaos of papers, coffee cups, and code. She stood at her desk, staring at a framed photo of her parents, taken at her college graduation. Her mother’s smile was proud, her father’s eyes soft with tears. They gave everything for me, she thought, her hand brushing her stomach, where the life inside her stirred. She hadn’t decided what to do—adoption, motherhood, something else—but the choice felt like a cliff she wasn’t ready to jump from.

She practiced her presentation in front of a mirror, her voice steady but her reflection haunted. Nausea came in waves, and she kept ginger ale and crackers in her bag, a silent concession to her condition. She imagined the seminar, the room packed with faculty, students, and athletic staff, her AI project the star. It was her chance to shine, to prove she was more than a glitch, more than a mistake.

The morning of the seminar, she stood in her apartment, smoothing her navy blazer, her curls pulled into a sleek bun. She looked professional, composed, but her hands trembled as she zipped her bag. You’ve got this, she told herself, but the flutter in her stomach wasn’t just nerves. She drove to campus, the Atlanta skyline a blur, and parked near the lecture hall, her heart pounding as she walked inside.

The room was packed, a sea of faces—faculty in suits, students with laptops, athletic staff in Yellow Jackets gear. Isla stood at the podium, her slides a masterpiece of data and innovation, her laptop humming softly. She began, her voice clear, her passion for her work shining through. She explained how her AI models analyzed player biomechanics, detecting micro-injuries before they became career-enders. The Yellow Jackets were her testing ground, and the athletic department was watching closely, their interest a validation of her vision. She was in her element, the room hanging on her words, her confidence a shield against the nausea that lingered.

She clicked to a slide showing real-time data, her voice steady. “By integrating kinematic analysis with machine learning, we can predict injuries with 92% accuracy, giving trainers a head start on intervention.” The audience murmured, impressed, and she allowed herself a small smile, her nerves easing. She was halfway through, reaching for a sip of water, when she saw him.

In the back row, arms crossed, his broad frame impossible to miss. Dark hair in a bun, dark eyes locked on her. Roman. The name slammed into her, a tidal wave crashing her mental processes. Fragments of that night flooded back—his voice, low and teasing; his hands, warm and sure; the hotel room, a blur of heat and surrender. Her hand shook, the water glass clinking against the podium, the sound sharp in the quiet room. She forced her eyes to her slides, but her pulse was a drumbeat, wild and unyielding, drowning out her carefully coded calm.

What was he doing here? He wasn’t faculty, wasn’t a student. Her mind raced, piecing together fragments. The athletic department. Her project was tied to the football team, and she’d heard whispers of a new defensive coordinator, a former NFL player with a reputation for intensity and innovation. Roman Reigns. It had to be him.

Her stomach twisted, not just from nausea but from the impossible truth. He was the father of her unborn child. A man she’d tried to erase, a one-night stand she’d buried under layers of denial. And now he was here, watching her present her life’s work, oblivious to the secret binding them. His gaze was steady, analytical, but there was something else—a flicker of curiosity, maybe recognition, that made her heart stutter.

She gripped the podium, her knuckles whitening, and continued, her voice steady despite the chaos in her head. “Our next phase involves real-time integration with wearable tech,” she said, clicking to a graph, her words automatic, honed by weeks of practice. The audience nodded, scribbling notes, but she barely saw them. Roman’s presence was a weight, a variable she couldn’t control.

The presentation ended, and the applause was thunderous, a validation of her brilliance that barely registered. She smiled, thanked the audience, and opened the floor for questions, her movements mechanical. A professor asked about data privacy, and she answered sharply, her expertise a lifeline. A student questioned scalability, and she fielded it with ease, her voice calm, her mind screaming. Then Roman raised his hand, his voice cutting through the room like a blade, low and deliberate.

“Dr. Navarro, your model’s impressive,” he said, his tone professional but his eyes searching, lingering on her in a way that felt personal. “I’ve seen injuries end careers—my own included. How would your system adapt to defensive strategies, where reaction times are split-second and physicality’s unpredictable?”

The question was incisive, strategic, a glimpse of the mind behind the man she’d met that night. His words—my own included—hit her, a hint of a past marked by loss, his fist clenching slightly on the armrest, a tell he didn’t mean to show. She gripped the podium, a wave of nausea hitting, and swallowed hard, her ginger ale long gone. A flashback seized her—his lips on hers, his voice whispering her name, the hotel room’s dim light—and she blinked it away, her heart racing. He can’t know, she thought, but what if he finds out?

“We’d integrate real-time kinematic data, adjusting for positional demands,” she said, her voice steady, her eyes meeting his briefly, then darting away. “It’s about predictive precision, not just detection, tailored to each player’s role.” He nodded, a flicker of respect in his gaze, and she hated how it warmed her, how it reminded her of his laugh at the bar.

Another question came, then another, and she answered on autopilot, her brilliance carrying her through. But Roman’s presence was a current, pulling at her focus, his gaze never wavering. When the session ended, she gathered her notes, her hands trembling, avoiding the back of the room. She needed to escape, to process this alone, to rebuild the walls he’d shattered just by being here.

But as she stepped off the stage, he approached, his presence a physical weight, his footsteps steady against the hardwood floor. “Dr. Navarro,” he said, holding out a business card, his voice smooth but edged with something she couldn’t place—curiosity, maybe, or challenge. “I’m Roman Reigns, defensive coordinator. Your work’s going to change the game. We’ll be collaborating.”

His fingers brushed hers as she took the card, and the touch was a spark, triggering a memory of his hands on her skin, his lips against her neck. Her breath caught, her eyes flicking to his, searching for recognition. But his face was professional, his smile polite, though his gaze lingered, studying her like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He doesn’t remember, she realized, and the relief was laced with a strange ache, a loss she hadn’t expected.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm within, the lie bitter on her tongue. “I look forward to it.”

He studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if sensing the crack in her facade. “I’m here to rebuild,” he said, his voice low, almost confiding. “Not just the team, but myself. Your tech’s a start, but I’m betting you’ve got more to offer.” The words were professional, but the way he said them, the weight of his gaze, felt personal, like he saw more than she wanted him to.

She nodded, clutching the card, its edges sharp against her palm. “We’ll make it work,” she said, forcing a smile, and turned away, her heart pounding as she slipped through the crowd, their murmurs fading behind her. She made it to the hallway, the campus quiet around her, and leaned against the wall, her breath shallow, her mind racing.

Roman Reigns. Defensive coordinator. Former NFL star. A man whose intensity on the field was matched only by the quiet strength she’d felt in his arms that night. And now, the father of her child—a child she hadn’t planned for, a variable she couldn’t control. She pressed a hand to her stomach, the flutter beneath her skin grounding her, a reminder of the truth she carried alone. What do I do now? she thought, her eyes stinging, her resolve fraying.

Days later, the follow-up meeting loomed like a storm cloud, its weight pressing on Isla’s shoulders. She stood in her office, the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, casting stripes across her desk. Her laptop was open, her demo ready, but her mind was elsewhere. She stared at a framed photo of her parents, taken at her college graduation, their smiles proud, their eyes soft with hope. They gave everything for me, she thought, her hand brushing her stomach, where the life inside her stirred. She hadn’t decided what to do—adoption, motherhood, something else—but the choice felt like a cliff she wasn’t ready to jump from.

She’d been avoiding Camila, whose texts had grown more insistent: You’re pregnant, aren’t you, prima? I see it in your face. Who’s the guy? You can’t keep this from me forever. Two nights ago, Isla had caved, calling Camila from her couch, the TV muted, a plate of uneaten tostones on the coffee table. “I’m pregnant,” she’d admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the words heavy with shame. “It was a one-night thing. I don’t know him.”

Camila’s silence had been loud, her voice gentle when she finally spoke. “A mistake doesn’t mean you’re alone, Isla. You know how our family is—secrets don’t last, not with Tía and Tío watching us like hawks. You don’t have to know him to figure this out. But you need to tell him, whoever he is. And you need to tell me when you’re ready. I’m here, prima, always.” Isla had nodded, though Camila couldn’t see, and hung up, her secret a weight she carried alone, Roman’s name a locked file she couldn’t open.

The meeting was in a conference room, the air thick with the scent of coffee and ambition. Isla arrived early, setting up her laptop at the head of the table, her demo ready to show how her AI integrated with player scans, her slides polished to perfection. The room filled with athletic staff—trainers, analysts, a team doctor—their notebooks open, their questions already forming. Roman entered last, his presence a physical weight, his black polo stretched across his chest, his hair in that neat bun that haunted her dreams. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on her, and with a subtle nod, he took the seat beside her, his choice deliberate, professional, yet sending her pulse into overdrive.

“Dr. Navarro,” he said, his voice low, his tone warm but formal as he settled in, his arm brushing hers briefly as he adjusted his chair. “Looking forward to seeing this in action.” The faint scent of sandalwood and cedar hit her, a visceral reminder of that night, and her breath caught, her hands tightening on her laptop. He’s too close, she thought, her mind flashing to his hands on her skin, his lips against her neck, the hotel room’s dim light. She forced a smile, nodding, her voice steady despite the storm within. “It’ll deliver,” she said, focusing on her screen, but his proximity was a current, pulling at her focus, his warmth a distraction she couldn’t afford.

The meeting began, and Isla launched into her demo, her slides showcasing real-time data, her voice clear and confident. She explained how her algorithms analyzed biomechanics, predicting micro-injuries with 92% accuracy, tailored to the Yellow Jackets’ needs. The staff leaned forward, their pens scratching, their murmurs approving. Roman sat close, his elbow inches from hers, his notebook open, his pen tapping softly, his questions ready. His presence was a weight, his gaze steady but piercing, studying her as much as her work, and she fought to keep her focus, her nausea simmering, a reminder of the life inside her.

“How scalable is this for real-time game data?” Roman asked, leaning in slightly, his voice a low rumble that echoed their night together, his arm brushing hers again, the contact unintentional but electric. “Defensive players move unpredictably. Can your model keep up? I’m here to protect my players, not just win games.” His words carried weight, a hint of a man driven by past failures, his gaze steady but shadowed, his pen pausing as he waited for her answer.

She swallowed, her throat dry, her mind racing. “It’s built for dynamic environments,” she said, clicking to a slide showing real-time data, her voice steady despite the heat of his proximity. “We use adaptive algorithms to adjust for positional demands, ensuring accuracy even in high-intensity scenarios.” He nodded, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile, and she hated how it stirred her, how it reminded her of his laugh at the bar, his breath against her ear.

Another staff member asked about implementation costs, and she fielded it, her expertise a shield. But her nausea flared, and she reached for her water bottle, her movements careful, her laptop screen glowing beside her. As she sipped, a calendar notification popped up, stark and unmissable: First Trimester Check-Up, 2 PM. Her heart stopped, her finger hovering over the dismiss button, her eyes flicking to Roman, who was glancing at her screen, his expression neutral but his gaze sharpening. No, no, no, she thought, her pulse roaring, her hand trembling as she minimized the calendar, the action too late, the notification burned into the air between them.

She pushed on, clicking to her next slide, her voice steady but her mind screaming. Did he see it? Roman’s demeanor shifted subtly—his pen stilled, his jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to her face, searching, a question forming in their depths. She avoided his gaze, focusing on the trainer’s question about data integration, her answers sharp, her brilliance carrying her through. But his closeness was suffocating, his arm brushing hers as he shifted, the contact sending a jolt through her, her memories of that night—his hands, his voice, their wildfire—threatening to unravel her.

She needed air. “Excuse me,” she murmured, slipping out to the restroom, her laptop left open on the table, its screen dim but glowing with her demo. She splashed water on her face, the cold a shock against her skin, and muttered, “Get it together, Isla.” The mirror showed a woman stretched thin, her brown eyes haunted but determined, her curls escaping their bun. She dried her hands, her movements mechanical, and returned to the room, her heart pounding.

Roman’s gaze was waiting, his jaw tight, his eyes stormy, a mix of curiosity and something heavier—suspicion, maybe, or hurt. She ignored it, wrapping up the demo, her algorithms earning nods from the staff, their praise a hum in the background. But Roman’s silence was louder, a current that pulled at her focus, his proximity a reminder of the notification he’d likely seen, the secret she couldn’t hide. She closed her laptop, the meeting ending, and the others filed out, their voices fading down the hall.

Roman lingered, his frame filling the doorway, his presence inescapable. “Dr. Navarro, a word?” His tone was calm, but his eyes were intense, a storm brewing beneath his control, the weight of what he’d seen hanging between them.

Her heart stopped. She followed him to the hallway, the campus quiet around them, the late afternoon light casting long shadows. He stepped close, his height forcing her to look up, his scent—sandalwood and cedar—stirring memories she’d tried to bury. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked, his voice low, his jaw tight, his eyes boring into hers.

Her breath caught, her mind racing. “What do you mean?” Her voice was a whisper, her pulse a roar, her hands clutching her bag like a lifeline.

His eyes softened, but his voice cracked, a rare break in his control, the notification’s truth heavy in his words. “I saw it, Isla. First trimester check-up. Right there on your screen. Is it… mine?”

The world tilted, her vision narrowing to his face, his expression a mix of vulnerability and resolve, a man who’d faced loss and was bracing for another. Her mind raced, guilt and fear colliding with a spark of hope. He’s not the man I thought, she thought, but can I trust him with this? Her mouth opened, but no words came, her heart pounding, her mind a tangle of fear and resolve. The hallway was silent, the campus holding its breath, and Isla stood frozen, the father of her unborn child waiting for an answer she wasn’t ready to give.

Okay, loves, Chapter One is OUT and I’m still buzzing from that ending! 😅 Isla and Roman are already a mess, and I’m so thankful you’re here for their collision. Writing this story feels like untangling my own heart sometimes, and your reactions make it all worth it. That cliffhanger? Just wait—it’s about to get wilder.

If you’re feeling this, I’d love for you to keep the vibes going—drop a comment, hit like, or reblog to share the love. Here’s some stuff I’m curious about, so let me know what you’re thinking:

How’s Isla holding up after dropping that bombshell on Roman? Is she ready for his response, or is she spiraling?

That viral photo’s stirring up trouble—any theories on who’s behind it or how it’ll bite them?

Camila’s chaos is everything—what’s your favorite moment of hers so far?

If you could sit Roman down right now, what’s the one question you’d ask him?

My ask box is wide open for your thoughts, wild theories, or just to chat about Isla’s world. Got a question about her STEM life, Roman’s past, or where this is headed? Hit me up—I love diving into this with you (no spoilers, though!). Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you in Chapter Two for more drama and feels. 🖤

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